LEAVE IT ON THE MARAE

Speaking at this year’s New Zealand Nurse’s Association conference, Dr Moana Jackson addressed the always topical issue of “free speech”.  This is an edit of what he had to say.

 “Earlier this year, I [read] six speeches by a man called Don Brash and six speeches by a man called Bob Jones.  It was one of the most difficult and tortuous jobs I ever set myself, because their exercise of free speech has actually been an exercise to demean and diminish us, and the presumption that free speech does not have a cost is a cultural European presumption which our people have never shared.”

Moana points out that the modern-day western notion of free speech has its genesis in the period of European history known as The Enlightenment, its best-known proponent being the French philosopher Voltaire who is attributed with saying, “I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” 

There is good evidence that Voltaire never actually said it, but, in any event, that statement has become the gold standard for quotations mustered in defence of free speech. As Moana notes, it also “became a very profound base for the western Liberal-Democratic tradition.  But like all parts of [that] tradition, whether it is their parliamentary system, Kings, Queens or Courts, [their notion of ‘free’ speech is a European] cultural creation that came from a particular place and story in a particular land.”  And sadly, it has “too often been used to make others ‘unfree’.” 

But Moana also notes that the Maori cultural notion of free speech is quite different and “is exemplified every day on our Marae which are recognised as the place of Tūmatauenga where people can be honest, critical, funny and witty; at someone else’s expense.”

In this tradition, “the notion of freedom of speech on the place of Tumatauenga is always balanced by the fact that the Marae Ātea sits in front of the Whare Tūpuna; the place of Rongo; the place of peace.”

We have a whakatauki, ‘The thrust of the taiaha may be pushed aside, but the thrust of words cannot’.  Therefore, Moana says that the principle of free speech on the Marae is balanced by the principles of protection, preservation and maintenance of “peace in the relationships of those who are on the Marae.  Without that balance and preservation,” Moana cautions, “People can be hurt, relationships can be placed at risk.” 

Clearly, free speech is not reserved just for the Marae.  However, the principles underpinning our cultural notion of it can be exercised anywhere so that “words can flow freely, challenges can be made, and questions can be asked.”

As Moana concludes, we should “make a stand on free speech.  Not the free speech envisaged by a Don Brash or a Bob Jones or two strange Canadians, but rather the free speech envisaged by our people in the stories that they left on the Marae.”

THE VISION REMAINS INTACT

Following the sale of both the Aupōuri forest and the Kaitāia-based NPL mill in 1990 to Juken New Zealand (JNL), the members of the Northern Federation of Māori Authorities (NORFED) negotiated individual lease reviews with JNL for each of their forests.

By the mid-1990s, NORFED had effectively gone into recess, but the vision remained intact.  In the intervening years, the Aupōuri forest has changed ownership at least once more, and the original mill, built in the 1980s, has been expanded to include other mills which produce other wood panel products besides triboard.

There were a number of factors that influenced the building of those mills in Kaitāia.  The support of local and central government regulators helped, as did the town’s proximity to the neighbouring Aupōuri forest with its nursery and forest school, both since closed. However, in my opinion, these were all secondary to the relationship and agreement between Keith Hunt and the NORFED forest owners.  

Whether you love, hate or are completely indifferent to the original mill, it was built on the shared vision of NORFED and NPL leaders. 

Similarly, in the 1960s and 70s, the Aupōuri forest had been planted on the shared vision of local Iwi and New Zealand Forest Service (NZFS) leaders. But, while Dr Barry Rigby’s 1999 report, A History of the Aupouri State Forest, fully covers the establishment of the Aupōuri forest, there isn’t a similar record about the NORFED forests and the NPL mill; what little there is mentions Keith Hunt only in passing, and NORFED’s leaders not at all.  That is why, in recent weeks, I have serialised this brief history about them.  It is nowhere near complete, but it is a start.

As Pētia Welsh predicted in the 1970s, forestry has become an economic mainstay in the region, and the power players are those who operate across the whole value chain of the industry.  Central to their success are the JNL mills, the 21,283 ha Aupōuri forest and the 12,000 has of forests planted on lands owned by the founding members of NORFED. 

Today’s entrepreneurs may disagree with NORFED’S focus on the monoculture of radiata pine; hei aha (whatever).  Theirs was a wide vision, but it was forged during a time when narrow monoculturalism was the norm across all aspects of society and so their focus, by necessity, was also narrowed.   

Observing the steam issuing daily from the mills and the hundreds of workers and tonnes of logs passing through their gates, I am grateful that today’s entrepreneurs can have a wider vision and focus and are further across the entire value chain of their chosen industries than NORFED was able to get in forestry.

But most of all, I’m grateful to those entrepreneurs who preceded them, including Pētia (Bill) Welsh, Andrew Rollo, John Brown, Matiu Rata, Amy Tatana, Bully Kendall, Gloria Herbert ara ngā mate katoa o NORFED me ta rātou hoa mahi, Keith Hunt.  The vision remains intact.

THE NORTHERN PULP MILL SALE

After the Aupōuri forest was sold in 1990 to Juken New Zealand (JNL), the NORFED forest owners strove to preserve our original vision to be part of the entire value chain, from owning the land in which the trees grew, through to milling, finishing and marketing the timber and other end products.   

Having failed to purchase the Aupōuri forest ourselves, we then considered purchasing the Northern Pulp Ltd (NPL) mill, which had by then moved into full blown receivership and was on the market.  However, after exhausting every avenue, we could not leverage the necessary money to complete the purchase. So, we decided to meet with JNL which was shaping up to be the likely buyer. 

On the night before our first meeting with JNL, Pētia Welsh, the architect of NORFED, called me and my mother to visit him at Kaitāia hospital.  Clearly unwell, he steadily instructed us for hours on what we were to say and do, and specifically told us that no matter what happened with him, we were not to cancel the meeting. 

The primary goal, he emphasised, was to get JNL to use its clout as forest and mill owner in ways that supported our own vision.  If that was not possible, then our fall-back position was to do whatever it took to minimise the impact of the impending changes on our people.  We left around midnight and awoke to the news that in the early hours of the morning, Pētia had passed away.

Although grieving, we honoured his instructions and held the meeting.  Did we succeed in our primary goal?  No.  Did we succeed in our fall-back position?  Partly. 

With regard to the forest, the huge impact had already occurred in 1988 with corporatisation of Aupōuri forest and the catastrophic loss of more than 130 jobs; so, its privatisation in 1990 had not introduced any further significant change, other than ownership. 

However, with regard to the mill, because only the NPL assets (including our leases) and none of its liabilities would transfer to the new JNL owners, we were to lose the opportunity to take up the 15% shareholding in the mill that had been reserved for us, a major body blow to our vision.

That said, Toshio Nakamoto (JNL President) and his 2IC Tommy (Tomio) Inagaki agreed at the meeting to renegotiate aspects of our leases, like changing the management regimes of parts of our forests from low value pulpwood to higher value pruned logs for export to their Japanese markets. 

Most importantly, they would not only keep the mill open, thus avoiding further job losses for our people, they also planned to expand it. On that basis, we gave our support for their bid.

Within a few weeks of our meeting, and with the support of central and local government leaders, JNL received Overseas Investment Commission consent to purchase the mill for $17.7million. 

Next week I will conclude this brief history of NORFED and the JNL mills in Kaitāia.

THE AUPOURI FOREST SALE

The fates of both the NPL/JNL mill in Kaitāia and the Aupōuri forest have always and inevitably been intertwined. In fact, one without the other would drastically diminish the value of both. Also, without a doubt, the loss of either or both of them would be catastrophic for the region’s economy.

That is the case now, and it was the case in 1990 when the Aupōuri forest was put up for sale at the same time that the NPL mill went into statutory management.

For the NORFED forest owners, at stake were not only our lease arrangements with NPL and our 15% share option in the mill, so too was our vision to be part of the entire value chain, from owning the land in which the trees grew, through to milling, finishing and marketing the timber and other end products.  Additionally, the sale of the Aupōuri forest logging operations would have a huge gravitational impact on us, because wherever Aupōuri forest went, so would our forests. 

That is why we strongly resisted the sales of both the mill and the forest.   Initially, we thought we had allies in the New Zealand Māori Council (NZMC) and Federation of Māori Authorities  (FOMA) who were jointly prosecuting the “lands case".  However, the outcomes of that case, while important and wonderful in many ways, ultimately undermined our opposition to the sales, and it became clear that they were going to go ahead regardless.

At that point, we reasoned that if we owned the Aupōuri forest, we would have more chance of saving the mill and all it meant to us. So, between us, the seven NORFED member organisations came up with the $100,000 deposit needed to make a bid of $1million for the Aupōuri forest. 

On the final day, Matiu Rata (as Chair of Muriwhenua Incorporation) and I (as Secretary of Parengarenga B3 Trust) were sent to Wellington by NORFED to file our tender. We arrived at the Forest Corp HQ in time for a cordial cup of tea and chat, before ceremoniously placing our cheque and documents into the slot of the tender box just a few minutes before the 4pm deadline.  Then we were respectfully ushered out to the lifts.

In my heart of hearts, I knew that we had just been given a polite version of the bum’s rush. However, Matiu (God bless his optimistic heart) was positive that we had succeeded.  I so wanted to believe he was right. I wish he had been right. 

On 14^th January 1991, the Aupōuri Crown Forestry License was formally executed between the Crown and Juken Nissho (JNL) who had won the tender and purchased the Aupōuri Forest for $37.7million. 

Having lost the bid to secure the Aupōuri forest, NORFED next turned our attention to the pending NPL mill sale with one question in mind – how could we still fulfil our vision?

More on that next week.

THE VISION UNFOLDS

In 1975, partly to fulfil the vision he shared with the Northern Federation of Māori Trusts & Incorporations [NORFED], Keith Hunt established Northern Pulp Ltd [NPL] which then supported a huge planting programme on NORFED lands stretching from Te Hapua in the north to Mitimiti in the south.  This was followed in the mid-1980s with the building of the NPL Triboard mill at the northern end of Kaitāia; by 1987 it was in production.  

In that same year, Pētia Welsh, the architect of NORFED, asked my employers [Parengarenga Incorporation] to let me work with him, which they did. 

The first thing that Pētia made clear to me was that, because the NORFED forests were not yet ready for production, the JNL mill was totally dependent on timber from the Aupōuri State forest, which was then being run by the Forest Service.  The fates of the mill, the Aupōuri forest and the NORFED forests, he explained, were intrinsically linked.

He also explained that, while the plans of NORFED and NPL had unfolded well with the planting of our forests and the commissioning of the mill, we were seeing the end of what he called the “post-war era of prosperity”, and hard times lay ahead for us all.  I had no idea what he meant but was soon to find out.

Characterised by government spending to stimulate and maintain economic growth, strong union protection of workers’ rights, and artificially low costs of living, the post-war era had survived the 1960s’ counter-culture and the 1970s oil shocks.  But it was now being hit by an economic neoliberalism in which the market had become God, and the ‘trickle-down’ theory held sway. 

What had started in Britain with Thatcherism, emerged in New Zealand as Rogernomics, named after then Minister of Finance, Roger Douglas.  Under Pētia’s tutelage, I learned and understood that, while the policies of Rogernomics were staged, their impact was immediate.

The first stage was corporatisation in which state industries were broken up and replaced by commercial Corporates and non-commercial Departments.  In 1987, the Forest Service was replaced by the Department of Conservation which took over management of native forests, and Forest Corp which took over the exotic forest commercial logging operations.  Overnight, more than 130 local households lost their main source of income.

The second stage was privatisation.  In 1990, all of Forest Corp’s logging operations and some of the lands were sold or leased as Crown Forest licences to private companies.  That included the Aupouri forest which was sold in December 1990 to a Japanese company, now known as Juken New Zealand Ltd (JNL).

At the same time that the government was preparing to privatise its logging operations, news broke that the entire Equiticorp Group, including the NPL mill, had been placed into statutory management.  By 1991, the mill had also been sold to JNL and the NORFED vision was unravelling.

Next week I will write more about NORFED’s response to the forest and mill sales.

HOW AND WHY THE JNL MILLS CAME TO BE IN KAITAIA

Every day, hundreds of workers clock in and out of the JNL mills here in Kaitāia as they operate around the clock.  Have you ever wondered how and why those mills came to be here?  Pull up a chair and let me tell you what I know.

In 1970, Petia (Bill) Welsh of Tao Maui (Te Rarawa) and Te Uri o Tai (Rarawa / Aupouri) hapū retired from a long career in the forestry industry.

He had started before World War II as a trainee saw doctor at Kaitāia Timber Mill working under the management of Garth Beatson and others. Forty years later, he completed his career as a senior manager and the Pacific troubleshooter for Fletchers International.

When he retired, Petia came home with a simple clear message which he shared with Māori land owners mai Te Rerenga Wairua ki Hokianga Hakapau Karakia – i.e. If not THE economic mainstay of Te Hiku o Te Ika in the future, forestry is going to be a major player, and there is money to be made by Māori from it – BUT NOT IN SIMPLY LEASING LAND IN EXHANGE FOR AN ANNUAL PEPPERCORN RENTAL AND A LOW STUMPAGE AT THE END OF THE LEASE.

INSTEAD, he said, THE REAL REVENUE IS TO BE FOUND IN BEING PART OF THE VALUE CHAIN, RIGHT FROM OWNING THE LAND IN WHICH THE TREES GROW, THROUGH TO MILLING, FINISHING AND SELLING THE TIMBER AND OTHER END PRODUCTS THAT COME FROM THE TREES.

To that end, Petia convinced the Trustees and owners of six of the largest Māori landholdings in Te Hiku o Te Ika to set up the Northland Federation of Māori Land Trusts and Incorporations [NORFED for short].

The original members were Te Puna Toopu o Hokianga Trust in Mitimiti, Panguru-Motuti Forest Trust, Tapuwae Incorporation, Epikauri Forest Trust at Herekino, Parengarenga B3 Trust in Te Kao, and Te Hapua 42 Incorporation (later to become Muriwhenua Incorporation).

These NORFED members then agreed to advertise their combined land holdings as being open for tender to those who met the following conditions:

• A fair annual rental for use of the lands, to be divided on a pro rata basis amongst the land owners.
• A commitment to build a manufacturing plant in the region capable of producing a range of wood products from the timber grown on NORFED members’ lands.
• A commitment to reserve a 15% shareholding in the plant for NORFED members to take up within a set period.
• A commitment to train and employ a local workforce from amongst NORFED’s people.

It was a bold and visionary plan, and when the tender process was completed, NORFED had found an equally bold and visionary partner in the shape of Keith Hunt and the recently invented product, Triboard.

Next week I will share how the vision unfolded.

FRAGILE SILENCE

It’s the day after Waitangi Day, 1978.  I report for afternoon duty and join the handover meeting.  There are six of us in the room.  I am the only non-white.  The Charge Nurse’s first words are to me: “Like, I’m not racist, but did you see what those idiots did at Waitangi?”

I know where this is headed but I engage anyway.

“I did.  What kind of idiots try to barge through a crowd when they could easily have gone around?” 

“I meant those Mowree idiots who threw eggs at the Governor-General!” 

“Seems tame in comparison to what gets thrown in Ireland.” 

“You’re just lucky you lot didn’t get colonised by the Spanish!” 

“Lucky, like the Irish?”

“What do you Mowrees want?”

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but what this Māori wants is to know how my patients are before I start work.” 

She stands and leaves the room without completing the handover.  I look at my colleagues who all avoid my gaze and my company for the rest of the shift. 

Later that night I ponder the total inappropriateness of the Charge Nurse and the utter gutlessness of my colleagues.  I realise that I had been expected to show more sensitivity to their sensitivity to the “r” words.    

“White Fragility” is a term first coined by Dr Robin DiAngelo to describe the defensive moves that white people make when challenged racially, particularly about “white privilege”. These include emotions such as anger, fear, guilt; and behaviours including argumentation, recentering, distancing, silencing. 

While the average person of colour has spent years developing a thick skin when it comes to systemic racism, the average white person can go through most of their formative years without ever having to think about race.  So even just hearing an “r” word can be traumatic and create a negative environment for them.

Recently, a satirical group devised a simple system to help people of colour to foster a non-hostile environment for our fragile white friends and co-workers.  Apparently, all we have to do is – Stop, Ignore, Listen, Empathise, Never Complain, and Eat. 

They only came up with this SILENCE system last year, so it wasn’t around to help me back in 1978.  But if it had been, then this is how the handover meeting might have played out.

CHARGE NURSE:  Like, I’m not racist ...  [Stop and say nothing] … but did you see what those idiots did at Waitangi?  [Ignore and say nothing] … I meant those Mowree idiots who threw eggs at the Governor-General!  [Listen, but say nothing] … You’re just lucky you lot didn’t get colonised by the Spanish!  [Empathise, either with a nod or a statement of agreement] … What do you Mowrees want? [Eat].

Unfortunately, I must interrupt this satirical SILENCE to confirm that not ALL white people are racist, even though they are all privileged by systemic racism.  Oh, the fragility. 

THE PORTRAIT

On January 3^rd, Ngāti Kahu: Portrait of a Sovereign Nation was launched on Te Paatu Marae in Pamāpuria, just south of Kaitāia.  This is an abridged review of it by Paul Moenboyd (Te Aupōuri, Ngāti Pāoa, Te Ātiawa).

“The summit of Rangikāpiti Pā in the Far North town of Mangōnui overlooks the wide expanse of Tokerau Moana (dubbed Doubtless Bay by a quickly convinced Cook) and a vast swathe of Ngāti Kahu’s rohe (territory). Similarly, Ngāti Kahu, Portrait of a Sovereign Nation, sure to become an equally imposing landmark on the northern landscape, is a sweeping overview of this iwi’s physical and emotional topography – its memories and heartaches, struggles and victories.

“Just as Ngāti Kahu draws its strength from its many different hapū, so the Portrait is made richer by its wide range of sources. These include irreplaceable oral histories gathered by the project’s historians, documentary evidence of wrongful land purchases, maps, quotations from an extensive bibliography of other works, excerpts from letters, and testimonies .... Each of these constituent parts come together to trace a remarkable hakapapa of resistance.

“True to its title, the Portrait is a nation building exercise. In scope and reach, covering the long haerenga (journey) from distant beginnings to the challenges of the present … illustrating events with first-hand experience and steeped in Ngāti Kahu’s understanding of itself and its place in the world, this work is a pou (a marking post), carved with pepehā (identifying sayings) and hakataukī (proverbs), and kōrero o mua (traditions).

“… The Portrait immerses the reader in this iwi’s worldview with a concise yet complete introduction to its stories of origin and to its unique understanding of principles such as mana, tikanga and rangatiratanga.

“The Portrait does not overlook the heke (rafters) that sustain the roof, the hapū that form Ngāti Kahu. The inhabitants of kāinga (settlements) nestled in valleys or dotted along the coast all have their time on the paepae (speakers bench). With the deep love of place that comes from generations of continuous occupation, stories of back country rivers and hills and the riches within are told, as only those who have kept the ahi kā (home fires) burning for so long can.

“… In a tone which would be bemused exasperation if not for the injustices that followed, the Portrait observes the difficulties of the first Pākehā in “living according to the laws of this land”. Despite its dispossession, Ngāti Kahu tells of the arrival of these guests not with anger, but with sadness at how the generous hospitality that was shown to the new arrivals was repaid.

“Treaty settlements are generally accompanied by a Deed of Settlement, which sets out an official version of events and of the injustices that are partially remedied. In the absence of an agreed path towards settlement with government, Ngāti Kahu’s Portrait pre-empts this and presents its truth on its own terms ...

“This Portrait is more than a testimony to Ngāti Kahu’s tenacious struggle to hold on to its home, it is also a defiant cry of independence, identity and love for the people and land, founded in a deep awareness of the past and hope for the future. It is a rewarding read for anyone with an interest in history, identity, and how memory shapes not only our sense of self, [but also] the landscape we live in and the way we imagine our future.”

Published by Huia, the Portrait is available in bookshops nationwide.

TE HONONGA - THE CONNECTION

Visitors to Te Ahu Centre in Kaitāia enter a circular atrium bounded by seven Poupou (carved pillars) representing seven nations; Ngāti Kuri, Te Aupōuri, Ngāi Takoto, Te Rarawa, Ngāti Kahu, Pākehā and Tarara.  Each Pou has its own name and kōrero.  The name of our Pou is Te Hononga o Ngāti Kahu, and this is the kōrero.

The central figures in the top section are our Tūpuna Whaea (ancestress) Kahutianui, her husband Te Parata, and their daughter Māmangi.  The patterns above them represent Mau-o-ngā-Taniwha, the mountain range where many of their Kai Tiaki (guardians) live; the Ruru (owl), the Kaahu (hawk) and the Taniwha (powerful spirit creatures).  Maungataniwha marks our Whanaungatanga (relationship) with Ngāpuhi and Ngāti Kahu ki Whaingaroa.   Behind Kahutianui, Te Wheke (the guardian octopus) wraps a protective Paapaaringa (tentacle), anchoring her to the Moana (ocean) and the Whenua (land).  Te Parata protects her left with a Hoeroa Tohora (an ancient whalebone throwing weapon), and Māmangi protects her right with the Hoe Urungi (steering paddle) which holds Mana (power and authority) and represents both a weapon and steerage into the future.  Alongside hangs Te Kete Tuatea (the basket of light and of current knowledge) woven in Tāniko.  In this section we see our history as Kai Tiaki and the need to maintain this role in the face of changing circumstances.

Central to the middle section are the Tara (female genitalia) and Ure (male genitalia) representing our Hakapapa (who we are and where we come from).  This section also contains the Mana of the many Waka (traditional voyaging canoes) represented by the Aukaha (rope lashings) that connect Ngāti Kahu to other Iwi throughout the Motu (country) as well as to the peoples of Te Moana-nui-ā Kiwa (the Pacific Ocean).  Our main waka, Māmaru, was readzed from the waka Tinana which had been captained by Tūmoana, the father of Kahutianui.  It strengthens our connection to Te Rarawa.  The paua Paatu (portals) on either side describe our conscious movement between Te Ao Wairua (the realm of spirit) and Te Ao Mārama (the physical world) as part of life’s journey.  Between them hangs Te Kete Tuauri (the basket of darkness and knowledge yet to be revealed) woven from Pingao (sedge), Kiekie (epiphyte) and Muka (flax fibre).  Tikanga was developed by our Tūpuna to give us life and guide us in our relationships.  In this section we see that, just as the Waka Tinana was readzed for another life-giving mission, so too is Tikanga open to informed debate to fit changing circumstances. 

The bottom section commences with Te Kete Aronui (the basket of knowledge currently being sought by humans) woven from Kiekie and Pingao.  It hangs above Rangi (the sky), Moana (the sea), Motu (the islands off our coast) and Tangaroa (god of the oceans). Below them swim the Pākaurua (stingray) denoting our allies, and the Pioke (ground shark) of Rangaunu harbour denoting our connection to Ngāi Takoto.  The eight Paapaaringa of Te Wheke emerge, some in the form of Manaia (spirit beings), to touch significant sites in our Rohe (territory); Hukatere, connecting us to Ngāti Kuri in the north; Whatu (Berghans Pt) on the east; Rangiāniwaniwa in the centre; Maungataniwha in the south; Takahue, Ngākohu, Kaitāia and Te Oneroa-ā-Tohe (90 Mile Beach) on the west.  Peeking between the Manaia is the Tāmure (snapper) inviting us to play and engage with each other.  These striking images remind us that our Rangatiratanga (the right to exercise power and authority) can never be set by others, but only by us through utilising our life-giving Tikanga and maintaining our life-sustaining Kaitiakitanga in all circumstances.   

This kōrero came from our hapū at numerous hui, interviews and wānanga.  We thank all those involved in transforming our kōrero into the design, concept and execution of our  Poupou; most especially Paul Marshall-Slade (Tohunga Hakairo o Ngāti Kahu), Bonnie Kerapa (Kai Hakairo o Ngāpuhi me Tainui), Nina Raharuhi (Kai Raranga o Haiti-tai-marangai Marae) and Clare Stensness (Kai Raranga o Karepōnia Marae).

A VERSATILE VERB

Many years ago at a hui I stood to answer a nasty comment aimed at my daughter.  But I must have looked as annoyed as I felt, because when I went to stand another cousin pulled me back down, smiled at me like only cousins can, and said, “Settle petal.” 

“Settle.”  If ever there was a versatile English word, it is that one.  You can settle an argument, an account, a plan, a territory, your furniture or yourself.  Birds can settle from a flight and a person can settle from a fright.  You can settle into a job or a marriage, and a cold can settle into your head or your chest.  You can even settle for something less than satisfactory. 

For iwi, that last definition is particularly poignant because it not only describes how some of us have accepted something less to “settle” our claims, it also means we must deal with the very unsettling results. 

This is an underlying theme emerging from the research project, What Do the Claimants Say: Reconceptualising the Treaty Claims Settlement Process.

The researchers note that the government’s publicly stated purpose for its settlement process is to improve race relations, acknowledge and resolve historical injustices, restore the honour of the Crown, remove the sense of grievance felt by Māori, improve the socio-economic status of Māori, and achieve full, final and fair settlements of our claims. 

However, both the Doug Graham 1997 book, Trick or Treaty and the 1990s Cabinet minutes clearly show that government’s true underlying purpose in its settlement process is to clawback Māori legal rights to binding recommendations provided for in the State-owned Enterprises Act and the Crown Forest Assets Act.   And yet, only 1 of the 118 interviewees to date was aware of this. 

That is just one of a very large number of common themes that have emerged from the research interviews thus far, as well as from thousands of claimant submissions to the Māori Affairs Select Committee made since the very first settlement more than 30 years ago.  

Another primary theme is that, while claimants want their claims settled fully and fairly, they all reported no evidence that settlement has delivered on any of the Crown’s public assertions.  Another is that whānau and hapū are frequently marginalised under the Crown’s large natural grouping policy.  In fact, many report being bullied by the Crown and having settled under duress. 

When my cousin sat me down all those years ago, she went on to deliver a hilarious kōrero that helped settle both the petal and the matter.  She was able to do that because she knew the truth, had the facts to back it up and the skill to deliver it. 

Claimants who choose to pursue their legal rights, operate with a similar knowledge / skill set and fact pattern as my cousin.  Their aim is also to settle, but not for less. Because they know that “settle” is indeed a very versatile verb.

THE STRUGGLE IS REAL

The National Iwi Chairs’ Forum (ICF) comprises the Chairpersons of 73 Iwi entities, representing 65 Iwi.  Its purpose is contained in the hakatauki (proverb), he waka kōtuia kāhore e tukutukua ngā mimira (a canoe that is interlaced will not become separated at the bow – in unity there is strength). 

The ICF meets four times a year: February in Taitokerau, May in the central North Island, August in Tainui, and November in the South Island.  It operates via four Pou:  Pou Taiao, Pou Tikanga, Pou Tāngata and Pou Tāhua.  Each Pou works via Iwi Leader Groups (ILGs) made up of Iwi Chairs with expertise and interest in a particular field.  Each ILG is, in turn, supported by a Technical Advisory Group (TAG) made up of experts in their respective field.  Following are very brief summaries of some of the work done by each Pou.

Te Pou Taiao works on Climate Change, Freshwater, Conservation, Biodiversity, Biosecurity, Oil and Minerals, and Te Kahu o te Taiao (Māori knowledge in relation to the environment).  Climate change has recently been escalated to crisis level by the government and work has begun on developing educational materials for whānau and hapū on what to expect and how to cope, especially with extreme weather events.  The Freshwater ILG is also developing resources for whānau, hapū and iwi and preparing for the continuation of the freshwater and geothermal hearings in the Waitangi Tribunal in March. The Pou also negotiated the Mana Whakahono ā Rohe provisions of the Resource Management Act that were legislated last year and are now being implemented. Regional workshops on these are being conducted around the motu (country) with the next one for Te Taitokerau hosted by Ngāti Kuri in Te Hāpua on 13^th March.  

Te Pou Tikanga deals with Constitutional Transformation, the Monitoring Mechanism and the Treaty Claims Settlement process.  The Monitoring Mechanism reports each year to the United Nations Expert Mechanism on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples on whether and how the government is complying with the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. This year’s report will contain feedback from Iwi workshops held around the motu on Constitutional Transformation, Self-determination, Lands Territories and Resources, Cultural Rights, Equality and Non-discrimination.  Ngāti Kahu will host a workshop in March, date and venue yet to be confirmed.

Te Pou Tāngata deals primarily with Whānau Ora including Justice, Education, Housing, Rangatahi-ā-iwi and Data (statistics). These ILGs have numerous priority areas including child poverty and well-being, an inquiry into child abuse in state institutions, reducing incarceration rates and exercising rangatiratanga in respect of data collection.

Te Pou Tāhua deals with Trade and Economic Development.  Its purpose is to advance Iwi Maori as Pokai Ao – participating citizens of the world. 

The ICF’s unity and work have achieved results beyond the capacity of most individual Iwi. However, given the autonomous nature of Iwi there are inevitable tensions.  Hei aha.  Perhaps the ICF might add to the translation of its hakatauki this saying; the struggle is real.

WITCH DOCTOR

At the beginning of last week, a former Reserve Bank governor and National Party leader called Dr Don Brash posted to facebook, “I am utterly sick of people talking in Maori on RNZ in what are primarily English-language broadcasts.”  In a followup interview with RNZ he made it clear, “I don’t want to hear it [te reo Maori] ... I don’t want to learn it ...” 

When I listened to Dr Brash, I chuckled because his words took me back to 1982.

When the then five minute Maori news segment, Te Karere, first hit the airwaves on TV1, there was strong resistance from two of my fellow Nurses’ Home residents to my watching it instead of Top Town on the only other channel at that time, TV2.

“You Maori have got your own news.  Where will it end?” asked one.  “It’s a barbaric language and I don’t want to listen to it,” said the other.  But the cincher was. “There’s already too much Maari on TV as it is.”  When I asked how five minutes of te reo Maori out of 720 minutes of daily broadcast could be considered too much, the response was, “You’ve got On the Mat too.” 

I laughed.  Then I switched over to TV1.  When they realised they didn’t have the power or authority to ban Te Karere, those two removed themselves from the TV room.  I wonder where they are now. 

Which brings me back to the end of last week, when a poet and musician called Rob Ruha spoke these words to a dinner gathering of Iwi and National Party leaders, “Are you someone,” he asked them, “that can heal our people?  Or are you a Spin Doctor? ... Do you just say that you can heal us, and do nothing but sit on your hands?” 

Then he paused before asking further, “Are you someone who enacts and enables this thing called māuiui whenua?  Mauiui whenua is what Hori Keeti explained as our disconnection from our maunga, from our awa, and from our whenua.  And when we’re disconnected like that, ka māuiui te iwi.  Engari, ka ahu mai tera māuiui i te whenua. (The people become sick, and that sickness extends into the land as well.)”

Then he concluded, “Pena ka ora e te Atua te māuiui tangata, ka ora ano huri ia ia te māuiui whenua.  (Healing the people will lead, in turn, to healing the land.)  He aha tēnei mea te māuiui whenua?  Ko nga ture e nga kati e te kakī o te Mana Maori Motuhake.  (What is this thing that afflicts the land?  It is the laws’ stranglehold on the throat of Maori and our self-determination.)”

As 2017 ends, everyone inside an iwi should ponder Rob Ruha’s questions about leadership.  As for Don Brash, he’s just there as an object lesson and reminder to us all on what leadership isn’t.

Nga mihi aroha ki a tātou katoa.  Ka kite ano i te tau 2018. 

A NEW RESOLUTION

Driving home from a visit to whānau in Pawarenga this weekend and listening to our mokopuna talk in the backseat, I heard the seven year old ask, “Did you see the harakeke growing in that dead tree?”  In response her ten year old brother observed, “Ka pu te ruha, ka hao te rangatahi.” (As an old net withers, another is remade.)  This signifies new growth emerging from old growth.

Inside an iwi, this is a metaphor for a process of change from one leadership regime to another.  Like the cyclical growth and decay of trees, it is a process that takes time and space, the kind provided in gatherings such as hui, hakaminenga and rūnanga.  

I thought about this process when we heard the following morning that the “Old Man” of world politics, 93 year old Robert Mugabe, had agreed to “step down” as President of Zimbabwe.  On the surface it looks like a bloodless coup, apparently a requirement of both China and the USA in exchange for their support of those waiting in the wings to replace Mugabe.  But dress it up as they may, it is still a revolt.

The Zimbabwean historical experience of colonisation by white people matches ours.  However, their current situation fits a different metaphor captured in a quote from Thomas Jefferson, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America, and the chief author of that country’s Declaration of Independence who went on to become its third President.  “Every generation,” Jefferson declared, “needs a new revolution.”  Does it?

Revolution is a process of change that takes place in a relatively short period of time when a group rises up in revolt against their current leaders.  It can be peaceful, but, more often than not, it isn’t.

The French Revolution had a death toll in excess of 1.4 million.  The American Revolution led to the deaths of more than 100,000 out of a population of less than 2 million.  The October Revolution saw a communist dictatorship replace a Tzarist autocracy in Russia at the loss of 9 million people.  The Iranian Revolution replaced a secular democracy with a theocratic dictatorship and a death toll somewhere between 200 people to 70,000, depending on who you believe.  Were these four revolutions alone worth that many dead?  Surely not.

Our own history is also full of warfare and death, but not on the scale described above and never merely for the sake of changing one system of government for another.  Even during the British wars of invasion when kupapa fought against other iwi, their motives were less about accepting British sovereignty and more about protecting their own rangatiratanga.

Back to Zimbabwe and Mugabe.  As I write this article, the wily Old Man has still not resigned, and his would-be replacements are looking a bit lost.  I wish they all had mokopuna sitting behind them to remind them that, just as new growth emerges from old, what every generation needs, is a new resolution.