‘He doesn’t even know there’s a nazi just a few doors down’
In his new book, researcher Byron C Clark investigates how violent scenes outside Parliament in early 2022 were the culmination of trends that had been developing for the better part of a decade. In this exclusive extract, he describes the shadowy and unusual world of Wargus Christi.
Like Action Zealandia, Manawatu¯ -based Wargus Christi emerged as a far-right group a few months after the demise of the Dominion Movement. On their (now removed) Facebook page, the group described itself as ‘‘a martial-monastic Christian brotherhood of swole saints, meat monks and beef bishops’’, and wrote: ‘‘Our work is to achieve and maintain authentic manhood in defiance of the degenerate and effeminate carcass of the West.’’
The page promoted a mediaeval-style Christianity, with a heavy emphasis on Crusade imagery, and a particularly fascistic idea of health and well-being. They encouraged their members to regularly work out at the gym, frequently described as ‘‘the temple of iron’’ (a phrase popularised by Marcus Follin, better known as ‘‘The Golden One’’, a Swedish white nationalist YouTuber, bodybuilder and online fitness coach).
The group forbade masturbation, a surprisingly common ideology among far-right groups, including, notably, the Proud Boys in the United States, selfdescribed ‘‘Western chauvinists’’. The ideology is based on a thoroughly debunked theory that semen retention is linked to an increase in testosterone and male virility.
A more extreme version of this far-right antimasturbation philosophy has been promoted by former KKK leader David Duke, who has spread the conspiracy theory that Jews dominate the adultentertainment industry and use pornography as a way to control white men. Wargus Christi appeared to indicate they shared this belief, using a dog whistle (a coded message communicated through words or phrases commonly understood by a particular group of people but not by others) that for a time was popular among the online far-right.
Names of Jewish individuals would be placed in triple-parentheses, something Wargus Christi implemented with the word ‘‘pornographers’’ on Facebook. It was not hard to deduce the identity of Wargus Christi’s leader, who posted many photos of himself at the gym with a cartoonish knight’s helmet obscuring his face.
On his own Facebook page, however, there was a profile photo taken at the same gym, with the same outfit; just no cartoon knight’s helmet. He is Daniel Guy Waring, whose involvement with the far-right dates back to at least 2010, when he was sentenced to community service for an attack on a Lutheran Church.
At the time, he described himself as a neo-Nazi to a probation officer. Aside from the use of antiSemitic dog whistles, Wargus Christi focused mostly on self-improvement for white men – to be a pious, muscle-bound Christian – but little of the content was overtly hateful. That was not the case with many of the other Facebook pages I was watching at the time, although rarely would a report to the platform result in them being removed; just notifications telling me that the post I reported ‘‘didn’t violate community guidelines’’.
The first possibly illegal post I saw on a NZ-based far-right page was for the micro-party One Nation NZ. Presumably named after the Australian far-right party founded by Pauline Hanson, One Nation NZ was started by Kym Koloni, who was running in the Northcote by-election in 2018. She had stood for New Zealand First at the previous election, causing controversy when she called for the removal of the Treaty of Waitangi from law.
The page had a pinned post at the top claiming it was impossible to be racist against Muslims because Islam isn’t a race. It was one of the pages that disappeared after the Christchurch shooting, although it’s unclear whether Facebook removed it or whether it was removed by Koloni or another administrator. Either way, the page was back up a few weeks later. The new page shared a link to the livestream footage of the shooting, alleging the victims were actors and the attack was fake. I reported the post to Facebook, who removed it four hours later.
Then I saw a post on another page I was watching called ‘‘WTF Jacinda Ardern?’’ run by Mike Allen. Allen is the man behind the mock Trump-campaign red baseball caps with the slogan ‘‘Make Ardern Go Away’’ that are sold on TradeMe and have become a common sight at anti-government protests – although at one point TradeMe removed the advertising page.
Allen, behind the pseudonym Joe (also used for one of his Facebook accounts) called Sean Plunket on talkback radio programme Magic Talk to discuss what he saw as the politically motivated decision to remove his auctions. During the conversation, Plunket asked him: ‘‘Are you a member of any groups that might be described as alt-right, neoconservative, white supremacist or Nazi?’’
Allen replies: ‘‘Well, I’m a white male, so that puts me in all those groups, doesn’t it?’’
On Allen’s Facebook page was a shocking image of an acid-attack victim, with the caption, ‘‘If this happens to my daughter I’m destroying mosque after mosque until I am taken out’’. A follower then commented that the Christchurch shooter should be ‘‘let out for another go’’; another comment saying: ‘‘this starts happening here and Christchurch won’t even be a warm up’’.
I reported it to Facebook, who removed the post, and later the page was taken down. On the advice of others also watching this type of far-right behaviour online, I shared the screenshots on Twitter and reported the post to the police. Allen was not pleased about the post being removed, and while the page was still up, asked his followers to find out who had reported it.
Once he found out that it was me (although I know I wasn’t the only one), he began posting about me on a new page he’d set up, and then someone commented on one of my YouTube videos and featured the address of where I was staying at the time: ‘‘Gosh, I love riding on [–] and watching Byron ride his bike past me. He doesn’t even know there’s a nazi just a few doors down. It’d be a shame if someone dangerous knew he lived somewhere between [–]. A real shame.’’
I had been making video essays about the farright since April 2019, and it was when I uploaded a video outlining how the far-right narrative on the UN Global Compact had spread to mainstream politics that I first received abusive comments, saying I should be punched or shot.
This was the first time, however, someone had gone to the effort of finding out where I lived. I began getting printouts of pictures from Mike Allen’s Facebook page by my letterbox. The goal of these local far-right supporters was clear – to intimidate me into shutting up by making me well aware they knew where I lived. I soon learnt who it was that had followed me home and shared my address – an unsettling experience that drove home the lengths the far-right would go to intimidate me.
The alt-right are very open about what they believe, as they think the people consuming their media will share the same political beliefs as them.