Can Educators Ever Trust Politicians Again?
- 7 days ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 7 days ago
Just Who Is Willow-Jean Prime — and What Does She Stand For?
By ELV
ELV holds no political allegiance.
We are simply a flicker in the darkness —a candle lit for honesty,
a mirror lifted to power,
a voice that speaks for those working in classrooms long after the headlines move on.
Since COVID we have held that mirror to everyone in the system: PLD providers, politicians, “collectives”, tamariki, the Ministry, the Media, ERO, and even ourselves.
Not to shame — but to illuminate.
And lately, something unexpected happened.
In a sector worn thin by political tides, Willow-Jean Prime’s Scooby-Doo-level Treaty detective work — capped off with a delicious mic drop that left Erica Stanford speechless — sent a spark flickering through staffrooms everywhere.
Educators started whispering: Could she be different? Could she be trusted?
Curious, ELV set out — through a friend of a friend of a neighbour, as you do in the North —to meet the woman behind the moment.
If, one day, she is blessed with the Education Portfolio, could she hold it with care?
Or would she be just another politician performing opposition, chasing votes and headlines?
What follows is not a media interview.
Not a staged kōrero.
Just two women sitting by the ocean, speaking plainly — no cameras, no spin, no entourage.
Who Is Willow — Really? Could She Hold the Education Portfolio with Care?
By Rebecca Thomas
I perched on a rock, watching Willow-Jean step out of her car.
She tucked her phone into her bag — deliberately, gently —and I realised that although I knew her face, she probably wouldn’t recognise mine.
She arrived as she was: no makeup, no styling,
just a black tracksuit and trainers ready for a stomp along the sand.
A woman not hiding behind political polish.
And if I’m honest — she looked a little nervous too.
We met with that awkwardness two strangers share when both know the moment matters but neither quite knows what will unfold.
The wind picked up, so we swapped the beach for the shelter of a small coffee shop —wooden chairs, wooden walls, the kind of place that absorbs the weight of conversations.
We began, as we should, with whanaungatanga.
Except this time the dynamic was reversed. Her life is spread across the internet.
Mine — not so much.
We were strangers and not-strangers at once.
By the time our drinks arrived, the kōrero had loosened its shoulders.
There was no rush, no agenda, no staffer hovering, no glance to the phone for updates or instructions.
Then I asked the real questions:
Why education?
Why you?
Do you understand how messy, fragile, deeply human this space is?
Are you ready to attend to equity — not as a slogan, but as a responsibility?
For over two and a half hours we talked about justice, about our tamariki, about the gulf between what is happening and what should be happening.
Not once did she hide behind vague slogans.
Not once did she dodge a question.
Not once did I feel she was playing me.
Near the end, she reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and pen.
The kōrero flipped: she began asking me questions,
scribbling my responses with intent and curiosity.
If anyone had been watching, they would’ve mistaken her for the journalist and me — in my track pants and dark shades — for the celebrity.
I’m not here to spill the details.
Some things belong to the tide.
What I can say — with no spin, no allegiance, and no agenda —is what I saw in her wairua.
What My Heritage Told Me
Those who know me well understand my roots.
My gypsy heritage gifts me a particular kind of perception —a way of sensing people beyond words.
I rarely speak of it,
but today it matters.
What I saw in Willow-Jean was this:
A wahine toa who listens with her whole body.
A collaborator by instinct, not convenience.
Grounded in te ao Māori — not as decoration but as a compass.
Steeped in history.
Guided by manaakitanga.
Clear that whānau, whakapapa and place
are not “nice-to-haves”
but foundations for learning.
So… Can Educators Trust Politicians Again?
If trust has a starting point,
it is this:
genuine presence,
open ears,
honest answers,
no pretence.
From what I witnessed —in a small wooden café with the tide murmuring outside —I believe Willow-Jean Prime has the ngākau,
the skillset,
and the wairua
to begin a new chapter with our sector.
A chapter of repair.
A chapter of listening.
A chapter where relationships are restored
after a long, disheartening season of being dismissed.
And when the wicked witch is gone,
and the dust settles,
perhaps — just perhaps —the healing can begin.
Kia hora te marino,
kia whakapapa pounamu te moana,
kia tere te kārohirohi i mua i tō huarahi.
...may the shimmer of light guide you on your way.
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