Potiki

by Patricia Grace

  When Reuben was twenty-one he left his studies and went to live on the land. He had talked to people because he wanted them to go with him, but it was only his girlfriend Hiria and his cousin Henry who went with him to stay. His grandfather Rupena, who was old by then and becoming frail, went to support them when he could.

  His parents, and other older people of Te Ope, had not wanted Reuben to leave his studies. They did not agree with his way of doing things. But all that Reuben would say to them was, ‘He told me to go and live on the land. That’s what I’m doing. He supports me and that’s all I need.’

  ‘There are other ways, you don’t need …’

  ‘He tried the other ways and they treated him as though he was simple. They called him a liar.’

  ‘But it might be different now,’ they said.

  ‘It won’t be different, and each year will only make it harder.’

  ‘And you can’t win. You end up nowhere in the end.’

  ‘He says the land belongs to me, but he means to all of us. I believe him. Should I believe him and do nothing? “Go and live on the land,” he says. “Go on the land or you’re out on the street.” He means all of us.’

  ‘He’s old …’

  ‘He told me … that’s good enough.’

  So Reuben went to live on the land and he said that he would never leave the land again. There were newspaper photos of the camp that he set up there, and of others that came, after a while, to join him. There were pictures of Reuben being arrested and of him going quietly away. But others had come to help by then, and after he had been taken away they would move in to take his place, to keep his place warm, that’s what they said. Most were of our race but some were not.

  Gradually the older people began to give support to Reuben because they all knew that what he was saying was true. They had always known that the land had been taken, that there had been no payments except for rents being cheaper, that letters had been written, that homes and a dedicated house had been pulled down. They knew that the land had been taken for a purpose and not used for that purpose, and had not been returned to them as promised. They knew that they still owned the land. They were ashamed not to support him.

  But there were some who continued to be angry and were embarrassed by the trouble he was causing. They said it was too late, it was all in the past, that all the trouble would be for nothing and that land was for everybody. The way it was now, as a park, it could be used by everyone, that’s the way of aroha they said. They said that Reuben was a young man who had forgotten, or did not know about the ways of aroha. Some said he wanted the land for himself, and that he was making himself a chief when he was only a child.

  Reuben’s reply was that while many other people had their own marae, a common place, a good way of connecting the past with the future, they themselves were just blowing in the wind. He told them that it was not true that he knew nothing of aroha, and that if they did all have something that they could share, then they would be able to share it. He was not doing it for himself but for everyone. ‘We want land for our meeting-house and our marae. We want the houses back on the land so that people can live on their own land again, die there if they want to. Those people in the past – they left on the understanding that they would return. That understanding still holds, but we now have to force our return. All we are doing is returning to our land, there’s no wrong in that.’

  The first camp was set up in a corner, out of the way of those who used the park, but many people were angry. In our scrapbook we have all the angry letters from people who wrote to the papers wanting the tents, Reuben and his group, moved. Later there were some letters as well that supported what he was doing, but not at first. There were reports and photos too.

  A reporter told Reuben what one of his uncles had said when interviewed – that Reuben was trying to make himself a chief when he was only a child.

  ‘It’s true that I am only a child,’ Reuben said, ‘but it’s not true that I want to be a chief. I want those elders that you speak of, my uncle who said it, to support me and lead me. I want them to come here and be my pakeke. The old man’s not strong now … can’t be here all the time. He was the one who told me … and he’s with me even if they’re not.’

  It was not Reuben’s Mum and Dad who had said that Reuben was trying to be a chief, but they had not supported him either. It was the next day, after they had read what the papers said, that they arrived at the park with a caravan and belongings. They later told all this to Roimata and Hemi, but it was in a newspaper story too.

  Although Reuben and some of the others had been arrested by this time, no evidence had been found to show that what they were saying wasn’t true so they were soon back on the land again. They were asked to remove their tents and belongings from the area, and they were promised that if they did the matter would be looked into. But they wouldn’t move.

  When they made their first garden they put it in a place which did not cause trouble to the people using the park. It was a large park and their camp and garden was away in a far corner. One of our pictures showed children watering silverbeet and cabbage plants. But the garden caused a lot of anger. There were angry people, Roimata said, who called the garden destruction and wilful vandalism. But the little garden, she told us, was beautiful, and when they all went there to take their koha and their aroha there were vegetables ready for picking. I was not born then, but it is all in my mind like a memory.

  Other attempts were made to get Reuben to shift from the land. In our book there is a picture of the mayor talking to Reuben. ‘Mayor Supports Protest’ the headline said. It told about the mayor of those days promising to do everything he could and to look into the matter, personally it said, and to discuss the matter with councillors, but first of all Reuben and the others must move themselves and all their things. Then the mayor would support Reuben. Reuben told the mayor that they would be pleased to have his support, but if it meant that they must leave before support was given then they would do without the support. He would never leave the land, he said. And he told the mayor that they were not land protesters, but that they were just people living their lives on land that belonged to them.

  Another picture showed how one of Reuben’s uncles was sent to the park to ask Reuben to move. But the uncle was told by Reuben’s father to go away and to come back with his koha and a blanket. ‘Elder Told – Return With Food and Bed’ the headline said.

  Several times the camp was attacked by angry people. A tent was torn down in the middle of the night, plants were pulled from the gardens and scattered. Rubbish was tipped at the tent openings, a bottle was thrown, glass was scattered on the ground.

  But the group had not been shown to be wrong in saying the land belonged to them. More and more support began to be given from all round the country. Many people of our race and many not of our race went there with gifts of food and money. A few stayed, others moved backwards and forwards as my brother and sister did later, but the struggle had been won by then. There were ten or more people, in three tents and a caravan, who stayed permanently.

  Some people were angry about the washing hanging out to dry – towels, shirts, overalls and underwear – out on the tent ropes, and some on lines that had been put up. There was a picture of the washing, and there were words saying ‘Washing Offends’. But it was no different from anyone else’s washing hanging out on their properties. That’s what the papers reported that Reuben’s mother had said.

  The police were criticised for not taking Reuben and the others away, but there was not much they could do.

  Then one day there was a picnic. One Saturday, Reuben and the others living on the land arranged a picnic for family and friends. About two hundred people went there with food and blankets and guitars. They had karakia first, with prayers and hymns. Then they spread the blankets on the playing-fields and sat down with the food and guitars. They had a concert too, using the stand as a stage. There was a big photo of a group in the stand
singing and dancing, and other photos of people watching and clapping. ‘Stand Staged’, the headline said.

  But the cricket people who came to play were angry, and that was when the police all came back again and arrested lots of people, taking them away in a bus. There was a photo of the arrested people singing in the bus, and of the people who had not been arrested waving and cheering for the arrested ones. Reuben and his parents, and the others who had been living on the land, had left the grounds before the police came in so that they would not be arrested, and so that they could return to their camp later in the day.

  It was not long after this that the full enquiry was begun about the land.

  It was because of the enquiry that all of old Rupena’s letters came forward, not the copies given to Reuben by the old man, but the ones that he had actually sent, and some of the replies as well, but not all of the replies. They were the letters that a lot of people said didn’t really exist, but now they had been found. There was also a letter telling about the taking over of the land, telling how the land would be used and saying how the people would be given housing cheaply in return. The houses at cheap rent were in return for using the land. Using. But there was nothing in that letter about the pulling down of houses. No payments had been made. It was all as old Rupena had said. The land still belonged to the people just as Reuben and his family knew it did. And at last the court of enquiry showed it too.

  But what about the sports people and their lease? They had a lease of the land, they said. But Reuben’s father said, ‘I don’t think so. We the owners of the land do not have any agreement with you regarding lease. We the owners of the land have never received any rents or payments of any sort for our land, and this has been shown by the courts.’ These are some of the things Reuben’s father said. He told these things to Hemi and Roimata, and they were reported in the paper too.

  There was excitement and joy among the people of Te Ope when the court of enquiry showed them as right, but their struggle wasn’t ended. There had been improvements, the courts decided. There were playing-fields, clubrooms and a stand. The land is yours, the courts said, but not the improvements. You will have to pay for the improvements, and they were told an amount of money that was impossible for them to pay.

  After that the people were offered money for the land. This caused more upset among the Te Ope people. Some wanted to sell because they felt they could never use the land. Others said the land was theirs and always had been, and that they were going to occupy it and build their whare whakairo there. They were already planning their carved meeting-house as well as the homes they wanted to build. Quarrels began again among the people, some saying that those who wanted to sell were interested only in money. But those who wanted to sell said that the others were all trying to be chiefs, and were really wanting the land for themselves.

  More quarrels and unhappiness came about when a compromise was made. Those occupying the land, along with their lawyer, worked out the value of the houses and the price that they thought should have been paid to the people, along with compensation for gardens and trees that had been removed. They worked out what families had paid in rents over the years, then asked that all this be deducted from what were called improvements, but not real improvements they said. To their way of thinking flat land was not an improvement on hills and trees, clubrooms and a stand were not improvements on houses and a meeting place. These arguments were not accepted and deductions were not made. But many of the Te Ope people that had quarrelled and become divided thought the claims were fair and were angry over the decision. They began to give their strong support to the land occupiers again, and at that time more and more people moved onto the land to stay. More than had ever stayed on the land before.

  But the final thing that happened was that there was a change in the government of the country. Promises had been made by the new party.

  Even so it was not a great victory for the Te Ope people because there had to be compromise after all. Some were dissatisfied and angry with what was put forward and there were many meetings at which voices were raised and angry. There were weeks of talking, and then people came to an agreement. Part of the land was kept by them but some was given in repayment for improvements, even though the people did not agree that there had been improvements.

  But at last they were able to begin building their house on their own land, to make their gardens, plant their trees where Rupena’s parents had planted theirs such a long time before. At last they had a place to put their feet, and it was their own place, their own ancestral place, after all the years and all the trouble.

  Our mother Roimata made books for us and we had stories of our own, in our own school. And some of the books were about all the interesting things that happened at Te Ope. When we grew old enough we went to the place where the real story was. The real story kept growing and growing as the years went by.

  Part Two

  * * *

  13

  Dollarman

  There was in the meeting-house a wood quiet.

  It was the quiet of trees that have been brought in out of the wind, whose new-shown limbs reach out, not to the sky but to the people. This is the quiet, still, otherness of trees found by the carver, the shaper, the maker.

  It is a watching quiet because the new-limbed trees have been given eyes with which to see. It is a waiting quiet, the ever-patient waiting that wood has, a patience that has not changed since the other tree life. But this tree quiet is an outward quiet only, because within this otherness there is a sounding, a ringing, a beating, a flowing greater than the tree has ever known before.

  And the quiet of the house is also the quiet of stalks and vines that no longer jangle at any touch of wind, or bird, or person passing, but which have been laced and bound into new patterns and have been now given new stories to tell. Stories that lace and bind the earthly matters to matters not of earth.

  Outside and about the meeting-house there was an early stillness. There was no movement or sound except for that which came from the quiet sliding, sidling of the sea.

  But back in the houses, and beyond on the slopes, there was activity. At the houses washing was already out on the lines, morning meals were over and the cleaning up had been done. The vacuum cleaners had been through. Steps had been swept and there was a smell of cooking – of mutton and chicken and fish, watercress and cabbage, bread and pies.

  In the hills the saws that had sounded since early morning were now still. Branches had been trimmed from the felled scrub, and the wood stacked and bound. The horse waited, occasionally snorting, stamping, or swinging its tail, but not impatiently. Then the tied wood bundle was attached to the chains coming from the big collar. The horse was led down the scented track under the dark shelves of manuka. Tools were picked up by those who went ahead to make sure the path was clear, while others followed to watch and steady the load.

  At the bottom of the hill the horse and workers emerged from the cool dark into the sharp edges of light. The wood was unhitched at the woodstack. The collar and hames and chains were taken from the horse and put in the shed.

  Work was over for the day. The money man was coming, to ask again for the land, and to ask also that the meeting-house and the urupa be moved to another place.

  There was in the meeting-house a warmth.

  It was the warmth that wood has, but it was also the warmth of people gathered. It was the warmth of past gatherings, and of people that had come and gone, and who gathered now in the memory. It was the warmth of embrace, because the house is a parent, and there was warmth in under the parental backbone, enclosement amongst the patterned ribs. There was warmth and noise in the house as the people waited for Mr Dolman to speak, Dolman whom they had named ‘Dollarman’ under the breath. Because although he had been officially welcomed he was not in the heart welcome, or at least what he had to say was not.

  ‘… so that’s what it is, development, opportunity, just as I’ve outlined to you, by letter
. First class accommodation, top restaurants, night club, recreation centre with its own golf links – eventually, covered parking facilities … and then of course the water amenities. These water amenities will be the best in the country and will attract people from all over the world … launch trips, fishing excursions, jet boating, every type of water and boating activity that is possible. Endless possibilities – I’ve mentioned the marine life areas … your shark tanks …’

  (Plenty of sharks around …)

  ‘… trained whales and seals etcetera. As I’ve outlined in writing, and as I’ve discussed with Mr um … here and … one or two others. And these water activities, the marine life areas in particular, this is where you get off-season patronage, where we get our families, our school parties at reduced rates. So you see it’s not just a tourist thing. It’s an amenity …’

  (An amenity now … already …)

  ‘… a much-needed amenity. Well there’s this great potential you see, and this million-dollar view to be capitalised on. And I’ll mention once again that once we have good access, it’s all on, we can get into it. And benefit … not only ourselves but everyone, all of you as well. We’ll be providing top-level facilities, tourist facilities and so upgrade the industry in this whole region. It’ll boom …’

  ‘It’s good that you have come here to meet us, meet all of us, to discuss what you … your company has put forward. Much of this you have outlined in your letters which we have all read and talked about amongst ourselves. We have replied to your letters explaining our feelings on what you have outlined and we have asked you to come here for a discussion. Now you are here which is a good thing. We can meet face to face on it, eyeball one another, and we can give our thoughts and feelings and explanations more fully. As I say we have all discussed this and I have been asked to speak on behalf of all of us.