Miriama Aoake

My sister called from Lisbon on Thursday in tears. This time last year, she was in Waitangi with a close friend. The distance between her, and home, felt more pronounced this week.

The swell of Ma¯ ori communities that descend on the Far North during the week is akin to a pilgrimage.

It is a deeply political time that evokes a mixed bag of emotions.

Election year feels like the Wacky Races.

In my head, Simon Bridges is always Dick Dastardly. He wagers the race on some cheap hack, it backfires, he loses any traction made and places last.

Somewhere off to the side, Winston is sniggering like Muttley.

Jacinda Ardern is shrewd as Penelope Pitstop, cognisant of public perception and how to deploy it to her advantage – political or otherwise.

James Shaw is Professor Pat

Pending, driving the Convert-a-Car. Marama runs her own show.

The optics of Waitangi and Ra¯ tana are heightened during an election year, and every MP politicises these events to their advantage.

Some have called for the depoliticisation of Waitangi – while attending in an official, political capacity – which is ironic at best.

Whether MPs admit this openly, or commit the act in a deft and graceful manner, is their prerogative.

Waitangi has always been, and remains, inherently political. It is a day that provokes reflection, and with that, a range of emotions.

Still, so many remain perplexed at the spectrum of emotions expressed by Ma¯ ori at Waitangi.

There is an enduring sense of pride that comes with a whakapapa of resistance which continues to demand that we honour Te Tiriti and He Whakaputanga.

There is anger, mamae and a profound sadness that rips across Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa and beyond.

We commemorate our tu¯ puna, those who have walked and led before us; their hopes

Waitangi Day is replete with Pa¯ keha¯ who would prefer Ma¯ ori were muzzled for ‘our’ national day.