Among those watching like hawks from over the fence have been Labour Party leader Chris Hipkins and Green Party co-leader Chloe Swarbrick.
Their chance to throw stones at the boot camps came just a few days ago, when we heard that two youths who had recently taken part in the facility-based part of the pilot were on the run from the follow-up family and community placements.
They were found in circumstances which appear a little murky, to say the least. Early reports linked them to a stolen car and alleged attempted carjacking in Hamilton. Four people were subsequently arrested.
That news came after hearing that another young man in the pilot had been accused of reoffending.
Children’s Minister Karen Chhour called that disappointing and said it would be naive to think none of those on the pilot might lapse into former behaviours.
"We were hopeful this would not occur, but we understand the complexities in the lives of these young people. Ultimately, what they do with these opportunities is up to them," she said.
Two words, both well-respected and with fearsome histories, spring to mind which sum up these latest twists and turns of the boot-camp saga — schadenfreude and hubris.
Opponents of the boot camps have been engaging in the former, the malicious enjoyment of someone else’s misfortunates, which translates literally from German into English as "harm joy".
For months, opposition parties have said boot camps will be a debacle and these incidents have been a gift from the gods for them.
For National, the Ancient Greek word hubris feels about right. With the boot camps, the government has built them up to be another kind of "next big thing", with plenty of big words and its attitude of pursuing them come hell or high water.
The consequences of not listening to good advice — that history has shown that military-style camps have had limited success for young people previously — invite a humbling withdrawal and the opening up of oneself to schadenfreude.
To be fair, though, the incidents which have come to light are the sorts of things you might want to know about when trialling something ahead of its full-scale rollout. This is precisely why you run a pilot programme, in just the same manner as designers and inventors produce prototypes which can then be tweaked after testing.
Even Prime Minister Christopher Luxon said about the boot-camp scheme that a pilot is a pilot, to see what lessons can be learned along the way to improve the final outcome.
That did come, however, a week after he also said he didn’t care what critics thought about the programme’s likely success.
What is needed now, then, is for the government to take note of the recent incidents and adjust things accordingly.
If it is hellbent on pursuing boot camps, it at least needs to show that it has learnt from its mistakes.
Ms Chhour told RNZ she did not want to talk about the Hamilton episode, as it was now subject to a police investigation and Youth Court orders.
However, she said the pilot had had its successes when it came to getting attendees involved in work and training.
Labour has called for the immediate halt of the boot-camp project. Children’s spokeswoman Willow-Jean Prime claimed it was a "mask off moment" for Ms Chhour, "who looks set to use these recent failings as justification to intensify the very boot camps she’s already lost complete control of".
Ms Prime says the government would be better to focus on crime prevention and support for troubled children. She wants Mr Luxon to stop the "experiment".
While we realise the point of the pilot is to highlight where things don’t work and what can be done to improve things, we have seen enough to affirm our original view that boot camps for youth are a failed experiment.
