"From the good and the great to the lowest of the low, she bridged a gap," says Georgina Beyer of transgender trailblazer, Carmen Rupe. Find out more in this episode of Eyewitness.

"From the good and the great to the lowest of the low, she bridged a gap," says Georgina Beyer of transgender trailblazer Carmen Rupe.

Carmen was born Trevor Tione Rupe in 1936 and grew up in the small North Island town of Taumarunui. She was one of a family of ten, and was brought up doing 'the kinds of chores a girl would do.'

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Carmen realised she was different when she was about eight-years-old, and explored her trans identity throughout her teens and early twenties, taking direct inspiration for her name from one of her idols, Spanish Romani dancer, Carmen Amaya - the first female flamenco dancer to do footwork largely reserved for male performers.

Also a keen flamenco and belly dancer, Carmen had a variety of jobs before she headed off to the bright lights of Sydney's cabaret circuit, and the infamous red-light district, King's Cross.

But on returning to New Zealand in the late sixties, Carmen was keen to add some spice to Wellington's nightlife scene. She set up a number of businesses including cafes, a brothel, a curio shop, and a nightclub.

One of her most popular businesses was Carmen's Coffee Lounge - a late-night international cafe, which ran from 6pm to 6am.

Georgina Beyer, New Zealand's first-ever transgender MP, arrived in Wellington when she 16-years-old and felt at home as a patron at Carmen's establishments.

"She had a beautiful spirit and a wairua and although she was this extraordinary person, she had this compassion for those who were down and out and underprivileged," says Beyer from her Wellington townhouse.

The Balcony on Victoria Street also attracted a steady stream of punters. It seated up to 400 people and focused on variety shows. There were striptease performances, drag queens and crossdressers, flamenco and comedy acts.

Busy round the clock, these were destination hotspots and Carmen made a concerted effort to employ people from the rainbow community at a time when job opportunities were limited.

"The law worked against us so we had to live in this twilight zone," says Beyer of the prejudice that prevailed at the time.

"Camen was an omnipresent figure...she protected us from the haters and homophobes," says Beyer.

"She was an awesome presence and had very little judgement of you."

Carmen was a savvy businesswoman who knew how to attract attention. She was often seen gliding down Cuba Street in designer ball gowns, and she knew every single shopkeeper by name…

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As Covid-19 sweeps across the world, Eyewitness examines another outbreak that captured the headlines a decade ago.

As Covid-19 sweeps across the world, Eyewitness examines another outbreak that captured the headlines a decade ago.

"Än hour later he died. It was so quick. Pretty traumatic."

In July 2009, Lou Lovegrove was a working as a bus driver in Christchurch.

"We assume that's where he got it from", his wife Julie Lovegrove said.

'It' was swine flu, otherwise known as Influenza A H1N1 PDM 2009: the pandemic virus that swept through New Zealand in 2009 and 2010.

The 54 year old came home from work feeling unwell.

"Ï didn't realise what it was. I thought it was a cold and he got sick" Mrs Lovegrove said.

She and the couple's two children also caught the virus but for them it manifested more like a common cold.

"We were fine but he just slowly got worse."

Mr Lovegrove, who used a machine for his sleep apnoea, was taken to hospital, put on a ventilator and then placed in an induced coma.

After a week hospital staff tried to bring him out but he slipped back into a coma and suffered a stroke.

Julie Lovegrove remembers feeling a mixture of emotions as her husband's health fluctuated wildly.

"To me it was just a blur."

She had to work but took her children to the hospital to see him every night.

"He looked as though he was getting better and then he didn't. It was just this roller coaster of getting better, no, yes, no, yes, no."

Lou had been in the hospital for a fortnight when the realisation came.

"He just wasn't coming out. I just knew."

"His whole body just collapsed basically. The virus ate his lungs. His internal organs slowly failed." Mrs Lovegrove said.

"They called me in and said 'His heart's going,' and they wanted to take him off life support.'"

Together Julie Lovegrove and her children made the devastating decision.

"We said 'Ýes.' Än hour later he died. It was so quick. Pretty traumatic."

It had been just over three weeks since he first came home sick.

Ministry of Health figures showed 49 New Zealanders died from swine flu in 2009. Lou Lovegrove was one of them

"No one saw that coming"

While deaths from a new virus were to be expected, the provenance and type of influenza were not.

Wellington Professor of Public Health and Epidemiologist, Michael Baker said health authorities had been long been anticipating a pandemic, just not this one…

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APEC 1999; the unlikely story of how a free trade talkfest helped save a nation from destruction. Produced by Justin Gregory.

It was called "the single greatest terrorism opportunity in New Zealand history".

Others called it a toothless, irrelevant has-been.

But APEC, the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation forum, was about to play an unexpected role in an international humanitarian crisis. New Zealand was where it all happened.

This is the story of APEC in Auckland - how a free trade talkfest helped save a nation from destruction.

"I was being yelled at down the phone."

Timor Leste or East Timor, has had a hard history. Colonised by the Portuguese in the 16th century, this small south east Asian nation declared freedom from colonial rule on 28 November 1975.

Nine days later, neighbouring Indonesia invaded. The Timorese fought back. An estimated 100,000 people were killed in that first year. The next two decades of occupation would see massacres, torture, executions, sexual assaults and starvation as a result of famine.

But the Timorese never stopped fighting for their freedom and by early 1999 the situation was primed for change.

Indonesia's economy, which had been hit hard by the 1997 Asian financial crisis, was being bailed out by the International Monetary Fund.

Global sentiment had begun to turn against the occupation. Indonesia's new President B. J. Habibie announced a referendum on the future of East Timor with a choice between autonomy within Indonesia or independence.

The referendum would take place at the end of August 1999. Habibie allowed the United Nations to administer it but he wouldn't let foreign peacekeepers be present but despite the threat from armed pro-Indonesian militia groups within East Timor. This would be an insult to the Indonesian army, said Habibie.

East Timorese in their thousands turned out to vote on 30 August 1999 despite the militias threatening "a sea of fire" if they chose independence. On 4 September the result was in. 75% had voted for freedom.

The sea of fire swept in.

Journalists on the ground reported people being round up by militia members and gunned down in the streets. Thousands more were herded on to trucks and driven over the border into West Timor. Neither the police nor the Indonesian army did anything to stop the militias. RNZ's Geoff Robinson described the violence as "a campaign of ethnic cleansing in the region." President Habibie said the reports were lies and fantasies.

Leaders and activists around the world demanded an international peacekeeping force be allowed in to protect the East Timorese people. But this could only happen if Indonesia (and their army) agreed…

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At the turn of the millennium 15,000 people gathered at the top of a mountain to dance. And then, it rained. A lot. Produced by Kirsten Johnstone

"I had half the crew yelling at me to stop this madness."

Twenty years ago, at the turn of the millennium, around 15,000 people gathered at the top of a mountain to dance. I was one of them.

Around half had bought forged tickets or climbed up through the bush to get in. The Gathering was an alcohol-free event, but most came with a stash of illicit substances.

And then, it rained. A lot.

The first Gathering was in 1996, a break-off from pioneering NZ outdoor dance party Entrain, which had been going since 1992, inspired by festivals in Europe and Goa.

Murray Kingi, Mel Rutherford-Dower, Tim Owens, Grant Smithies and Jose Cachemaille saw the opportunity to bring the fractured sub-genres of dance music together for one festival with high production values.

They'd caught the zeitgeist - electronic dance music was growing exponentially in popularity; raves were popping up in provincial centres. But there hadn't been a festival that had brought trance, drum 'n' bass, dub, ambient and happy hardcore together in the same festival. Kids came from all over the country to party at The Gathering, and it became a massively important part of the musical eco-system of the time.

Acts like Pitch Black, Fat Freddy's Drop, Minuit, King Kapisi, Salmonella Dub, and The Nomad really found their people there.

"It felt like a first for New Zealand"

"It really felt like a coming together," says Tiki Taane, who was playing with Salmonella Dub at the time.

The Gathering was held at Canaan Downs/Pīkikirunga on the top of Takaka Hill near Nelson. The only road in was narrow and windy, but once you were there, the beech forest surrounding the paddocks was idyllic, the lime-stone landscape perfect for exploring in between dances. Māori legend says that the scales of a Taniwha are embedded in that land.

"It's special up at Canaan Downs" says Tiki.

"There's a magical wairua up there. It's raw, it's rugged, but it's also got an intense but beautiful energy."

In the lead-up to the turn of the millennium there was global anxiety over the Y2K bug - that our computers would stop working, and that it might cause missiles to drop out of the sky, or rip out the fabric of our entire economic system.

And while the EFTPOS did crash for a little while at the Gathering festival, it wasn't the only worry. …

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Millions of dollars worth of New Zealand fruit and grapes were at risk of rotting on the branches due to a worker shortage. Until a bunch of growers took a risk. Produced by Eva Corlett.

Millions of dollars worth of New Zealand fruit and grapes were at risk of rotting on the branch due to a shortage of local pickers. So a visionary group of Central Otago growers took a chance on guest workers from the Pacific, who also took a chance on them.

"What keeps me coming back? It's another home."

In the early 2000s the orchards and vineyards of central Otago were heavy with fruit. Peaches, cherries and grapes were ready to be plucked, boxed and shipped all over the world. But there was a problem. There weren't enough people to pick them.

Hiring backpackers and students on holiday was the usual practice, but it was risky, James Dicey, the man behind Mt Difficulty wines says.

"I remember a Swedish backpacker who turned up. I did the paperwork, gave him his tools, trained him. He spent two and a half days with me, got enough money to get on the juice and do a bungy jump, then disappeared."

For Basil Goodman, another grower from Cromwell, the staff shortage was becoming demoralising.

"For two of three years, we did get to a stage, where we did not harvest all the fruit we grew. You put your whole year's work into a box of beautiful looking peaches or nectarines and apricots and then they just don't quite get to the box."

Last month, Basil retired after a lifetime in the industry, just a few weeks before his 80th birthday. One of his proudest achievements is starting what is now called the Recognised Seasonal Employer scheme, or, the RSE.

The government now leads the project and it's become the biggest formal overseas worker scheme in the country. It has two purposes: to fill the labour gap during the busy harvest seasons and to boost pacific economies.

Last year, about 12,000 workers took part, mostly from the Pacific.

And after years of industry begging government, the cap's set to jump to 16,000 over the next two years.

The government is yet to collect thorough data yet on how much money is sent back to the islands. But a 2014 study put the total earnings of just Vanuatu RSE workers at about 130 million, that year.

Meanwhile, the fruit and wine industries' exports are now worth $5.5 billion, more than double what it was in 2005.

But about 25 years ago, finding reliable workers was becoming a gamble. There is a window of only one week before a piece of stone fruit becomes too ripe for export, Basil says.

"So if you didn't do it, you didn't do it. Getting people became our prime focus." …

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Once upon a time, a TV show changed the way people around the world saw New Zealand, ushered in a new way for fans to get together and made a permanent impact on one fan's life. Produced by Justin Gregory

The TV show Xena - Warrior Princess changed the way people around the world saw New Zealand and ushered in a new way for fans to get together. Xena also made a permanent impact on one fan's life.

"I just wanted to be immersed in it."

From the moment Gabrielle Podvoiskis first saw Xena - Warrior Princess, she was obsessed.

"It was just completely Xena," she says today.

"All Xena, all the time."

Nine-year old Gabrielle and her sister Rose felt like the show was made just for them, especially as Xena's closest, most loyal friend was also called Gabrielle.

"I used to wear my hair the way Gabrielle wore hers. It was quite embarrassing in lots of ways."

Xena was her world.

"I loved it and I just wanted to be immersed in it."

So did others.

Carolyn Skelton was a New Zealand academic living in Sydney when she first saw Xena. She had heard about a new show being discussed positively in feminist and lesbian circles. A show that was "creating a buzz" about gender roles and sexuality. She wanted to know more.

But what really intrigued Carolyn when she watched it, was the fact that the show was being made in Auckland.

"What's happened to the industry that they are filming overseas TV programmes in New Zealand? That caught my attention."

So much so that Carolyn would spend years writing her PhD thesis on Xena, asking questions about location, identity, how the TV show connected with its fans and how they connected with each other.

Because Xena happened at an interesting time. The internet was just finding its feet and fans of the show went there to find each other. This community, the Xenaverse, may well have been the first to be born on the web. Carolyn began to explore.

"And I found this whole community. There were different factions; the lesbian subtext fans, the feminists and the heterosexual males who might have found Xena sexually attractive."

But all of them found something intriguing about this new show and its female lead.

"For American fans, (Xena) was something totally different from what they had previously seen on television or film in terms of a female character. She was more down to earth. As one fan put it she didn't care if she broke a fingernail, she'd throw herself into the part. (These were) empowered, relatable characters."…

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The 1972 Munich Olympics was meant to be a festival of sport. But that's not how it turned out. Produced by Sonia Sly.

The 1972 Munich Olympics was meant to be a festival of summer sport.

"A policeman was shouting at me to stay in our quarters"

"I was brought up to shoot straight and tell the truth," says Bruce McMillan (76) - a professional target pistol shooter based in Whanganui.

McMillan's shooting career began in the mid 1960s. A recreational pistol shooter today, he has competed in two Commonwealth Games, a world champs, and was one of 89 Kiwis competing at the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich.

This particular Olympic Games had been the biggest at the time, with more than seven thousand competitors and it was an event kicked off to a celebratory start with an impressive venue.

"The atmosphere at the Games was absolutely fantastic...it was a summer festival of sport," recalls McMillan.

By the time the Olympics were halfway through, McMillan had already completed his part of games.

"I finished in the middle of the field with the world champion close to my score," he says.

Josef Zapedski, a cavalry officer from Communist Poland, had taken out the title, winning a new Olympic record of 595 out of 600. McMillan says Zapedski wasn't the most talkative man, but given the Cold War was taking place, and Poland was bleak, this was almost to be expected.

But it was on 5th September 1972 that the atmosphere at the Olympics would turn sour.

It was dawn and there was a bit of commotion taking place outside. People were being shooed away by police, according to McMillan who headed outside to take a peek.

"That's when I got shouted at," he says.

"A very well-built policeman in a leather overcoat was shouting at me to stay in our quarters."

McMillan only knew a few words in German and couldn't make out what was going on. But when he headed down to the village car park on a day trip out of the Olympic Village, he saw confirmation that something big had just taken place.

"They were bringing Weinberg's body out on a gurney," he says of Moshe Weinberg - the coach of the Israeli weightlifting team.

McMillan was staying in the men's-only quarters, about 40 to 50 metres away from where the shooting had occurred. He never heard the shot that killed Weinberg.

Eleven Israeli athletes were being held hostage by members of a Palestinian group called Black September who were making a political statement calling for the release of just over 200 Palestinians and non-Arabs imprisoned in Israel. …

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On Eyewitness - it's been 20 years since the killing of a child shocked the country. We said it must never happen again. So why has it? Produced by Katie Doyle.

When James Whakaruru died, the only part of his little body that wasn't bruised were the soles of his feet. It's a case that has stayed with journalist Doug Laing for a long time. It's now been 20 years since the killing of child shocked the country. We said it must never happen again. So why has it?

"I don't think anybody goes out to kill a child."

Doug Laing was a journalist in Hawke's Bay for a long time, but he's not your classic hardened journo.

He cares a lot about people and loves Hawke's Bay. He's lived there most of his life and probably knows most of the people who live there too.

Being a court reporter, homicides weren't new for him and after a while, one just ran into the next.

The story of James Whakaruru, who was killed in 1999, was different though. That one has stayed with Doug.

Riri o te Rangi 'James' Whakaruru was born in Hawke's Bay on 13 June 1994. His mum, Te Rangi Whakaruru, was just 15 and his dad Kevin wasn't on the scene.

When James was one, his mum fell in love with a local guy called Benny Haerewa.

One of the first domestic incidents between Haerewa and Te Rangi happened at the end of 1995.

Police were called, but no complaint was filed by Te Rangi. There are no records that police referred her on to Women's Refuge or Victim Support.

A year later, James was rushed to the Emergency Department, covered head-to-toe in bruises.

His injuries weren't accidental.

Haerewa was charged with injuring with intent and was ordered to stay away from James, but Te Rangi and Haerewa saw each other often before he eventually went to prison.

At the same time, James' maternal grandmother contacted Child, Youth and Family, warning that the little boy wasn't safe.

For a while, James stayed with his grandparents, but at some point, he was returned to Te Rangi.

When Haerewa was released in 1997, he and Te Rangi picked up their relationship where they left off.

They picked up the abuse, too.

James would get hit with jug cords, wood, and a steel vacuum cleaner pipe.

Once, Haerewa hit James with a hammer because the four-year-old wouldn't call him 'daddy'

When James died, the only part of his little body that wasn't bruised were the soles of his feet. His arm was broken, and his intestines were ruptured.

It was later established that James had died from one, or several, extremely prolonged beatings that had caused massive internal injuries. …

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On Eyewitness - a look at the drug that affected the lives of 10,000 babies...the story of Thalidomide. Produced by Sonia Sly.

"

Barry De Geest is a vigorous fifty-something man; a talker and a doer.

He's an entrepreneur and a public speaker, is active in the disability sector as an advocate for change - he was involved in making public transport and movie cinemas accessible for wheelchairs, among other things. De Geest has achieved a lot.

He's also the oldest thalidomide survivor in New Zealand. When he was born, the medical profession didn't expect him to survive. The doctors told his mother to forget about him and go have another baby.

But she didn't listen.

Thalidomide was developed in West Germany in the late 1950s. Within a few year it was being prescribed for anxiety, insomnia and gastritis. The drug was sold under several other names such as contergan, Inmunoprin, Distival, Talidex, Talizer, Neurosedyn, Oncothal and Talimyde.

It was also deemed safe during pregnancy and used as a treatment for morning sickness. Barry's mum Anne Kapohe was given a sample by her well-meaning doctor in Ōamaru.

But no one knew then that when ingested in the early stages of pregnancy, the drug had serious side effects and caused severe deformities in unborn children.

These can include shortened limbs and hands and feet without the usual number of fingers and toes. Some babies were missing sexual organs or had damaged and under-developed internal organs. Others were born deaf and blind.

Around 10,000 babies around the world were affected. Grunenthal, the company who developed the drug, are still in operation. On their website, they refer to the "thalidomide tragedy" as "a significant part of our corporate history. Grünenthal's family owners, and the company as a whole, deeply regret the consequences of this tragedy."

Relatively speaking, New Zealand got off lightly. There were only 21 cases here and according to De Geest, the saving grace was our isolation as the drug was not distributed widely.

"Transport services weren't that great in the early sixties so things took a long time to travel around the country," he says.

When Barry was born, his parents were advised to put him into care and let others raise him.

"I would have gone to the Home of Compassion in Wellington and been brought up as an orphan."

De Geest says when the Home closed, many of the residents ended up at another facility in Waipukurau. He's heard stories from there of ill treatment and outright abuse.

"It was an institution so a lot of the staff got away with things that they couldn't in a home." …

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When the police started cracking down on Pasifika overstayers, a group of young people called the Polynesian Panthers started pushing back. Produced by Jamie Tahana.

"We brought racism to everyone's attention."

It was a cold winter's night when Melani Anae snuck out of home and headed for Keppell Street, Grey Lynn, where a group of teenagers were gathering to, in their words, start a revolution.

"We couldn't tell our parents, 'oh we're just going down the road for a Panther meeting' with these ex-gang guys," recalled Anae. "Especially for us girls who were just starting university and were good church girls."

But they were all at the house with a purpose: to push back against racism and to form the group that would become known as the Polynesian Panthers.

"We knew this was different," Anae said.

"We heard the leaders speak, we heard the platform and we were inspired to be part of that."

Molded in the shape of the Black Panthers, the Polynesian Panthers was formed in Auckland in June 1971. One of its co-founders was Will 'Ilolahia, who had been inspired by the works of Bobby Seale, Malcolm X and other US civil rights leaders.

"When we looked at their ten-point platform, it was relevant to us," he said. "Barring the (carrying of) arms, everything else that we saw and experienced actually was to the point," said 'Ilolahia.

"Legal rights, education ... housing. We just translated it to be relevant to our times here, and that's how we started up."

Those times were 1970s Auckland where the Panthers were formed in response to the marginalisation and discrimination experienced by the Pacific community.

From the 1940s to the 1960s, Pacific migrants had been encouraged to come to New Zealand to fill gaps in the labour market, often in poorly paid and back-breaking manual work.

They flocked mostly to Auckland, where they filled the inner-city suburbs of Ponsonby and Grey Lynn, an area that became known as 'Little Polynesia.' Entire families filled houses; the first Pacific church opened in Newton and crowds were drawn to Karangahape Road to shop and mingle.

But the area was also run down and impoverished, with families living in houses that 'Ilolahia said should have been condemned, and where violence and gangs flourished.

As the economy plunged in the early 1970s, the spotlight - and the blame - was turned to immigrants and overstayers which eventually led to the dawn raids that began in 1974.

Started by the third Labour government of Norman Kirk and Bill Rowling, the raids accelerated under the National government of Robert Muldoon. …

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