Rainbows and Riches

Armed with half a dozen roughly-cut wooden stakes, a pottle of screws, and a wooden sign covered in still-wet paint, we’re heading towards the College of Education. I’m wedged in the back of the recently-completed Undie 500 van, between the sign and poorly-secured couch. They’re not doing any lecture-speaking or notice-board posters, their campaign style is a “big, wooden, fuck-off” sign to pull in the votes of the future educators.

At two weeks into the campaign, their sign construction is an organised art. Cutting up Speights and Corona boxes to use as improvised stencils with cans of black and red spray-paint, they set to work.

“I’m just doing this to get everyone off my back,” complains Andrew Riches about the slogan they’ve just written on the sign outside his garage: “Follow the Rainbow 2 Riches.”

“It’s just far too cheesy,” argues Riches at the start of their campaign. Of course, everyone he’s asked about it laughs, telling him how awesome it is and that he should use it. With such a witty play on their names, he has quickly caved and is hammering it into the garden outside the College of Education’s Collective café. Although, with no other campaign material on the campus, it looks more like a divinely-inspired quote than a message to voters.

Andrew Riches (front) and Amadeus Rainbow.

Andrew Riches, a law and political science student in his final year, doesn’t seem to care though. He’s confident in the way he’s running his campaign, following his own improvised slogan: “just don’t screw it up.”

Riches has been eyeing the UCSA presidency since before he joined the executive as the external education officer this year, and has been politically active since his first year at Canterbury. He is unashamedly vocal about his views and beliefs, from his involvement in the Young Nationals to his politically-charged letters in Canta. This is one of his strengths, he believes—“it’s important to have a president that’s switched on politically.” His bedroom shelves hold political biographies amongst his law textbooks, and his walls proudly display posters of events he’s organised on campus and a framed news clipping from his first-year clash with anti-war protesters on the steps of the library.

Rainbow putting up election posters.

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His running mate, Amadeus Rainbow, is quite the opposite. The 22 year-old computer science student has made more of a name for himself on campus with his unicycling than his political endeavours on the UCSA executive. While he was originally planning to run against Riches for president, this changed when he was accepted into the Masters programme mid-year. Rainbow decided that he wouldn’t have the time to handle the position, but that he could take on the job of vice president. “I didn’t want to have to run against you,” jokes Riches, “it could’ve really ruined our friendship.”

His unlikely partnership with Andrew Riches came as a surprise to some of Rainbow’s more left-wing friends – namely his mother, who didn’t approve of him running “with a redneck like Andrew Riches.” But their mainstream political views were never an issue; Rainbow describes running with Riches as a “no-brainer” on a personal level.

Heading into the campaign, they’re both confident about their chances, but know little of the other candidates running. Four candidates are running for president, and another five for vice. Neither can name all of them, but that doesn’t stop Riches’ confident ego from placing himself and Rainbow as the front-runners. Their campaign style is a combination of Riches’ bold personality and Rainbow’s cautious planning. Riches focuses on how to get their names out there, while Rainbow wants to get them remembered.

First off the mark on Sunday afternoon, they secure their trademark campaign signs on campus; built using the materials scavenged from their late-night missions behind the Riccarton Pack ‘n’ Save. Their speed in establishing a campaign presence surprised many of the other candidates, who accused them of monopolising the sign space. Rainbow brushes their criticisms aside: “it’s their bad luck for not being organised.”

Rainbow and Riches constructing election signs.

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Sure enough, during the first week of campaigning, their signs are met with copycats. “I was surprised at the lack of innovativeness of the other candidates,” says Riches, ”… every other idiot has come along and put up their crappy little signs [in the garden outside UBS], and they’ve all been blown over.”

Riches is equally dismissive of the other candidates; in particular, fellow law student Michael Goldstein. Goldstein is one of only two other serious contenders for the position of president, but having never been on the UCSA executive and quite insular, Riches is sceptical of his candidacy.

“He’s not doing it for the right reasons,” criticises Riches, “he’s doing it because he wants something on his CV.”

Goldstein is running his campaign with a clear policy – immediate rewards for members of the UCSA, and lower food prices in the cafés. Riches is more cautious: he believes there are too many variables leading into next year and that “there are bigger fish to fry” than the price of food – better national representation and a rowdier Common Room Bar.

As the campaign heads into its second week, Riches and Rainbow begin to head into lecture theatres to attract voters. Speaking in lecture theatres is Riches’ natural campaign style; his delivery is the strongest and most energetic of the candidates. His speeches are mostly off-the-cuff and full of political lines, using broad and cordial language to appeal to the desires of the audience. “I can’t promise you I’ll solve the problems in Iraq,” Riches jokes to a lecture full of political science students. “Making sure that the time you spend at uni is the best time of your life,” he promises first-year law students. In others, Rainbow rides around on his unicycle and diffuses any confrontations that erupt with the students.

Riches ability to give quotable speeches shines through at the presidential debate in the third week. While the two other present candidates, Mary Paul and Michael Goldstein, read and double-check their prepared notes, Riches sits back in his chair, appearing totally relaxed. In reality, he wishes he’d put more planning into it, but kept on getting distracted that morning. “One or two questions I hadn’t put a single drop of thought into,” he admits. Despite this lack of preparation, as Paul pauses to read from her notes and Goldstein fumbles about his knowledge of the UCSA, Riches is ready to launch into any question without hesitation.

Riches speaking during a lecture.

Honestly, it shook my faith in democracy. It literally made me question having elected representatives.

—Andrew Riches

While the candidates agree with each other on many of the questions, Riches positions himself against the other two on what they believe the most pressing issue for students is. Goldstein and Paul both identify the most pressing issue to students as the price of food in the UCSA‘s bars and cafés; Riches takes another view: getting a job relevant to your degree.

After the debate, Riches laughs at their comments on food prices: “I come here to get a degree, not have lunch! … there’s more important things we could do. And when you look back at this place in 20 years time, are you going to remember how much it cost to buy a pie?”

As the three weeks of electioneering comes to a close, despite the speeches and candidate trash-talking, Riches isn’t as confident as his image implies. “The other candidates have done a much better job than I thought they would,” concedes Riches as the polling booths are about to close. “I think I underestimated them.” Sources close to Goldstein say that he’s equally nervous though and some of his closest friends haven’t even given him their vote.

Riches at the presidential debate.

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On the night of the election, in the early hours of Friday morning, the UCSA executive offices became a nervous waiting room for several of the executive candidates. Eagerly awaiting the election results, Riches sends me a text at 3am: “this waiting is killing me.” But at 3.10, the results are in and the waiting is over: Goldstein has won 1051 votes to 656. Riches storms out of the room.

Despite victory for some of the executive candidates in the room (and the landslide for Rainbow) the mood of the room immediately fell. “We kind of hoped that Riches would’ve won,” says Rainbow, ”… it was a bit of a downer.”

In the early hours of the morning, and in the pouring rain, Riches bikes around campus, distraught and slightly drunk, to kick down every last one of his signs before retiring to his bed.

What went wrong? Rainbow predicted that the race for president would be close, but with a margin of almost 400 votes, “that’s like … what happened? What the hell’s going on here?” Even some of Goldstein’s friends were surprised.

“First years,” blames Riches without hesitation. “They don’t know a damn thing about the place, and they wanted cheaper food.” Riches attacks both Goldstein’s campaign promises and the voters that bought into them: “We have no control over food prices … in the executive. I guess really, I overestimated the intelligence of Canterbury students.”

I personally believe it really is a popularity contest, and I played it as a popularity contest.

—Amadeus Rainbow

“[For] the voters to elect a guy who ran a campaign based on introducing Fly Buys to university is just … it’s retarded,” says Riches, more confused than angry. “Honestly, it shook my faith in democracy. It literally made me question having elected representatives.”

Rainbow’s victory is much less confusing, “I really didn’t have much competition … and so it doesn’t overly surprise me.” The other candidates for vice president were never as visible as Rainbow was, but he knows that his landslide victory was probably due more to his memorable name and unicycling than his political skills. “It’s a pity,” he sympathises, “I personally believe it really is a popularity contest, and I played it as a popularity contest.”

Riches isn’t as angry or depressed about his defeat as one might think, just confused about the voter mentality. “I did all I could. I campaigned on things I think are important,” he says, satisfied with the way he ran his campaign, “I wouldn’t want to win the presidency and get in on promises I couldn’t keep.” He’s disappointed that he won’t get the work with the people who made it onto the executive, “they were pretty much exactly the people I voted for … if I lost and a bunch of idiots came in, then I’d think, ‘oh well, at least I don’t have to work with that bunch’.”

Next year, Riches is moving out of uni and into the real world. He’s considering taking a year off before applying for some law positions. He’s not bitter towards Goldstein, “I’d rather see him do a good job than a shit job,” and is quite content with his campaign: “[I had] the experience, I did a good campaign. I campaigned on things I could actually change … I guess, I just didn’t understand the students as well as I thought I did.”

Rainbow is worried about being the only person with experience next year, “that puts a bit of a burden on me.” Goldstein is just as nervous: “good luck for next year” someone offers him backstage at Law Revue, the day after the election. “Cheers,” he replies. “I’m gonna need it.” ❡

A complete set of photos are available on Flickr.