It's moments like this I feel like donating a barn door to the AOS. I'd rather have them trying to hit that than practice on innocent civilians.
I grew up around guns, which may explain why I loathe them so much. By the age of eight I had learned how to refill shotgun cartridges (Old primer out, new primer in. Gunpowder, wad, shot and seal). By the age of ten, I had already been shot once by a family member. Getting shot isn't fun, even with an air rifle. Boy, did the old man give my brother a whipping for that.
Because one of the very first lessons that I learned was identify your target. Before you prime the weapon, before you raise it, know where you are aiming.
It's a rule hunters ignore at their peril. The NZ courts are littered with weekend Rambos hallucinating people into deer. It's a rule so bloody basic, the AOS has no excuse for missing their target and shooting a completely innocent courier driver stone cold dead.
Even the whitewash cop-out handed out by the IPCA (you can change the letterhead but you can't stop the rot) couldn't defensibly defend the AOS manslaughter. Instead, they tried to spread the tar onto another armed police member who went off half cocked before he knew where to look.
Don't forget the old New Zealander of the Year Award handed out by Eating Media Lunch. I forget the dog's name, but the video of him evading police at close quarters as they unleash a barrage of missed rounds at the pooch is a stark memory.
You want to arm the police? Sure. Go ahead, make their day. It might be your funeral.
