Amanda Saxton avoids the tenting crisis by slinging her hammock between boughs of a parliamentary pōhutukawa. Photo / Mark Mitchell
Amanda Saxton camped out at the Parliament protest to see, first-hand, what it's all about
My first day at the occupation was its 10th at Parliament. The protesters felt like a community that had weathered tough times — say, losing jobs, social ostracisation, a cyclone, clashes with police, unsanctioned psychological warfare in the guise of Barry Manilow — and emerged in the sunshine, tighter-knit than ever. Which is exactly what they were. They were also elated. Staunch. United in a cause (though divided in others). And incredibly happy to be together, without masks, on that balmy afternoon in Wellington. By then, the death threats of the occupation's early days had largely been replaced by a more coherent message: end vaccine mandates and, P.S. Jacinda Ardern should resign.
My feelings towards the protesters changed frequently. I've been moved. I've been repulsed. I've met people I want to befriend and others who've raised my hackles. I've felt confused by what people actually want: no mandates, or a total overhaul of the system? They keep calling Ardern a "communist", as an insult, yet the decentralised system they're proposing is kinda the definition of communism. Spending time at the occupation made me better understand certain viewpoints — but it didn't change mine. I am pro-vaccine and mandate-hesitant, for the record.
I'd crossed the protest lines to camp out for the night, reporting for an international media outlet. Fully vaxxed but without a mask. Other journos had advised against one, given my aim was to connect with people. Catching Covid was a risk, of course, but that's increasingly the case anywhere.
The protesters are not fond of New Zealand's "mainstream media", claiming it cannot be relied upon to report objectively. They tend to treat journalists badly. And journalists write about being treated badly. And the cycle continues. My experience was different, for whatever reasons. I didn't have any trouble.
One of the first people I met was a friendly, dreadlocked child holding a chicken. He said he'd brought "Chirpy" all the way up from the South Island to see Wellington. Would I like to pat her? There were heaps of children at the occupation. They raced around Parliament's gardens in packs, climbing trees and playing hopscotch. At that point, the vibe was all-ages festival. With hula-hoopers, free hugs and cloying wafts of dope. But also placards with Ardern's face behind bars and slogans like "Say No To Medical Apartheid".
Volunteers in industrial-sized kitchen tents served three free hot meals a day, for anyone. Portaloos and rubbish bins abounded, all well maintained. Lettuces had been planted on Parliament's lawns. An admin tent swarmed with people eager to lend a hand. Inside it, piles of nappies, dog food, and blankets were there for those needing them. Donations of all kinds poured in from the outside world, from food to funds to pay parking tickets. Protesters had a real sense of pride in the functioning village they'd created. No one wore masks.
Sarah, an Auckland mum-of-four who'd been volunteering in the kitchen, told me the occupation made it clear what she'd missed most during the pandemic: spontaneous human connection. Being there "has replenished my soul", she said.
As dusk fell, minor hiccups arose. The Hare Krishnas — one of the food providers — ran out of biodegradable cutlery. But people seemed happy enough fashioning chopsticks out of twigs. An agitated fellow was escorted away by self-appointed security guards. More protesters arrived; there wasn't enough room for everyone's tents. So, some of the ensconced offered strangers space in theirs. Others started cramming existing tents closer, to squeeze in more. An alliance of former Placemakers employees, fired for refusing the vaccine, guided recently arrived former colleagues towards their communal tents.
I avoided the tenting crisis by bringing a hammock, which I slung between boughs of a mighty tree. The Placemakers folk urged me to bunk down with them, lest I get cold. But I really wanted to sleep in a parliamentary pōhutukawa. Being there overnight made me feel like I was part of something big (an imposter, but present) and I revelled in my view of the Beehive behind a canvas shanty-town.
Most protesters turned in early, despite temptations of a disco marquee. I slept soundly and woke up after sunrise to a recorded message booming: "Parliament grounds are no longer open to the public … you are trespassing." No one seemed fazed. Beneath my hammock, a man with a spade excavated the steeply sloped garden — making a flat area for his tent. "Good morning!" he hollered, introducing himself as Ian, a 31-year-old builder from Tauranga. Out of work due to the mandate.
Ian told me the worst thing about being unvaccinated was that you're treated like an "evil person". He pointed to the people around him: "You see everyone here? Salt of the earth. Different factions all caring for each other and the country."
One such person was volunteering as a child-minder. Annabelle, a smiley-eyed grandmother from the Central North Island, with sole custody of her mokopuna. She'd lost her job as a social worker and cried softly as she spoke of fears for his future. Another was 36-year-old Casey, raking hay. He'd recently returned to Christchurch after coaching rugby and working on superyachts in Europe. Unvaccinated, unable to find a job, and appalled at how the country had changed, he'd be in Wellington as long as the protest lasted. Casey told me he wanted to "be part of a turning point in the history of New Zealand.
"In Wellington, now, there are these two different worlds. Here we're all dancing, singing, smiling, hugging. You can see everyone's faces. We feel free. Two blocks away, everyone is masked up, full of resentment and suspicion. Vaccine passport, please. Stark contrast."
Speaking to protesters made me understand vaccine-hesitancy better. A common thought pattern is this: early scepticism over how vaccines could be made both super-fast and safe, followed by inconsistent messages around their efficacy over time and for various Covid strains, compounded by the fact that natural immunity appears to work. In these minds, there's room for reasonable doubt. They're pro-choice and choose not to get vaccinated.
But the occupation is a choose-your-own adventure foray into the world of disenfranchised New Zealanders. Looking for honest, hardworking people who've been hurt by mandates? There are so, so many. Seeking confused references to Hitler and/or Jews? They're harder to find but not impossible. (I've seen Stars of David worn by protesters as a badge of segregation, "Jewcinda" placards presumably implying the Prime Minister is part of the Global Elite — more on that later — and swastikas implying she's a no-good authoritarian Nazi.) Want to constructively debate the ethics of mandates with both vaxxed and unvaxxed pro-choicers? This is where it's happening. Enjoy learning about conspiracy theories? Go hard.
A big one is the "Great Reset". Lots of people told me to look up Klaus Schwab, the "New World Order", and/or "Global Elites". Schwab's the head of the World Economic Forum, an international organisation for co-operation between governments and the private sector. In 2020, he and Prince Charles indeed called for a Great Reset of the global economy. They vaguely encouraged leaders of nations and industry to use the pandemic to create a fairer, more sustainable world. Somehow, this sparked the theory that Covid vaccines contain tracking devices or poisons and that lockdowns are designed to cause the economic collapse necessary for a socialist world order to wield control. They'll run the place for global elites (often specified as Jews, such as a Rothschild family and hence "Jewcinda"). Believers think Covid's a hoax and Ardern is besties with Schwab.
One guy told me 5G radiation caused Covid. I looked it up and found the International Commission for Non-Ionising Radiation Protection (ICNIRP) very firm on the subject: claims that 5G has any bearing on Covid "are not supported by any evidence (not even extremely weak evidence)". I also found a scientific paper, published on the National Centre for Biotechnology Information (NCBI), about similarities between symptoms of Covid-19 and Acute Radiation Syndrome (which is not caused by mobile networks). Loads! The paper's gist was that studying the treatment of one may help inform treatment of the other. Totally beside the point, yet fuelling the 5G theory.
On Bunny St, where pedestrians still roam, a woman swooped down on small children, hissing, "You stay strong, young one. Don't let them coerce you." A large chunk of protesters are vehemently against giving children the Covid vaccine. They told me statistics from the UK proved kids were dozens of times more likely to die from it than adults. This, I found out, is a widely debunked theory based on misinterpretation of statistics. While it's true that vaccinated kids in the UK have had a higher death rate than unvaccinated kids, the UK's Office for National Statistics has clarified that's because the vaccines mainly go to kids who have serious health issues — i.e. are likely to die regardless. It also stated, point-blank, that no under-35s have died in the UK due to Covid vaccination.
I listen as people expound their theories. Then, after a few clicks on my phone, present the counter-evidence. Replies are pitying. Don't I realise my sources are tainted? The ICIRP is in cahoots with the World Health Organisation, itself run by Schwab's lackeys. As are the UK's government departments. The mainstream media is naught but his filthy mouthpiece.
There's nowhere to turn in those conversations, so I treat them as an exercise in dismissing beliefs, not the people who hold them. Much as I do with those who reckon there's a heavenly afterlife. I also check my privilege. A university education equipped me to check facts and verify sources. So, I trust the science telling me to get vaccinated against Covid. As such, mandates haven't affected me much. I still have a job, friends don't treat me like a leper, I can eat at any restaurant I choose: my frustrations are comparatively minor. I've also never felt seriously betrayed by the state. While I do dislike plenty about the Covid response, I have a vague faith that the Government probably has my best interests at heart.
Most protesters don't. Several I spoke with said they'd been abused in state care as children and could never trust a government again. There is a massive Maori presence, ready to recite grievances going back hundreds of years. Everyone there obviously has qualms about the ethics of mandates and emergency laws restricting freedoms. Some protesters voted for Ardern back in 2017 and feel she's betrayed them repeatedly: from failing to reduce child poverty, to not bolstering the health system during the first year of the pandemic, to telling New Zealanders that they would not face any penalties if they opted out of the Covid vaccine. They simply do not believe her when she suggests most mandates will be lifted after Omicron peaks.
I went back to the occupation on Tuesday, after that now notorious morning of chaos. Entering its third week, the festival vibe was gone. People were on edge after waking up to police moving concrete bollards in on them and brandishing riot shields. A deranged-looking man had driven a station wagon at a line of cops and a protester's eye had been gouged by an officer during the subsequent melee. Everyone was grubbier, smellier, and tetchier than when I was last there. Though who isn't after 15 days in a tent?
One of the self-appointed security guards, a painter-decorator named Linzy — out of work due to the mandate — told me there'd been an influx of agitators over the weekend peddling drugs and "rarking everyone up". The homeless had descended, too. Linzy acknowledged a lot of genuine protesters were at breaking point, hurt and frustrated at being "treated like we're worse than second-class citizens". The Prime Minister's dismissive attitude towards them wasn't helping, he said.
There are unpalatable factions at this protest, getting more oxygen than the many people whose hearts are in the right place and genuinely feel they're standing up for what's best for the country. I believe that a big part of getting vaccinated is for the greater good — but what if you're damned sure it isn't?
Selling up or moving out straight away isn't always possible.