When Jacinda Ardern appeared on New Zealand television to promote her memoir A Different Kind of Power, host Hilary Barry opened the segment by saying, “She’s been interviewed by some of the best in the business about it, the BBC, CBS, Oprah even, but she’s still got time for us too.” Ardern smiled and replied, “Are you kidding? This is actually the one I’m the most nervous about, because it’s home.”
Then came the telling line. “Every time I do a New Zealand interview, I message Clarke and say I’m feeling a bit squirmy.”
It is no surprise. Abroad, she is met with applause. At home, she is remembered as the face of division and government overreach.
There is a hint of self-awareness in her discomfort. Perhaps she understands, on some level, that while she presents an image of compassion and unity to the world, many New Zealanders are still living with the consequences of the decisions her government made.
Her memoir and media tour are not just about storytelling. They are a calculated attempt to reshape her reputation, assisted by a global media that rarely questions her narrative. Ardern wants to be remembered as a unifier. But many recall her leadership as defined by control, exclusion, and distrust.
Her government presided over one of the most polarising periods in modern New Zealand history. Families were split. Friendships ended. Citizens were separated not by belief, but by whether or not they complied.
The vaccine rollout became a symbol of coercion. Many lined up not out of trust in the science, but out of fear of losing their jobs. When asked in 2021 about creating a two-tier society, Ardern replied, “That is what it is.”
Those words should never be forgotten. Nor should the rules that followed, rules that restricted movement, participation, and access to basic services, all sold under the soft message of kindness.
“Be Kind” became a national slogan. In practice, it meant “do not question.” Millions of dollars were spent on communication campaigns, compliance measures, and policing so-called disinformation.
Entire departments were formed to manage speech. These were not built for clarity. They were designed for control. Disinformation initiatives were stacked with far-left activists more interested in silencing opposition than protecting truth.
When thousands of New Zealanders marched to Parliament to voice concern, they were ridiculed and ignored. One senior minister described them as a “river of filth.” That same minister now leads a union that claims to stand for workers. The irony is obvious.
Her defenders often cry misogyny when she is criticised. Yes, women in politics face abuse. That does not mean all criticism is sexist. Where were those defenders when women on the political right were vilified? Nowhere. Because the issue was never gender. It was ideology.
Under Ardern’s leadership, the New Zealand Bill of Rights was breached. Police were given authority to enter homes without a warrant. Courts found aspects of her government’s pandemic response unlawful. None of this gets mentioned during her international interviews.
In her conversation with Barry, Ardern was asked whether she still felt she could return to New Zealand given the lingering resentment. Her answer came quickly. “Of course, New Zealand is home.” But her nervous laugh and clipped tone revealed something more honest. For all the praise overseas, she knows her standing here is unresolved.
The Royal Commission of Inquiry into the pandemic response is moving into its final stage. It may provide a more honest evaluation of her government’s actions. Whether that evaluation is accurate or softened remains to be seen.
But if Jacinda Ardern writes another memoir, a more appropriate title might be The Authoritarian: How I Left New Zealand Divided and in a Mess.
