Ihuma¯tao’s ‘protectors’
After two months camped out at the long-disputed site, those who remain say the experience has changed them for the better, reports Ryan Anderson.
It is quiet for the first time in many weeks, walking up the long road towards Ihuma¯ tao. The adrenaline and tension that fuelled the first few weeks of the protest at the controversial site have left.
Fewer people now reside in the fields where police and selfdescribed ‘‘protectors’’ once stood face to face – but those left aren’t willing to leave.
There isn’t a row of people sitting on the frontline – there isn’t much of a defined frontline anymore. The only line to be seen is the people waiting to exchange coffees for koha.
After enduring a record number of rainy days with only tents and wooden pallets as protection, long night shifts and port-a-loos, the people still at Ihuma¯ tao say they are in it for the long haul.
Many have been there for months. On July 23, eviction notices were handed out to people occupying the kaitiaki village which sits on land bought by Fletcher Building.
By the next day, people had flocked to Ihuma¯ tao and tensions rose as police tried to maintain the frontline.
Over the following weeks the Kiingitanga would visit, a call for help would go out after police presence increased dramatically one night and speculation circled about how a resolution could be reached.
The number of people at Ihuma¯ tao continues to fluctuate as some people head back to their jobs and others arrive to take their place.
Cathy King lives just down the road from Ihuma¯ tao at her house which she moved into around three years ago. After settling in, she decided to take a tour of the stone fields to get to know the area, its culture and maybe meet a few of the locals.
Growing up, King had done waka ama, but she says that was about the extent of her Ma¯ ori culture knowledge. After the tour she decided she wanted to know more.
Living so close to the kaitiaki village, she saw an opportunity to learn and to teach her daughter about Ma¯ ori culture. Trips to the village were fairly frequent. Her daughter would go and play with the kids in the tree house while she sat with those occupying the land and talked.
On the way up the road to Ihuma¯ tao, King calls out to a woman pushing a wheelbarrow full of spare bits of wood and other owner-less items lost in the rush of the occupation. She is one of a group of younger people King has ‘‘adopted’’. ‘‘I worked out that if I can look after them, they will sit on that land for me and represent my household. I can’t go up there [all the time] … it’s in the middle of winter and I have a young daughter.’’
Pushing the wheelbarrow is 20-year-old Matira MaddenHulena, who arrived at Ihuma¯ tao the day after eviction notices were handed out – hopping on a bus in Whangarei as soon as she heard the news.
‘‘I didn’t want to be another person who sees an issue or a problem that could be resolved but chooses not to do anything … I didn’t want to know that I was around, I could have done something but I chose not to because of whatever reason.
‘‘I didn’t know anyone before I got here,’’ Madden-Hulena tells us from the tent she now shares with several new friends. ‘‘But I had been asking my ancestors to meet people who understood me.’’
The tent sits to the side of where the majority of people now live at Ihuma¯ tao. Wooden pallets have created walkways, fences and in some cases even roofs – anything to hold off the elements.
Heavy wind shakes the tent and the handmade mobile that hangs from its centre. Beneath it lies two mattresses pushed together, covered in blankets. Clothes and other essentials sit just inside the outside canopy of the tent. One person complains they are hungry.
‘‘We only have potatoes and onions,’’ Madden-Hulena replies.
The living situation is definitely a lot better than the first few weeks, she said, when they were camped out one field over on the frontline. It was one of those nights where the wind and rain just wouldn’t stop. The side of the tent began to cave in and everyone moved to hold it up.
‘‘It was just real weird because I just sat there and pictured all of our ancestors just making a circle around us and just climbing up on top of each other and then it just stopped. The wind just stopped.’’
The elements and other challenges don’t seem to bother the younger group at Ihuma¯ tao. They sit around talking, writing music and poetry and helping out with the chores.
It’s worth it, Madden-Hulena says, to protect the land. ‘‘Every bit of land feels different. If you go to the a¯ tea that feels different to the taumata, which feels different to the end of the road.’’
Mia King’s ancestors came over on the same waka, Tainui waka, as those who now reside at Ihuma¯ tao. At Ihuma¯ tao, everything is run communally and every family has a set part to play, she says. ‘‘Out here ... the systems that are in place are what I believe [if implemented in the rest of the world] is what a harmonious world would like.’’
King says it has been good for her as an urban Ma¯ ori to come here.
A resolution has yet to be reached at Ihuma¯ tao. But, as Madden-Hulena explains, this had to happen for future generations.
‘‘What happened was knowing how we want the whenua to be. Instead of knowing what not to be or what we don’t want, we started learning what we do want – what life could actually be like.
‘‘I am definitely not the same person that I was when I arrived and I know that none of us are. It has solidified what kind of a person we want to be, where we want to go.’’