From execution calls to a very strange festival

From the Hare Krishnas who arrived with tambourines on Thursday, to the man in a black robe whose eyes look to pop from his head when he screams ‘‘war crime’’, the scenes at Parliament this week have been overwhelming at times.

What exactly united these people, from entirely different walks of life and political ideology?

They don’t all believe in the most bizarre of conspiracies, which centre around Jacinda Ardern being paid by Pfizer, although the most vocal and aggressive protesters certainly subscribe to such outlandish beliefs.

Sitting in the back of his people mover, parked illegally in the ‘‘prime position’’ on Molesworth St, Phillip Reweti is initially surprised to learn white nationalists are part of the protest as well. He says he isn’t a true ‘‘anti-vaxxer’’, just a true ‘‘believer in freedom’’. However, he did choose not to be vaccinated.

He reckons the one thing that unites even the most polar opposite of people is a belief in ‘‘freedom’’. He says everyone there, apart from Destiny Church who he’s critical of for leaving on day one, believes in true freedom.

Reweti, who prefers to be known as ‘‘Bear’’, is happy. On Friday evening, with music pumping and the BBQ cooking, the vibe of ‘‘Camp Freedom’’ isn’t dissimilar to a small music festival.

With festivals now requiring vaccine passes, this is the first time in a long time most of the crowd have been in a group so big – and they’re loving it. It’s hard to condemn joy.

But at times, this protest has been frightening.

When convoy members arrived on Tuesday, they effectively had free rein of Parliament’s grounds.

Instead of using that freedom to set up the popcorn store, doughnut shop, face painting and music stages we saw on Friday, they used it to threaten violence.

Factions of more than 1000 protesters got as close as possible to Parliament’s staff, politicians and journalists, and threatened death. They told reporters they would be hung for reporting about the pandemic, and shouted for ‘‘executions’’. Fearing for their safety, many reporters chose to stay within

Parliament’s walls. They filmed from the Speaker’s balcony, metres above the crowd, which appeared to agitate some protesters.

But when reporters did go into the crowd, they were also met with abuse for exercising their right to wear masks. School children, as well, reported being egged and shouted at for wearing masks.

I had to abandon interviews after aggressive men threatened to take my mask.

‘‘Whose side are you on?’’ one man shouted.

He made his way towards me, with his pamphlets of false information about masks. But then a skirmish broke out between the police and protesters.

A family, three boys and their mother, quickly walked to the scene of the shouting. The mother told her boys to sit down between the police and protesters. But when the protesters behind them started to scream, the children sprinted. In tears, they hid and waited behind a tent. They asked people nearby what was going on and, as tensions, flared that angry man with mask pamphlets told me to get out.

It’s been strange to see the protest transform from a truckers’ convention, to what looked like it could be a riot, and then a quasi-festival.

Overwhelmingly, however, it’s been sad.

Sad to look at the woman screaming at Parliament, in tears, about losing her job.

Sad to see some who no longer believe in the freedom of the press.

And sad when the children feared for their lives.