Naenae College was meant to be focused on classrooms, students, and steady improvement.

Instead, its principal, Chris Taylor, has spent the past two years dealing with something few school leaders are prepared for: a relentless online campaign that no authority seems able to stop.

At the centre of the storm is a disgruntled former student, a flood of Official Information Act (OIA) requests, and a growing trail of AI‑generated videos, websites, and social media posts targeting the Lower Hutt school.

It is a case that raises uncomfortable questions about online harm, accountability, and how exposed public institutions really are.

AI videos, fake scenes, real damage

The videos are short. Six seconds, sometimes less.

In one, the Naenae College principal smiles at his desk before pulling out a gun and firing at the camera.

In another, he cheerfully claims the school “helps the bullies and punishes the affected”.

None of it is real. All of it is AI‑generated.

Other posts show staff and students dancing, chanting, or throwing rocks — again, entirely fabricated using images lifted from the school’s website and Facebook page.

Taylor noticed the Instagram account about three months ago. By then, he says, the tone had shifted from criticism to something far more malicious.

“This was the first time it became genuinely harmful,” he says.

A campaign years in the making

The social media content did not appear overnight.

Over the past few years, at least four websites have surfaced accusing Naenae College of misconduct, mismanagement, poor facilities, and weak academic outcomes. Three were taken down with the help of online safety advisers. One remains live.

The remaining site presents itself as a community advocacy platform. It features graphs, charts, and carefully framed data comparing NCEA results, stand‑down rates, and infrastructure conditions.

The presentation looks factual. The conclusions are harsh.

Taylor believes the campaign traces back to a former student who was excluded from the school more than two years ago after a violent assault on two students.

The former student has never been publicly named for legal reasons.

The OIA flood

The first Official Information Act request arrived in August 2023, just before Taylor officially stepped into the principal role.

It asked for details about bathroom vandalism and repair costs.

Then came another. And another.

By Taylor’s count, there have been 46 OIA requests in total — 13 arriving immediately after a single board meeting that the former student attended.

At first, the requests came under the student’s real name. Later, they arrived under different names but followed the same pattern.

Information released through the requests soon appeared on the websites.

Taylor and his personal assistant estimate they have spent thousands of hours responding.

“It’s meant sleepless nights, stress, and time taken away from students and staff,” he says.

Eventually, the Ombudsman ruled the requests vexatious and frivolous. Taylor was allowed to stop responding.

By then, the damage was already done.

Complaints — all dismissed

Alongside the OIA requests came formal complaints.

The former student challenged the exclusion process with the school board, the Ministry of Education, the Ombudsman, and the Human Rights Tribunal. He argued his autism had not been properly considered.

Every body ruled in the school’s favour.

“In all cases, the finding was clear,” Taylor says. “We were not wrong.”

But legal vindication has not stopped the online attacks.

Why nothing sticks

Taylor has sought help from police, Netsafe, academic experts, and lawyers.

None have been able to make the content stop.

There is no direct threat. No clear criminal offence. And crucially, the Harmful Digital Communications Act focuses on harm to individuals — not institutions.

“He can attack the school as an entity as much as he wants,” Taylor says.

University of Canterbury law professor Ursula Cheer agrees there is no simple legal fix.

Much of the content, she says, could fall under honest opinion if based on selected facts. Defamation cases are costly, slow, and difficult — especially for public figures expected to endure criticism.

“It’s a global problem,” she says. “Technology itself isn’t illegal.”

A school with complex needs

Naenae College serves a community with some of the highest equity index figures in the country.

Students arrive carrying trauma, instability, and unmet needs. Violence, mental health struggles, and learning support gaps are common.

“Most New Zealanders would never understand what some of our students go through just to arrive at school,” Taylor says.

The school has ageing buildings and long‑standing infrastructure issues. Its newest block, finished 18 months ago, was the first major upgrade in more than 20 years.

“When it rained, water used to come through the lights in my office,” Taylor says.

The website campaign documents every crack, every hole, every failure — sometimes using images that are not even from the school.

“He hasn’t told us anything we don’t know,” Taylor says. “It’s just presented in the worst possible light.”

Support — and silence

Most of the community response has been supportive.

But a small number see the campaign as confirmation of grievances they already held.

Taylor has been advised to ignore it. Do not respond. Do not give it oxygen.

Still, the feeling remains.

“I felt powerless,” he says. “People in my community were being attacked, and I couldn’t do anything.”

Some of it, he admits, is clever. Even darkly humorous.

“But it’s still painful.”

A wider warning

This is no longer just a Naenae College story.

It is a warning about how easily schools, councils, and public institutions can become targets — and how limited the tools are to protect them.

When criticism turns into obsession, and technology removes accountability, the system struggles to respond.

For now, Naenae College keeps teaching. And its principal keeps leading.

But the online noise continues — unanswered, unchecked, and unresolved.