OPINION: "Our problems aren't external – they're internal."
Chris Hipkins has one of those eternally youthful countenances which argue strongly against such ominous utterances. It's as if such old words couldn't possibly slither from between such young teeth.
Yet there he was, speaking darkly about the enemy within.
It was hardly surprising, perhaps, given the fallout from Labour's tumultuous annual conference, except that Mr Hipkins' political paranoia was being carried into the hall well before the acrimonious constitutional debate, which caught so many Labour MPs and journalists by surprise last Saturday morning.
You see, it was Friday afternoon, not Saturday morning, when the chief opposition whip vouchsafed to me his grim opinion on the inherent character of Labour's "problems".
No matter. David Shearer's followers made an all-out effort to see off a proposal requiring Labour's leader, in the February after a general election, to secure the backing of more than 60 per cent of his caucus or face a leadership vote involving MPs, party members and affiliated trade unions.
When their defeat on that became clear, Mr Hipkins and the rest of Mr Shearer's faction worked tirelessly to paste David Cunliffe's face all over Labour's internal difficulties.
The narrow victory (264 to 237) of the new party rule was presented as proof that not only were "dark forces", as one journalist colourfully described them, conspiring behind the scenes, but that a Cunliffe-inspired leadership coup was imminent.
The eagerness with which journalists accepted this version of events is, from a week's perspective, rather puzzling.
Had a leadership coup truly been unfolding, how likely is it that its purported leader, well short of the numbers, would kick it off by publicly overexciting TV3's irrepressible Patrick Gower with repeated refusals to declare his support for Mr Shearer's leadership?
Ambition, as Mark Antony said of Julius Caesar, should be made of sterner (or at least more tactically adroit) stuff.
A genuine plotter would have grinned broadly and, with a twinkle in his eye, pledged undying loyalty to his leader. Continuing the Shakespearean theme, he would have "smiled and smiled, yet been a villain".
The one really intriguing question still awaiting a satisfactory answer is, therefore: Why did he do it? Why did Mr Cunliffe not tell Gower that a leadership challenge was out of the question?
He must have known that his refusal to do so would dominate the news media's coverage of the conference, overshadow Labour's radical democratisation process and draw public attention away from his leader's keynote address and the party's new housing policy.
What was he thinking?
I can, of course, only speculate, but my best guess is that Mr Cunliffe's behaviour was driven by a combination of high political excitement, a powerful sense of vindication and simple, old-fashioned, personal pride.
In part, the constitutional victories achieved at last weekend's conference were the product of the rank-and-file's indignation at seeing caucus override their clear leadership preference last December.
One could say, therefore, that the votes against Mr Shearer's allies on the conference floor were votes for Mr Cunliffe.
Bathed in the golden light of victory, savouring the sweet of vindication after nearly months of unceasing vilification at the hands of Mr Hipkins and his ilk, Mr Cunliffe simply wasn't prepared to even ritually tug his forelock in the direction of Mr Shearer, and certainly not via the leering medium of Gower.
It was pride and a surfeit of amour propre (self-love) that led Mr Cunliffe to turn a considerable political triumph into what has turned out to be a colossal personal defeat.
And that, surely, is the point. No man possessed of a serious intention to unseat his leader could possibly have made such a huge and career-damaging blunder because, in politics, blunders are almost never forgiven.
From his now much-reduced position in Labour's hierarchy, Mr Cunliffe can, however, comfort himself with the thought that although he has not conquered, neither has he stooped, and there's always February.
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