A Different Kind of Power: A Memoir

by Jacinda Ardern

My whole short life I had grappled with the idea that I was never quite good enough. That at any moment I would be caught short, and that meant no matter what I was doing, I had no business doing it. That’s why I believed mine was a personality better suited to work behind the scenes. I was the worker who quietly and steadily got things done. I wasn’t tough enough to become an actual politician. My elbows weren’t sharp enough; my skin was too thin. I was idealistic and sensitive.

Policing in New Zealand is also different from that in many countries. For one, officers don’t routinely carry guns. And while they have the power to make arrests, they use a U.K. principle known as policing by consent. The idea that police are essentially citizens in uniforms, and their authority stems from the approval and cooperation of the community.

“Jacinda,” he said. “My words will always be the greatest tool I have.”

That the difference between what we are and what we could be is the greatest waste.

“Promise me you won’t try to toughen up, Jacinda. You feel things because you have empathy, and because you care. The moment you change that is the moment you’ll stop being good at your job.”

Some people thought kindness was sentimental, soft. A bit naive, even. I knew this. But I also knew they were wrong. Kindness has a power and strength that almost nothing else on this planet has. I’d seen kindness do extraordinary things: I’d seen it give people hope; I’d seen it change minds and transform lives. I wasn’t afraid to say it aloud, and as soon as I did, I was sure: kindness. This would be my guiding principle no matter what lay ahead.