New Zealand feels like a nation in decline. The headlines paint a grim picture, and daily life does little to brighten it. Even without the familiar statistics, it’s hard to shake the feeling that, by most measures, things are getting worse.

The cracks in our institutions are becoming impossible to ignore. For doctors, nurses, and—most importantly—patients, the failures of the public health system are a daily reality. Just last week, a colleague was advised by their GP to get private health insurance, such was their doctor’s lack of confidence in the public system.

Education is under strain too. Driving past a local high school, the pressure is obvious. Prefab classrooms now encroach on the field, a response to a 41% surge in enrolments since 2017. Schools are stretched, teachers are exhausted, and students are left to face the consequences.

Institutions require maintenance, and many of ours are long overdue. But before we can rebuild, we must confront a deeper challenge: our growing inability to work together.

New Zealanders feel more divided than ever. The noise of petty disputes and parliamentary theatrics suggests that common ground is an endangered species. Whether it’s the reaction to David Seymour’s Land Rover stunt or the latest row over school lunches, our politics seems to revolve less around solutions and more around point-scoring.

We get the leaders we deserve. If we want better leadership, we must expect better of ourselves.

But is the divide as deep as it seems? An Ipsos poll from October 2024 suggests otherwise. Across the political spectrum, New Zealanders largely agree on the country’s biggest problems: healthcare and the cost of living remain the top concerns for both left- and right-leaning voters. The real question is often not what we want—better healthcare, a world-class education system—but how to get there.

Disagreement is necessary in a democracy. But productive debate requires a shared foundation. If we can’t agree on basic facts, we can’t move forward together. And when going viral becomes more important than telling the truth, constructive debate breaks down.

Cooperation is still possible. While outrage dominates the headlines, there are quieter, unglamorous examples of politics done well.

On Waitangi Day, Ngāi Tahu leader Justin Tipa pointed to one: “Ngāi Tahu and the National Party haven’t always seen eye to eye on every policy, but there is a tradition of pragmatic and principled engagement between us.”

The recent tweaks to the “golden visa” scheme offer another, albeit mixed, example. In 2022, then-Labour Minister Stuart Nash introduced the Active Investor Plus visa to attract growth-focused foreign investment. Instead, investment from migrants plummeted from $2.2 billion pre-COVID to just $70 million. Recognising the shortfalls, the current government refined visa requirements. Rather than playing politics, Nash acknowledged the improvements.

Common ground exists and pragmatic cooperation does occur—but it’s rare. As voters, we should demand more from our elected representatives. Part of that includes modelling humility in our discussions, both in person and online, playing the ball and not the man, and always having truth as our highest goal.

We get the leaders we deserve. If we want better leadership, we must expect better of ourselves.