How Killing The Bill Brought The Thrill of Peaceful Protest, Washed The Taste of The Anti-Vax Circus

David Seymour meant to serve Hobson’s Pledge, he never meant to unite the country. And Christopher Luxon’s spin doctors are working on how to frame this as the boss bringing everyone together eh

This was the scene yesterday outside the Beehive, where New Zealand’s Parliament lives, and often breathes. This was before the Hikoi joined from across town.

I went to work, as per normal. But there was nothing normal about Tuesday, November 19, 2024. Something historical had already been brewing of course. And Tuesday was the day of delivery. I love the smell of Fighting Back in the morning. And as I took my usual stroll to work, I removed the headphones, turned off the Audiobook, wanting to soak up some of the sense of this occasion. It felt like Christmas morning.

Before lunchtime, I went over to the Parliament grounds. It was a good day for the flags. They looked amazing, the wind was in support of them, and they really helped to frame the protest.

My mum messaged me and said, “if it’s peaceful then I would support it!” And I replied that the vibe was lovely, and of course the protest was peaceful. She said something about wait and see. I was there waiting. Seeing it all unfold, and feeling an incredible sense of community, of participation; people of many races, and all ages were so totally all in this together. No one was trying to suggest they knew more, no one was doing anything silly to draw attention, or steal the focus. It was calm, and stoic — and beautiful.

There were patched gang members — so good to see. There were school kids with their parents, there were retirees (Boomers get a bad rap these days as a collective). People had taken the day off work, or just a few moments to loan some support. I never saw anyone there in disagreement, tutting away, wanting to campaign against the campaigners against the Government’s bill. Not saying there weren’t any. But it was not their day. It was a day for New Zealanders who opposed the pettiness of David Seymour, the in-articulation of our elected Prime Minister; the mean-spirited doggedness of the way this bill was introduced, supported to its first round, and essentially Molotov Cocktailed at the country.

And though Seymour is “the architect” of this bill — being an architect suggests being qualified — we must focus our frustration entirely on where the buck stops: Our Prime Minister. The politically inexperienced Christopher Luxon, expert negotiator, tough on crime, tough on all things, and so experienced at business that he had a succession of top jobs and really clocked being rich and now has heaps of houses. He can’t decide when he is the leader of the National Party and when he is the leader of the country. He can’t keep anyone around for long in his comms team, because he can’t deliver a simple message and stick to it, whilst looking convincing. He can’t stop saying What I’d Say To You, and yet he barely speaks for most of the country. He is fluent in the secret language of the landlord. A sort of She’ll Be Right for the rich whites, all the while running his idea of fairness as making things ‘good’ for Maori and Non-Maori!

Things were already largely ‘good’ for one of those teams. And the language he uses only highlights a division.

But you see Christopher Luxon is best pulled down by his own language and his own measures. His own rubric is what makes him a laughing stock; a bumbling amateur. The egg that dropped from the golden goose. The cracks starting to show.

Christopher Luxon should never have sat on his hands with this. Should never have claimed that he wasn’t supporting past first reading, and did not agree with it, but a mate’s basically said he’d like to have a go with something, and he’s in my broader team so I’ve said we’ll have a look at it.

As the Prime Minister of alleged efficiency, spending billions to save millions don’t you know, he is responsible for this bill getting the air beneath it. He is the wind beneath its wings. He had the chance to say no. And anyone leaping to his defence saying his hands were tied is not looking at the situation the way a top manager and businessman like Luxon would look at it. As a CEO (this time of the country), Luxon’s been in many boardrooms, and now occupies several bored rooms. (What he will say, is that’s not actually his fault, just a coincidence). He knows that you never let the class clown speak, you have to manage those people with daft ideas. You can make them feel valued, and like they’re trying, but you don’t give them the microphone. You do not let them run their entirely stupid idea up the flagpole, and stand back as if you’ve never had anything to do with it. You would never ever do that, right? That’s just silly. That’s just daft. That’s just: not smart management…

As the flags swayed, and people took photos, and joined in singing, and spirits were kept balanced — but high — I thought about how Seymour was guilty of making neurodiversity look bad, these occasional utterances of him being “on the spectrum” as some form of defence for his lack of reading the room. I thought about how as bad as Seymour is — and for him to see what happened yesterday, be the cause of it, and still see himself as some sort of victim is truly about as bad as Seymour gets — and I thought about how all of this, still, and always is the fault of our checked-out, wishes he was a chilled-out entertainer type, Prime Minister. Our Coldplay Leader.

I thought about how Seymour speaks to the candidly racist out there. Not just Hobson’s Pledge, who he is absolutely speaking for, but the world of hypocritical white bores that are all “speak English” and “war dance” one minute, but up early with instant coffee because they cannot miss the Haka when the All Blacks play. It’s not cultural appropriation then, it’s not an ugly intimidation tactic then mate, it’s bloody national pride init.

And I thought about how this was the antidote (pardon the obvious pun) for the anti-vax protest that tore up the lawns, burnt down a slide, and did far crueler things to logic.

That had left a bad taste in the mouth of the nation, and all over the Parliament’s lawns. It was like the new golf fans from Happy Gilmore were suddenly everywhere and in real life, and stenching up the neighbourhood.

But mostly, I thought of how Tuesday, November 19, 2024, was a day for the history books. The Hikoi. The peaceful protest. The pushchairs and strollers, the walking sticks and wheelchairs, the suited and booted, the home-slogan tee shirts, the flags waving in the wind. And the handmade signs. All pointing in the right Correct direction…