Riley Chance's Blog

Every election reminds me that democracy is something we - citizens - value, but rarely stop to think about. We seldom debate policies and politics, often ending up in social media echo chambers, where our views are reflected back to us. Then we cast our votes and trust that the system will do the rest.

The Democracy Game is a fast-paced New Zealand political thriller that exposes the fragility of democratic institutions. Set in New Zealand’s near future, it imagines how democracy might be manipulated. Not through military coups or violence in the streets, but through technology, information, money and carefully orchestrated decisions.

It's fiction, but the questions it raises were relevant before the 2023 election, and they’re even more relevant today..

Election campaigns encourage us to think about the future of our country. The Democracy Game doesn't tell you what to think or who to vote for. Instead, it invites you to consider how easily democratic systems can be influenced, and if its possible to control New Zealand’s democracy.

The Democracy Game is a thriller designed to engage and keep you turning pages. It combines authentic New Zealand settings with political intrigue, suspense and believable characters in a story that feels uncomfortably plausible. Whether you're fascinated by politics or simply enjoy intelligent thrillers, this is a novel that will stay with you as we edge towards this year’s election.

That's the question at the heart of The Democracy Game.

Read the first chapter or…

Check it out from your local library (if it’s not there, politely ask them to order a copy)

Buy a copy from your favoutire bookstore (if they don’t have it, get them to order a copy)

buy your copy online .

Photo by Chris Yang on Unsplash‍

If you've read a political thriller set in New Zealand (one of mine, for example), you've probably come across references to the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service (NZSIS) or the Government Communications Security Bureau (GCSB). Their names are often used interchangeably and they are frequently portrayed as shadowy organisations operating behind the scenes, collecting intelligence and protecting national security.

But who are they really? What powers do they have? And how much do they affect everyday life in New Zealand?

While researching my novels, I've spent time understanding how New Zealand's intelligence community operates. As with any political thriller, the challenge is separating Hollywood myth from reality.

Although they are often mentioned together, the NZSIS and the GCSB perform quite different functions.

The NZSIS is New Zealand's domestic intelligence and security agency. Its role is to identify and investigate threats to New Zealand's national security. These threats include:

Terrorism

Espionage

Foreign interference

Violent extremism

Activities that threaten New Zealand's democratic institutions

Unlike the Police, the NZSIS is not primarily concerned with investigating ordinary crime. Instead, it focuses on gathering intelligence that helps the Government understand and respond to security threats before crimes occur.

The GCSB has a different focus. It specialises in signals intelligence, cyber security and information assurance. In simple terms, the Bureau helps protect New Zealand's communications and information systems while also collecting foreign intelligence through electronic means.

The GCSB works extensively in cyber security, assisting government agencies and organisations responsible for New Zealand's critical infrastructure. Its responsibilities have grown significantly as cyber attacks have become more common and sophisticated.

Photo by Milan Malkomes on Unsplash‍

Neither the NZSIS nor the GCSB has the powers of a police force. If intelligence suggests criminal offending has occurred, it may be passed to agencies such as New Zealand Police or other appropriate authorities.

Both agencies operate under the Intelligence and Security Act 2017, which gives them significant powers, but those powers are not unlimited. Depending on the circumstances and the appropriate legal authorisations, the agencies may be able to:

Gather intelligence relevant to national security.

Use surveillance techniques in authorised investigations.

Access certain communications or electronic information where legally permitted.

Work with overseas intelligence partners.

Assist other New Zealand agencies in protecting national security.

Many of their intrusive powers require an Intelligence Warrant. These warrants involve multiple levels of approval and oversight, recognising the balance between national security and individual rights.

Type 1 Intelligence Warrant

This is used when the activity directly relates to:

A New Zealand citizen, or

A New Zealand permanent resident.

A Type 1 warrant must be approved by both:

The Minister responsible for the intelligence agency, and

A Commissioner of Intelligence Warrants (a retired High Court judge or serving judge appointed to the role).

Type 2 Intelligence Warrant

This is used when the target is not a New Zealand citizen or permanent resident and can be issued by the responsible Minister alone.

The warrant authorises specific activities that would otherwise be unlawful, including:

Intercepting communications (phone calls, emails and messages).

Conducting surveillance.

Searching premises.

Entering private property.

Searching computers and electronic devices.

Installing or using surveillance devices.

Collecting documents or other intelligence.

Using covert or assumed identities in some circumstances.

The warrant is tailored to the operation. It doesn't automatically grant every available power.

Several mechanisms exist to provide oversight and accountability. The Inspector-General of Intelligence and Security independently reviews the legality and propriety of the agencies' activities. Parliament also maintains oversight through the Intelligence and Security Committee. In addition, the agencies are subject to legislation governing privacy, human rights and the lawful exercise of their powers.

No oversight system is perfect, and debates continue about where the balance should lie between security and privacy. Those debates are an important part of any healthy democracy, and governments around the world continue to grapple with where the appropriate balance should be struck.

For me, the key point is that intelligence agencies exist to serve their citizens and should never be turned into a force used against those same citizens. History provides plenty of examples of governments stepping over that line, which is why democratic oversight matters.

Good political fiction depends on believable institutions. When writing, I want the intelligence aspects of the story to feel authentic, even though my books are fiction and set in the near future. An engaging plot is more important than pedantically sticking to what is "meant" to happen.

I haven't asked either the NZSIS or the GCSB for a tour of their facilities, or to speak to someone about how they operate. I expect those requests would never be granted for obvious reasons. Instead, I focus on understanding their responsibilities, their legal powers and the constraints under which they operate.

I write fiction to encourage readers to ask questions for themselves, such as:

How much surveillance is acceptable?

How should intelligence agencies be supervised?

What safeguards should exist to protect civil liberties?

How should governments balance openness with secrecy?

There are no simple answers, but it is important that citizens remain engaged and maintain control over how these agencies operate in Aotearoa New Zealand. As technology continues to reshape society, those questions are likely to become even more significant. For writers of political fiction, they provide fertile ground for storytelling.

If you're interested in the themes explored here, you might also enjoy reading about the real events that inspired The Target, including New Zealand's unsolved Trades Hall bombing, and the research behind the novel.

Phil Pennington of Radio New Zealand keeps an excellent watch on developments in this area. Recently, he wrote about the Police seeking expanded surveillance powers and the debate surrounding those proposals - Police powers law to be tweaked, implementation delayed

Trailer for a cold case documentary about the Trades Hall bombing

History doesn't often give us answers. It gives us questions.

Sometimes those questions refuse to stay buried.

For me, one of those questions began on 27 March 1984, when a suitcase bomb exploded inside Wellington's Trades Hall and killed caretaker Ernie Abbott. More than forty years later, no one has ever been convicted of the bombing. It remains one of New Zealand's greatest unsolved crimes.

People often ask where the idea for The Target came from. They usually expect a simple answer. The truth is far more interesting.

I've long admired the role trade unions have played in improving wages, workplace safety and workers' rights. That interest naturally led me to the Trades Hall bombing, an event that has fascinated me for decades. But what struck me most wasn't simply that someone planted a bomb. It was that an act of political violence serious enough to kill a man could slowly fade from our national memory.

I began wondering what would happen if a similar attack occurred today. How would the police respond? What role would the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service play? How would politicians react? How quickly would misinformation spread across social media? How much surveillance would the public accept in the name of security?

Those questions eventually became woven into The Target.

An Event That Shouldn't Be Forgotten

On 27 March 1984, a suitcase bomb exploded inside Wellington's Trades Hall building. Ernie Abbott, the building's caretaker, was killed when he opened the case. Despite an extensive police investigation, no one has ever been convicted of the bombing.

Today, many New Zealanders know little about the incident. It receives only passing mention in our history, yet it remains New Zealand's only fatal domestic bombing and one of the country's most enduring unsolved criminal investigations.

From Research to Story

I never begin writing a novel with a plot or a detailed outline. Like Stephen King, I start with interesting characters, place them in interesting situations and then I start writing to discover what happens next.

Research runs alongside the writing. I read contemporary newspaper reports from 1984, revisited political commentary from the period and tried to understand the social climate in which the bombing occurred.

The Trades Hall bombing happened at a fascinating moment in New Zealand history. Trade unions were powerful organisations, political divisions ran deep and the country stood on the brink of enormous economic change. New Zealand was about to leave the Muldoon era and enter the sweeping reforms that became known as Rogernomics.

The bombing wasn't simply an isolated criminal act. It occurred during a period of profound political, economic and social tension. Understanding that context helped shape the world in which The Target unfolds. As we build towards the 2026 general election, the environment is eerily similar to 1984.

Why Political Fiction Matters

I've always been interested in stories that entertain while encouraging readers to think. A thriller should keep readers turning pages, but it can also ask difficult questions.

Political fiction occupies an unusual place because it allows writers to explore real issues without claiming to predict the future or rewrite the past. The events of The Target are fictional, as are its characters and plot. But the concerns explored throughout the novel: public trust, surveillance, misinformation, political influence and the role of trade unions are very real.

Throughout history, acts of political violence have altered the course of nations. New Zealand likes to think of itself as being immune from that kind of violence, but history suggests otherwise.

Visiting the Past

One of the unexpected pleasures of writing The Target was discovering just how much material still exists. Photographs, newspaper reports, political commentary and archival records all helped bring the period to life.

The former Trades Hall itself has also become a place where visitors can learn about both the bombing and the wider trade union movement. Standing in the building gives the story a tangible reality that no amount of reading can quite replicate.

From Cold Case to Contemporary Thriller

At first glance, The Target is a fast-moving New Zealand political thriller. It features journalists, intelligence officers, politicians, police investigators and ordinary people caught in extraordinary circumstances. Beneath the suspense, however, lies the same question that first drew me to the Trades Hall bombing. What happens when violence is used to change society?

By setting The Target in a near-future New Zealand, I wanted to explore how familiar institutions might respond when confronted with an event capable of shaking public confidence. How resilient are our democratic institutions? How much freedom are we prepared to surrender in exchange for security?

Bringing Research to Square Edge

Riley Chance holding a photo of front page of 1927 Newspaper - part of the display - dominated by the Trades Hall bombing

Writing a novel is often a solitary process, so it has been immensely rewarding to share some of that journey through my display at Square Edge Arts Centre in Palmerston North.

The display includes newspaper clippings, historical material, photographs and research that helped shape The Target. Visitors can trace the path from a real unsolved crime to a contemporary political thriller, seeing how history gradually evolved into fiction.

One of the pleasures of talking with visitors has been discovering how many people either remember the bombing or are surprised to learn it happened at all.

Many leave wanting to know more about the real event as much as the novel itself. If fiction encourages readers to become curious about New Zealand's history, then it has achieved something beyond entertainment.

Why the Story Still Resonates

The Trades Hall bombing remains unsolved and will probably stay that way. Yet unsolved mysteries endure because they continue asking questions that history cannot answer. As readers follow the investigation, they are also invited to think about democracy, political power, public trust and the forces that continue to shape Aotearoa New Zealand. If the novel sparks conversations about our history as well as our future, then it has done exactly what I hoped it would.

If you're interested in the real history behind The Target, explore the photographs and research from my Square Edge display, read the media coverage discussing the novel's connection to the Trades Hall bombing, or explore my website to learn more about my writing.

You can purchase The Target through my website, from Bruce McKenzie Books or get your favourtite bookstore to order you a copy.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash‍

Social media is not a harmless, everyday product. These platforms have been designed to shape how people think, interact, and understand the world. Yet they operate with fewer safeguards than industries that pose far less risk. A system that can amplify harassment, misinformation, and harmful content to millions should not be given a free pass simply because it is widely used and can afford a murder of expensive lawyers.

We, society, know how to handle risk in other areas of life. We don’t allow unsafe cars onto the road and tell drivers to “be careful”. Vehicles must meet strict safety standards, pass inspections, and can be recalled if faults emerge. Medicines are not sold freely without testing, dosage controls and regulatory approval. Even food producers must meet hygiene standards before their products reach the public. In each case, society accepts a simple principle – if something can cause widespread harm, it must be subject to careful regulation.

Social media, along with illegal drugs, has escaped that principle. Its harms are less visible than a car crash, but no less real. Algorithmic amplification can push extreme content, harassment can be coordinated and relentless and young users are often exposed to material they are not equipped to process. These are not edge cases - they are built into how the platforms function.

I recently read a BBC article - Meta and TikTok let harmful content rise after evidence outrage drove engagement, say whistleblowers.

“The algorithm offered content creators a "path that maximizes profits at the expense of their audience's wellbeing.”

Let’s be honest, none of us should be shocked. If environmental protection legislation were as feeble as the legislation governing social media, companies would dump their used sh!t everywhere. Whether it’s nicotine companies, polluters or social media platforms, their goal is to maximise profits and get societies to clean up their mess.

Some Governments are beginning to catch up, and they are being fought tooth and nail by the platforms using their obscene profits. The UK’s Online Safety Act imposes legal duties on platforms to reduce exposure to illegal and harmful content, particularly for children. Australia has gone further, introducing minimum-age rules for social media, with enforcement measures that place responsibility on the platforms themselves. The BBC recently reported on how these changes reflect growing concern that leaving safety to companies has not worked.

But legislation is still uneven, incomplete and largely reactive. It is being written after years of damage rather than before. That puts users, especially younger ones, in the position of being test subjects in a live experiment. No other high-impact product would be allowed to scale globally under those conditions.

The comparison to other industries is not rhetorical. We ground planes until faults are fixed. We recall defective products. We shut down unsafe buildings. In each case, inconvenience is accepted because safety comes first. Social media, by contrast, continues operating while its risks are debated. Zuckerberg and co can be dragged into the US Congress’s spotlight, but nothing happens, especially under Trump-like Governments which abound.

Until proper, enforceable standards are in place – standards that address design, accountability, age protections and harm minimisation – the ethical stance is to avoid using the platforms. I refuse to use them.

Ask yourself this question – if you knew your favourite restaurant abused its employees, would you keep going?

The current New Zealand Government is, like the media has reported, talking a big game - but will anything change? As a citizen you do have power (what is often termed agency). You can write to your MP and ask what they intend to do about making Social Media safe.

I’m often asked whether my campaigning (notably against the Public Lending Right) will make a difference. Maybe. Maybe not. But what it does stop is the minister being able to stand up in Parliament and say, “I’ve received no complaints about social media.”

Seriously.

Being lost for words isn’t good for an author. Words are what we do!

First, Brooke replied to my last polite request with an equally polite, “It’s not on the work programme”, suggesting I talk once more with the staff at the National Library – they won’t be thrilled to read that.

In response to the complete lack of action I took up my metaphorical pen to vent my umbrage. I started four times but couldn’t come up with anything new to say. Have you ever tried debating with a bouncer who thinks you’ve had one too many? It felt similar … I imagine.

The legislative changes required to knock off some of the rough edges from the PLR will take little work. Take an example from the earth-shattering amendments made in 2024. 'In regulation 10(3)(a) replace "30 November in that year" with "15 November in that payment year"'.

The 2024 amendments to the PLR changed nothing. They were an illustration of Weber’s idea of bureaucracy’s self-perpetuating inertia. Picture a dog trying to dig a hole in a marble floor to bury a bone – plenty of motion but zero progress.

As for talking to the staff at the National Library, there’s no point – they will be pleased to read that! They work for Brooke, not for me or for New Zealand authors. If I asked them what the best way to get under Brooke’s skin would be to spur her into action, they wouldn’t answer.

The outcome from all the endeavour focused on modernising the PLR, including a massive and expensive review, is the status quo. In the face of this, most people would be tempted to give up, but I’m reminded of George Bernard Shaw.

The reasonable person adapts themself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to themself. Therefore all progress depends on unreasonable people.

I wear my unreasonableness with pride.

My second speechless moment came a few weeks after I received my annual "Dear Riley, it’s not good news" email from the PLR scheme, detailing how many books they estimate I have in public libraries. I have three eligible books with counts of 40, 42 and 21, equalling a Christmas payout of $0.00. At least I don’t have to think about what I’m going to spend it on.

I’m not one to complain, but … The count for my latest book of 21 was so far away from my records that it stood out like the proverbial. I complained.

For those who don’t know how it works, the number of books is determined by a survey “in accordance with the advice of the Statistician”. If you follow the links in the legislation, the “Statistician” referred to is the Government Statistician – the chief executive of Statistics New Zealand.

I would expect a statistical survey conducted under the watchful eye of Statistics New Zealand to be robust, and any recount of my books to move counts by at most a few copies. The result of the recount for my three books was 50, 47 and 45.

I was again lost for words.

First count total – 103. Recount total – 142. In technical terms, that’s a statistically significant result. In lay terms, what the … If their counting were that unreliable at an election, we’d be alarmed. We might even discover that we’d elected the wrong government. Just saying.

And 50 is even more significant. One of my books, tired and sweating profusely, somehow cleared the Trump-esque wall that keeps the majority of authors below the payment threshold. This is how I imagine it happened.

PLR Person 1: “Jesus, Chance is complaining about the count – again!”

PLR Person 2: “Make one of his books fifty, that’ll shut him up.”

PLR Person 1: “Oh, alright.”

And it did shut me up … for a minute.

I don’t have the raw data to calculate a standard error, so I asked AI for an estimate. After a screed of calculations, the takeaway was that the uncertainty is large.

The following advice can be found on the PLR website:

… you may find your title count is (frustratingly) 49.

It should read:

… you may find your title count is (frustratingly) between 23 and 75 which we estimate as 49.

They go on to say, “To maintain the fairness of the fund, we can’t increase counts to meet the threshold for payment.”

I don’t have a clue what the first part of that sentence means. The fund is a social construct which is already demonstrably unfair and, as politicians have fiddled while it has been devoured by inflation, drained.

‍ Photo by S L on Unsplash

I need to say that I empathise with everyone involved in running the PLR, my struggle to have it changed is not personal. The buck stops (and is covered in dust and cobwebs) on Brooke’s desk. Everyone I have met along the way has been patient, helpful and kind.

That leaves the question – what to do next?

For those who remember the statue of Nick Smith, the then environment minister, on the footpath outside of the Christchurch ECan office, I’d like to build something similar. I would locate it next to the entrance to Parliament and call it – Waiting for Brookot.

Photo by 愚木混株 Yumu on Unsplash

When the Roman Empire fell, it took with it a myriad of advanced technology and the human species entered a period referred to as The Dark Ages. To most of us living today, the idea that the civilisation we live in – the cities, the societies, the knowledge – could be lost and that we again enter a low-tech, dark world is ludicrous. Yet, most of us also know it has happened before and, when you consider Pol Pot’s maniacal goal to take Cambodia back to Year Zero (a pre-industrial, classless society), it can happen if you have mad men (they’re usually men – Argentina being the latest to elect a male stark-raving lunatic to power) in control.

Previously, knowledge existed in people and printed material. Now it exists in people and, more often than not, as electronic data. Previously books were burned and lost. Now, without electricity …

Massive changes in societies, in civilisations, are more obvious in hindsight. We live in a world that assumes tomorrow will be the same as yesterday – give or take. When we push this logic to the nth degree, society will never change - give or take.

Yet societies do radically change. Civilisations fall.

The Fermi Paradox takes its name from Nobel Prize-winning physicist Enrico Fermi, who supposedly made his observations during a casual lunchtime conversation in 1950. It runs like this …

Given that our solar system is young compared to the rest of the universe — roughly 4.5 billion years old, compared to 13.8 billion — and that interstellar travel and communication is achievable given enough time – Earth should have been visited, or communicated with, by aliens already.

Fermi asked - why haven’t they made contact?

He doubted that there were no advanced enough civilisations. In our galaxy alone there are approximately 100 billion stars.

One theory that offers a solution, named after its proposer, is the Fermi Paradox.

As civilisations progress and develop the advanced technologies needed for space travel and communication, they also develop technologies that can annihilate themselves. Here, on the third rock from the sun, at some point in the last century we passed the milestone of enough nuclear weapons to destroy human life on earth. If you're in doubt, read Nuclear War - A scenario. 

Given the massive timescale we are talking about, this theory projects that, if we had the means to investigate, we would find the ruins of millions of civilisations on planets throughout the universe.

That brings us to the Cassandra Complex, which will be familiar to many, especially climate scientists. In Greek mythology, Cassandra was given the gift of prophecy, but was also cursed by the god Apollo so that her true prophecies would not be believed.

Currently, the Doomsday Clock is 90 seconds to midnight – midnight represents the moment at which we will have made Earth uninhabitable for humanity. If the picture below isn’t a beautiful (possibly the wrong word) illustration of the Cassandra Complex, I don’t know what is.

https://edition.cnn.com/2023/01/24/world/doomsday-clock-2023-climate-scn/index.html

There is a huge body of evidence that shows that the planet is heating up, and this is caused by humans. Despite the odd dissenting voice (crank?), this is generally accepted as true. But, in true Cassandrian style, its impact is yet to be truly believed by those responsible for running the majority of countries. The future so many scientists (and others) are warning us about sits outside our government’s ability to comprehend - they can’t look any further forward than a budget cycle (one year) or an election cycle (3-5 years). In this timeframe they are prisoners of the logic of the status quo logic – that tomorrow will be the same as yesterday.

I don’t believe climate change, in and of itself, will not result in the wide scale loss of knowledge that will usher in a new dark age - a nuclear war would absolutely! But when the Earth’s temperature rises, when resources (food, fresh water, land) become scarce, when societies demand that their leaders secure their countries future – at any cost - having ignored the voices that tried to avoid the situation (Cassandra), that’s when the spectre of the Fermi Paradox will become apparent.

Would you be disappointed to find out that a piece of art you paid hundreds for was not done by a human but instead created by a machine?

Similarly, how would you feel about a poetry book being co-written by large language model Chat GPT?

With the proliferation of generative AI into our creative spaces, these are questions that the everyday person will have to confront.

Written by Kiah Radcliffe and featuring in the Sunday Star Times

“In order to tell the truth you must know the truth.”

Photo by Joël de Vriend on Unsplash

In any functioning democracy, the media play a vital watchdog role. Their purpose is not merely to pass along official statements but to question, analyse, and test them against the facts. When journalists act as a megaphone for government or corporate announcements, the public receives spin and democracy is weakened.

The problem is not that journalists lack integrity or curiosity, but that the New Zealand media system no longer allows sufficient time and resources for investigative journalism. Newsrooms have shrunk dramatically, with fewer reporters expected to cover more stories across print, radio, television, and digital platforms. The pace of the news cycle rewards speed over depth, leaving little room for the slow, painstaking work of investigation. This is not a failure of individual journalists; it is the result of a media environment shaped by commercial pressures and shrinking budgets - conditions that make repeating official lines the path of least resistance.

In New Zealand, this tension is not new. Successive governments have relied on carefully managed press conferences, pre-packaged soundbites, and “no surprises” policies designed to maintain control of the narrative. Too often, mainstream outlets publish these lines with little scrutiny, especially under the pressure of reduced newsroom staff and tight deadlines. The danger to democracy is obvious: if the media repeats rather than critiques, it becomes part of the machinery rather than a check on it.

A recent example is the coverage of Treasury’s Long-term Insights Briefing. Reporters largely relayed the document’s forecasts and framing without probing the underlying assumptions. Much of the economic analysis was presented as neutral fact, yet it rested on the orthodoxies of traditional economists—faith in growth, productivity, and market-led solutions. Few asked whether these ideas remain fit for purpose in a world facing, for example, climate disruption, widening inequality, and a housing market that locks out younger generations.

By failing to interrogate these underlying frameworks, the media misses its broader democratic responsibility: to broaden debate rather than narrow it. Public understanding is shaped not just by what is said but by what goes unchallenged. If the assumptions of mainstream economics are treated as settled wisdom, alternative approaches - such as wellbeing economics, te ao Māori perspectives, or Modern Monetary Theory - are crowded out. A genuinely democratic media landscape would make space for these voices and force officialdom to justify why its default settings should prevail.

Critique does not mean hostility. It means applying professional scepticism. If a minister claims new funding will “transform” a service, reporters should ask: how much of the funding is new money, how will it be spent, and who says it will make a difference? If police or security agencies issue a warning, journalists need to ask what evidence underpins it, what limits exist on state power, and whether civil liberties are at stake. Just consider what emerges from the current American administration where at least half the media simply repeat it as though it is gospel.

New Zealand’s small media market makes this responsibility even greater. With fewer outlets and a shrinking pool of investigative journalists, every unchallenged announcement carries more weight. At its best, however, our media shows how critique can strengthen democracy. Investigations into: migrant exploitation linked to Green MP Darleen Tana, Gisborne’s forestry-slash environmental disaster and Air New Zealand’s servicing of Saudi military planes have gone well beyond official lines to hold institutions to account.

The task is not easy. Journalists face increasing financial pressures, online abuse, and political pushback. But the principle remains: democracy depends on a media that asks uncomfortable questions and resists the temptation to publish “churnalism”. Citizens do not need the government’s voice repeated; they need it tested, explained and, where necessary, challenged.

The fact that the majority of journalists have no idea how the economy works is a problem. In order to tell the truth you must know the truth. I’ll finish with a Mark Twain quote which I think sums up where we, society that is, are current at.

“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

Reporter: Just so I’ve got this right  you’re claiming the Earth goes round the Sun?

Copernicus: Correct. That’s what the evidence shows.

Reporter: Interesting. The official position, as you know, is that the Sun goes round the Earth. It rises, it sets - we all see it. Authorities have been consistent about this.

Copernicus: Authorities can be wrong. The data points the other way.

Reporter: We’ll include your comments for balance. But to be fair, the Government, the church and most ordinary people are confident the Sun revolves around us - that’s the line we’ll be leading with.

Copernicus: But that’s not the truth. Would you like to see the evidence for yourself.

Reporter: A bit technical for me, Nico, and if I write “Earth spins around invisible axis”, they'll put me away ... or worse. "Sun moves across sky” is less controversial. I’ll quote you towards the end of the article, but we'll stick with the status quo.

For the first time, the New Zealand book sector is on the same page when it comes to how to tackle the biggest challenges facing the industry.

Publishers, authors, illustrators, writers, librarians, educators and others have all had input into a five year-plan to boost visibility and sales of local books.

Some Kiwi authors have made great gains on the international stage - Catherine Chidgey, Nicky Pellegrino, Charity Norman, Jenny Pattrick and Witi Ihimaera have all been credited with 'shifting the dial' in demand for New Zealand stories.

But how to help support the rest is part of the work sought under the plan, being championed by the Coalition for Books.

Also in its sights is a dedicated funding stream from Creative New Zealand, as well as pushing government on legislative changes for stronger copyright protections, and a fairer share for authors under the Public Lending Right which determines how much authors earn from their books being in libraries.

Kiwi author Riley Chance has long expressed frustration with that system, he joins Susie, along with Coalition for Books chair Melanie Laville Moore.

“Reasonable people adapt themselves to the world. Unreasonable people attempt to adapt the world to themselves. All progress, therefore, depends on unreasonable people.”

The ability to challenge the status quo is essential in any functioning democracy. It keeps power accountable, makes change possible, and allows injustice to be confronted. In the justice system, challenging the status quo means asking whether current processes still serve the public good or merely protect those in power.

I, like most authors, choose my words carefully. This particular injustice occurred in the justice sector. The irony is not lost on me.

  Photo by Happy Lee on Unsplash

Just in case you aren’t aware - restorative justice in New Zealand is a process that brings together the victim, the offender, and sometimes the community to talk about the harm caused by a crime and how it can be put right. It focuses on accountability, healing, and making amends, rather than just punishment. Often used in the justice system alongside or instead of court sentencing, it reflects Māori values like whanaungatanga (relationships).

In May 2024, I began working as an independent restorative justice facilitator for a registered RJ provider. Since then, I’ve co-facilitated over 60 pre-conferences and 14 full conferences, most involving complex family violence cases.

I enjoyed the work, which is complex and tough, and believe in RJ’s transformative potential. I was on track to become an accredited facilitator.

As I became more familiar with the sector, I grew concerned about the inequitable treatment of facilitators, particularly around pay and contract terms. These concerns intensified in December 2024 when the provider I contracted to unilaterally changed all facilitator contracts. The changes reduced rates and limited our ability to claim legitimate expenses. For emotionally demanding, nuanced work, the pay already resembled that of a semi-volunteer workforce - this made the situation worse.

In response, a group of facilitators formed to challenge the changes. We wrote to the board requesting they reconsider. Their reply was arrogant and dismissive and was mistakenly addressed to me who they incorrectly labelled the group’s spokesperson. They reaffirmed their position with one minor amendment and stated the board’s financial position was “not of your concern.”

I already knew the trust’s financial position as all . As at 1 June 2024, they had over $640,000 in retained funds - well above their annual contract value with the Ministry of Justice (MoJ). I’ve since heard (anecdotally) their rationale was to build a buffer in case the MoJ cancelled their contract. Considering 99 percent of referrals come from the MoJ, what RJ work they expected to do without that contract remains unclear.

Our group sent a second letter proposing independent mediation. It wasn’t what i would have done, I doubted it would have any effect, but I went along with the group. This approach was rejected. Worth noting: the organisation exists solely to deliver restorative justice by bringing people together to repair relationships. Irony on irony.

Committed to getting answers, I submitted an Official Information Act (OIA) request to the Ministry of Justice. I wanted clarity on RJ contracting and funding as I suspected funds intended for facilitators providing services were being redirected, perhaps to give the board members something to manage that they understood. I also contacted another RJ provider to understand why funding varied so drastically. Missing the we’re-all-in-this-together memo, they declined to help.

https://joys.crownlaw.govt.nz/q9-fairness/

All the information I obtained came from legitimate channels open to any New Zealand citizen. I was exercising my democratic rights. The only action I took was to share it with colleagues. Also worth noting: I’ve never received a single complaint - none from colleagues, management, the board, victims, offenders, or support people.

Then came the next board meeting. Without warning or explanation, my contract was terminated. I received no prior notice, no invitation to attend, and certainly no mention of performance-related issues that may warrant this action.

While my colleagues’ contracts remained in place, they were not happy. They still aren’t happy and have let the board know. The board has its head firmly in the sand (or an equally dark place I’ll leave to your imagination).

The only conclusion I can draw is that I was dismissed for my lawful actions as a private citizen, particularly my efforts to raise concerns and seek transparency. The fact this happened within a Ministry of Justice contracted service is deeply concerning.

If the board assumed that ending my contract would end the matter, they clearly don’t know me.

I won’t/can’t go into detail about what’s coming without tipping my hand - let’s just say a lot. If anyone knows a retired lawyer with a special interest in administrative or constitutional law who loves to fight the system and is keen to do some pro bono work - send them my way. 😎

I’ll leave it for now with an adapted quote from Pulp Fiction. I'm gonna get medieval on their ass.

Stay tuned!