APIAPE: Agents of Private Interest, Architects of Public Erosion

Exposé File: Judith Collins

Papakura MP, National Party | Attorney-General, Minister of Defence, Minister for Digitising Government

One Omnibus — Many Blows; Others — Targeted Erosion

Collins’ record shows two tactics: an omnibus power grab that changes many Acts at once (Legislation Amendment Bill), and a set of targeted bills that concentrate authority or remove safeguards in specific domains. Together, they weaken oversight, accuracy, access, equity, and democratic participation.

Judith Collins: Smoke, Silence, and State Control

From Dirty Politics to Data Erasure — and Now Defence Deployment

Attorney-General of Antipathy · Minister of Control · Legislating mistrust behind a veil of reform

Image source: Beehive.govt.nz

Current Portfolios

In 2021, Judith Collins told her party that the 2023 election would be an “easily winnable” one if National focused on “the things that matter.”1 Labour collapsed; National scraped back — but not with a mandate for reform. What followed was not repair, but reconsolidation: more portfolios, more central control, and a legislative approach that looks like “tidying up” while quietly dismantling safeguards.

Everyone knew Labour was at its lowest — battered by pandemic fallout, executive overreach, and a deep loss of public trust. Even unlikely voters crossed the line. A Samoan Christian friend of mine, who strongly opposes abortion, voted National — despite knowing the party had openly supported abortion access. She didn’t check the policies. She simply joined her church friends in backing what they saw as the only alternative. That’s how far Labour had pushed the public.

But National didn’t win on a surge of policy brilliance. They rose on the back of Labour’s collapse. Collins had claimed the election was “easily winnable” if National “focuses on the things that matter to New Zealand – to those Kiwis who deserve more.”1 But what followed was not a substantive policy offering — it was a media blitz. Collins proudly promoted the campaign’s metrics: “Our billboards have been seen almost 4.5 million times… Our Facebook posts have been seen by almost 1 million New Zealanders.” No real repair plan. No structural response. Just billboards, slogans, and a waste of public attention and party resources.

Despite all that — the polls, the media saturation, the collapse of Labour — National still didn’t win outright. There was no clean mandate, no decisive majority. They struggled across the line, requiring two uneasy partners to govern: ACT, a fringe party by most public measures, and Winston Peters, a figure many believed had exited the stage. It wasn’t a victory powered by confidence. It was a return brokered by collapse, stitched together through desperation.

Now, back in Cabinet with a record number of portfolios, Collins hasn’t changed course. She has proposed the repeal of the Plain Language Act — one of the few legal tools supporting public understanding and accessibility. She has pushed the Legislation Amendment Bill — a structural rewrite shifting power from Parliament to executive direction. She has advanced the Public Service Amendment Bill — politicising senior roles and weakening worker protections. And through the Defence (Workforce) Amendment Bill, she now authorises the armed forces to replace civilian workers during lawful strikes.

Together, these bills form a pattern: the systematic centralisation of power, the quiet dismantling of checks and balances, and the blurring of lines between public service, executive control, and military obedience. Each one arrives dressed as “administrative reform” or “efficiency.” Each one removes a layer of democratic oversight. What she once did through political games, she now does through legislative architecture.

Her governance is not about chaos; it is about control by calm — a surface of order concealing erosion underneath. She speaks of tidiness, but what she delivers is exclusion. She calls it streamlining, but it is narrowing. She legislates in the language of efficiency, yet every move expands executive reach.

From racial dog whistles to bureaucratic rollbacks, Collins isn’t here to serve. She’s here to finish what she started — a long strategy of centralised power, strategic confusion, and silencing public voice under the pretext of reform.

“She wasn’t planning for progress — she was planning for control. And she still is.”
— APIAPE Analysis, 2025
1 Source: Thomas Coughlan, NZ Herald – 8 August 2021

Concentrated Power, Familiar Patterns

As of 2025, Collins holds an unprecedented seven ministerial portfolios spanning national security, public service, digitisation, and legal oversight. This makes coordinated, multi-target erosion easier: one instrument can be aimed at many safeguards at once.

Such concentration would alarm any healthy democracy—especially given Collins’ record of partisan aggression and ethical controversy. From “Crusher Collins” to the Dirty Politics resignation, her method blends leverage, centralisation, and narrative control.

Her return to Cabinet doubled down on that method: repealing accountability measures like the Plain Language Act, pushing deregulation, and embedding executive reach into the machinery of government.

"She doesn’t just legislate power — she gathers it, concentrates it, and shields it from challenge."
— APIAPE Analysis, 2025

This is no return to normal — it's a reconsolidation of power by one of New Zealand’s most controversial political figures. And unless publicly challenged, it risks becoming the new norm.

From Collapse to Command: The Astonishing Return

Judith Collins was forced to resign from Cabinet in 2014. She was removed as party leader in 2021 after a failed power grab. Yet in 2025, she holds more ministerial portfolios than anyone in government — including full control over defence, intelligence, legal oversight, digital systems, and the public service. If this rise is deserved, then Collins must be one of the most brilliant, ethical, and trusted politicians New Zealand has ever seen — a strategic mastermind and a democratic icon. But if that’s not true, then her return reveals something far darker: a political system that rewards aggression, forgets disgrace, and hands centralised power to those most willing to wield it without question — or worse, a system so compromised it protects its agents, conceals its agendas, and elevates those who serve its deeper interests.

Public Service Amendment Bill: Political Control of the Bureaucracy

Bill: Public Service Amendment Bill (Government Bill 190–1)

Formal Submission by: Ukes Baha — Read the full submission, and Why this bill erodes neutrality & accountability.

Where This Bill Erodes Safeguards

“A politicised public service serves politics, not the public.”
— Ukes Baha

Submission deadline: 31 August 2025

Legislation Amendment Bill: Omnibus Power Grab

Bill: Legislation Amendment Bill (Government Bill 152–1)

Formal Submission by: Ukes Baha — Read the full submission, and Why this bill erodes safeguards.

Key Impacts on Safeguards

Safeguard
Effect on safeguard
Parliamentary oversight
Broader presentation/disallowance exemptions (s 114; Sch 3) reduce scrutiny.
Accuracy & authority
PCO liability shield for agency-provided material (s 146A) weakens certainty.
Public access
Fees/levies and refusal-to-act until paid (ss 148–151) risk paywalls in practice.
Democratic timing
Complex commencement & revocation pathways (ss 77–77A; Sch 1) blur “when law applies”.
Scope of debate
Expanded revision powers (s 96) shift substance into secondary legislation.
Accountability chain
Delegation to contractors/secondees (s 133) diffuses responsibility.
“When many doors are opened at once, watch what slips through.”
— Ukes Baha

Plain Language Repeal Bill: Silencing Through Confusion

Bill: Plain Language Act Repeal Bill (Government Bill 132–1)

Formal Submission by: Ukes Baha — Read the full submission, and Why this bill erodes safeguards.

Why This Bill Matters — And Why It Was Opposed

Omnibus effect: Presented as one repeal, it destabilises several systems at once—accessibility, equity practice, Treaty engagement, and public participation.

“Language is power. When clarity is lost, so is trust. This repeal is not reform — it’s erasure of public voice.”
— Ukes Baha, Submission on 132–1

Defence (Workforce) Amendment Bill: Militarising Labour Disputes

Bill: Defence (Workforce) Amendment Bill (Government Bill 200–1, Minister in charge: Judith Collins)

Formal Submission by: Ukes Baha — Read the full submission, and Why this bill erodes democracy & rights.

Key Impacts on Safeguards

“Democracy falters when power hides behind uniforms and silence.”
— Ukes Baha

Submission deadline: 05 October 2025, 11:59 pm

Party of Decline, A Vessel of Decline

Judith Collins didn’t inherit a disciplined political machine — she led a party in collapse. In 2021, political analyst Dr Bryce Edwards described National as plagued by “low standards,” highlighting scandal after scandal involving fake CVs, sexual harassment, spying allegations, bullying, and outright incompetence among MPs and candidates.2

Collins played the face of reform — but enabled the rot to remain. When confronted with the Jake Bezzant controversy, she shifted blame to Party President Peter Goodfellow, who had allegedly ignored internal warnings about the candidate’s conduct. National, under Collins’s watch, failed to act on abuse claims, vetting failures, and toxic behaviour — then used internal silence as a shield.

Bryce Edwards was blunt: “National will achieve no long-term operational success until its members demand accountability from those they elect to run the party’s affairs.”2 But Collins wasn’t demanding accountability — she was redistributing it. Her leadership didn’t confront dysfunction. It codified it.

Four years later, his warning has proven true. National has not achieved long-term success — it has achieved long-term damage. Not only have they failed to reform, but they have taken their dysfunction into government. What were once internal crises have become national policies — eroding public rights, removing safeguards, and fast-tracking reforms designed to benefit private interests, not the people.

With no structural plan and no moral centre, the party now governs as if it’s on borrowed time. Their focus is not on national repair, but on securing private exits: policies that benefit future board appointments, foreign deals, and personal legacies — not public service.

“She didn’t fix the party — she masked its decay and pushed it harder.”
— APIAPE Analysis, 2025
2 Source: Bryce Edwards, NZ Herald – 4 June 2021

The Aotearoa Referendum Dog Whistle

In 2021, while trailing in the polls, Judith Collins endorsed the idea of a public referendum on the use of the name “Aotearoa” — a move widely criticised as dog-whistle politics. Under the guise of democratic consultation, Collins targeted a name deeply rooted in Māori history and identity, igniting a wave of cultural hostility across the country.

What followed was not healthy debate, but a surge of anti-Māori rhetoric. Te reo was dismissed as a “dead language,” Māori labelled “savages,” and public figures like Matthew Tukaki and Māni Dunlop received racist abuse at home and on air. The fallout, documented by RNZ and others, exposed how such gestures legitimise racism and retraumatise a population still healing from systemic cultural erasure.

Despite her public insistence that the media was driving the conversation, Collins repeatedly amplified the issue — from referencing viewer polls to tweeting out surveys supporting her narrative. There was no official proposal from the Government to change the name of the country, yet Collins devoted substantial public airtime to framing it as a pressing national concern. Her Kaikōura MP, Stuart Smith, had raised the idea — and Collins ran with it. [Source]

In an attempt to soften her stance, Collins later told RNZ she was “very happy” calling the country Aotearoa and personally relaxed about the name. Yet she still pushed for a referendum — not to resolve a real issue, but to signal one. That contradiction reveals everything: this wasn’t policy, it was provocation. [Source]

“People say awful and extremely hurtful things on social media. Opening kōrero around race only gives them the opportunity to share their racist views on Māori.”
— Phoebe Sullivan, Māori law student

Multiple Māori commentators and academics warned that Collins’s tactics echoed the divisive rhetoric of Don Brash’s 2004 Orewa speech — a political strategy that trades long-term social wellbeing for short-term political gain. Her silence in the wake of the harm only confirmed what many suspected: this wasn’t about consultation, it was about provocation.

“This is politicians creating an operating environment that emboldens these racists.”
— Matthew Tukaki, National Māori Authority

Research from the New Zealand Medical Journal has shown clear links between racism and poor mental health outcomes for Māori. Acts like Collins’s referendum stunt aren’t neutral — they’re socially corrosive. And in a country where cultural resurgence is linked to wellbeing, such attacks are more than symbolic. They’re dangerous.

Ngahiwi Apanui of the Māori Language Commission put it plainly: “If Judith Collins wants a referendum on the use of Aotearoa, she might regret that.” The data shows overwhelming public support for te reo — not just in urban centres, but in rural regions like South Canterbury.

Yet Collins’s political legacy remains: platform division, stoke resentment, retreat when the damage is done.

Judith Collins and the Cost of Loyalty

Judith Collins's leadership of the National Party exposed deep flaws in internal culture, accountability, and candidate vetting. Her handling of the Jake Bezzant and Nick Smith scandals reflects a pattern of deflection, tolerance of abuse, and media-focused damage control rather than principled governance.

The Bezzant Scandal — A Candidate Who Slipped Through the Cracks

Jake Bezzant, the National Party's 2020 candidate for Upper Harbour, faced serious allegations of impersonating his former partner and sharing explicit images of her without consent. While Bezzant denied the claims, they were widely reported and deeply concerning. Yet it was only after the allegations became public that Judith Collins distanced herself:

"He’ll never be a candidate for us again." — Judith Collins3

This response, though forceful on the surface, highlights a deeper failure: Bezzant was allowed to represent the party in the first place. Collins's annoyance seemed aimed more at the media attention than the misconduct itself:

"We're getting on with the job... it's frustrating to talk about people who've never been elected."

Such comments minimise the importance of candidate vetting and suggest a reactive leadership style—one that prioritises optics over principles.

Nick Smith, Yelling, and the Normalisation of Abuse

Senior MP Nick Smith retired amid an employment inquiry into a verbal altercation with a staffer, which was recorded and reported to Parliamentary Services. Collins downplayed the incident:

"Yelling at a staffer isn't a sackable offence."

She also portrayed Smith as a victim of public scrutiny and internal "pettiness," deflecting attention from the serious nature of the complaint. Her stance reinforced a permissive culture within the party—where abusive behaviour could be excused if it came from the right people.

Strategic Leaks and Selective Silence

When questioned about whether she had warned Nick Smith of an impending media leak that may have prompted his resignation, Judith Collins refused to confirm or deny. Multiple sources alleged that she had tipped him off, consistent with reports that she had warned her caucus of an unnamed scandal in advance3.

Collins later stated, “If I ever hear of any media interest in any of our MPs I will always let them know”4. This remark appeared to confirm that she did warn Smith—contradicting her earlier evasiveness and raising further concerns about internal crisis management. Smith himself had resigned believing a damaging media story was about to break, though no such article ever appeared. The resulting confusion reinforced the perception of instability and manipulation behind the scenes.

Her refusal to be transparent fed speculation that Collins prioritised internal political calculation over due process. It was not the first time she had been accused of managing crises behind closed doors rather than addressing issues head-on.

These episodes paint a clear picture: under Judith Collins’s leadership, the National Party was mired in evasive responses, selective accountability, and a loyalty-first approach to misconduct. The cost of such leadership is not only public trust but long-term credibility.

Denial, Division, and the Treaty as a Weapon

In May 2021, Judith Collins responded to a damning Newshub-Reid Research poll by rejecting the result outright: “I don’t believe the numbers.” Despite a 12.8-point collapse in her preferred prime minister rating, she insisted her leadership was “safe” and claimed that people were “coming up” to her in support. This dismissal of democratic feedback in favour of anecdotal praise revealed a deeper issue — not just denial, but detachment from political reality.

More concerning was the narrative she used to rally support. Collins accused the Labour Government of pursuing a “secret agenda” and a “radical interpretation of the Treaty of Waitangi,” invoking the phrase “separatism by stealth.” These were serious public allegations — framed as warnings about a covert constitutional shift.

Whether such a secret agenda existed under Labour is not for us to confirm or deny. What is undeniable, however, is that Collins herself went on to pursue exactly the agenda she had accused others of hiding. In the years that followed, she championed and enabled political actions aimed at redefining the Treaty relationship — from endorsing ACT’s Principles of the Treaty Bill to supporting deregulatory moves that weakened environmental and cultural protections, promoting fast-tracking legislation that sidelined community consultation, and defending privatisation strategies that removed public accountability from decisions impacting our land and resources. The supposed “secret agenda” she warned the country about became the very one she enacted in plain sight — a coordinated shift toward centralised authority, commercial access, and the erosion of Tiriti obligations through legislative reinterpretation.

This inversion — to raise the alarm about a dangerous agenda, then deliver it — is not merely hypocritical. It is strategic misdirection. By accusing others of what she was preparing to do, Collins deflected scrutiny while laying the groundwork for a broad ideological shift: the erosion of constitutional partnership, reframed as public defence. This is not leadership. It is manipulation of narrative to justify the dismantling of rights.

Flag of Convenience: Judith Collins and the Agenda She Enabled

Judith Collins didn’t just accuse others of pushing a “secret agenda” to undermine the Treaty of Waitangi — she went on to carry out that same agenda herself. After warning the public about separatism and radical constitutional change, she backed the very measures that weakened Treaty protections, gutted public consultation, and handed more control to private and ministerial interests. What she accused others of doing, she delivered.

This wasn’t leadership. It wasn’t ideology. It was compliance — first for money, later for survival. Like so many others in the system, Collins started by serving the interests that offered the most power and reward. But when public trust began to collapse — when the people saw through her — that trust didn’t bring correction. It brought acceleration. Selling out became easier, even necessary. Once you’ve lost the people, there’s nothing left to serve but yourself — and those who still pay you.

Winston Peters is another example. Once laughed at for returning to government for a pension, now defending foreign investor agreements and standing proudly beside those dismantling the Treaty he once claimed to protect. When popularity is gone and ridicule sets in, many don’t resist corruption — they double down. They don’t act out of conviction. They act out of access, resentment, and the promise of a comfortable retirement.

This is how the system works. The party name becomes irrelevant. The faces change, but the sell-out continues. What Judith Collins represents is not an exception — it's a cycle. A cycle where early ambition turns to quiet obedience, and public rejection becomes the final push into full betrayal. Not by accident. But because there’s still something to gain — even after everything is lost.

3 Source: Derek Cheng, NZ Herald – 3 June 2021
4 Source: Sarah Robson & Katie Scotcher (RNZ), NZ Herald – 4 June 2021
5 Source: NZ Herald – 17 May 2021

Churchill, Collins, and the Machinery of Colonial Memory

In August 2021, Judith Collins made headlines for defending a portrait of Winston Churchill in Parliament. The painting had been moved to make space for new artwork by renowned tangata whenua artist Marilynn Webb. But Collins didn’t just disagree — she lashed out. “He belongs in Parliament,” she insisted, describing Churchill as a symbol of moral leadership who stood against fascism. Then, with a trademark flare for false equivalence, she asked: “Do they want Stalin up there?” 6

But the deeper truth was never about Stalin. Or Churchill. Or even one portrait. It was about power — whose legacy gets protected, whose voice gets erased, and what version of “New Zealand identity” is being enforced. Collins wasn’t defending history. She was defending hierarchy. Churchill’s presence on our walls wasn’t about shared heritage — it was placed there to preserve colonial hierarchy.

Churchill has no meaningful connection to Aotearoa. He didn’t liberate this land. He didn’t uplift our people. What he did do was uphold systems of British dominance that harmed all the migrants, Indigenous people, and even New Zealand settlers in Aotearoa. His policies contributed to mass death in Bengal, brutal repression in Kenya, and division across Palestine. His memory doesn’t represent freedom — it represents colonial propaganda, taught in classrooms that erased the harm while glorifying the flag.

Collins’s outrage wasn’t about art. It was about cultural control. The same instincts that drove her to push for an “Aotearoa referendum” — stoking settler discomfort with Māori names — were at work here too. In both cases, she positioned herself as the defender of an old national frame: British, narrow, top-down. This is not about respect for history. It is about freezing the story at the point most comfortable for colonial nostalgia.

Who we honour in public space tells us who we are willing to become. For Collins, defending Churchill is part of a broader political strategy — protect the symbols of empire while resisting change, diversity, and accountability. It’s why she supported repealing the Plain Language Act. It’s why she undermines Treaty partnership. It’s why she elevates settler myths while dismissing living histories.

“This wasn’t about Stalin. It wasn’t about Churchill. It was about visibility — who gets remembered in Aotearoa, and who gets erased.”
— APIAPE Analysis, 2025

In a sovereign Aotearoa, Churchill’s portrait doesn’t belong on our walls — it belongs in a truth-telling classroom, as a case study in how empire manufactures memory. Replacing him with the work of a Māori artist wasn’t an erasure of history. It was the beginning of remembering properly. Collins’s reaction reveals exactly why that shift is so necessary.

6 Source: NZ Herald - 11 Aug 2021

Blaze of Fury: The Collapse of Her Leadership

In November 2021, Judith Collins’s reign as National Party leader ended not with grace — but with combustion. Her decision to demote rival Simon Bridges over a years-old private comment triggered a backlash so fierce, her caucus removed her within 24 hours.7

The episode was classic Collins: aggressive, sudden, and framed as a moral stand — yet transparently political. She didn’t consult her colleagues. She acted alone, leveraging sensitive information to kneecap a rival. The resulting chaos confirmed what many inside and outside the party already feared: Collins wasn’t leading a team. She was playing a game of dominance — one that eventually consumed her.

Her fall was not an aberration. It was the culmination of a leadership style built on fear, calculation, and spectacle. And though she was voted out, the same methods — narrative control, deflection, manufactured outrage — returned with her in Cabinet. The flames never went out. They just moved under the door.

“She left leadership in a blaze of fury — and came back with even more fuel.”
— APIAPE Analysis, 2025
7 Source: The Guardian – 27 Nov 2021

Legacy of Damage: The 2014 Resignation

In August 2014, Judith Collins resigned from Cabinet after allegations she undermined a public servant via leaks to right-wing blogger Cameron Slater. This was part of the Dirty Politics scandal, which exposed media manipulation and political attacks from within National. Though later reinstated, the incident revealed a method of operating: silence opponents, bypass transparency, and wield personal power through back channels.

"Her resignation wasn’t an anomaly — it revealed her method."
— APIAPE Historical Note

What You Can Do

Every case documented strengthens public memory—and demands accountability.
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