‘I’ve made many mistakes… It’s sort of hard to distinguish one from another.’
There’s something disarming about Paul Goldsmith. It’s in the way the minister for everything (justice, public service, treaty negotiations, arts and culture, and Pacific peoples included) peers over his glasses, answers “yes…” as though he’s admitting to a crime, delivers dry one-liners and stresses odd syllables as he does it. You’d take him for a red wine kind of guy; really, he’s a pale ale man. Spend an hour over a beer with him, and you find there’s more to Goldsmith than first impressions let on.
He’s known for his Epsom ties, but Goldsmith is a Mount Roskill boy from a “simple background”, born to a school teacher and a nurse. His first love was music; he’s been tickling the ivories since his school days and is also a dab hand on the guitar and trumpet. Music took him to Japan as a 16-year-old, where he toured in a string group and played the double bass until his fingers hurt. It was his first time overseas and then he had his first drink. “We all got blind drunk on the first night on sake. It was total chaos. It’s amazing we survived.”
Goldsmith was led to politics “by a series of coincidences”– he went from a National-voting family to the “left-wing paradise” of the University of Auckland, where he earned an MA in history. His first job out of uni was as a historian with the Waitangi Tribunal, and he soon rediscovered his conservative roots after going on to work as a press secretary and speech writer for then-local government minister John Banks (“that was my first encounter with politics, and I’ve been hooked ever since”).
‘People do tend to pigeonhole. That’s one thing you learn in politics: you can’t afford to take it all too personally.’
After bouncing around other ministerial offices, including that of Labour’s then-foreign affairs minister Phil Goff, Goldsmith spent a decade as a writer. He’s penned and co-written a dozen books in his time, including a biography of his former boss Banks and a history of taxes. Unlike many authors, Goldsmith’s career worked out financially, because “I tended to write about people with resources”. He says he’s met plenty of people who would be dream subjects of future biographies, but he shan’t name them: “I don’t want to blow my negotiations.”
There was a stint with Auckland Council in the late noughties, and in 2011, Goldsmith entered parliament. As he nears the end of his fifth term, there’s plenty for the minister to reflect on. Like the highlights: when he campaigned on being “tough on crime” in the 2023 election, law and order was one of the biggest concerns for voters. Now, for the first time in three years, law and order doesn’t appear in the top five issues New Zealanders face, according to Ipsos research . Then there are the lowlights: namely, the entirety of the “pretty grim” 2020 campaign. “That added many years to my life, and also reduced my life expectancy by many years,” Goldsmith sighs. “I survived. There were moments when I didn’t think I would.”
In that time he’s also watched his children – daughters (“my three queens”) and one son – grow and leave the nest. While at times the Goldsmith kids have adopted their father’s interests, mostly in terms of music, shaping them up to be political nepo babies never quite worked. “I tried to get one of my daughters to deliver some pamphlets once, and she said, ‘You know, nobody reads these things,'” he says. Seeing their lives unfold, however, “is like reading the most fascinating novel you could ever read”.
After so many peaks and valleys, does he still think about that time Tova O’Brien turned his fake Māori heritage into a soap opera ? Yeah, it’s probably a bit shit to have the nation laugh at your expense, but does he look back on it and appreciate being part of an incredible moment in New Zealand’s political history?
Goldsmith’s face turns slightly, and he blabbers through a few “I- I- I-“s and “well, well, well”s as he remembers O’Brien’s farewell party from parliament, where she labelled the story a “highlight” of her career. “So I felt honoured in that sense,” Goldsmith says, “but what I did point out is that everybody was saying how wonderful she is, but there was nobody speaking on behalf of the victims.”
“Other people’s anguish is always entertaining,” he laments.
Paul Goldsmith hearing the news that he is Māori.
Before he goes back to his apartment to eat a pie prepared by his wife, there’s something I need to show Goldsmith. There’s a beautiful family portrait of him and The Spinoff team from last month’s NZ Media Awards ceremony, where he was a guest. Despite the broad smiles, he says there’s something he’s feeling slightly bitter about. “I noticed you all hung around to get a proper photo without me,” Goldsmith says, glumly.
Maybe a role with our team could be in his future, Goldsmith suggests. Well, considering it’s pretty en vogue for people with National ties to lead news outlets , my suggestio…
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