This man in New Zealand earns $10,000 annually to serve as the official wizard of a city | Dinogo

On a bright autumn afternoon, two wizards clad in black robes and pointed hats sat down for coffee in one of New Zealand’s largest cities.

It wasn’t Halloween, nor were they headed to a costume party. While they certainly caught the eye of passersby, the reactions were more curious than anything—no shocked stares or pointing fingers.

That’s because, in Christchurch, encountering a wizard is not such an uncommon sight.

For decades, the city has had an official wizard. Ian Brackenbury Channell, originally from the UK, moved to New Zealand in the 1970s and became famous as The Wizard. To prove his dedication to the role, he even holds a New Zealand driver’s license under the name of The Wizard, although he claims to never have legally changed his name.

At 87 years old, The Wizard has stepped back from the public spotlight. He's now looking for a successor, and it seems he’s found one in 39-year-old Ari Freeman, a guitar teacher and lead vocalist of a psychedelic funk band.

As Freeman and The Wizard sit at a sunlit table outside a café in the heart of the city, a middle-aged cyclist rides by, shouting, “No casting spells, fellas!”

“Can’t promise anything,” Freeman responds with a grin.

Becoming a wizard

In his youth, The Wizard traveled across Europe, served as a Royal Air Force officer in Canada, and taught English literature at the University of Tehran. But it was only after relocating to Australia with his wife that he discovered the role he would embody for the rest of his life: The Wizard.

After completing his sociology and psychology degree, he became a community arts organizer at the University of Western Australia in Perth, and later, a teaching fellow in sociology at the University of New South Wales (UNSW) in Sydney.

It was there that he launched what he called a 'fun revolution,' a movement designed to bring love, reason, and humor to the world, turning his university into a 'theater of the absurd.' When he lost his academic position, he worked with the vice chancellor to create a new role for him: UNSW's first official wizard.

'I’ve created a wizard from scratch,' The Wizard says. 'Wizards didn’t exist when I first arrived on this planet, except in stories.'

A photo of him in this new role – shared in Origins, the UNSW Archives newsletter – captures him in a leather jacket, standing on a chair, holding a skull like a modern-day Hamlet.

For The Wizard, his role isn’t about casting spells or mimicking Gandalf from Tolkien’s *Lord of the Rings*. Instead, he views his position as that of a provocateur – someone who injects a sense of fun into life while also critiquing the system. A performer who’s unafraid to make himself look foolish.

'As the world becomes more serious each day, fun is the most powerful thing left,' he says.

However, not everyone was on board with The Wizard’s antics. The academic community in Sydney didn’t appreciate his approach ('Academics don’t like anything silly,' he quips), so he moved to the University of Melbourne. There, he claims to have led his own cosmology department, though the university disputes this, calling it an 'exaggeration.' They say he wasn’t employed by the university, though he did have ties with the student union.

When he fully embraced his wizard persona, The Wizard claims he lost all his friends, and his wife left him. He turned his wife kicking him out into a ritual, inviting friends over to make it a performance. 'To me, it was fun, but not to her. She’s still furious about it,' he admits.

In 1974, he relocated to Christchurch, New Zealand, where his wizarding journey truly began to take shape.

Enchanted Christchurch

If there was any place in the world made for a wizard, it’s undoubtedly Christchurch.

While many of the city’s buildings still show the scars of the 2011 earthquake that claimed 185 lives, the Gothic revival structures that remain give the city a distinctly British atmosphere. When the fog rolls in, it clings to the gray stone facades and colonial-era statues, creating an eerie scene that feels right out of a British crime drama or a low-budget horror flick.

In short, it’s the perfect setting for a wizard to work his magic.

When The Wizard first set foot in Christchurch during the 1970s, he viewed the city as a 'romantic dream' – an isolated, picturesque place far from the hustle of the world, and unlikely to become an economic powerhouse.

Upon settling in the city, The Wizard became a familiar figure in Cathedral Square. Often perched on a ladder, he would dress in various costumes, including a loincloth as John the Baptist. He would also voice his support for the British Empire and challenge what he described as 'anti-male sexism.'

Initially, the local council wasn’t too keen on his presence, The Wizard recalls. They refused to officially recognize him as the city’s wizard and denied him the permission he needed to speak in the square, citing Christchurch’s bylaws. In response, The Wizard took a playful approach – wearing a gas mask and speaking in French, trying to bypass the regulations.

Since then, The Wizard proudly claims, 'I’ve been the most popular man in Christchurch. And, by the bureaucrats, the most despised.'

As his fame grew, so did his recognition from official circles.

In 1982, the New Zealand Art Gallery Directors Association declared him a living work of art. The Auckland City Art Gallery’s document listed his medium as 'artist’s corporeal substance' and valued his work as 'priceless.' Despite this, The Wizard isn’t particularly fond of contemporary art, calling it 'mostly about writing grant applications.'

In 1988, during a drought in nearby Waimate, The Wizard was invited to perform a rain dance at a local agriculture fair. He claims that rain began falling just hours after he started drumming. 'The Wizard retreated to the refreshment tent to enjoy the downpour and sip the free whiskey handed to him by the astonished farmers,' according to his website.

In 1990, New Zealand's then Prime Minister, Mike Moore, sent him an official letter suggesting he 'urgently consider' becoming 'the Wizard of New Zealand, Antarctica, and the relevant offshore regions.'

Moore humorously added, 'No doubt there will be matters related to spells, blessings, curses, and other supernatural phenomena that exceed the abilities of mere Prime Ministers.'

Eight years later, he received perhaps the most significant recognition of his career, marking an unexpected change in his public image.

A Council spokesperson mentioned that The Wizard's duties include promoting local events and tourism, as well as welcoming distinguished visitors or delegations to the city. His role typically requires no more than 200 hours of work annually.

In 2009, The Wizard was awarded the Queen’s Service Medal, one of New Zealand's highest honors. 'I couldn't believe it; I never thought it would happen,' he recalls.

The Wizard's Apprentice

For six years, Freeman has been The Wizard’s apprentice, but he’s felt a deep connection to wizardry for much longer.

'I think it really came together for me in my mid-20s. It was one of those things you didn’t have a name for until you look back and realize you’ve been living it for a long time,' Freeman reflects.

In 2014, Freeman decided to take the plunge. He approached The Wizard, already sporting a long beard, and introduced himself. 'Hi, I’m Ari, and I’m a young wizard,' he remembers saying. 'Alright, let’s get started then,' The Wizard responded, according to Freeman.

Being an apprentice to The Wizard is far from a formal affair. The two often meet and argue, though Freeman seldom manages to sway The Wizard’s unshakeable opinions.

The Wizard, who is known for his passionate rants, doesn’t shy away from voicing his strong beliefs. He’s avoided filling out the Census for years, calling it 'a branding of animals on the farm.' As for Wicca, he dismisses it as 'shallow consumerist stuff... like vegetarianism, just a passing fad.'

The Wizard is opposed to the notion of a female wizard, suggesting instead that women could be fairies. He remains skeptical about climate change, though he does appreciate the idea of a simpler lifestyle. 'The Hobbits were right,' he muses.

One area where Freeman and The Wizard clash is music. The Wizard dismisses much of it as 'evil,' while Freeman views music as a form of magic. He believes that by playing the right song at the right moment, he can make people dance, though they’ll think it was their own idea.

Freeman entered the wizarding world with few expectations, but after tens of thousands of interactions, he’s encountered almost no negativity. His friends, family, and partner have been overwhelmingly supportive. When he told his partner he wanted to be a wizard, she was thrilled.

Times are shifting for the world of wizardry. The Wizard's former stomping ground – Cathedral Square – has lost its former charm. The old church is surrounded by a barricade, and birds now roost in the earthquake-damaged vault. There’s less of a demand for a public figure whose views seem increasingly out of touch with the times.

Freeman understands that to truly be a wizard, he needs the community’s support. 'If the people want a wizard, I’ll be one,' he says. The council did not respond when asked if Freeman would be offered The Wizard’s contract.

'I want to ensure the wizard phenomenon lives on, and I’ll gladly take on that role,' Freeman stated. 'Like a band needs a guitar player, I’ll be that guitar player.'

For Freeman, being a wizard isn’t just about performing tricks; it’s about empowering those who are lost or downhearted, helping them break free from societal norms and expectations.

'Sometimes, it takes someone doing something unexpected to create a shift in the culture,' Freeman explained. 'And those individuals are the magicians.'