The OIA-able Story: And They All Lived Transparently Ever After
by Rebecca Thomas
Every story has an ending, how will this story end?
Perhaps that is the question we should be asking as the story of the Ministry of Education, Catherine Law, the OIA and a whistleblower begins its inevitable journey through reviews, investigations, action plans, media commentary and, eventually, the great institutional washing machine where uncomfortable things sometimes emerge several months later smelling reassuringly of lavender.
What does everybody want?
What does Ellen MacGregor-Reid want?
I imagine the Secretary for Education would quite like her Ministry to stop appearing in headlines containing the words toxic, whistleblower, OIA and investigation. In her last interview on RNZ she didn’t sound very happy about those things!
She has inherited an organisation now dealing simultaneously with an independent workplace review containing deeply uncomfortable findings and allegations that staff were being encouraged not to create written records because those records could be requested under the Official Information Act.
She has been unequivocal about Catherine Law's recorded comments. She told RNZ she was "not happy", said Law's comments were not OK and emphasised that Law was neither a senior official nor a seasoned public servant. She also commissioned an internal review before the Ombudsman announced his own investigation.
And perhaps all of that is entirely appropriate.
But watch the framing with a critical eye now.
Catherine isn't a seasoned public servant.
Catherine came into the Ministry from a school.
Catherine said something she shouldn't have.
Catherine wasn't acting according to Ministry expectations.
Poor Catherine.
I genuinely mean that last bit.
As I am afraid that Catherine Law is in danger of becoming spectacularly useful. If Catherine was an inexperienced outsider who made a terrible mistake, then Catherine can be dealt with. Problem identified and addressed. System intact. Everyone back to work.
There will presumably be recommendations. Learnings. Strengthened processes. Possibly even an action plan.
Public institutions love an action plan.
What does the Ministry want?
Probably something remarkably similar. The Benefield review has already happened.
Concerns have been heard. Lessons will be learned. Culture will be strengthened. Staff will be encouraged to speak freely. Someone will produce a beautifully formatted document explaining how everybody will now communicate respectfully and transparently.
And Pauline Cleaver, currently Acting Deputy Secretary of Te Poutāhū, will presumably be part of whatever comes next. She is not some stranger parachuting in from outside the system. She has held senior roles connected with curriculum work in the Ministry for years.
Which raises a considerably more interesting question than whether the resulting action plan has enough bullet points: Can an organisation meaningfully investigate and repair its own culture without examining the people, structures and decisions that created that culture?
Maybe it can.
But I think we are entitled to watch closely. Just because we've reviewed ourselves and developed an action plan does not mean the same thing as we have understood why people became frightened to speak.
What does the Ombudsman want?
This one deserves more care. Chief Ombudsman John Allen has actually responded strongly. He described the allegations as causing "significant concerns", specifically warned that public trust and confidence in the Ministry and the OIA could be undermined if they were substantiated, and has now launched a formal investigation. He says speed will not come at the expense of thoroughness.
I am hopeful for that as it is precisely what an independent watchdog should do. But for him the stakes are enormous. This isn't merely about whether somebody misunderstood an administrative procedure. The OIA is part of the machinery that allows us to see what our Government is doing. And if an investigation were to establish that avoiding written records because they might become discoverable under the OIA was more widespread than one meeting, then we aren't talking about Catherine Law having a bad day. We are talking about public-sector culture.
So I will be very interested in where the Ombudsman's investigation goes.
How wide does it look?
How far back?
How many people does it speak to?
Does it examine only whether somebody explicitly instructed Catherine Law to say those words?
Or does it examine whether behaviours, expectations or practices developed in which avoiding written records became understood without anyone ever being stupid enough to write down: PLEASE CIRCUMVENT THE OFFICIAL INFORMATION ACT. Presumably even the most dysfunctional bureaucracy has limits.
What does Erica Stanford want?
This one appears relatively straightforward from her public statements. Distance. And lots of it!
Stanford has told Parliament that neither she nor anybody in her office directed or suggested that Ministry staff should avoid complying with the OIA. She has described the comments as disappointing and said she reiterated her expectation of full compliance to the Secretary for Education. So apparently there is nothing to see from the Minister's end. A little dust appears to have landed near the immaculate white suit, but vigorous brushing is under way.
I am pretty certain we will not be fortunate enough to find evidence that says, “The Minister explicitly instructed officials to circumvent the OIA.” Instead, we are more likely to be met with: “Nothing about the relationship, expectations or culture between the Minister's office and officials warrants further examination.”
What did Catherine Law want?
Probably to do the job she was brought in to do. Probably to please the people she reported to. Probably to get 76 subjects written. Probably to navigate an environment she did not create and a bureaucracy she wasn't accustomed to.
Sir Ian Taylor has reminded us of something important here. Catherine Law is human. I agree. I don't want her career reduced to one video clip. And I certainly don't want every problem inside the Ministry of Education conveniently packed into a Catherine Law-shaped suitcase and left at reception.
Catherine being held accountable for her own actions is one thing.
Catherine becoming the explanation for everything is something quite different.
And then there is the whistleblower.
What did they want?
This is the question that is most important to me. Unlike almost everybody else in this story, I struggle to see what they personally stood to gain.
Career advancement? Hardly.
A quieter working life? That seems unlikely.
Popularity with management? I'm going to take a wild stab at no.
The person who released that recording described being fed up with what they regarded as dishonesty and toxicity. They have alleged that the recording was not an isolated incident and that other instructions concerning curriculum content were deliberately delivered verbally rather than recorded in writing. Those allegations remain allegations, but they are now part of what must be examined.
And this is where I want us to be very, very careful. Because over the past few days I can already see another story beginning to form around the edges from people who wish the incident could be buried as quickly as it arrived.
Conversations are already taking form: Why did they record it? Why didn't they use the correct channels? Were they politically motivated? Did they have an axe to grind? Was this really about Catherine Law?
Perhaps the inconvenient possibility is much simpler: What if they simply wanted something to stop?
What if someone sat in that room listening to those words and heard that annoying little voice most of us were given somewhere along the way? The voice of a parent. A teacher. A grandparent. Someone who taught us, long before we understood employment law or ministerial offices or Official Information Acts: You know what is right. Now decide whether you are prepared to do it.
I don't know what happened inside that person's head.
But I do know that whistleblowing rarely comes with a corner office and a Christmas bonus.
Sometimes the reward for speaking up is simply getting to live with the consequences of having spoken. And perhaps that is the person whose want we should be thinking hardest about. Because everyone else has an institution, an office, lawyers, communications advisers, processes and carefully constructed statements around them.
The whistleblower has the truth as they understood it.
And whatever happens next.
So what do we want?
Do we want this to end neatly?
Catherine made a mistake. The Ministry reviewed itself. An action plan was written. The Ombudsman investigated. The Minister knew nothing. Everyone received additional OIA training. Morning tea was provided. Resolved.
Or do we actually want to know what happened?
Not just in that meeting. Before it. Around it. Above it.
And if we do find the answers, what happens next if we have to face the reality that this level of distrust existed inside an institution we should be able to trust?
Remember that somebody inside the Ministry believed what was happening mattered enough to take an extraordinary personal risk and show the rest of us.
Stories have enormous power, but so do their endings.
Endings can be orchestrated. Characters can be repositioned. The villain can become the victim. The inconvenient character can become the disgruntled employee. The systemic problem can become the unfortunate mistake. Eventually, if the story is retold enough times, we can almost forget what the original story was about.
So what happens next?
While everyone else is busy deciding how this story should end, we should remember the person brave enough to make sure it was told in the first place. And when the reports are published, the recommendations accepted, the action plans beautifully formatted and everyone tells us it is time to move on, I hope we go back to the beginning and ask one final question: Did we ever find out what the whistleblower wanted us to know?
If we didn't, we know that somebody else got to write the ending.
And then, I suppose, we can close the book and tell ourselves they all lived transparently ever after.
The End.
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