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She survived the Oravida scandal, but is Judith Collins now damaged goods?
A man in a business suit and a good tan swooped on Judith Collins, 55, when she stepped into the lobby of a downtown hotel for our interview.
He introduced himself and they shook hands. He smiled and nodded and gazed upon her with something resembling awe. When he left, I said to her, “One of your fans?” She confirmed that was the case. O Queen! Her Majesty, the Minister of Justice, ACC and Ethnic Affairs, looked up to, respected, admired, feared by her opponents, loathed by her colleagues, inspiring an intense loyalty and a kind of love — everything was going so swimmingly until Oravida. She was spoken of as Prime Minister in waiting. O fat chance now.
Like many introverts, she’s theatrical and grand; like most actresses, she needs an audience. I emailed her office an interview request. A reply came back within an hour: “Judith could meet you at 9.30am on Saturday….” Another story came up and I asked for a raincheck, and then Oravida happened. I wondered whether she preferred to go to ground after that. I put through another request. “Judith could meet you…”
We met twice. She wore pearls and rings and brooches, an immaculately presented Tory matron with pale green eyes. I asked her whether I was now talking to someone who felt like damaged goods, and she said, “No, not at all. Do you think I should?” I confirmed that was the case. She said on the contrary, it allowed people to see her softer side.
She meant the tears of March. She cried over spilt milk, on camera and again over the phone to the Herald’s Rachel Glucina, both times weeping at the mess she got herself into during the Oravida scandal. Oravida, Oravida. Once merely the blameless name of a milk export company no one had ever heard of, now a word as common as muck, ever since Collins was accused of a conflict of interest — her husband is an Oravida board member, and Collins took time out of a ministerial visit to China to dine with Oravida officials.
Much of the scandal has been boring. It’s almost got to the point where Labour has demanded to know whether she ordered noodles or rice. Sweet and sour-gate, dim sum-gate — whatever, but the interest was in Collins’ shifty and indignant response to the whole thing. It’s made her look like she’s had something to hide, and she’s cut a lonely, marooned figure in Parliament.
There was a kind of apology, not much, and tears, a few; there were also recriminations and accusations, her familiar bitter tone, |
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