Olivia
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Catherine Arrow
@Caanz
Continually curious|Developer of professionals|PR consultant, advocate and educator| Listener, thinker and writer|Sensemaker| Found.Chart PR| FCIPR| FPRINZ
Around the world but NZ's home
Joined August 2008
1.6K Following
1.2K Followers
6.5K Posts
Polite reminder. Trump & Brexit are not 2 different things. They are the same thing. Same companies. Same data. Same Facebook. Same Russians. Same Cambridge Analytica. Same Robert Mercer. Same Steve Bannon. Same Breitbart. Same Alexander Nix. Same Donald Trump. Same Nigel Farage.
Produced by the Dicastery for Integral Human Development and EWTN a video reflection on Magnifica Humanitas, Pope Leo XIV’s first encyclical on safeguarding the human person in the time of artificial intelligence, opened the historic launch event on May 25, 2026 in the Vatican.
Whether it is Winston calling the media “Fake News” and picking fights with journalists, David Seymour manipulating our public broadcasters to suit his interests, or Luxon refusing to appear, the coalition’s approach to the media is anti-democratic.
Link ⬇️
The climate law the Government introduced to stop people suing large emitters is near-identical to a written suggestion from two large emitters. But the Government says it has no record of any such note.
Who to follow
Ana Samways
@AnaSamways
Just a girl in a skirt on a power trip.
Anne Gregory
@GregsAnne
Prof Emeritus, CIPR Hon. Fell. & former President, Fellow Royal Society, Past Chair Global Alliance, Proud Yorkshirewoman. Passionate about professionalising PR
Sparks Consulting Limited
@ConsultSparks
Sparks Consulting Limited is a strategic communications and professional advocacy consultancy based in Auckland, New Zealand. Founder: @SarahPSparks
3. Without full transparency around the extractives sector from permits to disclosure of beneficial ownership, contracts, revenues, payments (including political donations), and social & environmental safeguards, NZers should be very concerned about the current govt approach.
A pleasure to meet with Māori Queen Te Arikinui Kuini Nga wai hono i te po today at Windsor Castle.
BREAKING
The NZ government is changing the law to protect big polluters from both current and future climate litigation.
It’s an unprecedented overreach of executive power and a constitutional aberration that reveals the extent to which the coalition government prioritises profits over people.
Trumpian template indeed - spot on from @mjdutt
Eight months from one complaint to abolition.
How a coordinated far-right network — The Platform, NZ First, ACT, Free Speech Union — took down NZ's only media regulator with statutory teeth.
The Trumpian template, rehearsed in Aotearoa.
https://t.co/FPl4FxrBpc
Ani O’Brien is a key node in a far-right disinformation network magnifying Trumpian techniques and verified foreign interference accounts. Her attacks on media, academics, civil society, politicians from the margins is part of the blueprint. Blog post below⬇️
https://t.co/paSOKlU0jr
💯@mjdutt: “at stake is…whose voices occupy the most powerful interpretive positions in a state-owned broadcaster before a general election in which the governing coalition is increasingly relying on the techniques of the international far right to manage public discourse”
The Maiki Sherman resignation isn't a story about one journalist. It's a story about the photocopy of the Trumpian ecosystem being assembled in Aotearoa. Ani O'Brien is a core node in that structure.
Blog post below. #nzpol
https://t.co/IvmEAb5QMH
Rabbi Dovid Feldman:
“we are here to bring the Jewish voice in support of having Israel accountable for these crimes taking place in Gaza and Palestine. What is going on this genocide is unacceptable. This is against humanity and Jewish people. We are embarrassed”
IN PRAISE OF FRANCESCA ALBANESE
There is a question that visits me in the small hours, when sleep will not come and the mind turns over old stones. The question is this: “What would I have done in the 1930s, on the morning after Kristallnacht?"
Not what I say I would have done. Not what I hope I would have done. But what would I actually have done—when the trains began to run, when the neighbours grew quiet, when the cost of decency became the loss of everything?
Most of us, I think, would have done little. Not from malice. From fear. From the soft, creeping conviction that someone else will speak, that the situation is complex, that we must be 'reasonable'. Lest we forget, the ordinary is the extraordinary's alibi. And how we have clung to that alibi! How we still cling to it!
And then, every once in a terrible while, someone appears who does not cling. Someone who steps forward when others step back. Someone who speaks the name of the thing when everyone else is busy naming something else.
Francesca Albanese is that someone.
She stands before the world—alone, unarmed, armed only with law and language and a rare courage—and she says what the centrists will not say, what the foreign ministries will not say, what the editorial boards will not say. She says: "This is a genocide. And we are watching it happen."
Do not tell me that is hyperbole. Do not tell me the term is contested. She has not used it lightly. She has used it as a physician arrives scientifically at a diagnosis—not to wound, but to warn. Not to inflame, but to name.
And for that, they have come for her. Oh, how they have come for her. Smears. Investigations. Vicious editorials. Frozen bank accounts. Dispossession of the only apartment she had ever owned. The machinery of the respectable turned to crush her. Because the respectable cannot abide what she represents: a mirror held up to their complicity.
Let us, once again, travel back to the 1930s. Back to the few who stood up when the trains began to run laden with Jewish people.
There was Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a Portuguese consul in Bordeaux. He defied his own government. He signed thousands of visas, by hand, for hours, until his fingers bled. He saved more lives than Schindler. And he died penniless, disgraced, erased.
There was a German officer in Warsaw named Wilm Hosenfeld. He hid a Jewish pianist in the rubble. He did not save thousands. He saved one. But that one—Władysław Szpilman—carried the memory. And memory is "the only haven from which we cannot be expelled."
There was Raoul Wallenberg. There were the villagers of Le Chambon. There were the anonymous, the quiet, the furious few who said: “Not on my watch.”
Francesca Albanese is their heir. Not because she carries a gun. Not because she hides refugees in her basement. But because she does something equally dangerous in a world that has perfected the art of not seeing. She sees. And she speaks.
She does not speak as a diplomat. Thank Goodness she doesn't! Diplomats have given us the language of "there are arguments on both sides" and "restraint" and "proportionality." Diplomatic language is the perfumed grave of moral clarity. No, she speaks as a jurist. As a human being. As a woman who has looked into the abyss and refused to call it a "complex geopolitical landscape".
Edna O'Brien once described a character who "had the recklessness of those who have already lost everything worth losing." Francesca Albanese has not lost everything. She has her dignity, her office, her voice, her family. But she has calculated the cost of speaking truth to power. And she has decided that that cost is infinitely less than the cost of silence.
What is that cost? Let us name it. She has been called antisemitic—she, who stands on the ground of international law forged in the ashes of Auschwitz and the fires of Nuremberg. She has been called a conspiracy theorist—she, who cites every source, every footnote, every UN resolution. She has been called naive—she, who understands better than most the machinery of realpolitik.
These accusations are not arguments. They are the spittle of the threatened. Because Francesca Albanese threatens something very precious to the powerful: the right to commit atrocity without being named.
Friends, the 1930s did not arrive with jackboots and pogroms on day one. They arrived in small increments. With "reasonable" restrictions. With "proportional" measures. With the silence of the respectable.
We tell ourselves that we would have been different. That we would have been Sousa Mendes. That we would have been Wallenberg. But most of us, I fear, would have been the neighbours who later said, "I didn't know."
Francesca Albanese knows. And she refuses to pretend otherwise.
So let us praise her. Not with statues or awards she does not seek. But with something harder: with our own refusal to look away. With our own voices, raised in places that are safe for us but dangerous for her. With our own bodies, if it comes to that.
A brave woman, who was injured while demonstrating outside a US nuclear military base in 1982, the infamous Greenham Common, had told me that "the heart is a hunter for what it cannot have." But I say the heart is a hunter for what it will not lose. And what we will not lose is the memory of those who stood up when standing up cost everything.
Francesca Albanese is standing up now. In our time. In our name. Under our indifferent sky.
Let us stand with her.
Not tomorrow. Not when it is safe. Now.
[Extract from a speech in Athens on Sunday 3rd May 2026]
![yanisvaroufakis's tweet photo. IN PRAISE OF FRANCESCA ALBANESE
There is a question that visits me in the small hours, when sleep will not come and the mind turns over old stones. The question is this: “What would I have done in the 1930s, on the morning after Kristallnacht?"
Not what I say I would have done. Not what I hope I would have done. But what would I actually have done—when the trains began to run, when the neighbours grew quiet, when the cost of decency became the loss of everything?
Most of us, I think, would have done little. Not from malice. From fear. From the soft, creeping conviction that someone else will speak, that the situation is complex, that we must be 'reasonable'. Lest we forget, the ordinary is the extraordinary's alibi. And how we have clung to that alibi! How we still cling to it!
And then, every once in a terrible while, someone appears who does not cling. Someone who steps forward when others step back. Someone who speaks the name of the thing when everyone else is busy naming something else.
Francesca Albanese is that someone.
She stands before the world—alone, unarmed, armed only with law and language and a rare courage—and she says what the centrists will not say, what the foreign ministries will not say, what the editorial boards will not say. She says: "This is a genocide. And we are watching it happen."
Do not tell me that is hyperbole. Do not tell me the term is contested. She has not used it lightly. She has used it as a physician arrives scientifically at a diagnosis—not to wound, but to warn. Not to inflame, but to name.
And for that, they have come for her. Oh, how they have come for her. Smears. Investigations. Vicious editorials. Frozen bank accounts. Dispossession of the only apartment she had ever owned. The machinery of the respectable turned to crush her. Because the respectable cannot abide what she represents: a mirror held up to their complicity.
Let us, once again, travel back to the 1930s. Back to the few who stood up when the trains began to run laden with Jewish people.
There was Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a Portuguese consul in Bordeaux. He defied his own government. He signed thousands of visas, by hand, for hours, until his fingers bled. He saved more lives than Schindler. And he died penniless, disgraced, erased.
There was a German officer in Warsaw named Wilm Hosenfeld. He hid a Jewish pianist in the rubble. He did not save thousands. He saved one. But that one—Władysław Szpilman—carried the memory. And memory is "the only haven from which we cannot be expelled."
There was Raoul Wallenberg. There were the villagers of Le Chambon. There were the anonymous, the quiet, the furious few who said: “Not on my watch.”
Francesca Albanese is their heir. Not because she carries a gun. Not because she hides refugees in her basement. But because she does something equally dangerous in a world that has perfected the art of not seeing. She sees. And she speaks.
She does not speak as a diplomat. Thank Goodness she doesn't! Diplomats have given us the language of "there are arguments on both sides" and "restraint" and "proportionality." Diplomatic language is the perfumed grave of moral clarity. No, she speaks as a jurist. As a human being. As a woman who has looked into the abyss and refused to call it a "complex geopolitical landscape".
Edna O'Brien once described a character who "had the recklessness of those who have already lost everything worth losing." Francesca Albanese has not lost everything. She has her dignity, her office, her voice, her family. But she has calculated the cost of speaking truth to power. And she has decided that that cost is infinitely less than the cost of silence.
What is that cost? Let us name it. She has been called antisemitic—she, who stands on the ground of international law forged in the ashes of Auschwitz and the fires of Nuremberg. She has been called a conspiracy theorist—she, who cites every source, every footnote, every UN resolution. She has been called naive—she, who understands better than most the machinery of realpolitik.
These accusations are not arguments. They are the spittle of the threatened. Because Francesca Albanese threatens something very precious to the powerful: the right to commit atrocity without being named.
Friends, the 1930s did not arrive with jackboots and pogroms on day one. They arrived in small increments. With "reasonable" restrictions. With "proportional" measures. With the silence of the respectable.
We tell ourselves that we would have been different. That we would have been Sousa Mendes. That we would have been Wallenberg. But most of us, I fear, would have been the neighbours who later said, "I didn't know."
Francesca Albanese knows. And she refuses to pretend otherwise.
So let us praise her. Not with statues or awards she does not seek. But with something harder: with our own refusal to look away. With our own voices, raised in places that are safe for us but dangerous for her. With our own bodies, if it comes to that.
A brave woman, who was injured while demonstrating outside a US nuclear military base in 1982, the infamous Greenham Common, had told me that "the heart is a hunter for what it cannot have." But I say the heart is a hunter for what it will not lose. And what we will not lose is the memory of those who stood up when standing up cost everything.
Francesca Albanese is standing up now. In our time. In our name. Under our indifferent sky.
Let us stand with her.
Not tomorrow. Not when it is safe. Now.
[Extract from a speech in Athens on Sunday 3rd May 2026]](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/HHsnlr9WIAEr4Cw.jpg)
If the objective was to get kids to school and up the attendance Chippy was on the money.
If you offered a kid a chicken burger or that bullshit that Seymour’s serving up I’m pretty sure I know what they’re going to choose.
Epic fail @dbseymour
Given Luxon’s corporate background in the US it is understandable and inevitable where his affinities lie. But for a NZ PM to be blind to the perils and moral jeopardy of US strategic alignment is politically fatal.
Rod Emmerson c/o Banksie crystallises it perfectly.
China says it does not recognize US sanctions on Iranian oil purchases and will not comply with them.
The Government is planning to weaken legal obligations to the Treaty of Waitangi. (The quote is from Ministers Goldsmith and Jones). Thought about calling this “Eraserhead”
My #cartoon today #NZpol #ToitūTeTiriti #TreatyOfWaitangi #TeTiritiOWaitangi
Good stuff from Q&A - but sadly illustrates once again how inept and incapable Luxon is as PM.
Brilliant. The PM is an absolute coward, a hypocrite and a charlatan.
Tough economic conditions for media companies, failures around the Official Information Act and online harassment of journalists seem to be indicators for why NZ's press freedom score has fallen
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