“Am I doing this right?” asks Dame Susan Devoy, a small frown spreading across her face as she tries to manoeuvre her body in accordance with the Weekly photographer’s instructions.
“And what are you supposed to do with your arms?” she grumbles before bursting into laughter, sticking them out and pretending to be a windmill. “How’s that? I’m such a natural!”
New Zealand’s Race Relations Commissioner is good at quite a lot of things – squash, of course, as a former World Champion, offering opinions, and more recently navigating the tricky waters of social justice, refugee rights and cultural diversity.
Posing in front of a camera is more of a challenge and certainly something that doesn’t come particularly naturally.
Susan’s not one to sit still for very long. But three years since taking up the role, she concedes public interest is part and parcel of the post and acknowledges the scrutiny she’s found herself facing in those years has been, at times, tough.
In spite of the critics, however, Susan (52) is still the opinionated, warm, witty and unapologetic dame she was before. If anything, she’s more willing to share her thoughts than ever.
“I was probably appointed to this role because I was one of the least politically correct people in the world,” she says with a sly grin. “Speaking my mind is something I’ve always been able to do, and I’ve never been scared to voice my opinions. I’m very fortunate – I have a voice and I have to use that voice very carefully. It’s not quite the same as the old days.”
Take the latest controversy Susan found herself in. Last year, she was accused of “trying to ban Christmas” after she said Kiwis should be able to celebrate the holiday in their own ways, following a notion from a migrant services group that “Happy Holidays” and “Season’s Greetings” are more inclusive terms.
Along with being blamed for starting a “crusade against Christmas”, Susan was also compared to an ISIS leader and, bizarrely, accused of treason.
“I was made out to look like the Grinch that stole Christmas,” she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “A mountain was made out of a molehill, and the problem with that was the story just grew and grew. It was unbelievable. I began thinking, ‘If we can have such heated discussions about something so trivial, let’s talk about the real stuff. Let’s talk about doubling the refugee quota!’”
There are days when it seems Susan can’t win, but, as she explains with a shrug of her shoulders, she’s used to it.
“[The criticism] is one of the toughest parts of the job, but I had such a bad start, it was quite good practice, really. I thought, ‘It could hardly get much worse than this!’ The reality is, the role attracts negativity. It’s the nature of the beast.”
Sport is still very much a part of Dame Susan’s life. Here, she presents New Zealand’s Favourite Sporting Moment award, alongside Prime Minister John Key, during the Westpac Halberg Awards in 2011.
Does she get worn down by it?
“No, but you do get concerned at the number of people who take the time to write and express their opinions, which would be fine, but they’re so nasty and vitriolic, you know, and it can be so prejudiced. It doesn’t hurt me personally because you become desensitised. But when I first started, I was like, ‘Oh, my God, people write that stuff? They think like that?’”
The staunchly proud Kiwi loves sticking up for the underdog, a quality her parents instilled in her as she was growing up in Rotorua.
She was also exceptionally vocal when it came to pay parity between male and female athletes, a topic she’s still passionate about.
The squash superstar at the Hi-Tech British Open Squash Championships in 1988.
But the mum to four boys is determined to do the best she possibly can in her current role – and it’s one that’s incredibly close to her heart.
Every week, Susan makes the commute from the home she shares in Tauranga with her husband and former manager John Oakley to either Auckland or Wellington, where she couch surfs with friends and family.
“I did have a place in Auckland, but I let it go last year. I alternate my stays with people so no one gets sick of me!”
She is considering making the move back to Auckland as soon as her youngest son, Jamie, shifts out later this year, leaving her with an empty nest for the first time.
“My eldest, Julian (22), is at college in Rhode Island, USA. Alex (21), the second eldest, is at Waikato University, Josh (19) is in upstate New York and Jamie’s (17) off to George Washington College in DC,” she says as she ticks them off.
Still achieving her goals, speaking at the Chinese New Settlers Services Trust Office last year.
“They’ve all got sporting scholarships – that’s why three of them are in America. Julian’s goal is the Olympics – the 1500m, and he just made the All-American Indoor Sports mile finals. Josh and Jamie have squash scholarships, unsurprisingly,” laughs Susan. “I’m pretty proud of them. Very proud, actually. But they’re at that age where they don’t want you to shout it from the rooftops. And I’m not allowed to put anything on Facebook about their lives.”
Having no kids left at home will be odd, but Susan reckons they’ll all be back at one point or another, and while she loves them very much, she’s quite content with the fact the four boys will have flown the nest – it’ll give the battered door frames a chance to recover, she jokes.
You can only imagine the impact four boys would have on the home décor.
“I have lots of friends who are really devastated when their children move out… They must have girls,” she chuckles. “The realisation is starting to hit home, though. My ultimate joy used to be having a weekend at home on my own, and now it’s not quite such a novelty. But that’s our role as parents – bring them up, let them fly.”
The priority at home at the moment, she says, is spending time with John, who has just started commuting to Melbourne for his work as general manager for an orthopaedics company.
“He’s due home tonight for the first time in three weeks,” she says, her face softer and her smile wider as she speaks of her husband of 29 years. “We’re seldom home together, but the nice thing is that you really look forward to seeing each other. You make more of an effort because you have to.
“We went away on holiday last year and we were on a plane when we looked at each other and thought, ‘Are we actually going to be able to do this – be around each other 24/7?’ Of course, we could, and it was lovely.”
The rare days off they do have together are spent in Tauranga, where they climb Mount Maunganui, head to their local café for a cuppa or take their dog Tui for a walk.
But Susan admits her thoughts are never too far from her job, especially as the international refugee crisis deepens and the United States presidential election process continues.
“I think every Race Relations Commissioner would say that we’re at a bit of a crossroads at the moment,” she says thoughtfully. “The interesting thing for New Zealanders is that our diversity has changed within a generation. By 2035, it will have completely changed again.”
The biggest problem, she tells, is the “everyday racism” – the anecdotal cases she hears about where people have been racially abused at bus stops or in the supermarket.
“People say it’s PC gone mad, but it’s nothing about political correctness. It’s just about being correct and doing the right thing. To be honest, when I started in the role, I genuinely believed we were a far more open minded and tolerant country. We talk a lot about being ethnically diverse, we talk about being the most peaceful nation on earth. But we’re not perfect.”
There are many rewarding moments, but none have been quite so moving as a recent visit to the Mangere Refugee Centre to farewell a group of Syrian and Afghan refugees as they prepared to be resettled into their new communities.
“Their gratitude towards New Zealand is phenomenal,” Susan explains. “The first person they thank is the Prime Minister, then the government and then all New Zealanders. And these are people who have every right to be here.”
Susan has two years of her term left and she reckons they’ll probably be just as colourful as the first three.
“I’m more confident now,” she affirms. “I think I’m as strong as I’ve ever been, but I’ve had more practice. The most important thing is giving a voice to those people – those vulnerable people – who have no one.”
And as for the criticism?
“I’ve been through enough to understand it can’t get any worse,” she says wryly. “I just think, ‘Okay, it’s not a popularity contest.’ But it steels you to keep going, carry on and do an even better job. And that’s what I will do.”
