I had one of those dinner party experiences. 

Everything was going well. The food was good. The wine was good. My dear friends whose house I was at were as hospitable and good natured as ever. Then the the topic of conversation took one of those odd turns. And I found myself listening to someone tell us all about his exploits during the 1981 Springbok Tour. 

A brief history lesson - in 1981 the National government of the highly divisive Robert Muldoon allowed the South African Springbok Rugby team to play in New Zealand. This is in the middle of apartheid. Nelson Mandela is still in gaol. Biko's memory is fresh. In most of the world there are no sporting ties with South Africa; no imports of their wine - a boycott called for by the ANC and respected by much of the world. Because apartheid is a bloody bad thing. Unless you're a New Zealand rugby fan - in which case you buy a patently stupid badge that says "Keep politics out of sport". 

I was only 11 at the time - and even then I could see that there was something deliberately fatuous about the no politics in sport slogan. Politics is in everything. The decisions to invite the team; to allow them to play and then to spend huge amounts of tax-payer money ensuring they played was clearly political. If I could see that as an 11 year old - it was worrying that at least some of the adults around me didn't seem to be able to.

It was a defining moment for me. The massive protests - street battles in fact - showed me the full force that the state is willing to use to defend its interests. It showed the police for what they are - one of the bodies of armed people there to defend capitalism. And it showed that brave, determined people could achieve extraordinary things. When a group of protestors stopped the game at Rugby Park in my home town of Hamilton I felt a swelling of pride in the place I'd never felt before. When they were brutally attacked not just by the police but by Rugby fans at the ground, I felt the shame and horror of what my compatriots were capable of. 

I am not the only New Zealander for whom the events of those weeks drew a line in the sand. I may have only been 11 years old but I knew after weeks of near civil war that the side you were on during the Tour defined who you were as a person. I didn't hear anyone sing Which side are you on? for another ten years - but I understood its sentiment from that time on.

But back to 2021. 

Things started when the chap at the other end of the table regaled us with his opinion of key protest organiser John Minto. Apparently he hates him. "That's interesting." I said. "I worked with John in the teachers union for many years - I always found him humble, hard-working and highly principled." Now you'd think that would be a signal that maybe not everyone at the table agreed. In fact, only a few minutes earlier at least two other people had made it pretty clear which side they had been on - and it wasn't his.

But one of the things I've learned over the years is that people - and most often those people are men - with right-wing views; don't notice that others are subtly disagreeing with them. They live in a world where everyone thinks the same way they do or where their willingness to bully and threaten means others choose to remain silent. 

The tirade at the other end of the table continued. I listened - waiting for someone, anyone, to make some intervention. But no. Instead I got to hear about how he'd personally walked out of a Fish and Chip shop and shoved the meals of some protestors he saw outside off their table. An act of stupid, selfish bullying. I think we were supposed to find it funny. 

But his climatic act and one he told proudly was to have brought with him to one of the rugby games chilli powder in his pocket. Over dinner, we were all told about how he'd thrown it in the eyes of a protestor. In this man's world, that's what passes for dinner party nicities - how I performed a number of acts of violence against people I didn't know who happened to be expressing an opinion different from mine. 

He finished his hilarious tale by telling us all "It was a bit of fun." 

By which time I'd had enough. I put down my fork. I turned to face him and I all I said was "Yes, I do believe a lot of people thought apartheid was a bit of fun too."

Not my most biting rejoinder. But it was enough to have him telling us he agreed with the protestors cause - he just wanted to see the game. Which given the tales he'd just finished telling of bullying and violence was pretty clearly a lie. So a bully, a violent thug and a liar with no ability to reflect. Sounds a lot like a big, orange ex-president we waved tata to this week. 

And that's maybe the key thing I took out of this. This man was being a boor - he was dominating the conversation; agrandising himself and talking about some fairly distasteful things. But no one else challenged him. No one else said "Steady on there mate - we probably don't all share quite the same opinions here - how about a change of topic?". People with right wing, nasty views think its ok to spew those because no one tells them its not. 

It took Donald Trump inciting his supporters to storm the Capitol before the majority of the people around him finally said "Steady on there mate - this democratic facade is one we need to maintain and now you're threatening that you bozo...". 

If we don't challenge the bullies of the world - the little ones in our playgrounds and classrooms; the bigger ones in our workplaces; the ones at our dinnertables and social clubs - and the ones who hold positions of serious political power - then what we get is a world run on a micro and macro level by Trumps and worse.

The people who taught me that were exactly the people being disparaged at the dinner table the other night - the courageous women and men of organisations in Aotearoa like HART. The people in their homemade body armour and motorcycle helmets who went out weekend after weekend to face the batons of the Red Squad. The young Maori who led protest with defiant haka. The old activists from across the left who took their places on the picket lines. That's the side I was on then. That's the side I am on now. And ours is the side who, if good people don't falter and find the courage to speak truth to power, can win.