The government’s sudden decision to replace elected regional councillors with panels of district and city mayors has been sold as a bold stroke toward streamlining local government. But bold is not the same as wise, and decisive is not the same as thoughtful. In its rush to simplify a system that undoubtedly needs reform, the government has swung the axe at the wrong trunk.
Rather than fixing the machinery of local government, it has removed the very people elected to oversee that machinery — and installed a group already burdened with full-time jobs of their own.
Take Otago as a case in point. The newly elected Otago Regional Council (ORC) had barely taken shape after October’s local body elections. The majority of the twelve strong council was significantly different in political outlook from its predecessors, with a clear public mandate for change. The council had chosen former ACT MP Hilary Calvert as chair, signalling a shift in direction — particularly around environmental management and water policy, areas that have been contentious throughout the region.
Yet before these councillors could even begin their work, they were gone. In their place now sit the mayors of Dunedin, Waitaki, Central Otago, Clutha and Queenstown Lakes — all of whom were elected mayor for the first time on October 11th!
Being a mayor in 2025 is a full-time job by any measure. They are responsible for multimillion-dollar budgets, infrastructure crises, climate resilience planning, tourism pressures, housing shortages, transport headaches and the general expectations of a community that demands accessibility and leadership every day of the week. To suggest these individuals have the capacity to simultaneously govern a major regional authority is optimistic at best, reckless at worst.
And while the elected representatives disappear, the permanent staff — the bureaucrats who actually run the day-to-day functions — remain exactly where they are. There are good people in regional government, but anyone who has dealt with large public agencies knows that organisational culture matters. Those cultures tend to become resistant to scrutiny and slow to change. If anything needed reform, it was not the councillors but the structure, accountability systems and staffing of the organisations themselves. Yet instead of reshaping the engine room, the government has simply removed the drivers.
What makes this more troubling is the ideological mismatch. The ORC was about to embark on a markedly different policy direction, especially around freshwater management. Otago voters had chosen that direction. Removing the council not only disrupts that democratic mandate — it eliminates it.
Now, key decisions in environmental regulation, land use, and community wellbeing will be made by a group of mayors whose own councils may have entirely different priorities. That is not streamlining; it is dilution. And it leaves significant power in the hands of senior staff whose political leanings, as with much of the public sector, are not always aligned with the direction voters have chosen.
The government’s broader motivation is obvious enough. It wants to push ahead quickly with new resource management legislation, and removing a layer of regional governance certainly makes that easier. But convenience for Wellington is not the same as good governance for the regions. This reform raises more questions than it answers.
Who, for instance, will eventually own the ORC’s subsidiary Port Otago — a major strategic asset with national significance? Who will own the Bay of Plenty Regional Council’s 54% stake in the Port of Tauranga? These are not hypothetical accounting queries. They are multi-billion-dollar issues involving dividends, borrowing capacity, governance rights, and long-term regional economic planning. If regional councils exist only in name, with part-time oversight from already overloaded mayors, the stewardship of these assets becomes dangerously unclear.
Even the one area where this move seems tidy — the removal of appointed councillors from Environment Canterbury (ECan) — is likely to trigger conflict. Ngāi Tahu has long argued for representation commensurate with its role as mana whenua, and removing appointed seats will almost certainly ignite protest and, eventually, a claim to the Waitangi Tribunal. If the intention was simplification, the government may instead have created a fresh constitutional dispute.
Local government reform is needed. Few would deny that the system is overburdened, uneven, and too often paralysed by bureaucracy. But real reform requires careful, structural change: clarifying responsibilities, improving accountability, modernising funding models, and reshaping organisational cultures that have become sluggish or opaque. What we have instead is a shortcut — quick, dramatic, and politically tidy, but lacking coherence and public buy-in.
Replacing elected regional councillors with a panel of mayors may create the illusion of efficiency, but in reality it removes democratic oversight, overloads the wrong people, and leaves unexamined the entrenched systems that truly need change. In the end, the government may find that the simplification it sought has created the opposite: uncertainty, confusion and a loss of trust in local democracy.
Real reform requires thinking. This decision feels like anything but.
Peter Williams was a writer and broadcaster for half a century. Now watching from the sidelines. Peter blogs regularly on Peter’s Substack - where this article was sourced.
Yet before these councillors could even begin their work, they were gone. In their place now sit the mayors of Dunedin, Waitaki, Central Otago, Clutha and Queenstown Lakes — all of whom were elected mayor for the first time on October 11th!
Being a mayor in 2025 is a full-time job by any measure. They are responsible for multimillion-dollar budgets, infrastructure crises, climate resilience planning, tourism pressures, housing shortages, transport headaches and the general expectations of a community that demands accessibility and leadership every day of the week. To suggest these individuals have the capacity to simultaneously govern a major regional authority is optimistic at best, reckless at worst.
And while the elected representatives disappear, the permanent staff — the bureaucrats who actually run the day-to-day functions — remain exactly where they are. There are good people in regional government, but anyone who has dealt with large public agencies knows that organisational culture matters. Those cultures tend to become resistant to scrutiny and slow to change. If anything needed reform, it was not the councillors but the structure, accountability systems and staffing of the organisations themselves. Yet instead of reshaping the engine room, the government has simply removed the drivers.
What makes this more troubling is the ideological mismatch. The ORC was about to embark on a markedly different policy direction, especially around freshwater management. Otago voters had chosen that direction. Removing the council not only disrupts that democratic mandate — it eliminates it.
Now, key decisions in environmental regulation, land use, and community wellbeing will be made by a group of mayors whose own councils may have entirely different priorities. That is not streamlining; it is dilution. And it leaves significant power in the hands of senior staff whose political leanings, as with much of the public sector, are not always aligned with the direction voters have chosen.
The government’s broader motivation is obvious enough. It wants to push ahead quickly with new resource management legislation, and removing a layer of regional governance certainly makes that easier. But convenience for Wellington is not the same as good governance for the regions. This reform raises more questions than it answers.
Who, for instance, will eventually own the ORC’s subsidiary Port Otago — a major strategic asset with national significance? Who will own the Bay of Plenty Regional Council’s 54% stake in the Port of Tauranga? These are not hypothetical accounting queries. They are multi-billion-dollar issues involving dividends, borrowing capacity, governance rights, and long-term regional economic planning. If regional councils exist only in name, with part-time oversight from already overloaded mayors, the stewardship of these assets becomes dangerously unclear.
Even the one area where this move seems tidy — the removal of appointed councillors from Environment Canterbury (ECan) — is likely to trigger conflict. Ngāi Tahu has long argued for representation commensurate with its role as mana whenua, and removing appointed seats will almost certainly ignite protest and, eventually, a claim to the Waitangi Tribunal. If the intention was simplification, the government may instead have created a fresh constitutional dispute.
Local government reform is needed. Few would deny that the system is overburdened, uneven, and too often paralysed by bureaucracy. But real reform requires careful, structural change: clarifying responsibilities, improving accountability, modernising funding models, and reshaping organisational cultures that have become sluggish or opaque. What we have instead is a shortcut — quick, dramatic, and politically tidy, but lacking coherence and public buy-in.
Replacing elected regional councillors with a panel of mayors may create the illusion of efficiency, but in reality it removes democratic oversight, overloads the wrong people, and leaves unexamined the entrenched systems that truly need change. In the end, the government may find that the simplification it sought has created the opposite: uncertainty, confusion and a loss of trust in local democracy.
Real reform requires thinking. This decision feels like anything but.
Peter Williams was a writer and broadcaster for half a century. Now watching from the sidelines. Peter blogs regularly on Peter’s Substack - where this article was sourced.
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