The aunty who won’t let racism Rob her ATM
After the March 15 terror attack, a collective of 800 New Zealanders drew together nationwide to strategise against hate. One of them was Raglan woman Lucy Haru-Ruhi. Florence Kerr shares her story.
Lucy Haru-Ruhi lives by the ATM philosophy: awhi, tautoko and manaaki: embrace, support and respect. It’s a philosophy that borrows its acronym from a money machine, but the currency exchanged is love and a sense of community.
And it is evident that Haru-Ruhi gives as good as she gets, and many have felt its full force.
Soaking in the afternoon rays on the deck of the Raglan community house where she volunteers, Haru-Ruhi says the ATM concept boils down to making people feel heard and a sense of belonging.
Whether she is at her marae, Poiha¯ kena, volunteering at the Raglan Community House helping locals find the right services, or on the other side of the globe volunteering in developing countries, Haru-Ruhi always takes time to listen.
‘‘Some people that come in here to the community house are just looking to sit and talk with someone. They want someone to listen to them and some just want a cup of tea,’’ Haru-Ruhi says.
‘‘And sometimes the best advice is no advice. I just make them a cup of tea and listen.’’
It’s a philosophy that was ingrained in her from a young age, growing up in Te A¯ kau, 40 minutes north of Raglan.
Haru-Ruhi was one of 15 children: six boys and nine girls. Eight are alive today.
Home life was busy on the small Te A¯ kau sheep farm, the family lived off the land, had a big vegetable garden and chickens, their home would sometimes become a makeshift marae for Ma¯ ori in Te A¯ kau.
‘‘Our house became the marae because we didn’t have a marae in our little town,’’ she says.
‘‘We had a big shed and could hold hui or tangi. Despite having our people at our house my mother wouldn’t let us stay home. Education was important to her.’’
Haru-Ruhi says the sense of belonging was instilled in her by her mother and father Waiapu Rongo and
John Te Kauteka Haru-Pereka, and her kuia Herepo Rongo, a woman renowned in Raglan for her involvement in Ma¯ ori land rights.
And growing up Ma¯ ori for Haru-Ruhi in the 1960s meant leaning into her wha¯ nau when she was introduced to racism as a child, a problem she and many Ma¯ ori would encounter throughout their lives.
Leaning back in her chair outside the community house, Haru-Ruhi’s gaze drifts into the distance as she recalls walking the long distance to her small country school in Te A¯ kau – rain, hail, and shine.
It was the 1960s and the Haru-Ruhi children used to catch the school bus, but the racist taunts became too much.
‘‘I remember us being poked by these older Pa¯ keha kids, and they would tell us we were ‘just dumb Ma¯ oris’,’’ she says.
‘‘I remember sitting there thinking: what have I done to deserve this? I couldn’t understand what was happening, I remember thinking that this must be some kind of initiation to test whether we would want to go to school.
‘‘After enduring this for a while, we chose to walk the three miles to school. It was easier than going through that every day.’’
She admits to being a bookworm and devouring every book she could get her hands on – she even loved encyclopaedias.
She excelled at school because of her diligence, and it was that work ethic that saw her top the school in a geography test.
The initial experience of being top of the class was exciting for 10-year-old Haru-Ruhi. That
excitement soon turned to pain, one that would manifest itself in different ways as she grew up.
‘‘I remember after the test feeling really pleased, especially when the headmaster said he wanted me to come up in front of the school, which is where he would tell us all our marks. Usually, the kid that gets called up topped the test, I just thought that is really kind, and then, boom, he goes: ‘She cheated’.
‘‘That’s how I found out I got 20/20 in my test, the brainiest kid got 19 out of 20 and the headmaster’s daughter got 18 out of 20. He accused me of cheating… that was my first experience of racism at the hands of an adult.’’
According to the Human Rights Commission annual report for the 2019/20-year racism is still one of the top complaints it receives.
‘‘I came face-to-face with our street kids and I thought to myself, I can really help here, and I’m gonna have to be number one amongst my own crowd.’’ Lucy Haru-Ruhi
The latest report shows there were 1445 complaints of discrimination, 383 were racerelated.
On average the commission receives more racerelated complaints than any other. It is closely followed by discrimination based on disability, then sex.
Haru-Ruhi says race discrimination against Ma¯ ori is something that is all too common and has lasting effects. Her experience left her cautious.
‘‘Unfortunately that incident with my headmaster taught me not to aim too high, or I would just get chopped down. That’s what I learned from that experience… so whatever I attempted to do in the future I always made sure to stay in the top five... but never number one.’’
The experience would be one of many that HaruRuhi would shape her life, and while she credits her upbringing for giving her the strength to endure it, she also says the racism she faced fuelled the fire within her to help her people.
Inside the community house, Hari-Ruhi reveals she has been vegan for more than a year. The change in diet has been beneficial to her health and the boil-up pot has more vegetables instead of meat. It’s still a Ma¯ ori delicacy she still enjoys, it’s the motumotu (dough boy) that make it great, she reckons.
Although retired, Haru-Ruhi is still working around the clock – whether it’s teaching her Ma¯ ori language and ukulele classes, volunteering at the community house or visiting those that are sick in the community – and she also cycles and walks daily.
Haru-Ruhi has no children of her own, she has nieces and nephews by the dozen; the last count surpassed 50.
She said her desire to travel and explore the world outweighed the desire to settle down and have a family, but she knew she had a knack with young children.
Haru-Ruhi has worked across the Auckland and Waikato regions since the 1980s, which include advocating for street kids in South Auckland, becoming a childcare teacher, and travelling to developing countries.
Six years ago she spent time in the Indian state of Punjab to help set up the cultural equivalent of ko¯ hanga reo there.
Before becoming a childcare teacher, Haru-Ruhi worked with Ma¯ ori and Pasifika youth who had fallen between the gaps.
It was the early 1980s and the teens were experiencing racism in subtle forms.
Haru-Ruhi knew that to better advocate for the teens she needed to overcome what happened at Te A¯ kau Primary School many years earlier.
‘‘I came face-to-face with our street kids and I thought to myself, I can really help here, and I’m gonna have to be number one amongst my own crowd,’’ she said.
‘‘I thought I’m safe in this situation because I’m amongst my own… I learned how to excel in my own culture.’’
Since then Haru-Ruhi has continued to face racism in subtle forms, but it never tainted her lust for life.
In one instance while working at a childcare centre she was mistaken for a cleaner by a mother she was trying to assist to enrol her child.
‘‘I just keep that in the back of my mind and thought yep, racism is still alive. I can laugh about that now but back then I was like, far out it’s 2000.’’
So how do you refrain from being angry about it?
‘‘Simple’’, Haru-Ruhi says, ‘‘it starts with forgiveness.’’
She said she experienced the act of forgiveness as a 12-year-old and that lesson helped shape the way she is today. She allows these experiences to make her better, not bitter.
She credits her people, her culture and her Christian faith for helping her through the dark times as well as relishing the good.
Haru-Ruhi said knowing who you are, and where you come from helps her face all struggles. The sense of belonging has meant she has never felt like a stranger on her land despite the experiences.
‘‘My whakapapa is the number one thing… because I know who I am, and I know where I’m from and because of those two things, I know where I’m going,’’ she said.
‘‘And I think a lot of kids today, some of them lost their whakapapa – not all, just some – and that’s why ko¯ hanga reo is such a vital resource to start recognising and coming back again to where you belong.’’
Finishing her shift at the community house, Haru-Ruhi heads to her home on the outskirts of Raglan. Her weatherboard home on wha¯ nau land has housed many wha¯ nau hui, parties and activism for more than a century.
It belonged to her kuia, Herepo Rongo, whose face, alongside Eva Rickard, will forever be etched in New Zealand history as a formidable woman, who fought to have their ancestral land returned.
The land had been taken during WWII as an airstrip and then turned into a golf course. It was eventually returned in the 1980s. Rongo died aged 99.
It’s a strong lineage to be born into, and one Haru-Ruhi says is empowering: it taught her the love of their people and the love of their land.
Despite the racism, she has never felt alienated from her community, and it hasn’t dulled her life’s purpose: to be in service of others.
She credits her wha¯ nau for anchoring her to her whenua.
‘‘The land is the only stable thing. People come people go, but the land stays,’’ she said.
‘‘That’s one thing I’m very grateful that my parents taught me, the sustainability of papatu¯ a¯ nuku: you look after the land and it will look after you. You’re just looking after it, you are just the kaitiaki. It’s not yours, you just look after it. So I’m really glad my parents taught me that and knowing where I come from and knowing who I was, has helped me over those years, even through the racial prejudice.’’
As she makes her way outside to grab her bike to head out to the beach, Haru-Ruhi reflects on the ATM philosophy. It creates better communities, she says.
‘‘There is a saying that I like: If you take the ‘f’ out of life, you’re left with a lie, and I refuse to live a lie, pretty much.’’