November 1st 2024. Cabinet Room, the Beehive.
The prime minister shuffled his papers waiting for his ministers to take their seats so the cabinet meeting could begin. His 11 months in the job had been eventful – working with perverts, alcoholics and predatory homosexuals was certainly an unusual experience for him – and there were a couple of issues which troubled him: he required a solution. As the meeting got underway, the prime minister put his cards on the table: crime was falling, but it was still far too high and decent respectable white people were sick of being victims of crime. Did anybody have any ideas on tackling it?
Forty-five minutes later, after a boring, droning lecture by the police minister (“Oh put a sock in it, Mark”) – and by this time almost falling asleep – the prime minister’s attention was caught by David Seymour. “Prime minister, I think I have a solution to the crime problem,” and David outlined his plan in some detail to hoots of laughter from the other cabinet members. “Oh, we’d never get away with it,” said the PM. “Surely New Zealanders aren’t that stupid?” but he agreed to give it a try, for his own amusement if nothing else.
In the next few days a bill was hastily put together containing all sorts of incredibly silly clauses and leaks to the media suggesting it was a racist attack on Māori, and in due course the Treaty Principles Bill was introduced into parliament by a smug David Seymour desperately trying to keep a straight face and not give the game away. The predictable outcry from the usual suspects was loud and emphatic, and the PM, managing not to fluff his carefully scripted (by David Seymour) lines, declared his own outrage at the bill, whilst also managing to keep a straight face and not burst out laughing.
Right on cue the Māori MPs, being too stupid to know they’re being played for fools, danced around parliament’s debating chamber reminding middle New Zealand why they’re not keen on Māori. With all attention on the war dance, nobody noticed the PM slipping David Seymour a $50 note, having lost a certain bet.
Things then escalated quickly. A protest march of angry Māori, white-as-snow rich kids and hate-filled ‘Karens’, made its way from the far north and far south to Wellington and a craven media reported it all in breathtaking coo-ing and ahh-ing terms and the ‘Karens’ felt it their duty to explain to the Māori what the issues were (because only people like themselves are intelligent enough to know what’s good for Māori). All this unfolded much as David Seymour had predicted to his colleagues it would. The only surprised person was the PM.
This caper reached its crescendo on Tuesday, when 42,000 angry Māori marched through the capital to parliament, waving flags, wagging fingers and chanting slogans. David Seymour simply couldn’t resist the temptation to stir the [excrement] even further by addressing the crowd – to enormous booing, as expected and intended. The ‘We’ve shown yous fullas bro’ response from the crowd reminded Seymour of similar comments from Bridgecorp bondholders circa 2004.
And the crime-tackling plan? Simple: due to 42,000 angry Māori being in Wellington, November 19th was the first day in 200 years no crime north or south of Wellington occurred!
