Go Home Racists - A surprisingly sedate story of a counter protest

In no way was I properly attired for a prolonged counter protest.

In fact, I was supposed to be all cozied up in the venue, catered with weak coffee and dry sandwiches, listening to Batchelor perform his top hits for the pale and stale that had congregated at Lindale Village that evening.

You know, just another wintery New Zealand night spent despairing with my fellow skeptics over the state of the world.

However, traffic delays caused by roadworks past Hayward's Hill forced me to drive through the somewhat less slow commuter traffic through the Ngauranga Gorge to get to Transmission Gully. I was 15 minutes late when I reached the lower gate that led to the venue, and greeting latecomers such as myself were a small group of peaceful protestors and a single media team.

I'm not necessarily made of sterner stuff, nor did I want my face or vehicle plastered on news or media as a racist. So I turned around, parked, and joined the protesters to get a better idea of who was there. There were maybe 6 or 7 cops, 2 or 3 people with high-viz vests who appeared to be associated with the event, and another team of personnel who often checked in to make sure the protestors were safe.

Now I must have looked like an utter narc because, as I stated, I was not attired for an outdoors protest. Dress, tights, $5 Warehouse shoes, asking randos who was in charge. Unsurprisingly, answers were not initially forthcoming, but one obliging gentleman gave me the rundown of getting trespassed the last time Julian Batchelor visited Lindale Village back in May 2023. Finally, a leader appeared - announcing that permission had been given to access the only freehold paddock not associated with Lindale Village or adjacent properties - we could hear the protestors already there chanting at regular intervals. While some attendees bellyached that the protestors were unintelligible, Mark, who was inside the venue, confirmed with me that they were achieving their goal of being heard.

So, despite someone's flaccid and feeble protests that we were trespassing (I couldn't ascertain if they were with the protestor or with Lindale/Batchelor), I trundled a short distance up the drive with a sizable group of protestors before hopping over a rickety fence, traversing the verge of State Highway 1, hopping over another rickety wood fence, avoiding rabbit warrens, and climbing up a steep, damp hill.

Looking out of place all the way.

After that I spent a good hour facing the venue, joining in the chanting, and having some interesting conversations with members of the Catholic Workers Movement; I received a decent primer on their houses of hospitality and farms that are established across the country. Given that thousands of young Catholic pilgrims are descending upon Lisbon, Portugal ahead of World Youth Day in early August, it was fascinating to meet Christian anarchists who have eschewed that glamour to hang out in Kapiti in the dead of night to yell slogans. Alongside my growing interest in the Liberal Catholic Church, an article on the offshoots of traditional Catholicism will soon be in the offing.

It was also interesting to hear experienced protestors share their knowledge about Batchelor's attempts to outwit the activists including, as we skeptics experienced, posting multiple event start times, or changing them at the last minute.

But, as the night wore on and the air got chillier, it appeared that Batchelor was refusing to let his people go. The crowd of protestors were starting to thin as the clock ticked past 8:30pm. Naively, I thought the meeting would not go past 2 hours (not even Brian Tamaki can bloviate for that long) so I made my way back down the steep paddock hill, over the fence (getting honked at along State Highway 1), and over another fence before rejoining the even smaller group that remained at the gate. The event staff had completely decamped, leaving only 3 police officers that I could see, and 2 security personnel. One of the security team reported that Batchelor was finishing up around 8:40, but my “team” on the inside revealed that their fate was far worse: Julian Batchelor was on his second wind.

While this could be giving Batchelor too much credit, if his strategy is to outlast the mob then it is certainly an effective one. The dedicated protestors who spent most of the night shouting at the venue, and the few unlucky souls who dared leave the event early, including the absolute gem who had the bull horn, began to depart en masse by 9:20. The handful who stayed the entire night at the more sedate lower gate also thinned out, and it was then I found myself holding a couple of banners with two other protestors while the media team planned their coda.

In an effort to capture the opinions of attendees, the media team shut the gate for the lane leading up to the venue, leaving only the exit lane free. When Batchelor finally released his captive audience at 9:40pm, the reporters were fortunate to score a couple of interviews, but one driver became dangerous as they sped and swerved towards the reporters and crew. Not long after that, Mark and team dawdled down the hill themselves and we departed back down the coast for a nightcap and debrief.

If you are in the Wellington Region and want to know when future protests/counter protests occur, the Pōneke Anti-Fascist Coalition (Twitter/Facebook) are a decent go-to source for information.