“If you build it, he will come.” That line from the 1983 movie Field of Dreams has been like an inner drive over the past few months for us ones who organised the first wananga of 2012 of Te Uri o Tai hapū in Pawarenga.
Wananga is an ancient concept and system of gathering to impart the knowledge and wisdom which upholds and sustains the very foundations of our being. It is the university for both the practice and theory of life. As such, in the old days wananga was not open to any and everybody. Today the concept has been broadened and is nowhere near as select or exclusive as it once was. That has its pros and cons.
Anyway, last year one of our men (Tamati Rudolph) dreamed a dream. He called a hui at his home to see who might join him to revive wananga in Pawarenga. Those who turned up to that first hui, we were all of one mind; let’s wananga to further strengthen our sense of belonging to our whenua and to each other, and let’s do it for and by ourselves without outside funding. Nou te rourou noku te rourou, ka ora te iwi.
Things were going along fine, then disaster struck. The originator of the idea, the one who had inspired us all to push it along, our Tommy, died suddenly on New Year’s Eve just gone. At our next planning hui we all looked at each other and wondered, “Can we really do this?”
Well, this weekend just gone by, we did it. Boy oh boy, did we do it! Today I have little voice left (to the delight of some in my household), so my fingers are speaking for me and for all us ones who gathered for our wananga tuatahi 2012.
The sun shone, the marae overflowed, the days were filled with movement and learning, the nights with stillness and more learning. Kuia kaumātua who started the wananga looking tired (Mavis Dick's tangihanga had just finished the day before) got fresher as time went by. Tamariki and taitamariki who arrived full of energy and noise got quieter and deeper. Aroha, matauranga, whakaaronui, mahi, tautohetohe, whakangahau; all things flowed seamlessly and we all learned and grew from it.
Who is making this happen in Pawarenga? We, the whānau and hapū of Pawarenga, that’s who; hand in hand with te Atua, our kuia kaumātua, the young and old, the ahikāroa and the whānau whānui. We are doing it by ourselves, for our descendants, and in remembrance of our tūpuna.
The dream is now reality. We built it, and they did come.
Wananga tuarua 2012 is set for 20th – 22nd April at Ōhaki marae, Pawarenga.
Kia tau ngā manaakitanga a te Atua kia tātou katoa a kia kite ano tātou ia tātou a te wā.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
GRIEF AND MOURNING
Since the beginning of life on this earth, death has been seen as the enemy, the “as yet unsolved problem.” But really death is not the problem. Rather it is our inability or unwillingness to accept the reality of life on its own terms, one of which is death; that’s the problem.
In her book The Year of Magical Thinking, written after the death of her husband of forty years, Joan Didion wrote, “Life changes in an instant; an ordinary instant … Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it.” That is a fact. When I arrived in that place, it wasn’t just sad, it was as wild and unpredictable as a roller-coaster.
I had expected to feel inconsolable and to appear insane at times. But I had not anticipated actually being inconsolable, as manifested in blind fury at anyone who dared to offer me any comfort at all. Nor was I prepared for actually going insane, the only possible description for my refusing to go home for a long time. But eventually the roller-coaster slowed, grief morphed into mourning and I returned to living with the hard-won knowledge that there are no norms to either.
I remember how, when the 10 year old son of a friend died, after the tangihanga she returned home and wrote of his last day and last moments with her. Then she published her account in the local newsletter as a tribute to her boy. That Māori mother upset some of her kuia hugely, because, for them, her writing fell outside the norms of tangihanga. But for her, there were no norms – she had never lost a son before.
I also remember how, in 1966, the collier Kaitawa left Westport loaded with coal for the Portland cement works and, as she rounded the North Cape in heavy seas she broke up and sank with the loss of all 29 crew. A few months later, some of our whānau happened to be at the Cape when the mother of one of those drowned souls arrived to see for herself where her boy had died. Upon hearing her keening grief, our kaumātua and his whānau went to her and started the call and response of Te Hohonutanga. Then they all put their arms around that Pākehā mother and wept. They knew that there were no norms; that death and life happen on their own terms.
The thought of my own death has never perplexed or worried me much. But that of those close to me; ahhh, those are another matter. Even though I believe in life after death, I have learned that it does not come with set rules, a certain script, known way stations or a sure endpoint.
I have also learned that in order to be comforted when someone I love dies, or to bring comfort to someone else, it helps me to remember that there are no norms to grief and mourning, and that the best thing to do is share loving words and acts of service with those who have arrived in that place.
“.. e tau iho te tangi i te ahiahi, a i te ata he hari. [Psalms 30:5]
In her book The Year of Magical Thinking, written after the death of her husband of forty years, Joan Didion wrote, “Life changes in an instant; an ordinary instant … Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it.” That is a fact. When I arrived in that place, it wasn’t just sad, it was as wild and unpredictable as a roller-coaster.
I had expected to feel inconsolable and to appear insane at times. But I had not anticipated actually being inconsolable, as manifested in blind fury at anyone who dared to offer me any comfort at all. Nor was I prepared for actually going insane, the only possible description for my refusing to go home for a long time. But eventually the roller-coaster slowed, grief morphed into mourning and I returned to living with the hard-won knowledge that there are no norms to either.
I remember how, when the 10 year old son of a friend died, after the tangihanga she returned home and wrote of his last day and last moments with her. Then she published her account in the local newsletter as a tribute to her boy. That Māori mother upset some of her kuia hugely, because, for them, her writing fell outside the norms of tangihanga. But for her, there were no norms – she had never lost a son before.
I also remember how, in 1966, the collier Kaitawa left Westport loaded with coal for the Portland cement works and, as she rounded the North Cape in heavy seas she broke up and sank with the loss of all 29 crew. A few months later, some of our whānau happened to be at the Cape when the mother of one of those drowned souls arrived to see for herself where her boy had died. Upon hearing her keening grief, our kaumātua and his whānau went to her and started the call and response of Te Hohonutanga. Then they all put their arms around that Pākehā mother and wept. They knew that there were no norms; that death and life happen on their own terms.
The thought of my own death has never perplexed or worried me much. But that of those close to me; ahhh, those are another matter. Even though I believe in life after death, I have learned that it does not come with set rules, a certain script, known way stations or a sure endpoint.
I have also learned that in order to be comforted when someone I love dies, or to bring comfort to someone else, it helps me to remember that there are no norms to grief and mourning, and that the best thing to do is share loving words and acts of service with those who have arrived in that place.
“.. e tau iho te tangi i te ahiahi, a i te ata he hari. [Psalms 30:5]
Monday, February 20, 2012
THE UNBROKEN CHAIN
Our three year old grand-daughter has started negotiating and debating with the adults in her life, and we love it. Almost all her sentences start with simple questions like, “How come?” “What if?” “Why-ee?” She genuinely does want to know and understand everything, and why not?
Sometimes her constant questions just make the adults in her life hoha. Other times there either is no ready answer, or the answer is more baffling than the original question. But she never stops asking anyway, and that’s awesome. Her inquiring mind, coupled with a good heart and clean hands will stand her in good stead in a world that is getting madder by the hour.
I remember doing the same with my adults when I was a kid and meeting the same mixed reception. But the ones who were most patient with me were my grandparents, both Māori and Pākehā. I’ve taken note that my parents have been similarly kind with our kids, and now it’s our turn. There truly is no such thing as a generation gap between grandparents and grandchildren.
I believe that our whānau is the root and the wellspring of our society and if it is poisoned or twisted, so too will our children be, and society will become less and less safe for us or anyone else. Hence the importance of constantly asking and being asked simple questions whose power lies in the fact that they signal a desire to understand and a willingness to listen. But at the same time they challenge the one being asked the question to confront their own attitudes, positions, thoughts, words and actions.
My husband and I keep all our mokopuna in mind in everything we think, say and do because already we hear them saying with absolute conviction, “My nanna said,” or “My papa and me did...” This reminds us daily how incredibly important it is for us to give them a consistent pattern of being, not perfect, but very honest in our imperfections as we move towards perfection. It reminds us that most of what we do and say is actually done and spoken to these mokopuna, both the born and the unborn. And that’s awesome too.
As every grandparent who survives their own parenting years knows, watching that same process stretch their adult children provides great delight. But always I try to remember to regularly ask simple questions of myself as well. That way I can better strengthen my part of the unbroken chain that makes up the human family. Mauri ora!
Sometimes her constant questions just make the adults in her life hoha. Other times there either is no ready answer, or the answer is more baffling than the original question. But she never stops asking anyway, and that’s awesome. Her inquiring mind, coupled with a good heart and clean hands will stand her in good stead in a world that is getting madder by the hour.
I remember doing the same with my adults when I was a kid and meeting the same mixed reception. But the ones who were most patient with me were my grandparents, both Māori and Pākehā. I’ve taken note that my parents have been similarly kind with our kids, and now it’s our turn. There truly is no such thing as a generation gap between grandparents and grandchildren.
I believe that our whānau is the root and the wellspring of our society and if it is poisoned or twisted, so too will our children be, and society will become less and less safe for us or anyone else. Hence the importance of constantly asking and being asked simple questions whose power lies in the fact that they signal a desire to understand and a willingness to listen. But at the same time they challenge the one being asked the question to confront their own attitudes, positions, thoughts, words and actions.
My husband and I keep all our mokopuna in mind in everything we think, say and do because already we hear them saying with absolute conviction, “My nanna said,” or “My papa and me did...” This reminds us daily how incredibly important it is for us to give them a consistent pattern of being, not perfect, but very honest in our imperfections as we move towards perfection. It reminds us that most of what we do and say is actually done and spoken to these mokopuna, both the born and the unborn. And that’s awesome too.
As every grandparent who survives their own parenting years knows, watching that same process stretch their adult children provides great delight. But always I try to remember to regularly ask simple questions of myself as well. That way I can better strengthen my part of the unbroken chain that makes up the human family. Mauri ora!
POLITICAL PROBLEMS, SOVEREIGN SOLUTIONS
Poly-poly-poly-politician,
Can you make the right decision?
For all of us?
During the holidays this 2002 song by Kora was a question I asked almost everyone I met, and the vast majority answered, “Nah. They can and should, but they won’t.”
Their pessimism is borne out by the current government’s push on all fronts to make it easier for our natural resources and the “state-owned assets” that we have built together over the past 172 years to be sold, bought, used and exploited.
Yet, in spite of the fact that the overwhelming majority of New Zealanders see our infrastructure as important to our sovereignty and are against selling any part of it, we still voted National in knowing they would do exactly what they are now doing; sell the power companies. And that’s just for starters.
How is this government getting away with it? By distraction.
In the week leading up to the annual flashpoint that marks Waitangi Day, without consulting its partners in the Māori Party, SoE Minister Tony Ryall publicly confirmed government’s intention to fool around with section 9 of the State-owned Enterprise Act (aka the Treaty clause).
In its entirety, section 9 reads: “Nothing in this Act shall permit the Crown to act in a manner that is inconsistent with the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi.” But, said Ryall, that “might not apply to the companies under the mixed ownership model” that government intends to sell our assets to.
The resultant backlash saw the Māori Party threaten to walk out on its relationship with National, and the Mana Party grab the issue as a stick with which to bash them both. It also drew the public ire of “big hitters” on the New Zealand Māori Council and the national Iwi Leaders Forum (whose “constituencies” include some of the strongest voices of activism in the country).
While it’s true that the clause might put off some potential buyers, why would National choose to deal with it in that way and at that time? The answer is, in order to provoke exactly the response it has gotten. Loud, angry protest is offputting to most of our conservative natures; we don’t hear the message because we don’t like the messenger or his means.
But the real victory for National is that the actual sale of our assets is largely going ahead unnoticed and unchallenged. Even the Māori Party, able to deny culpability because it wasn’t consulted by National, is playing its part perfectly by focusing on section 9. So too are the protest movement, the NZMC and the ILF.
If New Zealanders are to retain sovereignty in any shape or form over this country, we cannot rely on political solutions to sovereign issues. Instead, the reverse will be shown to be true.
Can you make the right decision?
For all of us?
During the holidays this 2002 song by Kora was a question I asked almost everyone I met, and the vast majority answered, “Nah. They can and should, but they won’t.”
Their pessimism is borne out by the current government’s push on all fronts to make it easier for our natural resources and the “state-owned assets” that we have built together over the past 172 years to be sold, bought, used and exploited.
Yet, in spite of the fact that the overwhelming majority of New Zealanders see our infrastructure as important to our sovereignty and are against selling any part of it, we still voted National in knowing they would do exactly what they are now doing; sell the power companies. And that’s just for starters.
How is this government getting away with it? By distraction.
In the week leading up to the annual flashpoint that marks Waitangi Day, without consulting its partners in the Māori Party, SoE Minister Tony Ryall publicly confirmed government’s intention to fool around with section 9 of the State-owned Enterprise Act (aka the Treaty clause).
In its entirety, section 9 reads: “Nothing in this Act shall permit the Crown to act in a manner that is inconsistent with the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi.” But, said Ryall, that “might not apply to the companies under the mixed ownership model” that government intends to sell our assets to.
The resultant backlash saw the Māori Party threaten to walk out on its relationship with National, and the Mana Party grab the issue as a stick with which to bash them both. It also drew the public ire of “big hitters” on the New Zealand Māori Council and the national Iwi Leaders Forum (whose “constituencies” include some of the strongest voices of activism in the country).
While it’s true that the clause might put off some potential buyers, why would National choose to deal with it in that way and at that time? The answer is, in order to provoke exactly the response it has gotten. Loud, angry protest is offputting to most of our conservative natures; we don’t hear the message because we don’t like the messenger or his means.
But the real victory for National is that the actual sale of our assets is largely going ahead unnoticed and unchallenged. Even the Māori Party, able to deny culpability because it wasn’t consulted by National, is playing its part perfectly by focusing on section 9. So too are the protest movement, the NZMC and the ILF.
If New Zealanders are to retain sovereignty in any shape or form over this country, we cannot rely on political solutions to sovereign issues. Instead, the reverse will be shown to be true.
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