Editorial: The Springbok tour that split a nation

Today marks the 30th anniversary of the first match of the 1981 Springbok tour to New Zealand - a tour that in less than two months divided this country down the middle.
At the centre of the drama was South Africa's apartheid regime and the proudest symbol of white supremacy, the Springboks.
There was no fence sitting in New Zealand that year. You were either pro or anti-tour.
Families, communities, workplaces, even rugby clubs were divided. Mates went their separate ways. The All Black captain and another rugby great stood down from action. In a country not known for political passion, arguments were fierce. And the battle for the streets which developed between police and protesters, led to unprecedented civil disorder.
Undoubtedly the disorder brought out the worst in some police, just as it attracted criminal elements to the protest movement, leading to some of the most turbulent scenes in New Zealand history around Auckland's Eden Park on the day of the third and final test.
Years of protest, first under the slogan "No Maori, No Tour", and eventually "No Contact with South Africa" had had no impact on the New Zealand Rugby Football Union and resentment had built.
In hindsight the fact that New Zealand was changing may have contributed - Maoridom was finding a voice, the national sport's hold on our communities was slipping and authority was no longer respected unconditionally.
When several hundred protesters forced the cancellation of the second fixture by invading Hamilton's Rugby Park shock waves reached every corner of New Zealand.
When the protesters finally left the field, they were pelted with objects by angry spectators and there were reports of brawling for several hours afterwards.
There is no doubt that some within the police were annoyed at Commissioner Bob Walton's handling of the situation. They felt the protesters should have been forcibly removed and that, by holding back, the police had shown weakness. The battle lines were now drawn not only between protesters and supporters, but between protesters and police. It became common to see protesters as well as police wearing protective gear.
How the tour progressed through a further 13 matches now seems beyond belief. But there was no way that the Rob Muldoon-led National Government was going to give in to civil disobedience, especially in an election year.
For many ordinary New Zealanders, the majority of whom had favoured the tour when it started, Hamilton changed the game. Some wanted the Springboks to go home, others wanted the police to keep the peace. The polarisation of views meant nobody was immune to the emotional tempest. Not even all All Black families were united.
It is amazing to think back on the extent of the situation. Hotel workers refusing the Springboks service, the Boks sleeping under grandstands before matches and preparing out of town before tests. Sharp objects thrown on to the field before the first test in Christchurch, the match against South Canterbury cancelled because of security concerns, barbed wire around the perimeter of grounds.
And then came the series decider in Auckland. Vicious battles between police and protesters raged outside the ground, injuries occurring on both sides, while inside a rugby test like no other was fought. An unforgettable moment in history was ensured by a low-flying Cessna that dropped flour bombs, leaflets and flares throughout the match. In the second half a flour bomb knocked All Black prop Gary Knight to the ground, causing him to suffer headaches for months afterwards. The country had officially gone mad.
I watched the final test on television leaning against the wall in a small, packed lounge in a student flat. Most of those in the room were rugby-loving people, but some were anti-tour. Others I sensed just didn't want to talk about it. I recall purposefully controlling my emotions, and slipping away soon after All Black fullback Alan Hewson had kicked his winning penalty goal in injury time. I was pleased, not thrilled, that New Zealand had won. At least we'd got something from the tour, I reasoned.
For - I won't sit on the fence - I was pro-tour and had attended three of the matches, which was not a comfortable stance at a university known for its liberal politics. Nor was it easy to watch a female friend being dragged from the road by police while I walked to a match or hear from another friend batoned in a notorious Wellington protest.
As the months passed, I came to the realisation that I could not support future contact with South Africa and certainly not in New Zealand. Sport and politics had mixed to create a volatile cocktail that most New Zealanders could not stomach. The protesters had won and, in the end, they were proven correct. Without New Zealand's support, without the Springbok tours, change would happen more quickly in South Africa.
In tomorrow's Hawke's Bay Today, Doug Laing revisits the 1981 Springbok-NZ Maori match at McLean Park.