Anything Australia Can Do New Zealand Can Do Bitter

Not only have you forgotten how to play rugby, you appear to have forgotten how to Prime Minister.

Kia ora, Aussies. It’s New Zealand here. Remember us, your fellow ANZACs from across the duhtch? We’re just checking in to see how you’re going, because that’s what mates do when it looks like everything’s going to hell in a hand basket.

Struth. We’re a bit concerned over here. Not only have you forgotten how to play rugby, you appear to have forgotten how to Prime Minister. Or perhaps you’ve just got the two mixed up. For the record, it’s rugby that has the blood bin, not politics.

It was thoughtful, though, to save Julie Bishop the bloodshed of smashing through the glass ceiling. Courteous, aren’t they, your politicians? Saving the little lady from reaching the top of a career she’d devoted 20 years to. What’s a knife in the back when you’re rescued from the shards of glass that decapitated Julia Gillard? Who said chivalry was dead in ‘Straya?

Yup, times that by two and you've got how many years I put in. Image: Getty.

Jokes aside, we’re scratching our heads wondering how you lot fell so far behind. Believe it or not, over here in Aotearoa, we’re onto our third lady Prime Minister. Or, as we call her, Prime Minister. And everything is… just fine. She recently had a baby, actually, and… the country kept on running. The Deputy Prime Minister took over her job while she was on maternity leave, and then handed back the reins when she returned. No drama. No coup. No regicide.

That may not even be the most un-Australian part of the story. The Deputy Prime Minister is Māori. Given that there’s only ever been one Aboriginal minister in your entire history (āue!), that might seem a bit odd to you, but somehow the Parliament doesn’t collapse with Māori in it either. Somehow it manages to settle grievances and pay compensation to iwi (tribes). Somehow it even managed to make te reo Māori an official language of New Zealand. Astounding.

Australian politicians are also a bunch of babies. Image: Getty.

Indeed, I need only look to Australia to feel grateful to be Māori. We have more than three times as many Māori MPs in Parliament this term than you’ve had Aboriginal members of the Federal Parliament in 117 years. We have our fair share of colonial bullshit to be getting on with on this side of the Tasman, but your brand of race relations gives our racists plenty of ammunition to claim that Māori are lucky.

What is lucky, however -- for those of us who love people of the same sex, at least -- is that our Parliament has the courage to pass key pieces of human rights legislation as it does most other legislation; by passing a bill through Parliament. Don’t get me wrong. We have our own bigots, but our politicians had the sense not to embolden them with a plebiscite on marriage equality.

We’d be willing to share our sensible, non-cannibalistic politicians with you, if you’d like to join us. Let’s be honest, the interesting experiment that was Australian self-governance hasn’t gone so well. Prime Minister Ardern would be more than happy to sign off on the peaceful annexation of the West Island.

Sir Richard Hadlee never bowled an underarm ball in his life. Image: Getty.

On the proviso, that is, that you keep your snakes, spiders, ‘Waltzing Matilda’, ball-tampering, underarm bowling cricketers, your nonsensical coins (only you lot would make a $2 coin smaller than a $1 coin) and any surviving Prime Ministers on your side of the sea. And please, for the love of Pavlova, try to speak English properly. It’s fush and chups. Not feesh and cheeps.

There’s no Bledisloe Cup for the country that can score the most own goals, I’m afraid. But, as the West Island, you’ll join a nation with a cabinet full of silverware, a half-decent human rights record and basic political stability.

Repeat after me: God defend New Zealand.