Deploy the fence
THEY DROVE. THEY PARKED. THEY camped. Initially, life in the tent village beside Wellington’s ‘Beehive’ parliament building seemed spontaneous and carefree. They didn’t seem to mind being soaked by the parliamentary lawn sprinklers or being blasted by Barry Manilow’s greatest hits, courtesy of the Speaker of the House. They had food, toilets and a hairdresser’s tent.
Except for the straight line of plastic traffic barriers separating the encampment from the front of the old and newer parliament buildings, there were no boundaries. Unimpeded, they expanded into the surrounding
