Getting personal with the PM
Saturday, 4 September 2010
There is no delicate way of putting this. There seems little doubt that John Key's grandmother slept in Hermann Goering's bed.
This conjures up unseemly images so it is important to stress that Hitler's designated successor and the head of the Luftwaffe wasn't in it at the time.
The explanation is mundane if a little creepy. Millie Key had a weakness for antique furniture and when the bloated Reich Marshal's huge and heavy bedroom suite came under the hammer in London after the war, knowing a bargain when she saw one, she swooped like a hawk.
In the same city half a century later our future prime minister would demonstrate a similar flair as a foreign exchange trader.
We don't know what the youngest of her eight children, George, thought of this purchase but we can hazard a guess.
George, John Key's dad, was an idealistic young Englishman who, according to family lore, volunteered to fight in the Spanish Civil War for the Republican army against the forces of General Franco who were supported by Nazi Germany.
Goering said the Spanish Civil war gave him the perfect opportunity to try out his new air force and George Key was one of the people they tried it out on.
John Key's mum, Ruth Lazar, a beautiful Jewish teenager, fled Nazi-occupied Austria before the coming darkness descended on Europe.
Countless others less fortunate were reduced to ash as a consequence of Goering signing orders that switched off the light.
If the Reich Marshal mulled over the final wording of his instructions to begin the final solution he could well have mulled them over in the bed Millie Key purchased.
When George Key made his decision to fight he was barely into his 20s.
He saw something horrendous coming. He could have stood on street corners distributing shrill pamphlets.
Instead, he left his first wife and a baby son, John Key's elder half-brother, behind to take up arms in a foreign land.
If indeed he did fight in Spain this version of the family history is told by John Key's older half-brother Martyn.
The prime minister says he has no idea whether his long-dead father did fight in the Spanish Civil War this would have taken an uncommon courage and conviction, and a brand of selfishness that allows people to disregard the immediate needs of their loved ones in the perceived interests of a greater good.
The rigour of George Key's ideology could well have unconsciously and inversely influenced the young John Key.
Where Key senior's uncompromising principles might have seen him voluntarily commit as a young man to a foreign war as much about ideas as territory, his son's politics are far more measured as if a reaction to the father's fervour.
Key has committed to a brand of centre-Right politics that is readily adaptable to the mood of the nation. And it is this mood that Key appears to gauge with ease.
So where did George Key's zeal come from? Most of the members of the International Brigade he joined were members of the Communist Party. John Key's dad, who spoke fluent Russian, was almost certainly a Marxist.
For a time anyway, the Red under Millie Key's bed would have been George.
A generation later, George's son, John, was a young man studying accountancy at Canterbury University and had developed great admiration for the most combative accountant in the land, the then prime minister, Rob Muldoon.
Had Key played a prominent role protesting the 1981 Springbok tour, Muldoon would have had the SIS working nights on this link to a Marxist past, however tenuous, building it into a file thick enough to derail a train.
For the record, Key claims he can't remember his stance on the Springbok Tour. For New Zealanders of a certain age this is like saying you can't recall where you were on September 11 when planes flew into the Twin Towers.
This vagueness is puzzling when everyone who has ever worked with Key makes particular mention of his intellect, capacious memory and astonishing ability to learn new information. If he can't recall his 1981 views, it's because he's learnt they are best forgotten.
Flexibility is another of his qualities frequently remarked upon.
George Key moved out of the family home when John was seven and died shortly afterwards.
What Key remembers of his dad he has largely kept to himself, though he is on record as saying that he did not attend the funeral.
This absence hints at a breach and tensions that John, a bright boy, would have registered even as his adoring older sisters and mother sheltered him from them.
The father who shifted to New Zealand to secure a fresh start and better life for his second family failed at that.
The alcoholic who believed in fiery means to achieve noble ends may have imparted to his young son a deep, cautionary need to be just the opposite temperate in habit, moderate in manner, a reliable husband and father and deeply suspicious of ideology.
The collapse of George's modest restaurant business in Auckland plunged the recently widowed Ruth into debt.
To make a fresh start of her own, she shifted the family south to Christchurch, to a state house in a cluster of state houses in the otherwise comfortable suburb of Bryndwr.
They were poor but so were their kindly neighbours.
Ruth was a solo mother when that wasn't common, who worked nightshifts to support her family when that was almost unheard of, a Jew who put worship of her faith on hold while bringing up her children strictly and lovingly.
The Keys may have been outsiders but photos of John taken at this time show a cute, contented kid fooling around to amuse his sisters.
He later cycled leafy streets to Burnside High School against the grain of rich boys heading for Christ's College.
It was about then he decided he would take up golf because that's what businessmen played if they wanted to be successful and he wanted to be a successful businessman.
If John didn't stand out at high school or university it was because he was busy fitting in.
In the early 90s there were 400 testosterone-drenched adrenalin junkies working the trading desk at Merrill
Lynch's London office, many of them graduates of Oxford, Cambridge and Harvard, who looked sideways at the slightly built, mild-mannered New Zealander who arrived from Singapore to take charge of the global operation.
Then in his 30s, Key's fitting-in days were long gone and he very quickly stood out.
Paul Martin, who worked at Merrill Lynch at the time and now lives in Auckland, remembers his former boss as a smart and very pragmatic person.
''John had a clear view of what had to be done and got on with the business of doing it. It was a very competitive, very political environment which needed careful negotiating. John's amiable Kiwi nature must have impressed our American bosses because suddenly, all the things that needed changing, very quickly were.''
It was a predominantly jockstrap and pinstripe world. Martin remembers Key quietly ensuring that the few women on the trading floor were treated properly.
He would enjoy a quick beer with the boys after work, but when capitalism's equivalent of the Mongol hordes continued on in rowdy bars and exotic nightclubs, Key would be happily tucked up in bed with his wife, his childhood sweetheart Bronagh.
When former prime minister Mike Moore shuffled around the corridors of power he was prone to endlessly repeating catechisms such as ''Singapore, same population as New Zealand, same size as Lake Taupo! Think about it!''
As Martin tells it, there was a time when Key began to sound unnervingly like the former leader of the Labour Party, which is not totally inappropriate as ambassador Moore is now Key's mouthpiece in Washington.
While in Singapore, Key would cross to the window of the 28th floor of the Suntech Tower and, staring out at the hyperactive skyline and the straits crowded with shipping, would ask how it was that a small country with the same population as New Zealand and with no natural resources could become the economic success story of the region.
''He was genuinely interested in their social infrastructure, their approach to education and their Government-backed savings schemes.''
Recalls Martin, adding with a knowing smile: ''It was then that I realised John might have some political aspirations back in New Zealand.''
There is an old joke that says the last six bullets fired into Mussolini's body were the work of 100 Italian marksmen.
It's a bit like that when you ask senior members of the National Party who persuaded John Key to return to New Zealand and run for office.
Apparently, thousands of them took him aside and personally tipped the balance.
Taking nothing for granted, Key and his team worked tirelessly to win the selection as National's candidate for the new seat of Henderson
They made no assumptions. They didn't have to. The assumptions were made by others.
Here was a self-made man who didn't worship his creator.
Come polling day the electorate bowed to the same logic and Key was elected to Parliament.
Within nanoseconds, it seemed, he was National's finance, spokesperson, then leader of the opposition. In 2008, the nation bowed to the inevitable. His bug-eyed, arm flapping, unabashed boyish elation on election night could have been excruciating to watch but somehow it managed to be endearing.
A real politician would have made more of an effort to look in control, as if the result were just reward and pre-ordained.
There is no sense of destiny or entitlement with Key. He simply applied for the top job and got it. Break out the champagne.
Just one glass for me, I promised Bronagh I wouldn't be late.
Key doesn't have the intimidating authority of Rob Muldoon, the intoxicating wit of David Lange, the scholarly detachment of Geoffrey Palmer, the delicious unpredictability of Mike Moore, the bullock-like robustness of Jim Bolger, the kindergarten-teacher calm of Jenny Shipley or the haughty control of Helen Clark, but he has something these prime ministers seemed to lack he is completely at ease in his own skin, which makes him easy to relate to.
You don't need to like his politics to like him. In fact, it may help if you don't.
With some of the others you needed to admire them enormously before you could even begin to warm to them.
How much of this is innate and how much has been carefully crafted is open to debate.
When he was leader of the opposition, after an interview with NewsTalk ZB, Key asked political reporter Barry Soper if he had a couple of minutes.
Soper said yes and Key came straight to the point. ''You don't like me very much, do you?''
Soper replied that he'd been covering politics for 30 years without fear or favour.
Liking or disliking politicians was irrelevant. Key was persistent. ''But you get on well with Helen Clark.'' Soper explained that Clark was a real professional when it came to her relationships with the media and that Key needed to take a leaf out of her leadership book.
When Key wanted to know what that might be, Soper told him.
There was nothing angry or self pitying in Key's inquiry. He just recognised a problem that needed fixing and set out to fix it.
This self-sufficiency is at once Key's strength and weakness.
There has been no need to surround himself with political cronies, head kickers and knee-cappers willing to do his bidding. The famous photo of Lange and his fellow plotters against Bill Rowling's leadership eating communal fish and chips could never have happened with Key.
There was no Key faction as such behind his elevation to the leadership. He didn't see the need. There was a vote, but it felt more like a coronation than an election.
Consequently, Key is beholden to no band of brothers and no happy few owe him blind obedience.
While he rides high in the approval ratings that is not a problem, but there could come a time when blind obedience comes in handy.
Across the Tasman, Kevin Rudd could have done with some when his popularity ratings plummeted.
But Rudd was deeply disliked by colleagues, which our prime minister is not.
From all accounts, Key chairs Cabinet with polite and brisk efficiency. Ministers are expected to run their own portfolios.
There is none of the micro-management that characterised the last days of the Clark dynasty.
But how could there be?
There is no equivalent on Key's staff to the truly formidable Heather Simpson who acted like a second and third brain for Clark.
Instead, Key runs a kitchen cabinet of senior ministers such as Bill English, Simon Power, Gerry Brownlee and Steven Joyce. He is particularly close to the latter.
Like him, Joyce made a considerable fortune before entering Parliament and doesn't see politics as a permanent vocation.
It's a very important short-term project and it's important that best possible data be collected and the best possible decisions be made.
That data, of course, includes the most sophisticated polling and reading of the public mood. If National appears to flip-flop wildly on some issues, it's simply because public opinion is oscillating in much the same way.
It's our own fault, really. Before the last election, sheer pragmatism led National to support Labour's anti-nuclear law, pledging not to sell state-owned assets in the first term and pledging to retain income support for poor working families. The list goes on.
Key's greatest achievement to date is the winning of the last election and the continuing high approval his Government enjoys in the face of a slowing global economy.
Some would argue that political popularity doesn't accrue interest and that if Key ever wanted to act boldly he should do so now.
His surprise wooing of the Maori Party after the last election was a bold stroke that makes increasing sense right now as the ACT party self-destructs.
If permanent, this uncoupling of significant Maori support from the Labour Party could be Key's most significant achievement.
Meanwhile, he takes pride in implementing what he sees as moderate, considered pragmatic policies.
Labour politicians toil vainly to paint him as a wolf in sheep's clothing. It's a thankless task when some on the Right of his own party mutter darkly that his Government is ''Labour- lite''.
There is both relief and deep suspicion that Key is, in fact, a sheep in sheep's clothing.
The next few months will reveal where this Government is headed even if they don't know themselves just yet.
Were he still alive, George Key would doubtless be proud of his son even as he shouted out instructions to stop fraternising with the enemy.
Despite the insane workload, the intractable nature of problems he has pledged to solve, the toll on the family life of the family he unabashedly adores, you get the impression that Key is enjoying the ride.
Two years into the job and his temples still sport white hairs you can count in single figures.
About the only thing that would spook our prime minister right now is a black cat darting across the road in front of him; that or rear-ending a van full of mirrors.
Key is superstitious. He owns hundreds of ties because when he had a bad day on the trading floor he never wore the tie he was wearing that day again.
Former United States president George W Bush gave him some cufflinks.
The three times he slipped them on, things went so wrong they will not be adorning prime ministerial shirtsleeves anytime soon.
We all have our little foibles. I've made it a rule never to sleep in Goering's bed.