HISTORY - NOT HYSTERIA

In 1918 my great grandfather, Te Para Puhi Te Paa, died of the flu leaving behind his young wife and 7 children. He left his home in Ahipara that morning, fit and healthy, and died that evening while visiting whanau in Pukepoto. Quarantine was put in place almost immediately. Result - his wife and kids weren’t allowed through from Ahipara – so they missed the entire tangihanga. It was a desperately sad time. The big picture context for this one death is provided by the following facts that my husband researched. Some are well-known, others may be new to you.

Servicemen returning from The Great War brought the flu virus to Aotearoa, and one of its characteristics was that it attacked in waves. In the first wave, only a few died and many people were lulled into believing it wasn’t the same flu as the one that had killed huge numbers in other countries. But it was the second wave that caused the majority of the 8,600 officially recorded deaths in New Zealand, and Maori suffered heavily. Our overall rate of death was 42.3 per thousand people, seven times that of Europeans.

In one community, Mangatawhiri in the Waikato, about 50 out of 200 local Maori died. Closer to home, in her biography Dame Whina Cooper recalled similar suffering at Panguru, in the Hokianga. “Everyone was sick,” she said. “No one to help, they were dying one after the other. My father was very, very sick then. He was the first to die. I couldn't do anything for him. I remember we put him in a coffin, like a box. There were many others, you could see them on the roads, on the sledges, the ones that are able to drag them away, dragged them away to the cemetery. No time for tangis." Although official statistics identify only 9 deaths in the Hokianga, anecdotal evidence is that there were many, many more.

To date, nobody has died from the flu outside of Mexico. But certainly, this H1N1 virus bears striking similarities to the 1918 flu. Both had origins in swine and both claimed the lives of healthy people between the ages of 19 - 35. What makes this virus more alarming than the 1918 variety is the hybrid nature of it. Almost certainly manufactured in a laboratory, this strain has combined the most dangerous elements of both the swine and avian varieties. Because of its exotic nature, it is highly unlikely that tamiflu or any other vaccine will be effective, and a new vaccine, specific to this virus, could take months to develop.

Hysteria is neither necessary nor useful at this time. Instead, planning and forethought are needed.

It may never happen, but if another pandemic does hit Aotearoa, our marae, hapu and whanau will need to have strategies in place to cope. The logistics of a tangihanga are generally easy to manage. But during a pandemic emergency measures, such as closed coffins and quarantines, impact on everything from the tono to the nehunga.

My grandmother, Paniwaka, told me once of the dislocation, shock and hurt of being within walking distance of her father yet unable to go to his tangi. He was a handsome man and I’m grateful we have his photo. I’ve visited his windswept grave on the hill there at the urupa, Te Rangi Hau Kaha, and we named our oldest grandson after him. Ae ra . Kaore e taea e tātau te whakarerekē a mua. But with a little forethought and planning based on our history, we don’t have to repeat it.

THERE MUST NEEDS BE AN OPPOSITION

When Eve ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil she learned a very simple, yet complex truth: “There must needs be an opposition in all things…” (2 Ne. 2:11). In order for her to fully experience one thing, she had to also experience its opposite – virtue and vice, health and sickness, pleasure and pain, light and darkness. When I was 26 I started on the path that became my life work and learned the same simple and complex truth about a number of things, among them money and marriage.

First, money. In 1986 the government split the trees from the land of the state forests, sold the cutting rights and kept the land available for future Treaty settlements. That included the Aupouri forest, a huge employer of our people here in Te Hiku. At the same time the owners of Northern Pulp’s triboard mill in Kaitaia, where most of Aupouri’s timber went, were going belly-up. So a group of five Maori Trusts and Incorporations from Te Hapua, Te Kao, Herekino, Motuti and Mitimiti who also supplied timber to the mill, cobbled together a bid of $1million for the Aupouri forest. Although we had assets, cash was kind of scarce. Still we were confident we could find a partner with the money in short order. But, to buy time, between us we scraped up the necessary 10% deposit. Then Matiu Rata and I were sent to Wellington with the bid and the cheque; I to observe and analyse, Matiu to speak and make our case. We were received very politely, given a nice platter of finger food and a glass of fruit juice, listened to. Matiu said, “The land is under claim and correctly belongs to the iwi of Muriwhenua, so it should not be sold at all. As Treaty partners we gifted the use of the land in the expectation that we would one day get a return from that use. For that reason neither should the trees be split from the land and sold. If, contrary to all principles of natural justice [a favourite phrase of Matiu’s], the government is determined to go ahead and sell anyway, you must give preference to our bid.” We were invited to place our paperwork in a ballot-type box, then shown the door. In the lift Matiu, bless his dear optimistic heart, grabbed my hand and danced us around shouting, “We’ve done it!” In my bones I knew we’d just been given the bum’s rush by the Crown and its officials. Why? Because, in their world view (as our bid proved), we had little money and less credibility. We did not succeed in buying the Aupouri forest. I filed the experience away.

Next, marriage. In the mid-80s a group of us talked with Dame Mira Szaszy about what we were experiencing as single women. In her time she’d run into the same thing – male resistance, even aggression towards us as leaders. She felt it was something that had come to New Zealand with Pakeha settlers – what she called a “Victorian assumption” where women, like property, marked a man’s status in society. Having married relatively late in life herself, Mira knew the feeling of being soiled by exchanges such as the late night call I once got from a contemporary who, when I politely declined to follow his chosen pathway to settlement of our claims, sneered down the phone in graphic detail what he thought I needed. I filed that away as well.

Money is never something I’ve worried about personally. Even in the poorest of times there’s always been enough to feed, clothe, clean and shelter us. Being single … well, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The value both money and a good marriage have for me today, 26 years since I started on what is still my life’s work, is deepened by the fact that I know what it’s like to be without them.
And for that I can partially thank the moneyed, male, married majority whose opposition helped me be a better mother. You showed me that it's while doing ordinary things that extraordinary things are fashioned. Thank you.

THE POWER PARADOX

It ain’t easy being a Maori leader engaged with the Crown. It can be likened to standing with a crowd of friends and whanau in an unmarked minefield, all of them needing medical help … urgently. But, unlike Western Generals, who generally lead from the rear, we must lead from the front or risk, literally, losing our followers.

Additionally, before we can lead the way out of the minefield, we have to first find where the front of the crowd is. Then, having established ourselves on the front, we have to keep a close eye on our backs for the hits from wannabes and once-weres, all while still keeping a sharp eye forward for those damned mines.

Should we be smart or lucky enough to get through without being blown to smithereens, we then find that we’re actually tied, by a very close and tight rein, to the last man behind us. So we can never totally relax or be completely free of danger until the last of us reaches safety.

The recent hikoi through Kaitaia protesting Te Runanga O Te Rarawa's decision to negotiate the foreshore and seabed has all the elements of the power paradox between Maori leaders and followers, as did an incident during the 2004 Hikoi over the same foreshore and seabed. A week before that hikoi ended, all eight Taitokerau iwi Chairs had agreed to sign and deliver a letter to the government condemning its decision to legislate away the right of Maori to have title to the foreshore and seabed investigated. Then one of the Chairs refused to sign. He felt the best protection for his iwi’s interests was to distance them from the ‘radical’ face of the Hikoi that was so infuriating Helen at the time. His people were not happy with him, BUT – they wanted to keep it hush-hush.

Both these hikoi illustrate the power paradox in a nutshell. On the one hand, how do leaders protect and advance their people’s interests without looking like a kupapa? And, on the other hand, how do people pull their leaders into line without turning it into a bloodbath inside a media circus? Mines everywhere!

My experience is that there is only one sure way through that minefield. It’s found in the example of the greatest leader ever who simply said, “Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister … and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.” Then he said, “Follow me.” Of course at least one of his erstwhile followers proved more lethal than any mine. But the simple principle of leadership that serves arose triumphant with him and remains shiningly valid into eternity.

Being a Maori leader engaged with the Crown can also be that simple … but it’s never going to be any easier. Such a paradox!

THE MOST DANGEROUS PERSON

I know a little bubba who was born with cross eyes. Because his brain gets a different picture from each eye, it blocks out everything from the weaker one. If the problem isn’t fixed while he’s still young, his brain will eventually learn to simply ignore the pictures from his weaker eye; and that will be that.

A permanently blind eye is a problem. But worse still is the ethical blind spot that, here in this country and century, ignores the theft of land and resources and allows them to continue unchecked to the present day. These thefts happen on the back of a history where, after war proved too costly, the thieves simply changed their tools of trade to pen, paper, wig and gown – and konei! In their view, European superiority had beaten Maori inferiority and the Devil take the hindmost.

This vexed history is further complicated by the fact that, nowadays, the thief and his employees are likely to be our rellies and are, often as not, quite likable people.

The thing to understand is that everyone in this country has had a world view beamed into us from birth that’s predicated on key messages such as – Customary title is toast, the Crown holds the Radical title for everything under the topsoil, the Government can issue Fee Simple title to everything above it.

The problem with those messages and world view is that they’re highly questionable, clash hugely with the dictates of good conscience and are totally at odds with the simple facts – Maori were never conquered, we never ceded sovereignty, and Customary title is not extinguished.

How on earth can we reconcile these opposing world views? We can’t. Instead, to stay sane, we have to either ignore the view from our weaker eye or forcefully over-ride the view from our stronger eye. We can choose either to be brave … or to be governed.

Since the original series of thefts took place, apart from discarding the wig and gown for anything other than ceremonial events, regularly updating the pen and paper, and occasionally shifting shape between local and national governing bodies – the thieves and their agents haven’t had to put too much energy into keeping power in New Zealand.

But there is someone who has the power to upset and change their world. They fear him above all others and will do anything to marginalize and ignore him. Who is it? It’s the one who, regardless of age, gender, race or religion, sees things as they really are, and is totally unafraid.

If we think about the legitimacy of any of this, it could me or you. It could even be a little bubba. Very dangerous.

Say, "Cheese!"

Last year, I wrote a column encouraging our people to plant gardens in back yards to help take the bite out of the cost of kai and gain some measure of self-sufficiency. Perhaps they should also get a cow. I ‘had a cow’ last week when I examined a bill from PAK ‘n SAVE after purchasing bread, milk, butter and cheese. Statistics show cheese up 45.5 per cent, milk up 21.1 per cent, bread up 13.1 per cent and butter up 86 per cent over the past year. And families are hurting.

The experts blame drought caused by global warming and the high costs of feed grain because corn and wheat are being sold to produce ethanol. But this shift didn’t happen overnight. The truth is that food is becoming “the new black” – as in oil. If OPEC taught the world anything it was that fortunes could be made if you can control world markets. Take cheese for example.
Every Friday at 10am, in Green Bay, Wisconson, half a dozen major producers set the price for American style cheeses like Cheddar, Monterey and Colby, most of it for export. Although there are approximately 40 members of the National Cheese Exchange, only a few show up for a meeting that typically lasts half an hour. So if the Yanks can get $12 for a kilogram of cheese on the world market, well, why shouldn’t we? All Fonterra had to do was take their cut and give farmers a massive raise so they would produce more.

Since cows become more valuable on the hoof instead of in the freezer, the price of mince increases. Sheep and pork producers follow suit because … well, because they can. And, here in Aotearoa, all of these prices are subject to GST. So the government wins too. Is it too large a stretch of imagination to picture food riots in Kaitaia, the same as are happening in the Third World?

In the short term, there is a lot families can do: Plant gardens. Begin baking your own bread. Cut down on the amount of meat and dairy products purchased and take your whanau fishing more often. One thing in our favour is that dairy and meat products have a limited shelf life. So, not buying cheese, milk, and butter one week should result in sale prices the following week.

In the long term, it is time our government eliminated GST on foodstuffs. Countries like Canada do not charge GST on food purchased in the supermarket. The government argues that it would be too difficult to parse food purchases from the list of taxable goods. But if the Saudis and Venezuelans can get away with charging their citizens 12 cents a litre for petrol, then why is it we are paying 12 dollars for a block of cheese?

Talking to Each Other

Contrary to the impression this column might give, my whanau definitely come before my hapu and iwi. Because, at the end of a hard day’s mahi, it’s they who put their arms around me and make it all worthwhile. So, regretfully, I had to decline going to a couple of hui this weekend – one out at Taipa resort, the other at Mangamuka marae.

Both were called by the Crown to give Iwi Maori in Te Hiku a chance to talk to each other about our shared land claim interests – you know, the land on the boundaries (like parts of Kaitaia) and the stuff that’s spread far and wide (like the forest, the mountain and the beach).

Now, you’d think that the last thing we need is for the Crown to hold hui so we can talk to each other. Isn’t that that what we do every chance we get? Think about it – kettle korero (over the teacups), church (behind the hymnal), sport (inside the ruck), school (on the blackboard jungle), Pak N’ Save (in the aisles), radio and TV (across the airwaves), print media (between the lines), hui (on the floor) – you name it and we’re talking. Hika! Even the basket cases amongst us get to be heard. Engari, it’s all good. We can use Crown hui as well. As long as we don’t think they’re the only game in town.

That’s why it puzzles me to hear someone turn up to a Crown hui and say, “Man, it took the Crown to get us together.” It did not! The main reason both Crown and Maori come to those hui is to keep an eye on each other and make sure the story doesn’t get changed in our absence. I think it’s called ‘healthy skepticism.’ For example, it sometimes seems the Crown would prefer that the different iwi only tell each other what it agrees we can tell. Well, well, well. If one iwi managed to get a better deal out of the Crown than anyone else, is it seriously expected to just sit on it? Kei hea te iti me te rahi?

Now, of course, the Crown want everyone to talk to each other – ka pai tena. But, instead of trying to script what we can and cannot say to each other, it’s going to have to trust us. Now, there’s a novel idea!

From my viewpoint as an iwi insider, we’re working things out. Not always nicely, no. But resolutely, yes. So I say to the mandated negotiators for each iwi – haere tonu atu. You’ve done the hard yards to get your people’s mandate to speak for them. Carry on getting their guidance. Carry on inviting them to the hui you have with the Crown and with each other. Carry on putting your cards on the table with each other. Send your ops people in to liberate some cash from the Crown to resource your talks, then let it know what you finally decide about our shared interests. But, above all else, carry on talking to each other.

That way I can stay home of a weekend and relax with my family each night knowing the story remains straight.

Talking to the Crown

When dealing with matters that impact on our existence as Maori, the general rule of thumb is that we’d prefer to talk with another Maori because it saves us a lot of time not having to first explain ourselves. The exception that proves this rule is when it comes to Treaty Negotiations with the Crown.

I firmly believe that no Maori should ever front for the Crown in these negotiations. Not even the List MPs of Maori descent. Their world view and loyalties are always going to be ambiguous, even compromised. I tell you, it’s too awful watching them walk the tightrope between Claimants and Crown.

So, when Michael Cullen (Hon Dr, Dep. PM, MICOTOWN) walked into Tatai Hono marae last Friday for his first meeting with the Ngati Kahu Land Claim Negotiators, we were pretty pleased to see him. And I have to say that he seemed genuinely pleased to be there too – comfortable even.

His lineup included Parekura Horomia (Minister of Maori Affairs), Mita Ririnui (Deputy Minister in Charge of Treaty of Waitangi Negotiations), John Clark (Crown Kaumatua), Lewis Moeau (Te Puni Kokiri), Ben White (Office of Treaty Settlement Manager), Paul James (Office of Treaty Settlements Director), Maureen Hickey (Office of Treaty Settlements Researcher) and 3 others.

On the Ngati Kahu side were our Head Claimant, Ven Timoti Flavell, plus our Negotiators, Prof Margaret Mutu, Rev Lloyd Popata and Te Kani Williams. Best of all, there were more than two dozen of our own people who’d traveled from Kaitaia, Taupo and a few places in-between to keenly watch and listen.

Picture it. Mandated Negotiators on either side of a large table start to talk. Then, as the marae acoustics swallow the sound of their voices, Ngati Kahu people move quietly and respectfully to sit at the table beside Professor, Reverend, Venerable and Minister. Not a word is spoken by anyone other than the Negotiators. No-one is the least discomfited. Everyone hears and sees clearly what is said. With democracy, dignity and respect the business is concluded rapidly and efficiently. Within two hours positions are stated, next steps are negotiated and the meeting is closed.

When Waitangi Tribunal Judge, Carrie Wainwright, directed the Crown and Ngati Kahu to re-enter negotiations last month, she hoped for a positive outcome under this new Minister In Charge of Treaty of Waitangi Negotiations. Now that we have held our first meeting with him, my impression is that, for the first time ever, Ngati Kahu is talking directly to the Crown without the filter of third parties pushing themselves between the Minister’s ear and our mouthpieces.

That’s a good thing for us as Maori. How good? Only time will tell.

KEEPING IT HONEST

The most fascinating thing about hui for me, especially those between opposing groups, is watching the faces and bodies of the people who sit and listen while others stand and talk. Because it’s the faces and bodies that tell me more about what’s likely to happen after a hui than anything the speakers might say during it. That’s why, after years of faithfully writing entire books of who said what at any number of hui, I gave it up and opted to sit back and quietly watch instead.

So what do the faces and bodies tell me? Well, a darned sight more honest stuff than the spoken word generally. Take one simple gesture, like a chin in hand, for example.

Now, I’ve noticed that when the supporters of a speaker put their chin in hand, they tend to lean forward – they nod, they smile, they even laugh. Their approval is easy to read. On the other hand when those who oppose a speaker put their chins in their hands, they tend to do it while leaning back and their language, although just as honest, is also a lot more subtle. Interestingly it often has prayer-like tones such as, “Oh God, do we have to hear this again?” As other parts of their bodies come into play, this language gets more fervent. Eyes slowly closed with a sigh while in this position say, “God give me strength to not scream.” Pushed out lips and a raised eyebrow signify a mutter of, “S’truth! I doubt it.” An added snort turns the mutter into a full-blooded shout of, “God smite them!” or something similar.

All in all, after hearing this kind of body language at a hui, I can accurately predict that afterwards it will be business as usual. And, depending on whether they think their side’s view carried the day or not, the listeners will say the hui was either another missed opportunity or a another lucky escape.

So, if no-one is clearly knocked out or beaten, what value is there in holding hui between opposing sides at all? Heaps actually. Quite apart from the theatre put on, hui give newbies and observers a chance to witness, maybe even understand, the dynamics between the sides. They also make incremental progress one way or the other as hearts and minds are won or lost. And, although there will likely be some undisciplined shouters there, hui are generally a much more civilized way of airing differences than most other ethnicities have come up with to date.

To read a hui accurately it helps to know the people and their views, but it’s not essential. The most important thing is to be honest in your own body language. Because if what you are feeling is out of synch with what your body is saying, you will just make yourself sick and any outcomes of that hui will not be true.

And if you’re lucky you’ll get to hear a priceless piece of wisdom like this one I heard just last week courtesy of Ted Jones of Ngaitakoto, “To have strength you need Unity. To have Unity you need Trust. To have Trust you need Honesty.”

Honesty. Can’t be beaten really.

WISDOM AND ORDER

Most of you will know that Ngati Kahu has had claims lodged with the Waitangi Tribunal since 1984 and that these claims have been partially heard and were reported on by the Tribunal in the Muriwhenua Land Report of 1997. You may also know that in 2003 Ngati Kahu and the Crown opened direct negotiations, and that those talks broke down in 2006 after the Crown tried to sell claim lands at Rangiputa. What you may not know is that, in November 2006, Ngati Kahu applied to the Waitangi Tribunal for Remedies Hearings on its claims, and that two weeks ago, on April 10th, the Tribunal held an interlocutory conference to help it decide if it could and should hold those hearings. The written direction of Judge Carrie Wainwright dated 11th April 2008 is reproduced below.

Having heard submissions today, I adjourn this application until Thursday 10th July 2008 to allow parties to progress further negotiations. At the judicial conference on 10 July, the applicant and the Crown will update me on what has occurred in the intervening three months. The applicant will indicate at that stage whether it wishes its application to be further adjourned or withdrawn, or whether it wishes the Tribunal to issue a substantive decision on its application that was the subject of today’s hearing. Meanwhile, if for any reason the Crown is not in a position to focus on negotiating a settlement with Ngati Kahu in the next three months, it should inform the Tribunal as soon as possible. Otherwise the judicial conference will reconvene on Level 2 of the Tribunal’s offices at 10 am on 10 July 2008. The Registrar is directed to send a copy of this direction to all those on the notification list for Wai 45, the combined record of inquiry for the Muriwhenua inquiry.

Following on from this direction Ngati Kahu has initiated a meeting with Minister Cullen for the 2nd May. Interestingly and concurrently, his officials in the Office of Treaty Settlements have been very persistent in trying to get Ngati Kahu involved in a Crown-initiated Muriwhenua regional forum. Why these officials would think it was in Ngati Kahu’s interests to be dragged back into a time-warped morass of non-mandated and divided interests is a mystery. Ngati Kahu is already talking with its neighbouring hapu and iwi. It doesn’t want or need the Crown to impose itself into those discussions, especially before they have even met with Minister Cullen. As Judge Wainwright said in her oral decision on the 10th, “Ngati Kahu is clearly a very well organised and capable group who are wanting resolution.” She is right. If Ngati Kahu think the Crown may be able to assist, it will ask. But until then the Crown would be well-advised to exercise some wisdom and order.

The Tribunal direction of 11th April gave Ngati Kahu and the Crown exactly 90 (ninety) days to progress negotiations. There are now 80 (eighty) days left. The options for both parties are really quite simple and crystal clear. Either focus on progressing negotiations – or not.

OUR DAD - Jim Herbert

Our Dad was born on 28th December 1927 at his grandparents’ (Jim and Ruth Enright’s) home on Kohe Rd. near where my cousin Eddie Tamati now lives. He was the second of Ray and Alma Herbert’s 20 kids – Maude being the oldest.

For the next few years they lived in and around the Hokianga with brief stays in Owhata, Waikeri, Herekino and other places where there was work to be had. Every 2 – 3 years another baby joined them. Millie (Rogers), Alan, Don, Steve and Laurie have all since passed. But George, Dee (Masters), Frank, Bet (Waipouri), Marie (Kite), Ron (Tamati), Jean (Beazley), Margaret (Kaye) and, of course, our Dad, are all still going strong. 5 other siblings were stillborn. Talk about the good old days!

Alma was a fierce woman who did not hesitate to belt her kids (or, for that matter, other people’s kids and even her husband) if they stepped out of line. Ray was softer. But both parents were strong on education and sport, hard work and community service, loyalty and honesty. So our Dad and his siblings all grew up knowing how to work a farm and run a household from an early age.

Eventually Ray and Alma settled over the hill from the Kohe Rd. farm on another family property that is now owned by Averil Sanderson. From there our Dad started school at the old convent which used to be located on the beach at Pawarenga. Alongside his Wikitera and Enright cousins, and under the strict eye of nuns like Sister Cyril and Sister Peters, he learned the three R’s (Reading. ‘Riting and ‘Rithmetic) plus the catechism.

Then in 1940 (aged 12) Dad was sent to St Peter’s Maori Boys’ College (Hato Petera) on the North Shore where his best mate was Tom Topia (brother to Emma Pirini and Rosie Samson). Tragically less than 2 years later Tom was killed in a farming accident on the College farm. That was a hard time for our Dad. However he remained at St Peters and continued to learn the art of farming, which in those days meant everything from animal husbandry to carpentry.

By the time World War II ended Dad was 17. He scored his first paid job under manpower laws as a porter at Rawene hospital. This was not his dream job, and as soon as manpower laws were lifted he was off. Over the next 10 years he worked all over the country on various post-War projects like the dams at Cossyes Creek and Huia. He also did stints as a bushman, a driver and a deer hunter. It didn’t matter how hard the working conditions or how long the hours, as long as a job involved a little travel and adventure and offered reasonable company and pay – Dad was up for it. But eventually the single man’s life lost its hold on him.

Coming from a loving but unsentimental home, Dad rarely returned to Pawarenga for visits during those years. In fact after one 4 year break he came home and was so puzzled at the presence of several little girls in their home that he had to ask his mother, “Whose kids are these?” He was surprised when she snapped at him, “Mine!”

It was on one of his rare return trips to Pawarenga that our Dad first laid eyes on Gloria Rollo. She was home visiting her parents (Andrew and Bunny) who were working for Bunny’s mother (Erina Hunia) on the farm at Te Ahuahu that is now owned by William Hunia. Anyway the rest, as they say, is history.

Dad and Mum married on 23rd December 1955 and initially lived in Auckland. Not long after I was born in 1956 they returned to Pawarenga to work and eventually take over the Kohe Rd. farm. A few years later they bought Mana Muru’s farm in Awaiti where me, my 3 sisters (Cathy Chapman, Pat Stephens and Jenni Herbert) and 3 brothers (Bo, John and Aaron) were all raised, and where Dad and Mum still live today.

It’s impossible to do 80 years of living any justice in 2 pages. But when I think of our Dad there are some key things that come to mind. The second of these things are the words, “Hard” and “Work.” In fact, just this spring I heard Dad say with real joy, “Man! A body loves to work!” I just grinned, because I know none of his kids loves to work anywhere near as much. For sure, none of us can keep up with him, even now.

So now our Dad is about to turn 80. No mean feat for anyone, let alone a Maori man from Pawarenga. Along the way he’s had happy and sad times. I know he blames me and my sisters for his baldness and grey hairs! But, by and large, I think that we (along with our spouses, kids and mokopuna) have brought him more pleasure than pain. Of course he’s also seen his fair share of tragedies.

So, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of our Dad? Our Mum, of course! For 52 years, ALL our Dad’s good times have been made better and all his bad times have been made bearable by having his sweetheart (our Mum) beside him.

Happy 52th Anniversary Our Mum and Dad (23rd December). And a HAPPY, HAPPY HAPPY 80th Birthday Our Dad, Grandpa and Papa (28th December).

From Anahera and Doug, Cathy and Denny, Pat and Hepa, Bo and Chriss, John and Colene, Jenni and Steve and Aubrey, Aaron and Bonita and all your mokopuna and moko-mokos. We love you so much.

To help celebrate our Dad’s birthday, there will be a Mass at Pawarenga on Sunday 30th December. Koutou ma, please come and join us.

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PARTNERSHIP PLATFORMS

Many years ago a friend offered to take me to work on his prized 1000cc Yamaha. It turned out to be a horrific ride for us both. In my case the fear factors were – I had no helmet on (they weren’t compulsory at the time), I was wearing only a light summer dress with platform-soled sandals, and he was going really fast. As my wind-whipped eyelids peeled back I remember thinking two things, “OMG – I probably look like Marty Feldman!” and, “Never again!” How right I was.

At the end of the trip I wobbled my way into work. Then I realised – “I’m not wobbling, my sandals are.” A quick look revealed an exhaust pipe-shaped hollow of melted synthetic in both soles that gave my every step the look of the proverbial drunken sailor. “Look at my shoes!” I wailed. But my friend was down on his knees staring tensely at his bike’s exhaust pipes.

Our friendship did not develop any further. In fact it didn’t survive the experience at all. But I learned a key principle from it – whether we’re going to make or break in a partnership depends on how far we’re willing to compromise. Out of those compromises will fall our bottom lines. And where those lie is best found out before we formalize the partnership.

Looking at the potential of the newly sworn in Far North District Council I’m reminded of my Yamaha experience with a few little variations.

The guy at the wheel of the Council bike looks and sounds the part of a seasoned rider (100%). But his pillion partners look like a fashion grab bag – some in leathers, others in chiffon. Still, he seems to be in control. Of course this bike is not blatting freely down the Awanui Straight. Rather, it’s inside a small arena being cheered by a hardened audience that seems prepared to give the bike and its riders a newbie’s chance. But it’s only a matter of time before some of them start lobbing rocks, even explosives, on to the track. And, believe me, this crowd will not be averse to seeing blood on the ground if or when the bike and its riders wipe out. Add to the spectacle one or two rogue riders on their own bikes, running their own races, and there’s always a prang in the offing.

The frame of the Council bike itself is another matter altogether. Instead of resembling high tensile steel, it’s more like bamboo with a bad case of borer. Shoot! How’d you like to try strapping a 1000cc engine on something like that and opening the throttle? To top it all off, waiting in the pit-stop to service the Council bike is a crew who know that the riders will take any glory, while any blame will be theirs. In the words of the immortal Charlie Chan, “Vel-ly intelesting.”

His Mayoralty and partners will have considered all these things, I’m sure. They’ll have plans (either already in place or being scoped) to replace this valve, reinforce that joint, hold everything together, keep it all on course.

My advice to them all is simple. If they want to stay on this particular bike and not get booted off at the next pit-stop, then they’d do well to watch where they put their feet.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

GONE FISHING

You have to give Winston Peters credit for consistency. A year out from the next general election and he’s rat-a-tat-tatting the same boogie-man drumbeat about Maori ‘separatists’ that he’s banged out every election since 1993.

His timing, like his dress sense, is as impeccable as ever. But, unlike his hair, the pool of ready supporters for the message has thinned somewhat. So, has natural attrition amongst the Grey Power generation forced him to go a-fishing in browner waters? Is that behind his recent call for Maori to turn their backs on the Maori Party and, presumably, climb into his open arms?

In a way it’s a backhanded compliment to Tariana and co – a concession that heaps of Maori support them at present. But how could Winston seriously think that he and NZ First would be the natural next choice for any disaffected MP’ers? Sure – his cheeky, Ngapuhi boy from the backblocks grin, coupled with the aforesaid hair and suits, all hold undeniable appeal. So too does the ease with which he chews up and spits out Pakeha reporters. Engari, Hone does Ngapuhi styles, cheek and intimidation even better. So nah … those charms alone wouldn’t win over loads of MP’ers to NZ First.

Could it be that this time round Winitana is offering Maori something more cultural – like, maybe, a claim to being matakite? Why not? Before the police have charged any of the recent detainees as terrorists, even before the solicitor general has released his decision as to whether they’ll be charged with anything more than breaching firearms laws, Winston has fingered them and the Maori Party as “taxpayer sponsored militant separatists” who “represent apartheid and the destruction of New Zealand values.” That sounds quite bad doesn’t it? Barely half a rung removed from terrorism. What perspicacity! What bollocks!

This brand of politics had its heyday during America’s McCarthy era and its name comes in two versions. Either “BOO!” or “oooh” will do. The second is pronounced with an accompanying quaver in the voice and shiver of the shoulders. Winston does both quite well and he may have a potential audience of 1 in 7 New Zealanders for his message. According to a recent UMR poll that’s how many don’t think the recent “terror raids” were an over-reaction. I’ve never heard of UMR before, but I’d be very surprised if their findings reflected the views of Maori voters.

Mind you, not even the Maori Party can afford to be complacent about the Maori vote. It’s a strange beastie, strong on complex loyalties and defiant of logic. Consider this – even though Labour has again ignored, even trashed, Maori issues this term, it will probably still corner a significant slice of that vote next year. Stranger still is this fact – before the advent of the Maori Party, many Taitokerau constituents would approach National’s Northland MP for help and not bother with the Labour member they’d voted in. Yet they’d never change their allegiance to National. Go figure. You can bet Labour will.

Of course that doesn’t stop Winston pretending to look like he wants to buck the trend amongst Maori voters. But his message to them, in the face of their persistent and growing call for self-determination, sounds odd – somewhere between wondrously frank and sadly desperate. The reason for that is simple – it’s not actually aimed at them.

No. Mister Consistent is once again trolling for votes from amongst nga kaki whero me tangata matuku (the red necks and the frightened) and using Maori as the bait.

E rite tonu. E rite tonu.

Cheers

Alcoholism beats me down and makes this a strange, tense time.
My God lifts me up and shows me this new and exciting time.

Alcoholism silences my laughter.
My God shouts "Cheers!" at me and laughs out loud.

Alcoholism puts a brake on me and makes me sick.

My God opens the throttle and sends shepherds to rescue me.

Alcoholism poisons my marriage.
My God heals my marriage with unconditional love.

Alcoholism hardens my heart and deadens my feelings.
My God softens me with true repentance and forgiveness.

Alcoholism perverts my sexuality.
My God gives me straight and great sex.

Alcoholism brings hate, fear and anger to me.
My God gifts me with serenity, courage and wisdom.

Yay for God!

****************************************************

[D & C 68:6] Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you; and ye shall bear record of me, even Jesus Christ, that I am the Son of the living God, that I was, that I am, and that I am to come.

IGNORANCE IS NOT BLIS

My upbringing, like most people’s, was influenced by things beyond my knowledge and understanding at the time. Things like the potato famines in Ireland, the land clearances in Scotland, and the Huguenot persecutions in France all contributed to my parents’ frugality, religious leanings, strictness and hatred of injustice. They probably also help explain much of my nature.

It’s not surprising that I wasn’t greatly aware of my European history as a kid. It was all such a long time ago and a very long way away. But it still amazes me to this day how absolutely ignorant I was of New Zealand history. Truly – I had no idea of what had been done in this country until I left school and began holding conversations and reading books of my own choice. I was enraged. Youthful ignorance in the face of the facts is one thing. Deliberate suppression of those facts is quite another. Can you imagine the impact on adult Germans if German schools did not teach that country’s full history?

Yet that is what was done here in New Zealand and still is. Our kids are barely exposed to the reality of how power and resources were taken from Maori by the Crown. There’s little specific mention of the well-researched histories told to the Waitangi Tribunal. Very few broadcasters, publishers, educators, public services and public figures in this country are informed by the facts of our history.

All this means that informed adults in this country are hugely outnumbered by the woefully ignorant. It’s no wonder, then, that most New Zealanders, renowned for our fair-mindedness, can draw the dotted line between what was done to our Irish, Scots and Huguenot ancestors and their fierce resistance to those injustices – yet fidget like someone farted when faced with this country’s history of colonial and contemporary injustices and the indigenous resistance to them.

The prevailing desire of the ignorant is to romanticise these islands as a haven to which our many different cultures came for a new start and to ignore their human history. Is not ignorance, after all, a form of bliss? Sorry folks – until we face, teach, accept and honour the fact that Aotearoa was not, is not and will never be just a pretty piece of geography with no history, there’s no “new” start. Rather, there’s a nagging sense of dis-comfort – even dis-ease.

Anyway, back to my growing years. As kids we had to be in bed early. Even as teens, we were only allowed out alone after dark to go eeling. Any other night event – a dance, the pictures – and we had one or both parents for company. I think they figured if we were doing something useful we couldn’t get up to tutu. Wrong. The stuff they didn’t want us doing at a dance could be done just as easily (probably more easily actually) on a riverbank. Let me tell you – we enjoyed our nights out eeling. Until the night our dad, suspicious of the lack of eels, checked on us then kicked our butts all the way home. It was about then I learned – ignorance never is bliss. Seriously.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

ALARM BELLS RING

DATELINE: 23rd October 2027 : 10:02:24

[Morning Report – Native Radio]

STUDIO: In breaking news, the Regional Anti-Tourism and Cultural Hegemony Team carried out dawn raids across Northland this morning making several arrests under the Tourism Suppression Act. Amongst those detained is well-known activist and suspected tourist operator, L. R. Mist, along with a busload of Chinese nationals.

RATCHET Leader, Howdy Narrow, says there is enough evidence to warrant this morning’s detentions and subsequent closed Court hearings. Our reporter, Patai Ngawari, was at Mr Narrow’s media conference in Auckland.

PN: Team Leader, what evidence have you got of illegal tourism in Northland?
HN: Enough.
PN: The Court hearings for those arrested have been closed to the media. Why is that?
HN: We don’t want the evidence to embarrass anyone.
PN: Does that mean the evidence wouldn’t stand up to public scrutiny?
HN: Nope. It means it’s sensitive and private.
PN: Sensitive and private to whom?
HN: Them and us, of course.
PN: So the closed Court hearings are to protect the alleged tourists?
HN: Absolutely. They have rights too. Next!

STUDIO: Prime Minister, Domina Trix, has confirmed that she was briefed by Mr Narrow months ago on the suspected tourism operations, and says she is satisfied they pose a threat to national security. She spoke to Huakina Waha in Wellington earlier today.

HW: Prime Minister, why are these tourists a threat to our national security?
PM: What basket case are you reporters living in? Our Pacific neighbours have all gone to hell on a banana skin, and you people sit there asking, “ Why?” Let me tell you why pal. Tourism! That’s why! Well – not in my country and not on my watch!

STUDIO: However, co-leader of the Nationalised Labour Party, Daffodil Kee, who also spoke to Huakina in Wellington earlier today, is highly critical of the raids.

HW: Ms Kee, have you managed to speak to any of the alleged tourists?
DK: Yes. And I can say they very upset to be in this predicament. They say they come here on a goodwill spiritual journey and are just mortified to be accused of tourism.
HW: What will happen to them now?
DK: They not sure. But, for shore, they wanna go home to China as soon as.
HW: Do you believe the raids were justified?
DK: Hell no! They set this country’s Asia-Pacific relations back twenny-five years, AND they endanger our nuclear-free status. China is super pissed off! They even talking about no All Blacks at next Rugby World Cup in Rewi Alley City!"

STUDIO: Meanwhile Native Radio has learned that today’s highest profile detainee, L. R. Mist, will be shipped to a holding cell on White Island tomorrow.

From his own cell on the island, long-time and venerated detainee, Tame Iti, made a statement via his mainland spokesperson. We close this bulletin with Winitana Petera speaking from Tauranga.

WP: Mr Iti has asked me to pass his best wishes and encouragement on to the Chinese cuzzies. He also has this simple message for L. R. Mist – 'Welcome to my world, bro.'” No! No questions!

STUDIO: Hei konei. Hei kona.

Just Spreading the News

PAKEHA POWER

When I started my working life as a trainee nurse in 1974 one of the first things I learned was that it was just as dangerous for a body to be over-hydrated as it was to be dehydrated. I already knew having too little water over a long enough time meant eventual death. But it was news to me that taking in too much water diluted the sodium in a body to dangerously low levels, producing a condition called hyponatremia that, left untreated, would also kill.

This latter is an awfully close analogy for what has happened to the Maori presence in local government since my nursing days. Back then, what is now known as the Far North District, was still made up of Mangonui, Whangaroa, Bay of Islands and Hokianga Counties, as well as Kaitaia and Kaikohe Borough Councils. Maori had a strong presence in each Council, including at least one Mayor and numerous Councillors.

The pivot on which the six bodies eventually turned into one, was the Hokianga, where Maori were an overwhelming majority. Determined to keep the Hokianga identity alive within any larger grouping, people like my parents resisted and roundly rejected the initial amalgamation proposal that wanted to split them and put North Hokianga in the Kaitaia Ward, South Hokianga in the Kaikohe Ward. A revised proposal that created two distinct Hokianga Wards (North and South) able to elect a single Councillor each was finally approved by a slimmish majority.

Elsewhere in the District, the nod had already been given to establish Wards representing North Cape, Doubtless Bay and Whangaroa (with one Councillor each), as well as Kaitaia, Kerikeri, Kawakawa and Kaikohe (with two Councillors each). So, once Hokianga capitulated, the way was cleared for the creation of the Far North District Council with its original nine Wards and thirteen Councillors plus the Mayor.

Since then, the Hokianga has been butchered, nine Wards have been collapsed into three, and Maori representation and participation in decision-making at Council level has bombed. In fact Maori have been so comprehensively washed out of local government throughout the motu that many on both sides (Local Government and Maori) have started to act like we don’t matter to each other. Disaffection and disengagement are very dangerous paths to carry on walking down.

Recognising this, Government finally passed the Local Government Act in 2002, part of which requires Councils to come up with ways and means for the Maori vote to count and the Maori perspective to be represented. The Far North District Council has really struggled to make much headway on this matter, and it probably always will until the Pakeha voters of the district get their heads around two facts. First, Maori are an important part of our body politic, without which we will simply not be healthy. Second, the power to include Maori in local government lies in your hands.

In this last week of postal voting for a Mayor and nine Councillors, keep in mind what has happened to Hokianga and to Maori representation in this District.

Kia tupato. Kia whakaaronui. Kia ora.
Be careful. Be wise. Be well.

OLD HURTS / OLD HABITS

How long does it take to break a habit? What lessons need to be learned before we can say we've conquered it?

I learned early the habit of returning pain for pain. I wasn't born with it - I was taught it. The first hiding I remember I was only 3. The physical shock of it is no longer felt in my nerves and, though it's damage went cell deep, I'm still intact at a sub-cellular level, in my spirit. That's who I really am. That's what allows me to continuously rise above my old habits and hurts.

For the longest time my heart was broken and rebroken every time Dad hit me. I loved him and wanted his approval, but couldn't bring myself to accept his tyranny, no matter how much pain he inflicted. So I learned to read the danger signs and I learned to defend myself when the attacks came. And that readiness to fight defined my life. Verbal, physical, intellectual, spiritual, whatever - I returned violation for violation. People soon learned to leave me alone. Even those who could hurt me bad knew it would come at a cost to them. And no-one ever saw me cry. Never.

That all changed with the advent of the Church in my life. Chev rarely saw or heard much more than a frown or a stern word from me. Determined to break the intergenerational anger and violence, I taught and raised her with a heartfelt gentleness. You can see it in how she is today. I gave and took delight in forgiveness and understood that the past could be healed.

Then I got married and, ever since, I've struggled to hang on to the peace of the gospel in my heart. As my husband has battled an illness he thought he'd overcome years before, I've similarly descended into dark places I thought I'd left behind.

This morning I felt like I was losing the struggle, that I was pointlessly repeating the cycle I'd lived with my father. Then it came to me that there are lessons I hadn't learnt, hadn't even encountered really, in my daughter experience. Lessons that only my wife experience with Doug can teach me. Some are old, many are new. All of them are blowing me away.

I'm learning that when we married I truly did become one with him and it's been a shock to the system. E.g. It might be Doug's Black Dog, but I know the bite of its teeth too. They feel like my father's fists. Another example - it was my blood brother who suicided but Doug knew the pain of it as intimately as I did. We are one.

Next lesson - I'm learning that I have to take personal responsibility for my own shit and simply observe his. I really struggle with this one. (Yes Doug - I know, you know. And yes - I'm not good at it yet. But I will learn baby. I will learn to not confuse my responsibilities as your wife with your responsibilities as my husband.)

I could go on discovering lessons for hours. I don't have the time here and now. Suffice to say that I'm learning that I still have some lessons to learn before I can truly say that I've broken the habit of being hurt and hurting back.

God help me.

MY HUSBAND'S HEROES

One of our family’s favourite heroes is ex-All Black, John Kirwan. We’ve never met him, but John’s public acknowledgement of his depression has been life-saving for us. Another favourite of ours is the actor Owen Wilson – movie star, good-looking, young, talented … and just diagnosed with depression after a suicide attempt last month. The Black Dog has bitten another sufferer.

It was Winston Churchill (another of my husband’s heroes) who invented the nickname, "Black Dog," to describe his depression. As is true with all metaphors, it speaks volumes. It implies both familiarity and an attempt at mastery. It says, while that dog may bite every now and then, he's still only a dog. He can be cajoled sometimes and locked up other times.

Yes. My husband also lives with that Black Dog, as do Drew Barrymore, Billy Joel, Harrison Ford, and now Owen Wilson, to name but a few. All of them are highly intelligent and creative people who happen to suffer from recurrent depression. Their illness often acts as a spur. Aware of how low they can sink, they propel themselves, when well, into activity and achievements that the rest of us can only regard with awe.

In his book, Churchill's Black Dog, Kafkas's Mice & Other Phenomena of the Human Mind, Anthony Storr talks about the way the demons of the mentally ill can become angels for the rest of us, since they impel their sufferers to rise above themselves – taking those of us who live with and love them along on their peculiar and soaring rides.

Storr takes the approach that a "depressive nature" and feeling unloved go hand in hand. Often they take compensatory steps, i.e., "If I can't be loved, I'll find a way to be admired." Another name for this is ambition. Churchill's was apparently legendary and laden with fantasy – which, oddly enough, may have been exactly what was needed in that particular time, place, and circumstance.

Another bit of fall-out from feeling unloved is hostility, and Storr suggests that never has any depressive had such a wonderful opportunity for venting his hostility as did Churchill. He had an enemy worthy of the word, an unambiguous tyrant whose destruction occupied him fully and invigorated him totally year in and year out. It makes me wonder – if all depressives could battle obvious and external wickedness in this way, would they cease being depressed?

Some time ago, my husband posted these words on his blog at http://idiggraves.blogspot.com/
“People do not handle the insane very well. Support workers in doctor's offices don't look you in the eye when they talk to you. Pharmacy staff lecture you publicly about taking the cocktail of medications that keep you going. Family members resent the constant attention you require and begin to compete for attention with their own drama. Work associates avoid you, or bother you with questions like, ‘How are you today?’ Of course you lie and say, ‘Capital. Any better and I couldn't stand it!’ The insane have become the pariah's of our culture. We have closed down mental institutions to save money. We medicate the poop out of nuts and hope for the best.”

When my husband is unwell, we do often meet with misunderstanding – even hostility or fear. It comes when people, who are totally ignorant of the Black Dog’s fangs sunk deep into his psyche, think he’s being over the top and react to his behaviour in ways that feed the illness. We don’t blame them. When we can, we tell them about it.

That’s why my husband’s heroes are people who live with the Black Dog and talk openly and honestly about the mongrel. Heroes, like John Kirwan, who increase everyone’s understanding and acceptance of mental illness. Heroes, like Doug Graves, who make it possible for this column to be written.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

NONE SO BLIND

My late teens were a time when I was afflicted with three things that many teens still suffer apparently – vanity, poverty and a flirtation with delinquency. In my case it meant I refused to wear my glasses but couldn’t afford contacts, and occasionally sought solace in a bottle. To say I was delinquent is probably too dramatic. More like a tipsy mole than a gang moll really.

Now, according to a recent study out of Harvard, that part of the brain that deals with higher thought, anticipation, planning and goal-directed behaviour doesn’t mature until around 24 or 25, while the lower brain that deals with emotion and gut reactions is fully up and running between ages 11 to 17. So, daft though it seems to me now, that’s why it was once more important to my teenage brain for me to look good than to see good.

Engari, now that I’m old(er) I still see worrying signs of poor judgment in myself and other so-called adults. One instance of this is the way we are not coming to grips with the Kyoto protocol and its likely impact on our businesses, land use and climate.

The latest announcement out of Wellington that carbon credits will go to forest owners should make every Maori in Te Hiku sit up and go, “hmmm”. The biggest existing source of carbon credits and sinks in our neighbourhood are the forests currently growing on Maori land at Aupouri, Parengarenga, Waikeri, Epikauri, Owhata, Tapuwae, Te Puna Toopu O Hokianga and other pockets throughout the Far North. They are already major contributors to the economic life of every one of us in this region, not just the forestry contractors and the millworkers who are always on the front of any industry downturn. Without them our climate and land use would be very different. Ask anyone who has lived here longer forty years and they’ll get a faraway look in their eyes as they talk about earth-cracking droughts and land-consuming sand drifts on the Aupouri peninsula, or the back-breaking work of clearing ti-tree and blasting old kauri stumps for small-scale dairying in the Hokianga. They have an impact on the livelihoods of our local training providers, construction firms, cartage contractors, road-builders, quarry owners, pastoral farmers, horticulturists, and all the businesses and providers that ply their goods and services in the area.

If these trees were being planted now, they would earn someone a bunch of “carbon credits”. When they’re cut down in the future, they’ll cost someone a bunch of “carbon sinks”. This has big implications for whoever owns the Aupouri forest lands after the Treaty settlement dust settles.

Maori are drowning in new information that requires constant higher level thinking. So the Kyoto protocol has been one of those things where our brains have often defaulted to a gut response of hoha, and we’ve literally failed to see the forests for the trees. Engari it’s as plain as the noses on our faces that, quite apart from trade in the actual pieces of paper that allocate a credit or a sink, their future impact on us is going to be enormous.

Unlike teenagers, iwi with pending Treaty settlements cannot be excused for ignoring these mechanisms. If they do, they risk vain, poverty-stricken delinquency – and there would truly be none so blind.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

LAND OF THE LONG DARK SHADOW

About 320 years before the birth of Christ, Alexander the Great visited the philosopher Diogenes, who was sun-bathing at the time, and asked if there was anything he could do for him. The old man looked up at Alexander and replied, “Yes. Please take your shadow off me.” On 28th April 1840, here in Kaitaia, Pana Kareao convinced his chiefly contemporaries to sign Te Tiriti O Waitangi with these words, “Ko te atakau o te whenua i riro i a te Kuini. Ko te tinana o te whenua i waiho ki nga Maori." (The shadow of the land passes to the Queen, but the substance remains with us). These statements are metaphors for the optimism felt by Maori Rangatira and the Crown at the beginning of this Treaty nation. But they’re also sad counterpoints to the Crown’s broken promises ever since.

Anyway, earlier this year the Waitangi Tribunal put out a report into the impact of the Crown’s Treaty settlement policies on iwi in the Central North Island (CNI). Put simply, the report says that the Crown is setting up Treaty settlement winners and losers and causing once friendly iwi with close blood ties to become enemies over settlement packages.

The thing is that, relative to what the Crown took, these settlements are mingy and mean-spirited. So why, you might ask, do Maori bother fighting over something so piddling? It’s because the settlement assets include key elements of mana and rangatiratanga – cultural cornerstones, like land and authority and the wherewithal for an iwi to enlarge its substance. These are things New Zealanders of all ethnicities have always lived, fought and died over. So it comes as no surprise to see allied iwi going toe to toe over them.

Here in Te Hiku, iwi will have taken note. Te Aupouri, Whaingaroa and Te Rarawa have signed pre-settlement Agreements in Principle with the Crown, and they will not want what has happened in the CNI and Auckland settlements to happen here. Ngati Kuri, Ngaitakoto and Ngati Kahu are not at the table, and they will not want to be left fighting over diminishing settlement resources. All five iwi will not want to return to the Runanga Muriwhenua model of dependence on the patronage of Sir Graham or some other high profile individual, and none of them will have time to waste on ignoring or moaning about their differences. They will all know that they have serious business to do with each other – now.

I have no doubt that if either the Crown or any one of the three AIP iwi in Te Hiku steps one inch too far, the ‘fight filter’ we’ve seen in the past, both here and elsewhere, will click on again. And it will stay on until everyone understands that, while it’s fine for individual iwi to be strong and autonomous, they cannot move too far without the others.

In the end, whether amongst Treaty claimants, Grey Power or Federated Farmers, these ‘fights’ are a filter and protection against the Crown’s tendency to decide who will be the winners and who the losers amongst us. The five iwi now have an opportunity to disagree without being disagreeable, move forward independently but together, and say to the Crown, “Take your shadow off us.”

Hei konei. Hei kona.

UNDERSTANDING THE DIFFERENCES

400 years ago Shakespeare wrote, "There are more things under heaven and earth than are in our understanding." Six years ago, and only four days after he’d arrived in New Zealand, I took my future husband to a tangi. Later that week I listened with amazement to him describe his understanding of the karanga to a mate of his back in Canada. "We stood at the gate until a woman came out of the building and screamed at us," he said, “and then Anahera screamed back at her.”

We have a lot in common – born the same year, grew up on the same programmes and movies and listened to the same music. So this was our first concrete encounter with our cultural differences. His understanding has grown hugely over the years since, and it’s now an inside joke between us to spot "the screamers" at every powhiri or tangi we attend. But for many people in this country, other cultures’ practices still fall well outside their understanding. Throw death, grief and spousal ignorance into the mix, and you have a tragi-comedy in the making.

That’s how I saw it when Billty T James died in 1991. The quirky public comedy of his life flowed into his death when his uncle uplifted him from under his Pakeha wife’s nose and buried him at Taupiri over her objections. The media had a field day at the time, and Howard Morrison criticised his old mate and colleague, saying he should have prepared his whanau better. Just how unprepared James’ whanau were, was shown by the fact that, with his death, his only child from a previous relationship, got to experience her first ever tangi. More than a bit sad, but hardly surprising, really, given the freedom we enjoy in this country to love as we choose.

Inevitably, once the media spotlight faded, most of us forgot Sir Howie’s key message which was bang on. Billy T should have prepared his whanau for the inevitable.

So – have you clearly spelt out to your nearest and dearest what you want to happen after you exit this mortal coil? Have you made a Will yet? What if something happened that didn’t kill you but left you unable to act for yourself? Are there people you’d trust to act as your Power of Attorney and take care of your business if that happened? Preferably you’ll be able to think of two such people and can then give one of them POA over your personal property and the other POA over your personal care.

This month’s very public tangle over the burial of James Takamore represents a lot of private heartbreak for his longtime Pakeha partner and his Maori whanau who are now in a classic Mexican standoff where the only thing they agree on is that he died in Christchurch and is now buried at Kutarere, just about exactly 1000 kilometres north of where his partner and kids want him. It could all so easily have been avoided if the gentleman had prepared his whanau before he died.

Koutou ma, there’s enough mystery about death without leaving your whanau ill-prepared for it. Help them to understand what will happen at your death, and do whatever it takes to ensure the karanga doesn’t turn into a scream. Hei konei. Hei kona.

THE STUPOR CURE

Have you ever had the experience of hearing an embarrassing or hurtful truth from a child, or a simple and certain truth from an adult, and not known what to do with or about it?

There’s a lot in common between the tamaiti who blurts to the smiling newly-introduced adult, “Pooh, you’ve got stink breath,” and the kaumatua who says to his Iwi’s Treaty negotiators, “This government is nothing but a fiction, and that’s a fact, yet you want to settle with them”. Both get either short shrift or a diplomatic sideways shove from the targets of their comments.

A good case can be made for teaching children that not every truth has to be spoken. But for adults who know the difference between tact and teka, we can’t always avoid saying or hearing something that hurts, embarrasses or resembles a lead balloon. How truth-tellers react to the short shrift / sideways shove is up to them. But how we react when we witness these exchanges is totally on us.

Last Thursday I went out to Rangi Point to listen to what was in the Agreement in Principle (AIP) with the Crown to settle all the historical claims of Te Rarawa. Apart from the negotiations team, there were about 25 of us there and the feedback was overwhelmingly positive, excepting two passionate and very well-delivered criticisms.

As I listened to the back and forth of the hui I felt troubled. Not at the detail of what’s in the AIP. That’s pretty much embargoed anyway until after it’s signed. I know, it’s cart and horse stuff and makes no sense to me either. No. What really unsettled me was the fact that we were all there wracking our brains and baring our souls over a process (treaty settlements) with a group (the government) that not one of us openly admitted to believing in or supporting. Why?

Whenever I feel confused I always apply what I call the “stupor cure” taken from a revelation given in 1829 through the Prophet Joseph Smith, part of which says – “… you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that … you shall feel that it is right. But if it be not right … you shall have a stupor of thought that shall cause you to forget the thing which is wrong …”

I tried that here and came up with this clear answer. I choose to give feedback on treaty settlements with this government because I find the alternatives scary and impractical, and I don’t believe it’s necessary to overthrow or step completely outside the process or the government to make change happen.

Wow. That wasn’t easy to write or say. But, having done it, I no longer feel troubled and I either stand upon it, or I stand for nothing.

I recommend the stupor cure to you for use in all your dealings. Hei konei. Hei kona.

A POLITICAL PARABLE

My mokopuna brought me a fistful of freesia plants this morning from his mum’s garden. No. Not freesia flowers. Whole plants, with bunches of flowers attached.

I didn’t have the heart to growl him, but I showed him how, in future, he must use two hands to pick these particular flowers – one to anchor their stem at the bottom, the other to break it. Then we went home and planted the sweet-smelling remains in pots.

If ever there was an object lesson in how hope works, it’s a child planting spring bulbs when they should have been in the ground months before. Hei aha. My mokopuna had no time for that, or any other, inconvenient fact – like, those bulbs had already well and truly sprung. Unlike the fragile freesias he’d so easily uprooted, his hope sprang deep and tough – just like him.

I think there’s more than a little of that same strong feeling in the hearts of most people who allow their name to go forward for elections to public office.

Even allowing for whakahihi (overweening pride) and muru (vengeance), is it not hope that motivates the candidate who, having spent yonks trashing a Council or Board, now wants to lead or be part of it?

And what stronger urge than hope impels the incumbent who, all but invisible for their entire time in office, now comes courting our votes again?

Consider the candidate who has crashed and burned in past elections. While ego or eccentricity might be the vehicle, hope is the fuel that allows them to throw their hat in the ring again.

And what induces the candidate with no experience, or the single issue candidate, to stand? Sure, passion and self-belief are probably a large part of their motivational mix. But hope gives them the guts to take the chance.

Hika! Even the solid performing shoo-in, who couldn’t lose if they tried, has hopes for things like less friction, more gratitude, or higher voter turnout.

I’ve made hopeful investments in what turned out to be hopeless causes, and I’ve seen success stories that started as little more than jokers in the pack. I’ve planted seeds in stony ground and even stood for public office. So to all those hopefuls in this year’s local body elections – ratbag or radical, saint or sinner – I salute the lot, and point them to the parable of the freesia.

The scent of this flower, planted as a hope and harbinger of spring, is fantastic. But, sadly, like a lot of exotics, it’s too, too easy to pull out.

Perhaps I should have written about thistles or ragwort instead.

Maybe there’s more to be learnt from a manuka stump. Hei konei. Hei kona.

HE WERO (A CHALLENGE)

Amber Lundy, Britney Abbott, Alice Perkins, Maria Perkins, Cherie Perkins, Cameron Fielding, Krystal Fielding, Coral Burrows.

In this week’s NZ Listener there’s a challenge from well-known New Zealand children’s author, Jenny Hessell. “Try naming,” she writes, “some Pakeha children who have died as a result of child abuse”. Can you think of one? I couldn’t. Yet, of the 88 children killed in New Zealand between 2001 and 2006 by their whanau or caregivers, 48 were Pakeha, 28 were Maori and 12 were some other ethnicity.

Even when I very deliberately went looking for the dead Pakeha children’s names in the New Zealand Herald’s online search engine, all I could find were these eight – Amber, Britney, Alice, Maria, Cherie, Cameron, Krystal and Coral. And after I found their names, I still could not readily recall the faces or the circumstances behind the deaths of these Pakeha children.

Yet I’ll bet, like me, you could chant the names and case histories of many of the Maori dead at the drop of a hat. Try it.

The reason for this is simple. We have all been very deliberately exposed over and over again by the media in this country to a mantra of Maori names while Pakeha names have just as deliberately been ignored.

I’m not excusing or minimising the deaths of Maori children. I am challenging the inherent, unhelpful and unacknowledged racism of those who choose to portray child abuse as a “failure of ethnicity” rather than a “failure of humanity”. And I am joining Ms Hessell’s call for a radical media experiment over the next 12 months, starting with the writers and contributors to this publication, and comprising four simple actions:

1. Every time you publish an article, write an opinion or letter, or broadcast an item on child abuse, remind the public that about twice as many Pakeha as Maori children die each year at the hands of those who are meant to care for them.
2. If you must recite a list of names, take them only from the larger, Pakeha group of victims.
3. Let’s have investigative journalism that asks what it is about European culture that results in them killing their children.
4. Let’s have panels of Pakeha leaders interviewed about what they are doing to address this problem within their own cultural community.

Amber, Britney, Alice, Maria, Cherie, Cameron, Krystal, Coral and at least 40 other Pakeha children deserve that much at least.

Kanui tena i tenei take!

A reminder: this Friday is the last day for candidate nominations to all local bodies and I am hoping like mad that Maori candidates won’t repeat the mistake of standing against each other in the Far North District Council Wards. Hei konei. Hei kona.

KAUA E WAHANGU (DON'T BE SILENT)

Just one week ago Hone Harawira roundly criticized the “cycle of violence” that is brutalizing Maori whanau. "Never mind pointing the bone at anyone else, and never mind the platitudes,” he said, “We have the power to make a difference, we have the numbers.” He then went on to propose all 21 Maori MPs work together, across party lines, to come up with some solid solutions. The response of Labour’s Maori MPs has been faint.

This week Toby Curtis, spokesperson for the whanau of three of those accused of abusing the toddler Nia Glassie, announced that his whanau are going to openly approach and deal with and to other members of their very large whanau whanui who they believe may also be abusers.

Did you know and do you care that both these men had put these ideas out there? Or do you prefer to believe that the whanau of abusers are uncaring and that Hone is using the racist injustices against aboriginals as a red herring to distract from the terrible injustices against our Tamariki?

You know, it’s a largely hard and thankless task being an activist for the under-dog, especially in the face of the prevailing social climate that would prefer everyone sat down and shut up. I dedicate this poem to all those men and women who stand up and speak out.

He Wahine Toa –
Body carved cleanly and curved like a Crown,

Nursery of new life in its cyclical round.

Bold and bodacious,

Groovy and gracious –
Woman
He Tane Toa –
Body braced strongly for the sneaky blow
Sent special D by those you know
Laughing and loud,

Pukana proud –
Man

History's high waves sweep your shores like a song

Smashing rivers of right over rocks of wrong

Shattering spray lifts and drifts away.

Arced through the shimmer hangs a shining hope

God’s promised token like Maui’s strong rope

Sign of a future both sunlit and sure,

Lightening on faces of foes set in frowns

Who flit through the fight in the cloak of the Crown

Greedy and rotten their people forgotten.

Fight those behind them with God-given skill.

Wielding the Word whose power can kill

Sharp as a knife yet offering life

Laughing and loud
Pukana proud
Man
Fight hard and strong and persevere

Fight for a future free of fear

Lovely loquacious
Bold and bodacious
Woman

COME ON

As the oldest child in my whanau I hated hearing, “You must set the example.” I’d sit there thinking rebelliously, “Oh – come on!” But the higher expectations my parents had of me were always offset by the often unearned goodies that came with being first on the scene – like never having to wear older siblings’ hand-me-downs. No matter how hoha I found it, being the matamua both elevated and obligated me.

And the spotlight has gone on Maori leadership again this week for the same reason. Sure, they get to go, do and be things that many of them would not otherwise go, do and be. But, when all else fails, they also get to carry the can. And there’s no more obvious failure than children killed by their own whanau. So yes, right now our leaders are feeling the heat and there’s a lot more at stake than mere hoha. Aroha au ki a ratou, but the mana we vest in them also elevates and obligates them. .

Good on Hone Harawira for putting forward a plan to stop the killing. The Pawarenga aunties say it like this, “Do something! Even if it’s the wrong thing, it’s better than nothing.” But Hone, mate, even if the other twenty Maori MPs agreed to be locked in a room with you – I think the best thing that could happen for the entire country, let alone our babies, would be if only six of you came back out.

You see, I have no time for the majority of Maori MPs who refuse to stand alongside you and say, “There is a connection between stripping Maori of the bulk of our resources and the hopelessness of many of our whanau.” I specially have no time for those who are too lazy or loyal to their party to point out the dotted line between crappy government policies and fractured hapu and iwi.

Come on you Labour party Maori members. Sure, Maori success stories are real and rising. But the gaps between the haves and have nots are frighteningly wider than ever before. And even amongst those who are making it, the edge of the cliff is only as far away as the cuzzie, sis or bro who’s having a tough time. By all means, use your departmental newsletters to celebrate the successes. But don’t take credit for our successes and ignore your failures. For our babies’ sakes, do something. You are not sled dogs. There’s no need to travel in packs following behind your leader. Come to us one at a time and at our behest. Don’t call your own hui and expect us to come to you to be told what your bosses are going to do. Come to our hui and hear what we need you to do.

Come on you National party Maori members. If your first name is not Georgina, then you have not done anything noticeable for your people in parliament.

Come on we who lead our whanau, hapu, iwi and waka alliances, come on. Don’t centralise the power and resources when our whanau can set up their own Komiti, pool and leverage off their own resources and tap directly into whatever resources are out there for them. Don’t just talk about it. Make it happen.

Oh yes. We might hate hearing it. We might get hoha with it. But the fact is we who lead can only remain elevated when we lift those to whom we are obligated. Hei konei. Hei kona.

WHY DO WE DO THE THINGS WE DO?

I’ve been percolating for months on why Maori, as a nation, can’t crack the hard nut issues. Why can’t we stop the murder and abuse of our kids by their whanau? Why are we letting the Crown pimp Papatuanuku to Rio Tinto? Why aren’t we preparing sensibly for peak oil? I think the answers lie in the fact that too often we equate big with powerful, collective with good and individual with bad.

At one extreme our Runanga attract criticism for being flash and powerful, while hapu and whanau are cast as overlooked minnows in the face of runanga clout. Yet at the same time and at another extreme those same whanau are judged to be more important than the individuals inside them. Try telling that to Nia Glassie.

Any way, as one who's engaged in all these structures I say that's so unbalanced as a perspective, it’s useless. Runanga are useful for some things. But the only structure I'll give my blood for is my whanau. How powerless or powerful is that for an individual? In fact I firmly believe Maori strength and health and capacity to deal with the big kaupapa all starts with me as an individual.

It will be the seed planted in every spare piece of ground that’ll secure Maori once peak oil hits. That's why we're going to teach the whanau on this street to do exactly that. That way we'll all get to grow some kai while at the same time sharing some key skills in horticulture, enterprise, literacy, numeracy, parenting and plain social cohesion. I know it's gonna work and when it does we'll take it on to the next street and the next. This mahi has power in it for our whanau simply because it is at the whanau level.When it comes to Rio Tinto sniffing around Taitokerau for gold and anything else it can make a buck off, it will the individuals who convince their whanau and mates to join them and lay their bodies on the land who will stop it being mined.As for the horror of child abuse amongst us, it will be the individuals who are taught and supported to value themselves who will bring it to an end.

I believe the different structures we are using are but stepping stones on the way back to something we already have to go forward under. They are the whanau and marae. Yet we're overlooking them for other structures and mechanisms that will never wrap around our hearts and carry us forward as Maori the way our whanau and marae do.

And I just can't figure out yet why we're doing that.

Kanui tena mo tenei wa.

MONTHLIES

This month is my first anniversary with Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu and it’s been fun from day one when I found most of my so-called staff possessed a rough and ready sense of humour. I quickly got used to deleting forwarded emails with subject titles like – ‘50 Ways to Lose Your Job’. I wish! These decreased markedly after I and the Environmental Manager had a heated stoush one day over the fact that he hadn’t sent me his monthly report on time. Finally, I sat him in front of my computer while we jointly scrolled through my email inbox. “See,” I said, “Nothing.” “Try the Deleted Box,” he suggested. And sure enough, there it was – under the title “Monthlies.” Be honest. What was the first thing you thought of when you saw that heading? I’ll bet it wasn’t a monthly report of activities. Funny guy.

Sadly he did a spot of impromptu ice-skating last month during that cold snap we had, and managed to snap some ribs as well as compress a vertebra. Who’d have thought one could find ice to slip on in sunny Tokerau? While our hearts go out to his long-suffering wife (kia kaha Flossy – won’t be too much longer before he’ll be out from under your skin … I mean feet) – Victor’s mishap has left us a bit short-handed with regard to all things environmental. Engari, the work goes on. Here are just a few of a number of take we’ll be talking about out at Karepori marae in Taipa this Saturday where the Runanga hui-a-marama will start at 10 a.m. sharp.

We’re currently handling resource consent applications from Karikari No 2 Ltd and Motutara Beach Holdings Ltd. On top of that the Northland Regional Council’s Draft Navigation Bylaw is open for submissions until August 15th, while the government paper on Bioprospecting is also up for discussion. Bioprospecting is the search for and gathering of material for development of commercial products, and it has big implications for Maori intellectual property rights, traditional knowledge and matauranga Maori. The government is holding a series of consultation hui with the nearest being in Kaikohe on 4th September, and submissions close on 12th October 2007. We’re also prepping a submission to the Justice and Electoral Select Committee on the Treaty of Waitangi (Removal of Conflict of Interest) Amendment Bill. This Bill is a worry because it aims to remove the ability of a serving Judge of the High Court or Maori Land Court to serve as a member or Chairperson of the Waitangi Tribunal. That would disqualify Joe Williams, Caryn Wickliffe and others from fulfilling their current roles. Submissions for this one close on August 10th.

We’ve been contacted by Sharkey (Shane) Howell, a member of a group of carvers who go by the name of Wharepuwerewere. Every Easter they hikoi to a predetermined place to carve and leave their work for free at their destination marae. In 2008 they’re searching for a destination marae in the rohe of Ngati Kahu. So kia tere whanau ma. If you want your marae to be the beneficiary of Sharkey and his mates’ mahi – come to Taipa on Saturday and let us know.

Anniversaries are generally a time for review. So here’s my take on the last year’s mahi in a nut shell. To succeed inside this iwi you’ve got to know two things. How to work hard without losing your sense of humour, and how to tell the difference between a written report and the monthlies.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

CAUSES AND CURES

When we got the news last week that we’d passed all the hurdles to get the population portion of Ngati Kahu’s fisheries settlement assets, a favourite song from my Scottish whakapapa popped into my head. It opens with the question,

Oh flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again,
That fought and died for your wee bit hill and glen?
Which stood against him, proud Edward’s army,
And sent him homeward tae think again.

Man – that song could have been written by and for Maori. It came to me again on Saturday when I ran into the Aupouri whanau at the market on their way to a rugby game with Otiria. As I moved along the bench outside the restrooms greeting each one, I saw behind their cheeky grins many other long-gone and sweetly familiar faces from all over Te Hiku O Te Ika. Hemowai Brown and her sister Kahuwhero Nathan, Joe and Lucy Wiki, Mei and John Everitt, Temepara and Kuini Kaaka, John and Hera Brown, Petia Welsh and Amy Tatana, Ngaire Morrison and Paihere Brown, Glass Murray and Mac Matiu, Jeb Brown and Maori Marsden, Simon Snowden and Matiu Rata.

They, and many others, were the grunt behind the Muriwhenua Fisheries claim lodged in 1986 when the Labour government adopted the Quota Management System (QMS) and once again breached Te Tiriti O Waitangi. Eventually our claim went nationwide and a partial settlement covering its commercial aspects was negotiated in 1992. That was the Sealords Deal that also set up the Waitangi Fisheries Commission (Te Ohu Kai Moana) to look after the assets until it could figure out who to give them to and how.

Only now, 21 years later, are Ngati Kuri, Ngaitakoto, Ngati Kahu, Te Aupouri and Te Rarawa, (the five iwi who started it all), nearing some kind of conclusion. In Ngati Kahu we’ll get almost $4 million worth of shares in Aotearoa Fisheries Ltd plus fishing quota and $220,000 cash. We’re still working on getting the coastline portion of our assets, probably in the next month or so.

Was it worth it? It’s my very subjective opinion that in spite of all the shortcomings of how we got here, it’s the duty of us who inherited the cause to make the best of the only cure on offer. I go back to the last lines of that Scottish anthem –

Those days are past now, and in the past they must remain.
But we can still rise now and be the nation again
That stood against him, proud Edward’s army,
And sent him homeward tae think again.

We are the like of those who went before us. E rereke he rakau o te riri, nga tikanga, te whakarangatiratanga o nga whakapapa, me nga wa. Engari, e rite tonu te take.

And congratulations to Aupouri for the win over Otiria on Saturday. That’s awesome whanau. We look forward to the day when all the strands of our whakapapa unite to beat even higher hurdles for even higher honours.

Ka whawhai tonu matou mo ake tonu atu.

THE COLONIZERS' DILEMMA

In 1966 my mum and dad made a tough call. Along with dad's first cousin and his wife, they decided to pull nine children out of Rotokakahi Maori School and send us to Broadwood District High instead. The reason? The roll had dropped to twelve, including the sole teacher's two kids, and they wanted us to contact and experience the wider world into which we would have to move. Result? The school closed and, personally, my world opened – for better and worse.

At Broadwood, with the guidance of a quite young Dan Urlich, I largely met my parents’ hopes and flew. Already an avid reader, writing, art and science became added passions for me. No star on the sport field, I discovered my body was specially fitted to throwing things that I never even knew existed until he put them in front of me. Engari, I met racism for the first time, and got nasty ridicule for holding hands with my brothers and sisters and talking about mummy and daddy. For those who made the mistake of calling me a dirty Pawarenga hori, I probably confirmed every racist stereotype they’d been taught by seriously punching them out. Otira, we were all just kids trying to adapt to the changes foisted on us.

If the fourteen kilometre move from Rotokakahi to Broadwood seemed huge, the move I made three years later to Epsom Girls Grammar School was like - Off The Planet. What a culture shock it must have been for most of my WASP hostel and class mates to have this Catholic, Maori, Hokianga girl move in. Those very differences protected me from the hostel hazing many of my fellow 'turd-formers' suffered, but not from being homesick to the max. I truly thought I was going to die crying some nights. Yet, in spite of the yuck food, strange people and stranger customs in the hostel (who knew a gingernut broken with your elbow could predict how many letters you'd get?), the school presented me with doors which I’d never have known existed if I'd stayed home.

I regret none of the pains and gains from those years of change and can’t help but think about them when I read that the number of Maori living in Australia has increased 27 percent over five years from just under 73,000 to almost 93,000. The increase is attributable to a mix of migration and self-identification, and the mining boom in Western Australia which is drawing many Maori workers. Whatever its reasons, it raises uncomfortable but interesting questions for me as a Maori. Are we shamelessly riding on the backs of someone else’s loss to improve our lot? Or are we merely taking advantage of the opportunities there? Big questions ne? The same questions my folks debated when they effectively closed the local school and sent us out into the big bad / wide world.

I don’t have THE answer, but the experiences of my whanau, hapu and iwi tell me that all things must change, and the only thing we can choose is what and how we will contribute to the process. The Maori choice to colonise another land has been made. How to contribute to it ethically? That’s the tough call.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

HE PIRIPONO O NGATI KAHU

Kia ora koutou ma – just a quick catchup on Ngati Kahu Fest 2008 planning.

Yep yep – it is happening over the Easter weekend next year under the theme “He Piripono O Ngati Kahu.” What does that mean? Many things, but the main concepts centre around people who are bosom friends, whose hearts are bound together in a tight weave of loving friendship. Neat eh? And we’re designing every event to reinforce that sentiment in Ngati Kahu.

A small but energetic team of reps from eight of Te Runanga A Iwi O Ngati Kahu’s fourteen marae members, plus Te Hauora O Te Hiku O Te Ika and Ngati Kahu Social and Health Services have been meeting fortnightly and so far we’ve divided the events between us based on age groups. The programme is still fluid, but some things have started to solidify under age group and day / night categories.

Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu are responsible for overall facilitation, funding, administration and communications, while Te Hauora O Te Hiku O Te Ika are organising the hui whakataetae of sporting and physical activities. Other daytime activities include Tupuna Tours running throughout the three days, as well as whakapapa, toi Maori, taa moko, waiata, hip-hop and kai tika workshops. We’ll also have a fishing competition and various stalls and displays running throughout. Then each night we’ll close with a signature celebration. Kenana Marae have put their hands up to run a Mokopuna Idol on the Good Friday. Ngati Kahu Social and Health Services is pulling together a Glamour Night / Fashion Parade to celebrate Ngati Kahu Styles on Easter Saturday, and Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu closes the Sunday night with He Piripono Ball to celebrate and honour those couples who have endured 35 years or more together.

There’s still plenty of workshops and events up for grabs by a lead organizer. So if your roopu or marae wants in, then come to the next planning hui on Monday 9th July at … well, if He Korowai Trust doesn’t accept our request to host us, then it’ll be back at Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu on Parkdale Crescent.

Riki me koutou ma – sorry for this if I haven’t gotten to you before you read this. I’ve just gotten in from Mangonui where we had a fantabulous planning session and the Social and Health Services up there on Karamea Rd, and I have to get this to the Age two minutes ago. Engari – Ngati Kahu e te tuatahi, e te tuarua me te matamuri. Haere mai nau mai piki mai ki te Piripono o Ngati Kahu.

Aroha mai.

A MAORI PARADIGM

A paradigm is a set of rules, and a paradigm shift is when you change from one set of rules to another. These shifts are always powerful and sometimes painful. If you don’t believe me, consider this slice of history in which you yourself may have taken part.

In 1969 watches “Made in Switzerland” meant top quality while “Made in Japan” was code for cheap and nasty. 10 years later the two nations’ manufacturing reputations had almost completely reversed. Why? The introduction of the quartz watch, invented by the Swiss themselves, had changed the watch paradigm. But Swiss watch manufacturers, stuck in their paradigm of watches with bearings, gears and a mainspring were blinded to the future of a totally electronic and versatile watch that could be a thousand times more accurate. In fact, they were so convinced the quartz watch wouldn’t succeed, that they didn’t even bother to patent it. When it was displayed at the annual watch conference in 1967, the Japanese firm Seiko saw its potential and the rest, as they say, is history.

Turning from the world stage to closer to home, we are experiencing strong and historical paradigm shifts right now. How many of us over twenty knew what Mataariki was when we were growing up? If, like me, you’ve moved in your lifetime from having no or little knowledge to knowing quite a lot about it, then you’ve experienced a paradigm shift. Happy New Year! Of course not everyone is happy with this or other similar shifts.

At this year’s ANZAC Day service in Kaitaia I sat behind an old lady who was all smiles until the head boy at Kaitaia College stood and opened with a tauparapara i te reo Maori, then moved into English for the bulk of his very moving korero. But not before the old lady fumed loudly, “Why can’t they speak English?” Now it was a given, proven by his eloquence within seconds of her complaint, that the Kaitaia College Head Boy could speak English. So who was this ‘they’ the old lady was mad at?

In one of those quantum leaps of empathy that happen between humans it came to me that she was actually mad at the paradigm shift that had happened somewhere between 1945 and 2007. I happen to believe that this particular paradigm will eventually shift to the point where almost everyone will be bilingual and the lingua franca will be Maori. I also suspect that at some future public event I might find myself moaning, “He aha ai kaore taea a ratou kia korero i te reo Maori?!” For that reason I reached toward the old lady and, even though I didn’t actually touch her, I like to think she felt my unspoken thoughts, “Kei te pai tena. I understand. Peace. Be still.”

It’s not easy to be at peace when paradigms are shifting all over the place. And inside an iwi we know that not every shift is as benign as multi-lingualism or Mataariki. Engari we also know they throw up some amazing opportunities. Back to the Swiss. Ask any trend-setting youngster to name the top ten watches today, and somewhere in there you’ll hear the name Swatch. That’s a Swiss watch made with a quartz crystal. Man – those Swiss ain’t dumb, and neither are we.

Engari kia mataara! Kei tënä whanau kei tënä whänau anö te pütake mai o te ora. Ko tätou katoa ngä poito, kia Mataariki te taa i te kupenga, kaua e matararahi! Hei konei. Hei kona.

CORONER HUI ON AGAIN

When the Coroner Hui was postponed last month I got lots of calls from disappointed people. The interest in Te Hiku is very strong and people specially wanted to have the hui before the July 1st roll-out of the new Coroners. Engari the Chief Coroner had a full month of work in June swearing in and orientating all the new Coroners. Since then we have seen the new Taitokerau Coroner announced and I admit to very mixed emotions. The new appointee, Brandt Shortland, comes with an impeccable pedigree. A descendant of Hineamaru, his whanau is well-known throughout Taitokerau, and his reputation as a lawyer is similarly illustrious. We look forward to meeting and working with him. Engari, we are sad to lose the services of Robin Fountain here in the Far North.

I cannot let the moment pass without publicly and personally thanking you Robin, and by extension your colleagues Max Atkins and Heather Ayrton, for being so consistently sensitive, accessible and available to the people of the Far North, not least ki nga Iwi Maori o Te Hiku O Te Ika. When I heard the news I was deeply disappointed that you were not to continue serving us, albeit on a broader front. Your successor has very large shoes to fill and we will do our best to ensure he does so.

Since the hui was postponed we have used the time to shape the programme so that it covers the coronial scene as broadly as possible. One of the things seriously lacking in Taitokerau is a wider approach to mortality review and what might have contributed to the cause of death. Currently the main reports taken into account at an inquest are those of the inquest officer and the pathologist. That means GPs, social workers, mental health workers, teachers, spiritual advisors and a plethora of professionals are rarely (if ever) approached to contribute to an inquest. The result is a heavily forensic view, while a goldmine of data, that could improve prevention and intervention strategies in general, is often left untapped. The Coroner’s office is ideally positioned to lead and deliver such review.

Koutou ma he panui tenei – the Coroner hui is on again. DATE: Friday 20th July. VENUE: Oturu Marae. TIME: 10 a.m. – 3 p.m. PROGRAMME: As above. CONTACT: nkceo@xtra.co.nz or call 4083013. The hui programme now consists of brief (10 – 15 minutes) presentations from:
1. The Chief Coroner and / or the newly appointed Taitokerau Coroner on the Act – both letter and spirit.
2. The local inquest officer on how and why inquests are pulled together.
3. A local funeral director on the roles of police contracted FDs and private FDs.
4. A pathologist and / or mortician on autopsy.
5. A kaumatua on the interface between coronial process and tangihanga.
Each presentation will be followed by facilitated questions / discussion to the presenter.
No reira, whakawhetai hoki ki a koe Robin Fountain. Ma te atua e manaaki e tiaki ki a koe i nga wa katoa. Thank you and God bless.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

PARKDALE PROBLEM

In Kaitaia the name Parkdale has become code for Problem in some people’s books. I work on Parkdale Crescent and live on Matthews Ave. Mates and whanau have made their homes on Terry Crescent, Allen Bell Drive, Lake Road me nga tini rore o Brown Town. The half-dressed kids playing on these streets, and the diseased dogs – I know them. I also know that it's real easy to write them, their dogs and their whanau off as problems looking for a place to happen. Specially if your idea of a good whanau is one that has the kids appropriately dressed for the weather, the pets' paperwork all in order and the whole lot playing inside the fence. Of course that's a pretty picture on the surface. Who doesn't buy into it? Well, for starters – I don't.

I remember as a kid my mum being really wild when it got back to her that a cousin-in-law reckoned, "Gloria Herbert's children are little savages. They run around in the rain half-naked!" Hey – it was fun to strip off and stand under the spouting. Closest thing we had to a shower at the time. Given the chance, mum would probably have told us “No.” But we didn't think to go home and ask her first if it was OK. It was the same when we swam in floods, played in slips and roamed the roads of Pawarenga, going to war with each other or the neighbours' kids. And I mean real war with real rocks, punches and kicks, and real bruises and tears. Oh yeah - and there was always some mangy mutt hanging close by too.

Now you couldn’t get a better mum than ours. She wanted nothing but the best for us, hated seeing us with hupe noses, and worried when we came home the worse for wear. Engari, for all her loving care we still caught scabies, brought home cooties, developed tapa feet and suffered more than our fair share of broken bones.

There are people who genuinely don't give a toss about their kids’ wellbeing. But I don’t care to leave it up to CYFS and the Police to take our kids away based on judgments about their dress, location and non-criminal activity. Blinking heck! I cannot imagine what would have happened if anyone had decided to sweep me and my brothers and sisters off the road and into the tender care of Social Welfare because we didn't fit the good whanau template. Actually I'm wrong. I can imagine – and the thought makes me shudder. With one road in and the same road out, it would’ve taken an army.

Parkdale Crescent in 2007 is not much different to Pawarenga in 1957. Some people look at the state of its residents and make judgments. Well, let them. 28 years ago, August 3rd 1979 to be precise, when the Stormies and Police went to war on Moerewa's streets in one of the most violent clashes of this nation's history, who'd have believed that stinky old tuna town would one day be proudly known as Tuna Town? Moerewa and Pawarenga refound their true sources of unity, strength and pride. And so too will Parkdale and its sister streets.

It’s time for me to get back into waka ama and stage my own sweep of these streets. I’m thinking of setting up a club called Nga Tini Rore o Brown Town and making Parkdale Pride its motto. All ages, races, creeds, colours, occupations and genders will be welcome.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

MANAGING THE MANA GERMS

A few years back when I first made it to management, a mate asked me if I knew what most Managers were. Like an idiot I said, "No - what are we?" "Most of you," he said, "are really 'Mana Germs' who work hard to take the credit and give away the blame."

What do you do with that kind of advice? Me – I just stared at him and wondered, "Is he right or is he wrong?" Since then I've figured he's both. As a group, Managers are no different from anybody else. When it comes to voluntary mahi most people find it easy to be humble. But as soon as we feel we've got something to lose – cash, reputation, power, status or whatever – very few of us are immune from the mana germ. In fact some of us never get over it.

So I take my hat off to Chris Hook for his back down over the Cable Bay bridge to mayhem. That whole scene was shaping up to be nothing but a breeding ground for the nasty little blighters, and it took guts to recognise that and change your direction, Chris. In medical circles it’s called recovery, but I know it as repentance. Either way, well done chum. You’ve survived and, hopefully, built up immunity to the germ.

Sadly I don’t see and can’t think of many similar recoveries in recent times. Instead, those who get the bug find ready comfort in numbers. Philip Taito Field is an example. He’s resisting taking his medicine on the grounds that he did nothing wrong. And the main thing shoring up that clearly loopy belief are those who have chosen to back him because he’s a person of standing amongst them. I reckon the higher you stand in a group the more accountable you should be held by that group for what you do and how you do it. Then there’s Rick Ellis of TVNZ who, last week, showed all the signs of a full-blown attack of the mana germs with his sorry excuses to the Maori Affairs Select Committee that his employer is meeting its charter obligations to Maori with a programme mix of Shortland Street, Police-Ten-Seven, Game of Two Halves me nga mea. The feedback to this tells me there’s a mana germ epidemic in this country, and, even if Rick Ellis tried to retract he’s likely get it in the neck from those who reckon Maori are not only well served by TVNZ, but have our own TV station. Well, how about this for an idea? Let's make sure only Maori are allowed to watch MTV and get TVNZ to fulfill its charter obligations to all the other races in this country with the same programme mix Mr Ellis listed. If that happened, do you reckon we’d see a rush of people canceling their SKY subs?

Koutou ma, I’ve made more mistakes in my life than you’ve eaten hot hangi. I know how easy it is to give in to the mana germ. Engari, like most of you, I’ve learned from my mistakes. But the really smart people learn from others’ mistakes. So may I suggest to whoever cut down those pohutukawa trees at Coopers Beach recently – don’t be a mana germ.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

FROM THE LATE MRS GRAVES

We’ve had to postpone the long-awaited Coroner Hui that was set to be held today in Oturu marae because of a death involving the main whanau of the host marae. Deaths and resultant hui postponements go hand in hand inside an iwi. So, instead of tearing my hair out, which was my first instinct when I heard yesterday morning, I’ll use the opportunity to share more information in prep for the hui, when it’s reconvened, by sharing with you an email exchange I had with someone who is interested but doesn’t know much about the issues.

Kia ora Anahera … what are the major concerns and difficulties iwi Mäori have experienced with the current system?

[The issues are], apart from general hostility to the concept of operating on our tupapaku, and the consequent disruption of their tangihanga:
1. Modesty: It doesn’t take much [for pathologists] to maintain body cover, particularly of the genitals, during post mortem.
2. Intrusiveness: Pathologists … don’t have to remove the whole top of the scalp to get at the brain unless it is absolutely necessary. ... Yet in Whangarei this is still standard practice.
3. Liaison with Whanau: Too often pathologists don’t seem comfortable with the living who want to connect with the person operating on their whanaunga.
Regarding the Act, some of the issues are:
1. On the surface it looks like progress that whanau can object to post mortem. But the inability, once an objection has been made, for whanau to rescind it or for the Coroner to over-rule it, until the full time allowed in the Act has lapsed, makes it likely .. [to] cause damaging delays.
2. The Act defines autopsy as “full internal and external examination of the body” … [What will that] mean in practice?
3. … in reducing the numbers of Coroners in the country from 52 down to 15, there will now be only one Coroner in the whole of Taitokerau, instead of the current three. … Will [that person] have a good grasp and experience of local / regional sensitivities and networks? … Because it’s a political appointment, we simply don’t know.

Thank you Anahera. That doesn’t sound good. I have heard ... that the chances of Mäori going to a coroner can be greatly reduced by … being seen by doctors/NGO’s more often … can I ask if you think that assertion is still valid?

The short reply is yes. The long answer is that autopsy is always mandatory when there is no medical doctor willing to sign off on cause of death. … But autopsy is also mandatory for any death which:
1. Is a matter requiring police investigation (accidents, murder, suicide, etc)
2. Takes place while a person is in custody or in care (prison, hospital, etc)
3. Takes place in suspicious circumstances (e.g. during commission of a crime)
I personally don’t believe investigation of cause of death (including autopsy) is inherently against Maori tikanga. Old whakatauki show we were constantly reviewing and learning from past experience. It’s the way in which it’s done and the attitudes of the people who have statutory roles in the process that needs review and change in some places. … Engari if we take better care of ourselves, … then we do reduce the likelihood of having an autopsy when our turn to shuffle off this mortal coil comes.

Koutou ma, the Coroner’s hui will be reconvened as soon as possible.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

EARTH TO IWI INSIDER

What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?—

We who work for the iwi get passionate about things like human rights, biological diversity and economic sustainability. Important stuff, sure – but not always a priority in the everyday world of our whanau. To stay in touch with that world from which we came, we do things like mahi in the marae kitchen where we’re just another working stiff, and the VIP we rubbed shoulders with yesterday doesn’t give us any special privileges today. Or we’ll ring fence our whanau time and do the kohanga reo papa bit, the rippa rugby nanna gig, me nga mea. It’s sobering and refreshing to get that jolt back to earth that only whanau can give. Here are some examples.

A STORM IN A TEASPOON
I remember having my monthly report back from the Runanga to my marae disappear without a ripple as the aunties paused briefly to let its last echo fade before moving on to the real bizzo. “We had 100 teaspoons when this whare kai opened and now we’ve got none. Na wai he tangata tahae!?”

BUGS IN THE BELFRY
Our mokopuna love bugs. Shiny bugs, fat bugs, round bugs, buggy bugs – it doesn’t matter. They indiscriminately love the lot. In fact when our second oldest mokopuna got kutus he proudly and loudly told complete strangers in public places, “I’ve got bugs in my hair!” While I’d be saying with a sick smile and an inward cringe, “Well … you know they’re an occupational hazard in the north,” for him it was a source of wonderment that they had chosen to make his head their habitat. He didn’t care to worry about whether his biological diversity was being upset.

THE ARM OF THE ANGEL
On ANZAC morning, while our kids raced round and over the monument, three mothers sat under the angel in Kaitaia’s Memorial Park sadly looking at the names of those who left to fight in two World Wars and didn’t come home again. We felt sad. Then one of the kids asked, “Where’s the other arm of the angel?” And it’s true. I’ve sat under that angel since I was a kid and can’t remember – did it ever have two arms? Well, if it did, it doesn’t anymore. How could I not know?

TAKE TIME
A century ago W H Davies wrote the poem, “Leisure.” I can’t say it any better.

… A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

SOMETHING REMARKABLE

When my grandpa Spike died in 1986 he and nanna Alma had happily bickered through fifty eight years of marriage, produced twenty one children, more than seventy grandchildren, close to a hundred great grandchildren and something like eight great-great grandchildren.

Gloria and Jim Herbert presenting the 'Ray and Alma Herbert Sports Memorial Trophy for Team of the Year"

By the time Alma died in 1998, I had personally given up counting. But I’ve never stopped feeling that such durability and fruitfulness is something special – even something remarkable – in these days of shrinking love and expanding self, as described in 2 Timothy 3:1 – 7.

The truth is that my grandparents’ whanau experience is not unique. That’s why, when we had our pilot planning hui for Ngati Kahu Fest 2008 last week, I found myself smiling fondly when the suggestion came up that we should make whanau our focal theme. In spite of the regular horror stories that hit the headlines, this week being no exception, most Maori whanau can only be labeled ‘good’. And even amongst those that wouldn’t win any “Family of the Year” competition, most are just trying to do what’s best, especially for their kids and kaumatua.

That’s what prompted the thinking behind our theme. Put the good up there where it belongs as something precious and delightful for all to see, and let it be a model for copying. As a point of celebration it works.

And, like any carrot, what we hope to see come out of it at an everyday level is consistent teaching and support of whanau so that there’s less and less need for the big stick of castigation.

And you know that there are many sticks with which to beat Maori backs. Our famed collective sense of guilt and shame is real for me. A murder, rape or other headlining crime is reported and I find myself thinking, “Oh please – don’t let it be a Maori.” So, no, we are not succumbing to a Pollyanna syndrome and, yes, we are still in touch with reality. But that reality abounds with more happiness than misery. So excuse us while we smile about that. In fact, come and join us if you’re interested in working hard to spread the reason for smiling around.

Ae ra – Ngati Kahu Fest 2008 is definitely on the front burner and, next Monday 14th, we’re going to officially launch its planning stage with a working hui here at Parkdale Crescent followed by lunch. We’ll meet fortnightly thereafter in a variety of locations around the rohe so that all our workers get a chance to host the planning mahi.

I remember my nanna telling me once that after the sixth child things got a lot easier as the older ones showed the littlies what to do. And that’s one of the main beauties of belonging to a large, prolific and rambunctious whanau. Everyone has something remarkable to contribute.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

IN WHOSE INTERESTS?

I enjoy watching our mokopuna playing together because they are completely honest about their self-interest. Rules are made up, bent and chucked out at will – all to secure a victory. It got to the point recently where the bossiest moko invented a rule that if you won a trick in the card game being played, than you actually lost. The trouble was he couldn’t quite bring himself to lose a trick and ended up crying because, as his cousins gleefully reminded him, according to his own rule, he’d just lost the game. At five he can be forgiven for not knowing the political reality that, whenever a decision is made, someone’s interests are always going to be served. And it’s good that he is learning in childhood that, when the interests being served are his and his alone, then everyone else will probably end up resenting him – a lot.

Not so our local authorities. In whose interest did they make the decision to allow Crystal Waters to build luxury condominiums on the hill overlooking Cable Bay? And whose interests will be served by their decision to allow an overbridge from those condominiums to be built onto the beach?
In spite of evidence that the survey boundaries for the overbridge were wrong, making the Councils’ decision to let it be built legally questionable, this proposal never died when public opposition to it got too intense. It just went behind closed doors along with the developers, the planners, the consultants, the consenting authorities and the law enforcers. Recently they all got together – the Far North District Council, Northland Regional Council, Transit New Zealand, McBreen Jenkins Construction, Crystal Waters Developers and the New Zealand Police met in Council’s Chambers and talked about a construction start date. Some of you may have read in last week’s Tuesday Age a press release giving three working days’ notice that the Far North District Council is hosting a public meeting on this matter today in the Mangonui Hall at 4 p.m. Or maybe you missed it. Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu joins the Cable Bay Beach Watch Network in urging you to go to tonight’s meeting.

You know, you’d think that they would have gotten the message from the past opposition to the proposal, including an 8 week 24/7 presence on the beach, that they had better include the local hapu and community in any ongoing process. For sure, however they might spin the answer to the question, “In whose interests did you make these decisions?” it’s a dead cert that not many, if any, of the local Pakeha community, and not one of the local Maori hapu were included in the process by which they reached their decisions.

It almost seems like they have as much understanding as my mokopuna of political realities. Well, I think they are about to gain some enlightenment. Unfortunately there’s not much fun in watching adults re-learn childhood lessons.

IN WHOM CAN WE TRUST?

He Panui Aitua na nga hapu o Te Whanau Moana me Rorohuri e noho atu nei i roto i te ao pouri. Kua mate a Aunty Suzie Reihana.

Last week I made mention of feisty women who speak their minds, and this week I got the really sad news that one of the feistiest of all has gone the way of the world. Throughout her long and lively life, Aunty Suzie Reihana had a strong belief in the afterlife. So I feel sure she herself is not sad to find herself ki muri i te arai. It’s me who’s the sad one. Just as I was getting to know her twinkly, prickly humour – kua haere ia. Promoted. E hika!

This brings me to the new Coroners Act. On Tuesday 22nd May we are hosting a hui at Oturu marae. The Chief Coroner and other key Ministry of Justice officials will be there to explain the differences between the existing Act and the new one that comes into power on July 1st. So, that’s good. But I reckon, though some will want to know what the new Act means, others might simply want the chance to tell their story and be heard. When I mentioned this to Fiona Kale, the Department’s Project Manager who is liaising with me on the hui arrangements, she said that the Chief Coroner will be cool with whatever comes up at the hui. So, that’s even better. E nga iwi katoa, haere mai ki Oturu mo te whakawhiti-korero o te kaupapa tino hohonu nei.

Since the debacle of the FSSB Bill, no piece of proposed legislation has caused as much of a stink as the electoral law reforms put forward by government last week. I had very carefully read Nicky Hager’s meticulously detailed book, ‘The Hollow Men,’ and was already convinced of the need to reform the electoral laws. So, when the government’s proposals came out I carefully read those too.

Question: Given the screaming need to ensure election campaigns are above the corrupt practices that were rife in the last election, how the heck did government get the reform process so wrong? Answer: By making it a unilateral one, and by obsessing over the religious affiliations of seven wealthy men who played a major, if shadowy, role during the last election.

The key issue is not the fact that these characters had affiliations to a particular religion, but that senior National party leaders and they hid their collaborations with each other. Why? Because they wanted to secretly raise and spend more money on the election campaign than they were legally allowed. I think the technical term for that is – buying an election.

The fallout from that gifted this government the chance to make the needed reforms. But, by not making the process as open, independent and transparent as possible, and by making too much of the religious right connections of one group, it has mucked up badly. Meantime the electoral laws are still in need of serious review and reform.

Who can we trust to do it?

Probably not many politicians.

Where are the Aunty Suzie’s when we need ‘em? Moe mai ra e te Whaea ki roto i te ringa o te Matua. Hei konei. Hei kona.

SPEAK THAT I MAY SEE

For hundreds of whanau in Te Hiku, IMB started last Saturday, and we, like countless others, had to make the choice between our kids’ sport and a hui. I went to the hui-a-marama at Kareponia for Te Runanga-a-Iwi o Ngati Kahu while Doug got the hard job (NOT) of going to the Rippa Rugby. Apparently, in his first game ever, our five year old, raised on watching the adult game, failed to connect the concept of ripping a ribbon off opponent’s shorts with the game of ‘rugby’ and tackled everything in sight. He now answers to the name ‘Sin-Bin.’

I went to a hui once where the first guy up said, “Kaore a au e mōhio he aha au i haere mai ai i tenei ra.” Like my mokopuna, he had failed to connect the concept with the outcome, and he too got promptly sin-binned by my feisty karani who stood and told him if he didn’t know why he was there – sit down, listen and learn. Then she did an A-grade job of laying out the issues and kick-starting the whakawhiti-korero. She did the mahi of the Taumata which, traditionally, has been done by men, and is critical to the progress and effectiveness of any hui.

The ideal Taumata has good speakers with good minds and hearts who help clarify the way forward for the people. The best will work together and can offer love as an antidote to hate, counterpoint wrong with right and challenge lies with truth, all the while stitching and mending any tear in the fabric of the hui.

I tenei ao hurihuri the Taumata need solemn wisdom and a wicked sense of humour, topped with some life experience. So, when the scarcity of men who can man the Taumata came up on Saturday, Te Runanga-a-Iwi o Ngati Kahu delegates talked about the pros and cons of teaching our boys to do it. How to protect them from being gored in the cut and thrust of the task at hand? How to ensure they enjoy their childhood before being asked to take on a man’s work? They talked about the pros and cons of women doing it, with lively recollections of Muriwai Popata who spoke whenever she wished because the only thing she cared about was whether or not the talk was walked. Are today’s women as strong? Are we prepared to take on other traditionally male roles? Will we butcher the beast, collect the kai moana and cook the hangi? Are we prepared to see a man take on our role of kai karanga?

You know, I hate weekend hui because they chew up precious whanau time. So when I do have to sit through one it at least helps when the quality of the korero is as good as what went down last Saturday. Regardless of who we think should be on the Taumata, we all have a right to expect quality from it. We can take a leaf from my forthright karani and sin-bin the wafflers. Or, if we are of gentler persuasion, we should at least take them aside and help them get up to scratch. And if there is a woman or a younger man there who can do a better job, then just do it – please.

Speak that we may all see.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

REDEMPTION SONG

“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery,
None but ourselves can free our mind.”

In 1979, when Bob Marley sang his iconic number, Redemption Song, he struck a chord in Maori hearts and minds that resonates to this day.

“’Ow long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look?
Some say it’s just a part of it,
We’ve got to fulfil da book.”

This Easter weekend, throughout the country, whanau will gather from all over the motu to countless rural marae for the uniquely Maori unveiling ceremony known as He Hura Kohatu. With a similar programme to the day of burial it allows whanau to once more publicly share their sorrow, while at the same time releasing them from all future obligations to the deceased other than quiet remembrance. My whanau is amongst those who will be gathering this weekend.

Death is always sad, but for those of us who have lost loved ones to whakamomori, it can also be really, really destructive. For me it was like a nuclear bomb going off. Years later it continues to hurt in a way that no other death has. With respect and tenderness I offer these personal insights to anyone who is being touched right now by suicidal feelings or acts. First, hope is the one thing everyone needs to be scripted for. How different things would have been if our whanaunga had found a ‘hope script.’ But here we are, and if we've learned anything from the distress of his suicide it's exactly that. Hope is paramount. Second, consider this statement: - "If I start piling weights on your shoulders, you're going to eventually collapse ... no matter how much you want to remain standing. Willpower has nothing to do with it." Third, here’s another statement to think about: - “Suicide is not a choice; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.” You're not a bad person, or crazy, or weak, or flawed, if you feel suicidal. I mean, sure at any given time, you might feel you are any or all of those things. Please believe me, you are not. You simply are having more pain than you can cope with at that time. BUT (praise God) I am here to also tell you that suicidal feelings can be survived when you find ways to reduce the pain and increase the coping resources.

“But our ‘and was made strong,
By the ‘and of the almighty.
We flowered in this generation,
Tri-umph-ant-ly.”

Help is waiting for you right now. It’s only a phone call or a prayer away.

Taku tuakana, I miss you. But I know you are now closer than ever to the comfort, hope and redemption made possible by He who has redeemed the world. Happy Easter brother.

“Won’t you ‘elp to sing,
Dese songs of freedom?
‘Cos all I ever ‘ave
Redemption songs.”

Hei konei. Hei kona.

THE WAY OF JOY

At every Te Runanga A Iwi O Ngati Kahu hui, a recurring theme and dream I hear is - let's hold a regular Ngati Kahu Festival and celebrate.

Even though the treaty claims are not yet settled, and some people are not always nice to us, joy is a much more welcome and healthier emotion than misery, and there are some seriously choice things for this iwi to celebrate - not least that we are still here. In fact when I look at our runanga and its members I am reminded of a sign that the Prophet Gordon B. Hinckley reported seeing hung by a rusty staple to a rundown barbed-wire fence in Texas. It read:

Burned out by drought

Drowned out by flud waters,

Et out by jackrabbits,

Sold out by sheriff,

Still here!

The biggest reasons to celebrate are our people. We feel justifiable pride at the continued emergence of youth like Rangi Moses (2003 Maori Sports Scholar) who will continue to shine in the academic arena, long after her feats in the sporting world have passed. We claim with pride seasoned men of strength and achievement like Hekenukumai Busby (master waka builder) and Eric Rush (double international in rugby union and sevens). And we applaud our women leaders like June McCabe and Dr Robyn Manuel.

Another cause for celebration is our influence and presence on the geography, history and demography of the Far North in our marae, maunga, awa and moana. Place names like Mangonui, Taipa, Puwheke, Rangiputa, Karikari, Oturu, Kenana, Te Paatu, Takahue, Mangataiore, Waiaua, Waiari, Toatoa, Parapara, Kohumaru, Oruru, Kareponia, Peria - these and so many others bear on-going witness to us as descendants of Kahutianui and Parata.

Then there are those things that we do that make it simply cool to be Ngati Kahu. Fishing, pig hunting, kapa haka, fishing, purakau, fishing ... you get the picture.

So, at the urging of ourselves, we are going to hld a big hooley in 2008 and celebrate. The organising sub-committee is being formed now, and if you want in on it, you can contact us on 408-3013, nkceo@xtra.co.nz or www.ngatikahu.com

On the other hand, if you think it can't be done, kei te pai tena. But please don't get in our way while we do it.

To paraphrase peace worker Doris (Granny D) Haddocks

- this is great work. Aren't we joyful for this moment, when all is at stake? We are, we are, and do not stand in the way of our joy. For what is life, if not a theatre of the soul where we might take our part for good or ill? What better thing do we have to do in these months ahead than prepare to celebrate? We will, we will, and do not stand in the way of our joy.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

MAORI POLITICS

In 1993 Ross Himiona, wrote, “Maori politics are practiced with great gusto, much noise, good humour, and sometimes too with considerable acrimony, … by the wise and respected, … by the not-so-wise, by the manipulators, numbers men and power brokers, behind doors and in dark corners; … by our womenfolk quietly getting on with the real business while the men prance and bluster; just like the other variety.”

The big difference of course is that the other variety doesn’t have to first convince its constituency to vote. That’s the dual challenge for Maori in this year’s local body elections; convince Pakeha that it’s in their interests to vote for you, and Maori that it’s in their interests to vote – period.

You’d be smart to run as part of a slate of candidates who are known to be good listeners, harder workers and champion communicators. And you’d be smarter still to avoid the killer mistakes that put paid to Maori success in the past. First, don’t stand Maori against each other. In 2004 three Pakeha and four Maori competed for two seats in the Western Ward. Result? Two Pakeha won. Second, don’t let mana get in the way of eliminating weak wannabe candidates. If someone can’t attract Pakeha support and excite Maori participation, do everyone a favour and cut them. Third, while you should talk to them, avoid public endorsements for your campaign by any organisation. Electoral laws on campaign spending aside, they can lose you more votes than they’re worth. Finally, don’t run with Maori only nominees or so-called Maori issues. Pick people with character and ability who understand that every issue is of interest to Maori.

Some independent candidates will likely get in, regardless of anything you do. Look at who amongst them might make attractive allies on Council, but don’t get too bogged down trying to win them over pre-election. The same goes for the Mayoralty. Run your own strong candidate before thinking about how you might work with an independent.

You should already have a hard-charging campaign team on the ground to raise the money, run the strategies and close the connections between you and the voters. Engari, the Maori Party showed that, even at very short notice, it can still be done successfully.

Policy statements haven’t played an important part in past local body elections up this way. But this year, if you’ve got a strong slate, a heavyweight Mayoral contender, an ace campaign team and key alliances, then a policy platform that tells voters clearly what to expect from you would be nothing but a plus.

If you can pull it all together in the next few weeks, you’ve got a fighting chance to overcome the dual challenge of conservative Pakeha and disengaged Maori voters, although, from my point of view, the real political challenge facing this entire country is how to make the Maori political process part of the mainstream.

So, how do you convince a Pakeha to vote for a Maori? The same way you convince a Maori to vote. Put your head down and bum up, than go kanohi ki te kanohi and door to door for every vote.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

WHAT'S THE BUZZ

This weekend I attended two quite different but equally invigorating events. Friday night I went up to the powhiri at Parapara marae, the venue for the long-awaited Tangaroa me ana Tamariki hui, and was blown away by a couple of things. First the Pakeha there almost outnumbered Maori. Second, as soon as manuhiri arrived they went into the whare kai to help get the evening meal ready. That told me straight away this was going to be a hui where a number of different groups would work together practically and get to know something about what made the others tick.
This hui came out of korero between the workers of the Doubtless Bay Marine Protection Group, Te Whakaminenga, the Department of Conservation and Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu. Now, you couldn’t get a more motley crew if you tried. But they took their shared sense of caring for the sea and everything in it, and they carried on talking to each other. The result was the hui – a bridge if you like. For the sake of Tangaroa me ana Tamariki, me nga iwi katoa, I hope it’s one that will get used and extended often.

Sunday, our whanau joined the throngs down at the local pool to celebrate Children’s Day. There was a good buzz happening right from the off with free sausages and cold water being served on demand plus plenty of cool handouts promoting the love and protection of our Tamariki. When the giant inflatable train / obstacle thingy was floated, the buzz deepened. Moving amongst the myriads of ages, shapes, genders, sizes, races and creeds packed around and in the pool I felt the moment when that buzz shifted from good to primo.

Nah - this is really a pool in China. Look relaxing to you?

Spacifix is a West Auckland hip-hop band who started as a school group three years ago, write and record their own songs, tour extensively and have a TV series. Fresh back from Los Angeles they turned up at Kaitaia on Sunday.

Love that Hair. These guys had energy to spare.

What a coup for the organizers, and what a frisson for the crowd. Yep. Their arrival onstage definitely marked the moment that Children’s Day went primo. And don’t ever believe hip-hop is only for brown boys. Because, quite frankly, this fifty year old nanna reckons we could do with way more events like this one in our town. And, judging by the way he rocked his five month old to sleep bopping to the beat, at least one young Pakeha dad would agree. Way to go REAP, Whakawhitiora Pai, Te Hiku Media and everyone else responsible. More please.

To close – last week Trevor Mallard and Mark Burton (Ministers of State-Owned Enterprises and Treaty Settlements respectively) opted for a common-sense month long moratorium on Landcorp sales while they review the ‘policies’ involved. We’re not out of the woods yet regarding Rangiputa, but we have every base covered and will do everything we can to help the Ministers in their review. If you’re interested in knowing more you’re always welcome to phone or call in to our Parkdale Crescent office any time. Or come to the Runanga hui-a-marama on Saturday 31st at Kareponia marae.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

CHOOSE YOU THIS DAY

Na e aku tuakana teina aroha, ko ahau ko Anahera ki te ritenga o te mahi e tau ana ki runga ki a au hei mahi maku ki te Atua, hei whakanui maku i toku karangatanga i runga i te whakaaro nui, kua tae ake nei ahau ki a koutou i tenei ra kia whakapuaki ai ahau i te kupu a te Atua ki a koutou. One of the things that defines being Ngati Kahu is spirituality. Go to any hui and you can guarantee that someone will be called on to open and close it in karakia. Prayer is great, but not when it’s used to disguise ill-will. I am talking directly to you who lost the battle for Ngati Kahu’s mandate.

The mandated negotiators work hard to keep everyone informed, including you. But you work harder at staying uninformed. Na, kei te mohio tonu koutou, i nga wa kua pahure ake nei, i u tonu ratou ki te whakarite i te karangatanga i karangatia ai ratou. Yet you won’t come to the well-notified monthly Runanga hui where there’s a clear standing agenda item – ‘Negotiators’ Report’ – up for discussion every time. I personally put into your hands all the written negotiators’ reports that had been tabled for the last four years. But, instead of acknowledging their hard work, integrity and transparency, you called a hui and gave them two days notice that their presence was required to report to you. When they declined to meet this unreasonable ‘request,’ you complained you were being ignored instead of owning up to the truth that you were being ignorant.

You want the negotiators to work with and for your leader because you reckon he can open doors in government that they can’t. That might or might not be true. But more to the point, if this government is willing to do a better deal with someone who failed to get the mandate of the people, rather than with those who hold it, doesn’t that ring ethical alarm bells for you?

The negotiators have had a presence at all your hui except the last one so, if you genuinely want to know and have a say in what’s happening, come to the next Runanga hui at Kareponia on the 31st. And before you moan at being talked to through the media, remember that you’ve had this invitation put to you in person several times already, but still haven’t come.

Ae ra, nana toku wairua i whakapouri nana ahau i mea kia memenge i te whakama i mua i te aroaro o toku Kai-hanga, kia whakaatu atu ahau kia koutou mo te kino o o koutou ngakau. He mea pouri ano hoki ki ahau kia korero ahau me te maia, me te nui o te reo ki a koutou, i te aroaro o a matou kaumatua me a matou kuia, he tokomaha o ratou e tino ngawari ana ta ratou whakaaro, e hekore ana, e tu-oi ana i te aroaro o te Atua, ko te mea ia e ahuareka ana ki te Atua.
You have a clear choice before you. Follow the path of the one who sows discord amongst the people, and you might reap war. Follow the path that Paul recommends in 1 Timothy 2:1 – 2, and we will all reap peace.

Both paths are spiritual, but only one is tika. Hei konei. Hei kona.

RANGIPUTA HIKOI

Although I wasn’t there, (had to keep a prior appointment), the Hikoi through town last Friday went off like clockwork I hear, thanks to the organizational efforts of those on the Noho Whenua as well as old hands like our Taitokerau Member of Parliament.

Thanks also to the many Pakeha who have either lived long enough amongst us to know the justice of our land claims, or are fair-minded enough to have acquainted yourselves with the facts. Having done so, you have supported our cause and not felt threatened by or resentful of the truth that this land should eventually be returned to Ngati Kahu. Thank you also to the workers on the station. Although you’re loyal and good employees of Landcorp, you’re also part of our community, and we’ve had korero kanohi ki te kanohi at a good and human level with you all.

Sadly that’s not been the case with the Office of Treaty Settlements Director (Paul James), Landcorp’s CEO (Chris Kelly), and Landcorp’s Board who are chaired by Jim Sutton, an ex-Labour MP, now a roving Ambassador for New Zealand. Sure they’ve been polite enough, but in the end they’ve all chosen to actively pursue or passively watch the carve-up and sale of our land. To do so they have had to first ignore and deny at an almost cellular level the truth that they are perpetrating and benefiting from an ongoing land theft. It genuinely puzzles me how and why the eight Directors on the Landcorp Board in particular can do that. They are all passionate landowners themselves. So I wonder, if their land was stolen as ours has been, when would they and their descendants stop seeking its return?

But orchestrating it all are the Crown Ministers behind the Office of Treaty Settlements and Landcorp. Trevor Mallard (Minister of State-Owned Enterprises), Michael Cullen (Minister of Finance), and Mark Burton (Minister of Treaty Negotiations) cannot show how they got their hands on our land. Yet, rather than do the honourable thing and work towards giving it back to us, they’ve all chosen to ape Pontius Pilate and Herod. Well wash away you Honourable members. It’s clear you’re here after every cent you can gouge out of our land, and I don’t doubt that you’ll be able to dodge justice a while longer. But how you’ll stand and defend your actions in the hereafter, I have no idea.

Hoha matou! We get tired of it sometimes, BUT we will carry on trying to get our ever-changing Treaty partner to do the right thing and follow its own rules.

And with that in mind, a final and emphatic thanks to Hone Harawira for the excellent questions in the House. Pai ana to mahi Hone hei reo mo tatou i te whare Ngarara. Rangatira o korero. Kua mau nga mahi a te Kawana. Koia e wetiweti nei ki nga Kereme nei.

Kia kaha tatou ma. Hei konei. Hei kona.

THE WOVEN PEOPLE

Out at the noho whenua on Rangiputa last Saturday I heard a catch-cry I often hear that goes along the lines of, "We’re all the same." Whenever I hear stuff like that, I know straight away I'm listening to someone who's feeling different to me and really means, “I want you to be more like me"

To reword something written by C S Lewis: No man who says, we are all the same, believes it. He wouldn't say it if he did. The St. Bernard never says it to the toy dog, nor the scholar to the dunce, nor the employable to the bum, nor the pretty woman to the plain. The claim to sameness is made only by those who feel uncomfortable about others’ differences.

Take a look at the weaving in this picture. The korowai at the top is by the late Nicky Lawrence. The rain cape (pake) at the bottom is, I think, done by Jane Allan and Betsy Young of Ngataki. The silky, milky muka and the green putiputi are by Lydia Smith, while the whariki on which they lie were a joint effort by a number of us under Lydia's guidance. Although they are different in make, form and usage, these items are all woven on two universal principles – the horizontal weft and the vertical warp. Just like love' and 'marriage, you can't have one without the other. Well, you can try, but they’ll fall apart as sure as eggs.


Koutou ma – we don't have to be like each other. We don’t even have to like each other, although that would be nice. But we do have to live alongside each other. Why not do it as a woven people? Te whiringa o te muka tangata, ne? Hei konei. Hei kona.

RANGIPUTA REPOSSESSION

In the 1980s, under pressure from Maori, the government created 27B memorials on Crown lands under claim that were being transferred into the State Owned Enterprises (SOEs). For Ngati Kahu this included the Rangiputa station on the Karikari peninsula which is now being used by Landcorp. The idea was that the station would remain available to Ngati Kahu for inclusion in any eventual settlement. But because of the way the Crown has set it up, even though it got the land for nothing, it tries to assert that Ngati Kahu can only get it back if we buy it at market value using the cash portion of any settlement package we might accept.

Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu holds the mandate to negotiate this and all other historical claims of Ngati Kahu. In October last year the Office of Treaty Settlements let our negotiators know that Landcorp was going to carve off a small section of the station and put it on the open market with an asking price of $3.5 – $4 million. Now, given that the Crown had offered us no more than $8million cash to settle all our claims – you can bet we objected. Do the math yourself. If this small section of the station chews up 50% of the entire settlement cash being offered, we really don’t have much hope of getting the entire station back do we?

Still, we didn’t give up. We decided to find a capital venture partner who would provide us the money to negotiate a fair price with Landcorp in exchange for a long-term leaseback arrangement on the section which would allow him to recoup and grow his investment. That way Landcorp would get its cash, Ngati Kahu would hold ownership over of its land, the investor would get the use of it for an agreed term and, at the end of that term, usage would also come back to Ngati Kahu. The idea isn’t new. It’s been successfully done all over the world, including in Auckland where Ngati Whatua has an agreement over the Devonport Naval Base. It was a win-win for everyone. But nope – Landcorp wasn’t interested. Its CEO told our lawyer that the property would go on the open market in early 2007.

Our negotiators asked the Office of Treaty Settlements to purchase the section and hold it in the Landbank, which is another flawed but tried mechanism set up by the Crown to supposedly protect claim lands from being irrevocably alienated away before settlement. But nope – OTS didn’t have the money. Next the Urlich whanau of Te Whanau Moana, the local hapu out at Rangiputa, tried to engage the Crown and Landcorp in sincere dialogue. But no – they too were treated with disdain and fob-offs. Make no mistake. This land was stolen by the Crown. This is backed up by the Crown’s own Waitangi Tribunal which reported in 1997 that it was never sold. The Crown and its tentacles have made mega-bucks off it and continue to do so.

In last Thursday’s Age there was a glowing description of the land going up for sale. For Te Whanau Moana and Ngati Kahu that was the final straw. We have tried every possible avenue to resolve this. Been to the Tribunal, got a report that’s now ten years old, entered negotiations and offered innovative solutions. And what have we got out of it thus far? Nothing. So when you hear that there is an “occupation” out at Rangiputa, don’t you believe it. It’s just Te Whanau Moana repossessing a small part of its whenua.
Kia kaha koutou ma. E tautoko kaha ana Te Runanga-a-Iwi-o Ngati Kahu me nga tini hapu o Ngati Kahu i tenei mahi toa, mahi tika.

BEING HERE

Sometimes being an iwi insider can be a pain. Like when I hear the words “mai ra ano” as an explanation for why things can or will never change. Don’t get me wrong, I get a kick out of being here and I value those traditions that give shape and meaning to this life. But even paradise can start to pall if things forever remain the same. So I’m really grateful to be something of a magnet for quirky people.


They challenge, exasperate and bug the heck out of me … and yet I must like being here with them because I have no trouble telling people to permanently go away, and I’ve yet to do that with any of them.

There’s my old mate, a Pakeha, who has for years annoyed me with his korero about a “third way” which, according to him, will result as we in this country move from being either western (read Pakeha) or eastern (insert Maori) to this “third way.” He was bad enough on his own then he met and joined up with one of my Kaumatua. Together they prove the theory that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I don’t happen to agree with hardly a thing they have to say … and yet I admire their passion and commitment to the “third way” that they now actively promote throughout the motu.

Another man I worked with was a chronic boozer who, after decades of marriage, had to build himself a custom-made “dogbox” in which to sleep off his benders because his former one got totaled one morning by a visiting horse. I think it involved the horse’s head. Not long after that he and a pal established a political party and their meetings were always in the office I shared with him. I never heard such learned discussions before … nor since. He exasperated me no end with what I saw as an utter waste of one of the best intellects ever to visit this earth … and yet I always felt energized when he was around. God rest his pickled soul.

If you have an hour or a day to spare I recommend you spend it with another mate of mine to just listen to him alternatively korero i te reo Maori and English. You say you don’t speak or understand te reo? Believe me it won’t matter, you won’t get much more than an edgeways word in every now and then anyway. But sit with him long enough and I promise you this – you will learn so much more than you ever thought possible about yourself. Many of my other quirky mates would tell you not to waste your time … and yet his challenging company remains a stimulus for some of their own best thinking moments.



I make no apologies to my well-loved friends who have either been included or excluded from this column. You are truly awesome people so don’t feel anything but pride if I’ve shared some thoughts about you, because you are the point, the reason and even the message for today.

Being here is a privilege. It doesn’t last long. Think about that. That’s one thing that quirky people do really well. Instead of rejecting the possibilities with a “mai ra ano” they think in unlimited ways. They are the ones who give me hope that it might actually still be possible to have an original thought. You know – the kind that produced the wheel and changed the world. Let’s face it, there’s precious little of it happening anymore. But if it does happen it’ll come from one of them. It may even come from one of you. And that would make any pain well worthwhile. God willing.

Hei konei Hei kona.

ON YOUR SHOULDERS

THE ANNUAL GENERAL

Since becoming CEO with Ngati Kahu I’ve come up with my own interpretation of the acronym – Carry Every One!





One of the most stressful times of the year is that leading up to and inclusive of an Annual General Meeting. This being both my first AGM with Ngati Kahu and my first as a CEO made it nerve-wracking, hair-tearing stuff as my three month lead in time dwindled to weeks then days before the final ‘i’ got dotted and the last ‘t’ was crossed on the Annual Report.

As a result I’m giving a very stern warning to everyone from our directors to our printers – please don’t do this to me next year. OK?

Anyway it turned out to be a great day at Oturu marae. The deliberations were deliberate, the humour was hilarious and the goodwill was … good. Oh yeah, the finances received an unqualified audit report, and so too did the food which was fabulous. More importantly, the unity of purpose and passion lit up the day as bright as the sunshine outside. Yeah I know, you can just about hear the birds singing and the harps playing. Put all cynicism aside, those who missed it missed something special.

TANGAROA ME ANA TAMARIKI

So don’t miss out again this weekend when Parapara marae hosts this Tangaroa me ana Tamariki wananga which literally means, for those still learning the reo, Tangaroa and his Children. But you know Maori, we need to look behind the literal and find the symbol, and it’ll help you to do the same if you want to build the relationship with us and to be part of protecting the marine environment in our rohe.

There’ll be some talk, some practice and heaps of learning. Presenters include Kaumatua, marine biologists, and local Taipa Area School students. They’ll cover a range of kaupapa like how to build and use a hinaki, monitoring marine health and making it happen. If it is fine on the Saturday, there could be a trip to Aurere.

The hui is being co-hosted by the Department of Conservation, Doubtless Bay Marine Protection Group, Te Runanga-a-Iwi O Ngati Kahu and Te Whakaminenga. Come along for the whole weekend or come along for an hour. Everyone is welcome. Oh, and a plate for supper on Friday and a hand in the whare kai would be very much appreciated.

PATHOLOGIST SERVICES IN KAITAIA

Sorry to close on a glum note but I have to signal something that’s going to get my attention. Sitting at the market on Saturday morning I met a whanaunga who told me that post mortems are all being done in Auckland now. Probably not news to a lot of you but, man, who needs the additional burden of having to travel to Auckland and back when you’re already heartbroken and might also be broke?

We’ve got a local funeral service that’s building a new complex with purpose-built post mortem facilities included. So what’s the problem about doing post-mortems up here? That’s what I’m going to find out.

CEO remember.

HERE'S TO THE DREAMERS

Industry captains and benny-day millionaires, five year old boys and fifty year old nannas, local governments and marae committees – they all have a dream for the future. The difference between realizing their dream and watching it turn to dust most often boils down to three simple things.

Belief is first up – the kind that does not let anything cloud the dream. Second up is planning – the kind that takes note of then disregards how or even if the dream stacks up against everyone else’s. Because if you play that game the ones at the top of the heap tend to stay there and the best everyone lower down can hope for is to be asked how they feel about the deal when, in most cases, it’s already done and dusted.

Too many times that’s how consultation feels when it comes to central, regional and local government plans. You can forgive people if they feel it ain’t worth the bother. But Ngati Kahu doesn’t have that option. In fact no iwi authority does when the consultation and plans are all about the use and development of our resources. In the face of every attempt to ignore, destroy or diminish that simple fact, it not only persists – it positively flourishes.

The government passed the Foreshore and Seabed Act, so Maori put people in Parliament with the nouse and guts to seek its repeal. Council decided that a resource consent application for an overbridge on to the foreshore didn’t need to be notified, so Maori took firm action and the development halted. The Resource Management Act became government’s legislative framework, so Maori churned out resource management graduates by the bucketload who used it to enhance our practice and government’s understanding of kaitiakitanga.

That’s the reactionary aspect of being whanau, hapu and iwi in Aotearoa. But the really mindboggling achievements are in the proactive stuff that’s going on out here in iwi-land. We have produced educators, broadcasters, jurists, tradesmen, entrepreneurs and other influencers – most of them legitimate and most holding the same world view as our tupuna had of this country’s resources. Naku te ao. Eventually all that collective belief adds up to reality.

That brings me to the last and probably hardest part of realizing our dreams – relating to all those others who either share or think they share our interests. The good news is that it doesn’t have to be hard. Right now Ngati Kahu, the Department of Conservation and the Doubtless Bay Marine Protection Society are all working together to enhance the protection of our marine environment. It has its exciting moments but largely it’s being done very amicably under the mana whenua / mana moana of Ngati Kahu.

So here’s to the dreamers and schemers amongst us who turn the impossible into the unremarkable. Long may we dream.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

IT'S NOT ABOUT STATISTICS

Statistics are not as sexy as headlines that shout “Welfare State Killed Kahui Twins” or some such, but did you know that in Northland last year there were almost 15,500 crimes recorded and only 7,500 resolved? Yeah I know you’re thinking – so what? Is crime going up, going down or just going round and round?

Remember these are statistics, so probably any meaning is possible. What is probable is that most of you reading this will be thinking at least one or a mix of the following things.

§ Pakeha colonization is the root cause of most of the crime around here.
§ Maori commit most of the crime around here.
§ I don’t feel as safe today as I did ten years ago.
§ I’ve never felt safe.

If you can truly say you didn’t think anything remotely like any of the above you either have a well-developed case of ignorance or a highly evolved sense of perspective. Well, commiserations to the ignorant and congratulations to the perceptive. Feel free to stick around. But this is probably not about you.

As for the rest of you – your thinking might be right or it might be wrong. You might be Ngati Kahu, Ngati Pakeha or Ngati Kore. I don’t care. But if you’re honest enough to own your thoughts and you’re willing to do something about either verifying or altering them, then this is about you.

First off – if you aren’t happy with the way you think things are, than change them. But try not to be an ‘-ist’ about it. Racists, ageists, sexists, tribalists – even herbalists – they all made up their minds once a long time ago and they aren’t ever going to do anything that might put them in the way of having to change it. ‘-Ists’ are about as useful to Ngati Kahu as feathers on a frog. So, please, don’t be an ‘-ist.’

Second – if there are people in your neighbourhood you don’t know much about, try meeting and getting to know them on their terms. If you live in the Ngati Kahu rohe, which is roughly between Kaitaia, Mangamuka and Kaeo, and you haven’t done it yet, find out when the local Marae or the local Ratepayers Association next meets and get on over there. You’ll find an everyday life going on that’s as different to yours as Paris, Rarotonga or Rome. Call us here on 4083013 and we’ll put you in touch with the marae. Sorry we can’t help you with the Ratepayers Association because that’s still on our personal list of different people we have yet to meet. But please, don’t let your differences stop you from experiencing our differences.

Third – if you ever feel bad about something you hear one of your mates say or do to anyone different to them, have the courage to front them. Mahia nga mahi ki runga i te tika, te pono me te aroha. What you sow you will reap. So please, don’t be a coward.

You know, one definition of crime is ‘an action or an instance of negligence that is deemed injurious to the public welfare.’ That includes letting ignorance, prejudice and cowardice guide the way you live your life. So if you don’t like things the way they are, it’s not about crime statistics. It’s about you.

Hei konei Hei kona.

STUMBLING BLOCKS INTO STEPPING STONES

On last week’s Ngati Kahu radio show I interviewed Carol Hudson, Adult Community Education (ACE) Coordinator and Librarian at Taipa Area School, about how she and a number of teachers at the school want to deliver their “Stepping Stones and Pathways” to the taitamariki / young adults in their rohe. They’re especially concerned about those who are no longer at school, not yet employed in their dream job, and wanting to get some unit standards under their belt. Sadly they’ve found it hard to gauge the interest level because only two people turned up to their first informal meeting held on September 7th. So here’s me doing my bit to promote what Carol and the ACE team are trying to do in Taipa.

ACE used to be known as “night school” and, even though the name has changed, the dedication and commitment of the people who are willing to give up their time and talents to tutor others remains bright. Take a look at the following lineup of prospective tutors and courses at Taipa. They have Jo Berghan (Parenting Skills), M’am Fiona King (NCEA English), Wyane Walsh (NCEA Math), Dianne Vette-Welsh (ESOL), Jessica Lightband (Cooking on a Budget), Matua Tangira (Tu Tangata), Mark Edwards (Computing), Steve Tansey (Graphics) and Karen Gally (Budgeting). Those look like pretty useful skills for anyone to gain, let alone those who are unskilled, unemployed and wanting more out of life.

Whatever the case might be, the opportunity and challenge are there for people to get along to see Carol at the school and take a look at what’s possible. They have the keen-as tutors, they have the venues – and I’m willing to stick their neck out and bet that if you can’t get in they’ll try and get out to you. All they need now is the interest and feedback from you their community. Carol can be contacted on 4060159 ext. 220. So over to you Tokerau / Doubtless Bay.

Onto another kaupapa altogether. This week I met with Te Ohu Kai Moana’s Asset Transfer Team Manager to see how we can iron out the last few kinks standing between Ngati Kahu and our share of the 1992 Fisheries Settlement. We are not far away from getting the population-based portion of our allocation. But like Ngapuhi, Te Rarawa and many other Mandated Iwi Organisations (MIOs) we’re still some miles from getting our coastline-based portions of the assets because we have yet to fix a spot on the map defining the boundaries between us and our neighbouring iwi.

Why must iwi, who have managed for millennia to co-exist without defining where our shared interests begin and end, now have to put an “X” on a map? Because that is what is we have to do in order to get our own assets and to stop paying for their use. And because fighting against it has already cost us terribly. So that is why Ngati Kahu, in spite of the internal tussle within ourselves about doing so, is taking part in something we didn’t design, don’t like and suspect won’t deliver what we want. But after this week’s meeting I feel more hopeful that, as with most things that come our way, Ngati Kahu will turn even this stumbling block into a stepping stone.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

WORDS AND CONTEXT

It’s fascinating how words get most of their power from a context that very few of us have an inkling about. An example of that happened at the opening of the new Mangonui police station a few weeks ago. From my perspective the whole affair was strange for a bunch of reasons, not least being the relegation of Ngati Kahu kaumatua to a supporting role in their own rohe. But the strangest moment of the day for me personally came from a local VIP with whom I’ve always been reasonably friendly. After congratulating me on my recent appointment, she turned to the staunch Ngati Kahu man with me and said, “I’m so glad Anahera is on board with Ngati Kahu. Now we might have a decent relationship with you.”

I have no idea what the VIP meant to communicate but I had a very clear idea by the curl of his lip what my mate heard her say. Ask anyone who knows me, I’m not often left speechless. But the utter crassness of the moment frustrated me, and I just walked away. It’s not my style anymore to have public stoushes with VIPs, especially in a police station, but I wondered how Ngati Kahu could have a “better relationship” with someone who hadn’t a clue about our context?

Think about it. This is an iwi dealing with development pressures in our rohe like no other in Tai Tokerau. Karikari peninsula alone had a 7% population increase between 1996 and 2001 when the change for the entire Far North district was only 3.3%. And you can bet the house that the population has shot up even more sharply in 2006. The last lot of unjust land clearances in our rohe happened in the 1960s when the Hetaraka whanau were forcibly removed from their farm on what is now the fantastically popular camping ground administered by DoC at Maitai Bay. That’s in the living memory of a lot of us. Land is still being lost to rating pressures, and the Crown is still resisting the chance it has in the treaty negotiations to return or pay a fair price for what it stole from us.

The correlation between landlessness and powerlessness is our context and VIPs of varied ilk have presided over that. So to all VIPs out there – past, present and budding – no. I won’t tame this ‘stroppy’ Ngati Kahu lot and I won’t deliver them on a silver platter anywhere they don’t want to go. But I will do my very best to help you understand, if you want to, their context.

Who knows, you might come to admire this quite resilient iwi as we change our context and, in the process, you might get to have a real relationship with us.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

RATIFICATION ROUNDUP

The Ngati Kahu constitution was ratified two weeks ago with a 97% approval vote. The results and supporting evidence have been sent to Te Ohu Kai Moana so it can release to us in the New Year our share of the fisheries settlement. The process was onerous, but the result is a great one by any standards.

MERRY MAITAI CHRISTMAS
This Christmas holiday period some of you might be thinking of heading out to Maitai Bay campgrounds for a day or two. Before you go here are some facts that will make your visit a lot more meaningful.

1. The Hetaraka Whanau and this land belong to each other. In the 1960s they were unjustly and forcibly removed from it and their ownership rights over it were usurped by the Crown. Two years ago they moved back onto the land and the Crown finally began addressing the serious wrong it had done them. Alan Hetaraka lives there and, along with Te Runanga A Iwi O Ngati Kahu and the Department of Conservation, is building a solid partnership towards its future management and development.


2. Respect goes a long way in Ngati Kahu. Within the Maitai Bay Reserve there are areas of high spiritual and cultural value to Te Whanau Moana, the local hapu, and the wider iwi of Ngati Kahu. Additionally the fore dunes are environmentally fragile and also need to be treated with respect. Ngati Kahu would prefer that they not be used at all due to the large number of past burials in close proximity to the beach, but we’ll be satisfied if you use existing tracks to the beaches and don’t take vehicles onto Merita Beach at all (except to launch boats at the left hand end of the beach). Foot traffic on that beach must be limited to below the high water line and boat trailers must be parked in the area provided within the bounds of the camp.

If you’re going to visit Maitai Bay this summer, then take the time to familiarise yourself with these facts. If you arrive with fireworks, firearms, speeding vehicles, an attitude, alcohol, drugs or dollar signs in your eyes – don’t expect the welcome mat to be rolled out. But if you come prepared to treat the area and its people with the utmost respect, you’ll be welcomed back anytime.

HEI KONEI HEI KONA
Here at the end of 2006 I thank God for many things. Another year of life in all its gory glory. Blessings and burdens of family and friends. Hard times and good times. The growth that can only come out of hard times and the laughter that lightens the load. In 2007 I hope for many things. But most of all I hope that, as you approach the manger this year and greet once more the Child who is born to save us, you find comfort in the company of shepherds, angels and a poor but joyous couple and their newborn Son. Then, after all the holiday hoop-la has dissolved. I pray you can look inside and outside yourself, then truly feel grateful for the mystery and the miracle of life before you, and confident that ‘for all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.’
See you in 2007.

SHORT REPORT - LONG MEETING

SHORT REPORT

At last week’s meeting of the Northland Conservation Board a powerpoint by Vince Kerr regarding the Northland Regional Council’s proposed Aquaculture Management Areas (AMAs) held everyone’s attention. What’s an AMA? It’s an area specifically created to allow for marine farms. Anyway Vince showed a photo, taken around 1885, titled ‘All in a Day’s Work,’ showing a man covered in and surrounded by fish.

Since 1885 90% of the ocean’s biomass has disappeared, and today unique sites, like the Mimiwhangata Reef in Ngati Wai as well as Doubtless Bay and the Nukutaurua Reef in Ngati Kahu, are still being wasted. Our worry is that, if AMAs are added to the mix before we can set up protections like Marine Reserves, Marine Protected Areas and Mahinga Mataitai, things could quickly get even worse. So what’s the hold up? Apparently it’s questions like: Who should run these, and who will make decisions regarding them? If I was a fish the only question I’d have would be: When are you going to act? My solution is simple. Iwi Maori meet and agree on our mana moana, then establish seamless mahinga mataitai round the entire coastline under which Marine Reserves and Protective Areas can be established before any AMAs are set up.

I seem to recall that it was the NRC who signalled its readiness to go where no other Council in the country had yet dared and set up these AMAs. Now only time will tell whether it’s out on the plank above the circling sharks (read anything from cultural to commercial fishery interests here) or swimming ahead of the pack. Whatever, it’s just another day’s work for the fish.



LONG LIFE
It has been my fortunate burden to work with many older men. Fortunate in that it’s generally better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave. Burdensome in that they tend to pass away just when they’re at their sweetest. I mark the death of my old friend John (Haki) Campbell who, with single-minded focus and ambition, made the transition from small town Pawarenga boy to nationally recognised leader of his iwi. Right to the last when Haki walked into a room you knew – Te Rarawa was in the house. We shared nine years as Chair and Secretary respectively of Te Runanga O Te Rarawa and, boy oh boy, if only the Board Room walls could talk! We rarely started on the same side of any issue, but we always reached total agreement before leaving that room, even though what happened in between was sometimes ugly. Certainly no man ever upset me as much, except maybe my dear husband, and some of our ‘encounters’ had onlookers literally ducking for cover. But it was Haki who gave an adamantine cultural base to my more mercurial talents, while I provided the written words on which he anchored his ambitions for the Iwi. Together we fronted the battles that finally won recognition for Te Rarawa as an entity in its own right.

Then one day we looked at each other and realised our time was up. So we both moved into supporting roles for the new generation of leaders who took the Iwi to the next level. But by then it was too late. We’d come to love each other as true friends – warts and all. And that will never change.

There are too few kaumatua of that generation left, and even fewer who can or will do the mahi across iwi boundaries. Haki was one of those who did, in spite of failing health and sight. Florence, Barry and Kim – thank you for sharing your husband and father with us and for taking care of him better than he did of himself. Haki my old darling, although you won’t be Chairman there, kia pai to haere ki te Runanga i te Rangi e hoa. Ka kite ano.

KINK IN THE LINK

This is to the Whanau Hapu and Iwi wherever and whoever we are. As I wrote last week our Whanau, Hapu and Iwi chain is a very elegant one. Trouble is, elegance doesn’t cut it anymore for heaps of us because there’s been a serious break in the chain or at least a kink in the link. The reasons are debatable but one thing’s for sure – we’re the only ones who can mend it. Not government. Not the schools and sports clubs, not the Councils, not the DHB – you and me.

Why? Because until we take personal responsibility for changing the destructive dynamic of Whanau hell-bent on repeating the same mistakes over and over, then all the service providers will do is fence the top and clean up the mess at the bottom of the cliff over which more and more of us are either falling or jumping. In the meantime, our own cultural, societal and familial values are ringing hollow for the abused, the maimed, the bereft and the dead.

We rescued the reo and now it’s time to rescue the speakers. We have to do a “Kohanga Reo” across every living generation of our Whanau and teach them how to be fabulous again. Call it “Fabulous Whanau” or some such, and staff it with skilled “Whanau Mahita“ to do the teaching. Take every prevention, intervention and postvention that already works out of the schools, off the streets and directly into every home. Aim every piece of research, on which new programmes will be built, at Whanau in our homes. Churches, marae, schools, clubs, clinics, service providers and others can support and reinforce what is done, but WE have to ensure the delivery penetrates the point of need – our Whanau in our homes.

I thank Te Oranga, Te Hauora O Te Hiku O Te Ika and the DHB for the Suicide Prevention hui held last week. I hope a follow up call will now be made for Whanau leaders and relevant professionals to mahi tahi. Together look at the solutions offered at that hui. Set up a menu of choices from which to tailor-make the approach and find the best-fit Mahita for each Whanau. Design together the peer review, supervision and reporting format thingies that will keep everyone honest and accountable. Jointly develop and make the case to the DHB or whoever for the money and materials needed. Then power up and work to penetrate our whanau.

Who are these leaders? They are the ones who have the goodies and the guts to do whatever it takes to fix the broken links of our whanau. The ones who will coax and cajole, even bully us and the agencies into doing the right thing. The ones who couldn’t give a flying fig about our rights if we’re a kaka parent or a kuare Crown agent and who, rather than let us ruin them, will take our children to either raise themselves or find a decent Whanau who will. The ones who will help us to rehabilitate but will kick our butts out the door if we stuff it up for their uri. They’re the ones who will help stop this damnable scourge of murder, suicide and abuse afflicting us.

I believe every baby comes to earth ‘trailing clouds of glory’ needing Whanau who are committed and know how to literally lift and power them into their full magnificence. Only then will the desecration and destruction stop. Oh and by the way – misery-mongers, finger pointers, mona lisas and unrepentant abusers of any race, colour or creed need not apply.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

CONSTITUTIONAL COUNT

The time has come, the Walrus said – for Ngati Kahu to put rubber on the road and ratify our new Constitution. This is the end of only one of a number of tangled threads in a complex arrangement officially called the Maori Fisheries Act 2004.

Even I get a headache distinguishing the beginning from the end of this knotty mess, and I’ve lived to some degree or other with it since 1986. That was when Government adopted the Quota Management System (QMS), and Ngati Kahu joined all other Muriwhenua Maori in a fisheries claim against the Crown for breaching Articles 2 and 3 of Te Tiriti O Waitangi. Eventually the claim went nationwide, culminating in 1992 with a partial settlement covering only its commercial aspects. That was the Sealords Deal followed by establishment of Te Ohu Kai Moana (TOKM) to administer the settlement assets until it could be figured out who to allocate them to, and how. After that all hell broke loose.

After enduring a number of Court cases, TOKM finally plumped for an allocation model to traditional Iwi – but only after we’d met a stringent set of criteria. And that’s where our Constitution ratification comes in. We’ve made several changes, but the main one is that the remaining four original Trustees no longer have automatic membership on our governing body. Instead they will have automatic membership on Te Taumata Kaumatua O Ngati Kahu from where they can still ensure the Runanga operates under and according to the tikanga of Ngati Kahu. That way we strengthen our own ways of operating and also meet the standards of democracy.

In a massive exercise we’ve just finished posting private notices, information papers and ballot papers to more than 2000 registered adult Ngati Kahu members who can cast their vote for or against ratifying the Constitution. If 75% of those who do vote tick “I APPROVE” then the Constitution will be ratified, the Runanga will become our Mandated Iwi Organisation (MIO) and Ngati Kahu will finally receive the fish quota, shares in Aotearoa Fisheries Ltd and cash currently held for us by TOKM.

Now the really critical thing is that, while we have more than 3500 individuals on our register, we know that in the 2001 census there were 6500 who chose Ngati Kahu as their main Iwi, and our own whakapapa calculations are that there are more than 15,000 who could rightfully claim membership. If you are one of those who are not yet registered you need to register soon. Contact us at the Runanga either on 4083013 or ngatikahu@xtra.co.nz or online via http://www.ngatikahu.com/index.php?pr=Registrations

Hei Konei. Hei Kona.

Turkeys Don't Fly

THE DELETIONS BILL

Did you hear the one about the bunch of turkeys who went to flying school? After four years they graduated with a full understanding of the theory and practice of flight - then they all walked home.

This reminds me of New Zealand First and its ‘Principles of the Treaty of Waitangi Deletion Bill.’ The architects of the DB, for short, promise it will – improve race relations, reduce the money spent on lawyers, decrease the power of judges, improve our health, education, housing and employment systems, break the shackles of victimhood off Maori, stop apartheid happening in New Zealand, and free all of us to fly. It will do all these things by deleting every whiff of the Treaty and its principles from the current and future laws of our country. The current laws that will change include six claim settlement Acts and 22 other Acts that deal with the use, management and control of almost every resource in this country. Interesting that.

To those of you who haven’t got a clue what it is to be in a half-way real relationship, ask yourself these things. If this Bill passes, what will you make of it when every Treaty claim already settled is revisited in the Courts by claimants determined to protect their hard-won gains? How will you feel about the legal aid budget blowing out as those yet to settle do likewise? What will your solution be when almost every indicator of national wellbeing nosedives as we polarise into those who feel they have a stake in this country and those who know they don’t?

I don’t think the DB will gather the numbers to survive its next reading and, as you may gather, I don’t support it. It’s based on the flawed thinking that one partner in a marriage can define everything for the other, including the state of our ‘race relations.’ And all you couples out there have got to know how poorly that turkey flies.

RESOURCE MANAGEMENT ACT

In Ngati Kahu we have a lean, keen machine called Victor – our iwi Environmental Manager. Originally from England he made the wise choice to fall in love with and marry one of us. After a couple of decades he made the even wiser choice to bring her home and work for us. His particular bailiwick is largely defined by two things – first, Ngati Kahu tikanga and second, the Resource Management Act.

Of the two the RMA provides Victor with his biggest frustration – lack of notification from FNDC and NRC on way too many resource consent applications. Under the RMA, Councils define who is an ‘interested’ party and who is an ‘affected’ party in any resource consent process. Most people want to be recognised as an affected party because they get more say than those who only have an interest. Victor and his peers have done some sterling work to provide these Councils with a definition process that works for everyone. Me and my mates on the Taitokerau Iwi Chief Executive Forum encourage our NRC and FNDC counterparts to adopt what Victor and his peers are proposing.

Finally, if you’re wondering what the heck the difference is between an ‘interested’ and an ‘affected’ party, think of it like a plate of bacon and eggs. When you see the eggs you understand that the hen has an interest. But the pig – ahh the pig.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

Guy Fawkes A Goner

I came across this recently and felt some empathy. “I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have seen.” [Extract from ‘A Tribute to the Fire-fighters.’] OK, OK – I concede it’s a little melodramatic. But as a metaphor it fits.

9.00 p.m’ish Friday night – ‘KA-RUMP!’ Dougie answers my startled glance – “Sparkler bomb.” Sounds like it came from the same direction as the last one a few weeks ago that took out a neighbour’s letter-box.

10.42 p.m. Saturday night – my husband waits in line at the local Mobil. In front of him a pakeha lad of no more than 16 drops ten rolls of electrical tape on the counter. He doesn’t have enough cash, so walks out with only nine rolls. No-one other than Dougie so much as bats an eyelid.

8 p.m. Sunday – the smell and drift of cordite hang thick in the air over Parkdale and Allen Bell, up through Matthews Ave and around North, Bonnetts and Lake Roads. Do these streets represent the money-belt of our town? Hardly. More like the brown-belt. The fire alarm has gone off at least five times already. Is there anyone not celebrating tonight? Yep – the whanau of our Volunteer Fire-fighters.

I worry that some of this town’s restless souls might head out to Maitai Bay or other Ngati Kahu beach spots to let off steam along with their fireworks. If they do it will not be pretty.

Annually Guy Fawkes sees property, livestock, emergency services and people munted. What is that about? Consider those who market it. It’s not their core business, yet all week they’ve pumped out megabucks worth of explosives – supposedly to adults. Want to take a punt on how much their sales climbed around this event? From where I stand it looks like a lot of profit. Ba-da-bing! Ba-da-boom!

The buyers’ side of the tradition is equally simple. They know it’s a waste, but hey! It’s fun / They’re not pikers / It’s their right / It’s a great NZ tradition / What a thrill / What a buzz! With explosives in hand, alcohol at hand and control out of hand they metaphorically shout – look at me! I’m powerful! Sadly, come Monday morning, all that’s left are the burnt out ashes of the money they just blew away.

Tatou katoa – no matter what central government does with regards to fireworks (and I predict a ban on private sales to the public), it’s way past time for this town to pull finger and pull together, to get alcohol free facilities up and running here, to put on a decent public firework displays that lets our whanau enjoy the temporary thrills for what they are, and to think more about what and why we’re buying and selling.

The closing lines of that fire-fighters’ tribute go, “Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who we are, or what our job really means to us...I wish you could though.” Pure empathy I tell you. I wonder if my brother-in-law could whakamaoritia it for me. I’d call it ‘Te Tangi o Te Iwi Insider.’

Oh and by the way - the link in the title above to youtube surely should have earned these particular eejits a special mention in the "Darwin Awards."

11 p.m. Sunday night – kneel in thanks for the day’s blessings, including the Sabbath and our fire-fighters. Goodbye Guy Fawkes. I won’t miss you.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

Humpty Dumpty Hurts

Hurt and emotional pain can last a long time. In fact, unless people have a way of processing their hurt, it can last too long.

CORONER'S ACT
A few years ago my mahi as a SIDS prevention worker put me amongst the first on the scene whenever a Maori baby died anywhere in Auckland. My kaupapa – monitor and get the coronial process over ASAP so that the tangihanga can happen, because that’s our tried and true way to emerge from the grief and loss still reasonably whole and sane.

Every culture dislikes post mortems. I’ve been to many and still believe that, unless there are suspicious circumstances or the family want to know something about the cause of death that may only be discoverable through autopsy, they are mainly a training ground for those in the medical, legal and police fraternities. Engari, all I could do at the time was explain to the whanau pani what was happening and offer to stay with their baby every second as its Kaitiaki until the tupapaku was returned to them and the tangihanga could resume.

Now, while most police, pathologists and funeral directors are lovely people, few of them are trusted by Iwi Maori to be able to give the assurance – “Kei whakahokinga matou te tupapaku katoa o tou kohungahunga – we have returned your baby’s body intact.” I could, and such a little thing makes a world of difference to the living of any culture.

Yet, in spite of submissions asking for it, the new Coroners’ Act still does not include trained Kaitiaki amongst the classes of people who can represent whanau interests during the coronial process. The Act has a number of similar flaws, so come on Hone, Shane, Pita or John – work with us to amend this Act please.

TREATY CLAIMS' NEGOTIATIONS
Remember how the original Humpty Dumpty said scornfully to Alice, 'When I use a word it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.' Well that’s what negotiating with this government is like. When challenged, their answer is along the lines of, “Get stuffed, we’re the boss!””

Example – in the 1980s 27B memorials were created on Crown lands under claim that were being transferred into the SOEs. The idea was that the land would remain available for inclusion in any eventual settlement. SOEs could still use or on-sell it in the interim, but always with the understanding that it could end up having to be repurchased for inclusion in a settlement. Bit like ensuring, before a divorce settlement, that one partner can’t give away all their joint assets to avoid having to share anything with the other.

Since then the Crown has given an unwritten nod and wink to buyers of such land that all they have to do is put a building or any improvement on it and Iwi Maori can kiss their chances goodbye of ever getting it back through a Treaty claim. For Ngati Kahu that includes the Rangiputa station and myriads of small but highly valued coastal sections.

Well it might be legal under Humpty Dumpty, but it will never be right. You have to wonder what hurt happens to the personal integrity of any Crown negotiator who has to defend it? My moko has a word for it – creepy.

Aroha mai ki a ratou me a tatou.

Row Away From the Rocks

Here’s one Hone – you know you’re a Maori when your nanna has a better throwing arm then your old man – and you’re glad there’s no rocks around. Actually my nanna was an Irish holy terror but she had a lot of sense in her hot head. She used to shout things like, “Sure! Pray! But, while you’re at it, row away from the rocks!” Some recent and upcoming goings-on convince me that my nanna was right.

POWER OUTAGE:

On Saturday morning our Bishop called to give us a heads-up that the power was going to go off Sunday from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. so it was time to break out the emergency supplies, check the gas bottle and radio batteries, prepare the kai and other things that would be needed on Sunday, and warn our neighbours.

Come Monday morning I felt kind of superior listening to the amuamu from all those who either got no or very late warning until I remembered that I’d not checked to see if my neighbours knew what was coming – sorry Bishop, and I hadn’t rung around the marae to pass on the warning to our whanau and hapu – sorry Ngati Kahu. I suspect that most of them coped alright because they’ve lived in the area long enough to know that our infrastructure is shonky. Let’s face it, our power, transport and communication systems are vulnerable because they and us are neither plentiful nor close to the source of supply and those things aren’t likely to change in the foreseeable future.

All power to those who lobby hard for improvement – you have my support. But I reckon that a bunch of big rocks getting accidentally blasted into high tension power lines is one of life’s little rocks. Rocks happen and the systems to deal with them are only as good as the people in them, including you and me.

How many of us who were warned then thought to warn our neighbours? What means did we use to get the message out? I didn’t hear anything on iwi or mainstream radio, nor on TV. And how prepared were we anyway? I know our marae are generally geared up for any emergency, but what about us in our homes? E hoa ma, are we rowing away from the rocks or are we just praying and petitioning the powers that be?

PATHOLOGY SERVICES:

Remember my mate who told me about post mortems all heading south? I’ve done quite a bit of digging since then and found what seems likely to be the tip of a rapidly melting iceberg, which is just another kind of rock. There’s too much detail to report on in one column so I’ll start with the fact that the Coroners Act has been revamped and there are big changes in the wind that are going to blow into reality next July. One of those changes is that Coroner numbers are being drastically cut.

Coroners are the legal face of the “coronial process” that kicks into place whenever anyone dies. Coroners are VIPs. Literally every dead body belongs to them until they sign an “Order for the Disposal of a Body.”

When their numbers are cut next year we are likely to lose the services of Robyn Fountain in the Far North, Heather Ayrton in the Mid North and Max Atkins in Whangarei. When you add to that the fact that Pathologists (the medical face of the process – the ones who actually do the surgery) are rare as hens’ teeth and hard to find, then it seems my friend was right, post mortems are almost all going to have to be done in Auckland from next July on. In fact, most of them are being done there already.

Did I forget to mention that Ngati Kahu and most iwi find post mortems generally abhorrent anyway? One of the few things that has made them barely tolerable has been the local knowledge, sensitivities and networks of our Coroners and Pathologists.

I predict storms and wrecks on this one koutou ma, and I can hear my nanna’s stentorian shout from here – ROW AWAY FROM THE ROCKS!

Hei konei. Hei kona.

An 8 Hour Working Day? Yeah, Right.

Yesterday commemorated the eight hour working day, yet my workload last week was pretty typical for me and, I’ll wager, probably for a lot of you as well.

MONDAY:
• Leave for Auckland 5 a.m. arrive 9 a.m. Find a space to write and send the week’s column to the Age.
• Deliver speech to the Australasian Cemeteries and Crematoria Association conference titled ‘A Values Journey – Tangihanga and the Coronial Process.’

TUESDAY:
• Leave for Kaitaia 6 a.m. arrive 10 a.m. Meet to review a business option that needs more time and effort. We identify the mahi to be done, allocate personnel and time to it, and set our next meeting.
• Meet Police Iwi Liaison Officer [ILO], Te Uri Reihana, about the numbers of Ngati Kahu being apprehended, charged and processed through the District Court and find … what’s this? Is it possible that our crime rate is actually dropping? Well, it’s way too soon to tell if a trend is developing, so in the interim we’ll organise a separate hui with the District Court people.
• Teleconference with Waddy Wadsworth about training our marae delegates, executive members, directors and portfolio convenors and getting them to finalise the strategic plan. We’ll try for mid-November and see how it goes.

WEDNESDAY:
• Help mum draft her statement for Te Rarawa’s 20th Anniversary booklet. Oh, the tie that binds.
• Back to Ngati Kahu mode. Meet Te Puni Kokiri analyst, Keringawai Evans, about their new Maori Potential Approach. Looks good, but we’ll need another meeting to flesh out an application for some key workers, some tax and business development expertise and other needs.
• Meet Statistics New Zealand ILO, Telly Warren, about the upcoming roll-out of Census 2006 data. No work needed on this one – thank goodness!
• Meet Fire Services ILO, Willy More, about making our Ngati Kahu marae safer. Seems they must meet the same fire safety standards as a commercial enterprise. Well, what’s a life worth? Will need to work on reducing the costs though.
• Teleconference with Te Ohu Kai Moana about getting our amended constitution ratified. We’ll use a joint postal ballot / hui-a-iwi process, but have yet to set the closing date before sending out the public and private notices to our registered adult members. Still, we’re getting closer to our share of the Fisheries Settlement.

THURSDAY:
• Hold weekly staff meeting postponed from Monday. Have to reschedule the monthly staff supervisions as well. Promise I will. ASAP.
• Work on funding applications.
• Host our iwi radio show that night and get two calls – one to do with local, nitty-gritty stuff. The other from a Ngati Kahu person in Auckland listening to us via internet. Uplifting to my tired heart and mind.

FRIDAY:
• Review the week’s work and prepare for this month’s Land Claim negotiations and monthly Runanga meeting – the former in Kaitaia this Friday 27th, the latter at Te Paatu marae on the 28th.
• Take a call from Peter Jackson – due to it being Labour Weekend, can I get this column to him by midday Monday? Yeah, right.
• Send everyone home early at 4 p.m.

I’m not skiting or complaining – just reminding us all to take a breather, stop and go home when we should. In the end no success outside the home is worth failure within it. It’s an eight hour working day – that’s all.

Hei konei. Hei kona.

An Exasperating Waste of Time

Emma Wills and those distributing flyers headed "We Believe Louise Nicholas" go too far in breaching the High Court order suppressing certain evidence in the recent rape trial of Clint Rickards, Bob Schollum and Brad Shipton. I have no problems with their belief in Louise Nicholas – she is believable. I take issue with their assumption that the evidence they claim was suppressed, automatically constitutes proof of Bob Schollum's and Brad Shipton's guilt.

It is valid to argue that the jury should have had access to all the evidence and to be outraged that it was not. It is not valid to take that outrage and set themselves up as judge, jury and hangman. Guilt should never be assumed. Not even in the court of public opinion. Those who believe in Louise Nicholas would be better to put their energies into funding a civil case against the alleged rapists. Instead they may find their energies and funds expended on defending themselves against criminal charges. Mau mau te taima. A waste of time.

This post is not as soft as those preceding it. But it still represents an effort to listen and hear another point of view while at the same time challenging that view to stretch further and understand more than its own starting point.

This whole issue of the Rickards / Schollum / Shipton rape trial is the kind of thing that acts as a springboard for a heap of deep-seated and entrenched viewpoints (talkback radio stuff). They probably all have some validity, but are too often no more than static that blocks rather than helps the korero. Too much heat and outrage and too little light and understanding.

Outrage only takes people so far - and sometimes that's too far, specially when it succeeds mainly in pissing off those whose support is needed to bring about the desired change. In this case it seems Louise Nicholas' supporters want at least two things to change:

1. Any public perception that she's a liar. Well - good luck to them. I doubt they'll know when they've won because the court of public opinion is a fickle beast.
2. The conventions / laws that allowed evidence they think should have been aired to be suppressed instead. Well, I reckon to change those they'll need the help of a lawyer or two.

My point then is not that Emma Wills and co should not break the law, but that they might do us all a bigger and truer service if they showed the kind of strategic thinking and action of the "great reformers" like Mandela and Ghandi whose every action, even the "illegal" ones, was underpinned and backed up with a willingness to reach out to and talk with their "enemy". I don't see that same willingness in this case.

To end this post - although I have suggested that Ms Nicholas might take a civil case against these guys, I'd be more interested in facilitating a hohourongo (reconciliation) process for all parties. Because the sad truth is that without reconciliation none of them will ever be completely cleared of the paru from this case.

Ye are no more strangers and foreigners

I was really touched to read this morning of the eventual death of
an elderly woman, who was hit by a car while crossing an Auckland
road last week. Now that the life support has been switched off her
name has been published and, in death, she has lost some of the
anonymity of a stranger.

So why would I be so deeply moved by the fate of this particular
stranger? The answer is a very simple and human thing. At the time
of the accident she was carrying her young grandchild in her arms
and he, bruised and weeping, picked himself up from where he'd been
flung on impact, ran to her and cried out, "Nanna, Nanna."

There are, at any given moment, any number of tragedies happening a
lot closer to home than this one. But I recognise and embrace the
universal connection between nanna and moko, the fact that somewhere
there is a grieving whanau and moko, and the feelings I have for
them.

If I could I would tell them these things and hope they gave them
some comfort.

Fare well Aihui Wu. Haere ra ki to kainga tuturu. I recognise you.

R.O.I. vs. R.O.E.

Some of you have been asking after my friend. She is working through the process of repentance and, though the valley is deep and she has lost some ground, she is toiling upwards with a contrite spirit and a broken heart. She sees her disfellowshipping for what it is meant to be – a way back. Her efforts are sincere and, unlike the Saviour, she has many friends who yet remain with her.

If you'd like you can meander through a bit of history she and I shared with each other a couple of days after the Church Council – some of it personal, others of it scriptural; some of it temporal, much of it spiritual.

Back in the early 1980s an ex-public servant, Kara Puketapu, joined forces with the intuitive arch-strategist, Sir Graham Latimer, and floated a limited liability company called Maori International Ltd. Initially they offered a million dollars of shares to Maori only. When that was under-suscribed by 90% they re-jigged their original business plans and went for it anyway. The company’s never really hit the big time but it’s survived, thank you very much.

I was one of the original investors with $500 – a fortune back then. Anyway I’ve had a small and tidy return on that investment over the decades, but even if I’d never got a cent back I would feel OK about it because I never expected the company to last out the year let alone this long. My $500 was earnest money in the old-fashioned sense. It was about Maori solidarity and it showed I believed in the worthiness of the concept regardless of its chances of success. So to get a return on my investment and know that the principal is still intact has been a bonus.

Recent events have caused me to ponder this principle of R.O.I. which is almost universal in the world of commerce. It’s an honourable principle, but I’ve tried to imagine where mankind would be if it were applied by Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father in their dealings with us.

Here’s a scenario? I’m in a deep pit of my own making with no way out. What do I do? Shout my head off for a start, hoping someone hears me. Along comes that someone and, glory be, he has a ladder long enough to get me out. But what’s this? My might-be rescuer wants me to promise that after I climb his ladder out of the pit I will go with him to the nearest ATM, withdraw from my bank account twice the dollar value of his ladder and give the money to him. In fact he insists I show him I have an eftpos card before he will even so much as lower the ladder.

The latter part of the scenario is the R.O.I. principle in crude action. But the front part, right up to the arrival of the ladder-man on the edge of the pit, is a similitude of humanity’s dilemma between the time of The Fall and that of The Atonement.

Amongst the several consequences of The Fall, the most severe, even more than the introduction of mortality, was humanity’s eviction from the presence of God. Its severity was to be found in the irrefutable fact that we were completely without any means to get ourselves back into His presence. Adam’s and Eve’s transgression, as it were, put us in the pit.

I mention them both here, even though the scriptural record at times singles out either Eve (1 Timothy 2:14) or Adam (Romans 5:12). It was Eve who first understood they had to break God’s second commandment (Genesis 2:17) in order to fulfil His first (Genesis 1:22). And when she explained it to Adam he also understood, then took and ate of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

After that Adam and Eve, knowing good from evil and no longer permitted to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Life, were of necessity sent out of Eden by God and into the world of mortality. Here they brought forth the bodies of God’s spirit children. Here they and we all could undergo the tests of earthly life in preparation for a greater glory in eternity (2 Nephi 2:25)

Like Eve I feel to glory in God’s Plan of Happiness for us all (Moses 5:11).

Again, like Eve, I also understand the severity of the consequences for their transgression and the mercy required to redeem us from the penalty imposed by justice (Mosiah 3:19).

Like Isaiah I stand in awe and gratitude for the unconditional mercy of Jesus Christ in redeeming us from justice’s harsh requirements (Isaiah 53:4).

Like Paul I understand that Jesus Christ’s atoning death and His subsequent resurrection guarantee resurrection and immortality to all without condition (Acts 24:15).

Like Daniel I accept that not all of us will be resurrected to eternal life and that there is a distinction between immortality and eternal life, the former being granted to all without condition, the latter attained to only on conditions of faith, repentance and righteousness (Daniel 12:2).

Like the listeners on the Mount I have heard the standards of righteousness set for all who wish to inherit eternal life with Jesus the Son and God the Father (Matthew 5:48).

And like my friend I have reason to be very grateful for the principle of repentance which permits the grace of Jesus Christ to fill the inevitable deficit between my best efforts (James 2:22) and the requirements of perfection (2 Nephi 25:23).

Imagine then if, before He would redeem us, the Saviour of mankind had insisted on an R.O.I. The thought makes me shiver because it would be impossible. So what are we to do? We are to do our very best, that’s all. The rest has already been done by Him and, although we more often than not under-subscribe to His generous terms, He still makes the investment in us. All He seeks in return is our effort – an R.O.E. Amazing isn’t it?



Faced with a choice between the Lord’s R.O.E. and Maori International’s R.O.I, which would you choose? Well, like I said I'm grateful for the R.O.I. but in the eternities it won't amount to a hill of beans. So they can keep the times and spaces - big or small. As for me and my friend, we’re trying for the option where neither time nor space will have any more meaning. I often wonder if I’ll make it, but I’m going for it anyway.

“… choose you this day whom ye will serve; …. but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.” [Joshua 24:15]

Thy Friends Do Stand By Thee - Chev and Friends at the Beach in summer 2005

Who Can Find A Virtuous Woman?

There's a song running through my head today. It's a song composed and arranged by a woman of faith, and gives me the most appropriate introduction to this post.

SHE’S MY SISTER – by Janice Kapp Perry

There’s a feeling in the air, that says out there somewhere,
There is someone reaching high who feels the same as I.
And she knows, yes she knows, with a countenance that glows,
With every fibre, every part, down deep within her heart
That the gospel light is true, even as I do.

There’s a feeling that we share, a joy beyond compare,
It’s a ray of heaven’s light that comes from doing right.
And she knows, as I know, that our Sisterhood will grow,
With every deed that shows our love for Father up above,
For His light will never dim as we follow Him.

She’s my sister,
Far across the sea, or right next door to me,
She’s my sister.
And we’ll walk hand in hand with God, holding to the iron rod,
With faith enduring to the end, we will be eternal friends.

---oo0oo---

I write this post thinking of someone in particular. A friend. Today she came to see me, tonight she will probably go before a church disciplinary council, and tomorrow she may be ex-communicated or dis-fellowshipped.

There’s no particular reason why we are friends. In fact, until Bo’s death, I hadn’t really spent much time with her. I knew heaps about her though. Facts - some good, many bad, others indifferent. Yes, I knew a lot about her, but I didn’t know her. Now, as much as one human being can know another, I know her.

She’s the lady who came looking for me almost every day for weeks on end while I wallowed in the lowest despond. She’s the lady who reintroduced me to the Holy Spirit and helped me see my husband’s inner beauty at a time when it was not at all apparent. She’s the lady who lets me give to her. We have exposed ourselves to each other. We have sorrowed and joyed together. We have hit rock bottom and found our best friend and big brother was right there – loving and lifting us back up. We share a faith in Him and all He has done, continues to do and will yet do for us. We have changed and been changed by knowing each other.

Maybe if we hadn’t shared the bitter and the sweet times we wouldn’t be so close. Maybe if we didn’t share a foundational faith in Jesus Christ we would not be friends. Who knows? Who cares?

She’s my friend, a sister, and it seems appropriate to close this post with another song by another woman of faith.

---oo0oo---

WHERE CAN I TURN FOR PEACE – by Emma Lou Thayne (1971)

Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
when other sources cease
to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart,
anger or malice,
I draw myself apart,
searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows,
Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know,
where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand
to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.

He answers privately,
Reaches my reaching
in my Gethsemane,
Saviour and Friend.
Gentle the peace he finds
for my beseeching
Constant he is and kind,
Love without end.

Repentance

The Penitent

After the clash and violence
I seek the centre of silence.
Lord of glory, Lord of grace,
All I ask is a second chance.
Stripped of all my false pretence,
Here at the centre of silence.
On my knees my life in your hands,
Looking for a second chance.
Fighting myself in this painful dance,
Facing myself in total silence,
Exposing myself to your piercing glance,
Working for a second chance.

The Lord

Sure you’re sorry, but words aren’t enough.
You have to DO the language of love.
You’re the one who committed the crime,
And the consequence is hard and rough.
Now you’re on the path to repentance,
And no-one else can take your place.
Nor can they ever serve your time,
Only you can earn your second chance.
Don’t murmur at your circumstance,
As you struggle for your second chance.
There in your centre of silence,
Find me, I am your second chance.

[by Anahera Herbert-Graves (May 2005)]

“For I the Lord covenanteth with none,
Save the repentant who believe in my Son.” [2 Nephi 30:2]

Brinkmanship

BRINKMANSHIP


I took our love to the edge of the cliff,
And threw it into the teeth of the gale.
I spindled, mangled and bent it as if
My mission in life was to make it fail.
Trashed it, smashed it, bashed and burnt it.
Spat on it, sat on it, maimed and hurt it.

Now I’m paying for it.

[by Anahera Herbert-Graves (May 2005)]

“And the King shall answer and say, Verily I say unto thee, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” [Matthew 25:40]

Bo (Laurence Andrew) Herbert: 23rd January 1960 - 12th March 2005

A Requiem of Choices

On March 11th this year Dougie called me at work and told me, “Honey there’s been a terrible accident – Bo’s been shot.” It’s strange how something can be a traumatic shock and yet not be a surprise at the same time. In that instant I knew my brother had made a decision and, while I still believe it was made from a terribly distorted perception of the facts, it was consistent with how he had lived much of his life – a quick calculation of the risks and benefits, a decision, an action, an outcome. Oh but what a sad outcome for us all, especially his sons who were left orphaned.

Bo did not die straight away, but was airlifted from our farm in Pawarenga to Whangarei Hospital where, surrounded by friends and family, he died the next morning. He was aged 45.

As the grievous news spread, tributes poured in from around the world.

“This is a really hard news that we have received from our bro, Bo. This so simple brother had give us good time and good reflexion about the sport of Vaa while he has been with us for the Super Aito. Faa ito ito parahata (good luck brother). E ita oe e moe hia ia matou (we will never forget you).” – Mara Aitamai & Charley Maitere (La Fédération Tahitienne
De Va'a, Tahiti)

“We have lost a true Waka Warrior. He was the straightest, strongest and gutsiest man most of us will ever know and his passing leaves a giant hole. We will miss you bro but we'll meet again on another wave some day. Paddle home with love and peace in your heart.” – Kris Kjeldsen (Mitimitaga O Le Pasifika Va’a Alo OCC, Ngunguru)

“Think of Bo in the clear blue sea,
Where the crashing waves spray over him,
Where his spirit rises with the risen sun,
And surfs still when the day is done.” – Paul Jackson (Australia)

Many thousands from all over the motu made the sad journey to Bo’s tangi in Pawarenga. Others came from as far afield as China / Taipei and Australia. The question on all their lips was, “Why?” The answer will probably never be known but, as part of our own healing and recovery, we created a memorial card that concludes with a ritual karakia revived by the late Father Michael Shirres, who invoked it as a Maori theological response to violence. It goes:

“Waea te noa i a koe.
Waea te hau i runga i a koe.
Waea te taurekarekatanga i a koe.
Ko te mumu te awha tenei ka horo,
Ka horo te hau otaota i runga i a koe
Ko Tiki i ahua mai i Hawaiki.
Ko te mauri tena i kawea ai te tokomauri o te tapu,
Tapu nui, tapu whakahirahira,
He mauri no Rongo ki te whai-ao.
Tihe mauri ora to koiwi ka horo,
Ka noa nga hau i runga i a koe”

'Clear away the noa from you,
clear away the spirit which is upon you,
clear away from you the state of being powerless.
The storm rages. This clears it.
The force upon you that makes you rubbish is cleared off.
You are Tiki formed in Hawaiki.
That life-force brought [to you]
is the manifold life-force of the tapu, a great tapu, a
highly important tapu.
It is a life-force from Rongo, leading to the dawn.
Breathe living spirit! Your bones are cleared.
The forces over you are made noa.'

“Why?” Just as it is impossible to judge Bo’s life solely by the moment of his death, it is impossible for us to answer that question or to describe our feelings in one statement. But our youngest brother Aaron spoke for us all during the tangi when he visualised taking one last paddle with Bo. As he came to the end of the visualisation he asked, “Why do you have to go Bo?” Then he pleaded, “You’re paddling too fast for me to keep up. Don’t go Bo.” And finally he said, “You’ve stopped paddling now Bo. I see you on the horizon and I hear the question you’re asking me. It’s OK Bo. I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. You’re my brother and I love you.”

We have all taken on the sad privilege of being surrogate parents to Bo's sons - wonderful young men who miss him. We have just commemorated our first Christmas without Bo and we miss him. There is still the inquest and his estate and his ex-partner to be dealt with and we miss him more. The bad days get further and further apart and the pain becomes less and less agonising, but it can still take us by surprise, and at the end of each day we still miss him. Yes - we miss him and always will until the time of reunion.

Someone once wisely said, “There is no blame or shame. There is only what was, what is and what will never be.” As a whanau our love, memories and feelings are all we have to share with each other and those who, like us, loved Bo unconditionally. Our mother had always felt she knew what was going to happen tomorrow, next month, next year. “But now,” she says, “my whole world has shifted and will never be the same again.” Our sister, Pat Stephens, reflects, “Regardless of what we [his older sisters] felt about him when we were kids – Bo was THAT special to us.” And Conan, Chase and Sean are able to say, “We are proud to be his sons.”

While his spirit undoubtedly resides elsewhere, Bo's body now rests beside his beloved Chriss in Tu Aroha urupa on our family farm, encircled by the hills of home.

This blog has not been written and cannot be read as a mere statement of the facts. This is also a statement of love and forgiveness, faith and hope, obedience and free will. It's a statement of belief in God's plan of happiness and Jesus Christ's atonement. It's a statement about the premortal choice we were all given to become like God or to become something less. It's an iteration of Bo's choice to try for Godhood and an acknowledgement that he left the cocoon of te paerau and was born on earth in mortality; that he received and was tabernacled in his body; that he has experienced life and death and has now re-entered te paerau for a short season. And, ultimately, it's a triumphant declaration that, through the pathway forged by Jesus Christ, Bo will also get to experience resurrection and immortality and will take up his rightful place in eternity. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? (1 Corinthians 15:55)

Daily I look at my sweetheart and thank God for his companionship and love. Here at the end of this very long and hard year I look forward with renewed gratitude, faith, hope and love to the resurrection.

1981 - Emil, Solly, Bo, Chriss, me, Ngaire. 

Lawrence the First and Second

I went to the Temple this weekend, which necessitated me driving via the stretch of road between Broadwood and Mangamuka Bridge Settlement. There is a specific corner on that road, in the small gorge just before the Settlement, where uncle Laurie died in 1959. I always turn the sounds off at that point and give my uncle a thought. He was only 28 when he died.

I really have very few unfiltered memories of uncle, other than those of crying over his coffin and of seeing my father cry for the first time – one of the few times I saw it. He and Laurie were close. I have two photos of uncle, and he looks a lot like Dad with the big gap in his teeth, but (even given Dad's hellraising reputation as a young man) uncle's photos give the impression of a man with an additional edge to him. And everything I grew up hearing about him kind of confirms that he was what Dougie would call "a shit disturber." A charming one. I think he and Dougie would have recognised each other.

Uncle Laurie was the sixth child born to Nanna Alma and Grandpa Ray Herbert. Being a twin (the other baby died during their birthing) and premature he was small, so his nickname was Skin. Actually nanna Alma had three sets of twins. Uncle Don was the sole survivor of the first, uncle Laurie of the second, and neither of the third set made it. Growing up, uncle was haututu to the max. He'd start trouble then laugh gleefully to see his three older brothers wade in to save his hide. But he could handle himself in a scrap and was always willing to wade in himself on behalf of family and friends.

Although he never married, uncle may or may not have had children. He certainly never had any shortage of willing lady friends. I always harbour the secret hope, for single men who die in their prime, that there may be a child somewhere. Not the way the Church would have it I know, but to me it would be sad if they'd lived and died without issue.

Anyway, Mum was pregnant at the time Laurie died which is why Bo's first name is actually Laurence. His second name, Andrew, is in honour of Mum's father and he does have the ahua of the Rollo's, but his nature follows more after uncle Laurie than grandpa Andrew.

Now, how did Laurence Andrew become Bo? Although not actually black, he has always been the darkest of us all – so his first nickname, given by our younger aunts and older cousins when he was barely a year old, was Nigger. But he was still a pre-schooler when Mum put her foot down. Deeply moved by the race riots and rights news coming out of the US, she was not happy to have her son known by the "N" word. Being inveterate nick-namers, Dad’s family then saw a link between Laurence (as Mum still called him) and a cartoon character called Bobo the Monkey. So he became Bobo, which, over time, was shortened to Bo.

Most of my childhood memories of Bo are associated with fighting and / or blood, and it’s odd what can trigger those memories. On the way to church this morning we were talking about putting in the spring garden and Dougie asked me to look out for a genuine good quality rake. "Not a grass rake," he said, which I already knew but didn't stop him enlarging on - "A solid metal rake with a fine comb." And immediately I remembered the time exactly such a rake fell off the palm of my hand and landed right in the crown of Bo's head.

No – for once we weren’t fighting, quite the contrary. We were playing very happily, although separately – Bo running around and around the house and I balancing the rake on my hand. At some point the rake left my hand (whether by design or by accident, I can’t say now) and went into Bo’s head, eliciting a fountain of blood and blood-curdling screams from him. It must have hurt like blazes, but he was a tough little nut and not given to getting others in trouble. So I’m sure it was as much fright at the blood as the pain that made him cry. It sure gave me a fright so, of course, I scarpered. It seemed the wisest thing to do. Especially when Dad noticed the hullabaloo and started running towards us. Hunger eventually drove me home where I got the kick up the backside I knew was waiting for me. I felt I’d gotten off lightly.

But by far the two bloodiest incidents in his childhood resulted from Bo’s own actions. The first was when, aged 2 years, he cut 8 month old John’s neck open with the butcher knife while he was sleeping in his cot. Luckily he was sleeping face down because the cuts were deep and the scars remain to this day. I have no idea why Bo did it. The second event was when, aged 3 years, he crashed the tractor. Dad had worked on it earlier in the day putting the mower blade on, and had left it on a hillside with just the handbrake to hold it. He was going down to get the mail when he heard the distinctive squeal of the tractor wheels turning. He turned in time to see it hurtling down the road and Bo leaping off before it flew over the bank and crumpled on the ground 10 feet below. There was the slightest of scrapes on Bo’s back where the mower blade had touched. That was all. I don’t think anyone knows why he did it. Just haututu I suppose.

Both these events were so big that no punishment was awardable. They were the kind of thing that leaves parents weak with gratitude that their children have survived. But often as not Bo found himself on the receiving end of Dad’s swift boot, and it seemed he was always in some kind of trouble. In fact he and I were both the main recipients of Dad’s punishments, as well as the chief rivals for his approval. I didn’t like him much back then, and the evidence is that he felt the same way about me. But we developed the closeness of outlaws, which meant we would sometimes hang together rather than hang separately. Also, our childish dislike of each other was tempered by the fact that we did have some things in common. Like - neither of us would ever nark, we believed vengeance was ours to take, and violence was OK with us both.

There is no doubt in my mind that all us kids loved each other. But, for Bo and I, even love could tip over into dangerous places if either of us felt challenged by the other. Hence we both jumped off the roof one day in the half-belief / half-hope that we could fly further than the other. Another time we climbed to and dropped from ever higher and higher branches of a tree onto our knees to see who would stop first. And whenever Mum and Dad went to town or to a meeting, leaving me in charge, then our rivalry reached new lows. One time I locked him out of the house (there were no keys, so the lockout was achieved with a stout knife in the doorjamb) and Bo spent all day hurling everything he could find at that door – gumboots, dirt, rocks off the road, even the pumpkins Dad had drying on the tankstand. Every now and then I’d lose all patience, open the door and rush through the hail of objects he was throwing to thrash him, then leave him bruised and crying on the ground. As the day wore on he got in some good shots, but it was always going to end one way. I was stronger than he and, whatever Dad had done to me in my last hiding, well – I did that to Bo.

It sounds brutal, and it was. But we never ever told on each other. Nor did we ever seek to get each other in trouble. I respected that even while I kept a close eye on him.

On a more wholesome note we both loved playing and meeting challenges head on. For example, when Dad went through his fitness routines (jogging, push-ups, etc) it was a matter of pride to us both to either keep up with him or at least to complete everything he did. And when we were playing as a family, if there was a goal we’d set that needed someone game enough to risk life and limb – well, Bo was always game. Like the time we decided, against Dad’s strict instructions, to cross the slip - an eroding hillside which had been moving for years at erratic rates. The winter before this incident we’d heard the crack and snap of fully mature kauri and totara trees splitting as the hill shifted out from under them and turned into wet slurry. So Dad was very clear in his warnings to us – “Don’t play in the slip or you’ll get it.” On the day that we went into the slip we had no collective intention of doing so, and I’m not sure, even now, that we were actually playing in it. It seems to me that we were just skirting its edges on our way home because it was quicker than going round that whole hillside. Katarina and I were at the front keeping a rough eye on the little ones. Bo was at the back, closest to the actual slip, and I think that’s how and why he went into it. He must have struggled silently for a bit because, by the time he called out to us, we were quite a way away and when we got to him the mud was over his knees. No one has ever pointed something out to me and announced, “That’s quicksand.” But I know what it is. On that day as the five of us struggled to get Bo out of the sucking ground, with his tear and fear-stained face looking at us, and our own terror turning our muscles and bones as weak as water, I knew that was quicksand and I have never been so frightened in my life. When Bo came free (minus his boots and jeans) we all lay crying and panting on the ground. I looked up at the huge sky and I have never loved him so strongly. When our crying was spent we all went up to the dam between our and the Kohe Rd farms, cleaned ourselves, put together a story about the loss of his boots and jeans, then went home. I don’t recall if there was any punishment for the lost clothing, but I do know none of us ever told Dad where we’d been that day.

So, you see, not all our time was taken up fighting. In fact much of our childhood was about parallel experiences and events but, this being my memoir, I can only give my view of these.

No memoir of Bo’s childhood and youth is complete without talking about his sporting prowess and how he overcame (temporarily) it to achieve academically. By the time he was 8, I was away to Boarding School and we were never under the same roof as children again. Still I was aware as he grew that he was cleaning up older youth and even adults in swimming, athletics, rugby and chopping. Later he also got into judo, tennis and basketball. But these all paled into insignificance when, in his 7th form year, he gave away all sports to concentrate on getting his Bursary. He got it too, the only one of us to do so. And that brings me to the earlier change that came into his life when he discovered “The Lord of The Rings.” Before that book, school was a place to play sport and eat lunch for him. After it, school became a multi-dimensional place where reading was a magic carpet between dimensions. In fact he introduced Tolkien into the family because even Mum had not read him before Bo.

Another important change happened in my and Katarina’s last year at school. We were living in Jay and Elaine Matthews home, which had a high porch with no rails on it. One morning before the school bus came, he and I were arguing. By that stage in our life (I was 17 he was 13) it was unusual for us to fight. Anyway in mid-argument he turned his back on me and I took the chance to put my foot in his back and push him off the porch. He was still eating his porridge so he fell awkwardly, but when he sprang to his feet and came flying up the steps shouting that I was going to get it, I knew – I was going to get it. Then I figured, Oh well, I’m on top of these stairs and I may as well get in one good kick or punch before I get it. Then he stopped. “Come on!” I taunted, “What are you waiting for?” I remember how thoughtfully Bo looked at me before he said, “I don’t hit girls.” Then turned and walked away. I felt yay small – and very, very grateful. Bo’s relationship with all us sisters changed from that day on.

And that brings me to his relationship with John. I have always supposed that the story of Bo’s young years must be very intertwined with that of John because they were “The Boys” of our family, even though they were so different from each other. John was small and squeaky and not at all into physical confrontation if it could be avoided, while Bo was muscular and gruff and may as well have had a sign on his head saying "Punch me before I punch you." Maybe that's a bit extreme, but it's a fact that John would talk his way out of a paper bag, while Bo would punch. So it seemed to me that, more often than not, they hung together out of gender loyalty as much as brotherly love. But given that I was very self-centred at the time, I didn’t really register much about their relationship back then. What I do remember is that they argued a lot and, every now and then, Dad would have a gutsful and give them both a hiding over the top of their "He did it / No, he did it" objections. And when that happened I'd just laugh nastily. Like the time one of them accidentally filled Dad's boots with fresh cowshit, thinking it was the other's boots. (I must ask them at our next get-together which one it was who did it. Wonder if they'll tell?) I thought it was a big laugh when Dad put his feet in the boots. He was wild but controlled enough to take the time to go up the shed and cut a piece of polythene hose to give them a hiding with. I had no sympathy for them. In fact I felt they had no idea what a "real" hiding was. Cruel eh?

Anyway, in 1977 they both went to boarding school at Hato Petera while I was still nursing at the North Shore Hospital, just down the road from them. Their world was vastly removed from mine in many ways, but I kept an older sisterly eye on them both. If they needed money, I was generally good for it and if I needed an escort, they were useful substitutes for my boyfriend. But neither of them were hamu. They never asked for anything. Sure, if they needed money they took what I offered, but if they didn’t – then they didn’t take it. Their boarding school experience was a lot more liberal than mine had been. E.g. I went to the Poenamo (a local pub) one night, to find them already there and well on the way.

While the boys were in their first year at Hato Petera Mum got pregnant with Aaron. When they came home for their next holidays Mum, in her usual roundabout way broke the news to them by saying, “This time next year we’ll hear the pitter-patter of little feet around this house.” They both looked up from their comics and Bo asked if Katarina was pregnant. I happened to be home on that day as well and, when Mum said no, they both turned and looked at me calculatingly. When Mum finally spelt it out that it was her who was pregnant they both just stared at her then ducked back into their comics without another word. I’m sure they weren’t taking in a word of what they were reading. Regardless of how gobsmacked the boys may have been at his conception, I know Aaron's birth left them as bowled over as the rest of us with awe and delight. I wonder if Bo had any inkling then that within 5 short years he would be a father himself? In fact Conan’s birthday is just two weeks before Aaron’s.

It’s hard now to recognise the elemental creature that Bo was as a kid. His competitiveness is undiminished but he's no longer the wildly elemental entity that would rage all day over some slight - real or imagined, and we no longer compete for Dad's attention. Maybe any competition was only ever in my own mind. Anyway, Dad has lived long enough for us all to grow up and get over any urge to compete over him - and that is a gift for which we can all be grateful.

Yes, Bo’s life definitely sped towards fatherhood after he left school at 18. He was married at 21 and became a father at 22 - that was Conan. Two and a half years later came Chase, and two and a half years after that came Sean. Being a Dad was great for him. In fact he seemed made for it. But of course it was only made possible by his sweetheart, Chriss.

I don't really recall much about the day Katarina and I first met Chriss in 1980. It was the annual Tuatua Netball Competition in Kaitaia and she was playing in one of the visiting Auckland teams - I think it was Reckitt & Colmans where she and Bo both worked. Anyway, I was in the heyday of my vanity (no glasses), poverty (no contacts) and delinquency (frequently tipsy), so you could say I was blind drunk. Whatever - I don't remember meeting her, but Katarina does. She reckons that Bo introduced Chriss to her as the woman he was going to marry, and he did just that on 26th Septmber 1981. By then we'd all come to know and love the short, pretty and fiery Cook Island, town-girl very much and I was honoured to be one of their bridesmaids.

Bo and Chriss were married for just under 20 years and then she died, leaving us all in total shock and grief. In the Temple we do work related to the eternal family and this weekend I’ve been reminded that death can’t break a family. It’s an eternal thing and what we call death is only a temporary separation, not a permanent break. We all have faith that this is true, but I tell you - as a family we've never experienced anything like the wound of her death. We don't fear death - we just miss Chriss. Hers was the first death in our generation of the family and with it, as happened with the birth of the first of our children, so we began to move into another life era - that of dying. Bo said to us all not long after Chriss died, "Treasure every moment of your life together." I add to that my own advice - live life to make you worthy of being reunited forever with the ones you love and take nothing for granted. Love can come again, with all its baggage - both gory and glorious, but it should never ever be taken for granted.

Uncle Laurie was the first death-separation I remember and Bo never knew him in this life. Will they recognise each other when they meet? I’m sure they will. Our Chriss left us on July 7th 2001 and joined uncle Laurie. I wonder if he and she talk about his namesake? I’m sure they do. In the meantime it falls to Bo to live the life he has as best he can. Does he have what it takes to live it well until it is done? I know he does.

Elton John once wrote a song that has the lines,

"Who lived here?
He must have been a gardener that cared a lot,
Who weeded out the tares and grew a good crop,
And we are so amazed,
We're crippled and we're dazed,
A gardener like that one,
No-one can replace."

The fruit of Bo and Chriss "garden" is in their three sons. It's a good fruit brother. And that reminds me - I must remember to get that metal rake for Dougie.

1960: Me, Pat, Katarina, Mum holding John, Dad, Bo - at the Rotokakahi School Prizegiving. I have double mumps.

Katarina - Lessons from Childhood

My Sunday afternoons generally are solo affairs with Dougie conked out under his current book. Once I've put on the dinner I'm free to work on Family History, catch up on family emails or - at a pinch - add to this blog. Today is not much different - I've been writing to our mates from the Nursing Class of 1974 about our 30th reunion which is happening next year.

This reunion was an idea that I and Katarina had talked about making happen for years, and it finally got it's blast-off via the Old Friends New Zealand website. There were 17 women ranging in age from 16 to 36 in the Kaitaia Hospital Januaray intake for 1974. Whenever I revisit my albums & diaries of that period they reinforce the bonds forged in me with all those women. We were special. It may be that time & ego have skewed my perspective, but I don't think so. From challenging our tutors, to challenging our seniors on the wards about the way they treated patients - we changed the way things were done in Kaitaia hospital on a whole bunch of things. And in the process we marked and changed each other. But of them all there is only one who has stayed close to me through all the years since, and that is my sister Katarina.

I'm starting my memories of Katarina with how she got her name. When we were growing up she was known as Cathy because Mum had originally intended her to be called Catherine Mary. But we were a Pawarenga Catholic family which meant that Father Zangerl was "The Law." When it came to the moment of baptism he asked Mum for the name, and then completely ignored her answer, imposing instead the Maori transliteration "Katarina Maria," and Mum, in a fit of subservience, registered her as that.

All this came out decades later when Cathy applied for a passport and the Births Deaths & Marriages Registry could not find her birth certificate. It was a real mystery until Mum remembered that, legally, she didn't have a child called Catherine Mary Herbert. It says a lot about the times that not many Maori parents actually gave their kids Maori names in the 1950s. In any event it took another decade or so before Katarina took to actually using her legal name, and there are still scads of people who call her Cathy. But Katarina she is now.

My earliest memory of her was as a small, very blonde and skinny kid. In fact for a little while she was nick-named Blondie. Later she was called "Skitter" because Dad said she was like one of the skinny calves who had the skitters. At another time Mum called her the "I don't care girl" because that was her catch-cry whenever she was being told off or told something she didn't want to hear. And when she really did not want to hear or do something she'd just take off running to get as far away as quickly as she could from whatever or whoever it was. She was fast too. I remember the first time we saw a train. Dad was taking me for my annual checkup with the plastic surgeon who'd repaired my cleft palate and Katarina came with us. We went by bus to the railhead in Okaihau. But when the train came into the station she and I took one look at this puffing monster, screamed, and took off - in different directions. Dad was grateful for a pakeha chap who said, "You grab that one, I'll get the other." Katarina got a lot further than me. She was a real Speedy Gonzales. But I remember one time when she wasn't quite fast enough.

She and Bo had been fighting on and off through the day over something and she'd dealt to him a couple of times. She'd have been about 8 or 9 at the time which would have made him 5 or 6. Anyway by that night we'd all kind of forgotten their earlier battles and had settled into listening to some radio show. Katarina was standing on her head on the sofa with her feet against the wall and her face towards the radio, when Bo came through the door. He looked at her, we looked at him and there weren't nothing we could do to stop him. Katarina tried to get her feet down but it was too late becuase, as the Newcastle Song said, "...don't you ever let a chance go by oh Lord, don't you ever let a chance go by."

Katarina wore a shiner for a day or so and Bo got a hell of hiding from both her and me. But I'm pretty sure he felt it was worth it to have scored a hit on one of his older sisters, because we were always giving him his beans at that time. But he asked for it.

Another time the clash was between her and I. Again I can't remember what triggered it, but I think it was probably over kai because she was holding a boning knife at the time and, at some point in the argument, she threatened to throw it at me. I dared her to do just that and she started making throwing motions with it but not letting it go. It was just one of those brinkmanship things that kids get into, so you could have knocked us both down with a feather when the blade came out of the handle, flew across the room and stuck in my cheek as neat as a dart in a bullseye. Katarina was standing there with the handle still in her hand and her jaw on the ground. Actually it happened so quick and clean that it didn't hurt a bit but, like Bo, I wasn't going to let a chance go by, so I instantly fell flat on my back screaming blue bloody murder. Mum and Dad came rushing in and took one look then went for Katarina, but she was already gone. I can't remember if she got a hiding for that, but I remember feeling smug that for once it wasn't me in trouble.

On the other side of things, as much as we fought as kids, Katarina and I lead our siblings and worked together in all sorts of ways. And Mum and Dad came to rely on that. From a quite young age (about 9 or 10) they trusted us "big ones" (me, Katarina and, to a lesser extent, Patsy) to take the "little ones" (Bo, John and Jenni) swimming or roaming. We three older girls made the lunches and beds - although in truth Katarina was always more consientious and industrious than me in those kinds of tasks because I was basically lazy. I suppose that together we were sometimes unkind to the little ones, but they never liked going roaming without us. In fact even when they got to be old enough to take themselves swimming, they wouldn't go without one of us, which was a pain. But we always gave in - eventually - and ended up having huge fun every time. In everything we were unselfconsciously close to each other. At home, school, church or JMB we'd walk around holding hands, and when we were in new situations we always made sure each other was OK. We even lied and covered for each other - except when we were angry with each other. And, most telling of all, we lived our secret children's lives together. By that I mean the rituals Katarina and I made up that the adults knew nothing of. Like our annual pilgrimage to pay tribute to the fairies that lived in a particular cabbage tree stump (we'd make sure each of the little ones had some gift to leave - a posy of buttercup flowers, a stone, etc). Or the imaginery city we built, defended and clambered through in the huge privet hedge that grew out of a gully below the cow shed. That hedge must have stood 25 feet at its highest and it was on the side of a steep bank that dropped off another 6 feet or so. It completely encircled a stand of Taraire and Karaka trees that had Rata vines hanging out of them. One minute we'd be Kings and Queens in the high castles of the city, the next we were Jane and Tarzan swinging through the jungle. We'd get scratched to hell from the thorns but, as long as we had our gumboots on, we seemed able to hack the pain. We lost a bunch of boots in that hedge though and, in those days of relative poverty, that was a crime punishable with a kick up the backside. I remember a time when one of Katarina's gumboots got stuck. She was trying to release it her when foot suddenly popped free and she somersaulted right out of the hedge onto the ground some 30 feet below. We didn't notice she'd gone till we heard her crying minutes later. She'd been badly winded and it took her that long to get enough air in her lungs to cry out loud. Nothing was brokens because, I suppose, she was so skinny and light. Lucky - because we'd all have got a hiding. Anyway, we made sure to get her boot out of the hedge before we went home.

So, sure we fought, but we were always together.

In the early sixties Mum and Dad fell out with Father Zangerl and he refused to give them Communion. I'm not sure if he refused to let them go to Church as well, but they did stop going. They still sent us and that was an interesting experience. As Catholics there was an expectation that we'd go to the local Convent, but we never did. Mum and Dad never saw the sense in sending us past a school that was right next door to a school 5 miles away. Specially when there was no bus. Rotokakahi is now an accepted part of Pawarenga, but back then it was a very distinct valley community in itself. It wasn't even on the same telephone exchange. All this meant we weren't tight with our Catholic peers at Church who, I guess must have absorbed some adult prejudices, because our Sundays were one long battle both going in and coming out. Katarina and Pat had long hair which was plaited every Sunday while I always had short hair because I was a paru, untidy kid. But I didn't envy my sisters their lovely long plaited tresses which were handles for some serious yanking by the Convent boys we fought with every Sunday. Those same boys were to become our devoted slaves in our teen years. They never stood a chance, except for Hepa who took our side when he was around. We held our own pretty well anyway, with Katarina and I doing the damage, and Bo and Jenni were always usefully aggressive and willing. But Pat was a complete washout and John was sickly and often not with us. Mum and Dad never knew. I don't know why we didn't tell. I do know I loved the singing in Church, I liked it when the Legion of Mary visited to say the Rosary, and I felt protected by our daily family prayers. But the rest of the Catholic experience was just a bun-fight for me.

Anyway, when the Rotokakahi Maori School closed in 1967 we moved to Broadwood District High and a whole new world opened to us. We went from a school of 12 kids aged 5 years to 13 years (5 of us, 5 of our cousins and the schoolteacher's 2) to a school of over 100 aged 5 - 18, most of them a bunch of strangers. At first we carried on much as we had at Rotokakahi - holding hands, talking about "Mummy" and "Daddy" and looking after each other. But we got teased about those things. And then we were put in separate class rooms. Imperceptibly we began to let go some of the things that had bound us together and we inevitably grew apart. Katarina was a sociable pixie and made friends easily. She was popular and I think she got her first boyfriend not long after we started at Broadwood. Three years later, in 1970, I left for Boarding School. When I came back for my last year at school in 1973, Katarina had moved into the role of the oldest at home and the rest of the kids had grown beyond my control.

There is one more thing I need to put down here from our shared childhood. That is the perspective Katarina had of the intermittent warfare between Dad and I. I'm grateful for her honest recounting to me of the trauma of it. I know she has never required anything of me, and I understand that in telling me she gave up an unnecessary burden that she'd been carrying. Nevertheless I say it here as I did to her when she told me - I'm sorry for it.

Our teenage years were quite different to our childhood. I had less status, there were very few clashes, a lot more distance, family prayers petered out and our adventures were not so innocent. Having been in an all-girls school, and not being naturally sociable, I was way behind the dinner compared to Katarina and Pat in the boys department. Later, though I had my moments and I was no angel, I was always crystal clear about my desirability ranking compared to that of my sisters. Most boys lusted after them but respected me. One thing remained unchanged though - we still covered for each other like mad. Poor Mum had the 3 of us triple-teaming her at times. But we never dared try any tricks with Dad. One time I woke up and there was someone shaking my foot and hoarsely whispering "Cathy! Cathy!" All four of us girls slept in the same room in 2 sets of bunks, and our parents' room was just down and across the corridor from us. Both the boy shaking my foot and I got huge shocks to discover each other's identity and he high-tailed it out of there straight away. I could have just gone back to sleep and not said anything, but I knew that Dad had this uncanny way of finding out things. So I woke Katarina up and she agreed that I should go wake and tell him what had happened. Better for him to be angry because of a truth rather than a lie we figured. He was, but at least he didn't give me a hiding, which he would have if I hadn't told him and he'd found out later from someone else.

Another thing that I was behind on when I came back from boarding school was that I'd never smoked. But all the kids (even Jenni and John, but not Bo) were sneaking them from Mum and Dad. So, being a dummy at that time, I got into it too and before long I was more hooked than any of them. One night, after everyone else was asleep and the lights were out, Katarina and I were sharing a sneaky puff in our bedroom where the floor boards had quarter inch gaps between them. Being on the bottom bunk it was my job to stuff our butt through the cracks when we were finished. Anyway Dad got up to go to the toilet and we heard him pause in the corridor. Straight away Katarina chucked the butt down to me and we held our breaths. "Who's smoking?" Man - absolute silence and stillness from Katarina, and there I was holding the bloody thing. So I shoved the still burning butt through a crack, grabbed a can of fly spray that we'd used for mosquitoes earlier, sprayed my mouth and choked out, "Not me." I could hear and feel Katarina's hysterical giggles above me. I guess Dad decided he didn't want to know or didn't want the hassle because he just made a growling noise and stomped off. It took us ages to get over the fright and the relief of it. Just as one of us would settle the other would start laughing and away we'd go. What fun.

At the end of 1973 Katarina and I left school together. Mum had secured both of us positions in the January 1974 student nurse intake at Kaitaia Hospital. So we both had to get holiday jobs to make the money needed to buy our textbooks, shoes, stockings. petticoats, etc. I went to work at an electrical factory in Auckland, and Katarina worked as a housekeeper for a lady up the road from Pawarenga who'd had a mastectomy to treat her breast cancer. In 1995 Katarina was to undergo a less radical partial mastectomy of her own. I wonder if she remembered Judy McCraith for whom she'd worked all those years earlier? I'm sure she must have. Anyway that was our first experience of earning our own money and we liked it.

In those days, for the first 6 months of training all nursing students had to spend the weekdays living in the Nurses Home, even married students. And it was run like a female boot camp - strict hours, regimented routines and absolutely no men, not even husbands. Each intake occupied a separate floor with 1st years on the bottom, 2nd years in the middle and the graduating class on the top floor. Our bedrooms were allocated alphabetically which put Katarina and I next door to each other. When you have 17 women, all but one being fresh out of school, living together there are consequences. One of them was that we were like honey to the bees. Boys and men were at the door day and night and the housekeepers were kept very busy. Occasionally the Police had to be called. One instance ended with Katarina and I having to give evidence in Court. The girl on the other side of me had dumped her boyfriend for another and he'd drunk himself into a vengeful mood. The first I knew of the whole affair was being woken by the sound of a gunshot. I sat up as a second shot sent shards of glass flying past me and realised it was coming through my window. All I could think of was to scream out, "Cathy! Don't stand up." That was my first thought and my worst fear. My sister was going to get shot if she got out of bed or came in to me. Next thing I heard sirens, the light in my room came on and there was a mob of people asking if I was alright. But all I wanted to know was if Katarina was alright. It turned out that it wasn't gunshots that had come through my window, but two bottles of beer. The boy was arrested, the girl next to me was blamed, and Katarina and I had a day in Court. Later Katarina befriended the boy and wrote to him while he was in borstal. When he got out she had a wee bit of trouble explaining to him that she was just being nice.

For all our relative sophistication we were often naive. For example in our 2nd year we spent two weeks in Whangarei doing our Public Health units. We had a bit more freedom by then and Katarina's current boyfriend, Robin Littlejohn, who lived in Whangarei showed us quite a bit of night life while we were there. At one party this guy sat next to me and asked if I was a nurse. "Yes," says I. Then he asked, "Do you drop tabs?" I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but not wanting to look stupid I tried to nut it out for myself. Then I got it - tabs ... T.A.B.! "No," says I, "I don't bet." He just looked at me disbelievingly and moved away. Later he approached Katarina and I saw her suddenly look around then sidle away from him. She came to me and whispered, "Have I got my mate?" She turned around so I could see. I told her no and asked what made her think she did. "Because," she says, "that guy just asked me if I'd dropped my tampon." He must have thought we were a complete pair of nanas.

Katarina and I worked well together on the Wards. We had an understanding of each other and I repected her work enormously. She was quite simply one of the best nurses I ever saw.

We graduated in October 1975 and a few months later I left for a job at North Shore Hospital in Auckland, while she stayed in Kaitaia. In 1977 she had her oldest daughter and named her Janine Anne. I was tickled pink. Mum had delivered our youngest brother just 4 months before. That was our Aaron who is almost 16 years younger than Jenni. So Aaron and Janine have always been more like brother and sister than uncle and niece. Katarina becoming a mother was the beginning of a new era in all our lives - parenthood with all the challenges that represents and for which no amount of preparation ever fully prepares one. Changes were now coming faster in all our lives and they haven't slowed down to this day.

In 1980 she met Dennis Chapman and in 1982 she gave birth to Michael. 8 weeks earlier I'd given birth to Chev, and in July Jenni had borne Cheye. So that was our 1982 crop of babies. Sam and Quest (Jenni's 2nd) followed in 1986 and Denise came along by herself in 1990. By then they were living busy lives share-milking way down in the Bay of Plenty, I'd become a Mormon and she was leaning towards the Jehovah's Witnesses. So, though we continued to write to each other and visited as often as possible, there were increasing gaps between us.

Then they came back to the north in 1993 and the gaps closed just like that. She did actually go on to be baptised as a Witness, but we never allowed it to be a division between us, instead sharing what we could of our commonalities.

Now in 2004 I look back on a lifetime shared with Katarina. She has survived so many things which are for her to tell, not me. If I'd had my wishes she would have been able to employ her old childhood trick of running away as fast and as far as possible from some of the bad things that inevitably came into her life. But of course that is not the way it works. We cannot stop hurts and mistakes and regrets coming into our own life or the lives of those we love. But we can always hold hands, sing our anthems of courage, cover for each other, say our prayers and look after each other.

Funny isn't it how the most lasting lessons are often learnt in childhood. I'm thankful to have learned them with Katarina.

2003 - Siagogo at the SKWOSH skate park in Kaitaia.

Wednesday Nights with Sia

Every Wednesday night our mokopuna, Siagogo, comes to stay while his mother attends her Institute classes. It also happens to be the night that Dougie attends his Ara Reo classes, and that leaves us free to play while all the cats are away.

Today we went shopping and bought ourselves a Deluxe Thomas the Tank Engine set complete with battery-operated Thomas, Bertie the bus, Harold the helicopter plus Annie and Clarabelle the carriages.

After dinner we set the whole thing up and I was amazed at Sia's adroitness and understanding when it came to the assembly. That involves over 3 metres of figure 8 track for Thomas that runs beside, then bridges, a separate roadway - Bertie's domain. There's also a train stop on the bridge overhead, plus a train station on the other side. Two D cell batteries fit under the station. When they're turned on they drive a shaft that exits from the chimney, into which one end of a boom fits. Harold slots into the other end of this boom and when the battery is switched on the shaft turns, the boom rotates and the helicopter flies round and round. The noise they all make is very satisfying and reminds me of the song lines, "It went 'zip' when it moved, 'bop' when it stopped, 'whirr' when it stood still. I never knew just what it was, and I guess I never will."

We played with it for hours until the batteries on Thomas and Harold were getting flat and they were slo-wing dow-own. But in the end Sia's batteries have died before theirs, so now I've got to disassemble it myself. No way will I leave it till the morning, otherwise we'll never get out of this house.

If there was only one good reason in the world to have children it's this - you get to play with Sia and his Thomas the Tank Engine set, then eat goody-goody gumdrops ice-cream with chocolate chips at 10 p.m. when he should be in bed fast asleep. It can't be beat really.

2004 FSSB Hikoi: Catherine Davis and me spraying Te Rarawa's banner on the path outside the National Museum in Wellington. 

From Behind the Lines

QUESTION: Why would anyone leave Pawarenga at 7 in the morning, drive 15 hours to Wellington, roam around Upper Hutt until midnight looking for cans of spray paint, go to sleep at 2 a.m. then get up again at 5 a.m., drive to Te Papa, take 2 hours to walk one kilometre to Parliament Buildings, spend 2 hours there, then an hour visiting with whanau before driving 15 hours home again? That’s 48 out of 50 hours on the go.

ANSWER: To join the Hikoi protesting against this government’s Foreshore and Seabed (FSSB) Bill, because that Bill is plain wrong.

A week before it ended we had decided as a family to make a four generational stand with the Hikoi and against the FSSB Bill. So off we went – Gloria, Anahera, Siobhan and Siagogo Herbert, along with Malcolm Peri.

Here’s my uncensored diary of our hikoi.

TUESDAY 14TH MAY 2004:
Driving down we hear that Helen Clark has met with Shrek the sheep that morning but won’t meet with the “haters and wreckers” leading the Hikoi because she “prefers company that is pleasant.” The message behind her words is clear – “There you go Hone, Annette, Ken and the misguided fools following you – even a sheep stands higher on the evolutionary scale than you lot.” What she hopes to achieve is uncertain, but the effect on our little group is that we laugh our trashes off. In meeting the sheep she has signalled her level on the evolutionary scale, not ours. Actually, she sounds angry and frightened.

We talk about what the future holds for Te Rarawa if this Bill goes through, if Labour loses the next election, if Don Brash becomes PM. We talk about the fact that Labour governments will throw away Maori support more quickly than National ones, and how it seems that we make our biggest gains under National rather than Labour governments, even though none of us have ever voted National. What’s that about?

We wonder what Dover is thinking and who he is listening to, because it sure ain’t anyone we’ve talked to recently. A letter signed by all the Taitokerau-based Iwi Authority Chairs is being handed to him at Parliament later that day. There are phone calls all the way down between Gloria and some of the other Iwi Chairs, and rumours fly that there is one Chair who has pulled away from the Taitokerau stance. Who is it? Poor Sonny Tau wears the label briefly until confirmation comes that he is amongst those who have handed Dover the letter and that he has reported that, “Dover looked sick.” How distressing it must be for Dover. I feel sorry for him even though I think he’s wrong. Does he genuinely believe “confiscation” of the foreshore and seabed is justifiable, or is he just a party hack desperately hanging on to his job as long as he can? Maybe a bit of both.

So who is the dissenting Chair? Later we find out it’s Tom Parore of Ngati Whatua. There is doubt that he has his people’s support for this stance, and we hear they want it kept hush-hush. That’s one of the difficulties of Maori politics – it’s impossible to pull the Chair into line AND keep it hush-hush. I ponder – is the wily old ex-Public Servant a Crown dupe, or does he see a better chance for protecting his people’s interests by keeping away from the high profile ‘radical’ face that so infuriates Helen, and by doing a separate deal with the Crown? One thing’s for certain, he has given his life and love to his people, and they know that. So hush-hush they shall remain. At least outside of Maori circles.

We talk about Pawarenga and the things that make it what it is. The Church, the drugs, the whakapapa, the harbour silting up, the Sports Days, the indifference to anything not local, the way the old people are still looked after, the way the children are not always looked after, the teen pregnancies and high offending rates, the dreamers and the scammers, the dreamers who let in the scammers. Does Pawarenga dream collectively anymore? Or is the easy life, as represented by the budding satellite dishes on the humblest homes, separating us from each other more and more?

A call comes in from Ngati Kahu Chair, Margaret Mutu. Each region will only receive 10 minutes to speak on Parliament steps and it has been proposed that Sir Graham Latimer be first up for Muriwhenua. Listening to Gloria’s side of the conversation I say “No!” even though it’s not in my power to deny it and the decision is to be made elsewhere.

We take a call from Shontee saying that 2 full busloads have come out of Panguru. Not surprising when the pouwhenua leading this Hikoi is the same one that lead Whina Cooper’s 1975 Hikoi. In total 9 busloads mai Te Rerenga Wairua ki Hokianga go to Wellington on this day. Later we hear how Charlie Dunn has gone from the Cape to Rotorua with the Hikoi – a week on the road. He spends a few days in Rotorua then decides to go home. But when he gets back to Panguru he finds everyone gone. He rushes out to Kerikeri, hops on the last plane to Auckland then on to Wellington. This Hikoi has been good for the unity of Panguru. Whina should be pleased.

Another phone call from Cat on the Kaitaia bus. Can we stop somewhere and buy some material for a Te Rarawa banner? I’m reminded of a night in 1995 when we’d similarly left it to the last minute to prepare a protest banner. Why do we do that to ourselves? Is it a Te Rarawa trait? Manukau City’s Spotlight sells us metres of fluorescent yellow nylon and thick interfacing, scissors, thread, pins, measuring tape and carpet knife. I wonder if they wonder, “What are these Maori buying this stuff for?” Do they guess or even care?

We stop in Taupo for a feed and in Waiouru for petrol. Siobhan has bought cardboard and paints and made up some posters for our back and side windows. “TIAKINA TE TAKUTAIMOANA.” “MAI TE RERENGA WAIRUA KI PONEKE – TE RARAWA SUPPORTS THE HIKOI.” People toot or stop to talk to us. “Where are you from?” “What time did you leave?” Where are you staying?” “Pai te haere.” Thumbs up and on we go.

A text comes in from Cat with a suggestion for the banner wording – “IT’S THEFT FORESHORE.” Gloria is not comfortable with it. Malcolm interviews her – “Why not?” Their korero wanders off on to other subjects and they never answer the question. I text Cat with an exaggeration – “Taihoa. They’re debating it.” Later Gloria tells me to text Cat – “Whoever has the passion to stay up all night and do the banner, can decide what to put on it.” Makes sense to us all.

Malcolm tells us of a short-cut to Upper Hutt from Waikanae. It’s dark as hell when we reach it. “Akatarawa Forest Rd” says the sign. It should have read “Sealed Goat Track.” 20 kms of one-way winding road climbing through forest. The sky is rarely seen and we catch only glimpses of city lights miles below in otherwise invisible valleys. It must be a spectacular drive during the day. The van handles it with ease. I drive it with un-ease.

We hit Upper Hutt, find Moonshine Rd, hunt out the college marae and unload. Cat grabs the banner-makings. We wander into one of two wharemoe, kiss Aunty Roma, Sister Jon, Whaea Pare, Cousin Mere, Aunty Wiki and aunty and aunty and aunty. Mostly women on this bus too it seems. Then off to eat a reheated dinner, find some mattresses and some space, make up our beds and sit down to shoot the breeze with cousin Dave, Tiwai and a bunch of the locals.

An aunty comes in asking if anyone has warfarin tablets because she’s left hers behind. Cat comes over and asks for the spray paint. So here I am driving around Wellington with Siobhan and Uira looking for spray paint and an all-night chemist. Neither exists at this time of night – morning actually. Thankfully aunty has found her pills when I troop back into the marae, and the banner-makers are cool. They’ve made the template – the spraying can wait till the morning. Blessed sleep.

WEDNESDAY 15TH MAY 2004:
Not enough sleep. Siagogo has handled the trip well, but we have a sneaking suspicion he won’t handle being woken up at 5 a.m. He sleeps through the shift from marae to van, the drive into the city and the transfer to his pram as the crowds build around him.

We park in Te Papa’s public car-park where the attendant has agreed to charge us all after the Hikoi. Cat and I are pinning the banner & template together in the confines of the van to avoid the howling gales. Malcolm suggests we move to the covered pavement of the Museum so we can spread everything out flat. It’s a good idea. Two young guys help us with the pinning by standing on the edges. Because neither of us has any spray-painting experience we ask if they’ll do it for us, but they reckon we can do it, and they’re right. Cat puts on plastic bag gloves and stretches the template to flatten it in critical places while I spray. Two things happen. At first the paint floats on top of the nylon so that Cat has to use her finger to spread it. Then as the paint sinks into the nylon it begins to stain the pavement beneath. It seems there may be a permanent mark left showing that Te Rarawa was here. Maybe that’s why the young guys declined the spray-painting honours. Isn’t defacing public property a crime? We begin lifting the nylon as we paint, hoping to cut down on the stain left behind. Oops! Maybe they'll blame Te Arawa. Crowds gather round us like we are some kind of performance artists.

My back is aching and I’m glad to escape to The Warehouse across the road to buy broom handles for banner-poles. It’s only 8 a.m. and bunches of us have to wait another half hour for the doors to open. It seems even the 'Whare Whero' is not tempted into opening earlier to make a few extra bucks off those with last minute protest shopping needs.

Back at Te Papa the crowds are huge and happy. We hook up with the rest of Te Rarawa (Panguru katoa) and Taitokerau. Our banner looks very .... bright! ”TE RARAWA PAST – PRESENT – FUTURE FORESHORE.”

We line up behind it and pass the time in conversations with complete strangers, practice the chants (someone could have made a mint by selling chant sheets) and whanaungatanga galore until the 10.30a.m. start. Well, more like start, stop, start, stop, start. By 11 a.m. though we’re moving smoothly.

“TAHI, RUA, TORU, WHA! HELEN IS A HO-HA! RIMA, ONO, WHITU, WARU! HELEN IS A RARURARU!”

“ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR! MAORI OWN THE FORESHORE! FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT! DON’T YOU BLOODY CONFISCATE?”

At 11.30 a.m. Siagogo wakes up to find his mother gone – she’s off photo snapping up and down the two kilometres of Hikoi. He decides his Nanna and his Grandma are no substitutes for his mum and out-screams everyone. He slams his feet into the ground like brakes, making it impossible to push his pram. I tilt it back onto two wheels and get about four steps before his furious kicking frees him. He falls out onto the road, 20 kgs of angry, red-eyed, hupe-nosed Samoan-Maori 3 year old. I text Siobhan that I’m pulling out until he’s settled down.

He wants the toilet so I call into a nearby McDonalds. There’s a sign saying “TOILETS CLOSED FOR REBUILDING.” There are no signs or sounds of any rebuilding going on. But the Hikoi is moving so slowly we still have time to find a public toilet, have some lunch and a run around and play, before we rejoin. It’s moved about 200 metres and Siagogo is now happy to walk a bit, be carried a bit, hop in the pram for a bit. At one point I put him on my shoulders and he bugs out. “Nook at dat nanna! Nook at dat!” I don’t know exactly what it is he sees in the melange of colours, sounds, smells and sights everywhere.

“COME WALK WITH ME MY PAKEHA BROTHER,” reads one banner. And some do. One just throws her hands in the air and steps into the slow flow. Many standing on the pavement are watching for old friends or whanau before joining. Others are content to watch. A very few walk by with eyes averted, faces pinched. Otherwise the atmosphere is gentle, the pace unhurried.

We meet my cousin Roma, her daughter Te Whaea, and new husband – Sukronen I think. That’s how it sounds anyway. They feed us home-made sandwiches.

We pass a stall-holder selling hot nuts. “NUTTY PAKEHA” says his sign. He’s doing a roaring trade.

Hikoi Marshalls wearing fluorescent jackets guide us on an S-shaped route that’s supposed to cut down on disruption to Wellington’s normal traffic. Later we hear the disruption was huge and prolonged right out to the Hutt Valley. At every turn, police stand in clumps. They look interested but relaxed.

Bridget Allen (ex-Hauora Hokianga CEO, now with the Ministry of Health) joins us. I ask how come she, a Public Servant, is there? Specially when they’ve been discouraged from doing so. She says the discouragement was not a ban and in the end individuals had the right to choose. We talk about Te Puni Kokiri staff who have been point-blank banned by their CEO, Leith Comer, from joining the Hikoi. So the Maori CEO of the Ministry of Maori Affairs has not allowed his staff any choice. What is that about?

Loudspeakers keep us in touch with what’s going on and we hear that only those at the front of the Hikoi will receive and witness Te Atiawa’s powhiri into Parliament grounds. Ah well. Before entering the grounds, Marshalls separate iwi into distinct groupings. Unfortunately a group of Rangitane High School students are right up our backside and, because their banner is held higher than ours, Te Rarawa is missed by Annette Sykes who is announcing each grouping in her own special way. “COME ON RANGITANE,” she shouts, “GIVE US A WAIATA!” They don’t and we don’t. Ah well again.

We swing through the gates into Parliament Grounds. For the first time I get an impression of the crowd size – big! Our roopu moves onto an embankment way below and off to one side of Parliament steps, but close to the Beehive where we can see shadowy heads behind the darkened glass all the way up to the top floor.

The sun is now blazing, the wind has dropped and I’ve shed my windbreaker. A man holding a camera sees my blazer logo and calls, “Te Rarawa!” I stop and he gives me the thumbs up. I ask him if he is a Murray or a Proctor because he looks vaguely like Erana Waru from Whangape. But he smiles and shakes his head. “No,” he says, “Te Rarawa. That’s where Hands Across the Beach was.” Then he sweeps the hand-held camera over the crowd and winks. I think he means he senses the joined hands here as well.

Down where we are we can’t see or hear what’s happening on Parliament steps, but we do have a running commentary of sorts coming from Annette Sykes on loudspeaker. Siobhan and I take Siagogo off up towards Parliament steps to try and catch what’s happening up there and to get away from Annette’s voice. I admire the lady but have heard it all before. I also think she needs vocal lessons.

Later we hear th