This website presents aspects of the New Zealand Wars fought between Māori and the Crown throughout most of the 19th century, emphasising Māori histories of these engagements in the global context of wars fought against native peoples.
The book ‘The Hunt for Willie Boy’ was published in 1994 and tells the story of a manhunt in Southern California in September 1929. Written by two fine ‘white’ historians (as Pākehā are called in the USA), the book’s essential point – how ‘Indian-hating has uncritically permeated popular culture in the USA – certainly resonates here in New Zealand.
The focus of the manhunt was a young Chemehuevi Indian named Willie Boy who, it was falsely alleged, had consumed too much liquor, stolen a rifle and kidnapped a 16 year old girl named Carlotta, shooting her father in the process. He then fled into the desert. When Carlotta was later found dead, the manhunt went into overdrive, with numbers of possees combing the desert.
The book is hugely interesting, written by two accomplished academic historians from Redlands, California, where the book’s action is set – James A Sandos and Larry E Burgess. Sandos and Burgess examine the various ‘white’ versions of the story.
The book also includes a Chemehuevi version of events, strengthened with a careful reading of the documentary sources. This ethnohistorical approach is masterful, revealing a sad and tragic story, recovered from the layers upon layers of false and misleading ‘white’ versions (‘white’ is used in the USA for Pākehā).
Their research was extensive, and included working with elders from the Chemehuevi tribe, plus members of Willie Boy’s and Carlotta’s families, based around Banning and the Morongo Indian Reservation, in the desolate American south-west desert.
This tragic tale was made into a movie by Abraham Polonsky called Tell Them Willie Boy is Herein 1969. The movie starred Robert Redford, Katherine Ross, Susan Clark and Robert Blake as Willie Boy. Polonsky had earlier been blacklisted by Hollywood as a communist sympathiser.
The screenplay was based on an earlier ‘gripping non-fiction novel’ published by Henry Lawton in 1960. However, as the authors point out, the Willie Boy story had been published some 30 times in various forms by the time the movie was made; and both the movie, and Lawton’s book, possessed serious flaws.
New Indian History / Ethnohistory / New Western History .. ?
When the book was published, in 1994, histories of Native American peoples were undergoing some critical analysis, especially those written over time by ‘whites’.
Historians like Patricia Limerick and Richard White were re-examining the writing of Native history, insisting that, for starters, Native peoples ought to be both central to the story, and involved in the research and writing.
Santos and Burgess analyse the narrative and writing of the Willie Boy story against the complex historiographical background, including the work of New Indian historians. They also comment on historians positioned within the (then) emerging field of American Ethnohistory, like Fred Hoxie.
What is interesting is these debates in the USA found their way to New Zealand, and did influence how some Māori at the time went about writing our own Māori/tribal histories. Our impression, then, thō, was that the Native American voice wasn’t really coming thrū, unlike in New Zealand where Māori voices were being heard, and acknowledged by academic historians.
This book is hugely important; it examines from varying native and tribal perspectives the writing of Native American history. When discussing indigenous historical paradigms, Susan actually discusses briefly some of the work then being done by Māori historians in New Zealand. Her comments in part arise from a panel discussion that Susan and Danny did together (with Donna L Ackers) at an Ethnohistory conference in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in 2009.
Native Historians Write Back is undoubtedly a landmark publication. In New Zealand, Māori were able to attempt something similar with our Huia Histories of Māori. Ngā Tahuhu Korero, published the following year in 2012.
Native Historians Write Back is a particularly interesting book when we consider The Hunt for Willie Boy. Published some 15 years earlier, The Hunt for Willie Boy raisesimportant issues about the writing of Native American history, issues that fine Native American historians like Susan were able to address (and much more).
During next year, 2020, we will commemorate many past events. One that might get overlooked is the Sesquicentenary of 1990 which of course was quite an event, at the time at least. New Zealanders were asked to reflect on what it meant to be a New Zealander, especially where relations with Māori were concerned.
Strangely enough, the Land Wars rated barely a mention; they certainly didn’t have the profile they have today, with so many new historians now joining the fray. But Treaty issues did remain front and centre of most activities, and there were many.
Prior to 1990, not everyone thought the sesquicentenary was a good idea. Some of the initial thoughts are summarised below. However, for a broader description of the sesquicentenary event itself, see here – Sesquicentenary 1990.
Notes from Georgetown
Whilst teaching a course on New Zealand history at Georgetown University in Washington DC in 2009, I was able to briefly introduce the topic of New Zealand’s sesquicentenary 1990 to an amazing group of 35 young American students.
Sesquicentenary was a good way into a much larger New Zealand history focus. These pages on Sesquicentenary 1990 comprise an expanded / updated version of my Georgetown teaching notes.
In 1940, New Zealand authorities had faced the question of how to commemorate a centennial of the country’s colonial founding. Perhaps splendid pageantry and an international fair was the answer, paying homage to the early pioneers and their founding struggles.
Fifty years later, in 1990, the nation’s Sesquentenary year arrived with the 1990 Commission asking similar questions of New Zealanders.
But times had drastically changed; the focus had shifted from pageantry and fairgrounds to peoples and historical/communal relationships. By 1990, Māori had made significant political gains. But community relations at large remained ambivalent.
Remembering New Zealand
1990 was therefore an important year for New Zealand because it provided for a nationwide ‘sounding’ vis-a-vis the country’s relations with Māori. In 1990, New Zealand celebrated 150 years of ‘nationhood.’ Commemorations were held throughout the country as New Zealanders looked inwards, reflecting upon their historical origins, their current identities and how they presented themselves to the rest of the world; and the processes of memory which linked them all.
In order to make these celebrations happen, the New Zealand government had two years earlier set up a 1990 Commission charged with fostering a full range of sesquentennial activities, based on local and nationwide celebrations of national remembrance.
As the Commission’s original brief suggested, there were any number of good historical reasons for choosing 1990. Throughout the year, many hundreds of events were staged by communities, remembering past events thought to have left indelible marks upon the present.
By year’s end, the country had shown itself to possess intricate patterns of remembrance which had included focussing upon the small things as well as upon the ‘big themes’ of our collective memories.
The most important ‘big theme’ event to be remembered in 1990 was undoubtedly the Treaty of Waitangi. In 1840, 500 Maori chiefs had signed the Treaty in the far north at Waitangi, and at other locations around New Zealand, with representatives of the British Crown. Thus was established the legal basis upon which the formal colonisation of New Zealand could begin.
The Treaty signing ceremony at Waitangi had heralded the beginning of a new enduring relationship between its signatories, Māori and the Crown; or at least, this was the reasonable expectation of both parties.
The years that followed however severely strained that expectation, especially for Māori, with a resonance that would reach far into the twentieth century.
Some Māori now considered that 1990 celebrations would be divisive and unwise. 1990 was therefore promoted by the Commission as ‘Te Wero, the Challenge’. New Zealanders were exhorted to make 1990 ‘a year to remember, reflect and look ahead.’ The Commission’s logo featured the majestic kotuku, or the white heron ‘guiding New Zealand to a new horizon.’
The commemorations of 1990 presented New Zealanders with a chance to take stock of their historical relationships, especially with Maori and, in that context, what it now meant to be a New Zealander.
As many commentators were observing as 1990 approached, more and more New Zealanders seemed to be focussing on the ‘perennial question of who and what a New Zealander was.’
The same issue had perplexed Pakeha after the 1870s, with the Land Wars over and an age of literary nationalism about to break over the country, a literature that searched for Pakeha roots amongst Aotearoa’s organic undergrowth.
In 1993, a seminar series ‘open to the students and the teachers of the world’ was held at Parihaka, sponsored by Te Whānau O Te Niho O Te Ātiawa of Parihaka.
The Parihaka series was organised by kuia like Mahinekura Rheinfeld and Parekaitu Tito with kaumātua Te Ru Koriri Wharehoka assisting. They were aimed at ‘nurturing identity and bridging cultures’. Inspiration to do this came from Waitangi Tribunal hearings at Parihaka which had commenced a year earlier, in October 1992.
The hearings, said the Parihaka elders, had ‘stirred within us the spirit of our tūpuna’ to acknowledge and revisit the past with new eyes in order to ‘commemorate the example set us by our kuia and kaumātua’.
Speakers included Dr Kathie Irwin, Dr Paora Tapsell, Prof Mason Durie, Patricia Grace, Elizabeth Kerekere, Dr Ailsa Smith and Dr Manuka Henare.
The first seminar in the series was presented by Dr. Hazel Riseborough, then Senior Lecturer in History at Massey University, Palmerston North, and author of ‘Days of Darkness. The Government and Parihaka 1878-1888’. Hazel was also assisting North Taranaki iwi with historical research, thereafter presenting a series of prodigious historical reports to the Waitangi Tribunal as an expert witness.
Hazels’ presentation asessed some of the recent historical literature relating to Parihaka. In her paper, she argued that the history of Parihaka had not been dealt with adequately by early historians who had seemed influenced by nineteenth-century views of Te Whiti O Rongomai and Tohu Kakahi as ‘superstitious’, ‘far gone in sanity’ and ‘fanatics’.
Views such as these, she argued, were stated often by Ministers and officials like Harry Atkinson, John Bryce, John Sheehan, Robert Parris and Charles Brown, thereafter resonating through uncritical Pākehā communities and political circles. Te Whiti and Tohu were also referred to as ‘prophets’ but the term was ‘not meant to be complimentary; in fact, it had a very negative connotation’.
More positive views
Some positive views, though rare, were heard, however. One such view came from an Italian Benedictine priest, Domenico Vaggioli who had written of Te Whiti O Rongomai as being ‘without peer in the annals of Māori’. Vaggioli’s source for this positive view was the embattled historian, G.W. Rusden. In 1883, Rusden had published a book entitled ‘History of New Zealand’ (used by Vaggioli) in which Rusden had made allegations about Native Minister John Bryce’s conduct whilst earlier serving in South Taranaki as a volunteer cavalryman in the late 1860s.
Much later, in 1881, Native Minister Bryce had led the invasion of Parihaka, an event which had incensed Rusden, leading to the allegations made in his History of New Zealand. The allegations involved the killing of a number of Māori boys by persuing mounted troopers.
In 1883, Bryce refuted Rusden’s allegations which he called defamatory. A Court in London agreed. Rusden’s book was withdrawn from sale with a substantial fine imposed. As a consequence of the defamation action, said Riseborough, positive histories about Māori and Parihaka, like that written by Rusden (and Vaggioli) were easily discounted. After the defamation action, says Hazel, Bryce’s reputation was restored as the saviour of settlers through his otherwise egregious actions at Parihaka.
Over time, however, opinions changed. Later historians like W.P. Reeves, Alfred Saunders, R.M. Burdon, James Cowan and William Baucke were positive towards Te Whiti and Tohu, instead focusing on iniquitious government policies which had led to the Māori land dispossessions in Taranaki. Cowan and Baucke in particular, both of whom spoke fluent Māori, had spent time with Te Whiti O Rongomai at Parihaka. But other notable historians like J.C. Beaglehole, J.B. Condliffe, W.T.G Airey and W.P. Morrell had remained ambivalent at best and dismissive at worst.
After the Second World War, in the 1950s, historians continued to be generally sympathetic to Te Whiti O Rongomai and Parihaka, showing an increased willingness to criticise government policies of the 1870s and 1880s.
Dick Scott’s Parihaka Story, published in 1954, and his later expanded version Ask That Mountain, published in 1975, were fine examples of this. Scott had received assistance from Parihaka kaumātua like Whatarau Wharehoka and George Koea Snr, with Mohi Wharepouri, Rev. Paahi Moke, Mira Ngaia and Dr. E.P. Ellison also assisting. Scott’s two books were ground-breaking, not least because of this support received from such esteemed oral informants.
These generally positive treatments continued through to the 1990s, although in the 1970s some New Zealand historians sought to challenge these trends. Influenced by recent Pacific historiography which criticised depictions of Island peoples as ‘helpless savages’, swept along by the ‘fatal impacts’ of negative European contacts, some historians saw similar trends emerging in New Zealand.
In 1978, S.J. Bryant proposed a ‘reassessment’ of Te Whiti O Rongomai’s political activity. Bryant conceded that earlier historians, from the time of John Bryce, had been highly critical of Te Whiti, representing his dealings with the Crown as severely flawed. Later historians like Burdon, Cowan and Baucke had been more sympathetic.
But now, since the days of Dick Scott, historians ‘could find no wrong’. ‘The zeal to correct the older version had led to an over-exaggeration in the other direction’. Dick Scott’s ‘Ask That Mountain’, said Bryant, was virtually ‘without criticism (of Te Whiti) in its 205 pages’. Condemnation was instead reserved for an egregious, unreasonable and aggressive (and possibly overdrawn) government.
Bryant then set about ‘setting the record straight’, producing a detailed (Pākehā) ‘reassessment’. But he ran into trouble at the very beginning.
His ‘reassessment’ focused almost entirely on Te Whiti’s ‘failure’ to properly adapt to European culture. Te Whiti’s many ‘imperfect adaptations’ contained the seeds of their own inadequacy, argued Bryant, when dealing with Pākehā. Such ‘failures’ had also led to serious shortcomings in Te Whiti O Rongomai’s relationship with the European state.
But as Te Whiti had made clear many times, he did not desire a ‘relationship’ with Pākehā culture, adequate or otherwise. Nor did he desire a ‘relationship’ with the European state. Quite the reverse; he wished for customary autonomy with Taranaki Māori culture and lands intact – or, as Te Whiti said many times to Pākehā who would listen (like Native Minister William Rolleston in 1881), he would not accept ‘half of his blanket’.
As Rolleston later reported, Te Whiti had refused to be part of any settlement ‘using the old metaphor of the blanket which, he said, belonged to him and could not be divided’.
Rejecting Pākehā interpretations
Dr. Riseborough concluded her presentation to the whānau at Te Niho O Te Ātiawa by assessing the work of historians writing in the 1990s like Keith Sinclair and Judith Binney, both of whom had published recent criticisms of her book, Days of Darkness.
In her book, Hazel rejected the use of Pākehā interpreters as a means of understanding what Te Whiti and Tohu had said during their many speeches delivered at Parihaka. This issue had given rise to the invasion; a Pākehā interpreter had accused Te Whiti of making seditious comments on 17 September 1881. But all Pākehā interpretations, said Hazel, were unreliable because they missed entirely the subtlety, nuance, metaphor and shades of meaning intended by Māori orators. Such Pākehā interpretations, she said, could not be trusted.
Instead, Hazel deferred to the immense value of traditional Parihaka oral sources like waiata, haka, tauparapara, whakatauaki, whaikorero and, not least, poi expressional performance which James Cowan once described as ‘no mere amusement but a kind of musical hansard’. Hazel doubted that Pākehā scholars could get to the truth of what Te Whiti O Rongomai had ever said, at any time, without accessing the Parihaka oral records.
But Sinclair, Binney and other historians described Hazel’s view as a ‘romantic assertion’, defending the use of Pākehā sources.
The fact remained, said Hazel, that Te Whiti and Tohu Kakahi had behaved in as ‘calm, restrained and responsible way as was possible’ in the face of what Ministers themselves conceded was ‘deliberate goading’.
Now, a hundred or more years on, with the Waitangi Tribunal investigations underway, concluded Hazel, it was to be seen whether the descendants were ready to free Te Whiti O Rongomai and Tohu Kakahi from the bonds with which past histories and historians, as well government political actions, had bound them.
The writings of descendents
The seminar series constituted a courageous beginning; the presentation of Parihaka and Taranaki ‘counter-narratives’ that might reframe New Zealand’s multiple histories.
Today, descendants of Parihaka are continuing to reflect upon and write about the histories of Parihaka and the wider experiences of the Taranaki people. In so doing, they follow the inspiration of tūpuna like Te Kahui Kararehe, Te Whetu and, more recently Whatarau Wharehoka, Rangikotuku Rukuwai and Ngaraiti Rukuwai, who were all, amongst numerous others, faithful chroniclers of the Parihaka story.
In 1992, Ailsa Smith contributed an essay on the life of Tohu Kakahi to the Dictionary of New Zealand Biography and a year later published Songs and Stories of Taranaki from the Writings of Te Kahui Kararehe. In 2005, Tony Sole published his richly detailed tribal history Ngāti Ruanui.
Te Miringa Hohaia and Ruakere Hond have also published absorbing accounts of Parihaka histories sourced in traditional stories and tribal wananga. Others to have published Taranaki waiata, tauparapara, whakatauaki and karakia include Tonga Karena and Huirangi Waikerepuru.
In 2009, Rachel Buchanan published her PhD thesis which, presented as a personal journey, examined stories emanating from ‘Parihaka and memory’, as told through traditional cultural forms as well as conventional historical sources.
Hilary and John Mitchell have also written extensively of Taranaki from the perspective of whānau living in Te Tau Ihi, in the South Island.
Recent hikoi of Taranaki whānau to meet with Te Wai Pounamu whānau, and to visit the sites traversed by earlier Taranaki prisoners, have also been described in absorbing detail by Edward Ellison and Peter Moeahu.
Paora Joseph’s moving film, Tatarakihi; Children of Parihaka also depicted a hikoi of Parihaka children visiting the sites and prisons symbolising the travails of earlier generations, led by Mata Wharehoka, Ngapera Moeahu and Whero Bailey with Pauline and Len Robinson of the Parihaka whānau.
After the Shades of Evening
In the end, Hazel’s presentation at Parihaka was well received.
During breakfast the next morning, Hazel turned to Parihaka kaumātua Te Ru Koriri Wharehoka, who was sitting nearby, and asked if he would care to write a dedication for a monograph to be published, containing her lecture of the previous evening.
Te Ru agreed and asked for a pen and paper, being handed a pen and a tissue, as it turned out. After thinking for a minute, Te Ru commenced writing;
He Maru Ahiahi Kei Muri te Maru Awatea He Paki Arohirohi Kei Mua
After the shades of evening comes the dusk of dawn, whilst before us lies the shimmering glory of a fair day.
A new book on the New Zealand Wars has been released – Tutu Te Peuhu, New Perspectives on the New Zealand Wars. This new book was launched at Parliament in Wellington on 23 October 2018. On hand to do the honours were Hon Ron Mark, Minister of Defence, and Hon Nania Mahuta, Minister of Maori Development.
The book is edited by noted and prodigious military historians Dr Ian McGibbon and Dr John Crawford. Ian and John have edited earlier volumes looking at New Zealand engaged in wars abroad, including Vietnam and the Great War (see right).
The 524- page book is well illustrated and contains 22 chapters written by a wide range of authors and scholars, all well known in the field of New Zealand Wars studies and research.
Tutu Te Puehe is published by Steele Roberts, noted New Zealand publishers based in Wellington. The book is awesome and is a credit to John and Ian, to Steele Roberts Publishers, and to the many contributing writers.
For further details ( and to order a copy), click here – Tutu Te Puehe.
The recent sad passing of Koro Wetere marked quite a milestone for Māori politics, and Māori history.
As a Minister in the reforming Fourth Labour Government, Wetere had his hands on significant pieces of legislation, not least that affecting the Waitangi Tribunal. But the viability of Māori futures, independent of the Crown, was also in his sights.
It was all a long way from the relaxed, rural environs of Oparue where he was born and raised after 1935. Following stints at Te Kuiti College and Massey University, Wetere was appointed to a Ratana Ministry, serving his Ngāti Maniapoto kin of the King Country. And there he might have happily remained, but for the Labour Party, long-time political partner of Ratana, which soon came knocking.
Wetere was recruited to the Party in 1957 and eventually won the seat of Western Māori in 1969, assuming the mantle of illustrious forbears like Wiremu Te Wheoro (1879-1884) and Hoanui Taipua (1886-1893), glittering names in the pantheon of Māori politics.
To most observers, Koro Wetere was an unlikely reformer; he was certainly staunch and steeped in tradition, but he was also self-effacing and somewhat reclusive by nature. Working alongside Matiu Rata, a true reformer, changed all this. It was Rata, as Northern Māori MP, who pushed Norman Kirk’s Third Labour Government hard for change in how things were done for Māori. Rata’s most significant achievement was the Waitangi Tribunal, set up in 1975. But he also gave vioce to Māori calls for political autonomy, an aspiration held since the early 1890s.
When Labour lost power in 1975, the mantle of reform passed to Wetere, especially once a disillusioned Rata walked away from Labour in 1979, to establish his own ill-fated Mana Motuhake Party.
Koro Wetere seized the mantle with both hands. His big chance came with the election of David Lange’s Fourth Labour Government in 1984. By then, Māori had long wearied of Crown paternalism, and they were saying so. A Māori Economic Summit of 1984, convened to address Maoridom’s slide into an economic and social abyss, called for greater power, resources and autonomy.
This time, the government was listening. But Māori communal structures were weak, or nonexistent. Grass-roots reform was urgently needed, if State resources were to flow to Māori. The Department of Māori Affairs was also in the firing line – Wetere wanted this behemoth abolished, with its powers devolved to Māori. The Department’s funding could be redirected to Māori as soon as iwi structures were reformed, credible social and economic programmes were established, and Māori themselves were sufficiently upskilled to manage this new, daunting opportunity.
It was a heady time of urgent and fast-paced reform, all masterfully managed by Koro Wetere as Minister of Māori Affairs.
One consultation exercise, to promote the He Tirohanga Rangapu reform policy undertaken in 1988, was the largest sounding of Māori opinion ever undertaken. Wetere and his team of officials blitzed the country. Marae after marae responded positively to Wetere’s resolute performance at powhiri, whaikorero, wananga and hui, his booming te reo resonating off every pou and whare. Those officials along for the ride were witness to quite a history in the making.
In the midst of this reforming zeal, the government agreed to extend the Waitangi Tribunal’s powers of enquiry back to 1840, placing all of New Zealand’s history under judicial review. It was a significant move but should be seen as part Wetere’s passionate drive to devolve more power and resources to Māori.
In the end, Wetere had his way. Māori Affairs was abolished in 1989. New legislation provided for reformed iwi structures to be established so that devolved programmes and monies could be handled properly. Maori communal structures underwent change the like of which had not been seen before, all overseen by a determined Minister of Māori Affairs, Koro Wetere.
When the Fourth Labour Government lost office in 1990, Wetere returned to the Opposition benches, and retired six years late, leaving behind a signififcant legacy of reform that has lasted, and sets the tenor for today. Though still active as advisor and confidant to the Māori Queen, Koro Tainui Wetere largely withdrew from sight, still a humble and engaging man, one further glittering name in the pantheon of Māori politics.
During the Wetere reform era, Danny Keenan (the writer of this website) was one of the Māori Affairs officials accompanying Wetere as he travelled the country, consulting with Māori, promoting his ambitious reform agenda.
The paepae is the place on the marae where elders stand, to deliver their speeches and, as it so happens, their versions of history. Speeches are an oral process of course. How do kaumātua bring to mind such histories, on such occasions?
During the 1990s, the compiling and writing of oral histories became a particular interest of Māori who were then setting out as ‘historians’, whether as Māori historians or tribal historians.
The distinction wasn’t important to Māori, since methods and processes were largely the same for both groups.
However, a small group of Māori historians working within mainstream universities, and disciplines, did emerge. This gave rise to a small but interesting literature, written by Māori, focussing on what exactly oral history was to Māori – its methods, processes, protocols and value.
Some attempt was also made, at this time, to locate those observations within a much broader mainstream literature dealing with oral history.
In 2005, Danny published an article on Māori oral history, where he essentially argued that the form and frameworks of oral history for Māori took their cue from the paepae.
That is, from the place where elders stood, when delivering important speeches, especially to visitors coming onto the marae (the marae of course being the temporal, living embodiment of all Māori knowledge, including knowledge 0f the past, or history) .
Plse click the cover image above if you’d like to read the article. The reference is – Danny Keenan, ‘The Past from the Paepae. The Uses of the Past in Māori History’ in Māori Oral History: A Collection, (eds) Rachel Selby and Alison Laurie, Oral History Association of New Zealand, Wellington, pp. 54-61.
We received the very sad news on Monday 13 November that Rangikotuku had passed away.
Rangikotuku Rukuwai lived in New Plymouth with his awesome wife, Ngaraiti. Rangikotuku was the inspiration for the book written about his great-grandfather, Te Whiti O Rongomai, which was published in 2015.
Rangikotuku was born in 1927 and was raised at Parihaka, amongst the families of Tohu Kakahi who was Te Whiti’s revered partner during the struggles which began in the 1860s. Rangikotuku and Ngaraiti were married at Pungarehu and lived for a time in the back of the Pungarehu Dairy factory.
Strangely enough, at the same time as Rangikotuku and Ngaraiti were living there, Danny Keenan (author of the book) was living a few houses away, thō at the time he was only a pre-schooler.
Rangikotuku was a quiet and gentle soul, a deeply cultural and intellectual person who nonetheless spoke simply, an awesome and loving person who always stayed true to the lessons of his upbringing.
One day, when we were walking around Parihaka, the question came up, why are we writing this book? So many fine books, articles and monographs had already been written, some by Māori. Rangikotuku said it was because the story of Parihaka needed to be told.
Times were changing, he said. We were now living in a different age, when our Claims were being settled and our people were moving forward with economic development, papakāinga empowerment and cultural rejuvenation.
But our young people were coming home, and, in this new world, they were wanting to know their stories. This was why the book needed to be written, he said.
Rangikotuku talked about his upbringing, at Parihaka and for a time, living down on Pungarehu beach. All of the old people he had known were alive within living memories. The legacy of Parihaka and Te Whiti O Rongomai had always remained central to these lived memories, and to his lifetime of so many experiences.
In the end, Te Whiti had always talked about peace and unity, said Rangikotuku. His teaching was about his people, and all peoples, living this way. And that was Te Whiti’s legacy, he said.
Final screen lecture tonight – Tuesday evening November 28 – featuring pre-eminent wars scholar, Professor Jamie Belich, with Dr Hirini Kaa, young scholar and TV presenter from Ngāti Porou.
Acclaimed Māori filmmaker Tainui Stephens has organised a seminar series focusing on the New Zealand Wars, being held in Otaki.
The series began on 28 November – New Zealand Wars Day – with Tainui presenting and discussing his acclaimed TV Series on the wars, which featured Prof Jamie Belich.
Thereafter, on each Tuesday evening for the following 5 weeks, a panel of Māori historians and scholars will discuss each episode in turn. These discussions should be very interesting, with a wide variety of Māori perspectives on the conflicts being presented.
Plse click on the poster (right) if you’d like to see more info as to who the awesome speakers will be – see also left for the programme line up. These screen lectures extend into late November.
Congratulations to Tainui for this awesome initiative, which coincides with the introduction of the New Zealand Wars Day, for the first time this year.
The date of the New Zealand Wars day – 28 October – was determined by a meeting of Māori kaumātua / elders last year.
The date was chosen because it represents the date of the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1835.
Tainui’s screen lecture series is one of several different initiatives being held around New Zealand to commemorate this important day on our historical calendar.
Incidentally, if you’re interested in the topic of the New Zealand Wars on film, click here for more on this interesting topic : NZ Wars on Film.
Over the years, the wars have been featured in a number of movies, TV dramas and documentaries, though, these days, the topic isn’t attracting much attention from film makers.
Ten years ago, the global ‘war on terror’ arrived in New Zealand.
On 15 October 2007, private homes throughout New Zealand were raided by squads of police, for the most part in full riot gear, carrying machine guns and handguns with knives strapped to their black garments. The raids occurred at dawn, under cover of darkness.
They smashed doors, windows and furniture, arresting people, confiscating computers, cameras, electronics, files, and papers, searching for incrimminating material to support charges under the Terrorism Suppression Act 2002.
One of those arrested was Vietnam veteran Tuhoe Lambert, who lived in South Auckland with his family. At 6am, the police arrived, ordering the whole family into the street at gunpoint, including his 12 year old daughter, Patricia. The house was then ransacked.
Later that morning, the police occupied and locked down Ruātoki, a small Māori town on the western edge of the Urewera Valley.
The entire areas around Ruātoki and Taneātua were cut off. People were prevented from leaving their homes. Cars were stopped; occupants were ordered out at gunpoint. They were then searched and photographed. According to some witnesses, a school bus full of children was boarded by armed police.
Reporters from a local paper soon arrived – the pictures they took went around the world.
According to Tuhoe kaumātua Tamati Kruiger, a gross breach of civil rights occurred at Ruātoki that day – detaining people for hours without food or water, subjecting women to body searches, herding people into sheds while property searches were underway, and photographing onlookers near the roadblock entrance.
One young woman, Annie Rangihika, 17, was searched in full public view. When she was later approached by the New Zealand Herald, the Whakatane High School student declined to comment, saying only that she would never forget what happened.
At least 17 people around New Zealand were arrested. But, said Mr Kruiger, this did not include people taken from Ruatoki to Rotorua for questioning, before being released. Police at Te Ngae station had denied people legal representation, he claimed, and had moved them around police stations, thereby confusing concerned family and friends.
During a police press conference later that day, the police commissioner talked about the ‘terror raids’, thereby placing the language of the ‘war on terror’ into the public domain.
The raids had been necessary, he said, because certain individuals had been identified as posing a dangerous threat to the country’s peace and security. Eight key activists had attended terrorist training camps in Te Urewera, he alleged, learning all about civil instruction, assassination and naplam bombing.
Their ring leader was Tuhoe rangatira, Tame Iti, who stood accused of arranging and conducting these terrorist training camps. Iti’s house was raided, while he was asleep. At gunpoint, Iti, who is not a young man, was made to lie face down on the floor.
Those 17 arrested later appeared in court, charged with a range of alleged arms offences. Charges under the terrorism legislation would soon follow, it was said, once the police had amassed their evidence.
But the police case, and their evidence, never made it to court.
On 9 November 2007, Solicitor General, Dr David Collins, reported that, having reveiwed all of the intercepted evidence obtained by the police, he could not permit the material to be entered into court. He therefore refused to allow charges to be laid under the Terrorism Suppression Act 2002.
This was because the 2002 Act was ‘incoherent and unworkable’, he said. The Act could not be applied to those arrested in Ruātoki and other undisclosed locations. The Act could only apply after alleged terrorism acts had occurred, not before.
The Solicitor General’s ruling constituted a dramatic set back for the government, and the police. According to John Minto, the ruling proved that ‘no domestic terrorist cells existed’. The ransacking and raids had reaped no rewards for police.
Instead, he said, the police and politicians had done a great disservice to the country, exacerbated by their continuing use of words like ‘terror’ to justify their activities, imbuing their raids with a false moral purpose. Whole communities had been traumatised and civil liberities threatened, he said.
Meantime, discontent amongst Māori had grown. On 12 November 2007, on the day that the last of the 17 arrested were finally released on bail, a hikoi left Taneātua, heading for Wellington. 1500 peole eventually made it to Parliament, only to find the gates locked shut.
Labour Ministers Parekura Horomia and Nania Mahuta spoke to the protesters, but they were loudly challenged and derided, their pleas for Māori to ‘wait and see’ falling on deaf ears.
According to Nicky Hager, the raids had constituted a ‘clossal over-reactiom, a gigantic anti terror operation where there were no terrorists’. The government, armed with new legislation, resources and an emboldened police force, had instituted the raids of 15 October 2007, confident that terrorism and insurrection would be found and rooted out.
But, like Sir Galahd who had searched in vain for the Holy Grail, officers had stumbled about, hoping that one day, they would set eyes on the prize. But such a policy came only at the continuing expense of visiting trauma, misery, and despair upon ordinary New Zealanders.