Not Here, Not Yet. But Why New Zealand Must Stay Vigilant Against Authoritarian Drift

Nice little democracy. Shame if something happened to it.

The erosion of democracy rarely begins with jackboots and shouting mobs. More often, it creeps in quietly, through complacency, distraction, and the slow bending of norms. The Atlantic's Adrienne LaFrance paints a chilling picture of this slow unraveling in her article "A Ticking Clock on American Freedom." While her focus is the United States, the warning signs she outlines should not be dismissed as distant or irrelevant to New Zealanders. In fact, the subtle ways democracy weakens are universally recognisable.

Let us be clear - New Zealand is not on the brink of authoritarian collapse. But that’s the very point. Neither was America, until it was.

It Starts with a Shrug

Autocrats don’t begin by announcing tyranny. They start by normalising extremes. LaFrance highlights how leaders like Rodrigo Duterte and Donald Trump gradually undermined institutions, manipulated truth, and attacked dissent. It began subtly: a dig at the media here, a sacking of an inconvenient expert there. Each time, the public had the chance to push back—and too often chose not to. Why? Because the threat didn’t feel immediate. Because it’s hard to believe that our democracy could unravel.

In New Zealand, we rightly pride ourselves on transparency, accountability, and a fair go. But we are not immune. We’ve already seen public trust waver under misinformation campaigns and polarising rhetoric. It’s worth asking: if a leader here began to quietly erode norms, replacing independent officials with loyalists, undermining judicial independence, vilifying the media, how would we respond? Would we shrug? Would we notice?

The Death of Democracy by a Thousand Cuts

Maria Ressa, the Filipino journalist quoted in LaFrance’s piece, warns that democracy doesn’t fall in a day. It bleeds out slowly. Each unchallenged abuse of power, each tolerated lie, each reshaped institution, these are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of a system in decline.

New Zealand has a robust system of checks and balances. But they are only as strong as our willingness to defend them. Do we speak out when Parliament is bypassed? Do we hold power to account when public servants are scapegoated? Do we recognise when technology is used to stoke fear rather than foster community?

Silence as Complicity

Authoritarians rely not only on loyal followers, but on the silence of the rest. In the U.S., LaFrance observes that many people stayed quiet early in Trump’s second term, believing the situation wasn’t yet urgent. That hesitation, the decision to wait and see can be fatal to democracy. Inaction is not neutral; it’s a permission slip.

In New Zealand, our political culture values civility. That’s a good thing, until it turns into politeness in the face of abuse. When whistleblowers are discredited, when peaceful protest is demonised, when journalists are labelled untrustworthy, these are red flags. If our first instinct is to dismiss concerns as alarmist, we must ask: why are we more comfortable ignoring the threat than confronting it?

The Role of Technology

One of the most sobering elements of LaFrance’s article is her exploration of how social media enables authoritarianism. Platforms designed to connect us are being used to confuse us. Anger spreads faster than truth, and lies, when repeated enough, become background noise.

New Zealanders have already felt the sting of disinformation campaigns, from pandemic conspiracies to foreign interference. We must invest in media literacy, safeguard journalistic independence, and question the source before we share. Democracy doesn’t just need informed voters, it depends on them.

Hold the Line Before It Moves

When norms shift slowly, we stop noticing the movement. Leaders who stretch the limits of their power are testing us, seeing what they can get away with. If we say nothing, the new limit becomes the new normal. Then they stretch it again.

In New Zealand, that means paying close attention to how our institutions are staffed, how our freedoms are protected, and how our laws are enforced. It means resisting efforts to politicise the public service, to weaken regulatory bodies, or to silence critics. And it means calling out injustice whether it affects us personally or not.

Courage Is Contagious

LaFrance’s sources offer a final truth: resistance is hard, but it’s also inspiring. When people speak up, when they refuse to accept the unacceptable, it empowers others to do the same. The goal isn’t fear. It’s preparation.

New Zealand’s democracy is strong but not invincible. We can’t rely on legacy alone. We must nurture it with vigilance, defend it with courage, and model it with integrity.

Because if we wait until it’s obvious, it may already be too late.

What You Can Do

• Speak up when you see democratic principles undermined.

• Support independent journalism—and read it.

• Engage with politics beyond the ballot box.

• Educate yourself and others about how authoritarianism creeps in.

• Be prepared to act, not just react.

We are not there. But we are not magically immune. Democracy is not a possession, it’s a practice and it requires all of us.

Hold the line.