I want you to picture a specific kind of person.
You know the type. The war hero. We usually have
this very specific archetype in our heads for
that guy in politics. He's the hawk. Absolutely.
The peace through strength guy. It's a standard
political trope because... Well, it works. It
signals toughness, decisive action. Exactly.
But today we are diving into a stack of source
material that just completely flips that archetype
on its head. We're unpacking the life of Arthur
Faulkner. And let me tell you, this guy is a
walking, talking contradiction to everything
we assume about military men in politics. He
really is. I mean, we're talking about a man
who was a. decorated World War II fighter pilot.
Flying Spitfire. Flying Spitfires, dodging flak
over Europe and North Africa, who then spent
his entire political career trying to dismantle
the military machine. It's wild. He fought to
end compulsory military training. He protested
the Vietnam War while he was the defense spokesman.
And he threatened to resign his cabinet post
rather than use the army for civil control. It's
the central tension of his life. And frankly,
it's what makes him such a compelling figure
in New Zealand history. Totally. How does the
man in the cockpit become the man holding the
olive branch? That's the question we need to
answer. So our mission for this deep dive is
to look past the basic Wikipedia entry. We've
got the political histories, the caucus records,
the biographies. We want to understand how this
specific mix of experiences, you know, the trauma
of Anzio and the brutality of party politics,
created a man who really shaped New Zealand's
modern identity. And specifically, how he navigated
that transition from a soldier who follows orders
to a politician who refuses to give them if...
violate his conscience. OK, so let's rewind to
the very beginning, because usually when we see
someone rise to the top of the Labor Party, we
expect a certain background. Trade unions, maybe
academia, a lawyer, perhaps. Faulkner was none
of those. He was born in 1921 in Devonport, Auckland,
and his start wasn't in a lecture hall. It was
in the shadow of the Great Depression. The economic
context is crucial here, isn't it? It is everything.
He didn't go to university. He went from Otago
District High School straight into the workforce
as a sales clerk. OK. But the detail that just
stops you in your tracks, and I had to double
check this in the source material, is his political
awakening. He joined the Labor Party at age 15.
15. I mean, at 15, I was barely organized enough
to catch the bus. He's signing up for party organization.
It speaks to the volatility of the 1930s. If
you were a working class kid in New Zealand then,
politics wasn't abstract. It was about whether
your family ate. It was survival. It was survival.
He was working as a branch secretary before he
could legally vote. That suggests a level of
conviction that wasn't just a hobby. But that
political apprenticeship gets cut short. The
world catches fire. World War II breaks out.
And this is where the story shifts from like
teenage political organizer to action movie.
He joins the Royal New Zealand Air Force. And
he doesn't land a desk job. He ends up in the
cockpit of a submarine Spitfire. For those of
us who aren't aviation buffs, can we just pause
on that for a second? What does it actually mean
to pilot a Spitfire in that era? I mean, it means
you are strapped into a very small, very fast
metal tube with a massive Merlin engine on the
front. Okay. It's agile, it's iconic, but it's
incredibly dangerous. There are no computers
flying the plane. It is all instinct, physics,
and nerves. And he wasn't just flying patrols.
No, he was in the thick of it, both Europe and
North Africa. The sources highlight one specific
operation that really underscores the intensity
of his service. Operation Shingle. The landing
at Anzio, Italy. This was 1944. The Allies were
trying to bypass the German winter line. It was
an amphibious assault and it was notoriously
brutal. The beachhead was shelled relentlessly
for months. And the record shows Faulkner has
a very specific claim to fame here. He does.
He was the first Allied pilot to actually land
at Anzio during that operation. Which is a terrifying
distinction. I mean, landing a Spitfire is hard
enough on a proper runway. Landing one on a makeshift
strip on a beachhead while artillery is raining
down and the German army is trying to push you
back into the sea. That is a level of stress
that just rewires a person. That's the aha moment
for me. You can't go through Anzio seeing that
level of mechanized slaughter and come back the
same person. No. And I think that's the lens
through which we have to view everything he did
later. He saw the glory of war up close and he
saw the cost. He saw the mess. So the war ends.
He survives. He comes home. And the transition
must have been so jarring. One day you're an
ace pilot. The next you're a credit manager for
a furniture company. It's the classic post -war
adjustment. But clearly that political itch from
his teenage years, it hadn't gone away. He wanted
into parliament. It wasn't exactly a red carpet
entry, though. He had to hustle. Not at all.
He had to do the hard yards. He ran for the Franklin
seat in 1951 and lost. He ran for North Shore
in 54 and lost. That's six years of campaigning
for nothing. Most people would quit. Well, not
for nothing. In the party system, that's called
paying your dues. You run in unwittable seats
to prove you're loyal and can handle the grind.
And if you survive that, they give you a shot
at a real seat. Which finally happens in 1957.
He wins the electorate of Roscoe. And he locks
it down, holds that seat for 24 years. A lifetime
in politics. But for the first massive chunk
of that, he is just a backbencher. Labor wins
in 57 under Walter Nash. But then they lose in
60 and spend 12 years in the wilderness of opposition.
12 years is a long time to sit on the opposition
benches. But this is where his background starts
to become an asset. In 1965, the labor leader,
Norman Kirk, needs a defense spokesman. And who
better than the Anzio veteran? It gave the party
credibility. Usually, left -wing parties struggle
with being seen as soft on defense. Right. Putting
a Spitfire pilot in the role neutralizes that
attack immediately. But here is where the Faulkner
paradox kicks in hard. He gets the platform,
but he doesn't use it to call for more war. The
Vietnam War is ramping up. The domino theory
is the prevailing wisdom. The idea that if Vietnam
falls, all of Southeast Asia falls. The pressure
on New Zealand to send troops is immense. And
Faulkner becomes one of the loudest voices against
it. He wasn't just skeptical. He was deeply,
vocally critical of New Zealand's involvement.
There's a story from 1970 that I think perfectly
captures his style of dissent. It involves the
U .S. vice president, Spiro Agnew. Right. Agnew
was visiting Wellington. This was a state visit,
a massive diplomatic protocol event. The Nixon
administration is trying to shore up support
for the war. And a huge state dinner was planned.
Of course. And in the world of diplomacy, you
show up to the dinner. You might hate the policy,
but you eat the chicken, shake the hand, and
you smile. Exactly. But Faulkner, along with
three other MPs, Bob Tisser, Jonathan Hunt, and
Martin Finley, they boycotted it. They refused
to break bread with the representative of the
Nixon administration while the war was raging.
It's a snub, a calculated public snub. And it's
even more significant because his boss, Norman
Kirk, the leader of the opposition, did attend.
Oh, that's interesting. Kirk played the statesman.
Faulkner played the conscience. It shows he wasn't
afraid to break ranks or embarrass the leadership
if he felt a moral line had been crossed. Fast
forward to 1972. The tide turns. Labor finally
wins. The third labor government is formed. Norman
Kirk becomes prime minister. He hands Faulkner
the defense portfolio. The critic is now the
commander. And he doesn't waste time. The sources
say he moved within days. Literally days after
being sworn in. He ended compulsory military
training in New Zealand. Just scrapped the draft.
Boom. It had been a campaign pledge, yes. But
the speed of the execution matters. He didn't
set up a committee or a review board to think
about it for six months. He just ended it. What
was his thinking there? He wanted a professional
military, not a conscripted one. He believed
that if you're going to ask people to fight,
they should be professionals who chose that life
like he did not. Kids forced into it. But Vietnam
and conscription were, in a way, policy debates.
The real test, the visceral emotional test, came
in 1973. The Springbok tour. This was the defining
crisis of that government. For listeners who
might not know the context, the Springboks are
the South African national rugby team. And in
1973, South Africa was deep in the apartheid
era. Their team was selected by race. And in
New Zealand, rugby isn't just a sport. It is
a religion. Hosting them was seen by many as
endorsing apartheid. The country was split right
down the middle. Protests were mobilizing everywhere.
It was a powder keg. It was. The police were
looking at the intelligence and telling the government,
we might not be able to contain this. The implication
was that the military might need to be called
in to support the police. Civil order, troops
on the streets of Auckland or Wellington. And
this is where Faulkner drew the absolute line.
He went to the cabinet and issued an ultimatum.
He told them flat out that he would resign as
minister of defense before he would instruct
a single soldier to combat protesting civilians.
That's a heavy moment. He's basically saying,
I waited 15 years to get this job and I will
walk away from it today rather than do this.
It goes back to Anzio. He knew what soldiers
are for, therefore fighting wars against external
enemies. He refused to turn that machinery on
his own people. He argued that the military is
not a police force, and crossing that line destroys
the very democracy you're trying to protect.
And the tour was eventually canceled. It was,
and Faulkner's refusal to provide a military
backstop was a huge factor in that decision.
Without the Army as a plan B, the government
simply couldn't guarantee safety. So we've established
she had principles, but I want to pivot to the
internal politics because sometimes having high
ideals makes you terrible at the Game of Thrones
aspect of parliament. It often does. And Faulkner's
career hit a massive roadblock in 1974. Norman
Kirk, the prime minister, dies suddenly, a tragedy
for the party. Bill Rawling takes over as PM,
which leaves the deputy leader spot open. Faulkner
decides to run. On paper, he should have walked
it in. He was the minister of defense. He was
popular in the caucus. He was seen as a nice
guy. Everyone liked Arthur. But nice doesn't
always win. No. There was a faction of the old
guard, specifically the chief whip, Ron Barclay,
and a senior minister, Warren Freer, who decided
Faulkner wasn't the guy. They viewed his amiability
as weakness. Indecisive. Exactly. They thought
he was indecisive, that he tried too hard to
please everyone. So they hatched a plot. And
looking at the mechanics of this, it is absolutely
ruthless. It's pure numbers. Barclay did the
math. He realized Faulkner had a lot of support,
possibly enough to win more than 50 % on the
first ballot. If he wins the first ballot, it's
over. So how do you stop that? You dilute the
pool. Barclay convinced Warren Freer to stand
for the position as well. Freer didn't really
want the job and he knew he probably wouldn't
win. He was a stalking horse. A stalking horse.
His only job was to steal enough votes from Faulkner
to stop him getting a majority on that first
go. So it forced the voting into multiple rounds.
Exactly. And as the rounds went on, the momentum
shifted. On the fourth ballot, it came down to
Faulkner versus Bob Tizard. And the result? Tizard
won. 28 votes to 26. Two votes. He missed out
on being deputy prime minister and potentially
future leader by two votes because of a vote
splitting trick. That loss changed his trajectory
completely. Rowling, the new PM, reshuffled the
cabinet. He took Faulkner out of defense. Which
must have stung. It likely did. He was moved
to minister of labor and minister of state services.
Now, to a modern ear, minister of labor sounds
like a demotion compared to the guy in charge
of the armies. Actually, in the 1970s, it was
probably the hardest job in the building. You
have to remember, this was the era of massive
unions, constant strikes, industrial disputes
that could shut down the entire economy. So why
put Faulkner there? Because of that nice guy
reputation. Rowling saw him as a conciliator.
He needed someone who could sit in a room with
angry union bosses and angry employers and not
start a fistfight. But the sources say this label,
the conciliator, became a bit of a weapon against
him. It did. His critics, the people who blocked
him from the deputy job, said he was wishy -washy.
They claimed he would listen to everyone, nod
his head, and then try to find a middle ground
that made nobody happy. They wanted a strong
man who would crush the strikes. But Faulkner's
defense, and that of his supporters, was that
his ability to keep people talking was the strength.
He managed to keep the industrial machinery moving
by not backing people into corners. It's a subtle
form of power, but it doesn't look like leadership
on a poster. Before we get to the end of his
career, we have to touch on one weird little
detour. The Oh -Who scheme. Yes. This was when
he was briefly acting Minister of Lands. It is
incredibly 1970s. It sounds like a commune. That's
effectively what it was. The government leased
rural land to groups who wanted to set up alternative
communities. It was a response to urban drift
and youth unemployment. So Faulkner, the Spitfire
pilot, was basically signing off on state sponsored...
hippie communes. It's a great image, isn't it?
But it shows he wasn't rigid. He was willing
to try social experiments. It shows an openness
to new ideas, certainly. Okay, so the labor government
crashes out in 1975. They lose in a landslide.
They're back in opposition. Faulkner reinvents
himself again. He becomes the party president
in 1976. This is a different beast. The party
president isn't in charge of policy. They're
in charge of the machine. Fundraising, membership,
candidate selection. It's the engine room. And
the engine was sputtering. It was. Morale was
low. But Faulkner actually did a very good job
of holding the membership numbers up during those
dark years. He kept the faithful engaged. But
it wasn't without drama. The sources mention
messy selections. Yes, in Papatoho and Island
Bay. When you have a shrinking pie, the fight
for the slices gets vicious. There were accusations
that the selection process for candidates was
being manipulated. As president, the buck stopped
with him. And this leads to his great rivalry.
Enter Jim Anderton. Anderton was the rising star
of the organization wing. Very organized, very
ambitious, and quite abrasive. He challenged
Faulkner for the presidency in 1978. The old
guard versus the new blood. And Faulkner crushed
him. 693 votes to 422. It was a decisive victory.
It proved that despite the critics, the rank
-and -file members still loved Arthur. But eventually
he steps down, Anderton takes over, and we get
to 1981. Faulkner is 60. He's been the MP for
Roskill for 24 years. He decides it's time to
go. But he goes out with a maneuver that proves
he wasn't just a nice guy. He was a tactician.
He pulls a fast one. He had already been selected
as the candidate for the 1981 election. His name
was on the billboard, so to speak. He tells the
party leader, privately, that he's quitting.
But he waits. Why wait? He waited until the very
last minute to announce it publicly. He explicitly
said he didn't want to give the National Party
time to gear up. Explain that strategy for us.
Well, if an MP announces retirement six months
out, the opposition sees an open seat. They can
recruit a star candidate, raise money, blitz
the electorate. But by dropping the bomb late.
He caught them flat -footed. They had to scramble
to find someone to run against labor. It's brilliant,
but it also caused a firestorm inside his own
party. It did, because that sudden vacancy created
a power vacuum. There was immediate speculation
that his old rival, Jim Anderton, would try to
parachute into the Roskill seat. And the caucus,
the other MPs, were not having it. The sources
describe a hostile reaction. The caucus really
didn't want Anderton in Parliament at that stage.
Eventually, Anderton backed off. And the nomination
went to a young guy named Phil Goff. Who, of
course, went on to be a massive figure in NC
politics. So Faulkner essentially handpicked
his successor by timing his exit perfectly. He
secured the legacy of the seat, yes. There was
one final legislative act we need to mention.
Before he walks out the door, he moves a bill.
The Glen Eagles Agreement Bill. It's the perfect
bookend to his career. Remind us what the Glen
Eagles Agreement was. It was a pact by Commonwealth
leaders to discourage sporting contact with South
Africa. It was the diplomatic weapon against
apartheid sport. So the man who almost resigned
over the Springbok tour in 73 spends his final
days in 1981 trying to enshrine that ban into
law. It just shows the consistency. He started
by fighting apartheid sport and he ended by cementing
that opposition. She never wavered on that issue.
After politics, he didn't fade away entirely.
He served on the board of Air New Zealand. Which
feels right. The pilot returning to aviation.
Sadly, he passed away not long after, in 1985.
He was only 63. Far too young. The stress of
those years, the war, the ministry, the industrial
disputes, it all took a toll. But his name is
still on the map, literally, in the suburb of
Waikwai. They renamed Boat Bay to Faulkner Bay.
A quiet tribute to a man who, despite the noise
of politics, seemed to prefer the quiet work
of peace. So when we step back and look at the
whole picture, the 15 -year -old organizer, the
pilot Anzio, the minister who wouldn't call in
the troops, the conciliator, what's the big takeaway?
I think it challenges our definition of strength.
We usually associate strength with force. But
Faulkner's strength was restraint. Restraint?
Yes. He had the power to bomb, but he argued
for peace. He had the power to deploy troops
against protesters, but he chose to resign instead.
He had the power to crush unions, but he chose
to talk. It's the idea that because he knew the
true cost of fighting, because he had seen the
carnage of Anzio, he was the least willing to
pay it unnecessarily. Precisely. The Faulkner
paradox isn't really a paradox at all. It's a
lesson. Sometimes the warrior is the absolute
best person to argue against the war because
they aren't arguing from theory. They're arguing
from memory. And he also teaches us that you
can be a nice guy and still outmaneuver your
enemies when it counts. That late resignation
was pure strategic genius. It certainly was.
He was a complex figure of bridge between the
old war generation and the modern socially conscious
era. So here's something for you to think about.
In today's political climate, we often punish
politicians for changing their minds or for seeking
compromise. We want them to be rigid warriors
for their side. But Arthur Faulkner's story suggests
that the strongest conviction might actually
be the courage to say, I will not fight this
battle even when everyone expects you to. That's
a powerful thought. That is it for this deep
dive into the life of Arthur Faulkner. Thanks
for listening.