A whakapapa of resistance

for our futures that have persisted since 1840.

We share kai, sing, cry, dance and laugh, write poetry, make Tik-Toks with enviable co-ordination and boast the greatest manu competition in Aotearoa on that one-lane bridge.

As Ma¯ mari Stephens said, ‘‘New Zealand must never succumb again to a comfortable view of itself.’’

How we communicate such a scope of emotions, and how those complexities are received, is subject to a process of parochial, colonial distortion.

It’s a repeat offence, whereby Ma¯ ori are refused the right to be anything other than the agitator and the down buzz.

Our emotions are presented as an uncomfortable reminder to everyone that our land was stolen, our wai is polluted and our people have suffered the consequences of unimaginable violence.

The misappropriation of our anger has been used to assuage colonial guilt in this country, and to deny us what is rightfully ours.

The righteous expression of our anger has been bent to fit the will of the State; to justify this illegitimate, colonial project.

Sitting in discomfort is a difficult space to occupy, however. Waitangi Day is replete with Pa¯ keha¯ who would prefer Ma¯ ori were muzzled for ‘‘our’’ national day.

A day of buzzy bees, beers, beaches and barbecues; of unfettered and unchallenged patriotism.

The State-sponsored guarantee of comfort, free from guilt. Kiwis – whoever ascribes to that term – demand the right to signify a national identity that teeters on erosion with any response that isn’t celebratory. Our emotions are policed with ridicule.

Every Waitangi is both different, and much of the same. In my own experience, I go through waves of anger, sorrow and numbness.

I fantasise about a reality where He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti were honoured; where tino rangatiratanga reigns, the whenua is in our custody, our wai is clean, our children happy and healthy.

In this exercise, I remind myself that no matter how this day makes me feel – whatever emotions I might anticipate – I must continue in this struggle without end.

Caring for myself, as Audre Lorde wrote, ‘‘is an act of political warfare’’.

Only by caring for ourselves, attending to our emotions, can we better serve our communities.