An Unusual Form of Political Protest
On February 5, 2016, New Zealand’s Minister for Economic Development, Steven Joyce, was in the middle of a press conference at Waitangi when something unexpected flew through the air and struck him square in the face. It wasn’t a shoe, an egg, or a tomato—it was a bright pink rubber dildo. The projectile, launched by a protester from the crowd, bounced off Joyce’s cheek and fell to the ground. The minister, remarkably, barely flinched. He paused, looked down at the object, and continued answering questions while the dildo lay on the pavement at his feet. It was one of the most bizarre moments in New Zealand political history, captured on camera and broadcast around the world.
The Waitangi Day Context
The incident occurred during Waitangi Day celebrations at the Treaty Grounds in Northland. Waitangi Day is New Zealand’s national day, commemorating the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840 between the British Crown and Māori chiefs. The treaty guaranteed Māori rights to their lands and resources, but over the decades, these guarantees were often ignored or violated.
Waitangi Day has long been a site of protest. Māori activists and their supporters use the occasion to highlight ongoing grievances, including land confiscations, language suppression, and socioeconomic inequality. Tensions often run high, and politicians visiting Waitangi expect confrontation—but usually verbal, not phallic.
The Thrower and Her Message
The dildo was thrown by Josie Butler, a nurse from Christchurch and a member of the activist group Nurses for Palestine. She wasn’t aiming at Joyce specifically, she later explained, but rather at the government’s policies. The sex toy was inscribed with the words “New Zealand’s GDP: Productive, Inclusive, Diverse”—a sarcastic commentary on Joyce’s economic portfolio.
Butler was immediately apprehended by security and escorted away. She was later arrested but released without charge. In media interviews afterward, she expressed no regret, stating that sometimes “shock tactics” were necessary to draw attention to issues. The dildo, she explained, symbolized how the government was “screwing” the country.
Joyce’s Reaction: Keep Calm and Carry On
Steven Joyce’s response became almost as famous as the incident itself. After the initial impact, he didn’t storm off, demand arrests, or express outrage. He simply paused, looked down at the pink object on the ground, and continued answering the journalist’s question about the Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement. When the press conference ended, he picked up the dildo and handed it to an aide.
Later, Joyce joked about the incident on Twitter, posting: “Someone send the gif over to John Oliver so we can get it over with.” When Oliver’s “Last Week Tonight” program inevitably covered the story, Joyce appeared via satellite interview, good-naturedly discussing the incident and even signing a dildo for the show. His calm, humorous response won him international praise for handling the bizarre situation with grace.
The Internet Goes Wild
Within hours, footage of the incident had gone viral. The GIF of the dildo hitting Joyce’s face was shared millions of times. Memes proliferated. News outlets from BBC to BuzzFeed covered the story. For a brief moment, New Zealand politics—usually a relatively quiet affair on the world stage—became global entertainment.
The incident sparked debate about political protest. Was throwing a sex toy at a minister a legitimate form of expression? Or did it cross the line into assault? New Zealand’s then-Prime Minister John Key condemned the act but also acknowledged that politicians in a democracy should expect robust protest. Most New Zealanders seemed to view it with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement—a very Kiwi reaction.
Waitangi: A Tradition of Confrontation
The dildo incident wasn’t the first time Waitangi Day had produced memorable protest moments. In 1998, politician Titewhai Harawira famously led Prime Minister Jenny Shipley away from the Treaty House, claiming Māori protocol gave her the right to escort dignitaries. In 2004, protester Tame Iti spat at politicians. In 2016, the year of the dildo, there were also verbal confrontations and traditional challenges (wero) that made politicians uncomfortable.
Waitangi has always been a site where Māori assert their sovereignty and demand redress for treaty breaches. The ceremonies, speeches, and protests are part of New Zealand’s ongoing negotiation of its founding document. The dildo was an unusual addition to this tradition, but it fit the pattern of using Waitangi as a stage for political theater.
The Dildo Itself
The specific dildo became a minor celebrity. It was reportedly purchased from a local adult store specifically for the protest. After the incident, there were jokes about what happened to it—whether it was destroyed, kept as evidence, or quietly disposed of. Josie Butler had apparently inscribed it with her message using a marker pen, turning an ordinary sex toy into a political statement.
Sex toys as protest objects aren’t entirely unprecedented— they’ve appeared at various demonstrations worldwide, usually symbolizing the idea that authorities are “screwing” citizens. But rarely have they been deployed with such precision, or hit their target so directly.
Political Fallout
Despite the international attention, the incident had surprisingly little lasting political impact in New Zealand. Steven Joyce continued his ministerial career, eventually becoming Deputy Prime Minister. Josie Butler remained an activist but didn’t become a major political figure. The incident was remembered more as a bizarre moment than a turning point.
However, it did spark ongoing conversations about the nature of protest in a democracy. Some argued that such stunts trivialize serious issues and alienate moderate supporters. Others maintained that unconventional tactics are sometimes necessary to break through media saturation and force attention onto neglected topics. The debate continues whenever a political protest takes an unusual turn.
New Zealand’s Political Culture
The incident also highlighted aspects of New Zealand’s political culture. The fact that Joyce could be hit by a projectile at a public event, then continue his press conference while cracking jokes about it, reflects a certain Kiwi informality. New Zealand politicians don’t typically have the security details common in larger countries. They mix with crowds, attend public festivals, and accept that they might get heckled—or worse.
The humor that surrounded the incident was also characteristically New Zealand. Rather than outrage, the dominant public reaction was amusement. Political opponents didn’t try to capitalize on Joyce’s embarrassment. The whole affair was treated as a moment of absurdity in an often-too-serious world.
The GIF That Keeps Giving
Nearly a decade later, the footage of the dildo hitting Steven Joyce remains in circulation. It appears in compilations of bizarre political moments, protest fails, or simply “only in New Zealand” content. Joyce himself has made peace with being “the dildo guy” to international audiences, often referencing the incident with self-deprecating humor.
For Josie Butler, the incident remains the most notable moment of her activism—a successful act of protest by the metric of getting attention, even if the substance of her message was somewhat overshadowed by the method of delivery. She expressed no regrets, maintaining that sometimes you need to throw something unexpected to wake people up.
A Moment of Absurdity
February 5, 2016, was a day of serious political business at Waitangi. Treaties were discussed, sovereignty was asserted, grievances were aired. And for a few seconds, a pink rubber dildo flew through the air and bounced off a minister’s face. It was ridiculous, inappropriate, and undeniably funny.
In an era of increasingly polarized politics and bitter divisions, there’s something almost refreshing about a protest that was simply absurd. No one was hurt. The target responded with grace. The world got a laugh. And for one day, New Zealand reminded everyone that politics doesn’t always have to be deadly serious—sometimes it just involves a flying sex toy and a politician who knows how to take a hit.
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