Veteran political journalist Barry Soper's career has spanned 12 prime ministers. In this extract from his memoir he recalls how then Prime Minister Rob Muldoon effectively badgered a Labour MP out of office by insinuating he was gay, unintentionally creating an opening for one of the most charismatic leaders in New Zealand history, David Lange.
I guess you could say there was some poetic justice, karma even, in that the man who finally toppled Muldoon was, in some part, created by him. I’m referring to the Moyle affair, which directly led to David Lange’s ascension to Labour MP for Māngere.
Colin Moyle, who died in 2024, was a bit of a mystery and so too were the circumstances surrounding his alleged homosexual activities in the 1970s. According to reports, in June 1975 the then Minister of Agriculture invited an undercover policeman into his car. Homosexual activity between men was illegal in New Zealand at that time but no charges were laid. That didn’t stop the parliamentary rumour mill going into overdrive. The topic of Moyle’s alleged homosexuality emerged in the house a year later, when Muldoon accused him of having an effeminate giggle and then asked the Speaker if it ‘would be in order for me to accuse the member for Māngere of being picked up by the police for homosexual activity’. The die was cast and Moyle, who was married with three children, was effectively badgered out of office.
Little did Muldoon realise at the time that he was helping to expedite the career of his successor as Prime Minister. David Lange stood for the Labour Party in the blue seat of Hobson in 1975, finishing third behind National’s Neill Austin and the Social Credit candidate. By 1977, when he was still in his mid-30s, the experienced barrister had obviously become a little more politically savvy and it was no contest when he was selected as the Labour candidate for that year’s Māngere by-election, after Moyle stepped down. From then, he went from strength to strength, quickly establishing himself as one of Labour’s brightest leadership prospects.
I was at a party at the then TVNZ political editor Dennis Grant’s place, back in the early days of Lange’s parliamentary career. I noticed this very large man in a brown suit that resembled a big top at a circus. He had long, lank, straight hair and wore thick glasses, and was sitting by himself in the corner as this party was happening around him. I knew who he was so I thought I should go and have a chat with him. When initiated the conversation, I could tell immediately that he was grateful not just for the company but also that somebody had taken notice of him.
It was enlightening to me just how innately intelligent and quick-witted he was. I was aware that he was highly regarded among sections of his party but I’d never socialised with him before – it was the first time I got to see firsthand what all the fuss was about.
Lange was the leader-in-waiting and left nobody in any doubt, really, that it was going to be the position that he would soon hold. He was a brilliant debater, the best in the House at that time. Unlike today, there were a number of fantastic debaters. There were many witty, clever but to-the-point orators and Lange was the best of them. He was a showman and was so good with the rejoinders that he would practically reduce his opponents to quivering wrecks when he had a go at them – but it was done far more with humour than it was malice.
Just one year after entering Parliament, Lange challenged Bob Tizard for the deputy leadership of the party, winning the caucus vote by 20 votes to 18. Tizard was miserable about it, because he always saw himself as being a future PM and the defeat dashed any hopes of that. Just one year later, the ‘Fish and Chip Brigade’ (Lange, Michael Bassett, Roger Douglas and Mike Moore), as they became known after a picture in the paper, plotted to overthrow Bill Rowling. It was unsuccessful. Lange resigned as deputy in the wake of that failed coup but the role was put to the vote in caucus again and he won for the second time.
When Rowling failed to deliver the Treasury benches again in 1981, it was seen as inevitable that he wouldn’t lead Labour into a fourth election and Lange duly took over in February. Rowling was a thoroughly decent man but after Bob Jones described him as having a voice like a mouse – and he did have a light delivery – he was forever seen as a bit of a lightweight when it came to public debate, which was probably unfair. During the 1981 campaign, when he was running against Muldoon, we used to go along to Rowling’s campaign speeches. Before he had to get ready to go on stage, he would often go for a jog. I was big into running in those days and I would tag along. He would then do his speech and retire with the media for a quiet drink.
I became very fond of him. He was a clever, kind man. A very human sort of a guy. You have to remember, too, that in 1978 and ’81, Labour won more votes than Muldoon did with National, but we were operating under a first-past-the-post system, so it didn’t matter how many votes you won; it was all about delivering a few swing or weather-vane seats. If you didn’t get certain seats, you weren’t going to govern the country and that was Rowling’s fate. (As an aside, poor old Bill was appointed by Lange as ambassador to the United States. It would usually be a plum job but he ended up having to cop all the flak over the anti-nuclear stance that New Zealand had taken. He was a lonely figure in Washington. I went through once with Geoffrey Palmer and we went to the embassy to see Rowling. I sat down and in a heartfelt, one-on-one interview, he essentially portrayed what a difficult job it was to be the ambassador there, that no one would listen to him. Invitations were sparse. New Zealand was very much on the outside, not just with the American administration but also with other missions in Washington – if they invited Rowling, attention would be diverted away from the purpose of a particular diplomatic party. I don’t think he enjoyed his time there at all.)
Not surprisingly, I saw Lange as a shoo-in for the 1984 election because he was up against a drunken and disorganised opponent in Muldoon. I often travelled with Lange on his campaign trail and witnessed his ability to woo crowds. It was close to an operatic performance. He would take them to a crescendo and then drop his voice down to almost a whisper to make his point, then rise up again. Lange was a virtuoso in front of the microphone and it rattled Muldoon – he realised he was up against somebody he wasn’t able to stampede over in his usual fashion.
During a televised leaders’ debate, Lange praised Muldoon in glowing terms and he mumbled back sotto voce, ‘I love you, Mr Lange.’ Muldoon was being sarcastic and a smartarse, because Lange had talked about being an all-encompassing prime minister and said that he would include everybody, suggesting that there might also be a place for Muldoon in the future. And, of course, everybody took notice of the sneering mumble, because Muldoon was never heard to say anything of the sort in the past. He said it with a scowl and it was right at the end of the debate, so that was virtually the only thing anybody talked about the next day.
Lange was the antithesis of Muldoon in terms of prime ministerial style. While Muldoon was a control freak, Lange didn’t really arrive with an agenda of his own. Michael Bassett called him – and I think it’s probably fair – a vehicle for others’ ambitions. For his first term, at least, he was just happy to go along with Geoffrey Palmer’s manifesto. Of course, if you allow a law professor to write a political agenda for a party, you’re left utterly confused. Even though Lange was a well-regarded lawyer himself, he was, I think, confused about exactly what was going to happen with the Labour Party when it won in 1984.
That said, he felt that the country was ready for his style of leadership and, when it came to his public persona, it was. When it came to his own Cabinet, however, he was not a great leader at all. He had a habit of flitting from one topic to another with gay abandon, leaving people not only confused but frustrated. This habit extended outside of Cabinet, too.
At one parliamentary function, Douglas Myers, the owner of Lion Breweries, approached me to engineer an introduction between him and Lange. ‘No problem,’ I said and we edged our way over to Lange who was holding court with someone, waving his arms about in theatrical fashion. I afforded Myers the introduction and left. They had a brief chat, as was usually the case with Lange, because I don’t think he was actually that comfortable in small talk or engaging with those he didn’t know well.
Myers later said to me, ‘That bloody David Lange. It’s like he’s doing a break dance when you’re talking to him. You know, one minute he’ll be there; the next minute, he’ll be looking somewhere else, flitting over there. Then back to you …’
Myers was unimpressed and said it was the most impossible conversation he’d ever had. I could understand. Lange was not an easy conversationalist. On the odd occasion, he would come down to Bellamys, the bar in the Beehive, and we talked a lot but it was difficult to engage in a long, ideological conversation because he preferred to be jocular. That conversational style flowed into a distracted and unfocused leadership style. He was picked up and carried by the tide, wherever that would take him – and where it increasingly took him was into the world of Rogernomics.
Extracted with permission from One Last Question, Prime Minister, by Barry Soper (Published by HarperCollins Aotearoa NZ), available tomorrow (April 28).
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