AI generated image - members of the Royal family as cardboard cutouts
New Zealand is a parliamentary democracy with a constitutional monarchy.
This terminology may at first glance appear complicated until you see that what we have in the monarchy is little more than a cardboard cutout of Britain’s institution. It’s a cardboard cutout of the British Monarchy. To become the “New Zealand monarchy” the institution underwent a legal transformation in New Zealand during the second half of the 20th century, largely prompted by the British government cutting its ties to former colonies. Despite this, the cardboard cutout is still clearly of the British monarchy, a fact that is laughably denied, despite it being (according to opinion polling) the institution’s biggest drawcard in New Zealand; its last positive attribute against negative fear-mongering to ensure its survival.
We say “parliamentary democracy” first because that is the bit that matters. It describes how the system of government actually works in 21st century Aotearoa New Zealand: a parliament of MPs, democratically elected, forms an executive, the government, by a majority of its members. Those MPs wield executive power as Ministers, so long as they retain that majority. If they lose it, usually by losing an election, then executive power passes to a group of MPs that does have a majority.
The second term, “constitutional monarchy” comes afterwards, because the constitutional monarchy is a legal reality and that’s it. In this part of the terminology, the term “constitutional” in constitutional monarchy is often forgotten; yet it is that word that represents the hundreds of years of the slow, often frustrated, and sometimes bloody transfer of power from the sovereign to the democratically elected parliament and its executive, bound by law. The monarchy part is someone else’s institution, specifically Britain, our former colonising power.
The monarchy is a cardboard cut-out with a stand-in head of state, the governor-general. That office undertakes all the public duties, exercises (following longstanding, well-established conventions) power for the parliamentary executive and exercising its limited reserve powers if need be. The cardboard cut-out has no real power of its own. Even the statements of the Royals with respect to New Zealand are written at Government House, albeit vetted so the New Zealand monarch does not say something the British monarch wouldn’t. It’s for that reason that they have, much to the infuriation of many still in denial of our nationhood, started to use Te Reo Māori in such messages.
Despite this reality though, misunderstandings still pervade. Perhaps it’s due those who love to make snarky truisms, as if they are learning for the first time that constitutional monarchy means power nominally comes not from where the public might expect it to derive from in a democracy, but from the monarch. Or that because New Zealand’s monarchy is legally separate from that of the United Kingdom, by drawing an extremely long and tenuous bow, the Royal family are “ours” as well. More likely though, it’s simply a product of national insecurities about identity, which manifest themselves in increasingly ridiculous claims as to the value of the cardboard cut-out. It’s as if we must give the inanimate institution of monarchy some value in case the people figure out it has no value for us at all.
The exact powers – both hard and soft - of the monarch are a common misunderstanding. In a nod to the colonial cringe of old, it’s often repeated that all that stands between stable government – or perhaps even more laughably, our politicians achieving ultimate power – is the cardboard cut-out. That power rests in a piece of medieval headgear, the “Crown” as if it were some one ring to rule them all, but for your head.
The Crown is the state, and specifically the New Zealand state. Pretending it is something else is dangerous and nonsense. It’s not some magical headband that keeps politicians in check. The Crown is a symbol, and while the symbolism remains monarchical, the machinery of government is republican. The legal basis of power maybe monarchical, yet the exercise of that power practically is republican. This is especially so in New Zealand, now that it is clear the British monarch will not intervene in constitutional issues outside of the United Kingdom. The King, when he was Prince Charles, has said exactly that. Precedent over the 20th century was that whenever constitutional meltdowns happened – from Karachi to Suva, and Canberra to Freetown. A cardboard cut-out won’t save you if your society is fundamentally unable to work to democratic norms.
“The Crown is the state, and specifically the New Zealand state.”
Given these realities, why is it so hard to remove the cardboard cut-out, and have the real, living, breathing head of state? A prominent New Zealander we put up as de facto head of state and then embarrass by denying them the actual role. In a way it’s the ultimate manifestation of our of our worst insecurities, the tall-poppy syndrome of having to cut down the successful.
We already pay for a de facto head of state, at almost the same cost as the Irish presidency. Since 1967, the parliamentary chief executive, the Prime Minister, makes the appointment by “advising” - in the style of Don Vito - the cardboard cut-out who they are to pick for the role. It’s worth noting that the same colonial cringe and insecurities over appointing a New Zealander to the office of Governor-General in 1967 are still present today; except of course they manifest themselves in the immature claims that if so empowered the public or parliament would choose an All Black, any unpopular former politician (this despite the former politicians who have served as Governor-General doing a good job) or some other patently absurd candidate.
Apart from hatred towards New Zealand citizens, there are the incessant lies told about Te Tiriti o Waitangi, our founding document, usually by those who could not care less about the treaty. Originally intended to scare support for a republic away, it has become clear through polling that guaranteeing the position of Te Tiriti o Waitangi in a republic bolsters the argument for change. For one thing, it makes it clear once again that the power for enforcing Te Tiriti rests with the Beehive, not Buckingham Palace.
Clarity of power structure scares some, as you would expect, as does the process of decolonisation. While the cardboard cu-out plays a small part in this picture – deliberately, as it doesn’t want to be seen to create claims for other indigenous peoples - it is still very much a part of it. No serious discussion about decolonisation, or specifically rejecting the idea of New Zealand as a colony, can exclude a citizen as head of state.
And finally, the Commonwealth – an international institution now indistinct from the OECD or WTO, with a secretariat budget little bigger than Invercargill City Council. While there’s plenty of fun articles around the question of how our sportsmen and women will contend without the Commonwealth Games to attend every four years (or more, thanks to the State of Victoria), as with the cardboard cutout monarchy, there are all sorts of nonsense claims about the Commonwealth, usually made by its nominal supporters.
The Commonwealth is the British Empire reborn, it’s a trade block, a migration pact, a defence pact without which we’d be invaded by China or that it ensures we use proper English, it binds us to other countries and other nonsense claims. These claims are unintentionally negated by the vocal and well-funded CANZUK campaign, seeking to unite the white-majority members of the Commonwealth in something like an EU style bloc, regardless of geopolitical reality, in an attempt to make the cardboard cut-out and Commonwealth deeply relevant. If the Commonwealth was any of the things its supporters claimed, there would be no need for “CANZUK.” The simple fact is that the majority of members of the Commonwealth today are republics, a smaller number have their own monarchs, and a declining number have the British monarch. There is value for New Zealand in remaining a member, but the issue has an out-size influence on the question of replacing the cardboard cut-out.
“The simple fact is that the majority of members of the Commonwealth today are republics”
The simplicity of replacing the cardboard cut-out with our own head of state has been demonstrated time and time again around the Commonwealth, most recently in Barbados. Elevating the Governor-General – in the case of Barbados, literally the officeholder to the new position of head of state – is straightforward, and can be done with a minimum of fuss. In part that’s why the cardboard cut-outs have remained in place, the straightforward nature of change has meant politicians see little electoral advantage in making the change. On the other hand, the fears, fearmongering and insecurities that apparently will some of us to believe the cardboard cut-outs have relevance or value to us means the monarchy remains, protected now not by genuine support (which polling shows may be actually in single digits) but fear of the unknown.
Rejecting fear, asserting a mature sense of nationhood and a realistic view of the world are all products of taking the cardboard cut-outs away. These things are difficult to quantify and largely emotional, but they are worth the energy. We have the ability to choose our own head of state. The best time to do so was 50 years ago, when we were out in the cold thanks to the European Economic Community, and the second best time to do so is now. All of the fears of losing the cardboard cut-outs are unfounded – and once they are gone, we will wonder way we hung on to them for so long.