Spinprofessor

During last night’s TV One debate, Richard Pamatatau, whose decribes himself as “Programme Leader Graduate Diploma Pacific Journalism. Auckland University of Technology” tweeted “Claire Robinson was a private secretary to Jenny Shipley – hmmmm”. This was retweeted many times, and a lot of abuse was subsequently directed at me.

It was felt that the fact that I worked as a Cabinet Minister’s Private Secretary 20 years ago should (a) be a disqualifier for being a political commentator — Trevor Mallard tweeted “if this is true than expect TVNZ resignation”; (b), that it meant that I couldn’t provide objective commentary  — Glenn Williams “Wammo” called me a  “ boil on the political commentary landscape “and (c) that I must be a National plant. Deborah Mahuta-Coyle tweeted “just take your national party rosette out of your pocket and slap it on your forehead.” Even TV3 reported hearsay as “fact” on their website this morning that I had once been a press secretary for Jenny Shipley.

For the record, however:

Fact 1: In 1991 I worked as the Women’s Affairs Private Secretary in Jenny Shipley’s Office. I was a departmental official on secondment from the Ministry of Women’s Affairs. I was appointed by Dr Judith Aitken, the then Secretary of Women’s Affairs.

Fact 2: This is not news. It is on my Massey biography.

Fact 3. I was not a political appointee or a “Nat staffer”, and have never been on the payroll of the National party.

Fact 4: I was never press secretary. That role was first occupied by Nancy Consaul and then Bronwyn Saunders. As private secretary my job was to answer Ministerials, arrange appointments and push paper between the Ministry and the Minister.

I’m not sure which part of that makes me a National plant, and to my recollection I was never taken into one of the tiny toilets in the Beehive and brainwashed. As evidence —

Fact 5: I voted Labour in the 1990 general election, just prior to taking up my role. I voted Labour in the 1993 general election, after I had left the role.

Context

In terms of my subsequent career, the experience working in the Beehive was invaluable. It was fascinating watching a very unpopular National government manoeuvre its way through the very unpopular minefield of benefit cuts; it was eye-opening and frightening travelling with the Minister and being pelted with eggs and having the car attacked by protestors; it was revealing watching how a relatively young female Cabinet Minister related to her male colleagues, in such a way that they would later support her bid to become National leader and Prime Minister.

These moments are those that any student of politics would jump at the chance to experience. I’m sure Bryce Edwards, who once worked for the Alliance party, would agree that experiencing the cut and thrust of politics on the inside leads to a much more realistic perspective later on.

The main thing I took away, however, was inspiration for my PhD. In the process of trying to “sell” the unpopular benefit cuts to the public, advertising agencies were brought in to advise the government on how to do it best. The government want to use the word “fair’ in its publicity; the agency people advised against it because it was such a politically loaded term. I was not involved in this process, but I was intrigued at this idea that policy messages needed to be “sold”. It is this that later led me to study the campaign messaging of the political parties contesting the 1999 and 2002 NZ general elections. I wanted to be able to understand the process of constructing and processing political messages, and I have got a very good understanding of how it works.

Tweeters from the left may not like some of the things I say, but I speak not from any political bias, but from 12 years of studying and understanding what works and what doesn’t in political communication. I have been equally critical of National in the past when it has missed crucial communication opportunities.

I shall blog my comments on last night’s debate, and the way the campaign is tracking, later this afternoon.