As published in The New Zealand Herald, Saturday 21 March 2026
Sitting at the Kiwibank New Zealander of the Year Awards last night, listening to the extraordinary work happening across our communities, it was impossible not to feel both proud and slightly uneasy.
Proud of the depth of talent, commitment and care that exists across the country. Uneasy because so many of those people are operating, or will operate, under a level of scrutiny that feels increasingly unforgiving.
It was a reminder that while we celebrate those who step forward, we are also shaping the environment they step into.
As the election cycle begins to gather pace, the noise starts to build. More commentary. More headlines. More opinion. More scrutiny of every word, every decision, every perceived misstep. It becomes a kind of national sport, analysing, criticising and debating the people who have chosen to step into public life.
But it’s no longer just politicians.
This level of scrutiny now extends across business, sport, education and community leadership, reaching even the very people we were celebrating last night. Founders, CEOs, coaches, principals and local leaders are all operating under a level of visibility that would have been unimaginable even a decade ago.
And while scrutiny is part of a healthy, open society, it’s worth asking a different question. What does it now cost to step into public life in New Zealand? Not financially, but in the broader, more human sense.
Leadership has always been demanding. Long hours, high stakes decisions, constant pressure. That part isn’t new. What has changed is the nature of the exposure.
Today, stepping into leadership means stepping into a fully exposed life. Commentary is constant. Criticism is immediate and often deeply personal. The boundaries between public and private have all but disappeared.
Social media has accelerated this shift. Feedback is no longer filtered or delayed. It is instant, unmoderated and, many times, unforgiving. The threshold for acceptable discourse has shifted too. It’s not just disagreement. It’s often dehumanisation. And it is not confined to politics.
In business, leaders are judged on every decision, every comment, every perceived inconsistency. In sport, entire seasons can be reduced to a moment, a call, or a press conference.
After the 2007 Rugby World Cup exit, the All Blacks coaching group became, almost overnight, public enemy number one. The intensity of the reaction was extraordinary. Some of the comparisons made at the time went well beyond fair criticism, and they landed heavily. It was a stark reminder of how quickly public sentiment can turn.
But that was in a very different media environment. You could turn off the television. You could put the newspaper down.
Today, the echo chamber of the smartphone means the commentary follows you, with push notifications, headlines and opinions arriving in real time, often from hundreds and, in some instances, thousands of people eager to offer a view. That shift matters, because when scrutiny becomes inescapable, it doesn’t just affect those in the role. It can deter others from ever stepping forward in the first place, including the very people we most need leading our country.
Being “public enemy number one” today doesn’t require wrongdoing in a legal sense. It means becoming the focal point of collective frustration that can spill into something more personal. It means having your decisions, your character, and often your personal life reduced to a headline and judged in real time.
And to be clear, there are situations where scrutiny is not only justified, but necessary. When behaviour falls short of expected standards, particularly in positions of trust and when it should be called out. Accountability matters.
But not every situation sits as clearly as that.
Take the recent coverage involving Chris Hipkins, where commentary has extended into his personal life, including criticism from his former partner. It may be grounded in real experiences. It may raise legitimate questions. But it also moves us into more complex territory around what is genuinely in the public interest, and what risks becoming intrusion.
Speaking out about personal experiences can be valid and important. But the way those moments are amplified and consumed at scale can quickly shift from context to spectacle.
That’s where judgement becomes harder.
There is a clear role for robust public discourse. Voters should interrogate policy, leadership and judgement. Boards should challenge executives. Fans will hold teams and coaches to account. That is how systems improve. But when the focus shifts from decisions to personal relationships, from performance to private dynamics, the signal can quickly get lost in the noise.
Even when narratives may be valid, amplification can distort relevance. A comment becomes a headline. A headline becomes a narrative. A narrative becomes a lens through which everything else is interpreted.
I experienced a version of this recently. In an interview, a single word was changed, subtly, but enough to shift the tone of what I had said. In this case, the journalist was thoughtful and corrected it. But it was a reminder of how easily meaning can move. In an environment where judgement is so quick, small shifts can have outsized impact. It is not hard to see why more people may choose to avoid interviews altogether, or default to written responses rather than open conversation.
This is not unique to one person or sector. It is the environment many leaders now operate in. A moment is simplified, amplified and reacted to at speed. Complexity is lost, and context often arrives too late. The commercial reality is that attention drives revenue. Speed drives attention. Nuance is rarely rewarded.
We are also increasingly conflating media performance with leadership itself. Whether it’s Chris Hipkins navigating personal scrutiny, or Prime Minister Christopher Luxon facing criticism for communication style, the judgement lands fast. But managing a media cycle is not the same as leading a country. They are different skill sets, and we are increasingly judging one through the lens of the other.
We should pause and think about that.
Because there is a broader consequence.
We have to be careful not to stifle our talent in pursuit of the perfect soundbite.
If stepping forward means having your words reduced, your intent questioned, and your character debated in real time, some of the very people we most want in public life may simply choose not to participate. And that applies just as much to politics.
We want thoughtful, capable, values-driven people willing to lead the country. But if the environment rewards those best at managing perception rather than those best at leading, we risk narrowing the pool.
Like any system, leadership is governed by incentives.
If the cost of participation increases, more scrutiny, more hostility, more personal exposure, while the perceived rewards decrease, less trust, less respect, less privacy, then the pool of people willing to opt in inevitably changes.
This is not a moral judgement. It’s a structural reality.
The environment shapes the talent.
Those with more to lose may think twice. Those who value privacy, have young families, or have built careers outside high visibility roles may decide it’s not worth it.
Over time, the composition of who steps forward shifts. More hardened. More media-savvy. Perhaps fewer of the quieter, deeply experienced, community-grounded individuals we often say we want.
A friend recently commented that New Zealand’s media environment feels more aggressive than what they see in Scandinavian countries. Whether or not that is universally true, it reflects something in our culture. We are quick to critique. Quick to cut down. Particularly when it comes to politicians. At times, it can feel like a national sport.
None of this is to suggest leaders should be beyond criticism. They shouldn’t be.
Accountability is fundamental. Debate is healthy. Disagreement is essential. We should expect high standards from those in positions of influence. But there is a difference between holding people to account and eroding the conditions that make good people willing to participate at all.
Perhaps the line is this.
Call out behaviour that causes harm. Interrogate decisions that affect others. Hold leaders to account for the responsibilities they carry. But be more considered about how quickly we move into the personal, and more honest about whether it genuinely serves the public interest, or simply satisfies curiosity.
Because the reality is, none of us are perfect.
Leadership involves judgement calls, trade-offs and imperfect information. Mistakes will happen. That is true in politics, business, sport and life. Respect does not require agreement. It requires recognising that the role carries weight, and that the people who step into it are human.
And the environment we create will determine who is willing to lead within it. If it becomes increasingly hostile, personal and unforgiving, we shouldn’t be surprised if the range of people willing to step forward narrows.
And if that happens, it is not just a political issue. It is a societal one. As the election approaches, there will be plenty of debate about policy, direction and leadership. And rightly so.
But alongside that, it may be worth asking a quieter question.
Not just who we want to lead, but what kind of environment we are creating for those willing to try. Because we don’t need to agree with our leaders.
But if we want better ones, across politics, business, sport and community, we may need to think more carefully about how we treat them.
