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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment