Mana Atua Mana Tangata
ka hoki ano maua ki te haha
I ia Pa I ia Pa
I ia kainga I ia kainga
We search for each Pa, each Pa each village, each village
Tena koutou katoa
We hope this account of Mauku and its
surroundings will give you some feeling for
what the last two hundred years have been
like for Maori who lived here.
Those who tell the story – Tahi, Rua,
Tumanako and Hope – are created by us for
that purpose, as are their family members.
But the historical events they observe or
remember, and the named public figures, are
real, and we have used a range of historical
resources to try and make this account as true
to life as possible, even though told as a story.
Two of us have worked together on this story:
George Flavell, kaumatua of Ngaati Te Ata,
historian and sculptor
Charmaine Pountney, Ngaati Pakeha, teacher
and writer
We believe that respectful cooperation
between our peoples is of vital importance
to the future of our nation, and still possible
if we are honest about our past. Our thanks
to Andrew Sinclair from Whakaupoko who
invited us to write this account; we hope it
will be useful to the children of Mauku and
others, and to their families, in helping us
move forward together.
1808
ahi stood on a high terrace of the pa,
Tongaroawhata, on maunga Whakaupoko.
cut new banks, excavate new kumara storage pits,
His parents were discussing his future at a hui-a-
iwi in the wharenui, and he wondered about the
korero taking place. His father was the rangatira,
and Tahi had little idea what that might mean for
him. Usually the eldest son became rangatira
after his father, but not always: Tahi had been told
many times that he would have to earn his place
in the tribe.
dig holes for posts and wooden stands, or dig new
toilet ditches that were well away from food and
living spaces.
From the tihi, he had an all-round view of his tribal
area. He had travelled with his parents over land,
on foot, and on many of the streams and rivers
and the harbour by waka, to meet whanaunga at
Pukekohe, Hunua, Manuka and Tamaki.
In the foreground was maunga Titi, and beyond
he could see rising smoke – he knew whanau were
burning fern in readiness for the next kumara
planting in the rich volcanic soils. Around him in
the pa, adults were busy preparing for manuwhiri
expected that afternoon. During the last few days
Tahi had been fishing, and helping to snare kereru,
weka and other birds. That morning he had helped
carry stones for a new hangi pit, and fetched some
of last season’s kumara from the covered storage
pit on one of the terraces.
Near the whare kai there were fires heating stones
that would cook the food for their guests, and
nearby were water-filled hue into which hot stones
could be put to cool, for cooking the meat, fish and
greens needing lower temperatures.
Tahi sometimes envied the younger children – even
though they were given jobs to do, they had lots
more time to play than the older boys and girls.
He could see two of his younger brothers playing
string games, some cousins flying kites in the brisk
wind, and a group of nephews and nieces darting
down a track to the bush to play hide-and-seek.
As they grew older, tamariki spent more time
helping their families with gathering fern roots,
puriri, karaka and other berries of many kinds,
pikopiko, tawhara and many of the plants used for
rongoa, and learning how to cultivate kumara and
taro. They listened to the karakia, recited by the
family tohunga, that accompanied every activity,
and hoped one day they might learn the ancient
chants.
When they were big enough, they were taught to use
the short and long wooden ko with the moveable
foot-plate for digging ditches and terraces. On
their hill-top pa, the men sometimes needed to
As they grew older, young men helped with building
whare too. Houses were framed with timber from
kanuka trees, lashed and pinned together and
covered with bound raupo leaves from nearby
swamps.
When a new wooden wharenui was built, however,
the front would be adorned with whakairo depicting
ancestors, their histories and their deeds, and
tohu important to their rohe. On the inside of the
whare whakairo, whariki, tukutuku and painted
kowhaiwhai completed the full whare tupuna, or
ancestral house.
The women spent much of their time weaving
whaariki and kete, or paake and other clothes, for
everyday use.
Carvings and weavings meant a lot to Tahi – although
he knew he still had a great deal to learn as well.
In their wharenui at Tongaroawhata the carvings
and weavings not only celebrated their ancestors
and their history, but also taught respect for the
atua, and the special tohu from land and water in
their iwi’s rohe. And because they were iwi with
a strong history of navigation and exploration, as
well as gardening, the stars were there too, and the
seasons.
Although Tahi and his whanau had their own whare
moe, they slept in the wharenui when there were
manuhiri, and Tahi listened to the stories told by the
koro and kuia there; it was a special treat to sleep in
one of the other big wharenui around the rohe, too,
and hear the stories of other hapu and iwi.
The children at Tongaroawhata sometimes watched
the men of their whanau working with stones in
special tool-making areas nearby – their tribe was
lucky because the area around Mauku had plenty
of stone from the old volcanoes; whanaunga who
visited from the sandy west coast or Manukau
Harbour often brought dried shark to exchange
for stone for their tools. Tahi had also been to a
big area near Maioro where tools were made and
exchanged by many inland people passing through
and trading with the Manuka people for some of
their abundant kaimoana.
Tahi and his parents often walked on the old, worn
tracks through the dense bush to nearby pa and
kainga.
When they crossed swampland they would rub the
juice from crushed ngaio leaves on their legs and
arms to keep the millions of mosquitoes at bay.
Tahi turned away from the busy preparations for
visitors, and looked to the south of the pa. The
deep-green forest and dense bush was splashed
with the silver of lakes and wetlands, threaded
with glittering streams. It was like a giant kete
filled with food. Tuna, kakahi and koura came from
the streams or wetlands. You could harvest raupo
heads and make delicious bread. The forest was
full of birds easily snared – especially the fine fat
kereru when it was drunk on makomako or puriri
berries, and the ground-dwelling weka and kiwi.
Their flesh was eaten, and their feathers were made
into prized korowai too.
Inanga, kokopu, and other delicious fish flourished
in the Mauku river, and in the Taihiki and Waikato
rivers which he could see in the distance. His
uncles would be willing to teach him more about
the fresh-water foods, about making and using
kupenga and hinaki to catch them, and managing
the special waka used for navigating small streams
and rivers.
The great harbours and the ocean also had a
special appeal for Tahi.
He turned towards the west, and the north. He
gazed at the wild western ocean, Te Moananui-
o-Rehua, washing the coast of the giant sand
dunes of Manuka with their huge forests of puriri
and kauri, between the ocean and Manukatanga-
o-Hoturoa. Tahi had whanaunga from a big pa
on the peninsula who took him fishing when he
stayed with them. They took him along all the old
paths on the hilltops and in the valleys, to kainga,
pa, and fishing camps on the harbour coast. They
knew all about the shellfish on the shores, and
the fish in the sea, and taught him to row the big
waka with outriggers they used around the coasts.
Perhaps his parents would let him live there for a
year or two to learn more about the harbour and
the ocean.
His mother’s people had a special responsibility
for Te-pae-o-kai-waka, the portage, and for the big
pa at Waiuku. Waka laden with food and other
goods for trading were paddled up the Awaroa river
from the Waikato. From there, they were dragged
along a specially formed track to Waiuku, using
rollers made from the trunks of the ti kouka. Then
they were launched into the estuary and could be
rowed anywhere on the Manukau harbour. And,
of course, the journey was undertaken from the
Manukau to the Waikato river too.
So the area around Waiuku was a major trading
centre. Tahi had been to Waiuku several times with
his parents, and found the comings and goings of
people from around the harbour, and from the river
and further south, exciting. Inland tribes came
to fish, and coastal people took fish and kumara
inland too. Sometimes big groups came to talk
politics. There were all kinds of speeches to listen
to, and new haka and waiata to learn. Trade and
politics, whaikorero, haka and waiata – they were
all of great interest to Tahi.
Slowly, Tahi let his gaze drift to the north, across
Manuka to the fiercely sought-after Tamaki
Makaurau isthmus with its many hill pa, then
to Waitemata, Rangitoto and hazy islands and
mountains beyond. He had been taught his
whakapapa and his relationship to the birthplace
of Te Ata i Rehia, at Matukutureia, and to the great
pa at Maungakiekie, Maungawhau and Maungarei.
One day he hoped to visit those places, depending
on whether times were peaceful.
There had been battles in Tamaki, between his iwi
and others – indeed, the isthmus was known as
Tamaki Makaurau because it was much sought-
after for its many maunga for pa sites, its volcanic
soil, stones and springs for gardens, its rich
harbours to north and south, and its two portages,
one towards Waitakere and one at Otahuhu.
There had also been battles much closer to home,
Tahi knew.
Already, Tahi was being trained as a warrior. He
could wake from a deep sleep at the lightest touch
on his arm. He knew many of the games he played
with the other children were preparation for war.
Stick games helped them learn to use taiaha when
they were older, poi made their wrists flexible and
strong for patu and mere. Would it be his duty to
lead a group of warriors to sort out issues with a
neighbouring tribe? Or to defend this pa against
marauders? Or to take war parties in waka taua
across the harbour, up the Waikato river, or out
into the western ocean and along the coast to north
or south?
As he was reflecting on the
possibilities ahead of him,
Tahi heard his auntie calling
him. “E Tahi, haere mai – get
the wood for the hangi pit now.
You don’t have time to stand
around staring – remember
the hakari for visitors this
afternoon.’’ Tahi did as he was
told.
His daily life was always busy.
He’d learnt some of the skills
of gardening, cooking, carving
wood, weaving harakeke and
kiekie, and he knew quite a
few haka and waiata. He was
beginning to learn some of the
musical instruments – koau,
and putorino in particular –
and he could also swim and
manage waka ama, the main
canoes used for transport and
fishing.
Tahi was a keen learner. He
knew lots about the plants,
birds and fish of his area. He
knew the special karakia for
when a tree was to be sacrificed
for a whare or a waka, and
every day he took part in karakia honouring
Papatuanuku, Ranginui, Tangaroa and Rongo
for their gifts of life and food. He had yet to learn
the karakia for weather and war, and there were
some sacred rituals which only the tohunga and
rangatira performed. Perhaps he would be taught
those when he was older.
His elders had already taught him about Te Ata
i Rehia, the ancestor for whom his iwi, Ngaati Te
Ata, were named. Grand-daughter of the famous
Waiohua chief Huakaiwaka, who had been a great
chief in Tamaki, she had led her people to safety
during raids on Ngararapapa, near the northern
head of the Manuka peninsula. Over the years
the iwi who took her name had spread through
the peninsula and between the Waikato and the
Manuka.
Tahi had been told that his earliest ancestors,
Matakore, had always lived in Aotearoa, since time
immemorial; they were descended from the stars,
and from Papatuanuku herself. Other tupuna were
said to be descended from Maui, who fished up Te
Ika a Maui. Kupe, (who had visited the Manukau
nearly a thousand years before Tahi was born) had
returned to his Pacific home and talked about the
islands and people he had found in the south. Two
explorers, Toi and Whatonga, some generations
later, had arrived and settled in Aotearoa – they,
too were tupuna of Tahi’s iwi. And after another
two centuries many canoes,
including the Tainui waka,
arrived over a period of years
from the north-east Pacific.
Te Ata i Rehia had formed a
union with Tapaue, of Ngaati
Mahuta, one of the Tainui
hapu.
In the years that followed,
their whanau, hapu and iwi
had formed links with many
other tribes. These days,
Tahi’s people were close to
Te Akitai – Ngaati Tamaoho,
whose pa he could see towards
Patumahoe and Pukekohe,
Ngaati Pou, Te Aua, and many
more. Tahi understand these
relationships, and knew he
would be involved in guarding
his heritage, and forming
appropriate links, when he
was older.
Tahi had heard from
whanaunga up north about
some visitors to Aotearoa, in
tall-masted waka – strange,
pale fellows, in peculiar
clothes, smelling odd and
speaking a hissing and spitting
language, it was said. They were whalers and
sealers, traders and missionaries, bringing new
goods and new gods. But they were also said to be
dangerous, with sticks that killed from a distance.
For the last forty years, more and more of these
people had been arriving around the coasts. Some
had sticks in their mouths, with fires burning at
the end. Sometimes they offered new kinds of tools,
the “tapaka’’ they smoked in their mouth-sticks, or
even their killing sticks, in exchange for food, or for
trees to mend their ships with. A few had left their
ships and settled within hapu.
While he worked around the pa, Tahi thought
about all the things he didn’t understand yet, and
possibilities ahead of him. Whatever his whaea
and matua and the other kaumatua decided today
about his future, Tahi knew he would have to cope
with many challenges.
1858
Half a century later, Tahi stood on Whakaupoko.
The pa of his ancestors had disappeared; only
some crumbling palisades, and grass-covered rua
and terraces, remained. Tahi was not sure whether
it had been destroyed by whanaunga to prevent
its occupation by Ngapuhi invaders, or sacked
by the invaders themselves after his iwi moved
south during the turbulent years of the musket
wars. Later, settlers had used old palisade posts
for fencing, and the rua, the kumara pits and
house sites and the terraces were now all grass;
he could barely see where his home had been, and
where the wharenui had once hosted big groups
of manuwhiri. On the slopes of Whakaupoko were
grass, burnt tree stumps, patches of scrub, and
cattle and sheep grazing.
Tahi was on his way home from Ngaruawahia, where
he had been to the crowning of Kingi Potatau Te
Wherowhero. Tahi had walked from the landing at
Pura Pura on the portage, following the stream to the
hill where he had spent much of his time as a child,
to reflect on te ao hurihuri – the changing and topsy-
turvy world he now inhabited.
Although Tahi still treasured the old ways, the mauri
of the natural world and its traditional gods, his reo
and tikanga, he knew he had been changed, nearly as
much as the land around him.
He could speak English as well as Maori, and could read
and write in both. He often wore European clothes, he
ate food from English farm animals and the stores in
Waiuku, he measured time by the European calendar,
and he had just been to a coronation, the first in the
history of Aotearoa. Because of their concerns over
land issues, many of the tribes had come together and
chosen a king, like an English king or queen, in the
hope this person of great mana would be able protect
the rangatiratanga of Maori in negotiations with the
English over issues of land and power.
The changes had begun with the arrival of those
people from Europe Tahi remembered hearing about
in his childhood. As he stood on Whakaupoko,
Tahi reflected on the musket wars, the goods and
the evils brought by traders, the old gods, the
new ones brought by the missionaries, and recent
political developments.
First, the guns.
The iwi and hapu of earlier times had maintained
a balance between disputes and alliances. Battles,
when they occurred, were hand-to-hand combat
with mere, patu and taiaha, testing the personal
courage of warriors.
However, the introduction of the “sticks that killed
from a distance’’’- muskets – had changed all
that.
The Nga Puhi chief Hongi
Hika, one of the first to
acquire large numbers of
muskets, decided to seek
utu against tribes to the
south who had been involved
in the killing of relations. In
the 1820s, after slaughtering
large numbers in Hauraki
and then near Maungarei on
the Tamaki isthmus, Hongi
Hika and his army hauled
their waka from Waitemata
over the Otahuhu portage
to Manuka, and rowed
to Waiuku, where they
intended to use the portage
and the Awaroa stream to
reach the Waikato area.
Tahi was one of the warriors
who felled trees along the
portage to block the Awaroa.
This stopped Hongi Hika and
his men from transporting
their large waka taua for two
months; in the meantime
the iwi from the area hid
themselves, or, like Tahi’s
family, moved south to
join their related Waikato
iwi and prepare to defend
themselves against Hongi
Hika. At the huge battle of
Matakitaki Pa at Pirongia, in
1822, Tahi’s father and two
of his brothers were killed,
among the 2000 Waikato
allies slaughtered by Hongi
Hika’s guns.
Tahi himself had saved a
group of Waikato men and
women by organising a
daring escape. He followed the group, killing with
taiaha and mere many of Hongi Hika’s men who
tried to stop them. He was greatly respected for
his personal bravery and strategic skills as a result
of this action. But that battle was a turning point
for Tahi – he realised that either his people must
arm themselves with these Pakeha weapons, and
become mass killers in their turn, or somehow
work towards more peaceful relationships with
other tribes. Probably both.
Nga Puhi eventually returned to Tai Tokerau, after
many years of fighting, negotiations, and arranged
marriages. Tahi had been involved in all three.
As a renowned warrior, Tahi fought alongside the
great Waikato chief Te Wherowhero for many years.
He helped whanaunga buy guns from traders who
settled in Kawhia and at Port Waikato. And as
the strengths and the armaments of Waikato and
Ngapuhi equalised over the years, he became one
of the main negotiators for his people.
Tahi’s first wife had been a young woman to whom
he had been betrothed as a child – his parents had
arranged the marriage to forge a link with a highly
regarded nearby chief and his whanau. She had
died giving birth to their first daughter. So in the
course of negotiations during the early 1830s, Tahi
agreed to marry a Ngapuhi woman of high rank to
seal an alliance with her people.
In 1835, Te Wherowhero, widely accepted as a
leader by many of the tribes around Waikato,
the river and the Manukau, brought numbers of
Ngaati Te Ata, Ngaati Tamaoho, Ngaati Pou, Ngaati
Tipa and others back to their traditional areas.
Tahi was with him then, and again soon after when
he signed He Wakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga
o Nu Tirene – the Declaration of Independence
of the Confederation of the United Tribes of New
Zealand.
Tahi knew that by then, there were several thousand
tau iwi – foreigners – settled in Aotearoa, some
around Waiuku and the mouth of the Waikato.
Tahi’s relations had debated long and hard about
allowing these people to stay. The guns, tools,
seeds, fabrics and clothes they brought with them
were very useful, and there was interest in the
preaching of their missionaries – they seemed to
have a powerful god, and to be able to help negotiate
truces between previously warring groups. They
brought new skills of great importance, as well :
reading, writing and printing, which his people had
adopted rapidly. Tahi still had copies of one of the
early Maori newspapers, first printed in 1842.
But the settlers brought dangers, too.
Tahi’s whanau were very worried about the
tobacco, alcohol and sugar the traders offered so
freely, because it was clear some members of the
hapu had learnt to crave these things, and would
trade scarce food, precious taonga, or even land,
for them.
The new settlers, or the different foods, had new
brought sickness – there were many more deaths,
at an earlier age, than Tahi could remember from
his youth. One of Tahi’s sisters had died
of something the tau iwi called “measles’’,
and others had given birth to babies who
were deaf and blind.
And then, of course, there were the
land issues. Traditionally, tribes had
sometimes permitted those from another
area to come and live on their land,
in exchange for gifts, or as part of a
negotiated marriage or tribal alliance
against another iwi. So when the tau
iwi offered gifts in exchange for land, it
was at first assumed that they would
behave like other guests – respecting the
forest, waterways and food sources, and
sharing resources.
Very soon it had become clear that these
settlers were different. To them ‘’buying ‘’
land, meant they owned the land, rather
than the land supporting and owning
them. It also meant they felt the right
to keep other people off their land, and
do what they liked on it. They cut down
many large trees for buildings, boats
and fence posts, burnt big areas of the
bush, brought in large grazing animals
like cattle, sheep and horses, and put up
fences with no thought for local people’s
right of access to waahi tapu, or food
sources like streams and swamps, many
of which they blocked or drained..
There were disputes, also, about who
had the right to “sell’’ land to these
newcomers – in Tahi’s area, around
Mauku, for instance, at least four iwi
had interests. In the broader district, there were
ten or more groups who believed they had a right
to negotiate the use of the land and waterways.
But these new settlers – increasingly being called
Pakeha, because of their pale skins – seemed to
believe that individual Maori could own land, and
sell it. So they sought out possible sellers, and
offered them payment in goods, and, increasingly,
in money. Often this led to disputes between
hapu and whanau; and before the disputes could
be resolved, Pakeha had moved onto the land
concerned and taken over.
Inearly 1840, Tahihadbecomekeenlyinvolvedinthe
discussions about a proposed Treaty between Maori
and the newcomers from England and elsewhere.
Many northern chiefs – some of the same ones
who had signed the Declaration of Independence
– had already signed a new document at Waitangi
in February which guaranteed the rangatiratanga
of iwi, and the inalienable right to their lands
and treasures, while offering ‘’kawanatanga’’,
governance by the English Queen’s representatives
over the increasing numbers of people arriving
from Britain and Europe. It also offered Maori
the protection of British law and citizenship, and
put a stop to individual settlers trying to buy land
– instead the British would appoint representatives
of the English government to negotiate settlement
rights.
For the chiefs signing the Treaty, it was seen as
a way of stopping some of the disputes over land,
and managing behaviour problems arising from
the interactions between Maori and Pakeha,
which were particularly troublesome, especially in
Kororareka in the north, and here in Tamaki.
Others, like Te Wherowhero, had refused to sign,
believing that Maori tribal sovereignty had already
been protected through the Declaration, which
had established the nationhood of the combined
iwi of Aotearoa. Tahi agreed with Te Wherowhero;
he was suspicious of this new treaty, especially of
the proposed ‘’kawanatanga’’, and of the right for
English Crown representatives to buy land. Like
many chiefs, he had rejected the document when
the missionaries brought it to the district. But
he knew some local chiefs had signed an English
version that, they were told, said the same things.
As Tahi looked at the farmlands around him in
Mauku that day in 1858, he knew his suspicions
had been well-founded. Eager for access to the
goods settlers brought with them, many of the
chiefs in the area had agreed to allow large areas of
land to be made available, through Crown agents,
for sale to new arrivals. Now there were 25 Pakeha
families in the Mauku area. Most of them had
farms of fifty acres or more – one former officer
from the British army had taken over 750 acres
beside the Mauku Stream.
Only a few whanau remained in whare scattered
around the district. With most of the forest gone,
local Maori had lost their natural food sources,
and taken up jobs working for the new settlers, or
moved to Waiuku, Pukekohe, Patumahoe, or even
to Papakura and Tamaki Makaurau, to find new
kinds of work there.
Tahi could hardly believe that so much could have
changed in his lifetime.
That day in 1858 he wept for the loss of the bush,
the damming of streams, the draining of wetlands
– the hurt to the land and the people who used to
live there. His heart ached for the sickness, the
poverty, the drunkenness he had seen around
Waiuku, and as he travelled from Waiuku to
Ngaruawahia.
But he recognised that some good things were
happening too.
Tahi reminded himself that day that Christianity,
the new religion Pakeha had brought, had helped
to stop the killing between tribes. He believed
that Maori were like the Chosen People in the Old
Testament of the Bible – driven out of their home
country, and waiting for a messiah to lead them
back to their promised land. Perhaps, he thought,
Te Ua Haumene, the prophet from Taranaki,
might be such a leader – or perhaps Potatau Te
Wherowhero’s son, who had recently been renamed
‘’Tawhiao’’ by Te Ua.
Relationships between different iwi had become
more peaceful, as they realised the futility of
gun-based warfare, and the Christian missionary
message of peace spread among them.
Also, tau iwi had brought not only guns, but also
iron tools which made gardening and building much
easier. The new fabrics like wool and calico were
more colourful, easier to shape into clothes, and
often warmer than those woven from harakeke.
The new foodstuffs such as pork, lamb and
beef, flour, and many fruit and vegetables from
Europe, had brought variety to the diet of those
who could afford them. Many of Tahi’s relations
were making good money growing wheat, peaches,
apples and tobacco, and bringing pork and fish to
Waiuku. From there they shipped produce across
to Onehunga, for sale in Tamaki Makaurau, which
had become in 1841 the centre of government
for the settlers. Waiuku had become a thriving
small town, because of the portage, and many of
his whanau now lived there or nearby, farming like
Pakeha the land they still owned, or working in the
new jobs created by trade there.
As for himself , Tahi reflected, he and his wife were
lucky to live now mainly at Ngaruawahia, near the
King. And although the pa of his childhood was
deserted, he was highly respected as a rangatira at
the marae near Waiuku.
Tahi spent much of his time with the king, helping
him deal with delegations from all over the motu
who brought their concerns to him, and with the
Pakeha government officials who were pressuring
Waikato iwi to give up more of their land for the
growing numbers of settlers arriving from England.
Tahi’s surviving son and daughter and their
families worked for the Pakeha who lived in one of
the large houses at Mauku and farmed much of the
surrounding land. The relationship between the
two families was useful to both, though not warm
– the Englishman had been a soldier in several
British colonies, and was obviously used to ruling
local people rather than respecting them. But he
did support the building of a school in Mauku, and
had told Tahi that his grandchildren should go
there when it was built “to learn to become good
British citizens.”
As Tahi stood on Whakaupoko that day in 1858,
he prayed that King Potatau Te Wherowhero and
the unified group of tribes he now led would be
able to slow down or stop the sale of land, and the
fighting which happened as a result. He prayed
that settlers would stop felling the trees, learn to
cherish Papatuanuku and the streams and rivers.
He prayed that tohunga would find cures for the
sicknesses which were killing many of his people,
that his people would hold fast to their language
and customs, and that some would work hard to
claim back the land they had lost. And he prayed
for the school to be built in Mauku, hoping that local
children, both Maori and Pakeha, would learn to live
and work there together in harmony, and to share
the knowledge which would help them prosper as
partners in the future.
When he wrote the karakia in his diary later that
day, however, he also wrote about his fears. He
noted his feelings of mistrust towards settlers,
particularly some of the speculators buying land
around Mauku just to keep it until prices rose,
some of the missionaries and ministers who
seemed to compete and fight among themselves
in ways inconsistent with their preaching, and the
British soldiers increasingly being given or sold
land around Mauku by the Pakeha government.
1908
Rua carefully put down the old book, and heaved a
huge sigh. She had been reading parts of her great-
great-grandfather’s diary, begun in the 1830s when
he first learnt to read and write, and continued until
he died in 1860, just after his beloved King Potatau
Te Wherowhero. Her understanding of Tahi’s
old language was limited, in spite of his elegant
handwriting, but she knew enough to understand
his karakia for peace and justice in land dealings,
for the healing of the land and the people, and
for the education and harmonious future of the
tamariki, Maori and Pakeha.
She felt glad Tahi had not lived to see what had
happened during the years that followed.
Rua, now 13 years old, was living with her
grandparents, and had heard many times their
stories of the Wars.
Her grandfather remembered that Mauku had been
quite peaceful when he was a child, until one of his
whanau, Eriata, was shot while out hunting. The
Pakeha District Commissioner came to investigate,
but could not find any proof of deliberate killing,
and decided it was an accident – reluctantly,
the local Ngaati Tamaoho chiefs agreed that was
possible. But everyone knew there were difficulties
between the Pakeha farmers and workers and local
Maori, over straying cattle and land boundaries,
so suspicions lingered. New Pakeha arriving in the
district were obviously wary of Maori, and tried to
avoid them; there were definite tensions throughout
the district.
All Rua’s whanau knew that King Tawhiao, Potatau
Te Whereowhero’s son, had spent many hours with
the English governor, and had even been to England,
to try and stop the huge numbers of Pakeha pouring
into the country and demanding land. There had
been battles up north, and unrest in Taranaki,
over land-grabbing and other acts of injustice, in
clear breach of the promises made in the Treaty
of Waitangi. But Governor Grey had promised
to protect Waiuku in the event of any fighting,
because of its importance as a trade route. Like
Tawhiao, many local people had become followers
of Te Ua Haumene. As staunch Kingites, and with
their commitment to Pai Marire – Goodness and
Peace – local hapu hoped that the largely peaceful
relationships between Maori and Pakeha around
this area would continue.
As the story had been told to Rua, this hope was
destroyed in 1863. First, Governor Grey ordered
his British troops to arrest and imprison Ngaati
Tamaoho Chief Ihaka Takaanini in Papakura, even
though he had been the peacemaker during the
earlier angry incident in Mauku. Then there was
a proclamation that all Maori north of the Waikato
had to swear allegiance to Queen Victoria, or move
to the south. Of course their allegiance was to their
own rangatira and iwi, and to Kingi Tawhiao, and
many refused. The last savage blow, in July 1863,
was the burning by British soldiers of all the waka
they could find around the Manukau, destroying
the livelihood of many hundreds of whanau in the
area.
The burning of the waka was the burning of hope
for most whanau. While some stayed in and around
Waiuku, held by bonds of work and marriage,
many left to join their relations in the Waikato.
The British troops marched south, and crossed
the Mangatawhiri Stream. It was understood they
intended to destroy the power of Kingitanga , and
seize more land for settlers.
Although most of the fighting was in the Waikato,
as the British troops pushed further and further
south, there were incidents around Mauku which
Rua’s grandparents still talked about.
One of the whanau, Hone, had been commanded
by an English commissioner to row him down
the Waikato with the wages for a platoon based
at Port Waikato. As they passed the landing at
Camerontown, Hone heard his name called, and
the instruction, in Maori, “Duck your head, Hone!
Duck quickly!” He did, and a bullet whistled over
his head, killing the commissioner.
On another occasion, British troops attacked a
group of Maori on maunga Titi who were shooting
stray cattle for food. In the resulting battle, twenty
of his hapu, including one of Tahi’s sons, and
eight of the British soldiers, were killed and many
wounded. This fight caused great alarm among
the Pakeha settlers, gathered fearfully in St Bride’s
Church at Mauku, which had been heavily fortified
by the soldiers and settlers. They were all evacuated
to Drury, and then to Tamaki soon after.
The next few years had been very hard for all Rua’s
tupuna. Those who stayed were called kupapa
by many of those who went to fight; all the land
still owned by Maori around Mauku and further
south, and some to the north, was confiscated by
the government, as punishment for those who had
left to fight in the Waikato. The Maori population
around Mauku disappeared; their land was taken
up by settlers from Britain, many of them former
soldiers, who continued to destroy what was left of
bush and the wetlands.
Tahi’s hopes for a school in Mauku had not been
realised until 1883. Some of the Pakeha children
had been able to attend classes established by the
Presbyterian church near Patumahoe from 1866
onwards, and then a school in Mauku from 1873
onwards, but those of Tahi’s whanau who returned
from the Waikato after the wars had settled on the
outskirts of Waiuku on a small plot of land still
owned by the iwi. During the long depression of
the 1870s and 80s, they were just able to survive
by growing their own food, and fishing. Going to
the Pakeha school was out of the question, because
of the fees. However, the whanau had continued
to teach their children to read and write in Maori,
using a family bible first owned by Tahi.
Now, in 1908, one or two of Rua’s hapu were
staying in Pukekohe with whanau and attending
the District High School which had opened in
association with the primary school in 1904 – Rua
hoped she might be allowed to go there the next
year, because she wanted to become a teacher.
Rua’s grandparents were working for one of the
Pakeha vegetable growers in Mauku, and had a
small cottage on their farm. They were keen readers
of the Maori language newspaper Pipiwharauroa ,
when they could obtain copies from whanaunga in
Gisborne, as well as of their Maori Bible. So Rua
could read and write fluently in Maori. Because
she showed such a keen interest in her whakapapa
and in learning, she was sometimes allowed to
look at that very precious hand-written book, her
tupuna Tahi’s diary.
She was enjoying Mauku School, even though she
was not allowed to speak Maori there; she had
learnt some English from the neighbours and their
children at an early age, worked hard at school,
and got on well with the mainly Pakeha girls and
boys. Her teacher was firm but fair, and treated
all the tamariki kindly. She was patient, too, when
Rua couldn’t find the English word for something.
But she knew some of her relations in other areas
didn’t go to school at all, or left early, because their
teachers didn’t understand te reo or tikanga Maori,
and treated children as dumb, or naughty, when
they didn’t know something Pakeha. She would
be different if she were a teacher, she knew. She
knew that young people needed a Pakeha education
these days to get a good job, and to raise their
families well; she also loved the reo and tikanga of
her whanau and iwi, and was determined to hold
fast to them.
She looked again at her great-great-grandfather’s
karakia, and hoped that she would be able to
help bring it to fruition for her people and their
children.
1958
Rua’s grandchildren thought she was a taniwha,
sometimes, with her fiery temper. Not that she was
like a Pakeha dragon, breathing fire and smoke
– she hated smoking, and no one was allowed to
bring cigarettes or pipes into her house. She loved
her mokopuna, but often became enraged, not so
much with whanau, as with what she had just
heard on the wireless, or read in the paper, or seen
in the streets of Waiuku or Pukekohe.
The previous day, for example, her husband,
Mawhero, had come back from Pukekohe and told
her what had happened at the picture theatre. He
had taken four of their mokopuna to town to go
to the pictures for a special treat. When he went
to pick them up, he found them sitting outside
before the film had even finished. When Mawhero
asked why, be was told that two of them had been
told they couldn’t sit upstairs, even though they
had paid for four upstairs seats, “because you’re
Maoris – Maoris are only allowed downstairs.” The
two mokopuna with fair skin refused to go upstairs
without their cousins, and the four of them were
so angry they decided to ask for their money back.
The manager refused, so they decided to wait until
their grandfather arrived to deal with him, which
he promptly did.
Mawhero and Rua had heard rumours of things
like this in Pukekohe, but because Mawhero had
inherited his Pakeha father’s fair skin he’d never
experienced such prejudice himself.
Rua was enraged. “What hypocrites! I read in the
papers and hear on the radio that New Zealand has
the best race relations in the world! So Pakeha say!
And here in our own town, we have discrimination
just like America, apartheid like South Africa!”
Rua was on her way the next afternoon to a Maori
Women’s Welfare League meeting in Waiuku; she
decided to leave early, and circle around Bald Hill
Road, as she sometimes did when she needed to
think. She knew her tupuna had lived there, and
that King Koroki and Princess Te Puea always
travelled via Whakaupoko when they visited
Waiuku; it was a place of special meaning for her
as mana whenua and as a staunch kingite.
She pulled in to the side of the road near the top
of the hill, and looked towards the Waikato. It was
silent up here – no bush for native trees to sing in –
except for the wind, which swept the air clean, and
flung the clouds over her head. Here she could
allow herself to feel her rage, weep for the past and
the present, and then dream again of ways towards
a better future.
Some of Rua’s anger sprang from the prejudice
and ignorance she still heard from day to day – like
the persistent mispronunciation (..Mowk, Wye-
ook, Patty and Pooky..) of the beautiful names in
her area, or, even worse, their replacement with
meaningless English alternatives, such as Franklin.
Who cared about an Englishwoman once carried
on a stretcher, because she’d hurt her leg, from
Manuka to Waikato for a missionary meting? Rua
only knew because one of the stretcher bearers was
a tupuna, and the story – with some amusement
– had been passed down through her family. As for
Bald Hill – what an insult to Whakaupoko and to
her ancestors, whose pa had crowned this strategic
hill for centuries.
But some of her anger was also from disappointment
at the death of her dreams, the losses she had
suffered, and the choices being made by some of
her children and grandchildren.
Rua had not become a teacher, as she had hoped.
Her grandparents had been finding the farm work
too hard, so she left school to help them. But soon
after, the farmer told them they would have to leave
the farm cottage and make way for a younger family.
So they moved in with Rua’s mother in Pukekohe,
and Rua went to work in the Pukekohe market
gardens. There she linked up with a handsome
young man, Piripi, and had two children.
In 1914, England declared war on Germany, and the
Government of New Zealand called for volunteers
to go to the other side of the world and fight the
Germans. Hundreds of young Maori responded.
Many died in Europe or the Middle East. Rua’s
husband had enlisted, against her will – “Why
fight the Pakeha’s war for them?’’ she had asked
him; but he was young, and thought it would be a
great adventure, and his Pakeha rugby mates were
all going too. Before long she received the dreaded
telegram telling her he had been killed in action.
By the end of the war in 1918, Rua had no uncles
left. The local marae was in disrepair and had
no kaumatua to lead the whaikorero or manage
maintenance. Her favourite brother was also
missing, presumed dead.
Immediately after the war, when Rua was in her early
twenties, there was a terrible influenza epidemic
which killed many of her whanau, including her
two young children and her parents. At least
once a year, Rua went to Maioro where they had
been buried. Originally, she walked, or went on
horseback, but in later years she made the journey
by car, and sometimes took mokopuna with her to
tell them stories about their ancestors, and about
their aunt and uncle who died so young.
Rua married again, this time an older man,
Mawhero, who, before he had been wounded in
the war, had learnt to drive and maintain army
vehicles. By the time the Great Depression began
in 1928, they had four children. He was able to
find some work as a driver and mechanic in the
vegetable industry, as well as working with Rua to
grow food on a small piece of family land in Mauku
left to him by his Pakeha father.
This was a hard time for both Maori and Pakeha.
Money was even more scarce than usual,
businesses closed down, and workers were laid off.
Many young Maori returned from Auckland City,
and families struggled to feed the extra mouths.
Government projects helped some to survive. One
was the planting of a state forest at Maioro – not
that anyone asked local Maori what they thought
of having a pine forest planted on their burial sites.
Some of the older Maori men refused to work there,
and some who did work there became sick.
Then, in 1938, there was war with Germany again.
Rua agreed with Princess Te Puea Herangi, who
urged Waikato men to refuse to enlist. Later, at her
friend Apirana Ngata’s urging, Te Puea softened
her stance, and agreed to support the men who’d
chosen to join the Maori Battallion, as well as those
she was already helping because they had been
conscripted and forced to go overseas. Rua joined
Te Puea’s food-growing and fund-raising efforts
and became a mainstay of these activities around
Pukekohe and Waiuku.
Because of
reading, and,
later, listening to
the wireless, Rua
had developed a
wide knowledge
of world affairs,
and a keen
understanding of
what was wrong
with society.
She brought her
four surviving
children up to
value Pakeha
education, but
also to value te
reo and tikanga
Maori, because she believed that Pakeha culture,
while powerful and in many ways useful, had real
limitations when it came to looking after people and
the land. She was determined that her children
and grandchildren should continue the struggle
to maintain whanaungatanga and kaitiakitanga
within their families and communities, and to
encourage Pakeha to have greater regard for these
values too.
Her older son and daughter shared something of
her vision.
Her daughter Heeni had left school as soon as she
was allowed, saying she didn’t want to go any longer
to a Pakeha school that had no respect for her reo
and her tikanga. She had always spent much
of her time helping her mother and her aunties,
and for a while she stayed home to care for her
grandmother. After Nan die, she went to live at
Turangawaewae to look after a great-aunt there,
and became a valued member of the staff when big
groups arrived at the marae complex built there by
Te Puea for the Kingitanga.
Heeni was a quiet, gentle girl; and everyone who
met her said how beautiful she was, in wairua as
well as tinana. So no one was surprised when she
linked up with one of the kahui ariki, and settled
at Waahi with his hapu there.
Rua was always delighted to spend time with her
and her growing family, especially as they were
being brought up in the heart of kingitanga, with
deepening knowledge of the old ways as well as the
new.
Hohepa, Rua’s second child, had left school as soon
as he could, too, and had gone to work on one of
the Pakeha-owned market gardens near Mauku.
In his strengths, he was the most like Rua’s
whanau. He grew lots of his own vegetables around
his small house, as well as being a keen fisherman
in his spare time. During the depression he helped
to keep many of his hapu supplied with kai.
During the Second World War he went away with
the Maori Battalion; his wife, a local Maori girl,
Mere, helped Rua with the gardens and farm, and
the other mahi to be done while the men were
away.
Hohepa was one of the lucky ones who came home
with his body relatively unharmed. Hohepa never
talked about his experiences in the war, but Rua
and Mere knew he had been changed by them.
Often in the evenings at home he became very
moody and silent, and he found it hard to talk to
Mere or his children. He even shouted at them
sometimes if they made too much noise.
He often went to the Kentish in Waiuku. The local
drinkers there liked him – they said that after a
few beers he would liven up and sing, and he had
a fine voice. Mere knew these were the times when
he could forget what he had seen overseas, so she
accepted his absences. But Mere had confided in
Rua that she wished he wouldn’t drink so much.
After the war, Hohepa had found a new job at a
local garage – he had a natural talent for machinery
– and he continued to be a good provider for his
growing family. Rua and Mere agreed that, in spite
of his drinking, he was still basically a good man
– he never hit Mere or the children, unlike so many
other Pakeha and Maori men, and he was becoming
a stalwart of the local marae.
Whenever there was a hui coming up, Hohepa would
be out catching fish for the hakaari. He dried shark
and collected other kaimoana for the poukai and
any special occasions. When he couldn’t go fishing,
he often spent time at the weekends keeping the
gardens at the marae tidy, and he was gradually
repairing some of the old buildings. He still spoke
Maori when he was at his parents’ place, and once
or twice, on the marae, when a kaumatua had been
ill, he had been told by his uncle, the rangatira, to
mihi to visitors. Rua could see that in due course
he would take his place on the paepae.
Rua’s younger children were different, though.
They had both had some secondary schooling
at Pukekohe District High School, and then left
home. Tama had gone to Auckland seeking work,
become a builder’s labourer, and then followed a
young English woman to Christchurch after the
war. There he married her, and established his
own successful building business. Tama could still
speak Maori, but he was getting more and more
like a Pakeha, Rua thought, when he came home
last for a tangi. And his children were hardly
Maori at all, as far as Rua could see – they had very
fair skins, they couldn’t speak te reo – even their
names were English.
Her youngest daughter, Rona, was a very successful
student in the eyes of her Pakeha school teachers.
She stayed at secondary school for four years, then
went to Teachers’ College. Soon after she started
teaching, she married a Pakeha school teacher,
and after they had done their country service
they settled with their three young children in
Whangarei.
Rona came home more often than Tama, but her
children were just as Pakeha as his. They were
keen on sports, clothes and the new American
music that was played on the radio these days, and
not much interested in the old people’s stories and
songs.
“That’s the way of the future, Mum,” her daughter
once said to her – “there’s no point in hanging on
to all our Maori stuff – it’s English, and Pakeha
education, that will get them jobs and make them
happy now.’’ Rua sometimes thought that perhaps
she was right. But then she read again the old
diary of Tahi’s, which she almost knew by heart,
or went to one of Te Puea’s hui at Turangawaewae
and listened to the kuia there, and she knew she
had to keep trying to save what was precious from
her own culture.
“Pakeha need us as much as we need Pakeha,’’ she
once heard her auntie say; and she knew that her
knowledge of the land, her brother’s knowledge of
the waterways, their family’s karakia and waiata,
and the sayings and prophecies of King Tawhiao,
all had a place in the future of Aotearoa.
The 1950s had become a good time for many
Maori families – plenty of work, and good money
to be made, thought Rua, as she prepared to
leave Whakaupoko and drive on to her meeting in
Waiuku. Having a car was a great help – walking,
or riding horses, was all very well through bush
and beside streams, but not so good through bare
paddocks and on rough roads!
The downside to the growth of industries after the
war was the number of young ones who had moved
to Auckland or other cities for work, and who had
children growing up away from their kui and koro.
And with so many marrying Pakeha, it was hard to
see how te reo and tikanga could survive into the
next generation, except in a few families like hers,
living in rural areas still, near marae.
As Rua gazed at the land spreading out from the
foot of Whakaupoko, she couldn’t see how Maori
would ever be able to prosper fully – spiritually as
well as physically – without the return of the lands
taken from them by the settler government after
the Wars. The sales had been bad enough, but
the confiscations had been devastating, both for
the people and for the land. Jobs could come and
go, as Rua remembered from the depression years.
Only the land remained.
But in some places the land itself was dying. Even
from here, she could see big fields left bare, scorched
by sun and battered by rain. Once, Rua had flown
to Christchurch to see her younger son and his
family. It had been raining for several days all
over the country, and she could see Papatuanuku
bleeding into the sea along the coastline. The
memory made her shudder.
In 1952, Rua’s inspiration and friend, Te Puea,
had died. That had left Rua desolate, but also
determined to keep working, through the Maori
Women’s Welfare League, which had been
established the year before. Although only seven
years old now, the League already had more than
300 branches throughout the country, and nearly
5000 members, working to improve housing, health
and education for Maori people. This year, at the
annual conference, retiring national president,
Whina Cooper, had been given the title “Te Whaea
o te Motu” to honour her leadership during those
first exciting years.
Rua found it hard at times to keep her dreams
alive. But before she left Whakaupoko each time,
she gathered her hopes for the future.
The League, of course, was a continuing source
of inspiration and energy. The Kingitanga was
celebrating its first century this year, 1958. These
were two beacons of hope for the motu.
Some of her mokopuna were learning the old ways
as well as the new; that was another.
Two marae were still well used, just north of
Waiuku, together with others around the shores
of the Manukau, near Pukekohe and Tuakau, and
many in Waikato. In Pukekohe, there was talk of
building a new marae to meet the needs of people
from many different tribes who lived there now.
These were positive things.
And even though most schools still taught only
Pakeha things, there was a Maori school in
Pukekohe which was supposed to encourage
local tamariki to attend and do well in the Pakeha
curriculum. The Tribal Committee had embraced
the school, and had hopes it would build the pride
of Maori students.
Rua had also heard positive comments about
a Pakeha teacher at Mauku and a few in other
schools who were showing some respect for Maori
students and whanau, and encouraging all the
tamariki to do well.
As for the government, and politics, at least, Rua
thought, there were four Maori in Parliament. And
for the Member of Parliament for Western Maori,
Iriaka Matiu Ratana, Rua had developed a healthy
respect.
Rua believed in the importance of the Maori seats
in Parliament; one of her whanaunga, Henare
Kaihau, had been elected to Parliament the year
she was born, so she had grown up hearing about
politics and the Maori politicians. As she grew older,
though, she realised some of the problems Maori
MPs encountered in the House of Representatives,
such as the language barrier.
Rua had agreed with Te Puea in opposing Iriaka
Ratana’s election to “Captain the Tainui Canoe’’.
They both thought that, as a woman, and from
outside Tainui, she wrong candidate for their
electorate. But as years went by, Rua began to find
she agreed with everything Iriaka was reported to
have said in Parliament on the importance of the
Treaty, for the Waikato-Maniapoto land schemes,
and against further alienation of ancestral lands.
Also, since 1951, Rua had met Iriaka quite often
through the League, and found her a gentle and
courteous woman.
So that day, on Whakaupoko, Rua prayed for Iriaka
and her efforts to uplift Maori through Parliament,
and government.
Since 1952, Rua’s hopes for the future had
been nourished by Te Ao Hou, the Maori Affairs
Department magazine. The subscription was only
four shillings a year, and her husband had given
her the first year’s issues for a birthday present.
The magazine was filled with positive articles about
Maori progress – she often felt, after reading and re-
reading an issue, that perhaps there was hope that
Maori were once more becoming Treaty partners in
Aotearoa, rather than second-class citizens.
With these reflections, Rua felt better. There was
every possibility that her mokopuna would grow up
into, and maybe even help to shape, a better future
for Aotearoa. She said her great-great grandfather’s
karakia quietly to herself, and drove down the hill
towards Pukekohe, her wairua refreshed.
Two young people stand on the stage in the Mauku
school hall. It is December 2008, the official 125th
anniversary of Mauku School.
“My name is Tumanako,” says the boy. “Hope and
I are both descended from Tahi, a rangatira from
Tongaroawhata Pa, on Whakaupoko, two hundred
years ago. He would probably have been about our
age – 12 or 13 – in 1808, and he would often have
walked through the bush around here (yes, it was
thick bush then!) as well as swum and fished in
the Mauku River.
Our whanau still owns a diary he began as soon as
he learnt to write – around 1830, we think, from
one of the early missionaries in this district, and
in te reo Maori of course. One of the last entries
in his diary, in 1858, is a karakia for the future,
where he prays for a place of learning in Mauku
which brings Maori and Pakeha children together
in harmony”.
“Our great-great-grandmother Rua,” says Hope,
“was Tahi’s great-great-granddaughter. She lived
to be a hundred years old. She died in 1995, the
year I was born. She was an early pupil here at
Mauku School. She had four children who lived
to be adults, and Tumanako and I are the great-
grandchildren of two of them – my tupuna was
Tama and Tumanako’s was Heeni.
“Like so many whanau, from all cultures these
days, our wider family is spread all over the world
these days,’’ says Tumanako. “Hope and I met this
year for the first time, because my grandparents
and parents had very different lives from hers. But
two of our whanau organised a reunion of Rua’s
descendents earlier this year. They thought it was
a good time to bring us all together, because of
the 150th Kingitanga celebrations. Our auntie had
been reading our tupuna Tahi’s diary, which is in
her cousin’s care, and the two of them decided to
trace as many of our whanau as they could. That’s
when Hope and I met.’’
“We got on
really well at the
reunion,’’ says
Hope. “I didn’t
want to go because
I didn’t know
much about our
whakapapa and I
hadn’t met many
of our whanau
before, and I don’t
look very Maori or
know much about
te reo or tikanga.
ButTumanakoand
I found we shared
the same birthday,
and liked the same
music – so even
though we look so
different, we feel
a bit like brother
and sister.
We’ve been invited today to talk to you about the
last fifty years around Mauku, because we share
ancestors from here. And we’ve also been asked to
talk about the future.
I didn’t know much about this area, because my
branch of the family have moved all around the
country, and overseas. I live in Christchurch. But
Tumanao and I have been working together by
email, and we’ve both learnt a lot we didn’t know
about our family history, and about this part of
the world. We’ve also challenged each other’s
ideas about the future too! So here are some of
our thoughts.’’
“Things weren’t too good for Maori people around
here in the second half of the twentieth century,”
says Tumanako. “My great-grandmother was
strapped for speaking Maori at school. And right
up to the 1960s, there was racial segregation in
Pukekohe – until one day a local barber refused to
cut the hair of Dr Henry Bennett, a Senior Medical
Officer at Kingseat Hospital, because he was Maori.
That caused a real stink – my gran still has some
cuttings out of the Herald and Star newspapers.
Most Pakeha New Zealanders were really shocked
and upset, because Pakeha then really believed New
Zealand had “the best race relations in the world’’.
There have been big changes in Aotearoa since then,
many for the better. Hope will talk about some of
those. But just a couple of other not-so-good things
first.
Ourburialgroundsat Maioroarestillbeingmined. Our
kaumatua believe the mining harms Papatuanuku,
Waikato and Manukau, and desecrates our waahi
tapu. At least now if koiwi are found, the mining
stops and koiwi are reburied in a special place with
proper karakia – but our whanaunga had to fight
for years for that, going even as far as the United
Nations for help.
Our whanaunga have also been fighting for the
cleaning up of our rivers, especially the Waikato,
and the Manukau for over thirty years now.
They’ve won some battles – like dairy farmers can’t
just pour cow poo into the rivers any more – and at
last the government has agreed that Tainui should
be partners in the management of the Waikato.
So maybe we’ll soon be able to stop humans from
pouring their poo into the river too.
Our waahi tapu are still being damaged by farmers
and developers – but more and more, newcomers to
the district want to protect special places. Two of
our whanaunga have a special project, Nga Tohu
Kaitiaki, documenting and protecting pa sites and
other special places Many others, both Maori and
Pakeha, have been involved in writing a Heritage
Plan for Franklin District which improves protection
for our waahi tapu, historic sites and cultural
landscapes.
Since the 2nd world war there have been lots
more fertilizers and pesticides used for growing
vegetables around our district. And huge paddocks
still left bare between crops. Some of us – both
old and young – think there are better ways to
grow healthy food. But there was, I’ve been told,
a Franklin Sustainability Project a few years ago,
and it’s good that now more growers are planting
green crops between seasons, and keeping shelter
round their fields – and there are even a few organic
certification signs around now!
When we
stood on
Whakaupoko
the other day,
we could see
lots of trees
– mainly pines,
willows and
other exotics
used as shelter
belts – but also
some surviving
patches of
native bush,
with some
quite tall trees
in them.
My mum
and dad are
e s p e c i a l l y
p l e a s e d
about what’s
happening on
Whakaupoko
and around
Mauku –
some of the
l a n d o w n e r s
setting up
a Landcare
Group, to kill off possums, weeds and other
introduced pests, to protect the remaining bits of
native bush, and plant lots more. Good that they’re
using the proper name for our maunga, too.
Franklin District Council has actually set up a
special Maori committee representing all the local
tribes, Te Roopu Paehere, to advise them. But
there’s lots to do before our two founding cultures
– and all the others here now – are properly
respected and enjoyed.
Most of the other problems – like drugs, alcohol,
crime, unemployment and so on affect Pakeha as
well as Maori, so we all have to deal with those. But
we know that Maori are even more affected than
Pakeha, because of land, language and culture being
taken away in the past. Even more young Maori
than young Pakeha feel alienated and powerless.
Two of my grandparents (who were known as
radical activists, even within our whanau, in the
1970s and 80s) say that until Pakeha honour the
Treaty and share the government of the country
with Maori, we won’t find new and better ways of
dealing with these things for all our people.
I think my family are among the lucky ones. My
great-grandmother Heeni moved to Ngaruawahia
when she was quite young, and my grandparents
grew up there too, in the heart of Kingitanga. So
our whanau always used te reo at home and knew
our tikanga. My gran was one of Te Arikinui Te-
Ata-i-Rangi-Kahu’s ladies-in-waiting, so we all
grew up respecting Kingitanga and understanding
how important it is to our unity and to our future.
My uncle and aunt were sent to one of the first ever
kohanga reo in 1982, and I went to a kohanga, then
to Pukekohe North Bilingual class and then to Te
Kura Kaupapa Maori o Waiuku, when my parents
moved back here. And the college I’m going to next
year has good Maori teachers, a strong kapahaka
group, and the principal is a fluent speaker of te reo
who has a respectful relationship with whanaunga
at local marae.
Several of our hapu are involved in a runanga
which is working to bring together Treaty claims,
and good management of resources, for our iwi.
That’s important for our future.’’
“Yes,” says Hope, “That’s really good for our families
that are scattered around the country too, because
we can keep in touch with what’s happening, and
be involved in decision-making for the future. Quite
a lot of whanau will probably be thinking of moving
back here over the next few years, especially as
cities become harder to live in, and having strong
marae here makes a big difference.
There is a new early childhood education centre at
one of our marae, with plans for building a kura
and a wananga too – there’s been a health centre
on site for years now.
The last time there were big economic changes – in
the late 1980s and 90s, many Maori returned to
their tribal rohe, and set up work schemes to fix
marae, and developed new health and education
programmes. We can see similar possibilities ahead
now, for our iwi, with an emphasis on healthy food
production, technology and the media, and tourism.
Maori have always been entrepreneurial, and our
iwi have a long history of adapting to change, and
surviving hard times.
One of the really good things around the district
now is changes in schooling. Tumanako’s mum
tells me that as well as several schools around this
rohe where bilingual and immersion programmes
are taught, there are also several mainly Pakeha
schools which are treating te reo and tikanga with
respect.
We were really pleased to hear that Mauku School
children – not only Maori and Pakeha, but also
Samoan, Tongan and Chinese – have been studying
the Treaty of Waitangi together. And some families
are obviously interested in learning about both
sides of the history of this area – that’s why the
anniversary booklet is being published.
For people like me it’s become much better. My
mum and dad, and three of my grandparents, have
lived in Te Wai Pounamu all their lives. One of
my grandparents is from Kai Tahu, but only in the
last few years – since their Treaty settlement – has
she been able to learn more about her background.
So our family are more Pakeha than Maori, really
– but we are keen to learn more, and know both
our heritages.
And for us, it’s getting easier all the time. There are
hundreds of websites for learning more about our
history, about new businesses, about everything
Maori or Pakeha or from any culture – you can
google anything now – in Maori or in English – and
find what you need to know. There’s a lot more in
our libraries than there used to be too. Tumanako
tells me Franklin libraries have a special collection
of Maori historical resources, Te Uru Miro, as well
as lots of original Pakeha pictures and papers.
There have been huge changes since the early
1970s, when a lot of younger Maori, well-educated
in both Maori and Pakeha ways, became active
in movements for land rights, language and the
Treaty. My grandparents said at first they didn’t
like all this activism – they were quite embarrassed
when they saw on TV some of their whanaunga
leading a march or waving a banner.
But now they say, and my parents agree, that those
people did our whole nation a great service. It’s
because of them we now have Treaty settlements
which enable our iwi to invest in better education
and health, Maori Television, a huge Maori presence
on the Internet, and tools like Windows and Google
in Maori. So now we have the chance to save our
heritage and share it with Pakeha and others.
And then there’s the
Maori Party, of course
– five members of
Parliament speaking
strongly for tino
rangatiratanga plus
another 12 Maori
men and women in
the other political
parties. 15% of
our MPs are Maori
since the election
last month. It’s not
exactly a Treaty
partnership, but
it’s a lot better than
it used to be, my
parents say.
But we wish more of
our Pakeha mates
and their families
would make an
effort to learn a bit
of our language, at
least pronouncing
lovely Maori names
carefully, and having
a basic vocabulary.
We see and hear
English language
and Pakeha cultural
stuff for much of
our time – but how
many Pakeha bother
to watch Maori
Television, listen to
Radio Waatea, go to Maori plays in Manukau City or
Auckland, read Mana magazine – or even read the
Panui in Waiuku and Districts Post (that column
is another example of a
good thing happening
locally, though…).
Also, it would be good
if more Pakeha came to
things like Waitangi Day
- there’s a special day
for families every year
at Tahuna marae – and
last year there were big
Matariki celebrations,
too, in Pukekohe. Most
marae, and even Pakeha
councils and groups,
have special activities
now, and that’s a good
way of getting to know
each other better. After
all, the Treaty was about
sharing this country in
a fair way – and that
means sharing the fun
too!”
As for the future, we
don’t believe in trying
to predict that. We
believe we need to face
the past, to have vision
and dreams for the
future, and then work
to make them realities.
That’s what Te Puea and
our other leaders have
always said. And from
my other culture, in the Bible, one of our early
prophets said “Where there is no vision, the people
perish.’’
So to finish, here is our vision, our dreams, based
on a karakia from Tahi’s diary translated by our
tupuna Rua into English a hundred years ago:
To Io…Jehovah…Papatuanuku…Ranginui…
and all your children…
May your love, power and wisdom flow into
our children, and our children’s children
after them, so they will learn to be strong in
creating good things, and fighting evil ones.
May many of them fight with words, not guns,
for justice and truth, for the return of stolen
land, for the sharing of power and money
fairly and honorably among all our peoples
May many of them plant trees to heal the
land, and cleanse the streams, so we may
once again have healthy food and water.
May many of them be healers of body,
mind and spirit who find ways to lift from
generations to come the burdens of these
illnesses which destroy young people today.
May places of learning be created, here and
throughout our land, where our children, and
all children, come together to learn from each
other, and to teach each other.
May these be places of love and respect, for
all languages and all peoples, so that the
many fibres together weave cloaks and mats
of great strength and beauty.
As thirteen-year-olds here today, we are glad about
the progress that has been made, we see clearly
the challenges yet to be met, and we hope you will
all join us in working for a better future –
for our schools, our district, our nation and our
planet.
Kia kaha, kia maia, kia
manawanui
Kia ora koutou