A Point of Order, or Just a Tantrum?
It’s a scene that plays out in parliaments around the world, but this latest kerfuffle in the House involving ACT leader David Seymour and Speaker Gerry Brownlee has me thinking about the very nature of parliamentary decorum and, more importantly, leadership. Seymour was famously ejected from the House after defending a colleague, Simon Court, who he felt was unfairly dismissed by the Speaker when raising a point of order. Personally, I find the entire exchange rather telling, not just about the individuals involved, but about the broader dynamics of political discourse.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the immediate aftermath. Seymour, rather than simply accepting the ejection, went to the press to describe the Speaker as "obviously very grumpy" and having "a bad day." While I appreciate his loyalty to his party member – standing up for your colleagues is, in principle, a good thing – this response strikes me as more about scoring political points than addressing a genuine procedural issue. In my opinion, when a member of parliament feels the need to publicly label the Speaker as grumpy, it highlights a deeper breakdown in respect, or perhaps a deliberate attempt to undermine the authority of the chair.
From my perspective, the Speaker's initial reaction to Court's point of order, a rather dismissive "Well, you were robbed," certainly didn't set a collegial tone. It's precisely these kinds of exchanges, however, that reveal the underlying tensions within the House. When a Speaker resorts to flippancy rather than a measured response, it can indeed feel like an invitation for further conflict. This is where the responsibility of leadership, both from the Speaker and from party leaders like Seymour, becomes paramount. Instead of escalating, one might hope for de-escalation and a focus on the substantive work of governance.
One thing that immediately stands out is Seymour's justification: "Everyone has a right to raise a point of order, and everyone has a right to be treated well." This is a noble sentiment, and I agree wholeheartedly. However, the way one asserts that right is crucial. Seymour's interjection, which led to his ejection, was framed as a point of order, but his language – "the kind of crap that he just got from you" – was hardly conducive to a respectful debate. What this really suggests is that the line between defending a principle and engaging in personal attack can become blurred in the heat of parliamentary debate. It’s a fine line, and one that seasoned politicians should, by now, be adept at navigating.
If you take a step back and think about it, these moments, while seemingly minor, can have a ripple effect. They can embolden a certain style of confrontational politics, where public outbursts and personal criticisms are seen as badges of honor rather than signs of immaturity. What many people don't realize is that the everyday functioning of a parliament relies on a certain level of mutual respect, even among adversaries. When that erodes, the institution itself suffers, and the public's faith in its ability to govern effectively is tested.
This raises a deeper question: Is this the kind of political theatre we want to see? While robust debate is essential, the constant focus on personal clashes and the ejection of members can distract from the actual policy issues that voters care about. My personal take is that while Seymour might feel he was standing on principle, the outcome – his removal from the House – suggests a miscalculation in strategy. Perhaps a more measured approach, a private discussion, or a more formal complaint would have served his colleague, and indeed the public interest, better than a public confrontation that ended with him being told to leave. It's a spectacle that, while entertaining for some, ultimately detracts from the serious business of running a country.
