The Parliament Occupation

Many have seen We Came Here For Freedom's perspective of our occupation. Two years on, you will hear of my experience of this occupation.

The Convoy and Parliament Occupation were defining moments for the Freedom Movement. It was a time of unity and defiance at the doorsteps of a hive that is used as a stage for mass manipulation. Thanks to many individuals I still hold in high regard, the occupation had moments of brilliance and dogged resilience. Yet, it wasn’t all sunshine, rainbows, and ineffective cyclones; there were persons there who bombarded many of us with sophisticated forms of warfare for days. At times, it felt like you were in a pressure cooker. If I could return there in a time machine, I would get someone to tell past-me to video-record my entire experience with a body-cam. Many who have been deceived into viewing me in a derogatory way would have learned much about the importance of first-hand experience and how that compares to Chinese whispers.

My concern for the convoy started in the weeks leading up to it. My sources believed that our opposition had already infiltrated the convoy to damage the image of our most convincing voices. An occupation would be the most likely outcome from this convoy; it’s just what we do. Occupations are challenging to manage in the best environments; occupations are usually run by Tangata Whenua, who whakapapa to a local hapu that holds mana whenua over the occupied zone. Those are very different to occupying grounds deemed to be the property of the public. These grounds can also be interpreted as personal property by a corporate government with a licence to print currency. These grounds are precious to them; it’s the front yard of their ego tower. If you’re going to occupy it, you’ll need to engage in proper planning and preparation to prevent piss-poor performance. This was supposed to be an occupation by ‘the people’ and for ‘the people’. What united us? None of us knew; apparently, we wanted to end the mandates.

A week before this occupation, I was busy learning what I needed to know for my theatre show in the Whangarei District Court. I was supposed to focus on that. Sadly, I am a scatterbrained Liberal who quickly gets bored of pedantic orthodox repetition. Once I had completed learning what I needed to focus on, I travelled back home to the north. On the way back, I passed the convoy heading south. My wayward mouth hadn’t put me out of favour with Voices For Freedom. So, I kept Claire updated on the convoy's location. That way, VFF members could time morale-lifting support for the convoy on the over-pass bridges. Sadly, that didn’t help the timing much, as the convoy was already compromised by what I regard as internal subversion. Looking back now, I realise that the leadership group was a necessary instrument for damage control. Damage of what? Public perception of conscientious objectors; us.

Setting up a nation is easy, protecting its borders from subversion and assault is the hard part.

We could do a whole article on subversion and controlled opposition, and I have numerous times. Now, I look at those articles with criticism that maintains some sympathy for the inexperienced version of me who wrote them. Purposeful subversion exists; I’ve seen it planned and acted out to undermine our “opposition”, our people, and other hopeful states. I’ve seen it at festivals, in business, in the workplace, and in activism. Its most sophisticated face is a corporate one. I’ve had to stand there and keep my mouth shut while sophisticated malevolence concocted schemes that were claimed to serve the “greater good” by taking advantage of naivety, arrogance, and resentment. The problem with witnessing this and dedicating oneself to countering this behaviour is having a sensitivity meter that is ratcheted up too high. It makes one investigate every genuine mistake as if it could have been purposeful with the intent to undermine. The Freedom and Truth Movement has a massive problem with this. To many of us, everything is a potential conspiracy, and everyone who makes a mistake is perceived as controlled opposition.

How does one determine the difference between intentional incompetence and accidental incompetence? Slowly and carefully collect evidence and proof of consistent idiocy and unremedied lies, and remain sceptical of intent until you have proof of subversive planning. You must be very good at deciding which mistakes are understandable and which are repetitive and unexplainable. Knowledge of psychology, ideology, history, ancient stories, and behavioural analysis helps me consider the why behind a potential subversive. When you know Sun Tzu’s The Art of War is your opposition’s bible, you must have your wits about you; there’s a fine line between paranoid and diligent. Unfortunately for you, the well-meaning counter-subversive, proving that a fellow activist or political posturer is a subversive actor, requires proof that is best obtained through spying or information theft. Of which is objectionable and contrary to your hypothetical goodness. Unfortunately, your opposition has separate “independent” departments for espionage, subversion, and policing.

One will deny they spy unjustifiably, one will deny they undermine their people, and the latter will deny they unlawfully work with the other two to force their interpretation of law onto everyone they define as property.

Part of the reason I initially withheld support for the convoy was the lack of planning of the routes concerning the people’s interests and the many persons of concern who attached themselves to the convoy. What concerned me was not the demands of the convoy; I found the demands to be quite reasonable when measured up with the government’s legal position. What concerned me was the lack of planning and preparation with consideration for this rogue government’s capabilities and how that stacked up with the naive expectations of the so-called “leaders” of the convoy. It was why competent cause organisations felt compelled to come and rescue the Parliament Occupation, and that’s one reason why I joined them.

I was convinced to go to the convoy protest by good friends, Trump-supporting boys who know where to put their minds if they want success and a life of abundance. I think it is a mistake of monumental proportions to fob off Trump supporters as red-neck idiots. They are nowhere near that label; they’re witty and armed with a stoic belief in the resurrection of American greatness through Donald Trump. You may think that’s not smart, but faith is the precursor to manifesting what you want. They have the basics sorted; they look after their family, friends, and interests first, and they don’t discriminate like political NeoConservatives and Neoliberals (Nazis and Commies). In a world where what’s harming all of us is failing at the basics while pontificating over our hypothetical pursuit of enlightenment, faithful Trump supporters have been a breath of fresh air. Of all the Freedom groups, they have been some of the most reliable, loyal, and consistent friends.

These guys flew me to Wellington so I could be there and even flew me back to be with my daughter on her birthday. My father wasn’t around often growing up, so being at my daughter's birthdays and events is a priority above all other things. Wielding a Trump flag for them at the convoy protest was the least I could do. A prominent Conservative voice on our side may object, but last time I checked, Constitutional Nations that bind tyranny down through robust open-sourced covenants are our allies. There are a lot of gun-owning Trump supporters who know why it is essential to bind governments to constitutions that echo in the free minds of our boys and girls. Empowering them to know the law so that they can express their rights is crucial to rejecting unjustified tyranny perpetually. Whether or not Trump’s supporters know those details precisely is neither here nor there for me. They stand for that in principle by supporting the character Trump plays. Me personally? I prefer Robert Kennedy Jr. Why? When he speaks, he educates; he doesn’t indoctrinate.

This is the longer march through the individuals instead of the long march through workforce institutions. Remember, the long march through institutions is a Marxist dictum comparable to ‘might is right’.

Whether Freedom Village knew it or not, they stood for formulating a Constitution that competently protects their unalienable rights from rogue governments. So do the seventy-nine million Patriots who support Trump. If, like Chantelle Baker, you’re worried about the media only focusing on Trump flags, look at it as an opportunity to fly your best message right next to them. Alternatively, you could force people to compromise their values for your “strategic” opinions. Which includes micromanagement messaging from a centralised cause body, or black and white our diverse constituency under a vague and dogmatic religious structure. Or, rant the “truth” at everyone and build warmongering cults to reinforce that “truth”. Not agreeing completely with those angles makes me an outcast in this movement, hated just as much as I am supported.

I will never believe that undermining moral consistency to “benefit optics” is an excellent long-term strategy for Traditional Conservatives and Classical Liberals. If aiming for gains in the short term makes you sacrifice consistency, then there can be no long-term gain. I agree with Dr Peterson; no one gets away with anything, no matter how minute that indiscretion may be. That fact is becoming more and more evident to me every day. I may be an unorganised Liberal, but I’m organised enough to do the lion’s share of reading and listening daily. Anyone who thinks nothing is watching and judging them all the time hasn’t studied broadly enough. A Conservative who believes morals can be put aside for “sound” strategy is no Conservative. They are more ignorant than they think they are. I guess ignorance is not exclusive to Liberals; it’s just expressed differently in Conservatism. A famous saying in northern Thailand goes toward this curious paradox: same, same, but different.

Philosophy and opinion consistency shouldn’t be my concern now; I’m standing on the eve of the first day of an occupation. I’m sipping a beer with the Trump boys after witnessing some over-eager, useful idiot try to convince people not to occupy Parliament. I was wise enough not to presume any authority over people who had successfully navigated the biggest convoy this country had ever seen. They wanted to follow in the footsteps of the Canadian Trucker Convoy and to be honest, I wanted to see us do it successfully in a very Kiwi fashion. So, I helped this person to a larger stage while her accomplice ranted that I was trying to manipulate people to go home. I was trying to calm people so they could listen to her and decide for themselves. I’ve often seen this individual at activist events, playing a different character depending on the group she’s trying to manipulate.

Today, she might be a “Jesus Freak”. Another day, she might be a spiritual medium who talks to spirits. The reality? She’s just a bad actor.

Thankfully, I spotted a true leader in this convoy; he gave the best case to stay. I’m glad I gave him that loudspeaker and encouraged him to speak up; everyone decided to stay after hearing his speech. Why? Contrast. Pair up a manipulator and a genuine leader in front of everyone, and people will see. His speech came from his gut and heart, and he was faithful to the cause’s centre. What occupies the “halls of democracy” is far worse than what occupies the lawns of Parliament. I know that, and that’s why I supported this man more than any of the hypocrites in training who were there that day playing both sides. This convoy did what the past greats did under the leadership of John Minto in the 80s. They had successfully occupied Parliament grounds and made me believe in them. They had done it despite the failures in planning and the mess-ups created by chaos addicts who had infiltrated their cause. They did it because there was an essence in this movement that would only fail if those who carried this essence faltered in consistency. We would, but not before showing our unstoppable potential through impossible feats.

Thursday, the ninth of February 2022, a foreign commercial entity invaded Parliament grounds, presuming that a lawful and legal trespass had been imposed on the occupiers. Invade is the correct word; it could have been much worse had they wielded guns. Had our mixed martial artists and military supporters been there in force, the City of London agents would have been embarrassed more than they were. They broke their laws by declaring a pandemic of a particular hazard they never identified in substance. They then sent their enforcement persons into a health risk zone with the wrong protection for a biological microorganism hazard. The Parliament Occupation stage was set, and the “unprotected/unvaccinated” were already winning the optics war. Those who held the line did their job. Would we “leaders” be able to do ours? Time will tell.

Where was I? We were all preparing for my daughter’s sixth birthday at the breakfast table. We were meant to go away camping together, but after watching what was unfolding on our phones, we decided I should leave for Wellington immediately. What our people needed was reinforcements. So, I decided the best move was to walk the talk. Being almost twelve hours away, I couldn’t get there fast enough to help them. However, I have thousands who support me on social media and privately. So, documenting my leaving to get there might motivate people closer to get there faster. It was great to have so many people come up to me and say, “I’m here because you inspired me to come”. It made me feel less guilty for not being with them initially.

Many theories were promulgated about why the Police withdrew on that day. Some believed that Ngati Tama supported our occupation and that the land’s substance was under their authority. Therefore, a lawful trespass had been imposed on the Police and their employer. After what I’ve learned, I know that isn’t the case. The land there was still occupied by the agents of the City of London. All that had happened was their assault had been withdrawn. Maybe those who held the line had driven them to decide this was not working, and it was time to return to the drawing board. Or, their presumption of authority may have been rebutted. The only way to do that is to correctly dispute the jurisdiction of the New Zealand flag on the land. I give all the praise I have to those who held the line until the private pens in the background delivered the occupation its first victory.

In the early hours of the following morning, my mother and I arrived at Parliament. She had managed to secure a cheap hotel for us. One of the benefits of this was a place away from the “war zone” for me to think in peace. Unfortunately, I only used it minimally and spent most of my time walking around Parliament or in the truck. Because of my history in private security, I gravitated toward security. I met two very committed young men who had already done quite a bit to formulate a central base for security. Set up right next to a well-run first aid tent and just a short run to the developing food area on Molesworth; these two had already done a lot in a short time. They knew the lay of the land; they had earned the respect of all the lineholders by being on the front line since day one. They had just won the ground! I decided that I needed to find a way to keep them in as the main point of call for security. So, I joined them in their volunteer roles and tried to help them as best as possible.

The energy at the occupation at this point was excellent; our media teams were focusing on media, our morale boosters were raising the spirits of everyone there, and valuable structures were quickly being erected. I was wary of our opposition's planning and preparation. I remember a moment in the rain when Katana, Matiu, and I addressed everybody at the occupation. I agree with everything they both said, but I am wary of our mess and our lack of urgency to prepare for a repeat of Thursday. With sprinklers put on by the arrogant and power-drunk Trevor Mallard and a cyclone bearing down on us, my first concern is our ability to maintain stable footing in our occupation zone. I have already turned off most of the sprinklers at their toby boxes. However, several remain on. The last toby had to be under one of the main lawn's tents or behind the Police lines. I press the urgency of tidying up our occupation and organising ourselves to be more lawful and respectful. Sadly, my oral communication skills are not up to speed with my overcluttered mind.

Thankfully, good friends are there to support you when you need it. My most reliable Conservative friend plans to put pipe connections on all the unremedied sprinklers and direct the water to the stormwater fall lines on the pavement. Groups of people afflicted by the need to rush to some flawed solution are preparing to dig trenches, precisely what the wasps in the beehive would want them to do. My friend would plan to see us save the lawn to some degree and blame water wastage on Trevor Mallard, where the blame belongs. This occupation is a game of moves and counter moves; if the meek, those with swords who know how to use them yet keep them sheathed want to win, they must overcome their opposition’s moves with more lawful moves. Sadly, by the time we could implement my friend’s plan, the trenches had already been dug. This made our occupation unstable, muddy, and vulnerable to propaganda spin. Now, I have no choice but to call our farmers in for lots of hay. Thank god for our farmers, but don’t thank the guy who dug the trenches, throttled the guy from Wellington Live, and pushed a pregnant journalist.

I have learned that being overly suspicious of mistake-makers would isolate me and invoke the same attitude toward my mistakes. This was fair; this occupation was a first for all of us.

Days seem to blend into each other; security is a challenging role. It’s 24/7, not your standard festival or event security gig, and I know this role will get more complex. The two young men I have been working with have been brilliant. One is no-nonsense and is the type of guy you want in a trench with you but isn’t a people person. The other has creative initiative and is good with people but is easily distracted (like me). They work well together, but we will need more that we can trust. The problem? The individual who can get more people we can trust is me, and I am being heavily distracted. In the eyes of my high-profile allies, my role in this occupation was supposed to be morale-boosting media. Yet, with so many people doing such a good job capturing the drama and my day job being akin to getting things done in a pinch, I decided to do what was in front of me. What was of most concern to me was the security of our position and how that factored into our overall goal, forcing those wasps to do what they didn’t want to do: talk to us on camera.

After all, without proper contrast with our reasonable orators, they looked reasonable to the masses. They would want to keep it this way because if that changes, they are doomed.

I was unstoppable when I focused on maintaining morale and resolving interpersonal problems and management problems. Those are my best skills at work. This is why distracting me and pulling me in multiple different directions worked to shake the faith of those who worked with me. The leadership group I was invited into was an attempt to tidy up the occupation. Still, if I’m being honest, I would have been better off spending less time at the meetings and focusing on what needed to be organised at ground zero. The occupation was spread out amongst Molesworth Street, Bowen Street, all of Lambton Quay, the bus stop, the law society buildings, Bunny Street, St Paul’s Cathedral, the Cake Tin, Hill Street and some branch-off streets like Aitken and Kate Sheppard.

Worst of all, we had no trained force of guys to marshall quickly and consistently and, therefore, no way to manage the vast area we had taken. Looking back, this was my fault; I could have done it had it been made a priority, but it wasn’t. That’s on me. What needed to happen was the reorganisation and proper consolidation of space in our primary occupation. I agreed with the leadership group; the complete shutdown of bus routes was doing us no favours if one of our principal goals was to get the public on our side.

Concerning catering to the public, I was torn. Those who ignore the values of a small group of their people because of some convenient or well-repeated excuse, while proceeding to impose their rule over them; is a tyrant. That’s what we were there against. So, being an overly disruptive and unruly hypocrite does not give you a case as a revolutionary uprising against tyranny. Remain consistent in your goal to quell the tyranny and know that an invincible essence is on your side. Act like the tyrant because the obeying public are sheep that are not worth your consideration, and you will fall. I was angry at the public for allowing this to go this far; they were now imposing these experiments on kids! There are close family members of mine in Wellington who still, to this day, refuse to talk to me because of their lazy interpretation of my views. Why should I care about inconveniencing them in one confined location? Few of them cared when this entity tried to take from all of us through a scam. It’s a valid excuse to flip them the bird, but then again, where are wars won and lost? In the hearts and minds of people. We have an occupation; all eyes are finally on us; how do we put the odds in our favour? By not spitting on the audience.

The leadership group wanted to allow the media to enter the occupation. I tried to keep certain media entities out until something better than “just letting them in” was organised. I know what the media is; it’s not news, and it isn’t current affairs that give people a fair go. The government declared war through forced experimentation on everyone who didn’t know the law, health and safety standards, and how to respond with conditional acceptances. The propaganda arm of that war is the mainstream media. You have an occupation on your enemy’s lawn; the goal is to outlast their enforcement agents, force their employers to the negotiation table, and win the hearts and minds of the public through competent execution. How does letting your enemy’s propaganda arm into your imperfect occupation help that? It doesn’t? Ok, that’s my point. It wasn’t hard for the media to get in there; very few of us like Sean Plunket, but we let him in. The problem was that it was unlawful not to allow the public onto public property, which we claimed Parliament grounds were. So, the only move was to enable MSM to come in with a small security escort, and one of those escorts would be skilled at respectful debate rhetoric, while another would be skilled at recording: moves and counter moves.

However, that compromise never occurred, and confusion over the rules resulted in bad PR for all of us. Then again, Graeme Bloxham is full of it; he’s just as disingenuous as the rest of the media, which will happily interview any attention-seeking victimhood actor for their propaganda.

I recognised the need to get the public onside, so I attempted to clear the bus stop. It took me all night into the morning to get everyone to agree to move, but almost every car moved out and parked closer to the central occupation. This was good for us for multiple reasons. A divided occupation is a doomed occupation. Julius Caesar failed to defeat Vercingetorix at Gergovia because a united force separated and destroyed the Roman troops. Vercingetorix was defeated at the siege of Alesia because Caesar separated and starved Vercingetorix’s forces and relievers. The same was true for Alexander’s victory over Darius at the battle of Gaugamela. You may have the numbers, but you're doomed if you aren’t organised and united. There is no manual for activist occupations, but there is a manual for withstanding sieges and invasions, and it’s all about placement, moves, and counter-moves. I can be forgiven for failures and mistakes made in my first occupation, but only if I correct my errors in the future. If our collective assumption was that the problem was those inside Parliament, why was our occupation lashing out at the general public?

After all, the entirety of the Parliament car park was unoccupied, which was the Police’s vital defensive structure. If we had taken that, the Police would have had to deploy their assault actions right in front of us and would have to have gone up onto Hill Street or down onto Bowen Street under our watchful eyes. The Police needed to deploy from underneath Parliament; if they couldn’t do that, they would need to deploy from somewhere else that could allow for the marshalling of over five hundred uniformed officers. If Hill Street were adequately organised, we would have had the high ground the entire time, thus putting more pressure on the Police to push Parliament to negotiate with us.

Moves and counter moves.

Sadly, one prominent voice who mans the airwaves on Reality Check Radio did not agree with this move. Nor did those experienced in military manoeuvring; I seemed alone in wanting to keep the opposition reacting instead of staying in a constant state of reaction due to their unlawful actions. Thanks to good advice from the legendary John Minto and experience gained from my sports history, I knew that ensuring the opposition reacts more than you is a must. Maybe I’m naive or overly optimistic. Maybe winning isn’t part of activist martyr theatre, but who wants to be a loser? After all, that’s what martyr theatre is: glorifying losing for sympathy votes. That’s something I detest and still think is contrary to the goals of Traditional Conservatives and Classical Liberals. Who thinks that grandstanding victimhood is a sound strategy? Neofeminine types. Yeah, the types who unquestioningly support Hamas and blindly support Jacinda Ardern’s behaviour. At the time I felt that mentality had the monopoly of influence on this occupation.

I knew the occupation needed time, victories, and improving organisation and cohesion. Our opposition has unlimited currency and assets with which to probe, undermine, and weaken us. They can pay compromised drug addicts, megalomaniacs, narcissists, and gangsters within our side to undermine us by being stupid, altogether reckless, and destructive. If they’re cheap, they don’t need to pay them. They can place convincing flying monkeys around those types to get the worst out of them. I’ve learned that the best inside subversive acts like one because they lack self-control or efficient discernment around what constitutes right action. That would be the story of our time there moving forward. Constant undermining from within, media taking advantage of that as the propaganda arm of the government’s assault, while the Police periodically assaulted us on the unlawfully blocked roads. It was a clever plan aimed at drawing the worst out of us while those who could think started to lose their ability to think.

People were confused by the brutality with which the Police operated. Had they known that half of their job is being the army of our enemy, maybe they wouldn’t have been surprised.

The clearing of the bus stop eventually failed, and I was met with a standing ovation from the leadership group after another sleepless night and a success that failed partly because I had little support to seal it off. What I gave them back was unfair. It was my fault that I had not organised a way to seal off the bus stop with our people so that new occupiers couldn’t help the media’s “assaulting the public” narrative. What made it worse was my attitude toward giving it another go. I was rude to Heka and Claire, and my mind completely capitulated under an exhausted poor me complex. I needed rest, and a new friend, Leighton and Sue Baker ensured I got it. I left Heka alone to attempt to clear the bus stop, which was wrong. The people who had occupied the bus stop were an exceptionally passionate and untrusting group of Shelly Bay occupiers. I learned a valuable lesson while negotiating with them to move to a more secure and central location. Don’t make promises that others will refuse to keep for you.

Yet, separating yourself from the main occupation and demanding services be shifted closer to you because you’re a victim isn’t intelligent either. A compact turtle is a vital asset in a siege; belligerent stupidity never wins anyone anything.

While engaging in these extra tasks, I took my eye off the ball concerning security. My two diligent and committed teammates were dealing with vast amounts of attendees, a multitude of other security factions looking to take what they were managing, and psychological warfare being waged on them twenty-four-seven. If there’s anybody I owe an apology to more than everyone I may have wronged, it’s those two. Instead of looking after them first, I was busy playing politics, people management, media, leadership group tasks, being called to fake emergencies, and hypothetically beneficial PR campaigns. Our security team had to deal with multiple fake incidents being reported by sociopaths who had infiltrated security and gotten hold of our radios. This wasn’t like your standard festival that everyone wanted; it was an event that had psychopathic types sitting in an office behind Parliament imagining ways to mess with our heads until we capitulated, and we did, often.

We started making mistakes when our minds were short on sleep from the constant distractions, conflict theatres, and random firework explosions or doom rumours. I can’t remember the order because my notebook started to get unorganised and ruined from the previous cyclonic weather and my drowning mind. A random “insider” sold this massive invasion theory to us, which seemed farfetched and so complex in its formulation that I immediately questioned its legitimacy in my head. It required me to seek a second outside opinion, for which I was put in my place for considering this plan as plausible. Yet, as we would see on the second of March, his urgent plea for fortification should have been heeded and implemented. At another time, an activist leadership group member radioed me to the bottom of the Parliament stairs to help Constables in joinder walk through the protest. There was the potential for them to speak on the stage in support of ending the mandates.

I recognised the PR potential of this move, provided the crowd didn’t eat them on the way through. I guess that’s why they called me. Sadly, some “experienced” 1080 and “sovereign” “activists” are so frustratingly stupid and reactive that they will happily whip the crowd up into a frenzy to propagate their trumped-up legal reasoning for not allowing Constables onto public property. Why? Because the Constables were “trespassed”. No, they weren’t; if you can’t be trespassed from public grounds, they can’t be either! The Crown had temporary authority removed from the grounds. Today, Constables are oath-bound to protect the peace. I would get my chance to explain some of this to these “experienced” activists, but many of them are so arrogant and certain of their delusions that it’s easy to convince yourself that talking to them wastes energy. Yet, know this: that belief is a lie. Pick your timing and words carefully and stick with them; some will make it out of their self-imposed hell if you’re patient, and when they do, they will be your greatest allies.

The final straw for the leadership group and me was a meeting I was called to, where I was introduced to a man who wanted to take over security. The meeting had one man in it I didn’t trust, nor did the specialist help I was getting. He was explicitly excluded from our confidential meetings because a background search turned up uncouth dealings with whaling companies. Yet, here he was, a guy who reminded me of a villain from Jack Reacher. The truth was, if there was going to be a deal made, his presence made sure it wasn’t happening. In any case, I’m not the type that can be plied by good food and drink into agreeing to something that makes no sense. Why would I agree to let a stranger take over security? Someone who wants to work under no one while replacing most security guards with women? Those were several hours of passive-aggressive insults that I will never get back. In any case, I spread the meeting’s occurrence around to get the other competing security groups to start worrying about another competing security group. That allowed us time to consolidate a trusted team by setting up a contact ledger. Once the trusted security team was large enough, setting up an intel team was next.

The next task assigned to me was to try to clear a lane through Molesworth. It was pitched to me as a way to get the courts on our side; I didn’t give two shits about the courts. As far as I was concerned, they are a part of the central problem. Cowardly lions who bend the law to suit their greed and cowardice, so immoral contracts and confidentiality agreements are upheld above the law. There’s a special place in hell for those types; in my opinion, it’s somewhere near the bottom. I tried to clear a lane through Molesworth because I comprehended the need for the courts to continue to put actual criminals in prison and rehabilitation programs. Yet, what’s the point of a court of law if it’s run by criminals who pseudo-reason their way out of morality? In any case, the cause would have benefitted from a traffic management plan for the buses had we cleared the bus stop. We didn’t, though. So, this action seemed pointless, so I failed to achieve this goal as my heart wasn’t in it.

I wanted this “protest” to be more Hong Kong-like, not destructive, but tactical, aiming to embarrass the government to the max. Yet, not so disruptive that the public hates us for it. Remember, they rule the public's minds through theatre that caters to the most popular delusions. If seventy-five per cent or more are living in a delusion, don’t assume you’ll succeed in changing their minds just because you think you’re hyper-convincing. It’s still their mind, and they stubbornly change it when they want to. You can’t expect to cure all or even some deep-seated mass delusions through activist theatre. You don’t have to agree on everything to dislike the government; that much is clear through common conversations in the workforce. Yet, if activism bothers their lives too much without giving them something entertaining and profound, the too-busy-to-think-mob will hate you instead. That’s just the truth of the matter.

So, being a drunk, naked, or drugged-out idiot is out of the question. I agreed with Kelvyn Alp; this occupation should have had a tactical dedication hidden behind a peaceful, clean, empowering festival front. An organised tactical base within a campsite called Freedom Village. It must be legitimate, clean and to the standards of our best festivals, and ready to defend competently at any time. The security would need to be top-notch, numerous and coordinated to hold or push the line and prevent Crown siege manoeuvres from removing Freedom Village prematurely. The embarrassment comes from the time the government spends refusing to talk to the lawful and peaceful festival leaders. If support for us grows to over fifty per cent of the country and they’re still refusing to talk, then we assume we have the mandate to lock them in Parliament until they do. You’d have to go for broke by building and riding a wave of popularity competently. Drunk, full-of-shit Neoliberal or Neoconservative types are a complete detriment to anything of that calibre, and the tolerance of these morons was the bain of this occupation’s stability.

There is a gap within the Freedom Movement; that gap is the same as in society. The gap is between Masculine and Feminine, Conservative and Liberal, Moralist and “Relativist”. The Crown would exploit this gap to the max. After all, that’s a politician’s job; to maintain the divide through sophistic rhetoric. The Liberal end of the gap would present itself in the provocative and downright stupid placement of vehicles and mindless disregard for the state of the grounds, our security, and our sanity. I have no problem with piling in around Parliament. Yet, to do so in a way that the aerial visual is amplified positively is preferable and very doable not just for aesthetics but for functionality and defensive means. Some got it right; those who took Parliament footpaths for the occupation, fair game. Those who intentionally wanted to send a wasted middle finger to Wellington should have gone home or learned to control it for the cause's sake. I sent one group of idiots home; one of them was responsible for the “assault” on the pretentious and disingenuous twit who runs Wellington Live.

Hope, surprise, and careful selection of action teams for the full rollout of a plan prevails in the most exhilarating fashion. The Police are ill-equipped and psychologically incapable of stopping surprise manoeuvres; they need total order and predictability. Without it, they suck. That’s why the mistake-ridden block invasion worked. Not everyone knew the real plan; only one woman I trusted knew the route and had gained rapport with at least one-third of the Cake Tin occupation. There could have been forty or more cars to get through. Sabotage from either two “activist” individuals or an undercover cop must have persuaded other activists not to join the invasion convoy. Someone raised the strop position on the block just before the truck went to pull it; this made the block tip onto the strop, snapping it. Thankfully, Sunshine, Richard, and some other strong men formed a scrum with me and tipped the block over another four or five times, and the job was done; around twenty-five cars into the occupation. Because of this, I will forever respect all those men for bailing me out of what could have been another failure. If we had more men like them, much more would have worked out.

The highlight? Chanting, you just lost to a confused and shell-shocked platoon of enforcement officers who had to run all the way down from Hill Street. The sad part? None of our popular media groups answered my call to abandon the martyr theatre they set up on Hill Street to video this instead. Thank God for Kiwi, Sue and Hasti; they did it in a pinch, like real activists.

It was a small victory, but it was enough to raise our morale so we could finally start doing something about being boxed in. We were boxed in as Julius Caeser had done to Vercingetorix in Alesia. We should not have allowed that, at least in some parts of our occupation. The plan was obvious: box us in, weaken us psychologically by putting us into a state of reaction, and squeeze us until we were weak enough to flame out in an embarrassing fashion. I needed to prevent that by getting the Police stuck in a state of reaction while we regrouped and re-organised. Losing supply lines and free movement of essential services within the occupation zone made our point moot and our ability to function nullified. If we didn’t change that, an invasion under a new jurisdiction would come upon a demoralised occupation force with dwindling numbers.

Thanks to the Conservative end of the gap, I was warned that I had a target on my back for organising the successful and embarrassing block-beating convoy from the Cake Tin. I should have heeded that warning, but I didn’t and continued running my mouth on social media. There was an ongoing pacification of the occupation through peace and love chants, which allowed the Police to squeeze us with the pincer moving of concrete blocks. I strongly disagreed with our limp-dick, oh well, love and peace approach. Some people may have wanted to return to their daily passions, but they had no mandate to make that decision for everyone else. The day after our successful block beating action, I was called down to Lambton Quay to witness the Police doubling up the blocks while five times the amount of protesters stood there chanting love and peace. I was livid and displayed my worst straight at poor Leighton Baker. I regret doing this; some of our people knew we weren’t succeeding at getting the occupation where it needed to be, and I was a hothead who was losing my ability to think clearly. Even I knew that people who weren’t us were filling the occupation up in an ongoing bid to make us look bad.

As time passed, the end of this occupation became clear writing on the wall. Or, it could be an opportunity to regroup and reorganise. The never-quit essence in me decided to choose the latter. I helped to pull in a trapped group outside our occupation border by negotiating with Constables. Well, almost. Naked Laura (well, not then, anyway) messed that up with her upside-down logic. This would be the second positive action sabotage this woman was involved in. She and her partner (Te Pou) also tailed me around the occupation. Directed by who? Who knows. They messed with two morale-boosting actions; no one disputed that, except her; pathetically. She couldn’t even manifest one reason why children and grandparents should stay between two Police lines. Fortunately, we had one caring sergeant from Napier who wanted them somewhere safer. He must have known what would roll through there soon and wanted to do his part as an oath-keeping member of the Constabulary.

I made another mistake when I got sick. I told everyone, including the media, that I and others were getting sick. I was only thinking about the PR stunt of contracting “COVID-19” and getting over it in a day with the help of our medical interventions—namely, vitamin D, high-dose vitamin C, and ivermectin. Kelvyn put me in my place quickly when he pointed out that they could come in heavy and shut this down as a significant health risk. That was a massive oversight on my part. He was one of the few who did his job well during the Wellington Occupation. His frustration with others not doing theirs to his standards invoked him to direct his media attacks at VFF and the Freedom and Rights Coalition. The leadership group would request that I “reign him in”; I laughed at this suggestion and suggested that focusing on doing our job better every day would be a better idea. What was that job? Managing this occupation so it could force Parliament to negotiate. Were we doing that to the level we needed to? Fuck no.

Things would take a nose-dive for me over the next few days. Although I was spending more time with security, someone would convince me to plan a move to ensure my downfall. A move that aimed to mock and embarrass the New Zealand Police. It was a bait and switch, a move designed to provoke them into being guilty of a crime they still commit today: information theft and spying on their people without cause. I knew they were spying on me; I didn’t know to what degree. To find out more, I would need to be detained for inciting “a riot”. To do that, I would need to provoke them. So, I did a video encouraging people to make noise with their vehicles outside hotels the Police were staying at. How did I know the Police were staying there? The hotel said as much when we tried to book there.

After I made the video, I made my way down The Terrace to the occupation to wait at the police posts to video record the arrival of spicy pizzas. Spicy pizzas? Yes, you see, I had told a bunch of potential incessant narks that we were making a move on all the concrete blocks that night; this would make my coming video look like a distraction and lend plausibility to the action. There was none; it was a ruse, and I put proof of the ruse on the phone they would later steal and unlawfully bug. After all, Jacinda Ardern had warned the Police that we were prolific spreaders of mis and disinformation. If that’s what they thought of us, why would they take us seriously? Well, they did. Police presence had been increased on the concrete blocks, and some very burly island boys with shields and helmets were prematurely placed on all the roadblocks. Our security team thought this was hilarious, and we had positioned some media friends on other roadblocks to film the arrival of pizzas with a note saying eat-up suckers, nothing’s happening; it was just “misinformation”. The problem? Dominoes took the order and the money and decided not to deliver it. Don’t make arrangements that rely on people who disagree with your cause.

As I made my way to the bottom of The Terrace, around six hatless Police officers surrounded me on the corner of the Terrace and Bowen Street. I have no intention of making it easy on these guys, and I first think of barging the little one over and making a beeline straight for the occupation. Although I intend to allow myself to be detained eventually, I aim for it to be done in front of everyone at the occupation. However, the more sensible part of me decides to maintain composure, and I try to walk by them, stating, “I do not recognise your authority, and I do not wish to contract with you”. This lands on the dumb and deaf ears of persons who think their uniform grants them authority. It doesn’t. They all crowd in front of me with their hands grabbing at me. I should have just barged the little one over, but now the less responsible part of me kicks my legs into action, and I turn and bolt back up The Terrace.

Fifty metres into the sprint, I turn around to check how they’re faring in the chase. They’re not faring well, and I’m supposed to be overweight and unfit. While in full stride, I’m looking for Mason’s lane; I turn down what I think is Mason’s lane; it’s not Mason’s lane; it’s a dead end. I think about bowling over the first cop that comes around the corner and running back down the Terrace. Unfortunately, the first cop around the corner looks like he’s brandishing a pistol. Freeze, he says. Alarmed, I put my hands up, only to find it’s just a taser. Damn it, tasers are my bread and butter. Who should pop round the corner shortly after I am handcuffed? One News. Once they force me into the vehicle after ignoring my lawful requests to the on-duty Sergeant, one of them starts to invade my pockets like a raving homo, attempting to get my phone. I bring my handcuffed hands around, grab him by his hand, and hold on tight.

They bring me to the Wellington Central Police Station for processing. I’m taken straight to the room where they take all your stuff, tell you to sign the bail bond, and give them your particulars. I’m not a retard, so I tell them I’m not required to provide them with any details or sign anything they want me to sign. This pisses a few of them off, especially the Chinese one, who was probably raised on the dogmatic red and yellow hand of Communism. They informed me that I would be charged for refusing to provide my details if I didn’t. I retort, “My trust is not for you; it is for me, and if you want to access it for your poorly implemented services, you will have to offer me something beneficial”. “Threats of punishment doth butter no parsnips”. They’re all uninformed, so they don’t get the joke, and I am quickly taken to a cell where I will spend the next fifteen hours without food or water.

At some point, I am taken to a larger cell and left alone with a friendly Police negotiator. The conversation is brief and interesting. He asks me if I want to drive the country toward a civil war? I find this question confusing. I am of the firm opinion that’s what his employer is doing. It’s at this point I realise that very few have any idea what the hell is going on and who is responsible for all the division and bullshit. We’re two sides blaming each other for causing division while the real culprits eat popcorn and laugh at us in the box seats. Not long after this, I’m taken to another room with a screen. These idiots are going to try to run me through a court case while in detention in the cells. The lawyer acting for the person charged is good, but I won’t take any chances. It’s best to avoid their courts if you can, so I started to mess with the preceding by denying a joinder to the person charged. The idiot cops in the room try to misidentify me by claiming I am the person charged, but this is of no consequence; it needs to come from me accidentally or purposefully. A constructive trustee can be created through consent and fraud concealment. Every genuine activist needs to learn what this means. The hearing is then adjourned.

The Police now decide to get proof of consensual joinder by telling me that if I sign the bail bond, they will release me from the cells. I replied that I could not sign the bail bond as this would incriminate me to a fraud charge. Can I instead write some things that maintain my lawful standing? The Sergeant is over the mind games and shrugs his shoulders as I write, ‘under threat and duress’. Then, I scribble a squiggly line away from the signature line. He rolls his eyes and accepts this incorrectly filled-out bail bond, and I am released. I go to the hotel where my partner and daughter are staying, poorly ensuring I am not followed. I have some computer work to complete this bait and switch before they detain me again.

The last thing I do before finishing on the computer is to make a Telegram post. This will trigger the Police to come and detain me again for “breach of bail”. How is it a breach of bail? It isn’t. I never signed it, and they would have to be spying on me unlawfully for them to know I posted it. They find the hotel, bash the door down and drag me back to the Wellington Central Police Station for another fifteen-hour stint. At the end of this one, an associate of mine will arrive at my family’s hotel to take me out of Wellington Central. If you’re wondering, they never paid the hotel for the damaged door; my poor mum had to pay. My occupation time is over; to this associate, being at the grounds when they come to clear everyone out is too dangerous. Heka and Sue Grey told everyone there that withdrawing was the best option, and they were right. Considering our mental state and the fact that the occupation now had a lot more chaotic mongrels than strategic and composed freedom fighters, it was the only move. Yet, to those who stayed to protect people from what was to come, you are the real heroes. I would give anything to go back, mouth off less, and be there with all of you.

I want to thank everyone who stayed to video what happened that day. Without all that footage, I wouldn’t have seen the individuals who made us look bad. They were the best help for the media’s Fire and Fury propaganda. I wouldn’t have seen the yellow and blue of the Tokelau flag flying over the grounds, declaring the grounds to be under the jurisdiction of Ross Ardern. I wouldn’t have seen Robbie Wilson trying to prevent people from destroying things and throwing projectiles at the Police. This was important because the same “activists” who burnt and threw shit were consistently connected to the “activists” who spread rumours that he was organising them. He wasn’t, but thanks to the footage, background intel, and the coming Dig In At Marsden occupation, we would learn which “activists” to watch more closely. If there’s a lesson to be learned from March second, it’s this: learn the law, learn the rules of engagement and don’t disrespect order’s place, or order will kick precious freedom’s arse.

I learnt a lot from this occupation, and although there are many things I would’ve done differently, I wouldn’t have learned that without the benefit of hindsight and experience. It’s important to take risks and learn from mistakes than to do nothing but laugh from home at those who do. I still think I did pretty well. Yet, who shone the brightest? The food and first aid teams were beyond saint-like; they were the backbone of our occupation, and it’s why our farmers and health system are the backbone of this country. This Freedom Convoy knew that if we allowed that to be subverted, we’d be down a creek without a paddle. Occupying isn’t over for me; the Marsden Point Occupation was to come, and with it, some better insights into some of the individuals of concern in my notebook. There’s a lot more I could have written into this article; maybe it’s better left for a book. For now, this is enough for those who care about paying attention.