Wearing my best, crisp, white cowgirl hat I thought I was off to the swearing-in ceremony for the Waitematā Local Board - instead it turned out to be a French farce.
With all due pomp and ceremony the characters assembled in the council chamber. Secret smiles, warm welcomes and the odd sneer flashed around the room. It was to be a simple plot.
The newly elected C&R members would swear allegiance to the community and pledge to protect their neighbourhood after the ravages of City Vision’s twelve year reign.
C&R had won four of the seven places on the board. They had the majority, a clear voter mandate for change. But, unbeknownst to the public assembled at the back of the room, pitch-forks and banners stowed safely at reception, a treasonous plan had been crafted to steal back control.
Blissfully ignorant to the seditious ferment, the crowd were optimistic at the thought of genuine community engagement, confident that the Cycle-Way Wars would end, that carcinogenic street spraying would stop, replaced by non-toxic steam treatment, that the controversial Erebus memorial would find a home at Motat’s National Museum of Aviation and a new enlightened era of tree protection would see the suffocating mounds of wood chip from the felled Monterey pines removed, restoring the magical ethereal streams of the Western Springs Native Forest!
One could almost sense the sunshine and bird song as nominations were called for Chair of the Waitematā Local Board. Greg Moyle’s name rang out for C&R. Ominously, old Duke Northey rose to his feet, cleared the frog in his throat and spoke, “I nominate Gen Sage.”
There was a collective gasp of shock and outrage. Had they heard correctly? Could this be true? Northey was nominating the other camps political rookie, the babe in arms, the coiffed newbie in her Chanel suit. Without hesitation, Gen Sage leapt swiftly to her stiletto heels ready to accept the nomination, beaming feigned surprise and humility.
Muted mutterings of betrayal, and accusations of deceit spread quickly around the room. It was clear to all that something shifty had gone on, this was no accident, this must be a premeditated act.
The thrill of power burned brightly in Gen Sage’s eyes and she was encouraged, no doubt, by her powerful husband Michael Sage, partner in the Queen Street legal firm Simpson Greison (or as the late, great Penny Bright would say, ‘Simply Gruesome’).
For years he’d been unsuccessfully wheeling and dealing to deliver a semi-submerged Auckland Waterfront Arena, worth over $1.8 billion to his cohorts. So was his wife now part of the plan to thwart public opposition? Pillow talk be damned.
Incandescent with rage I jump to my feet, calling out the charade for what it is; “high treason, a total travesty of democracy, you are destroying the last ounce of public faith in the local board system! How is it the alt-right and alt-left have become best bed fellows overnight?”
I stride up the central aisle, my words ricochet between the startled Sage and her sidekick, Chlöe Swarbrick.
Quick as the click of a snuff box, the chief presiding council officer flips a coin to decide who will be the chairperson and hold the daily balance of power. “FLIP A COIN!” I shout, “Is that what our democracy has come to?” The coin lands in her favour, giving Gen the casting vote. Use it wisely or be damned. (Lisa Prager a.k.a The Cowgirl)
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