Speaker by Various Artists

Bail has been in the news quite a bit recently. You might have an idea how it works, or be surprised that someone got it, or someone else didn't, but how does it all work? Put simply, bail is a legally enforceable promise to turn up to court to face charges.

And despite what Simon Power or the Sensible Sentencing Trust say:

Bail is a right!

It is a right that is subject to justifiable limitations, it is a right that can be taken away from certain people or in certain circumstances, but it is a right.

It's not an indulgence or privilege granted by Parliament to the grateful masses, but a tangible manifestation of the presumption of innocence. We are humans, and we are legally entitled to be in New Zealand, so we are entitled to be free. That right remains until someone proves in a court that we have committed a crime and should be sentenced to imprisonment for it.

But whilst this is a fundamental starting-point, and should inform any consideration of bail, it doesn't get us very far – a decision to refuse bail is naturally always one in which the judge has decided (rightly or wrongly) that the right to be free should be taken away.

The first point to make is that bail is highly fact dependant. Whether someone is released, bailed on conditions, or remanded in custody turns on the facts of an individual case – the accused's history and circumstances, the nature of the alleged defending, the views of any alleged victims – pretty much anything relevant. It is also discretionary – unlike guilt or innocence, given the same facts, it is possible that two different judges might properly come two different decisions. It can be difficult looking from the sidelines to discern why one case has gone one way, while another had a different result.

So how does it work?

Bail is pretty simple. It's governed by the Bail Act 2000 – a remarkably straightforward piece of legislation (for a piece of legislation).

Once someone is arrested, the police have to lay charges pretty quickly (although – as we've seen recently – they don't have to lay all charges right at the beginning). If the police don't lay charges they have to release the person. If the police do lay charges, then they've a choice: they can give you bail, or they can take you to court and let the court decide the question of bail. Again they have to do this pretty quickly – if they've kept you overnight they'll take to court at 9am ( generally not on a Sunday), for example.

So we've covered the “what?”, what about the “how?”?

Well, most people will get police bail. The police will have arrested a suspect, they will prepare a formal charge and then let them go with a summons for their first court date. That's the boring one, though: the police have no obligation to consider any factors when considering granting police bail, and can just say 'no'. So how do people get bailed by a court?

The Courts have some basic options:

1) You can be remanded at large – you're released, and told to come back on a set date for the next stage of your proceeding. This isn't technically a type of bail, and if you're remanded at large you're probably fairly respectable for a criminal if (maybe you're young and your parents are in court) – you'll probably come back because most people do what a judge tells them to do. If you don't attend court on the given day, you're not breaking the law, but you can be re-arrested on the original charge (and will go through a bail process again in which the judge won't be so lenient).

2) You can be bailed – you sign a bail bond promising to come back on a set date. If you don't come back, in addition to being re-arrested, you may face a separate charge of breaching bail.

3) You can be bailed with conditions – you sign a bail bond agreeing to come back, and agreeing to abide by certain conditions. If you fail to follow those conditions you can be arrested for breach of bail (I'll explain conditions in more detail later).

4) You can be remanded in custody (or some form of custody, like home detention); naturally, this isn't a form of bail either.

But how does a judge work out which of these options to apply?

Some people are entitled to bail as of right. If the offence you're charged with isn't punishable by imprisonment you are entitled to bail (generally you couldn't even be arrested). Unless you've got a prior conviction for an offence that could have been punished by imprisonment, or the offence you're currently with is a domestic violence offence, you are also automatically entitled to bail if the offence you're charged with carries a maximum sentence of less than three years (or is one of the eleven specifically listed offences for which bail is automatic – e.g. making a false statement, abandoning a child under 6 etc.).

But for everyone else, the basic idea – consistent with the presumption of innocence – is that a defendant must be released on reasonable terms unless the court is satisfied that there is “just cause for continued detention”. And it's the job of the police to come up with those good reasons why defendants should lose their right to freedom.

To determine whether there's a good reason to detain a defendant the court has to consider whether there is “a real and significant risk” that the person charged:

1) may fail to appear in court on the date to which the defendant has been remanded; or

2) may interfere with witnesses or evidence; or

3) may offend while on bail.

The court will also look at “any matter that would make it unjust to detain the defendant”.

This of course all makes sense – we're not talking about detaining criminals, but detaining people who are innocent before we've even considered whether they're guilty or not. It makes sences that you'd have to have pretty good reasons to put people in prison who might never convicted, or people who might be guilty but won't necessarily be imprisoned even if convicted.

The Bail Act contains assistance for courts in what they may look at in considering whether there is good reason to refuse bail – it may look at the following:

1) the nature of the offence, and whether it is a grave or less serious one of its kind;

2) the strength of the evidence and likelihood of conviction;

3) the maximum sentence, and the likely sentence;

4) the character and past conduct or behaviour, in particular proven criminal behaviour, of the defendant:

5) whether there is a history of offending while on bail, or breaching court orders,or bail conditions;

6) the likely length of time before any trial;

7) the possibility that detention might prejudice the preparation of a defence;

8) other matters relevant in the particular circumstances.

Importantly, these matters can only be taken into account to the extent that they suggest a defendant will fail to appear, interfere with witnesses, or offend while on bail.

The Bail Act also sets it up so that certain people have a harder time getting bail – bail for people charged with treason or espionage can only be granted a High Court judge, for example, and there are couple of bigger exceptions. People charged with certain serious “specified offences” who have a previous conviction for a specified offence have to prove they should get bail, rather than have the prosecution prove they shouldn't.

Specified offences include things like rape, murder, wounding or injuring with intent, robbery and commission of a crime with a firearm – all serious violence offences. Remember that not only do they now have to be charged with one of these crimes, they have to also have a previous conviction for one.

Defendants with substantial criminal history and a history of committing crime while on bail are also placed under an obligation to prove they should get bail. These are people who:

[you need all three]

1) are charged with an offence carrying a maximum term of 3+ years; and

2) that offence is alleged to have occurred while the defendant was on bail for other offending with a potential term of 3+ years; and

3) have previously received a prison sentence.

Or people who:

[alternatively, you can have these three]

1) are charged with an offence carrying a maximum term of 3+ years; and

2) have received 14 or more prison sentences; and

3) have been convicted for an offence carry a maximum term of 3+ years committed while on bail.

The law basically treats people with such criminal history as having surrendered the right to bail. They can still be bailed, but it's treated as a privilege they have to prove they've earned. For everyone else though – people without serious criminal histories – bail is something the police have to prove you shouldn't get, with that presumption that you'll get it unless the police can show there is a real and substantial risk you'll not turn up, or you'll interfere with witnesses, or you'll commit new offences.

Which is how we come to conditions. If the choice was just between bail, and remand in prison, we'd probably have a lot more people in prison. Conditions are attached to bail to decrease the risk defendants present: for example, if a court orders a person not to contact an alleged victims or witnesses – and they know they'll get in trouble if they do – then they're less likely to interfere with witnesses.

There's no real limit to the conditions that can be imposed – whatever is required to remove the risk in the circumstances – but standard conditions include:

1) a requirement to reside at a particular place – which for young people will often be a requirement to live at home with their parents. A residential condition isn't home detention or a curfew – you don't have be at home all the time, but you can't move without getting the court to agree.

2) a requirement to abstain from drugs or alcohol – this will often be imposed where the offence is one involving violence. Many people who engage in violent offences do so fuelled by alcohol, if alcohol is removed, the chance of further violent offending while on parole is diminished.

3) a requirement to turn up at a local police station one or more times a week. If people have to present themselves at a local police station each Monday and Thursday, they'll know they it will probably be difficult to get away with leaving the area to avoid having to go to court.

4) a curfew – used in conjunction with a residential condition, this a requirement to be at that residence between certain hours (usually night-time, but not necessarily); this is common for suspected burglars: if you know the police will come 'round a couple of nights each week to make sure you're home, you're less likely to commit further burglaries.

5) a requirement not to go to a certain place – for example: Courtney Place, Ruatoki, or the hang-out of a rival gang – or not to associate with certain people: for example your co-accused. If your alleged offending has a common theme, perhaps with previous offending, then prohibiting you from going to that place, or being around those people should lower the risk of further offending. Ordering someone to avoid a particular town or area can also lower the risk that they'll “accidentally” bump into a witness or the victim.

Other, perhaps less common, conditions include being ordered not to drive, or being ordered to undergo drug, alcohol or anger management counselling.

The purpose of imposing any of these conditions is to help the court be satisfied that you won't pose a real and substantial risk of doing one of those three things we don't want people facing charges doing – committing more crime, interfering with witnesses, or not turning up.

So if bail conditions are designed to diminish these risks what happens if someone breaches bail conditions?

Primarily, if someone fails to turn up to court without a reasonable excuse they commit a crime – carrying a maximum sentence of 1 year's imprisonment or a $2000 fine (failure to turn up after being given police bail carries a fine only – up to $1000). Someone the police find breaching a bail condition will be arrested, and they'll be brought to court again where the question of bail on the original charges will be considered again.

The judge considering the new application for bail will look anew at the circumstances, but bail isn't automatically revoked. The defendant may of course be innocent of breaching bail: for example, they might have a reasonable excuse for breaching a condition, maybe they didn't present themselves during a curfew check because they had to take their partner to hospital, or perhaps the victim they were told not to be near had visited them unannounced.

And even if the person is found to have breached bail (if this was failing to turn up to court, they can be sentenced depending on the seriousness of the breach) if they still maintain their innocence on the primary charges, then they're still entitled to the benefit of the presumption of innocence on that charge. That someone may have failed to turn up to a police station one afternoon doesn't mean they should spend the next 18 months in prison waiting for a trial the might ultimately see them acquitted or only face a non-custodial sentence.

The question remains whether the defendant poses a real and substantial risk of committing more crime, of interfering with witnesses or avoiding coming to court. It is the extent to which any breach of bail impacts on this question then that breach is relevant. If a person charged with involvement in a brawl on a rival gang's turf has a bail condition to stay away from that suburb, and is then arrested after being found near another brawl in that area, it is more serious breach (and has greater impact on the question of likelihood to offend while on bail) than someone forbidden from drinking alcohol who is found during a curfew check to have had a single beer while watching the rugby at home.

We punish those who breach bail for breaching bail. We remand in custody those who present a real and substantial risk. The two are not necessarily related.

There are a bunch of other aspects to bail – as an extension of the presumption of innocence you lose the right to bail once you plead or are found guilty – so the test for bail while waiting for sentence or waiting for an appeal is different, and there are procedural questions, and bail appeals which I haven't looked at. I reckon they're probably not as interesting, or at least not as generally useful, but if anyone has questions, feel free to ask in the comments.

[I might have a look over the last half of the Te Qaeda thread and see if there were any questions in there while I'm at it]

The police are looking at laying charges under the Terrorism Suppression Act against at least some of those arrested last week. And they will have been very careful. Most of the time, police search warrants will be prepared by cops themselves, perhaps with a little input from an in-house legal adviser. Decisions to press idiotic charges – like the sedition charge against the Dunedin bar-keep offering a couch and petrol as a prize – will have been made at a low level, with little legal input. We can usually rely on the prosecutor (who is not the person who lays the charges) to see sense; and if they don't, a judge at an early hearing will usually set justice on its course (like one did with Shane Ardern's disorderly tractor driving).

Not this time though. The cops will have been very careful. Before listing the Terrorism Suppression Act on an application for a warrant, advice will have been sought not just from legal advisers, but senior lawyers at national headquarters, independent crown prosecutors, and crown counsel. They will have dissected the evidence, and the law. They'll be doing it again now. Asking the question 'can we prove that anyone we've arrested participated in a terrorist group?' and more fundamentally 'what does it mean to have participated in a terrorist group?'

Which leaves one question. Is their advice right?

We know from the search warrants (thanks Scoop!) that the police are looking at charges of “participating in a terrorist group” under section 13 of the Terrorism Suppression Act, so what will they have to prove if they're to succeed in court?

Let's start with the law:

13 Participating in terrorist groups

(1) A person commits an offence who participates in a group or organisation for the purpose stated in subsection (2), knowing that the group or organisation is—

(a) an entity that is for the time being designated under this Act as a terrorist entity; or
(b) an entity that carries out, or participates in the carrying out of, 1 or more terrorist acts.

(2) The purpose referred to in subsection (1) is to enhance the ability of any entity (being an entity of the kind referred to in subsection (1)(a) or (b)) to carry out, or to participate in the carrying out of, 1 or more terrorist acts.

(3) A person who commits an offence against subsection (1) is liable on conviction on indictment to imprisonment for a term not exceeding 14 years.

We can immediately see that merely being a member of a terrorist group isn't enough. Whatever you do, it has to be participation – aimed at enhancing the ability of the group to engage in terrorism. Making the tea isn't going to be enough. The participation also has to occur at a time when you know that the group is a terrorist group. But these matters are largely questions of fact – what was each individual doing that might lead us to this conclusion? Those for whom there isn't evidence around this won't be charged, but what about the rest?

The legal argument will focus on whether the group (which I'll dub “Te Qaeda”) is a terrorist organisation. As you'll note from above, this requirement can be met one of two ways – using either paragraph (a) or paragraph (b).

New Zealand hasn't designated any terrorist entities (so far we've just copied and pasted the UN's list), and no New Zealand group has been designated a terrorist entity, so paragraph (a) is out. And on a first look that leaves a bit of a problem – can a group that hasn't yet committed a terrorist act qualify under paragraph (b)? It's not 100% clear, but I'll get back to this important question soon, I'm jumping ahead of myself.

The question is whether TQ is “an entity that carries out, or participates in the carrying out of, 1 or more terrorist acts.” And just what is a “terrorist act”? There's a definition in section 5.

An act is a terrorist act if it is intended to cause:
[you need one of these]
a) death or serious injury (other than to the terrorist);
b) serious risk to health or safety;
c) serious interference to an infrastructure facility likely to endanger human life;
d) destruction or serious damage to property of great value or importance, or major economic loss, or major environmental damage if likely to cause a, b, or c;
e) the release of a disease bearing organism if likely to devastate the economy; or

and if it is carried out for the purpose of advancing:
[and you need one of these]
a) an ideological cause;
b) a political cause; or
c) a religious cause.

and if it is intended to:
[and you need one of these]
a) induce terror in a civilian population; or
b) unduly compel or to force a government or an international organisation to do or abstain from doing any act.

So it's a tough ask. The definition might be wider than those things some people might think are terrorism, but it won't catch legitimate protest. If the cops can prove the above, then they're probably rightly alarmed.

But remember that that's not all. That's the definition of terrorist act, something by itself not yet illegal. A terrorist entity under section 13(1)(b) is a group that “carries out” terrorist acts. Can TQ qualify if it was planning to strike, but hadn't yet? The cops obviously think so, and will be relying on section 25. It states:

For the purposes of this Act, a terrorist act is carried out if any 1 or more of the following occurs:
(a) planning or other preparations to carry out the act, whether it is actually carried out or not:
(b) a credible threat to carry out the act, whether it is actually carried out or not:
(c) an attempt to carry out the act:
(d) the carrying out of the act.

There's obviously a good argument that this will overcome any problems associated with the fact TQ hadn't actually done a terrorist act by the time arrests were made. But I don't think it's 100% clear.

If I was the lawyer of one of the Urewera 17, I'd be arguing a couple of things.

First, section 25 appears under the heading “Further provisions relating to interim and final designations” and section 5 of the Interpretation Act 1999 makes it clear that headings can be used to interpret legislation. I'd be arguing that what this section means is that an organisation can be designated a terrorist entity even though “all” they've done so far is plan or threaten terrorism. I'd be arguing that if this was intended to apply not just to designations but to all the offences too, it would be included in the definitions section earlier in the act – not in a part solely related to designations (the “organisation” of a statute can also be used to help interpret it).

Second, I'd be arguing that committing a terrorist act isn't actually a breach of the Terrorism Suppression Act (this is something they're “fixing” in the amendment bill currently before Parliament), and there isn't a crime of conspiracy to commit a terrorist act (like there is a specific crime of conspiracy to murder, or conspiracy to commit treason), then allowing section 25 to be used in an expansive way would effectively mean adding an offence Parliament hadn't at the time the law was passed intended to create.

This might not be enough – the phrase “for the purposes of this Act” is broad – but there are other arguments too. Assuming that planning or preparing to carry out a terrorist act gets you close enough, the prosecution will still have to overcome the intention bit.

Is the act of planning a terrorist act done with the intention of inducing terror or compelling government action? Arguably not – a terrorist act, lets say the assassination of a politician to secure a legislative change – is obviously done with the intention of compelling government action or inducing terror, but is practising the attempt or planning the attempt also done with that intention? How can the secret amassing of terrorist weapons or the creation of plans compel or induce anything?

I don't want to be seen as scotching the prospect of properly-laid terrorism charges: there are a bunch of arguments in favour of the presumed police interpretation of the law. None of this is clear cut. But there's a lot of legal argument to be had before we can know whether anyone will be tried under the Terrorism Suppression Act. The facts, when the come out, will be important: what if anything was planned in Tame's wananga?

There will almost certainly be charges under the Arms Act, but will there be charges under any other act? Using the evidence obtained from the search warrant will be problematic for charges under the Crimes Act, but to me, at least some of the leaks/speculation in the media suggested charges of treason might be appropriate in some cases. Somehow, I doubt the cops have thought of it.

Anybody else get a jolt when the words "New Zealand 2011" lit up at Stade de France by way of conclusion to Rugby World Cop 2007? Truly, there'll be no avoiding the bugger. One can only hope we'll be marginally sensible about it.

It's basically all been said about the All Blacks' unfortunate exit in 2007. Put it down to strategic errors, most notably in sending out a backline that hadn't played together before; a failure of the team to reach the basically unbeatable peak of recent years; a lack of experience and composure in turning around games that are going pear-shaped, on account of having been unbeaten for significant stretches of the past three years; and some outrageous fortune with injuries (We have to nail a crucial droppie with both first-fives off the field? And Richie was injured and sick?) and -- there is no point in denying it -- a disastrous refereeing performance that directly affected the result. Bugger.

Michael Lynagh wrote a pretty good blog post about it. And let's not forget the mauling of the Lions, the Home Nations Grand Slam and the dual thrashing of France at home -- all of them rugby feats with a longer tradition than the World Cup. We're just crap at the Cup is all.

But please, spare me the lectures about how we have to learn to be "more like England". Did you actually see England in the final? Yes, they had tons of courage up front and they faithfully employed their limited game plan, but there came a point where they actually needed to do something different, or lose the damn game.

And what did they do? Kept on booting the bloody ball up in the air -- sometimes when players were in the kind of space that the All Blacks would have dreamed of at Cardiff -- in the hope of profiting from a defensive error that never came. They were trebly guilty of the very thing of which the All Blacks are reflexively accused: not having a Plan B. And they didn't kick a sodding drop goal.

Even their complaints about the referee weren't as good as ours. I take it I wasn't the only one thinking it would've been lovely to have had Alain Rolland in Cardiff.

England will get away with it, in part because expectations were lower, but mostly because their journalists, who do so much to determine the narrative, won't acknowledge any critical flaw.

South Africa, undefeated through the tournament, thoroughly deserved their victory, but I don't see many of their fans claiming they were brilliant. They had some superb players in key positions, and if things had gone differently, their sheer efficiency might well have seen them through a final against the All Blacks. But a team for the ages? No.

So what to make of the 2007 tournament? The English scribes have brandished the word "extraordinary", because their team went from zeroes to sort-of heroes when no one expected it. Argentina surprised even themselves, but can't be expected to be a consistent force in international rugby unless their key players' European clubs release them for more matches, every season. And that ain't gonna happen. Ditto for Tonga and Fiji.

So, although France kept their dream alive at our expense, this isn't a tournament that will be remembered for rugby that redefined the game. And now, of course, the game is about to be redefined with a new set of rules. Is there any other major game subject to the kind of regular revision that rugby endures?

Things get yet weirder from here on: another bunch of All Black novices comes in next year to replace the departed, some of whom will return three years hence to try and reclaim their positions for the 2011 Cup. Lord only knows what Chris Rattue will write between now and then.

Meanwhile, the venue for the 2011 Rugby World Cup final is in flux. A mayor with the votes of 0.019% 1.9% of New Zealand's registered voters has thrown a spanner in the works, and we'll doubtless have a whole lot of bickering between now and kick-off. But there will be a kick-off. So, even if our Word Cup curse cannot be lifted, could we perhaps not doubly embarrass ourselves?

PS: Thanks so much to everyone who has commented here, but more so to our contributors: Grant Robertson and The Dropkicks, who got world famous in the course of doing what good bloggers do: taking recourse to the facts. And, of course, many thanks to the sponsor of Some Foreign Field, Whisky Galore.Visit their online store and, if you happen to be in Christchurch, find a little time to see them at 797 Colombo Street, just past the Kilmore Street corner, for a dram and a chat. You will like them.

Passed in the wake of September 11, primarily to fulfil New Zealand's obligations under international law to seek to prevent terrorism, the Terrorism Suppression Act 2002 does a hell of a lot less than a lot of people seem to think.

Unlike similarly-themed laws passed in other countries it doesn't create search or arrest powers. It doesn't allow phone tapping. It doesn't allow extended periods of interrogation or lengthy periods of confinement without charge. It doesn't permit the use of secret evidence in terrorism prosecutions, or prohibit the media from discussing what's going on. Nor are there special powers to set up road blocks, or storm school buses.

In New Zealand, terrorism offences are treated the same as other offences. The same presumption of innocence, the same criminal procedure, the same suppression rules and bail laws. Applications for search or interception warrants follow the same procedure whether the offence is against the Terrorism Suppression Act, the Arms Act or the Crimes Act.

So what does it do? Mostly, it's about terrorist financing: creating consequences for people who fund terrorism, and allowing the freezing and seizing of terrorists' assets. For this purpose, it sets up a regime to designate groups and people as terrorists – so that we know whom we can't finance.

It also incorporates other obligations we have under various international conventions. To enact into NZ law obligations under the Bombings Convention (which pre-dates 9/11) it creates offences relating to terrorist bombing. Fulfilling our obligations under the Nuclear Material Convention, and the Plastic Explosives Convention, sees the creation of offences relating to the handling of unmarked plastic explosives, and the misuse or nuclear material.

And incorporating our obligations under UN Security Council Resolution 1373 (2001) it creates offences around recruiting and participating in terrorist entities (those designated as such, or which designate themselves as such by carrying out terrorist acts).

None of this is all that controversial, although recently proposed amendments are more alarming from a civil liberties standpoint. Most of the concern with the current law is that in prohibiting the financing of terrorist organisations, and the participation in them, we might severely criminalise support within New Zealand for legitimate protest groups in other countries, or that the powers to designate terrorist organisations might be used to suppress criticism (defining Greenpeace as a terrorist organisation, for example). There are safeguards against these and other issues, but some may be removed by the amendment bill currently awaiting its second reading.

That said, none of these concerns arise in the present case. Any problems with the use of the Terrorism Suppression Act in the present instance arise not from the law itself, but from its application. Just as charging someone with burglary who hasn't actually burgled anyone doesn't show faults with burglary laws, the consideration of charges against individuals under anti-terrorism laws doesn't evidence problems with the law. If, once the details and evidence are public, we can conclude that police reaction was over-the-top, it will be the police who are to blame – and not the law. Naturally, it will be some time before we know one way or the other.

So if those arrested and searched were wanted on Arms Act charges why mention the Terrorism Suppression Act in the search warrant?

Simple – it would be super-dodgy not to mention it.

As a basic rule, everyone in New Zealand has the right to be free from unreasonable search and seizure. With a number of exceptions irrelevant to this case, this means the police can't search you, or take your stuff, without a warrant. And it means they can't get a warrant without reasonable grounds to believe that they're going to find evidence related to the commission of an offence punishable by imprisonment.

We also don't want our cops going on “fishing” expeditions. So when they apply for a search warrant, we make them specify what offences they think they're going to find evidence of, and the evidence upon which they believe they'll find something useful.

If they're looking for evidence of burglary they have to say so, and they have to convince a judicial officer that they've a reasonable belief they'll find such evidence. They can't base it on a hunch, and they can't use some other charge to get a search warrant to follow up that hunch. If they think you've done some burglaries – but haven't the evidence for a search warrant – they can't use the fact they do have evidence of drug possession to get a warrant to nose around. If they want a warrant for drug possession they can get one, but it will only let them search for, and seize, the drug-related stuff they've listed in the warrant. And if they do use a warrant issued on an unrelated charge to nose around and find evidence of burglaries, there's a fair chance they won't be permitted to use that evidence against you, and you'll get off on one of those technicalities.

So the police listed both the Arms Act and the Terrorism Suppression Act on their search warrant because they were looking for evidence under both, and convinced a judge that they had good reason to suspect they'd find it. They've looked at whatever evidence they've found over the past year, and have formed a reasonable suspicion that offences against the Arms Act and the Terrorism Suppression Act may have been committed. It is possible they'll look at the evidence and conclude that whilst there's some evidence of offending against the Terrorism Suppression Act – at least enough to get a warrant – there isn't enough for them to be confident of success at trial. It's also possible that they've evidence of other crimes obtained over the past year which couldn't (or needn't) be supplemented by physical evidence from a raid, and are preparing to lay these soon.

It's too early to tell, but police will have a tough time establishing breaches of our anti-terror laws. However, that is a topic for another time (or an extended reply in the comments if people really want answers now).

You've pretty much lost interest in the World Cup, haven't you? But don't feel bad, what with all kinds of other exciting distractions involving blokes in flash uniforms the Dropkicks can't really blame you. In fact, we might just start believing the rumour that Tame Iti is a prophet who foresaw the loss, and provided a nice distraction.

But we should probably place the stress on "might".

Oh, and "rumour".

Now that you've all wandered off into something apparently far more interesting it's left the Dropkicks at a bit of a loss. There's still some great rugby to be played after all, and some of it in France. If you can't figure out who the Wellington-based Dropkicks are supporting in the Air New Zealand Cup, then... take your time, you'll figure it out.

I guess the last word on the World Cup might have to go to a blog we noticed a week or so back, where Paul Spence asks, "Are we over-invested in All Blacks Brand Culture?". It's a good question, and one that's probably appropriate for the past two weeks of endless soul searching.

Are we over-invested? It's one thing to love the sport, or to just plain love sports, but are we too tied to this notion of the All Blacks as the only real show in town?

If the infamous wiki-entry vandalism is any kind of measure then there are some pretty concerned Kiwis out there who genuinely love their code with an almighty passion. And it's not hard to translate that depth of feeling over to other, probably smarter and more level-headed, individuals. But is it still all just a bit too much?

Let's face facts first though. New Zealand isn't exactly the most powerful country in the world. We don't have the best of much of anything, and that's probably why we love to throw everything into the love of Rugby. And at least we're winners most of the time.

With all that said, hasn't some of the saturation coverage been a bit too much? What the hell was the important thing about the World Cup, the game, or the marketing? Who bloody cares about what undies the players are wearing if they completely forget to kick and chase? Who gives a damn about where they're holidaying when their ball-handling is woeful?

Maybe we're just being whingers. Even the marketing guys have got to make a living too, right?

But do they have to appear to run the whole damn shebang?

And with that, bar the continuing podcast and blogging, it's over and out from the Dropkicks. It's been nice to entertain you, at least a little, and inform you, hopefully a little more.