But what, I wonder, were his second thoughts? What were his thirds?
After that, the career diplomat’s thoughts probably became a little bit scrambled.
OK, I’m speculating here. I have no idea who, if anyone, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has put next to Peters on his trip to Washington.
Indeed, it’s entirely possible the minister rides solo on these mano a mano missions. Alternatively, he could be relying exclusively on his own team of advisers. Career diplomats may have been left at home.
Were he a Trumpian populist, Peters would share the Maga world’s profound suspicion of expertise in general and its even deeper hatred of experts in particular. He would trust his instincts over the seasoned judgement of professionals.
By definition, seasoned judgements lack the freshness and clarity that comes from listening to your gut. Trumpian populists put almost as much faith in the voice of their gut as they do in the voice of God. Many claim they’re one and the same.
But Peters isn’t a Trumpian populist; his populism is less visceral than Trump’s and more manipulative.
Trumpian populism is all about the ends of power; Peters’ populism is mostly about the means of acquiring it.
I’ve watched Peters deliver his special brand of performative populism for more than 30 years. I’ve heard him decorate the Left with a whole wardrobe-full of colourful descriptions; everything from ‘‘sickly white liberals’’ to ‘‘woke snowflakes’’.
In stentorian tones he’s thundered against an ‘‘Asian invasion’’ and condemned capitalism for its inhuman face.
His is ‘‘equal opportunity’’ populism; directed even-handedly at both the Left and the Right. Many of Peters’ critiques of the system are well made and well merited.
Some are positively ferocious and delivered with full demagogic force.
Taken on their own, Peters’ words would make him a very scary politician.
But they are never presented on their own, are they? Always they are wreathed around with that smile — all 1000 watts of it.
Peters never forgets that his audiences are New Zealand audiences. That’s why he begins by loading them down with all the bad stuff; all the reasons why he and New Zealand First are needed so urgently.
But it is also why he ends his performances with that smile. As if to say: ‘‘Yeah, this is serious stuff, but, you know, not that serious. After all, we’re New Zealanders, not Americans.’’
And it works. Hoo-boy, does it work. The latest Taxpayers’ Union/Curia Research poll shows NZ First surging to 13.6% of the party vote — slightly ahead of its best actual result of 13.35% in the first MMP general election of 1996.
The thing is, having charged up to the china shop door, Winston the raging bull undergoes a miraculous transformation, entering the exclusive emporium of power and gliding under its fragile merchandise with all the insouciant grace of a pampered pussy-cat.
What’s more, this consummate shape-shifter is a great respecter of professionalism and expertise.
His predecessor, Murray McCully, had attempted to dose the Ministry of Foreign Affairs with a hefty measure of neoliberal salts. After he’d secured McCully’s ministry, Peters did his best to undo the damage done.
Far from overseeing a populist purge, the new foreign minister moved quickly to reassure his career diplomats that they and their boss were on the same page.
Peters’ reaction to Trump’s Truth Social post was likely a mixture of outrage and pity. Outrage that America’s demented bull was laying waste so much of its priceless constitutional crockery. Pity at the embarrassing denouement of history’s greatest populist run.
Meeting Rubio, Peters’ demeanour was doubtless serious and deferential. No performative hysterics about war crimes and international law, nothing to attract the attention of America’s wounded bull-president.
When the doors closed behind them, however, Rubio and Peters will doubtless have smiled like villains.
- Chris Trotter is an Auckland writer and commentator.
