From NIMBYS to legal beagles, these are the characters at public meetings

Like protests or petitions, public meetings are a cornerstone of democracy. Community reporter Jonathan Killick lifts the lid on the characters that usually go along.

A small crowd gathers in a poorly-lit community hall, usually reserved for pensioners playing bridge. The room is lined with chairs, but people are standing in the doorway to avoid sitting up front.

The meeting could be about a new apartment block threatening to change the “character” of the neighbourhood, or perhaps it’s a response to increase in crime.

Either way, it’s a familiar scene to this journalist who has attended countless public meetings across five years of reporting on community issues.

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These meetings are not just a goldmine of stories and quirky quotes; they’re a powerful tool to mobilise a community and can often yield powerful results.

Yet, these meetings can also disproportionately further the niche interests of particular groups. People with quietly-held controversial views can become emboldened by a room of people that share the same beliefs. It’s a fine line between voice of the people and mob mentality.

Here are just some of the colourful characters you’ll see at local meetings:

The shop talkers

As sophisticated drinkers know, Veuve Clicquot​ is best served with brunch – so why should liquor stores be allowed to stay open past 7pm?

Liquor stores, along with other local shops, are a hardy perennial when it comes to controversy at community meetings. Prospective owners are required to publicly advertise their intention to open, so that residents can object; some might already feel well served by the local boutique wine shop, and have no empathy for anyone in search of an evening rum and coke.

Some communities take it further: the South Auckland township of Waiuku opposed the opening of a new dairy because it would bring social ills such as crime, traffic and soft drinks.

Residents’ submissions were heard at a hearing before council-appointed commissioners. One thought that food stores and hairdressers were “taking over the town”.

“It’s getting ridiculous for such a small town that isn’t deemed big enough to service a Burger King, [to have] more than 20 food outlets. It’s an absolute joke and something needs to be done about it.”

One submitter said 40 years ago her brother had been compelled to steal money from her parents to “keep up with his friends”, because of a nearby dairy.

Another added: “It just encourages them to buy sodas and pies. For goodness’ sake council, use your brains and stop giving our kids places that enable bad choices on the way to school.”

In a recently-released decision, commissioners said they “acknowledged the concerns”, but they were granting the dairy consent. Unlike alcohol, the Unitary Plan has no provisions for limiting the supply of lollies and chips.

The NIMBY (Not In My Backyard)

In a packed-out hall a woman boldly addressed her neighbours, saying that she’d been used to seeing the same houses on her daily commute, and she didn’t want the area to change.

At this meeting in the idyllic coastal Auckland suburb of Beach Haven, residents declared their seaside village simply wasn’t “an apartment community”.

“Two-thirds of these apartments will be singles or studios which means bedroom commuters who are not going to be a part of this community,” a resident said.

An all-too-common theme of public meetings has become the dreaded threat of intensification. To first home buyers those maligned townhouses and apartments offer a step onto the ladder, while to others they are an “unconscionable destruction of another person’s capital value”, as one Glendowie resident put it.

Though strangely enough, ask any resident at a meeting organised to stop a residential development and the first thing they’ll tell you is that “it’s not about NIMBYism”, and their concerns are quite reasonable.

Still, there are signs that a trained eye can note to detect an undercover NIMBY.

“Packed in like sardines” is an often-used phrase. They’re not new warm dry affordable homes, they’re “infill housing” and they’re the reason the landed elite suffered flooding in January.

Beach Haven residents are set to face off before a panel of commissioners in July against a developer proposing 81 apartments. Time will tell on whether their interpretation of zoning will be legally persuasive.

The legal beagles

We’re talking about the serial Official Information Act requester who walks into a meeting holding up a supposed smoking gun printed out on paper. Chances are, though, it contains information already published online by the Government or local council.

They’ve asked for all email communications between staff and the board of directors, dating back to 2004. Still waiting for an answer.

Or perhaps they’re a retired lawyer, who chooses to spend their days at meetings held in the hallowed halls of the leisure centre annex. They oppose minor local board decisions, citing the Bill of Rights as they challenge various speeding and parking tickets in court, somehow always losing due to a “miscarriage of justice”.

Yet legal action wielded by a group of sometimes well-heeled generational land-owners can have a potent effect.

Last year, a group of residents was able to stop a 17-townhouse development in Auckland’s central eastern suburbs because it was “not in keeping” with their front yards.

At a subsequent hearing before a panel of commissioners the developer was forced to admit that he had been persuaded to publicly notify the project because neighbours had threatened a judicial review in the High Court.

In a similar vein, nothing gets neighbourhood hackles up like the prospect of struggling young parents. The most contested developer in the country is not wealthy investor-backed property moguls; it’s Kāinga Ora Housing New Zealand (KO).

KO staff who fronted a heated community meeting in Blockhouse Bay in April were told there was no more room for young families in the suburb because schools were already jammed, and the traffic was even worse.

A resident with a folder in hand said the housing agency was “making a big mistake” and she would take the issue to the High Court if necessary.

“The land would go back to council, and [KO] can then sue council for damages. Legally, the case has a million legs to stand on,” she said.

The project’s planning consultants said they “had different advice”, and at this stage the development is forging ahead.

The harried local representative

Community frustrations can quickly turn to outrage when residents realise elected officials aren’t on their side.

The meeting in Blockhouse Bay was called by New Lynn MP Deborah Russell​, but ultimately taken over by an eager resident who had put out flyers encouraging a disgruntled entourage to attend.

Russell perhaps envisioned bringing together “concerned” residents and KO and finding a palatable middle ground, and instead found herself having to intervene when things got heated over “a lack of consultation” – “Kāinga Ora staff are people not machines,” she reminded them.

The meeting descended into an apparent kangaroo trial of KO for failing to consult the community.

“If you break the law what are you?” a resident asked rhetorically. “A criminal,” the crowd responded in chorus. Even Russell was asked if she would join any legal proceedings.

She explained that she wouldn’t be taking a case against her own government, learning the hard way that politicians should be careful who they court.

National MP Mark Mitchell hosted a meeting at a rural RSA in 2020 after the Government banned semi-automatic guns and promised to bring in a firearms register – Mitchell vowing to scrap both.

“A gun registration would be like car registration – it won’t stop the killing,” a resident said.

But, for many those promises didn’t go far enough.

A local businessman in the crowd told Mitchell how he had a collection of World War II artillery and the new rules might mean he’d have to be licensed to have them.

The same man cornered this reporter after the meeting insisting that his ownership of heavy siege weaponry could not be published.

Some local politicians understand the game perfectly. Kaipātiki Local Board chair John Gillon told a crowd of Beach Havenites how he had previously helped residents stop or reduce two developments in nearby Birkenhead.

In those cases locals had pooled together funds and hired a lawyer. A member of the crowd asked whether the local board might have some spare cash to contribute.

“No, not now that Wayne Brown has cut the board’s funding,” Gillon responded, adroitly shifting responsibility. Of course, the board would never have funded something like that in the first place.

The ones ‘just asking questions’

These are the “tinfoil-hat-wearing, UFO-abducted pseudo-scientists”, as former associate health minister Peter Dunne described them.

In 2017, protesters showed up to an event where Dunne was speaking, wearing foil on their heads to express their disdain for his negativity towards anti-fluoride activists.

Among the shiny crowned objectors was Hamilton City Councillor Siggi Henry, who previously opined that “smarty pants” scientists had brainwashed the public over the use of fluoride in drinking water.

However, Dunne wasn’t fazed.

“I actually quite enjoy the fact that you’re wearing hats… If you choose to wear a tin hat on a rainy day, then I think that’s your issue,” he said.

Meanwhile, a meeting held in Warkworth by Unify NZ, a group that purports to hold events that “raise awareness of topical issues”, was entitled “UN Agenda 2030 – Fact or Fiction?”

Based on the advertisement, audiences might have expected a critical analysis of a conspiracy theory that the UN is somehow controlling the shots in New Zealand.

Instead, the meeting was opened by Julian Batchelor, who declared that New Zealand was becoming “an apartheid state” as it moved towards a co-governance model.

After claiming there was a threat that iwi would take back sovereignty by force, Batchelor told the eager audience “we need a revolution, but let’s start with a riot”.

However, Batchelor couldn’t handle the heat at a subsequent meeting in Levin when protesters arrived, prompting intervention by police.

Stuff reported that a heated exchange took place, with protesters outside accusing organisers of excluding Māori – although some did make it inside.

A distressed lady could be heard saying “get your hands off me”, while others called her a b…. and told her to “shut up” and “sit down”.

Batchelor said afterwards he decided to cancel the event because he was not prepared to “reward bad behaviour”.

The long-suffering committee

On this reporter’s first attending of a meeting of the Mt Albert Residents Association (MARA), I was nearly nominated to be president. “We could use some youth,” the incumbent president said as he gazed our way.

Aside from this reporter, presenters and local politicians, there were five others there on behalf of 12,800 residents – a motley group gathered in a dance studio in the mirror-lined attic of the Mt Albert YMCA.

They heard from volunteer community patrollers about efforts to stop vape stores from selling nitrous oxide “nangs”, after around 500 metal canisters were found at the train station.

The audience also learnt there would soon be hearings ahead of major changes to zoning to allow an expansion of the Mason Clinic and housing on part of Unitec’s campus. Residents can have their say on how challenges like increasing road traffic will be met – but only if they speak up.

A woman from the audience said she hadn’t heard about this and wanted to know why these things weren’t better advertised.

“Most people aren’t connected, and apathy reigns supreme,” was the answer.

This importance of community meetings was also demonstrated by the recent campaign to save 10 childcare centres across Auckland, slated to be cut in Mayor Wayne Brown’s budget.

Mums and dads from across the motu gathered in council halls and leisure centres to discuss how to retain a vital service that allows parents to return to work in a cost of living crisis.

The resulting campaign to media and elected officials demonstrated that there was a public will to fund childcare, and at the eleventh hour on budget day, Brown removed the cuts from his proposal.

North Shore Councillor Richard Hills says it was an example of how meetings ought to be run, with everyone getting to have their say and ask questions of officials.

However, he says he has a “love-hate relationship” with public meetings.

“They can be a great vehicle for causes, but often they can be taken up by a few people who don’t let others talk.”

Hills says he has seen local politicians and council staff “screamed and sworn at”.

“Like marches or protests, meetings have their place, but it all depends on how they are run and if someone is moderating behaviour of the crowd.”

Hills says he’s also careful not to place too much weight on what could be just one set of views from a small but motivated group.

“I always make sure that I’m looking at who is not in the room – for example, young people or parents who might not have time to get to a cold windy hall on a Monday evening.

“They might not even be aware their local residents’ association exists.”​