I’m talking about the era which began when Henry Albert Atkinson, known as Harry Atkinson, came to power as tenth Premier of New Zealand, albeit initially for only one year, from 1876 to 1877. In my opinion he was the worst of the land-grabbing leaders of our country. His curriculum vitae contained, for instance, a stint as one of the two captains of the Taranaki Rifle Volunteers formed from the settlers to defend New Plymouth when it was surrounded by Maori in the first round of the Taranaki fighting. He made no secret of the fact that he thought we were ‘savages’.
Then the period’s hostility to Taranaki Maori escalated when Sir George Grey, who had left New Zealand to serve as Governor of Cape Colony, returned and reinvented himself in New Zealand politics. He ousted Atkinson and took over as the eleventh premier, from 1877 to 1879. Under Grey, the government disclosed its hand: it rolled out its plans for the complete takeover of Taranaki, looking inward from the coast to that territory which Maori had claimed as theirs.
The moment had come for surgical removal.
You know, I think both sides were lucky that the resolution of land matters had moved from active military conflict between us. Otherwise, more blood would have been shed. One wonders why the government did not continue the conflagration?
I’ve heard that it simply couldn’t afford the cost of maintaining the British Army — the koti w’ero, redcoats, and the koti puru, bluecoats — in Aotearoa. And it has to be said that men of conscience, speaking within Parliament and without, put the brakes on any further fighting: were Maori not members of the brotherhood of man?
That, however, may have slowed Premier Grey down, but it did not stop him entirely. After all, he had the economic woes of the country to think about: 1877 was a year of depression in New Zealand, and what better way of solving some of the financial problems than by going after land that wasn’t yet in the Pakeha pocket? Like that interesting Maori territory in Taranaki. It could be worth up to half a million sterling.
And, by that time, the government had begun to institute a different kind of ‘army’: a heavily armed police force known as the Armed Constabulary, supported by settler volunteers.
The Grey Cabinet moved quickly to advocate the survey and sale of the land by force.
In July 1878 the surveyors, that perennial metaphor for provocation, were ordered in. What had once been a demilitarised zone now became active, and although the land’s ownership was still disputed, the Pakeha acted as if he owned it. Te Whiti and Tohu immediately protested, but the Crown went ahead with the surveying and then advertised 16,000 acres for sale.
Te Whiti took immediate action. After all, the ark was being assaulted.
5 Bernard Gadd, ‘The Teachings of Te Whiti O Rongomai, 1831–1907’, Journal of the Polynesian Society, 1966, Vol. 75, No. 4, p. 448. Te Whiti’s quotation is cited from G.W. Rusden, A History of New Zealand, 3 vols, Chapman & Hall, 1883, Vol. 3, p. 259.
6 Gadd, ‘Teachings’, p. 449. Quotations are cited, in order, from New Zealand Herald, 18 October 1881; Rusden, History, Vol. 3, p. 291.
CHAPTER SEVEN
What Was Wrong with a Maori Republic?
1.
By the way, do you know the European artist Gustave Doré’s 1873 engraving called The New Zealander?
It’s a somewhat surreal, dystopian illustration from London: a Pilgrimage by Blanchard Jerrold, and it shows a black-caped man looking upon that great city in the future, a London in decay, rotting and dying.
Christopher Woodward has an interesting interpretation of Doré’s engraving:
The wizard-like figure … is a traveller from New Zealand, for to many Victorians this young colony seemed to represent the dominant civilisation of the future. He sits on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St Paul’s, exactly as Victorian Englishmen sketched those of ancient Rome.7
I’ve often pondered Doré’s engraving and Woodward’s commentary and wondered … what, if anything, would have made New Zealand that dominant civilisation? Sometimes, in my reply, it has been difficult for me to restrain my passion as I think of those first Pakeha leaders of ours.
If only they had come not to conquer but to partner Maori in some bold and innovative experiment which built on the making of a greater Britannia or Albion — call it what you will — here, on the other side of the world. Might not fabled Erewhon, a country created out of the legacies of two proud and fierce peoples — one Pakeha and the other Polynesian — have arisen to challenge Europa’s supremacy?
Just think what might have been, had that Victorian expectation referred to by Woodward been fulfilled, eh?
2.
Bloody surveyors!
You know, whenever I’m driving around Taranaki and I see any surveyors standing by the side of a road, I want to run them over. They provoked the conflict everywhere in Aotearoa. And they had no business here in Taranaki, stabbing their theodolites into the ground in the Waitara, pinning out the whole land as if it was an animal skin.
I’m sorry, I apologise … Sometimes it is difficult for me to restrain my rhetoric and passion.
The Grey administration became really worried about Te Whiti. Its concern developed because under the prophet’s leadership Parihaka was becoming the centre of a new Maori republic. It had already become the largest and most prosperous kainga in the land and its many tribal meetings were forever increasing in size, sometimes past the usual 3,000 to, at times, 5,000.
The figures won’t mean much unless I give you a couple of reference points from the 1881 census, even though it was still three years away. For instance, the census listed the total number of Pakeha in New Zealand at 489,702 and the total number of Maori at 44,099. That meant that up to 9 per cent of Maori in the country were meeting at Parihaka whenever there were significant ’ui. And if we look at the population of Taranaki, which was 14,852, any comparison with the figures of Maori living at the citadel must have made for alarming reading. After all, the population of New Plymouth itself was only 3,326.
The large gatherings could mean only one thing: Parihaka was also becoming a Maori ‘parliament’ and — the news just kept getting worse — a diplomatic precinct for Maoridom. A comparison with the Holy See of Rome wouldn’t be inappropriate. Waikato sent twelve apostles to live at the kainga. Other tribes stationed emissaries to function as ambassadors at the court of Parihaka; there were at least nine such diplomatic missions, with their own meeting houses and dwellings.
I’ll make no bones about it: merely mentioning the citadel was enough to sound loud alarm bells among the Pakeha populace. Thus Parihaka began to be demonised as the greatest threat to Pakeha progress in Aotearoa, ever. Why, it even had its own bank because, remarkably, Te Whiti had turned the citadel from a self-sustaining economy into an income-generating kainga.
The main item of trade was flax, the swamps were full of it, and gangs went daily to harvest and sell it to flax mills — in the 1870s there were over 160 mills nationwide and most in nearby Manawatu. The mills made the flax into rope and other fibre products for export to the UK and Australia; there was also huge demand from Maori tribes, who bought the flax for clothing and other domestic purposes.
Te Whiti and Tohu also built on the model of Warea by reestablishing trade in agricultural produce to both Maori and Pakeha. After all, they now had a vigorous horticultural industry centred on their plantations. Not all Pakeha were against them and, if they were, they turned a blind eye because the prices were competitive. The quality of the kainga’s agricultural produce was often better than that of other suppliers.
Further money for Parihaka’s coffers came from villagers’ contributions by way of regular tithe. March, for instance, was a month when they would work on farms outside Parihaka, and all the wages they earned were given to support the citadel.
And of course ko’a — voluntary monetary funds — from the many Maori visitors added to Parihaka’s wealth. Outside tribes like Whanganui Muaupoko raised funds for Parihaka, and among individual contributors wer
e Taare Waitara and Raniera Erihana, from Dunedin. The latter, also known as Dan Ellison, was a cousin of Te Whiti and, unusual for the time, a wealthy Maori. He had made his money when he and Hakaraia Haeroa discovered gold on the Shotover River. Te Whiti gave Erihana a white feather, which he wore in his hat and, because he travelled so frequently on the ferry from the South Island to Taranaki and back, he became known as ‘The Man with a White Feather in his Hat’.
The press went into hysteria mode, voicing fears about ‘The Enemy Within’. Inflammatory rumours abounded that armaments, ammunition and gunpowder were being stored for the sole purpose of creating a Maori Nation within the nation. And, of course, Te Whiti and Tohu were labelled deluded fanatics; all prophets, no matter where they were in the British Empire, were dismissed in this way. After all, if they were reasonable men, surely they would embrace all the benefits of British citizenship? They were called ‘dangerous’, ‘a disturbing element’, ‘madmen’, ‘monomaniacs’.
There was no way in which Te Whiti or Tohu would have known the full extent of the Pakeha paranoia. They may have heard the disquiet and alarm but, as far as they were concerned, they were simply living on their own land. And there in that world, their followers continued to enshrine and elevate them as mangai, mouthpieces of God.
What a world it was! Ancient, temporal and spiritual, Maori and biblical and, as Rachel Buchanan has splendidly put it, ‘saturated in the divine’. She has written that there the prophets practised:
a righteous non-violence backed by divine authority and protected by a sacred emblem, the raukura or albatross feather. The albatross feather had at least two meanings. According to one account, Tohu had a vision in which Melchizedec, the biblical prince of peace, appeared before him, anointing him as leader. In other stories, many Parihaka people saw a great albatross descend on the village and when it took off, it left a feather behind.8
The Holy Spirit had come down from heaven and sanctioned the development of Parihaka as a citadel of peace and sacredness. As had been written in the Book of Revelation, Maori would maintain rightful occupancy of their promised land.
Was the government’s — or rather Native Affairs Minister John Bryce’s — action in sending in surveyors intentional? My oath it was!
By responding to the provocation, were Te Whiti and Tohu playing into Bryce’s hands, giving him the excuse to get rid of them?
Possibly, but what alternative was there?
3.
‘I remember the evening’, Erenora wrote, ‘when Te Whiti came to our w’are to talk with Horitana about the invasion of the Pakeha surveyors.
‘It was raining softly and I was making the evening meal when he arrived. It was always an honour to have the prophet in our house. I took his coat and hat and motioned him into the warmth. “Won’t you stay and have dinner with us?” I asked him. He looked in the pot, sniffed the stew and said yes.’
Erenora ladled out the stew. Te Whiti said grace and then began to eat.
‘The Pakeha are cutting their lines in the ground,’ he said after a while, looking squarely into Horitana’s eyes. ‘If that is a challenge, I shall accept it. I want you to take a squad and stop them. Only men of mana are to go with you.’
Since his baptism, Te Whiti had elevated Horitana to a position as a protector of Parihaka. All the men in the village had rejoiced in the decision because not only could Horitana look after himself; he would look after them. And he had experience in handling dangerous situations.
‘The land is mine and I do not admit the Pakeha’s right to survey it,’ Te Whiti continued. ‘My blanket is mine! Think you it would be right for them to try to drag it from my body and clothe themselves with it?’
Listening in, Erenora could only agree with the prophet. ‘The Pakeha doesn’t care that the Maori moko has been tattooed here long before they came,’ she began, laying her spoon down. ‘We can’t let them continue to engrave their own moko over ours.’
Te Whiti was accustomed to Erenora saying her piece. He winked at Horitana, who kicked his wife under the table, but she would not heed him.
‘And it is not only the w’enua — cultivations, burial grounds, villages or grass seed crops — that’s at risk,’ she continued. ‘There’s also the danger to our w’akapapa, for it is the umbilical cord between the past and the present which is being shredded by the surveyors’ lines. If Pakeha continue to do that, the enriching blood of the pito, the afterbirth, will drain away and what therefore will give life to the generations yet to come?’
The prophet smiled at her as he finished his stew. ‘Maybe you should be the one to go out and stop the surveyors?’
Erenora coloured, a little embarrassed, but Te Whiti patted her hand. ‘Kei te pai, Erenora, your words are food for thought.’ He pondered them, and then turned to Horitana again. ‘I do not want you to take weapons with you. You are not to use arms against the surveyors.’
‘How will I be able to get them to stop?’ Horitana asked. ‘What if they fire on us?’
‘Let them do what they do,’ Te Whiti answered. ‘I am telling you what we do. The land is ours and I do not admit their right to survey it. You will find a way.’
The next morning, Horitana selected his squad. The rain had stopped but the clouds were hanging heavy in the sky. The group of men was large, perhaps seventy, including Paora and Riki and others like Te Whao, Ruakere, Rangiora and Whata.
Meri was unhappy that Horitana had chosen Riki. Swollen with child, she needed him. As the men rode out, she shouted after him, ‘Don’t do anything foolish.’
Ripeka elbowed her impishly. ‘You should talk,’ she said.
Meri was still upset. ‘Horitana should never have picked Riki,’ she said to Erenora. ‘If anything happens to him, it will be your husband’s fault.’
But, as it happened, when the squad had their first encounter with the surveyors, Horitana won the day because of the intimidating number of men with him. He had also decided, in talking to the surveyors, to try not to provoke, but to use reason and be firm.
The squad rode up to one of the surveyor camps, and Horitana called for the chief surveyor, a Mr Charles Finnerty. ‘Friend,’ he said, ‘you and your men are trespassing. We have therefore come to pull up your survey pegs, take down your theodolites and …’ with a twinkle in his eye ‘… if you would be so good as to dismantle your tents, we shall escort you safely back to your land.’
The surveyors may have objected but they were also obedient. It was all very reasonable and done without incident.
Came the dusk, however, and Erenora was in such a nervous state, worrying about the men. She ran with Ripeka and Meri to the road to watch for their return. A phrase in German came to her lips.
‘Ich hab auf Gott und Recht vertrauen,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I trust in God and Right.’
The tataraki’i waited with the women, silent, but when the men appeared, oh, their commotion was deafening. Meri was so melodramatic, running towards Riki and wailing as if he had been away for years. All the women were making a fuss of their men, even Ripeka of her Paora, but Erenora held back. Even though Horitana had brought her a gift of some surveyors’ pegs she said, ‘Husband, you were only doing your job.’
As soon as she said the words, Erenora realised she should have been more forthcoming with her praise. Sometimes, however, her love for Horitana was so huge that rather than show it she limited its expression, especially in public. And Te Whiti was correct that she should have been the one to go out and lead the men: she was as good as any of them.
Later that evening, she saw that Horitana was still hurt by her slight. He excused himself after dinner, went outside with his axe and began chopping the surveyors’ pegs into kindling. Erenora followed and stood watching him. The night sky was immense and full of wheeling constellations. All there was to disturb the silence was the sound of Horitana at work, cutting through the night. After a while he looked at Erenora and smiled shyly. ‘The pegs will make a good fire,’ he
said.
‘I’m so glad,’ she answered, ‘that you did your job well, husband, and that you’ve come back to me.’
‘I will always come back to you, Erenora, always,’ he said. ‘Who else do we have in our lives except each other?’
Then followed a long period when, every morning, Erenora and her sisters would farewell their men: ‘’aere ra ki runga o te kaka’u aro’a o te Atua. Go under the cloak of God’s love.’
Erenora had spoken to Horitana about Riki, and, initially, he had commanded him, ‘No, not you, e ’oa.’ But would Riki stay behind? No. ‘Men will always do what they wish,’ Erenora sighed, threading an arm through Meri’s. The women watched the men riding away through the reddening dawn.
During the day Horitana’s squad removed more parties of surveyors. Sometimes they used packhorses and drays so as to quickly and efficiently escort them out of their lands. By nightfall the womenfolk would be waiting eagerly for the men’s return. Nor was Meri’s continuing nervousness any help: ‘Maybe something has happened to them.’ But Erenora would finally see Horitana leading the party back through the twilight and, as always, she continued to try to hide her overwhelming feelings.
Nevertheless, one evening, she asked him, ‘Have you done your job today, husband?’
‘As well as I think my wife would have wanted me to,’ he said with a grin.