by Maree Buscke

The Covid pandemic is something we will one day tell our children and grandchildren about through an opaque, time-filtered lens. For some, the memories will carry a sense of wistful nostalgia; for others they will remain jarring, even painful. However we experienced it individually, the period from March 2020 through to the end of 2022 marked a defining chapter in New Zealand’s history. One of the most notable features of that time was the convoy that grew into a protest and ultimately an occupation on the grounds of Parliament.

Over the past few weeks, I have had the privilege of reading an advance copy of Heart of the Protest by Sian Clement and Gaylene Barnes. It is a richly resourced and meticulously documented record of the genesis, gestation, and emergence of a moment in New Zealand history, expanding on Barnes’ feature-length documentary River of Freedom.

Cards on the table: I was always going to be somewhat predisposed to like this book. I attended the Freedom & Rights Coalition protest at Parliament in November 2021. My husband and I stood proudly in howling winds and driving rain on an unseasonably icy day in February as the convoy came through our hometown of Napier. My husband later visited the parliamentary occupation with two of his closest friends on the day Cyclone Dovey struck shortly afterwards. We, too, had skin in the game.

That said, you don’t have to be part of the freedom community to appreciate the significance of this book within New Zealand’s historical record. It carefully tracks the chronology of events—from the early protests through to the occupation and its eventual dismantling—through the eyes of those who were there, both participants and observers. The book is rich with deeply personal stories, experiences, and raw emotions from Kiwis of many backgrounds, ethnicities, and beliefs—people brought together by a shared resistance to what they saw as aggressive government overreach, particularly vaccine mandates and the vaccine pass framework that effectively divided the country into two: “that’s exactly what it is – yip yip”.

Some of the most compelling testimonies come from people who were considered heroes in the early days of lockdown: nurses, doctors, teachers, paramedics,  police officers—many of whom had proudly identified as part of the “Team of Five Million” one moment, only to find themselves abruptly cast aside the next for exercising their right to refuse the jab. Whatever their individual reasons, the treatment they and others experienced—from peers, families, friends, political leaders, and an often hostile legacy media environment—is captured in raw and honest detail by Clement and Barnes.

For those observing events from afar, one often overlooked aspect of the occupation was the remarkable way a fully functioning, self-governing community formed organically on the parliamentary grounds. As the book shows so vividly, it arrived, adapted, and evolved despite the pressures and resistance directed toward it from the ninth floor of the Beehive. In many ways, it was a social experiment unfolding in real time. The actions and reactions of politicians, police, and protesters during those weeks deserve a place in our nation’s historical record—alongside this book.

Regardless of where one stood on Covid policy, vaccines, or mandates, Heart of the Protest offers a valuable insight into the hearts and minds of one of the most maligned groups of New Zealanders in early 2022. It strips away layers of propaganda and assumption, revealing the humanity, love, unity, and diversity within a movement of people who might never otherwise have come together. In fact, I would go further: what Heart of the Protest does is restore humanity to the hundreds of thousands who felt systematically dehumanised by government, media, and, sadly, sometimes even friends and family. It reminds us that every person present at that protest had a story to tell—each one different, yet bound by a common thread: the freedom to choose.

The systematic dehumanisation of everyday New Zealanders—led, in many people’s view, by those in power—became an overlooked yet crucial element of the story, and it is one that Heart of the Protest captures powerfully. When the book reaches the harrowing chapters detailing the police incursion that ultimately dismantled the protest, what struck me most was not only the violence or the determination of the authorities. It was not even the stoicism of the kaumātua who refused to move and quietly held their ground, nor the use of countermeasures such as high-volume pepper spray, sound weapons, or rubber grenades fired from one New Zealander toward another.

What impacted me most was the sense that the democratically elected leaders of this country—granted authority by many of the very people gathered on that lawn—had first taken away their rights, then their livelihoods, their dignity, and finally their humanity in the eyes of the wider public. In the end, rules were changed on the fly to justify the use of force against a largely peaceful group, while many consumers of legacy media cheered from afar. Just as the film River of Freedom showed sold-out cinemas across the country what unfolded in those weeks in Wellington, this book adds the raw, detailed substance to the story—material that legacy media still largely refuses to acknowledge.

Stuff’s podcast Quarantine Nation said of the protest:

“By early March, that protest is forcibly broken up and parliament grounds are cleared. But oddly, at the very moment that the protest is at its most strident, it's clear that our Covid response is already being unwound.”

Perhaps that interpretation comes from a vantage point shaped by watching events from the parliamentary balcony under the watchful eye of Trevor Mallard. Even now, it may not have occurred to some commentators that the unwinding of the Covid response might have been influenced—at least in part—by the visible expression of dissent represented by the thousands gathered outside Parliament over those 20 days. The teams behind Fire & Fury and Quarantine Nation might find value in the perspective offered here by Clement and Barnes, which seeks to tell the other side of the parliamentary protest story.

I’d like to leave the final word to Derek Broomhall, a welder and leader of the convoy’s pilot vehicle from Bluff to Picton, from an address he gave to the protest in Wellington:

“There were absolutely thousands of people who came out and lined the streets, the overpasses, the paddocks, the front yards and the gates of New Zealand to cheer us on – support us. Every time I made eye contact with one of you out there I made a connection I will never forget. Within your eyes I saw pride, I saw love. I saw unconditional support, I saw hurt and most of all, I saw hope”

The Heart of the Protest by Sian Clement and Gaylene Barnes is available now for pre-order ahead of its upcoming release.