‘You can’t do what you’ve done to mana whenua and not expect repercussions’
The protests at Parliament in February wrought a significant cost for those that have a connection to the whenua (land) that was occupied. Florence Kerr reports.
During the 23-day occupation of Parliament by anti-mandate protesters, Rawiri, a designer based in Auckland, was tasked with trawling social media. His job was to check protest footage and report back to his koro.
‘‘They’re not on there,’’ Rawiri would tell his Koro, who was in the Far North. ‘‘Right-o. Po¯ ma¯ rie,’’ his koro would respond. Then the line would go dead.
Rawiri’s mission was to see if his cousins, who attended the anti-mandate protests, were deliberately breaking tikanga (Ma¯ ori lore) on the ancestral lands of Taranaki Wha¯ nui who hold mana whenua status over the land where Parliament sits.
If Rawiri’s cousins broke tikanga, his koro and a small contingent of their wha¯ nau would have made the pilgrimage to Wellington to meet with mana whenua to apologise and take the necessary steps to remedy the situation.
‘‘Koro wanted to protect the rest of us that were not involved,’’ Rawiri said. ‘‘We were brought up with those stories about wha¯ nau being cursed because tikanga had been broken. Scoff at it all you want, but I wasn’t prepared to test it out or wear this hara our cousins were creating, but we had no choice, our shared whakapapa meant they put us in a protest we wanted nothing to do with. Koro was doing what he could to try and shield us from that.’’
(Rawiri asked for only his first name to be used. He didn’t want to out his cousins and at the same time didn’t want to be publicly connected to them.)
Tikanga is a noun, classed as custom, practice and protocol. According to the Ma¯ ori Dictionary it is: ‘‘The customary system of values and practices that have developed over time and are deeply embedded in the social context.’’
Tikanga, when followed, maintains or creates a balance between the spiritual and physical realms. It derives from the concept of ‘‘tika’’, a verb meaning to be true, correct, fair and valid.
Rawiri’s wha¯ nau were not alone in scouring social media to see if relatives were directly involved in violating the rights of mana whenua.
During the occupation, protesters allegedly smashed the windows of Taranaki Wha¯ nui offices in Wellington, dumped sewage into its moana, and shouted at tamariki (children) and kauma¯ tua
(elders) on the streets.
A group of protesters invaded Pipitea Marae in Thorndon Quay and attempted to ‘‘trespass’’ tangata whenua, who were working with police and Ma¯ ori Wardens, from their own tu¯ rangawaewe. Another contingent of protesters then tried to invade
Wainuio¯ mata Marae and papa kainga.
Taranaki Wha¯ nui leadership received koha and apologies from embarrassed wha¯ nau here and abroad in their bid to remedy the actions of their wha¯ nau who attended the protests.
The repeated violations brought together iwi from across Te Ika a¯ ma¯ ui (North Island) in late February, a few days before the protests came to an end, in a show of solidarity with mana whenua.
The unprecedented move saw Taranaki Wha¯ nui lay Te Kahu o Te Raukura across their whenua tu¯ puna – a cloak of aroha and peace, a protection of the land, sea and their people, and they hoped the protesters would take heed of their call to respect the whenua, moana and people in Wellington.
While some did leave the protest line, many stayed. Days later police forced protesters off the grounds revealing extensive damage to the whenua that will take some time to heal.
Protesters cried foul over the way police dealt with them; Rawiri called it karma.
‘‘You cannot expect to do what you’ve done to mana whenua and not expect repercussions from that.’’
As the occupation of Parliament grounds ended, another battle began. This one was in the Upper Hutt suburb of Wainuio¯ mata.
As Deb McIvor’s expert hands manoeuvred the garment under the frantic tapping of the sewing machine needle the phone rang. McIvor was volunteering her sewing skills at the local Pa¯ taka Kai, a place that had fed and clothed thousands doing it tough in Wainuio¯ mata through the duration of the pandemic. She was busy and the Omicron surge only increased her mahi.
On the other end of the phone was a Wainuio¯ mata Marae manager Tina Olsen-Ratana. The protesters were coming, Olsen-Ratana said. They were looking for somewhere new to set up base, and they had targeted the marae.
After seeing the actions at Parliament,
Wainuio¯ mata Marae wha¯ nau were clear: no-one would be taking their marae.
‘‘In all my years I have never seen tikanga so blatantly trampled like that, it was shocking to see,’’ McIvor said. ‘‘If we don’t protect our sacred practices and spaces, what is the point of it all? We have those customs for a reason. I still can’t get over the fact they could do that without worrying about the consequences.’’
McIvor left her sewing machine and went to the marae to stand guard, without a second thought for her safety.
There was a small group of women, some grandmothers. They stood across the driveway, waiting for the convoy. As word got around more marae wha¯ nau and community members showed up.
‘‘We started out with three fold-out chairs on the front line, by the end of the week we had gazebos, kapa haka performances, kai everywhere,’’ McIvor said.
‘‘It wasn’t just Ma¯ ori on the frontline, we had our entire community turn up to protect the marae because of the work the marae does for the entire community, from vaccines, classes for various things. It was multicultural on that line.’’
The Wainuio¯ mata Marae had acted as a community vaccination hub. Those who lived further away were even serviced by a mobile vaccination bus.
Olsen-Ratana wasn’t surprised by the protesters’ actions.
While a majority accepted and applauded the marae’s work, a few were against it, and took matters into their own hands by making death threats against vaccination staff during and after work hours, Olsen-Ratana said.
Anti-vaxxers had also entered Wainuio¯ mata marae through the back door and attempted to trespass hau ka¯ inga and vaccination staff. All this happened in the lead-up to the Parliament protests, she said.
Earlier in the day, hours before protesters showed up in Wainuio¯ mata, a man had come onto the marae and asked the caretaker about their security system. Olsen-Ratana knew the marae was the next target.
‘‘There’s been lots of threats particularly to our vaccination nurses in their own time as well. There was one vaccination nurse just doing her washing at the laundromat, and she got threatened. Our local pataka kai ... they had people go in there and threaten them and this was weeks before what happened in Parliament.
‘‘There have been threats of hangings… The people who have been supporting wha¯ nau with Covid and with the vaccinations have been threatened, so that was all a build up to what happened here.’’
The mobile vaccination bus and staff also came under attack by anti-vaxxers. ‘‘Irrespective of your beliefs, no-one deserves that. They didn’t deserve that kind of harassment and treatment.’’
When the protesters arrived at the entrance of Wainuio¯ mata Marae, they were greeted by a seemingly impenetrable wall made of community members of every ethnicity, age and social standing.
Local leaders, Rotary members, gang members, league players, teens as well as elderly knitters stood side-by-side blocking entry to the marae.
The Wainuio¯ mata Marae protectors made a pact not to engage with protesters in slinging matches, not to live stream their side on social media, and they made a concerted effort to be respectful when protesters attempted to use whakapapa and the
Ma¯ ori concept of manaakitanga (hospitality) to guilt the community into giving them access to their whenua.
Those holding the line wouldn’t be drawn, instead choosing to use peaceful resistance – a historical concept that some on the frontline could relate to as their ancestors were part of the resistance at Parihaka. In one instance, Olsen-Ratana said a protester yelled at the Wainuio¯ mata protectors to
remember Parihaka, where 1600 troops invaded the western Taranaki settlement. A kuia on the frontline became upset – those were her people the protester was attempting to use to gain access.
Olsen-Ratana said the marae management was not asked by protesters beforehand if they could stay.
‘‘You don’t have an entitlement that allows you to just walk in and please yourself. Definitely, the breach of tikanga was a big one, even by their actions at the gate, but that’s why we took it out there right, because whatever happens out there, happens out there.
‘‘But the audacity to think you have this entitlement and this complete disregard for tikanga was just not on, and they showed that with their actions around Pipitea and at Parliament.
‘‘That’s Ma¯ ori land, it’s not just Parliament. The waste going into tangaroa (ocean) with no care at all and thinking you can just walk in here. We couldn’t let them do that here.’’
Afew streets over at the Te Puna Wai papa ka¯ inga complex developed by Taranaki Wha¯ nui, locals got wind protesters were planned to camp in its open spaces. Local resident Regan Tapa-Campbell, who lives near the entrance of the complex, said kuia and kaumatua led the defence. ‘‘I saw our kaumatua first come down with their cars and scooters to block the road off and wha¯ nau put trucks in front of the alleyways to stop access there.’’
When the first wave of protesters arrived they could not breach the line, so instead hurled abuse.
‘‘We had all our lot and wha¯ nau from around the community just coming in to do shift changes even during the nighttime.
‘‘We had wha¯ nau sleeping in cars to protect the area. We were telling our kuia and kaumatua to get back inside because it was makariri (cold) and we were OK to stand guard, but they wouldn’t listen,’’ Tapa-Campbell said.
‘‘And when they would go home for a break they would come back with kai they had cooked.’’
The protesters would circle the block slowly in their vehicles trying to find weaknesses in the defence line of those protecting the papa kainga. It
was impenetrable.
The growing number of marae protectors made it impossible for protesters to gain entry, with many finding refuge at local holiday accomodation sites.
After a few days it became apparent to some protesters that the line of defence at the marae and papa ka¯ inga could not be breached.
While some moved on, others attempted to rectify the imbalance they had brought by breaking tikanga.
‘‘We were reached out to by a small group of protesters who wanted to apologise,’’ Olsen-Ratana said.
‘‘We also had a group of protesters that were staying at a holiday park not far from our marae who also wanted to come and apologise, and we let them. We came to an amicable agreement with them during that restoration process that that apology would mean for them to leave in peace and go with our blessings, and they left our area the next day.’’
Since then, vaccination workers and marae staff have not been abused.
For the hau ka¯ inga at Pipitea Marae in central Wellington however, apologies from actual protesters have been less forthcoming. They had received one text saying ‘‘soz’’.
The chairman of the Taranaki Wha¯ nui’s Port
Nicholson Block Settlement Trust Kara PuketapuDentice, who was born and raised in Wainuio¯ mata, and belongs to Pipitea Marae, said the blatant disregard for tikanga over the duration of the protests and then the battle for Wainuio¯ mata was sickening.
He, like Rawiri and many Ma¯ ori across the country, also reviewed footage from the protests to see if he had any direct whakapapa (genealogical) links to those involved.
‘‘There was deep shame from a whole number of wha¯ nau who connected with us to apologise because they did see their wha¯ nau on those videos,’’ Puketapu-Dentice said.
‘‘And they apologised on behalf of their uri and their wha¯ nau for the actions, transgressions and the breaches from one of their own.
‘‘We received koha as well from wha¯ nau across the motu and Australia to try and restore that mana, and I’m glad to see that, whilst there were some who were actively trying to breach tikanga, there were also some who were actively trying to restore it.
‘‘So that was heartening to see.
‘‘But to do what they did totally undermined the code that we have as a people, that enables us to operate in a way of balance, in a way of utu (maintenance of balance), in goodwill and honour.
‘‘In many ways these people were quite lucky that they encountered us in a situation where we had the police and Ma¯ ori wardens there because if it was just us … the situation might have been different.’’
The anger at those that breached tikanga was felt across the nation and abroad.
In the final days of the protest, mana whenua laid Te Kahu o Te Raukura – a cloak of peace, which gave a spiritual protection over the whenua, the people of the area, and it also served as a strong warning to protesters about their responsibility as visitors.
It also calmed the fury being felt throughout
Ma¯ oridom, particularly for those ready to take matters into their own hands to seek justice for the breaches.
The situation on Parliament grounds had reached heights unseen and slight changes made to the ceremony went largely unnoticed to the untrained eye, however those that understood could see that mana whenua had laid down more than just a peaceful protection, it was a clear warning to protesters that one more breach would not be tolerated.
Once the cloak was laid, two days later police cleared the protesters from the whenua. Taranaki Wha¯ nui were not involved in that action, but had maintained regular contact around the policing of the protests while it was in progress.
‘‘My sense is that with the laying of Te Kahu o te Raukura, our words and our actions gave police the sense of social licence to do what they did,’’ Puketapu-Dentice said.
‘‘And we did speak with Police Commissioner Andrew Coster, and we said we didn’t want to see violence because we knew that if there was violence it would be our own uri, our own brown brothers and sisters on the front page, on the news and I didn’t want our wha¯ nau to be further painted in a bad light. It’s not fair, they’re just puppets of a Rightwing fascist machine.’’
Tikanga expert Professor Tom Roa says that when tikanga is breached it creates an imbalance.
‘‘So what do we do about it? Well (Taranaki
Wha¯ naui) have done a very spiritual, very proper
Ma¯ ori thing that is also Christian.
‘‘Their karakia was to restore a balance, to bring about something that will restore a balance … That might work for the land and for them as people of that land but what about the people that caused the imbalance and in that respect we have hohou rongo (to make peace after conflict).
‘‘The ones that have caused the imbalance, if they recognise that they have done something wrong they can participate and invite the hohou rongo which is a reconciliation, and they can seek forgiveness, and they meet with the people they have wronged and, in this case, on the land where they have committed the transgression and take responsibility.’’
Puketapu-Dentice said those that stormed marae and actively broke tikanga will be remembered for their actions.
‘‘I think there is an understanding amongst our people, that these individuals will carry the shame of this and unless they come back to restore that imbalance that they caused by breaking tikanga that shame will persist,’’ he said.
‘‘But our wha¯ nau are restorative people, and we welcome them back and will take them in if they wish to undertake that process. And we will teach them about our tikanga.
‘‘We want to fix, and support the fixing and the healing because once we do that, us the home people, our collective mana, our mauri is restored.
‘‘They are our uri (kin), and they are our wha¯ nau, and we have a collective responsibility in that healing process.’’
‘In all my years I have never seen tikanga so blatantly trampled like that, it was shocking to see. If we don’t protect our sacred practices and spaces, what is the point of it all? We have those customs for a reason. I still can’t get over the fact they could do that without worrying about the consequences.’ DEB MCIVOR