When discussing her memoir, A Different Kind of Power, the Right Honourable Dame Jacinda Ardern tells an interviewer to “just call me Jacinda.” She brings that same intimate voice to her life story, telling how she grew up in gritty, small-town New Zealand and, at 37, became one of the world’s youngest leaders.
Ardern first got involved in politics as an intern during college break from her communications studies at the University of Waikato. After graduation, she lucked into jobs as a campaign aide and a political adviser before reluctantly standing for Parliament herself. In 2008, she entered New Zealand’s legislative branch at age 28, the country’s youngest MP. When one after another of the Labour Party leadership left — most during failed elections — Ardern assumed party leadership.
Following the 2017 parliamentary elections, Ardern agonized for days not knowing if her Labour Party could assemble enough votes to govern. Finally Winston Peters, leader of New Zealand First, a more business-oriented party, announced his decision to join with Labour and form a government. That meant Ardern would become New Zealand’s 40th prime minister, its third woman leader and that nation’s youngest.
As Ardern writes, “We did it. I did it. Yes, I was the prime minister.” Then she adds ruefully, “And I was also pregnant.” Her condition wasn’t a total surprise. Ardern and her partner, TV presenter Clarke Gayford, had been trying. Seeing it as her last chance to become a mother, Jacinda had undergone fertility treatments without success until that October night. While sweating out the final vote count, she had felt nauseous and, at a friend’s insistence, took a pregnancy test. She was prime minister at 37 and about to become an unwed mother.
At first Ardern didn’t reveal her condition. She privately endured morning sickness, fearing that during her swearing in, she would vomit on live TV. She waited until January of 2018, 100 days after swearing-in, to announce that she’d give birth in June, only the second world leader to do so. (Pakistan’s Benazir Bhutto had delivered a daughter in 1990.)
Ardern’s early weeks dealt with the myriad details of the PM’s office: formal events and appearances, speeches and photo sessions. When John Campbell, a favored reporter, asked, “What is it you want to do?” she felt she’d answered that question hundreds of times on the campaign trail, but her platform wasn’t what came to mind. Instead she said, “I want this government to feel different. I want people to feel that it’s listening, and that it is going to bring kindness back.”
Once her child was born, Ardern faced major logistical challenges. Traveling abroad with a baby (trips like one to the United Nations) meant hauling such necessities as nappies, outfits, formula, a breast pump, and a “chilly bin.” Clarke, drafted as a “stay-at-home dad,” often traveled with her and their newborn daughter, Neve Te Aroha (“light and love” in Maori). At home, there was help from Jacinda’s mom as well as other family members and, in a pinch, her DPS protection officer.
While working through her political agenda, Ardern was suddenly called on to deal with multiple crises. On March 15, 2019, a terrorist targeted two Moslem mosques in Christchurch, killing 51 and injuring more than 40 worshipers. Ardern quickly donned a borrowed black scarf and journeyed to Christchurch to grieve with the congregants. She railed against the shooter, a white man from Australia, saying, “An outsider came in and attacked our people. Some of them might have been born elsewhere but this was our community. They are New Zealanders. They are us.” In the immediate aftermath of the attacks, she proposed an assault weapons ban which passed just days later.
In December of that same year, Ardern would learn that an active volcano on Whakaari/White Island had erupted, killing 22 people and injuring two dozen others who had been touring the remote island. She rushed to be there with first responders only to reap criticism over hugging people.
The crisis-filled year was barely over when Ardern heard news about a new viral pneumonia occurring in Wuhan, China, followed by New Zealand’s first COVID case in February 2020. When meeting with her science advisers, the young prime minister determined that the nation’s health care system with fewer than 300 ICU beds couldn’t handle the expected number of cases. Ardern and her Director General of Health, Dr. Ashley Bloomfeld, refined a plan with a four-level alert system. They immediately made the decision to go to Level 4, the highest level, a complete lockdown — strictest in the western world. She writes in her memoir, “It felt as if I was taking the nation into battle.”
Every day at 1 pm, Ardern and Dr. Bloomfield (Australia’s Anthony Fauci) briefed the public. Each evening, Ardern logged into Facebook live. While seated on her bed wearing casual sweats, she gave an update and answered questions. New Zealanders seemed to accept the inflexible measures. A kind of Jacinda-mania fueled the party’s landslide victory in the 2020 election.
When Ardern finally was able to ease some restrictions, along came the Delta variant. Ardern enacted the vaccine mandate that enabled New Zealand to return to some in-person events and to boast a 90 percent vaccination rate. Arden’s strict restrictions were thought to have saved 20,000 lives.
However New Zealand’s mood now was begining to turn sour. An anti-vaccination backlash set in, led by events like the Canadian truckers’ revolt. Protesters began camping in tents on the Parliament grounds. Eight people were prosecuted for threats to kill the prime minister and to do harm to her daughter Neve.
By 2022, having lived through three disastrous crises and now the darkening national outlook, Ardern was tiring. During a physical before leaving to attend the funeral of Queen Elizabeth II, her doctor had found a small lump in her breast. Although her worst fears weren’t confirmed, she was beginning to have doubts about summoning the needed strength and endurance.
A few days before the end of the year, her press secretary Andrew Campbell knocked on her door with the news that, when she had concluded question time, her mic had been left on. Campbell reported, “It picked up your voice and it seemed you called David Seymour ‘an arrogant prick.’” Ardern was oddly relieved. She had feared she’d called Seymour, leader of a right-wing party and the lone vote against the assault-weapons ban, what she was thinking of him: “a fucking arrogant prick.”
Her subsequent apology to Seymour was accepted, and they both signed a transcript of the exchange which was auctioned off for more than $100,000, with proceeds going to the Prostate Cancer Foundation.
Nevertheless, Ardern started to believe it might be time to say aloud what she’d been thinking in her head alone. After a stressful six years as prime minister, she felt it was time to move on. At year’s end, she announced she would be resigning on Jan. 23, 2023. She explained that she “didn’t have enough steam left in the tank.”
In her final weeks Ardern worked to extend the nation’s support for Ukraine, laid out a significant expansion of Childcare Assistance subsidies, traveled to APEC and East Asia Summit meetings, and continued to talk with school groups. She inspired young people to work toward leadership despite self-doubts like those that sometimes plagued her. She told them about navigating between two parts of herself, the one that says “you can’t” and the one that says “you have to.”
In retirement, Jacinda and Clarke finally found time to marry before relocating the family to Boston where she continued to work on her memoir. The best-selling book is a page-turner filled with confidences and self-effacing humor. Awarded dual fellowships at Harvard, Ardern continues to teach there and advocate for a new kind of leadership — one she calls “both caring and effective.”
In the meantime, Clarke managed to complete “Prime Minister,” a documentary that was only recently released. In it, he argues she could have continued serving had she delegated more. Jacinda offered a contrasting verdict quoted in The New Yorker. She said, “The doco isn’t the most fun thing for me to watch. I’m glad it exists for posterity, but I’m not sure how eager I am to rewatch it.”
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