In this series, the team each offer a big-picture strategy for food & fibre. 

Two very different people asked me the same question recently: What should I do with my life now? 

One was nearing retirement after a successful career. The other a mum considering her newfound freedom after the toddler years. 

Both conversations bogged down quickly. This was complex stuff, after all – a matter of trawling through life experiences to weigh up the countless options open to them. So we tried another approach. 

Forget about “what” the right choice is. Let’s consider “how” you’ll choose instead.   

That reframe was electric. In minutes they had the outline of a plan. For the retiree, that included professional coaching, a national road-trip to reconnect with admired friends and a deliberate step out of the comfort-zone – in this case immersion in Te Ao Māori. 

When Einstein said “we can’t solve our problems with the same thinking we used to create them”, I’m pretty sure this was what he was talking about. Stepping back to come at the problem differently. To consider how, not what. 

Maybe I’m just on the lookout for examples of  how, not what – but I keep seeing them everywhere. 

In Atomic Habits, author James Clear offers some confronting advice. Ignore goal-setting and focus on building better everyday habits and systems. Having had SMART goals drilled into me since childhood, I nearly choked on my Weetbix when I read that. But on reflection, the argument holds up. 

Daily systems – like going to the gym, eating right, reading more etcetera – are what actually move us forward, not the New Year’s resolution. Any farmer will tell you the same – get the inputs right and the outputs will fix themselves. Save your pennies, and the pounds will save themselves. Work on the business, not in it. 

I saw”how, not what” in the Sinai desert on my Nuffield global experience. Living in some of the toughest conditions on earth, the people of the Neot Samadar rural community were running a thriving business stretching across hospitality, tourism, renewable energy, horticulture, education and branded health products. 

When I asked to see their business plan, they said they didn’t have one. Their culture – the “how” – is the engine of their business success. 

Individuals are encouraged to explore new diversifications, with their ideas reviewed through a long consensus decision-making process with the whole 400-plus person community. Leadership roles change regularly to give emerging members opportunities to grow. Time together as a group is prioritised above anything that happens on farm. In this system, their business success happened almost by accident. 

Back here in the New Zealand food and fibre sector, we have a new goal. It’s a good one too. To double the value of our exports in the next 10 years.  

The leadership system tasked with achieving that goal is now 34 years old. The dust had barely settled on the rubble of the Berlin Wall when the Commodity Levies Act was signed.

Back in 1990, we went through a system-change – part of a series of deeply painful reforms, but in this case, worth it. That change set up the sector bodies that enabled three decades of production gains and growth. The success we enjoy today is a direct result of that decision to change the system.  

But more production won’t get us to a doubling of export value. No chance. Instead, we’ll need to do new things. Like building a shared data exchange so producers only have to input data once. Or a verifiable national food story that makes NZ food and fibre products genuinely stand out to global consumers. Or a workforce system that improves the retention rate of new staff – at least up to the national average. Or a sector-wide pathway to find and invest in great talent and future leaders. Or a land-use change pathway to help producers diversify and stay viable as markets and our climate changes. 

I’m not convinced that our current leadership structure, despite being staffed by some phenomenal Kiwis, can overcome its inbuilt silos and develop these kinds of sector-wide future systems. 

So I’m in support of KPMG and AGMARDT’s proposal for The Common Ground, a collaboration platform where our 150-plus industry-good organisations can pool resources and people around our mega challenges and opportunities. 

A disclaimer here: I’m deeply biased. I provided comms support on this project. But I took the job because I believe this kind of work – to build better systems – is what will ultimately enable a doubling of export value in the constrained, complicated world we find ourselves in.

To quote Clear, “We don’t rise to our goals. We fall to our systems.” If we’re not prepared to have a serious conversation about system-change in this sector, then our grand goal is meaningless. 

In this series, the team each offer a big-picture strategy for food & fibre.

This series started with a late-night thought experiment over Zoom. As Kiwis, we can be quick to criticise those at the top – at least if talkback radio on a Monday morning after an All Blacks loss is anything is to go by. Readers of this column will know that we’re not short of hopes and ideas for New Zealand’s food & fibre sector. What would we do, then, if we were handed the keys to the Ministry for Primary Industries’ offices and safe, or asked to take responsibility for a strategy to take this sector to the next level?  

In the next few weeks, you’ll hear from Phil, Daniel and guest writer for the month Kate Scott on their approach to big food & fibre strategy. For now, you’ll have to make do with me.

Here’s a strategy to double New Zealand’s primary sector over the next decade – none of which relies on telling our story better. I call it “40-30-10 & 20 to pump”. Terrible name aside, it’s a series of food & fibre investment portfolios ranging from safe to smart to risky, with a reserve fund to quickly reinforce winning bets. Let’s go through it.  

The first 40% would be safe investments in the commodity sectors that keep the lights on. The expected gains from these investments would be small, but achievable, and will make a difference to many food & fibre people. 

As an example, this would come in the form of continued investment in dairy and meat production efficiency – like pasture research, animal health science or market-led certification systems. 

The next 30% would be smart investments. These would also focus on significantly increasing production, productivity and operating margins, by experimenting with more novel technology or market approaches. 

This could include initiatives that capture additional value, like a programme to accelerate the development of Plant Variety Rights or protein equivalents like Lumina lamb. Another example would be High Density Growing Systems, like those emerging in our horticulture sector, which have the potential to double fruit yield per hectare whilst keeping operational costs low. 

These investments wouldn’t be as safe or immediately achievable as the commodity plays, but offer the promise of significantly more value. 

A large part of the “30% smart” play would focus on de-risking the adoption of technology like robotics or remote collars to improve productivity. For example, many primary sector businesses struggle to find people for manual tasks – so an incentive scheme would be trialled whereby New Zealand agri-tech companies would be paid minimum wage for every human hour they replace (to a point). 

This would enable producers to invest more time in developing their people to upskill from doers to decision makers. For the “30% smart” portfolio to work, we’ll need fewer people mowing orchard lawns and more people experimenting with High Density Growing Systems. Fewer people getting the cows in and more people using precision data services to apply fertiliser, monitor biodiversity or certify their produce. A return would be expected from these investments within five years. 

The final 10% would back a series of risky bets that, should they come through, would place New Zealand at the forefront of global agriculture. Given the relatively small investment, these areas must be chosen carefully and should leverage our strengths – like our deep knowledge of pastoral systems or our potential to produce an abundance of affordable, renewable energy. 

The government’s role would be to invest in chunky capital projects that unlock innovation, a good example being the Ruakura milk dryer in Hamilton – a big-ticket investment in dryer capacity that unlocked the ability for many innovative exports derived from sheep and goat milk. 

The goal of the “10% risky” portfolio is to transition from bulky, low-value exports to high-value products that don’t require much (if any) shipping. Success would be measured by the weight of exports per dollar earned. We could be world leaders in the IP behind precision fermentation, reducing ruminant methane emissions or gene editing. 

Investment in these areas acts as a natural hedge. If they succeed, we ride a new wave of innovation. If they don’t, we can continue to rely on our pastoral systems to prop up our exports. Better to disrupt ourselves than wait for someone else to do it to us. 

Finally, the “20% to pump” fund would act as a reserve – ready to reinforce any success across the safe, smart and risky portfolios through rapid, global commercialisation of new breakthroughs. 

As we gear up to double our exports over the next 10 years, we’ll need a strategy that covers all angles and keeps us at the front of market and technology changes. “40-30-10 & 20 to pump” might do the trick – but its first investment should be in finding a better name. 

In this series, the team reflect on what the Olympics mean for NZ ag.

Every four years, our family dinner table morphs into the International Olympic Committee boardroom. The topic up for debate: which sports “feel Olympicy” enough to step into the global spotlight, and which don’t. 

It’s always a chaotic discussion. Full of flip-flops, inconsistencies and flagrant exceptions for our favourite sports. It’s messy and I love it. 

To bring a little order to the verbal judo, we quickly turned to Uncle Google for some ground rules. How do the International Olympic Committee (IOC) and host cities actually determine which codes make the cut? 

In short, there are three broad requirements a sport has to meet. There’s the functional, straightforward stuff like logistical feasibility, rules to judge by and the chance for all nations and people to legitimately have a go.

Then the powers that be consider popularity, global reach, heritage and the sport’s long-term trajectory as an Olympic code. Also relatively straightforward. 

It’s the last requirement that got tongues wagging. New Olympic sports need to “uphold the integrity and enhance the image of the Olympics” and “adhere to the Olympic values”. Open another bottle. We’ll be here a while.

So the duel begins, each of us taking aim at the many inconsistencies that make up the modern Games. 

Like, how is basketball an Olympic sport? It has its own World Cup (which itself lives in the shadow of the NBA), so doesn’t need the Olympics to serve as the pinnacle of the sport. That said, it’s pretty hard to look past the 20-million Americans who watched this year’s final – more than double United States viewership for the men’s 100m final. Or the game’s massive and growing popularity around the world. The Olympics is big bucks – not just for the IOC, sponsors and host cities, but the media and hospitality spots who depend on it.

Or sport climbing. Although only started in the 1980s and has a small following even today, it was a surprise fan favourite, beating out long-time stars like athletics and sailing in Google search traffic. So much for heritage and popularity, but in this case a risk worth taking. 

Or pistol shooting or archery. Can you have athletic integrity without raising your heart rate? Does that matter when both codes generated two of the most meme-worthy stars of the 2024 games – making the competition more relevant for the TikTok generation? 

Cricket is set to return in 2028 in the T20 format. I’m not sure how the KFC Big Bash fits with Olympic integrity, but we’ll see. 

Heard of flag football? I hadn’t until now. Set to debut in 2028, this non-contact version of American gridiron has only US and Canadian professional leagues, but is growing rapidly in other Western countries. It actually looks like a lot of fun, but is soured by whispers that NFL lobbying efforts have put it in play for 2028. Not great for “enhancing the image” of the hallowed Games. 

As we parried arguments, and attempted to draw longer and longer bows, the family finally synchronised. No one wants the extremes. The Games shouldn’t stay tethered wholly to the ancient traditions – frankly, that would be boring and devalue the human achievement in new sports. But there must be limits too – no one wants a repeat of the 1912-1948 years when painting, sculpture, and architecture were medal-worthy pursuits. That’s just weird. 

It was decided that the IOC’s approach to new sports is probably about right. Accept that the process is going to be messy but keep trying bold new stuff with the original values firmly in view. Retaining the right to U-turn helps in a pinch too. If there is a lesson for NZ ag in Olympic sport selection, it’s probably that. 

So what about e-sports (competitive video gaming)? Our parting shot of the evening was to evaluate this strange new contender for the Olympic spotlight. Surprisingly, e-sports ticks a lot of Olympic boxes. It’s massively popular and globally accessible – promising to expand the Olympic pull to younger generations. It has a qualification and rules structure that could fit the Games, but lacks a pinnacle event that the Olympics could well provide. 

It feels counter-intuitive, but the code has plenty of traditional athletic achievement elements – player’s heart-rates hit 180+ beats per minute (on par with motor-racing drivers and necessitating plenty of gym time) – and teamwork, training and hand-eye reflexes are paramount. While it lacks a long-standing heritage, it’s not much younger than sport climbing, BMXing or skateboarding. 

On paper, it’s hard to argue that e-sports doesn’t deserve a spot. But it doesn’t quite feel “Olympicy”, does it? Maybe the next generation will argue differently.

By Rebecca Scown, guest columnist on Eating the Elephant this week, is a former rowing World Champion and a holder of two Olympic medals, the 2012 Bronze and 2016 Silver.

In this series, the team reflect on what the Olympics mean for NZ ag

I have vivid memories of my childhood on the farm. Most of my days were spent unsupervised – building huts, riding motorbikes and ponies, raising calves and lambs, hitching sleds to cars, and of course, lighting the occasional fire. I was lucky that such good, clean fun defined my early years. 

When I was four, our horse stud transformed into a dairy farm. The horses, along with my carefree weekends and Christmas mornings, were soon replaced by early starts in the milking sheds. 

This transition stands out in my memory. I didn’t enjoy it much – perhaps because it signalled my shift from carefree childhood to work and all the responsibility and new mindsets that come with it.  

Becoming an Olympian was never something I envisioned as that farm kid. Watching the Olympics on television, I saw the athletes as superhuman – certainly not people from a dairy farm in Taranaki. 

While sport was something I loved, I didn’t stand out at all athletically growing up. Attending a small primary school didn’t help – at one point we had a roll of only eight kids, three of whom were my brother, my sister and me. 

At that size, we weren’t even able to form teams for most sports. So I soon found myself drawn to swimming and spent hours going up and down the pool, knowing even then that you had to work hard to see results. Looking back, that was just one of many lessons the farm helped me to learn that would prove invaluable in my Olympic rowing career.

Another lesson learnt growing up on the farm was to take initiative. If a job needed doing, simply get on with it. Don’t wait for someone else and make room to blame others or shirk responsibility. In my Olympic career, that self-reliance and responsibility looked like heading out for a three-hour cycle or logging an extra 30 minutes on the rowing machine, on top of a hard week of squad training. 

It’s about refusing to take the easy option over the one that will see you win in the end. It’s surprising how, even at the elite level, many athletes struggle to be honest with themselves about their how efforts and performance match (or don’t).

The next lesson the farm taught me, however, was that self-reliance has limits too. From my time covering for others in the milking shed, relying on neighbours, competing in Olympic teams and working with others post-sport, I’ve come to understand how vital strong, supportive teams are for reaching goals and truly enjoying the journey.

I recall clearly a breakthrough session with my Under-23s coach, Marion Horwell, when the rhythm and timing finally clicked. We were trying to achieve a more efficient rowing action – putting the catch in at the “off beat” and “riding the boat”. 

Marion’s excitement when I “got it” was electric. It made me excited too. From then, that rowing rhythm locked in me for life, and my timing in the boat turned into one of my best assets.  

The final lesson from the farm is about getting comfortable with failure and change. My London 2012 pair partner Juliette (Haigh) Drysdale and I had been World Champions for two years at that stage. We were used to winning. This time, though, we found ourselves beaten in our heat by five seconds to a crew we’d never lost to and with a disappointing time. 

We had a choice in that moment. Change what we were doing, or stick to what we had always done. Accepting that a change was necessary, we worked on our technique and race plan – executing in the final to come away with the bronze. The ability to stop, re-assess and adapt helped us to focus on what actually made the boat go faster – rather than wasting time on a once-promising, but ultimately flawed path.

Since competing at the Olympics, you could say I’ve come full circle. These days, I run a charity called Youth Experience Sport (YES) in London, supporting disadvantaged young people to develop life skills through sport – as opposed to calf raising, motorbike riding and light arson.  After all that sport has given me, helping young people benefit in the same way is incredibly rewarding. 

Even now, I feel those first years on the farm guiding me. London and the Olympic spotlight might seem a long way from a Taranaki milking shed, but not for me. 

In this series, the team reflect on what the Olympics mean for NZ ag.

Watching the Olympics from the couch, it can be easy to forget that for every gold-medal dream realised, the lives of dozens of athletes just hit a brick wall.   

The talent of these athletes is something to marvel at. Someone wise once likened this talent to being graced with a black stallion – full of raw power, but it takes a lifetime to learn to ride the thing. 

As spectators, we witness thousands of hours of repetitive training come down to a single performance. For many athletes, the outcome of that race is everything, and it can all be over in seconds. 

It’s easy to miss as one surfs the channels. Before I know it, the camera pans off the athletes and it’s onto the next race – or I’m off to the next channel. Their time in the spotlight is over. 

The spotlight lingers a little longer for those who win a gold medal. And so it should. That athlete has just reached the pinnacle of their career, capping years of discipline and sacrifice. 

Over the course of their sporting career, an athlete refines a process that drives their success. This process becomes almost automatic in the heat of competition. Each day offers a chance to fine-tune this process in pursuit of those critical seconds – a small tweak in nutrition, a change in technique or a new pre-race routine. 

As the Paris Olympics come to a close, many athletes will enter a period of deep reflection and face the inevitable question, ‘What comes next?’ 

What does the future hold after reaching the heights in a very specialised discipline? 

Some will chase further glory. Others will choose retirement and accept that the time has come for a new life. Often, this means going from the peak of one profession to the bottom of another. A shift that comes with operating in the “real world”, with entirely different expectations. The sporting world is straightforward, it has a clear purpose and a simple goal: win. Goals in the real world are much harder to measure. 

I have witnessed many who have gone from the top of their game to struggling with the mundane realities of life after the competition stops. This is not ring-fenced to sport. Talk with many in the farming community who have achieved serious accolades or awards, and you will hear similar stories. Some were burnt out. The time, effort and intense focus they had placed on success took the love from what they do. 

A transition can be messy. In the short term, many look like a dog chasing a car as they learn a new job or non-competitive workplace relationships through trial and error. 

In my view, those who make a successful transition learn how to play the long game and recalibrate their meticulous process to match. They craft a new vision, away from competing with peers to making big leaps in their new chosen area. Much of this comes with finding new purpose within their chosen pursuit. 

I can’t help but feel like New Zealand’s primary sector is at a similar point to hundreds of high-performance athletes in Paris right now. With a mantelpiece full of previous golds in the agriculture race, do we choose to chase further glory with a simple goal of doubling the value of our primary exports over the next 10 years, or pivot to some new vision – prepared to be a novice again, as we reach for a new purpose? 

In this series, the team reflect on what the Olympics mean for NZ ag.

Sitting down with a cup of tea and a Superwine biscuit (time’s too poor for baking and too tight for toffee pops) and surfing the Olympic channels, it is hard not to get caught up in the Olympic movement. 

Every four years and despite all the very real conflict and turmoil in the world, we come together and compete. 

As New Zealanders, the Olympics reminds us that we do a number of things very well, like rowing, pastoral farming, canoeing and women’s rugby. We are reminded that while we are a little fish in a big pond, we can move fast and bite back when the contest and conditions are to our favour.  

On a per capita medal basis, we punch a long way above our weight – sitting alongside our pastoral pals Ireland and Australia but, as expected, behind the places where our exports mostly go: China, the United States and Europe. 

It’s the variety of the nations (and possible export destinations) competing that excites me as a farmer. Despite the Olympic Village’s attempts to promote a plant-based diet, I am sure the 10,500 Olympic villagers would have a strong interest in naturally produced beef, lamb and dairy products, in addition to the fruit and veg on their plate. 

Our great Kiwi missions – diversifying our markets and winning more golds, silvers and bronzes – share some similar traits.  Medals in the easy-to-understand and well-traversed sports, like track and field’s 1500m or the marathon, bring significant kudos but won’t be where our future medals are won. 

Looking ahead to the Los Angeles Olympics in 2028, we’ll naturally keep our grip on rugby sevens, cycling, canoeing, sailing and rowing excellence. But an increased haul will likely come from small pivots to the obscure and the niche sports. 

The addition of cricket and squash will provide opportunity with our heritage and tradition – but to earn more golds, silvers and bronzes, we should aim our effort and high-performance investment at the niches. 

BMX and mountain biking could be a start, and Emma Twigg has suggested already that ocean sprint rowing could be her next venture – an obvious low-hanging niche for a nation of oarsmen and -women.

In looking to these niches, we will need to remember that the medals count, even where there is little hype or superstardom. While we may aspire to the sports that attract global pop icon Snoop Dogg donning an equestrian suit carrying an Olympic torch (in a parody of his love of smaller cylindrical things that burn),  actually competing in these arenas will likely be a long way out of our depth. We are still a small fish, after all. 

Our bling in new niches will likely come from the sports we have hardly heard of. And to reap the benefits of these sports or markets we will need to do more than make an armchair effort to understand judo over three late nights of tea and biscuits. 

To compete in new sports, and new markets, we will need to immerse ourselves, we will need to understand deeply the culture and customs that might initially seem peculiar but which provide the life force to the sport and any trading relationship. 

In learning these disciplines and the art of the new sport or business culture, we will have invested the time and earned the right to compete for gold. It will be this discipline and respect for the custom that will keep us out of an MMA cage or a race-to-the-bottom commodity auction, where we can certainly make a dollar but no Olympic medal will be won. 

Let’s not be distracted and flick to Snoop at the gymnastics. Let’s focus on the small pivots that can yield better results. Let’s continue to do what we are good at, playing where we can win, and be brave enough to take a calculated risk and enter news fields of play.

Ideas That Grow Podcast | Rachel Baker: Insights from the Nuffield Global Focus Programme

Halfway through the 2024 Scholarship Programme, Scholar Rachel Baker gives us a unique perspective from inside Nuffield. Rachel speaks with Bryan Gibson, Farmers Weekly managing editor, about some of the similarities and differences between the farming systems in the countries visited so far with New Zealand’s.

She discusses insights from Indonesia’s farming industries, France’s love of food, Denmark entering an emissions scheme, California’s water challenges and Chile’s low rates of Research and Development.

This is a must listen for anyone considering a Nuffield Scholarship.

In this series, the team find a lesson in history for NZ ag.

Learning the boundaries of a new farm is a strange feeling. A fence line separates otherwise identical land and defines my area of responsibility. 

Nature doesn’t understand boundary fences, as evident by the bush and rivers that sprawl through these manmade features. 

Little to no economic value is assigned to these bush blocks and waterways when purchasing a new block, but the expectation to manage these areas is growing.  

These areas of native bush and water bodies could be considered common assets as they are a shared resource for all New Zealanders. 

The resulting effects of management, be that positive or negative, have a large impact on the wider community. 

A simple example is water quality – many people value swimming in a clean river and drinking a healthy cup of water from the tap.

This situation sits in the long shadow cast by two seismic historical trends. 

The first is the tragedy of the commons. This historical phenomenon occurs where individuals, acting in self-interest, overuse or deplete a shared resource to the detriment of the whole. 

There are many historical examples related to agriculture. In medieval Europe, individuals would opportunely graze communal pastures. This system worked until every villager had a sheep, leading to overgrazed land and reduced productivity.  

The second stems from a period of British history known as the Enclosures, when common land, open to all local people for grazing animal and growing crops, was consolidated into individually owned farms. 

One motivation for this move to privatisation was to allow for increased productivity through private investment in land. Landowners had a direct incentive to improve their property because they reaped the full benefits of doing so. 

Centuries later, we are grappling with challenge of how to balance individual responsibility and property rights with the collective good that comes from sustainably managed common assets. 

We trade on our clean, green image, boasting some of the most accessible natural attractions, and recreational fishing resources that many envy. 

The nation’s shared resources – its waterways, native bush, and agricultural lands – are under increasing pressure from both rural and urban demands.  

Close to half the land area of New Zealand is used for food and fibre production and this is split across roughly 50,000 farms. Another one third is managed by the Department of Conservation, with the remaining 20% made up of other uses including urban areas. 

Food producers manage their common areas with private funds and the Department of Conversation manages its area with under 1% of the government’s budget. 

New Zealand also has an increasing urban population. Slightly more than eight out of 10 people currently live on less than 20% of New Zealand’s land area and all future growth is expected to come from the same urban areas. 

The demands of our urban stakeholders cannot be lost as we meet the expectations of our international consumers, but expectations need to be rational given 80% of our natural resources are expected to be managed on a shoestring budget.

Modern solutions are required to solve these long-standing historical challenges. Some, such as catchment groups, are breaking new ground in managing common assets. 

Others, like ecosystem services, are still in their infancy. Both require philanthropy and public funding due to the gap between what people say and what they are willing to pay for managing common assets. 

Despite this, I remain hopeful for a market-driven solution that effectively aligns perceived demand with funding for those managing these shared resources.

Our boundary fences do not exist when it comes to managing common assets. Have a conversation with any food producer and you will see that they care about their land. 

An unwritten rule for many is leaving the land in a better place than they found it, but farmers can’t be expected to shoulder the responsibility of managing these shared resources sustainably, particularly given contemporary financial and logistical burdens. 

The right mix of regulation, education and incentives are required to finally break free of the “tragedy of the commons”  and Enclosures scripts – and write something new.

By John Foley, a guest columnist on Eating the Elephant this week, lives near Lincoln in Canterbury and works in the seed industry. 

Recently, there has been much commentary on New Zealand’s infrastructure deficit. Costed at more than $200 billion and growing year on year, it is becoming a severe limiter to our future economic prospects. Experts tell us our chronic under-investment is, in essence, robbing the future.  

A change in government brings this issue into focus and is always a good time to reflect on what NZ governments do best –  defunding the previous government’s projects and policies.  

With every election cycle there is a bonfire, driven by ideology as much as good governance. Think climate change legislation, Three Waters, replacement ferries, Auckland’s light rail project, the NZ Battery project at Lake Onslow, school builds (for example, Rolleston College’s second campus), Northland’s rail revitalisation, and numerous cancelled roading projects, to name but a few. 

Regardless of where you sit on the political spectrum, or whether these projects and polices had merit, the wastage in terms of human endeavour and taxpayer dollars is staggering – $65 million spent on consultants for Three Waters, the Auckland light rail project had $228m invested up to its cancellation, with nothing built, and then the $484m sunk into the replacement ferry project before it was halted. 

In their place, new projects will be initiated, consultation undertaken, timelines developed, consultants engaged, and funding allocated – just in time for the next change of government. Then the cycle will repeat.  

In another age, we were good at large-scale, complex infrastructure projects. In the 10 years from 1954 to 1964, with a population sitting around 2.9 million, NZ constructed the Auckland Harbour Bridge (from 1954), the Benmore Dam (from 1958), and started the Manapōuri Power Scheme (1964). 

These vast projects were uniquely challenging and required innovation. During the construction of the Benmore Dam, the cost of steel rose. With costs ballooning, the Ministry of Works encouraged innovative thinking to solve the problem – instead of steel penstocks, the engineers decided to use enormous precast concrete ones, made on site. This method had never been used anywhere else in the world – but still the project was completed, with no political scandal.  

Over this 10-year period there were three changes of government: National until 1957 (Holland), Labour until 1960 (Nash) and National again to 1972 (Holyoake).  We had a national consensus on infrastructure, the government had expertise in the Ministry of Works, and projects had a high degree of co-ordination between the government and business.

What has changed? Undoubtedly NZ had a much greater degree of social cohesion in those days. The two degrees of separation really did apply and because of this, there was probably a much greater degree of accountability. Politicians had to be more engaged locally and, as a consequence, had a better understanding of the issues – politics was more “bottom up” than today’s “top down” version. 

My father recounted an anecdote that captures this. He was a member of Waimate Federated Farmers for many years and was at a woolshed meeting attended by Colin Moyle, minister of agriculture at the time. 

Moyle answered questions and when asked ones he could not answer would simply say “I don’t know the answer to that.” Farmers respected him for his honesty.  They expected and received open dialogue directly with a minister; there was no spin or deflection. 

In those days, farmers could influence the decision-makers through direct engagement and politicians were open to frank discussion – their ideology wasn’t hard wired.  

This is called pragmatism. In a political sense, this means doing things because they need doing, or because they are the right thing to do. 

Senator Robert Kennedy (snr) was actually a hardnosed pragmatist rather than the liberal he is remembered as. In his political career he shifted from conservative aide in Senator Joe McCarthy’s congressional hearings into communist sympathisers, to advocating for the advancement of civil rights, peace in Vietnam and the United States’s rural poor. 

Kennedy was a pragmatist. He fundamentally changed his politics to reflect the reality of American society and wasn’t afraid to lose political capital. For modern New Zealand, the pragmatism to build infrastructure and create enduring government policies is hard to find. As a result, things aren’t done. 

Even when projects are clearly needed, we struggle. Things that are more complex and risk political capital such as, mitigating climate change, gene editing, and large infrastructure projects, are placed firmly in the “too hard” basket. If we are to take a lesson from the life of Robert Kennedy, it is to have the courage to be a pragmatist.

In this series, the team find a lesson in history for NZ ag.

First up, some Eating the Elephant housekeeping. After a year of articles, you’ll start to notice a few changes around here. We say farewell to Ben Anderson as a regular writer –  although he’ll drop in again whenever an issue gets his back enough to pull him away from his new farm and other misadventures. Thanks for your contribution, mate. Replacing Ben will be a crew of guest writers, each writing to a particular monthly topic with supporting prattle from Phil Weir, David Eade and myself. We have some interesting topics and NZ ag folks lined up. As we go through the change, any and all feedback to eating.the.elephant.nz@gmail.com is always valued. Thanks again for reading.

Now onto this month’s theme – a lesson from history for NZ ag. I’ve chosen a light-hearted and straightforward historical period: the lead-up to the First World War. 

The pre-war era was a fast-moving tangle of old and new technology, political movements, ideologies and rapidly shifting social norms. It was a time of tension, friction and a pervasive sense that the order of things was changing fast.   

I think that makes it a good place to find lessons for today’s challenges. Lessons like how the momentum of big systems makes it difficult for individual nations or organisations to do things differently. Or knowing how to spot the few occasions when the general rule that “past performance predicts future performance” doesn’t work so well. But in choosing one lesson from the era for NZ ag, I think the best is a cautionary tale about how rigid decision-making structures fare in a time of rapid upheaval. 

While alliances and arms races were key drivers of the war, it was a collective mindset and the rejection of contrarian opinions that ultimately drove the world over the threshold. It was accepted wisdom in the halls of power that war was inevitable, that war would be short and decisive (like previous wars), that war was a good thing or that the things that won previous wars (like morale and aggressive spirit) would win this war too.  

Combined with outdated policy-making structures that limited dissenting views – like monarchs who overrode their foreign diplomatic efforts – these mindsets tethered nations to the warpath and powered the alliances and arms races. Social scientists would call this path dependency. 

It’s telling that the unsung hero of the war who pioneered combined arms warfare (using troops, artillery, tanks & air-power simultaneously) to break the deadlock of the trenches, didn’t come from the European military or political elite at all. Sir John Monash – “the only creative general produced by the First World War” – was an engineer from a state school in Melbourne with zero interest in organised sport. 

We’ve come a long way and the dedication of food & fibre boards to carve out and protect space for diverse perspectives across gender, age, ethnicity and background is commendable. I anticipate it will go further, with future board seats held specifically for environmental or even AI perspectives. 

Out of the boardroom, the rise of practices like reverse mentoring (where older leaders enlist the support of younger entrants to keep up with trends, technology and other changes) and the breadth of alternative views across rural media, shows the progress we’ve made on valuing the contrary. 

But that said, we need to continue to ask hard, sometimes uncomfortable questions about how our sector makes decisions as conditions change. The Commodity Levies Act is now 34 years old – enacted two years before the first SMS text message was sent, a dairy boom or much mention of climate change. It set up the sector bodies that navigated the turbulence of subsidy-removal and enabled New Zealand farmers to become among the best in the world. 

But nothing lasts forever. Looking back, many of the leadership structures that went into the war didn’t come out. Be they monarchies, civil government or social movements, the sweeping changes around them in liberty, equality, industry, media, national identity and more, were often beyond their abilities to adapt to. 

Today, we face new challenges on a similar, if not greater scale: geopolitical and trade insecurity, climate change, shifting consumption patterns, rampant technological change to name a few. We are fast approaching a historical turning point, where stability is far from guaranteed. At times like these, it is fair and right to explore how our decision-making structures might adapt through change. Nothing should be left off the table. 

AGMARDT’s soon-to-be-released report on recommendations for industry structure will make for interesting reading indeed. 

eating.the.elephant@gmail.com

Aside from the catch-ups, novel ideas and comfort food, Fieldays offers the chance to practise a skill that Kiwis aren’t usually known for – haggling. 

The haggle has an all-too-familiar rhythm to it. Features are communicated and the value is made obvious, before the all-important point of price comes up. Salespeople, armed with freshly printed price lists, fire Fieldays specials in every direction – 5% here, or maybe a push to 15% with flexible payment terms. 

This year, I stepped up the art of the haggle, moving from friendly Fieldays salespeople to the most notorious hagglers of them all: car dealers. 

I was toying with idea of a new electric car (EV) when I walked onto the lot.

The dance started. They went straight for the heart by outlining why an EV was good for me, the family and the environment. Once they could see they had won my heart, they went for my head by throwing features everywhere. 

Then came the all-important point – price. Rather than the token 5% off, this line of cars had close to 50% off the recommended retail price. 

Adrian Orr’s monetary policy is working as intended in our household, so we are in no position to actually purchase a new car this year – but the 50%-off deal made me question raiding the kids’ piggy bank to make something work. 

Off the lot, I started thinking about the many questions that lie behind a discount that big. On the surface, it looks as though a combination of factors have contributed to the decline in EV sales – a tight economy, the looming introduction of newer tech such as hydrogen cars, or a late arrival of cars now clogging lot yards. 

When I dig slightly deeper, however, the sale of electric vehicles paints an interesting picture of the current state of New Zealand. 

One year ago, when I was penning the first article for this column, EV sales were at record highs. Close to 26,000 new EVs were registered over the course of 2023, which is equivalent to somewhere between 25% and 33% of all vehicles registered in New Zealand. 

Fast-forward to today, and sales have flatlined, with only 2000 EVs being added during the first five months of 2024 – less than 4% of the New Zealand “new” fleet. 

Looking at sustainability more broadly than the current price of an EV, it strikes me that  the mood for environmental policy intervention across New Zealand might have changed. The fall in EV sales correlates closely with two big moves from the government: the removal of the clean car discount and the announcement that agricultural emissions will remain outside of the Emissions Trading Scheme. 

The time of clean car discounts and He Waka Eke Noa represented somewhat of a first innings of incentivising change to improve the environment. A first go that may have been directionally correct, but impractical to implement when the theory met reality. 

This second innings has a different feel to it. It seems to be focused on finding solutions that are built on private investment, rather than relying on dished-out, publicly funded incentives. In this innings, purchasing an EV must make sense even when the clean car subsidy is removed. 

I have sat through many presentations recently focused on solving environmental problems; they all end the same way – we know what to do, we just need the funding to achieve it. 

The blocker to funding in a lot of cases is the fact that these solutions rely on someone, usually the government, having to eat the loss to achieve the greater environmental good. The appetite to do that has clearly changed. 

This government is refusing to step in as the funder of last resort – hoping instead that we have reached tipping points where the financial rationales and environmental outcomes have finally lined up. 

Its hope is that the sales pitch from the EV salesperson is strong enough for me to open my wallet without the clean car discount, or that the food & fibre sector can outsmart the methane problem through on-farm efficiencies and some new tech just around the corner.

We’ll find out shortly with the release of the coalition government’s climate plan. 

As for the car, this stellar deal was picked up by my mother-in-law, who already has an abundance of rooftop solar. Adding a well-priced electric vehicle only makes the cost savings more compelling for her. A few panels tipped her decision into the financial-environmental sweet spot, without the need for the taxpayer to eat a cost.  

Our second innings will need a lot more rational solutions like this one.