‘The Old Man’ and Jamie Tuuta

Young, gifted and brown

Jamie Tuuta is a man of many worlds. He steps from one to another, his lexicon illuminating an easy comfort in the pub at Waitara, his marae in Urenui, the boardrooms of corporate New Zealand and the committee rooms of national governance.

His journey has been extraordinary, even if the man insists he is not.

It’s a journey that has taken a Ma¯ ori boy from a small rural Taranaki home crammed with a dozen wha¯ nau to a spacious office and role as chairman of Ma¯ ori Television. There have been many other achievements along that path.

It’s a journey, apparently, without a plan but perhaps, at least, one solid, fixed point: Bill Tuuta – ‘‘the Old Man’’. Always in caps.

Tuuta was born to a Ma¯ ori woman and Pa¯ keha¯ farmer. Those tiny feet were briefly planted in two different worlds, before his maternal grandfather, the Old Man, stepped in to ‘‘look after our moko, our boy’’.

If there’s any lingering bitterness or tension, it’s not obvious. Tuuta has not spoken with his father. ‘‘When I was young, it wasn’t an issue to me,’’ he says. ‘‘I had my parents, I had the wha¯ nau.’’

And plenty of them. The coastal community of Urenui was small back then. Still is.

But the extended Tuuta wha¯ nau was large. ‘‘The Old Man and Old Lady [Bill’s wife Elisha] had their 9-10 kids and then me and other cousins; we were all sort of living together, and when people had issues they’d come and stay.’’

There were often 15 people and more in a three-bedroom home.

‘‘We never went hungry,’’ Tuuta says. ‘‘We didn’t have a big block of land but we had enough land to sustain the wha¯ nau, whether it was running sheep or cattle. We had pigs and chooks, a big garden, and the Old Man would go fishing. It was just normal.’’

As was the Old Man’s work ethic. ‘‘He worked seven days a week; he drove a truck for the local county council and in the earlier days he was doing fencing contracting in the weekends.

‘‘He’d get up early, milk the two house cows by hand at 5.30-6 and then he’d help the Old Lady make school lunches; then he would go to work at 7, come back at 4, on our own little farm, move stock, milk the cows again. He’d feed the pigs and the chooks.’’

Tuuta was often at his grandfather’s elbow, immersing himself in the day-to-day activities and the Old Man’s ‘‘attitude’’.

It was the same at the marae, a lively cathedral to Nga¯ ti Mutunga business and pleasure. Most of the younger wha¯ nau were keen on the latter. Tuuta was captivated by the former.

He was coming of age as his wha¯ nau and iwi grappled with their own growing pains. ‘‘We were setting up our iwi authority, an iwi office, all of this stuff was at the marae; we were looking at getting into the Waitangi Tribunal hearings, research. That was all happening.’’

But Tuuta wasn’t just looking; he did not want to be just seen. He needed to be heard. ‘‘I used to be what they called a pakiki,’’ he says, ‘‘someone who asks a lot of questions. I remember the Old Man used to always say ‘stop asking questions’, but you’ve got to be inquisitive, you’ve got to be curious. I was interested in things.’’

That interest would later turn into investment, in his own iwi and wider Ma¯ ori leadership and governance, but not before a significant down-payment on his education.

‘‘I did OK at school; I wasn’t a superstar,’’ he says, but the village that helped raise the child saw great promise in this Tuuta tyro.

One of the wha¯ nau encouraged the Old Man to consider a boarding school. There was more pressure from Tuuta’s first teacher, ‘‘Mrs Dunbar’’, even her husband, ‘‘Mr Dunbar’’, who ran the dairy; the family’s GP offered support if medicine was the chosen path.

So the boy who had barely ventured further than the mudflats along Urenui River found himself at Auckland’s Ma¯ ori boarding school Hato Petera. ‘‘It was tough,’’ he says. ‘‘I was nervous, but I was fortunate that one of my cousins was in seventh form there.

‘‘I enjoyed it. We had some great mentors there . . . great in instilling discipline; there was a sense of pride, being part of a community with people that today are like brothers to me because we spent so much time together. It teaches you how to get along with people, how to respect people and work through issues.’’

Back home, the Old Man was working harder. ‘‘He’d sell a cow or two to pay for my fees.’’

Tuuta worked harder too, at university and beyond, determined to repay the faith and commitment of so many others. It was the beginning of a path to personal prosperity but also a weight of expectation that can be particularly heavy for young Ma¯ ori leaders.

‘‘Maori leaders are much more visible,’’

‘‘I remember the Old Man used to always say ‘stop asking questions’, but you’ve got to be inquisitive, you’ve got to be curious.’’

says Tuuta. ‘‘There’s less room for failure, or for a mis-step.’’

Luckily Tuuta’s made few. He’s only 41 but already has an impressive management and governance CV that has put him at the head of many boards in practically every sector of business, including agriculture, tourism, seafood, education and land management.

At 34, he became the youngest Ma¯ ori Trustee, in charge of Te Tumu Paeroa, an organisation responsible for 100,000 hectares of Ma¯ ori-owned land. In that role and so many others he has consulted with prime ministers and powerful public servants, business leaders and tycoons.

Now Tuuta has stepped into the shoes of Ma¯ ori stateswoman Georgina te Heuheu to chair the board of Ma¯ ori Television.

The man who was once in front of the camera during a short stint as a reporter is now working behind the scenes creating a strategy for what that camera will cover, who gets to see the content and when, and, more importantly, who pays.

He must find a sustainable link for a traditional media company in a new, ‘‘dynamic and challenging’’ market of multiplatforms and moving revenue streams.

‘‘We’ve got a statutory obligation to provide Ma¯ ori language, tikanga content and stories from a Ma¯ ori perspective, to not only Ma¯ ori but all New Zealanders,’’ he says.

‘‘The challenge is how do you create a strategy which inspires our own people at Ma¯ ori TV, that gives them a sense of purpose about why they get out of bed in the morning to turn up and . . . how do you do that in a costeffective way; how might your operating model change to be able to do that?’’

He’s hoping to draw on what he’s learned over the past few years at Stanford University’s graduate business school – ‘‘design thinking, consumer-led, consumer insights, all these sorts of things’’.

He’s hoping he’ll still be able to find enough time for his five kids, to support them in their sports and other interests, like the Old Man did. He’s hoping he’ll be able to cope with the pressure that comes from being young, gifted and brown – ‘‘Sometimes, and this pisses my partner off, I just like to go home and I don’t want to talk – have some quiet time.’’

And he’s hoping he doesn’t let the Old Man down, even if he is long gone.

The evidence suggests that is highly unlikely. Jamie Tuuta’s path is set; Bill Tuuta can take pride in having laid the platform. Sources: Dale Husband