I choose NOT you!

I am in central Wellington, watching out the window.  I can't see the main event, but I see the people walking to it, their placards and their flags.  And I can certainly hear it.

They've been making their way to Civic Square since first thing this morning, some of them pausing to stage minor protests along the way.   

Outside my building, what looked like a family group gathered together.   They stood on the footpath, making way for passers-by; were respectful of those in masks.  They held tino rangatiratanga flags and Kingitanga flags.  I disagreed with them, of course - but the thing they were saying, I believe it came from a place of hurt I have not felt.  

I could disagree, vehemently, but not judge.  

The family group eventually furled their flags, moved on to Civic Square.  Others followed them.  There was a group with a hand-made sign protesting on behalf of midwives. 

And now - I admit it - I was itching to judge.  I have had babies.  They did not come into the world easily.  I put their lives and mine into the hands of a midwife; trusted her to know the science, apply it with ethics and rigour.  I expect that from a health professional: more fool me.    

The midwives' group was followed, a little more furtively, by a smattering of well-heeled middle aged white women - like me, but better presented.  They carried smaller flags, wore the kind of casual clothes that cost more than my best.  One seemed to peer a little anxiously from behind her sunglasses. 

And now I felt angry.  It's a perverse type of privilege, being unsatisfied with merely having the best of things - health, security - and so going on to wreck them.  After all, if these hardwon things are lost, it's not these women who will pay the greatest cost.

But it's the protester I followed this morning, from the train station to my office, who most sticks in my mind, maybe because I need a little comic relief. 

Remember those times your kid told you only at 9pm about tomorrow's school project?  This bloke had a New Zealand flag tied between two poles, slung over his shoulder.  But the poles - I kid you not - were two by fours, each two metres long.  And clearly, they were frickin heavy.  But carrying the weight of FREEDOM is heavier, especially while people in masks are looking on and thinking, "FFS mate, those lightweight plastic garden stakes are only 12 bucks each at Bunnings". 

Now they're all together outside Parliament.  The family with the flags, the midwives and the middle class ladies stand by people with Trump signs and swastikas, who threaten violence on Facebook.  I am following online.            

In the sea of placards, one says "I choose NOT you!". 

Guys, the feeling’s mutual.