Talanoa is a cornerstone of Pasika communication - a way to maintain respectful relationships through open, honest dialogue. It enables people to share opposing views without the pressure of predetermined agreement. At its heart lies what I believe to be the purest form of conversation: talking and listening with respect.
It is in that spirit that I reflect on a remarkable day in Aotearoa New Zealand’s history: the culmination of the hikoi opposing David Seymour’s Treaty Principles Bill.
My day began with a 6.25am flight from Otepoti, Dunedin, to Wellington, Te Whanganui-a-Tara, where I joined a hikoi that had started in Te Tai Tokerau, Northland. This journey, connecting the far ends of the motu, reminded me of my own whakapapa and my connection to the whenua.
I was born in Kaeo, Northland, to a Pākehā father and Māori mother, raised in the small village of Raupunga in Hawkes Bay, went to school in Masterton, joined a band in Wellington in the late 60’s and now live in Dunedin.
Before joining the hikoi, I was interviewed by Sean Plunket on The Platform where he asked a question which caught me completely off-guard.
“So how much Māori are you? Aren’t you a Kiwi first?”
This question goes to the heart of Seymour’s argument and I didn’t have a ready answer at the time, because it’s a question I hadn’t been asked since the 1960s. But as I walked with thousands of others to Parliament, the answer became clear.
My father’s whakapapa traces back to Scotland, another proud indigenous culture, while my mother’s lineage traces back to the waka Takitimu, which landed here in the 13th century. That was the century that Genghis Khan was building the largest empire in the history of the world. That was the century that the last of the crusades were being fought. And, in the context of Tē Tiriti, that was the century the Magna Carta was signed.
It’s not an insignificant timeline for a whakapapa when I am asked the question - who are you? It’s also a timeline I think all Kiwi should be proud of, not just Māori.
But, if I have to make a choice, as Sean seemed to expect, I would look to the words of Sir Apirana Ngata who, in 1949, gave this advice to his 9-year-old niece: “Grow up young child and throughout your life use the tools that Pākehā have to offer as the lodestone to your creative inspiration... but always remain grounded in your own identity, values and traditions.”
So, if I must choose between being Māori or Kiwi, I would choose Māori because, of the two, it is the one I believe best recognises in me the power of both our cultures working together.
But, with the utmost respect to the hikoi organisers, this was a kaupapa, a lesson, I felt was missing as thousands of us gathered on Parliament grounds at the conclusion of the hikoi. A hikoi that, in every other way, was one of the most powerful examples of the kaupapa of peace unity and partnership that was set by the legacy of Dame Whina Cooper’s historic march over 40 years ago.
As I listened to the opening mihi whakatauki, delivered in Te Reo, I was reminded of the biblical story of the Tower of Babel. If you want to divide a people and bring down the tower, you make sure they don’t speak with the same language. You divide them by ensuring there is no place for meaningful dialogue. You simply cannot listen with respect to a language you cannot understand. Nor can you listen with respect if you refuse to listen to those with opposing views. Intended or not, that was the kaupapa unfolding before me.
The night before I boarded my flight from Otepoti to Wellington, I took part in a public meeting on the Dunedin Hospital where kaumatua Edward Ellison began with a karakia and welcome which he delivered beautifully in both Māori and English. Two things always happen when someone takes that approach. The first is that everyone feels included. The second is that, as you listen to the combination of the two languages, those of us who don’t have Te Reo, see the beauty and power it has when delivered in a language we do understand.
I’ve been told the early speeches were in Te Reo so as to speak directly to “our people.” But where does that place someone like me. A Māori who does not have Te Reo, who joined the hikoi to hear the reasoned and powerful arguments which must be shared to counter the challenge that Seymour has placed in front of the country, clearly and succinctly, in English.
Where did that place the significant percentage of those 30,000 to 50,000 marchers (we are now even arguing about the size of crowds!) on the hikoi who don’t have Te Reo either. Marchers like the Pākehā chief legal adviser for one of the countries major banks who joined us, with members of his staff, and pointed out the irony that one of the buildings we passed on our way to Parliament was the Supreme Court. The top court in the land that represents the myriad of considered legal opinions that have been built up over many years around Tē Tiriti.
These legal opinions are what Seymour wants to change with a referendum of “the common people”. A simplistic view, supported by his translation of a legal document, written in Te Reo. A questionable exercise for someone without Te Reo. One that was repeated by ex-ACT MP and lawyer Stephen Franks who, on The Panel on RNZ, also positioned himself as an expert in Te Reo by claiming that Article Two of the Māori version of the treaty was unambiguous, and the term “rangatiratanga” was simply a metaphor for property ownership.
A metaphor that, as history shows us, was used very much to the advantage of those early European signatories to the Treaty. A metaphor that clearly sits at the core of this debate but, there it was, delivered by a Pākehā lawyer as a fact.
Back at Parliament grounds, when we did get a view delivered to us in English, it came from another minority party leader who seemed to take pride in announcing that ‘we’ didn’t want to hear from Seymour. Seymour, probably couldn’t believe his good fortune as he stood above the crowd pitching his views on social media to all and sundry that, here he was, the victim. Willing to share his views but blocked by people refusing to listen.
I would love to have heard him speak, and then watch his response when met with complete silence.
You have spoken, thank you - we are moving on. That would have provided more stunning imagery for the world media, who have rightfully put this hikoi on the world stage.
The aunties in the hikoi who told the rabble rouser who fired off a flare “if you do that again we will come over and give you a good hiding,” could easily have ensured that Seymour’s address was met with dignified silence. It’s a lesson we have all learnt growing up. You don’t mess with your aunties.
And then there was the missing Prime Minister. While the hikoi leadership excluded me as part of “our people,” the Prime Minister dismissed me entirely as a Te Pāti Māori supporter. For the record Prime Minister, I voted National in the last election. I haven’t voted for Te Pāti Māori since the days of Tariana Turia and Pita Sharples, leaders who understood the importance of being at the table for meaningful dialogue rather than shouting from the sidelines - the role that Te Pati Māori and the Greens seem to have taken up as their mandate.
The Prime Minister’s argument that there is ample time to ask questions in the House ignores the reality that those of us outside Parliament see on a daily basis. This so-called Debating Chamber appears to be little more than a child’s playpen where point scoring and throwing toys around is the norm. This was the PM’s opportunity to speak outside the playpen to people like me, who are looking for leadership on this debate. A debate that has only arisen because of the coalition agreement he agreed to.
This was an opportunity for the Prime Minister to lead, to address crucial questions like: Which of the two versions of the Treaty did he believe should hold precedence - the Māori version, signed by 500 rangatira, or the English version, signed by just 39?
Did he believe in the legal precedent; the Doctrine of Original Intent where courts seek to interpret agreements based on the intentions of the parties at the time the contract was signed. A precedent that includes examining the language used, the surrounding circumstances, and any relevant context?
This hikoi, remarkable for its scale, discipline and peacefulness, also deserved acknowledgement as an extraordinary effort by the organisers rather than being dismissed as a political stunt by Te Pati Māori. By not taking that opportunity the PM showed a disregard for all of those who joined the hikoi, either in person or in spirit, regardless of who we voted for.
The irony of ironies is the fact often alluded to by kaumatua Tā Tipene O’Regan that, in the beginning, it was National Party leaders like Doug Kidd, Douglas Graham and Jim Bolger who were so instrumental in advancing Treaty settlements and emphasising the importance of the Treaty in our national identity. A kaupapa built on by politicians like Jenny Shipley, Chris Finlayson and, from Labour, Geoffrey Palmer. Tā Tipine has a saying that has always resonated with me.
We should always remember to remember.
This is an important debate that needs to be had, and Māori leaders should step up to a kaupapa that embraces the idea that it is important to all of us. Pākehā, Māori and all other cultures that have arrived on our shores since the signing of Tē Tiriti. We need that debate to be fully informed and we cannot leave it to politicians to take control of it, as they did so predictably, and petulantly, the following day in the House. One of the outcomes of a discussion that is meant to be held in the spirit of talanoa, is that it very quickly becomes obvious who is simply not prepared to listen.
While many have bathed in the apparent success of of the Hīkoi mō te Tiriti, I am left with the question: On the day after the hikoi, how many of us felt better informed on the key issues that lie at the heart of this debate?
More importantly, what are we, the people who put politicians in Parliament to represent us, going to do about it?
