Election 2026: Guy Fawkes brought gunpowder, Parihaka offered bread – Jonathan Ayling
November 5 marks two significant events. The older is more widely known, mostly because of its association with dazzling displays of combustible colour.
Yet, in addition to Guy Fawkes, November 5 is also the day on which we commemorate the invasion of Parihaka, in 1881, by 1600 Crown troops.
Both of these historic events, one 145 years ago, the other 421 years ago, offer lessons in how we respond to governments we oppose.
In three days, come Sunday morning, millions of New Zealanders (just about 50%, if polls are to be believed) will wake up disappointed, angry or worried about the future of our country, whichever way Saturday’s election goes.
The results will determine markedly different directions for New Zealand. Policies concerning taxation, government expenditure, race relations, the public service and education will have significant consequences for our future.
Yet, while I certainly don’t underestimate these differences, we should not pretend the divisions of our era are unique. History offers examples of profound disagreements and dramatically different ways of responding to them.
The Gunpowder Plot of 1605 was an attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London, with King James I as its primary target.
For decades, English Catholics had suffered persecution following England’s break with Rome under Henry VIII. Catholics who refused to conform to the established church faced ruinous fines, confiscated property and imprisonment. Priests were hunted, tortured and executed. Despite years of patience, persuasion and political manoeuvring, their circumstances had not improved.
Similarly, nearly three centuries later on the other side of the world, another community confronted injustice at the hands of the Crown.
At Parihaka, Te Whiti-o-Rongomai and Tohu Kākahi led a community of Māori who had suffered the confiscation of their ancestral lands. Those who resisted were arrested, hundreds were imprisoned without trial and their peaceful protests were met with increasingly aggressive government action.
While the circumstances were different, the injustice they faced was similar. Both communities had compelling reasons to oppose the authorities responsible for their suffering, yet the responses were strikingly different.
In England, Robert Catesby concluded that peaceful means had failed. He devised a conspiracy to place 36 barrels of gunpowder beneath the House of Lords, intending to kill England’s political leadership. Famously, Guy Fawkes was discovered (asleep) guarding the explosives.
But in Taranaki, Te Whiti and Tohu chose another course. Rather than seeking to violently oppose those responsible for their suffering, they organised peaceful resistance. Their followers ploughed confiscated land and rebuilt fences removed by government forces, repeatedly submitting to arrest rather than abandoning their cause.
On November 5, 1881, when about 1600 armed men marched on Parihaka, they were greeted by singing children and women offering bread. There was no armed resistance, yet the Crown nevertheless arrested the settlement’s leaders, expelled residents and destroyed homes and gardens. Te Whiti and Tohu were imprisoned without trial.
Where one group responded to injustice by attempting to kill those responsible, the other refused to surrender its convictions, but extended peace even to those arriving to destroy its community.
Admittedly, neither response immediately secured the justice being sought. Indeed, the Gunpowder Plot intensified persecution of English Catholics and the peaceful resistance at Parihaka ultimately failed to reverse the confiscations.
But the difference reveals something profound about the responsibilities we retain towards others, even when we are treated unjustly. And it’s worth noting that in 2017, the Crown formally apologised to Parihaka, acknowledging that it had “responded to peace with tyranny”.
These histories have lessons not only for those resisting political authority, but also for those exercising it.
In the upcoming parliamentary term, whoever forms the next Government should make a particular effort to engage with those communities most affected by the policies they intend to pursue, especially those who opposed their election. Winning an election gives politicians the authority to govern, but it also places on them the duty to listen.
Governments must be wary of becoming so convinced of their own vision of society that they cease to take seriously the convictions of those who oppose them. An election victory confers the authority to govern, not a monopoly on wisdom.
When ministers pursue constitutional reform (whether abolishing Māori seats or entrenching the Treaty of Waitangi), they should engage directly with those who fear its consequences. If they restructure government services, they must pay particular attention to those whose lives and livelihoods will be affected.
When I ran a national advocacy group, I met with dozens of ministers. Almost all already agreed with us – the conversations we most needed were with those who did not.
Over the past term, some ministers have already shown this courtesy to those who oppose them: ministers Stanford, Watts and Brown should be commended. But this engagement must be more than a consultation exercise after decisions have effectively been made, as we see too often.
Don’t get me wrong: this isn’t simply a call to sing Kumbaya and be kind. Having raised $85,000 this election, I am far from indifferent who wins. But it’s exactly at times like this, when the game is close and the results matter, that we remember why we play the game according to certain rules.
And why, even if it doesn’t go our way, we should be glad to live in a democracy.
Jonathan Ayling is a strategy consultant and professional director. He is the former chief executive of the Free Speech Union (NZ), an Act Party supporter and donor, and has worked as a ministerial staffer and senior Parliamentary adviser in both Government and Opposition.
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