‘There’s a lot of love in the air’
IN the beginning, there was Titewhai Harawira reaching her hand across to Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, sharing a piece of mink blanket in the chilly morning air. There were two young girls, cuddling, faced turned to the dawn light.
In the middle, there were the ‘‘heeeeaves’’ as waka ama were pulled by muscled arms, and whitebait fritters, and families gathered by the sea, The kids danced to kapa haka, and to Tupac Shakur. The sparkling waters of the Bay of Islands, once home to hundreds of settlers’ ships, were speckled with bobbing heads.
And by the end, Sunday News had witnessed one protest. A preschooler, defeated by the heat, lay on the footpath. ‘‘I know bub, it’s hot,’’ her mum said, peeling her off the ground. ‘‘Ka pai. Time to go home.’’
As Waitangi Day dawned across the Bay of Islands, Sylvie Simpson, 10, hugged her sister Hindi, 8, for warmth. The Aucklanders were among hundreds at the dawn ceremony, which organisers say was the biggest turnout on record, welcoming the 181st year since Aotearoa’s founding document was signed.
They had been on holiday in Paihia with their mum, Michaela Jack, for the past week. Facts they learned about New Zealand history included Nga¯ puhi chief Ho¯ ne Heke’s attacks on the British flagstaff. ‘‘I thought that really interesting and funny, he’s my favourite. He was cheeky, and a bit naughty,’’ Sylvie said.
Jack, a newly-trained primary school teacher, said she’d brought the girls here to learn where they’d come from. She couldn’t wait to start teaching New
Zealand history. ‘‘It should have happened years ago.’’
Waiora Newth and Renee White had come up from Auckland with Te Whare Hı¯na¯ tore, the City Mission’s service for women experiencing homelessness. ‘‘You know on TV when the service starts and they go ‘bur bur bur BUR!’,’’ White sings, cellphone camera trained on the bagpiper standing stock-still on the spot the Treaty was signed ‘‘He’s about to do it. I’ve been waiting here the whole time.’’
Newth was buzzing about her first visit. ‘‘I’ve never seen so many Ma¯ oris in one space,’’ she said. ‘‘Everyone, Ma¯ ori and Pa¯ keha¯ , is in one space. There’s a lot of love in the air.’’
When Sunday News looked back, Newth was studying the flagpole. ‘‘I want to take that home. The whole thing, just chuck it in the back. Reckon I could do it?’’
Visitors were drawn at the top of the peak to watch dawn break above the slategray ocean. A man dressed in colonial garb
stood atop a podium, reciting Treaty signatories aloud from a giant sheet. A group of students moved their ‘‘Asians for tino rangatiratanga’’ sign to get a prettier backdrop. ‘‘There’s a free barbecue, Daddy!’’ came an excited yell.
Down on the festival grounds, the tino rangatiratanga and United Tribes flags fluttered in the breeze as families lazed in chairs or on blankets, or danced to bands across three stages. By the afternoon, the walkway of the one-way bridge to the Treaty grounds was a gauntlet of wet bodies. ‘‘Check out the old man!’’ one kid yelled, as sea-spray rose high.
Defence Force warrant officer class one Darrin Waitere, 51, emerged from the sea like a glistening seal. He’d jumped on a dare, he said. Was it scary? ‘‘Nah. If the kids can do it, I can do it.’’ Was he going to go again? ‘‘Nope. Definitely not.’’
Down on the beachfront, waka ama crews heaved ceremonial canoes into the bay, dotted with swimmers all the way to Paihia. Chase Mansell, and his son BaileyChanel, 7, both Nga¯ ti Wha¯ tua living in Dargaville, had just come from the bridge. Dad had jumped but BaileyChanel thought he’d wait till next year. It was Mansell’s 20th year at Waitangi. ‘‘It’s a day where we can come together as a nation, as one. I love our Ma¯ ori culture, and not just our culture but every other one that comes here.’’ Sarah Newby, 30, and Gary Sinkevicius, 33, were three weeks out of MIQ, having come to New Zealand from Devon, England. Newby, a Kiwi, had met Sinkevicius, an Englishman, when they both lived in Australia. After life in Covidravaged Britain became too difficult, they managed to get Sinkevicius here on a critical purpose visa. The pair were getting used to being around other humans again. ‘‘We feel so free,’’ Newby said.
The pair felt there was a polar opposite between Australia Day and Waitangi Day. ‘‘There it’s horrible really, it’s offensive to Aboriginal people and should be changed. Here it feels a lot more focused on celebrating our Ma¯ ori history.’’
Others spoken to by the Sunday StarTimes agreed it was a celebration, but said there was still work to be done to honour the principles of Te Tiriti.
Hinerau Rameka, of Nga¯ i Tu¯ hoe, was walking her nine-month-old baby to sleep. She’d been at the nearby Waitangi Tribunal mana wa¯ hine kaupapa inquiry all week, investigating how Ma¯ ori women were betrayed by the Crown.
‘‘It’s a day to celebrate, and to remember all the relationships we are supposed to have with the Crown,’’ she reflected. ‘‘We’re nowhere near being the nation we should be, but the good thing about the Treaty is we are together on that journey.’’
‘We’re nowhere near being the nation we should be, but the good thing about the Treaty is we are together on that journey.’ HINERAU RAMEKA