Chairpersons, minute-takers and, sometimes, tears, and blood on the floor.
You will have heard of the Last Supper, the meeting to wind up the earthly affairs of the founder of a very popular religious movement. Bread and wine were provided as was the custom in those far off days and there were at least three minute-takers.
One of them, a chap called Matthew, mentioned that a hymn was sung at the end so you can imagine it was something rather different from meetings of our time.
There were no hymns at the recent meetings of Chris Luxon, David Seymour and Winston Peters. Nor was there bread and wine. Naturally, such knockabout meetings produced nothing more than an odd thing called a coalition government. Without doubt, the Last Supper meeting gave us something more lasting.
My own experience of meetings has taught me to avoid them at all costs.
When I started work, the bosses held a weekly meeting, always called "Druids", to thrash out the issues surrounding the running of a small radio station. The tea lady took their morning tea into them, so we knew it was pretty much like a wartime cabinet meeting chaired by Winston Churchill.
Strangely, though, nothing much of importance ever emerged from Druids. I think they just talked about the weekend’s rugby games. (The meeting was always on a Monday morning and the manager was a rugby man).
Later came meetings to organise programmes or set up new ways of doing things. I soon found that my own views were drowned out by those whose ideas were nonsense but who had managed the art of dominating a meeting.
Perhaps they had studied the handbooks written by Genghis Khan and Robert Muldoon.
Once or twice, I saw committee members whose pet project had been scuppered burst into tears. But meeting protocol demands that such weakness be ignored.
I was in awe of chairpersons who got their own way in every debate without the committee members even realising they’d been outmanoeuvred. The German generals who strongly opposed invading Russia probably felt the same way after a meeting chaired by Adolf Hitler. Mind you, most organisations I was involved with drew the line at taking those who disagreed with the chairperson outside and shooting them.
There was a time when I was called to Wellington once a month to a pretty high-powered meeting attended by some of broadcasting’s great minds. (No, I’m not sure why I was invited). Nothing useful emerged from those meetings, either. Still, Wellington isn’t really such a bad place to be. Especially when you know that the next morning you’ll be flying home.
There were even a few international meetings which I insisted I should attend. I contributed very little to the discussions but a week at Lake Como or Brussels shouldn’t be turned down just because it involves meetings.
I eventually convinced the hierarchy that my presence at meetings was no longer necessary and I was left to run my life without proposing motions, voting on issues and breaking for coffee and biscuits.
Then, retirement meant goodbye to meetings.
Of course, meetings cannot be avoided entirely. I make sure I attend the AGM of the bowling club to ensure that I’m not elected (in absentia) to some onerous office.
Sadly, in modern times, the more meetings which are held to solve a problem, the less likely a solution is found. The United Nations is very big on meetings and in September this year will hold a meeting called The Summit of the Future.
It aims to "enhance co-operation on critical challenges and address gaps in global governance, reaffirm existing commitments including to the Sustainable Development Goals and the United Nations Charter, and move towards a reinvigorated multilateral system that is better positioned to positively impact people’s lives".
Good luck to the UN, but of more immediate interest and, hopefully, with rather more chances of achieving something useful was a meeting I attended last week.
About 80 people turned up at the challenging hour of 10am to discuss ways of ensuring the Patearoa pub stays open. Now, when you realise that Patearoa has about only 40 permanent residents, you’ll agree that this issue puts "gaps in global governance" well into the shade.
Every person in the room (even those who visit the pub only from time to time) made a plea for Patearoa to keep its hotel.
Like me, they know that a local pub lies at the very heart of the social life of a small country town. The meeting heard that the people of Waikaka have saved their pub and the cry went up, "what Waikaka can do, so can we!". I hope we can.
— Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer.
