In the UK, a horrific attack unfolded aboard a train travelling from Doncaster to London. The service made an emergency stop at Huntingdon station after a man went on a stabbing rampage that left eleven people injured, one of them fighting for their life. Police later confirmed the suspect was a 32-year-old Black British man and that the attack was not being treated as terrorism related.
While the incident has dominated headlines in Britain, coverage in New Zealand has been almost non-existent. The silence from our major media outlets raises uncomfortable questions. Why have New Zealand’s mainstream organisations barely touched this story? Is the answer as simple as the suspect’s identity not fitting the preferred narrative that many newsrooms seem to operate within?
In the UK, major publications such as The Guardian, BBC, Reuters and the Associated Press quickly published detailed reports, including eyewitness accounts and statements from police. Here in New Zealand, it has barely warranted a mention, not on front pages, nor in the top-read sections of our major news websites.
In the UK, major publications such as The Guardian, BBC, Reuters and the Associated Press quickly published detailed reports, including eyewitness accounts and statements from police. Here in New Zealand, it has barely warranted a mention, not on front pages, nor in the top-read sections of our major news websites.

One explanation might be that editors simply see the story as distant and irrelevant to local readers. After all, international news coverage is often filtered through a local lens, with foreign events given less priority unless they involve New Zealanders. That reasoning only goes so far. In recent years, other overseas attacks, particularly those involving white male perpetrators, have received widespread coverage and editorial commentary in this country.
That discrepancy leads to an uncomfortable thought. Perhaps the muted reaction stems from the fact that the suspect is a Black man. Stories that challenge established narratives about race, violence and marginalisation often receive less attention. When the roles are reversed, when the offender is white and the victims are not, the coverage tends to be extensive, emotional and often political.
This is not to say New Zealand’s media deliberately withhold stories. However, there is an undeniable pattern of selective emphasis. Stories that reinforce the prevailing social script, that white men are inherently dangerous and that minority groups are perpetually victimised, are given prime space. When an event complicates that picture, it too often fades quietly into the background.
The problem with this approach is that it undermines public trust. If readers suspect that coverage is shaped more by ideology than by facts, confidence in journalism erodes. The public deserves consistent reporting, not selective storytelling that filters events through a political lens.
The Huntingdon train stabbings were an appalling act of violence. Whether the suspect is white, black, or any other background should make no difference to the level of coverage such a serious event receives. In New Zealand, the silence speaks volumes.
It may be convenient for editors to look away, but for readers who still believe in fair and balanced reporting. Is the media truly committed to telling the full story, or only the parts that fit the narrative?
Matua Kahurangi is just a bloke sharing thoughts on New Zealand and the world beyond. No fluff, just honest takes. He blogs on https://matuakahurangi.com/ where this article was sourced

5 comments:
The UK's media is pretty quiet about it too. There's not much they can say without falling foul of the law over there. Given NZ media's talentless and lazy propensity to just Ctrl-C Ctrl-V articles from the Telegraph or the Daily Mail, the font is probably running a bit dry at the moment.
It’s because the hero of the day Samir Zitouni, who took on the attacker and prevented more people from getting hurt (at the cost of his own safety) was an immigrant, and painting someone like that in a positive light doesn’t fit the media narrative. Power at play, control the news and keep the populace uninformed!
It was the lead item on the 6pm One News, within hours of it happening. And it featured again extensively on One News the following night, with their London reporter going to the station where the train pulled in to interview passengers and train staff. They showed lengthy video of the suspect fleeing, waving a big knife, and being arrested.
But 2 days later, crickets.
Stuff , for one, were too busy to pay attention because they were scrambling to assemble a nonsense rejoinder the the police commissioner!
To wit:
Police Commissioner Richard Chambers did something unusual this week: he laid out a sober, legally anchored argument about why Stuff’s broadcast of police radio from the Tom Phillips shooting breached the law and risked the integrity of multiple investigations.
In response, Stuff’s boss Keith Lynch reached for mythology. Chambers brought the Radiocommunications Act; Lynch brought the spirit of Woodward and Bernstein and a scented candle of journalistic virtue.
This wasn’t a clash between power and accountability. It was a clash between duty of care and self-importance.
Chambers’ position was straightforward. First, legal advice said Stuff clearly breached the law. Second, police could have prosecuted and would likely have succeeded. Third, they chose not to—this time—not to avoid scrutiny, but to avoid distracting from actual police work and to prevent future damage.
Crucially, he explained why police radio in a live-fire fatality becomes evidence, and why disclosure risks tainting recollections, contaminating inquiry processes, and compromising the integrity of future policing communications. Those are not vibes; they are established evidentiary and operational principles.
Lynch didn’t rebut any of that. He simply announced he was “confident” no law was broken. Confidence is not a legal defence. “We thought about it” is not a rebuttal to formal legal advice. If a police commissioner says legal thresholds were met and you reply with “well, our senior editors disagreed,” you haven’t made a principled stand. You’ve drafted a press release.
Chambers also raised the wellbeing of shot officers and their families. Lynch addressed that concern the way a breeze addresses a brick wall: by passing straight through and moving on to something more flattering to himself. It takes a certain kind of journalist to wave away trauma as a subplot in their heroic narrative.
And then the tell: Lynch tried to dismiss Chambers’ statement as an “op-ed”. This was not a columnist sounding off between brunch bookings. It was the Commissioner of Police explaining how the law applies to sensitive operational evidence. To label it an opinion is to pretend regulatory authority and editorial ego are parallel institutions. They are not.
The editor’s argument—such as it was—rested on two planks. One: public interest. Two: journalists can be trusted to exercise judgment. The first is elastic; the second is aspirational. When legal systems weigh public interest, they do so through statutory tests, not newsroom self-esteem.
The most telling line in Lynch’s rebuttal was the accidental punchline: “The audio is the audio.” This is not how evidence works. Memory contamination is real. Sequence interpretation is real. Context is real. Even the most careful editing can shift perception. Ask any judge. Ask any defence lawyer. Ask any police investigator. But don’t ask a newsroom crusader, because they think publishing the audio is the same as understanding it.
Chambers explicitly said the radio audio did not reflect poorly on police. That point alone collapses the conspiracy insinuation. He was arguing process, not optics. Lynch heard criticism of journalism and reflexively reached for the golden shield of noble truth-seeking. “We surfacing material that is challenging” is a grand line. It would land better if paired with a credible engagement with law and evidence.
Instead, we got an airy lecture about scrutiny. Scrutiny is not the same as indulgence. Investigative journalism is not exempt from standards simply because it sometimes catches governments out. Stuff likes to style itself as a watchdog. This week it resembled a dog that digs under the fence, chews through the wiring, and insists it was probably helping.
In the end, Chambers made a reasoned case grounded in statute, operational integrity and human welfare. Lynch made a speech to the mirror. One dealt in obligations. The other in applause lines.
— PB
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