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.

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!

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[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.