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Well it’s been a while since my last post, and there is a reason for that. You see, just a few days ago the final chapter closed on a rather ugly episode in my life. I was present at a criminal hearing at the Wellington District Court a couple of days ago and I didn’t want to risk prejudicing the case by writing any opinions here beforehand, no matter how small the risk. But before I talk about that and my thoughts on the whole business, some background is in order. I apologise in advance for the colourful language.

On Friday the 29th of September last year, I had been having a few social drinks and games of pool with friends at a pub in Cuba Street, Wellington. I said my goodbyes at around 11:45pm and walked through the Cuba mall toward Manners Street, where I intended to get a taxi home. As I walked past the entrance to Opera House Lane (a small side-street/alleyway coming off Manners) however, a tall, young polynesian man detached from a group of youths hanging around the area and shoulder-barged me, trying to pick a fight, saying “You’re the man! You’re the man!”, or similar. I brushed him off with my arm and told him to fuck off, but as I walked on ahead he punched me in the back of the head.

Clearly he was not going to accept ‘no’ for an answer.

I turned around and punched the guy in the face, and told him not to fucking punch me. This brought an appreciative jeer from his mates, who quickly gathered around and slightly behind my assailant. They were grinning with anticipation (in retrospect, this was actually one of the worst aspects of the situation for me; I felt like I was being forced to provide entertainment for these losers like some circus animal, and it made me want even more to leave as quickly as possible). I knew that if I ran I would simply be chased and possibly caught; so as my attacker advanced once again I fought him defensively, walking backwards all the while.

He dropped into an amateurish boxer’s crouch that would have looked comical if it was a different situation, as it was clear that he was slightly inebriated and/or inexperienced. He grabbed hold of the lapel of my jacket and tried to hit me repeatedly with his spare fist, but I managed to pull free of his grip before that happened. After we exchanged a few blows, the guy fell back with his mates briefly, and I took that opportunity to turn and walk away. This brought disappointed jeers from the crowd of youths (which included a few females), and a few insults such as “white trash”. I passed a couple of bemused-looking Asian teens as I approached the Great India restaurant near the corner of Taranaki Street and Manners Street. They asked me if I was OK. “Yep,” I replied grimly as I neared the taxi rank. I didn’t quite make it, however: I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head. It was much harder than the first one, and I remember a feeling of annoyed frustration as I toppled forward.

What happened next I have no recollection of, as I had been knocked out cold with a brass knuckleduster. The coward then kicked me in the head as I laid unconscious on the pavement. When I came to around two minutes later (it felt instantaneous to me), the guy was still attacking me, pummeling me around the head as I staggered dizzily to my feet. At one stage I was thrown backwards against a taxi, and then a taxi driver said “come on, that’s enough!” and to their everlasting credit, a group of them, plus two security bouncers from somewhere formed a line between me and my attacker. He kept trying to fight me, and to get me to fight him, but I called him a coward (for attacking me from behind) and said I had nothing to say to him.

After a little while, the punk’s friend (who called me a “palagi wuss” in a provocative manner) started pushing him away around the corner. He left with a final arrogant comment about how lucky I was, and someone said the police were coming. Not long afterward I saw two police officers talking to youths back the way I had come, with one then running past me and around the corner where my attacker had gone. I later learned that he had caught my attacker, while the other constable took my statement and that of another witness down at the central police station. Fortunately, my injuries were light and I was able to go home after a checkup by the hospital A&E doctor.

Back to the present. In keeping with his general tone thus far, my attacker had until the very day of his court case on the 4th, pleaded Not guilty to the charge of Assault with Intent; claiming “self defense”, and that he had only hit me once. This meant that I and the other witness had to be summonsed to appear in court to give testimony. However, this in the end was not required as his lawyer managed to convince him to change his plea.

You will see now part of the reason for my interest in the growing trend of random violence by youth gangs, as posted earlier! This trend has affected me personally, and it is truly a disturbing one. The police constable in charge of my case described downtown Wellington as becoming like the movie “The Warriors“; where gangs of different colours stretch police resources, fight over territory and make the streets unsafe after dark.

But why the random violence? It beggars belief, and seems to be a fairly recent phenomenon. It is clear that US-style “gangsta” subculture has found a home in the hearts and minds of a portion of New Zealand’s young, primarily Maori/Polynesian men. But there’s a disturbing nihilism that seems to predicate these random attacks. Shortly after being arrested for his assault on me, the guy (who I later learned was affiliated with Black Power) admitted his crime to the police officer, saying “you know me - that’s how I roll”.

With such feral and mindless motivation present in these guys, it remains to be seen what the solution will be.