New Zealand has always liked to think of itself as a country where clean institutions and public trust go hand in hand. But the spectacular fall of Jevon McSkimming, once one of the nation’s most powerful police leaders, has shattered that illusion. It is a scandal that mixes sex, power imbalance, institutional protectionism, and, ultimately, criminal behaviour involving child sexual exploitation material found on his work devices. It is the kind of drama that would shock any nation — but for New Zealand, where the police carry enormous moral authority, the impact has been seismic.
McSkimming’s career had long been celebrated as a model success story. After more than two decades in the New Zealand Police, he rose steadily and was appointed Deputy Commissioner in 2023 — a hair’s breadth from becoming the Commissioner himself. Behind the scenes, however, a far darker story was unfolding. In 2016, he began a sexual relationship with a junior staffer, known in documents as “Ms Z”. She was around 21; he was about 40. Years later, she would accuse him of coercive sexual behaviour, threats to release intimate material, emotional manipulation, and misuse of power.
Yet instead of treating her complaints with seriousness, the internal machinery of the New Zealand Police moved slowly — and, as later investigations would reveal, in ways that seemed designed more to protect McSkimming than to address possible wrongdoing. In an astounding twist, Ms Z herself was charged in early 2024 under the Harmful Digital Communications Act for emails she had sent to him. The charges were later dropped, but the message was unmistakable: the institution had not heard her.
Everything collapsed in mid-2025 when police forensic review of McSkimming’s devices uncovered something far more damning — a cache of objectionable material, including child sexual exploitation and bestiality images. According to court records, he had accessed these materials repeatedly over 4½ years, including on his work phone and laptop. At one point, nearly a third of his internet activity during work hours involved pornography searches.
In June 2025 he was arrested and charged with eight counts of possessing objectionable publications. Five charges were eventually withdrawn, but on 6 November 2025 he pleaded guilty to three. The Deputy Commissioner who once spoke publicly about protecting vulnerable children was found to have been viewing their exploitation on official police equipment.
An independent watchdog, the Independent Police Conduct Authority (IPCA), released a scathing report soon after. It found “significant failings,” including delays, poor judgement, conflicts of interest, and senior leaders’ reluctance to escalate concerns. Former Commissioner Andrew Coster had failed to disclose his knowledge of the original relationship when he should have; senior executives visited McSkimming during the investigation; and the complainant’s safety and credibility were mishandled at every stage.
For a country that sees itself as fair, transparent, and committed to integrity, the scandal has forced a reckoning. Frontline officers described the episode as “a betrayal of the uniform.” Communities — especially survivors of abuse — expressed outrage. Politicians have since committed to new oversight measures, including the creation of an independent Inspector-General of Police to ensure accountability in future.
And at the centre of it all sits a simple truth: if the nation’s highest-ranking officers cannot be trusted to uphold the standards they enforce on others, then the system requires more than patchwork fixes. It requires structural change. New Zealand is now grappling with that reality.
Oh, New Zealand. Sweet, quiet, well-behaved New Zealand — land of hobbits, good manners, and public agencies that supposedly sparkle with integrity. And yet here we are. Your almost-Commissioner of Police, Jevon “I-Swear-I’m-Innocent” McSkimming, has been caught with more inappropriate material than a bored teenager with unlimited Wi-Fi. Except this was not a bored teenager. This was the man sitting one step below the most powerful policing role in the country. Using work devices. During office hours. Darling, even Southeast Asian politicians caught in karaoke bars are shaking their heads.
Let’s start with the basics: if you’re 40 and you begin a relationship with a 21-year-old subordinate, congratulations — you have entered the “textbook abuse of power” zone. But this man didn’t stop there. No. He needed to add a sprinkle of coercion, a hint of intimidation, and then — for the grand finale — turn the injured party into the accused. Charging her under a digital-harassment law? That’s not just unethical; that’s Olympic-level institutional gymnastics.
And don’t get Auntie started on the police leadership. Instead of saying, “Hmm, our deputy might be a problem,” they said, “Let’s protect him — what could go wrong?” Well, everything. EVERYTHING could go wrong. And did.
Then comes the pièce de résistance: the discovery of child abuse and bestiality images. On the work laptop. During work hours. Oh honey. At that point, even the gods of irony were exhausted.
So now New Zealand must rebuild. Trust, procedures, oversight — the whole thing. Because when your police leadership behaves like a dysfunctional boys’ club with badges, the public doesn’t just lose confidence; it loses patience.
But Auntie is ever hopeful. Scandals like these, shocking as they are, can crack open the doors for real change: independent oversight, victim-centred investigations, a little less cronyism, a little more professionalism.
And to the women — and men — who dare speak up against powerful predators wearing fancy uniforms: Auntie salutes you. Keep shouting. Keep demanding justice. And keep reminding the world that no badge, no title, no polished PR smile gives anyone the right to exploit or intimidate others.
New Zealand, Auntie loves you. But next time? Choose your police commissioners a bit more carefully, okay?