There are moments in history when professions are tested.
Doctors. Judges. Journalists.
The pandemic was one of those moments.
In a recent interview, Patrick Gower admitted something extraordinary: he crossed a journalistic line. He acknowledged being “too entrenched” in a pro-vaccine stance. He conceded his ethics slipped “for the greater good.” He admitted he became an advocate rather than an observer.
Then came the line that stopped everything:
“I’m sorry about it… but if I went back, I’d do it again.”
That single sentence cancels the confession.
Because regret without change is not reflection. It is rationalisation.
Journalism Is Not Public Health Messaging
Journalists are not public servants tasked with compliance campaigns.
They are not marketing arms of government policy.
Their duty is scrutiny.
Their role is challenge.
Their oath — if we can call it that — is to truth, not consensus.
When Gower says he “crossed a line,” he’s acknowledging what many New Zealanders already felt: the media stopped asking hard questions.
Instead of interrogating vaccine mandates, they amplified them.
Instead of platforming injured individuals, they marginalised them.
Instead of questioning emergency powers, they celebrated them.
And when dissent emerged, it was framed as ignorance, extremism, or danger.
That is not journalism.
That is alignment.
Following the Crowd Is Not Courage
Throughout history, institutions under pressure tend to close ranks. Crisis compresses independent thought. People convince themselves that extraordinary circumstances justify abandoning ordinary standards.
The justification always sounds noble:
- “For the greater good.”
- “We had to act.”
- “The system would have collapsed.”
- “People might have died.”
But ethics are not situational.
If journalistic standards only apply when they are easy, then they are not standards at all.
The problem wasn’t that journalists supported vaccination.
The problem was that many stopped questioning the power structures enforcing it.
Mandates.
Censorship.
Professional exclusions.
Public shaming.
Those weren’t fringe issues. They were democratic issues.
And too many in the media chose compliance over scrutiny.
The Sting That Destroyed Trust
Gower’s exposé of a Canterbury doctor issuing exemptions was celebrated at the time.
Looking back, he now admits he wishes he had “talked to her” instead of chasing her down the street.
That moment symbolised something larger: the press didn’t investigate dissent — it hunted it.
And when people were injured, silenced, or ostracised, they were often treated as inconvenient noise.
This is where trust fractured.
Not because journalists got everything wrong.
But because they refused to consider they might be wrong.
“I’d Do It Again”
This is the heart of it.
If you truly believe you crossed a line…
If you believe your ethics slipped…
If you recognise that society broke under pressure…
Then you don’t say you’d repeat the same actions.
You say:
“I would slow down.”
“I would ask harder questions.”
“I would hold power to account — even in crisis.”
Saying “I’d do it again” reveals something uncomfortable.
The regret is social — not ethical.
It’s regret for how it looks now.
Not regret for the decision itself.
New Zealand’s Unfinished Reckoning
Gower is right about one thing: the country broke.
Trust broke.
Families broke.
Communities fractured.
And the media played a role in that fracture.
The public doesn’t need grovelling apologies.
It needs evidence that the lesson has been learned.
The next crisis will come.
The question is not whether journalists will support public health.
The question is whether they will remain independent while doing so.
Will they challenge authority?
Will they platform dissent respectfully?
Will they investigate harm as aggressively as they promoted compliance?
Or will they once again decide that advocacy is easier than accountability?
Confession — Or Career Revelation?
Patrick Gower’s admission is not trivial.
It is historic.
But history will not judge whether he apologised.
It will judge whether he changed.
And if “I’d do it again” is the final answer…
Then this wasn’t a confession.
It was a clarification.
Because if you knowingly cross a journalistic line —
if you admit advocacy replaced scrutiny —
if you concede ethics slipped “for the greater good” —
and yet would repeat the same conduct…
then journalism may not be the right profession.
Journalism demands scepticism of power.
Politics demands loyalty to a cause.
Those are not the same vocation.
If advocacy in service of policy feels more natural than interrogation of it, then perhaps the newsroom was never the correct arena. Parliament might suit better.
The public deserves journalists who question authority — especially when it is popular.
The next crisis will come.
New Zealand will need reporters — not campaigners.
And this time, “for the greater good” will not be good enough.