Arrest at the protest

“If your pictures aren’t good enough, you aren’t close enough” – Robert Capa.  

 Last Wednesday I took this challenge personally and it resulted with me in handcuffs.   

The morning started with my walk to university. I passed people with masks on, QR codes in shop windows and advertisements asking people to get boosted. You know, all the normal things.  

Class consisted of writing notes and day dreaming of how much longer until lunch. We also reviewed a documentary on Robert Capa. He was famous for his photographs of war, putting himself on the front lines with nothing but a camera to defend himself.   

We were then watching the protest. My eyes couldn’t pull away from the sad scene unfolding on the screen as the protest started to come to an end. The silence was heavy as we watched police move in. Horror sat in my throat as items were thrown at police and the fires began.  

I wanted to be there. I wanted to practice my photography skills as a journalism student. I wanted to capture this key moment in New Zealand history.  

So, off I went, nervous but fascinated.   

I arrived around six at night just after the Prime Ministers press conference. I had come from Lambton Quay and met a line of police officers with shields. There were other members of the public standing around, wanting to get a look for themselves. It was quiet, nobody was shouting here, everyone was being respectful and taking photos from afar.  

I moved down onto Bunny street to see the other side. I was hit with a rancid smell, worse than sulphur as I walked towards the remnants of the protesters.  

The crowd waved a New Zealand flag and were holding various signs, one that read “media are the virus.” I didn’t mention to anyone that I talked to that I was a journalism student. Imagine what could have happened if the crowd knew.  

A few protesters took turns yelling at the line of riot police.  

“You are cowards for your children.”  

“Take a knee or something to show your support.” 

There were cheers and applause in support of them.  

One man stood in front of them and ripped off his shirt displaying a deep red, circular wound in the middle of his chest. The mark of a foam bullet. He started to cuss out the police. The line that stuck with me was “I will find your daughters you bitches.” This no longer had anything to do with the purpose of the protest, this was nothing but aggression towards the police, who were doing their jobs.  

Then the riot police started to move back as a unit.  

The protesters moved forward, seizing the opportunity.  

While some stayed behind buildings and signs, others went forward, wanting the challenge, yelling at the police as they gained more ground. Those who were being a bit too vocal or a bit too aggressive had foam bullets fired at them. One man got shot in the leg, screaming at them “c**ts, I haven’t got a gun. Why are you shooting?”  

You would think I would be scared, or at the very least feel unsafe in such an environment but I had seen the live news reports, I knew it wasn’t going to be a joyous situation. Still, I was determined to capture what I saw on camera, to apply what I had learnt in theory to a real-life event.  

I moved forward.  

Glass crunched under my boots as I passed the smashed front door of the Victoria University Business building. Police watched at the ready from the second door. Apples, trash and milk cartons were scattered everywhere.  

I moved to the front corner of the Victoria University Law building, the line of riot police behind me as I captured photos of protesters throwing things at the police. One man by the business building started yelling, playing music loudly and throwing things at the police.  

He was then taken to the ground.  

I watched as he was swarmed by police officers, still yelling and struggling against them as he was handcuffed.  

I started moving to go back to the road but I was too slow. It happened so fast. I heard a police officer yell “get her in, she’s in, get her in.” A police officer grabbed me by my backpack. Another police officer said “oh no, you’re in.” What did that mean? In where? It meant I was in the wrong place.    

The only thing I could say was “buggar.”  

I put my hands in the air, letting the camera hang around my neck. I was walked behind the line of riot police, and had cold metal placed around my wrists.  

Another said that I had to have my rights read to me and that I was being charged with obstruction.  

I had officially been arrested.  

As they walked me towards the paddy wagon, I couldn’t get over how surreal it was. Being surrounded by cops with my hands behind my back. I never thought it could be me.  

I went from having no speeding tickets or anything on my record to the possiblity of having a criminal conviction and doing jail time.  

Despite being arrested, I was chatting to the cops as if they were an old friend I ran into. I answered their questions which included my occupation, which revealed that I was a journalism student.  

“Got too close aye?” said one of the officers.  

Yeah, I did.  

Everything in my pockets were removed, including my mask and my earrings were removed by an officer.  

My handcuffs were taken off and my hands were zip-tied in front of me.  

“Are they pinching at all?”  

“No.”  

Getting arrested was the easy part, it was the waiting part that was hard.  

Not many can say they have had the pleasure of being locked in a metal box with only enough room to sit down.  

But I can.  

The air conditioning was going strong, enough so that at some points I was shivering. I don’t know how long I was sitting there for, looking out the small window as the sun went down.  

There was no concept of time.  

Other people were put in the paddy wagon, some were shaking the van, a man was yelling to be let out.  

I just wanted them to knock it off. You are in a metal box; your hands are tied. You are not getting out.   

When I finally arrived at the police station, there were seven police officers waiting as I was led out of the van.  

Not intimidating at all.  

My shoes were removed, belongings put into a plastic bag. I was put into a holding cell.  

I was processed, shifted to another holding cell. It was concrete and cold. There was nothing to do but wait. Trying to sleep was difficult.  

I finally had my fingerprints taken and was released.  

I was served two trespass notices.  

I was arrested at twenty minutes to eight that night. I was released at twenty to midnight.  

I went to class the next morning.  

I am to appear in the Wellington District Court on March 28th to plead my case.  

I don’t regret this experience.