The Parihaka Woman

by Witi Ihimaera

  ‘Te Whiti came to see Horitana again and his eyes were steely. “If the Pakeha thinks he can still come onto our land as if he owns it, we will go onto his as if we own it. I want you to gather the men and go out, this time with ploughs. I want to plough the belly of the government, and see how they like it.”’

  And so the Year of the Plough began, one morning when the wind was coming off Taranaki Mountain.

  Erenora watched as Horitana inspected teams of ploughmen, fifty in all, waiting with their bullock teams for the order to move out of Parihaka; after all, Te Whiti had asked for a display that showed he meant business. Indeed, so eager had been the men they had begun assembling before dawn, talking amiably to one another. Some were watching the sacred mountain: it always inspired and guided them. Others, like Ruakere, Rangiora and Whata, were farewelling their families before they left for the sacred work.

  Ripeka shivered and said to Paora, ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ And Meri, close to her delivery, told Riki, ‘Don’t forget that you’re going to be a father.’

  Erenora kissed Horitana on the cheek. ‘Are you sure I can’t come with you?’ she asked. How she wished she could be one of the ploughmen. ‘If I put my long hair up into a topknot, nobody would know.’

  Laughing, he chided her, ‘But I would know.’ He put his hands on the back of her neck and pulled her into an embrace — and she winced. Where Piharo had used his whip on her the skin had broken. Now healing but still hurting, the weals were like a crusted necklace.

  Erenora hid her pain. ‘Do your job, husband,’ she said, ‘and bring your brothers-in-law back to my sisters.’ She farewelled the bullocks too, calling, ‘And you, beloved companions, no shirking!’

  The bullocks stamped and bellowed, wanting to get on with it. Breath jetted from their nostrils. What noble, strong beasts they were, etched against the sky as it faded, lightened and became streaked with red. And then, lo and behold, ka ao, ka ao, ka awatea, the dawn came over the horizon.

  Horitana looked to Taranaki; it shone with morning light. ‘The mounga is watching,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  As the teams left Parihaka one of the ploughmen, Tonga Awhikau, began to sing a passionate waiata:

  ‘I te raa o mae’e ka iri kei te torona, ka mau taku ringa ki te parau e ’au nei te w’enua. Ka toro taku ringa ki te atua e tuu nei ko w’akatohe; ka puta te ’ae a te kaawana e tango nei w’enua e kore au e taaea, ’e uri noo Hoohepa, noo ngaa tuupuna. On a day in May I was suspended from the throne of God, my hand to the plough as it swept across the land. My hand, also extended to God, is resolute. The ill-feeling of the government emerges in the taking away of the land. It will not deter me, a descendant of Joseph by way of my ancestors!’

  The men whistled and stamped, urging the bullocks forward, ‘Timata! ’aere tatou!’ Dogs were barking as, slowly but surely, the bullocks dragged the gleaming ploughshares across the river and into Pakeha land.

  3.

  Te Whiti and Tohu’s ploughing campaign began. Dick Scott describes the reaction to that first ploughing, done at Oakura, in this way:

  The settler could not believe his eyes. Long furrows broke his grassland and a team of silent ploughmen was steadily extending the area of upturned soil. This was land only seven miles from New Plymouth, it had been in undisturbed European possession since the wars, the original owners, long ago killed or hunted off, had been forgotten. Courtney, the outraged farmer, rushed to stop them. But the Maori ploughmen who started work before sunrise at Oakura on the morning of 26 May 1879, serenely continued till dusk. And the next day was the same, and the next, until twenty acres were turned under.11

  In all of this we have to try to look into the prophet Te Whiti’s mind. Why provoke Premier Grey and Mr Bryce?

  The prophet’s answer was, ‘You want to come onto our land? See how you like it when we come onto yours!’

  Did the government have the right?

  In Te Whiti’s eyes, no, it did not, and he wanted to test that right.

  But was the prophet aware of the risk?

  I like to think so. His biblical vision saw the future of Parihaka in the long term. For instance, back in 1869, when he proclaimed the Takahanga, Maori freedom from Pakeha authority, he also prophesied two crises that Parihaka would have to suffer before the final phase of the kainga’s resurrection and harvest.

  The first of these was Akarama, otherwise known as the Aceldama, the transaction of Judas Iscariot, when Parihaka would be betrayed.

  Was Premier Grey — or was Bryce — Judas Iscariot?

  ‘Every day,’ Erenora wrote, ‘our plough teams went out in the bright mornings and returned safe through the twilight. I could always tell, even before seeing the teams, that Horitana and our men were on their way home. How? Our beloved companions, eager to get back to the kainga, would set up a bellowing and trumpeting loud enough to deafen the world. And there would be our men, trying to keep them under control, laughing as the bullocks pulled them over hill and down dale.

  ‘As soon as they arrived, I would say to the tataraki’i, “Quickly, unyoke the bullocks from their traces and take them to the stream.” You had to be fast because those noble animals wanted to be fed and watered and never liked to wait. While the tataraki’i washed and scrubbed them, I moved among their number patting them and inspecting their hooves but also upbraiding them. “You are all becoming like my husband,” I growled at them, “accustomed to the pleasures of a bath after a hard day’s work.” Oh, how they loved being washed and brushed down and, just like Horitana, they shivered with sensuous delight. And they knew I didn’t mean my grumpy words. After all, did I not also whisper my thanks to them, reaffirm the w’akapapa between us and the times of travail when they sheltered the more’u while we were building Parihaka?

  ‘A week later, however, I saw that Horitana was becoming worried for the safety of the ploughmen. He came down to the stream one afternoon to stand beside me and wash the bullocks. The tataraki’i were clambering among the noble beasts, climbing onto their backs and diving into the stream. “We continue to take the Pakeha by surprise,” Horitana said, “but, now, they are beginning to arrive where we are ploughing to stop us.”

  ‘I pressed his hand. “They must have scouts watching the kainga,” I answered. “It won’t be long before …” I began to tremble. I did not want to think about the possibility of the Akarama or to show Horitana how afraid I was. Suddenly, I was sprayed with water as one of the children jumped close to me, and that saved me from showing my concern. “You meant that!” I laughed. But I couldn’t help fearing the coming of any conflict as Horitana and the teams expanded their ploughing.

  ‘They went onto settler-occupied land along the coast between Pukearuhe and Hawera. At Manaia the great chief Wiremu Kingi Te Matakatea and his Ngati Haumiti followers joined them. Now approaching his eighties, “The Clear-Eyed One” was sick of waiting for the government to give him back his land.’

  The conflict mounted as Pakeha settlers demanded immediate action. They held boisterous meetings and organised vigilante groups, and Pakeha tempers soared sharply to war-mongering fever pitch.

  One newspaper of the time wrote:

  Perhaps, all things considered, the present difficulty will be one of the greatest blessings New Zealand ever experienced, for without doubt it will be a war of extermination … The time has come, in our minds, when New Zealand must strike for freedom, and this means the death-blow to the Maori race!12

  And do you remember Harry Atkinson, ex-premier and now in opposition? At a public meeting on 7 June, he was reported in the Taranaki Herald as taking up the same theme, clearly keeping his enmity against Maori alive. ‘He hoped,’ the newspaper told its readers, ‘if war did come, the natives would be exterminated.’

  Undeterred, Horitana followed Te Whiti’s command to stay on the job. He and the ploughmen well knew the risk that they might be subject to lynch mobs. If some were shot, Tohu counselled them: ‘Gather up the earth on which the blood h
as spilt, and bring it to Parihaka.’

  It almost came to that. ‘Someone could have been killed today,’ Horitana told Erenora one night, his face creased and drawn. ‘Why does the government remain silent? Surely it is time for them to negotiate with us over the land. Instead they allow the settlers to organise themselves and outnumber us. And today, for the first time, they arrived bearing arms. They had a flag and, when they came upon us, they took up a skirmishing line with loaded rifles at the ready. I saw murder in their eyes but as they advanced I shouted to the boys, “Keep going. Ignore them.” Their line came right up to our furrows and, when they reached where we were ploughing, the settlers stood and raised their rifles. The others behind them knelt for the reload.

  ‘I went over to their boss and said, as calmly as I could, “We will finish our job at five o’clock.” I could tell that he was on the knife edge. I added quietly, “We’re unarmed and you wouldn’t want to kill unarmed men, would you?” Although his men called out to him with scorn, “Don’t listen to the black bugger,” he nodded — he didn’t want blood on his hands. So we continued under their watchful and angry gaze for an hour. Then we packed up and left, but I don’t know how long before the settlers lose their heads.’

  Erenora kissed him. ‘Everything will be all right,’ she said. She tried to be brave but she trembled for him.

  Not long after that, Horitana went out again with the ploughmen. He was not to know that the land he had chosen to work that day belonged to Piharo. This time, the ploughing was opposed with great belligerence and stopped. All the ploughmen were beaten and tied up.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Piharo smiled when his farm manager brought Horitana under guard before him, ‘how kind of you to pay me a visit.’

  He ordered Horitana and the other ploughmen to be detained, pending arrest. The constabulary arrived to charge them.

  ‘This time the law is, indeed, on my side,’ Piharo said.

  And the Akarama began.

  4.

  On that evening, Erenora was at Meri’s house.

  Meri’s baby had arrived. When he slithered into the arms of the midwife, who was Huhana, she cried out, ‘A son for the tribe!’ Tenderly, she blessed the babe and placed him in Meri’s arms. He wailed lustily, waving his fists in the air.

  ‘We will name him Kawa,’ Meri said.

  Suddenly the women heard shouting outside. ‘Something’s happened,’ Erenora said. She ran to the doorway and saw other wives and girlfriends gathering to look down the road where Te Whao, one of the ploughmen, was running towards them. When he saw Erenora he yelled, ‘Horitana and the others have been arrested.’ All these nights Erenora had known that this could happen. Now, the realisation that Horitana wasn’t coming home tonight — and might not come home tomorrow night or the night after — made her double up with physical loss.

  ‘Look after Meri,’ she said to Huhana and Ripeka. ‘I’m going into New Plymouth to find out what is happening.’ She saddled one of the village’s fastest horses and was soon on her way.

  As she approached the outskirts of the town some Pakeha, who had been celebrating the arrests, halted her. ‘Here’s one that we didn’t serve with a warrant, lads!’ one of the men laughed. He tried to grab the reins. ‘Take your hands off my stallion,’ Erenora warned him. When he didn’t obey, she commanded the horse, ‘Kei runga!’ It reared, its hooves flashing, and he and his friends scattered.

  Sweating from the wild ride, she arrived at the gaol. As she forced her way through the crowd she saw that Te Whiti and a few other elders had arrived before her to remonstrate on behalf of the ploughmen. ‘Aue, Erenora,’ the prophet greeted her. ‘It is the Akarama after all. So be it.’ The hostility was palpable as she walked into the building with him. ‘What is the charge? ’ Te Whiti asked.

  ‘Malicious injury, forcible entry and riot,’ was the answer.

  ‘Can we see our men?’

  Erenora’s heart was thundering as she followed Te Whiti and the elders to the compound where the prisoners were held; among them was Horitana. ‘What have they done to you?’ she moaned. His face was bruised and blackened.

  Although Horitana saw her alarm, he tried to smile. ‘I was only doing my job,’ he teased. He traced the red marks on her neck, now fully healed; how he had wept when applying kawakawa oil to soothe Erenora’s pain. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he continued, ‘for I have been cast into the pit before and do not fear the darkness.’

  But Erenora had good reason to be concerned. As well as the charge for the ploughing, the old matter of the bounty on Horitana’s head might be raised.

  If it was, what would happen to him?

  Erenora went to the New Plymouth Resident Magistrate’s Court a second time when the forty ploughmen were charged for malicious injury to property.

  I beg your pardon? Surely it was the surveyors who should be put on trial for maliciously injuring the land itself.

  Meri had insisted on being in the courtroom. When Riki was charged, he gave her a wan smile. She held up Kawa so that Riki could see him. ‘Yes … our son,’ she called to him. Riki’s face shone with pride. How he wanted to hold the babe.

  The charges were read out. Horitana responded with a fierce declaration. ‘My weapons were ploughshares,’ he said, ‘but yours were firearms.’

  The ploughmen were returned to their cells to await sentencing.

  In the interim, settlers showed their satisfaction that justice was being served. Listen to the editor of the Taranaki Herald:

  If it should come to fighting then we have very little hesitation in saying the struggle will be a short one, and afterwards this district will never more receive a check to its progress from the same cause.13

  5.

  You’d have thought that such a remark was a signal that any further Maori ploughing would end in certain death. But Te Whiti and Tohu had nerves of steel; the Akarama might be at hand but, until the government itself gave a response about the legality of the ploughing, the protest would carry on.

  ‘Although your brothers are in gaol,’ Te Whiti said to the men of Parihaka, ‘take the bullock teams out. Do as your brothers have done.’

  No matter that every new team was arrested, another team took their place. By 5 July ninety men were in custody — this time Te Whao was among them — and the next day 105. Within three months, 200 men had been arrested.

  On one matter, how the settlers must have fumed.

  Why didn’t the Maori take up arms? If they did, then there would be just cause to raise their rifles and fire on them all. Instead, all Te Whiti and Tohu’s followers did was offer themselves up for arrest! And Te Whiti, too, kept out of reach.

  ‘If any man molests me,’ he said, ‘I will talk with my weapon — the tongue. I will not resist the soldiers if they come, I would gladly let them crucify me.’

  But the Pakeha had their day in court on 26 July with the sentencing of the first forty imprisoned ploughmen.

  For the third time, Erenora attended the courthouse with Te Whiti and other elders. ‘I want you to accompany me,’ he told her; how proud she was of his regard for her. She shielded the prophet as they entered the courtroom and abuse was hurled at him. ‘It should be you on trial, Tay Witty,’ a settler called, ‘but we’ll get you.’

  The party passed through the crowd to the public gallery where Erenora took a seat. Across the courtroom she caught sight of Piharo, the fair-haired gentleman settler. In a mocking manner he took off his hat and bowed his head to her. It was the first time she had seen him since the whipping and she was not prepared for … his face. Now it was marked by a series of parallel scars across his eyes and nose. And despite the skill of the surgeon who had attended him, nothing would ever repair the loose flap that now functioned as his left eyelid.

  Quickly Erenora turned away and tried to keep calm as the first batch of twenty-five prisoners was brought into the courtroom; Horitana, Riki and Paora were not among them.

  Settlers in the courtroom began bayi
ng for blood. ‘Give them the noose!’ they cried.

  The presiding magistrate found the twenty-five ploughmen to have caused damage estimated at 5 shillings. Was that all? Then surely they would only have to pay the fine to be let go. Instead, ‘You are sentenced to two months’ hard labour in Dunedin Gaol,’ the magistrate said. ‘You are also required to pay £200 bail to ensure that on your return to Parihaka you maintain good behaviour for a period of no less than ten months.’

  Who had £200? ‘Nobody?’ the magistrate asked. ‘In that case, you are all sentenced to hard labour for a year.’ A loud wailing arose among the Maori women in the courtroom; this was tantamount to a sentence of death.

  ‘Hip, hip, hoo-raah!’ the locals roared. It might not be the noose but it was good enough.

  The remaining prisoners were brought to the dock. Erenora saw Horitana, Riki and Paora among their number. When she gained Horitana’s attention he smiled at her. Cast aside your fears, Erenora, and don’t be sad. I will always look after you.

  And then came the sentencing. ‘You will all be taken to Wellington and there you will be held without trial,’ the magistrate said.

  The words flowed over Erenora. She swayed with puzzlement and her head started buzzing. ‘That can’t be right,’ she said to Te Whiti. ‘Held without trial?’

  The magistrate went on to explain that, to accommodate the prisoners, the military barracks at Mount Cook, a rise on the outskirts of the city, would be removed and the site prepared for a gaol. ‘Hip, hip, hoo-raah!’ the settlers cried.