Learning to be New Zealanders – from Egmont to Taranaki

Looking forward to John Campbell's series "From Egmont to Taranaki" which launches on TVNZ tomorrow according to an Radio NZ interview (though seems to be online here already). I have only glanced at it so far, but will be interesting to listen and compare notes with John, as someone of similar age who has been gradually coming to terms with the ongoing process of 'becoming a New Zealander"*, partly through this blog series.

John learns about Aotearoa largely through the lens of Taranaki – not a bad place to start, or finish for that matter. But I feel a bit more of a personal connection with Taranaki, where my father started working in the dairy industry after immigrating from the Netherlands in 1954, and where I worked for a couple of years in the 1990s. Both of us receiving huge insights into 'different lands' for us, and both of us – I realised after I left – benefitting indirectly from the land confiscations that John covers in his podcast.

But I'm reminded of three little memories from Taranaki – insights into racism, prejudice and preferences from the 1990s, but I'm sure much of it still runs deep.

The first was in a conversation with my boss, when I quite naturally referred to the mountain as 'Taranaki' (even though I had grown up referring to it as Mt Egmont – geographical nomenclature had started to shift – and so had I). My boss, an older guy not originally from the area, said quite simply and matter of factly, something along the lines of "I have to say, it's always going to be Mt Egmont for me." No defensiveness, no anger, no big deal. We each had our preferred name, and agree to disagree.

The second incident surprised me. The young female head of the District Information Office, recently back from studies or a job outside the district, said something along the lines that she felt Māori around the place these days looked a lot more bolshie than they used to. I wish I could remember the precise word – but at present, bolshie or assertive comes closest. I said nothing.

The most jarring comment however, came from a well-respected Pākehā Councillor, who up until that time, seemed to me the most decent and upright person on the Council. A young engineer from Tauranga had earlier described him as having a lot of 'mana' in the area he lived and served in. That comment struck me then – it was probably the first time I'd heard a Māori concept like that applied in general conversation. So, it was even more jarring, when this same Councillor, as a car-load of us headed back from a Council meeting in Patea, should say to us all: 'You know, they say there are only 9  honest Māori in Patea – and they'll all sitting in that canoe there' – pointing to the stone canoe that sits atop the entrance to Memorial Park in Patea (and made famous with the video of the song "Poi E"). I was shocked, saddened and surprised at who had said it, but I also said nothing myself.

However, I was also fortunate in my time with the Council to be witness to a significant meeting between Council representatives and mana whenua over Turuturu Mokai, a four-century old pa site, that had been neglected and abused, with a Council dump once being located within the site. (Eventually the pa gained recognition as a wahi tapu (sacred site) in 2016 – but I understand much still needs to be done to rehabilitate and fully recognise it.)

I am looking forward to what John and his friends have to tell me, tell us, of their journey – our journey. 

 

* a term which initially referred only to the Indigenous occupants of Aotearoa.

Over COVID? Yeah, right

So, two years and nine months after COVID hit the international headlines, the Ministry of Health winds up its regular media briefings, we shift to weekly reporting of case numbers, and things move to a ‘new normal’ with dropping of face mask requirements and an end to government vaccine mandates on 26 September.
But on the same day as the Ministry’s ‘final briefing’, someone in our household of three people tests positive. After keeping COVID-19 at bay all those months - being super-cautious because of a particularly vulnerable person in our household - we get COVID. Life isn’t fair, they say.
I think we’d actually had the bug about a week. I can’t help thinking that it entered household shortly after the mask requirement in public transport and shops was dropped. Circumstantial evidence only I know - it doesn’t wash.
And disturbingly among the stats released by the government regarding differing levels of protection in the ‘new freedom’:  only 56 per cent of eligible Maori aged over 18 and 61 per cent of eligible pacific people aged over 18 have received a first booster. This compares with 73 per cent of all eligible people aged over 18.
Though COVID cases and deaths are declining, fortunately, there were still 36 deaths of people with COVID in the week to 18 September.
The extreme COVID protection measures in the early days - the rahui/lockdowns and household isolation did wonders to pull down flu rates and other communicable diseases as well, and showed how nature can recover quickly when given the chance. Not that they could be continued forever - but it was telling us something.
What lessons have we learnt? None of us live for ever, but how do we best protect the lives we have, and who decides how much effort - and inconvenience - we put into protecting the most vulnerable, and those without a loud voice - whether they be human lives or otherwise?

What crisis are we in right now?

Checking the NZ Doctor COVID timeline, I see that at this time two years ago, New Zealand was recording one new confirmed case a day of COVID from 4-7 March 2020, bringing the total to five at the time. On 11 March, the World Health Organisation (WHO) officially declared the emergency a pandemic; and President Trump suspended travel into the United States from most European countries for 30 days.

But today, in our time, our family tentatively ventured into Wellington (after the protests), to a Festival of the Arts event at Te Papa, masked and with vaccine passes at the ready, on a ‘mission to Mars’. Guess we wanted to escape it all, Earth becoming a bit too hot to handle, these days.

But it reminded me that two years ago, a bit later into March, we had ventured into Wellington for a Festival event – only to find it cancelled in that strange, topsy-turvy time before COVID really hit New Zealand, when events were being cancelled voluntarily by organisers all over the place. On that day, with no show to go to, we took ourselves off to Arty Bees second-hand bookshop, and I bought a copy of James Kunstler’s The Long Emergency (a much delayed read).

First published in 2005, it explores the potential impacts (especially for America), of the consequences of converging crises, such as peak oil production, climate change, disease (yes, including pandemics), economic instability and – dare I say it – war. A rather sombre prophetic book perhaps, but I note the subtitle is Surviving the Converging Catastrophes of the Twenty-first Century (my emphasis). The author is only trying to help.

And I hate to say, I haven’t read it yet. I’m just trying to navigate the present complex crisis we’re in, while keeping an eye on the horizon; and trying to keep some personal crises at bay as well. 

If I survive reading James Kunstler, I’ll let you know

COVID-19: Two years on

Since Covid-19 hit two years ago, I have blogged only twice about it, both times in April 2020. The first was about venturing out to the shops for the first time under the first lockdown/rahui confining us to our homes and environs. The second one lamented a return to the noisy business of ‘normality’ pre-figured by the chugga-chug-chug of a tractor mower across the river from where I live.

I had wanted to document the whole COVID experience more fully, for myself and others, knowing we were in an historical period.  For years, I have kept notebooks of thoughts, experiences, poetical words & phrases, and important things to remember, very erratically and unsystematically, and have hardly ever given myself time to process them properly.

Now, two years on, with Omicron in full swing through the country - leading to our highest ever daily tally today; and an illegal occupation of Parliament grounds entering its third week, I feel it’s time to pull together some of my disparate ‘COVID thoughts’.

So, over the next few weeks, as we go through the two year anniversaries of significant milestones, I’ll be reviewing personally and publically, some of my jottings and memories of the last two years, mixed with the now. Hoping to make better sense of it all for myself, if not for others.

I want to start with my (and perhaps its our collective) basic fear in this ongoing crisis. For me, one of my key memories in the early days of the virus, possibly before lockdown, when things were in a real swirl of uncertainty over whether the virus was here, how you might get it, what kind of precautions to take; I realised, what we’re really afraid of is our own death (however it may come), and (at least for myself) the death or destruction of societal structures around me, even though I disagree with many of those structures and want them changed. The feared collapse of our systems was seen not just in the mad rush on toilet paper, but in the much more realistic rush on seeds and seedlings for growing your own food. I didn’t join the rush on plants (we do have a modest but erratically tended veggie garden), but I certainly felt the truly wise and resilient were those who could grow their own food.

At that stage, the virus had invaded our minds more than our bodies. Though I backed the government’s stance, I did feel we were being told what to think (about the potential threat of the virus, its possible impact, and how best to deal with it). We had to trust the medical experts, the health administrators, the government -  and (unlike some on the streets today) I do consider we live in a basically healthy democracy and a healthy and diverse media who will (between them) reveal if anything is seriously wrong or corrupt in government.

I felt the resentment at being ‘told what to do’, even if I thought it was indeed the best thing to do. I didn’t like the sometimes disproportionate fear that was being instilled, made worse by extended media coverage, which still focuses disproportionately on the impact of COVID-19 and associated safety measures on developed countries and on ‘business’.

COVID is a real global crisis. It has been deadly and debilitating for many, and has highlighted weaknesses in our globalised world and long supply chains; but there are deeper, longer-lasting and more problematic threats to human health and well-being, such as environmental degradation and social inequality, which have now become intermixed with the pandemic impact and response. (My first blog of 2020 on 20 March touched on climate change, and made no mention of COVID).

But I and many others have still not learnt our lessons from COVID I feel - we were not made to dominate this earth in the way we have. In my 14 April 2020 blog, I quoted from Julio Vincent Gambuto, who warned us we could not spend our way back to ‘normal’. He advised:

take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to … only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud.

Money is only a means of exchange - a means to allot a numerical ‘value’ to tangible and intangible things.

What is essential to life is the Earth we collectively share, and what it produces. What is essential to thrive as humans, is our love, compassion, forbearance and patience with each other. It’s a long haul, and a big ask at times, but I’m grateful for those who try.

*By the way, the NZ Doctor has a good basic timeline of how COVID unfolded in New Zealand , primarily through case numbers. On this day (20 February), six New Zealanders from the infamous Diamond Princess cruise ship entered quarantine in New Zealand, while four were admitted to hospital in Japan with the virus. The previous day, 157 people evacuated to New Zealand from Wuhan earlier in the month were discharged from quarantine.

Living in a 'less-than-perfect' paradise: Wellington Anniversary 2022

Wellington Anniversary Day, and the first day of the whole country under the red light to deal with Omicron. No reflections on COVID however, just a brief bit of history, an amalgam of various things I did on the extended weekend, and a poem written long ago about this “mix-and-match … pavlova and pizza, less-than-perfect paradise” that I call home.

Wellington Anniversary is celebrated on the closest Monday to 22 January, the date on which the first European settler ship to Wellington – the Aurora – arrived in the harbour in 1840, carrying 148 emigrants and 21 crew. This followed the hastily arranged sale of land in the area by Te Atiawa iwi to the (English) New Zealand Company after their advance party arrived on the Tory on 20 September 1839. Notably before the Treaty of Waitangi was signed. (Read my earlier blog on how that initial Wellington settlement was ruled by a Committee.)

This Saturday past, I was welcoming people ashore, in both te reo and English, to Matiu, the island in the middle of the harbour returned to local iwi Taranaki Whānui ki Te Upoko o Te Ika in 2009 as part of a Treaty settlement.

On Sunday afternoon I was conversing in Dutch and English at the Dutch Club at Avalon House, and learnt the distinction between Hollandse (mainstream ‘proper’ Dutch, to some), and Brabantse (my father’s dialect, from the South). Fifty to sixty years after their arrival, there is still gentle rivalry between those of my father’s generation who emigrated here from different parts of the Netherlands. For some, parochialism never dies.

Then on Monday afternoon, I participated in a murder mystery over a well-catered lunch, set in 1899 Victorian England at the invitation of the (fictitious) George Sweet, Earl of Coddingham. A splendid, if somewhat disturbing affair. All in fun.

And with the sun shining strongly all through the weekend, twice I was able to cool down at the end of the day in the relatively warm waters of Te Whanganui-a-Tara.

All reflective of the nature of the place where I live, Aotearoa New Zealand, where many of us are still finding our place here. Expressed in this poem written several Governor-Generals ago:

 

Kauri and Bricks

In a quiet corner, outside 

the Great War Exhibition

grows a small kauri

twice my height.

 

It’s outta place here, ya’ know.

It’s natural habitat

north of Auckland.

But marauding humans

have fossicked around

long enough

to plant

this one here, that one there,

mixing it all up.

 

No plant knows now

where it’s supposed to be.

 

*

 

Through the trees,

I spy

the layered brickwork

of the old Police Barracks.

A bastion of Britain,

in this farthest-flung outpost of Empire.

 

The National Anthem strains

through the trees:

“God defend New Zealand”,

before the Last Post

sounds for the Last Time

for Governor-General Mateparae.

 

This quiet corner of the globe

is a mix-and-match

half-gallon, 750 ml

townhouse and quarter-acre

pavlova and pizza

less-than-perfect paradise.

 

Kes Young

 

On sovereignty and co-existence

Queens Birthday seems an apt time to gather together a few thoughts and links on ‘sovereignty’ that relate to this land of my birth, Aotearoa New Zealand. As the word was brought to this land by the English, I start with the Oxford English Dictionary which defines sovereignty as: “complete power to govern a country”.  Unfortunately, as every student of the Treaty of Waitangi/Te Tiriti o Waitangi knows, the English and Māori versions of the Treaty differ considerably in their meaning, ‘sovereignty’ had no direct translation into Māori, and these were two very different worlds coming together to work out same way (equitably or not) of being together - even as the number of European arrivals was set to vastly increase.

As New Zealand History online puts it:

In the English text, Māori leaders gave the Queen 'all the rights and powers of sovereignty' over their land. In the Māori text, Māori leaders gave the Queen 'te kawanatanga katoa' or the complete government over their land.

The word 'sovereignty' had no direct translation in Māori. Chiefs had authority over their own areas, but there was no central ruler over the country. The translators of the English text used the Māori word 'kawanatanga', a transliteration of the word 'governance', which was in current use. Māori knew this word from the Bible and from the 'kawana' or governor of New South Wales. Māori believe that they kept their authority to manage their own affairs and ceded a right of governance to the Queen in return for the promise of protection.

It is widely accepted that the use of the words 'kawanatanga' and 'tino rangatiratanga' (in Article 2) contributed to later differences of view between the Crown and Māori over how much authority the chiefs would retain and how much the governor would have. There can be little doubt that the chiefs who signed the Treaty expected to enter into some kind of partnership and power sharing in the new system.

A video of various commentators on ‘the question of sovereignty’ created by the National Library has some interesting points, including these below from Māori academic Mānuka Hēnare, who passed away earlier this year, but the full video can be viewed here.

Prof Mānuka Hēnare: And most of us were born, raised, that we ceded sovereignty, our leaders ceded sovereignty forever and then I think as the Māori history started coming out, then a lot of us had to change our minds, even though our instincts said, that doesn't make sense, but we had no basis for saying it other than I can't imagine our tupuna doing it.   ….  So we've been able to now look at it fairly rationally and, and look at the reactions say from 1831, 1834, 1835, 1840 and then after that in 1847, 1850s, you will find all the Māori leaders, the next generations afterwards, all singing the same song. We did not cede sovereignty, you [the Crown] took it.

However, the expression of sovereignty which I have most come to appreciate recently, including its proposition as being able to ‘co-exist’ with other forms of sovereignty on the same land, is that in the Uluru Statement from the Heart, arising from the First Nations of Australia in May 2017, after a period of long reflection and discussion. The whole of the short statement is worth a read - but below is the key expression of an ancient, unceded sovereignty, which I believe also sheds light on a deeper understanding of sovereignty and coexistence here in Aotearoa :

We, gathered at the 2017 National Constitutional Convention, coming from all points of the southern sky, make this statement from the heart:

Our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander tribes were the first sovereign Nations of the Australian continent and its adjacent islands, and possessed it under our own laws and customs. This our ancestors did, according to the reckoning of our culture, from the Creation, according to the common law from ‘time immemorial’, and according to science more than 60,000 years ago.
This sovereignty is a spiritual notion: the ancestral tie between the land, or ‘mother nature’, and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples who were born therefrom, remain attached thereto, and must one day return thither to be united with our ancestors. This link is the basis of the ownership of the soil, or better, of sovereignty. It has never been ceded or extinguished, and co-exists with the sovereignty of the Crown. …
With substantive constitutional change and structural reform, we believe this ancient sovereignty can shine through as a fuller expression of Australia’s nationhood…..

Let it stand.

Rats! - the mower is back

I heard the tractor mower across the river at the golf course today: first day of freedom under ‘essential turf maintenance’ that golf courses and other significant sports grounds were allowed to undertake in a new extension of ‘essential services’ allowed under Level 4 Covid19 restrictions.

I was somewhat disappointed. The low hum of the tractor across the way is not disturbing, but it’s just a sign, a starter, an indicator of the resumption of normal activities - and noise - we can expect to see as the machinery of modern life gets underway again. I do not wish to see a return to our so-called ‘normality’ - at least, not the normality we had become accustomed to before the pandemic: the noise, the business, the increasing intensification of life.

This same morning, I had also read an excellent and challenging article by Julio Vincent Gambuto, "Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting". It warns of the onslaught from business, advertising and government which will urge us to spend our way back to ‘normal’. OK, he’s writing about the States, but similar aspects will apply here - that normal is seen to be a busy, productive economy producing ‘things’ that may not be necessary, or exploit people or the earth, or are only available to those who can afford it.

(How essential for life are golf courses by the way? Could they be better turned over into urban farms, or small native bush enclosures?) Don’t worry - I’m not going to get out there and start ploughing up golf courses, just wished to point out they are artificial ecosystems, whose concept has come from a foreign land, imposed on natural soils and ‘maintained’ in that artificiality through the constant intervention of people, machines and chemicals (yes - and much modern farming is the same). “This ’aint normal” - to borrow a phrase from the book of the same name  from another American commentator ‘farmer philosopher’ Joel Salatin, who is already carving out a new normal for a post-COVID19 United States.

Meanwhile, Gambuto, whom I read this morning advises:
take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to … only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud.

Back to Aotearoa, on my side of the river, we have a riverbank ecosystem which has been restored over the last decade through plantings of harakeke (flax), taupata, ti kouka (cabbage tree), toi-toi, etc - though blackberry, gorse, broom and lupins are also finding a footing. And native skinks are competing for rats for life.

So - you want to go back to the rat race again after all this?