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Claimants to the Waitangi Tribunal’s Wai 2700 – Mana Wāhine inquir at Terenga Parāoa marae in Whangārei (Photo: supplied, Additional design: Tina Tiller)
Claimants to the Waitangi Tribunal’s Wai 2700 – Mana Wāhine inquir at Terenga Parāoa marae in Whangārei (Photo: supplied, Additional design: Tina Tiller)

ĀteaAugust 2, 2021

The Mana Wāhine inquiry isn’t over yet

Claimants to the Waitangi Tribunal’s Wai 2700 – Mana Wāhine inquir at Terenga Parāoa marae in Whangārei (Photo: supplied, Additional design: Tina Tiller)
Claimants to the Waitangi Tribunal’s Wai 2700 – Mana Wāhine inquir at Terenga Parāoa marae in Whangārei (Photo: supplied, Additional design: Tina Tiller)

Claimants to the Mana Wāhine inquiry tell Liam Rātana how the Waitangi Tribunal can start to address the damage done to Māori women by colonisation.

I descend from a wāhine toa. She was a fearless leader of our people and held great mana in the area I’m from. Growing up, I was told that she never lost a battle and defended her pā with such might that travelling parties would avoid the area completely.

“Māori women went to war, they debated issues, they stood up for what was right,” says political reporter Rukuwai Allen (Ngāpuhi, Tauranga Moana). “They would do anything they could to ensure the sacredness of the next generation was protected.

“The Māori perspective is that there’s no hierarchy that determines that because of someone’s genital parts, they have more mana or more standing in our Māori society,” says Allen of the pre-colonial attitude to gender.

Alongside a number of other wāhine, Allen recently gave evidence at Terenga Parāoa marae in Whangārei before the Waitangi Tribunal, as part of the Wai 2700 – Mana Wāhine inquiry. As one of the “kaupapa inquiries” which deal with issues of national significance rather than those of one iwi or hapū, Mana Wāhine currently hearing outstanding claims which allege prejudice to wāhine Māori as a result of breaches of Te Tiriti o Waitangi by the Crown. Two tūāpapa (contextual hearings) were held in February of this year, one this month, and another three will be completed by March 2022. The claims extend across many areas, including policy, practice, acts and omissions, both historical and contemporary.

Allen says colonisation has done “a really good job” of putting a Pākehā lens on the way we view mātauranga Māori and te ao Māori. “That Pākehā lens often puts men higher than women, a lens that puts emphasis on the patriarchy.”

Reporter Rukuwai Allen, Treaty consultant Ripeka Evans, and AUT associate professor Ella Henry (photos supplied)

The genesis of the kaupapa inquiry was a claim called the Wai 381 Māori Women’s claim, lodged nearly 30 years ago. One of the original claimants, Ripeka Evans (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Kahu, Te Aupouri, Ngāti Porou) says she lodged it alongside Donna Awatere, Papaarangi Reid and past presidents of the Māori Women’s Welfare League in 1993. “It is a claim that alleges a breach of all three Treaty articles.”

All people possess mana. We are alive and therefore we have a mauri, or a life force, within us. As a child, I was taught that in te ao Māori, the people have the power, and not just the people with a penis.

Christianity and colonialism brought with them the ideology that men, for some reason, were superior to women. The idea of patriarchy was promoted throughout religious and colonial institutions. In British common law, upon marriage, a woman’s legal rights and obligations were subsumed by those of her husband. Effectively, she lost her mana in the eyes of the law.

“Traditional Māori culture was founded on what’s called a duo-theistic cosmology,” AUT University associate professor Ella Henry (Ngāti Kahu ki Whāngaroa, Ngāti Kurī, Te Rārawa) tells me. “In other words, there were two gods. There was Papatūānuku, the earth mother, and Ranginui, the sky father, and these two were in a complementary relationship. Both were equally important in the survival and creation of mankind… The karanga has equal status to the whaikōrero.”

Henry’s master’s research in the early 1990s coincided with the original claim, and looked at the status given to Māori women prior to colonisation. “My thesis was focusing on Māori women and leadership, so I tried to interview a number of women who were claimants,” Henry says. “That’s really how I got involved in finding out about the claim. I wanted to find out what kind of leadership roles Māori women enjoyed in the 20th century and compare that with data I could find about Māori women in a traditional pre-colonial society. Not surprisingly, I found there were some significant differences.”

During stage one of the hearings, claimants and the tribunal are undertaking an exploration of the tikanga of mana wāhine and the pre-colonial understanding of wāhine in te ao Māori, to provide a tūāpapa for the inquiry.

According to Evans, the second stage of the hearings are scheduled to begin at the end of 2022. This stage will focus on the consequences of the breaches of the Treaty, including the intergenerational effects of colonisation and the negative socioeconomic impacts on Māori women.

Stage three will be looking at remedies for the breaches and their consequences. All the wāhine I spoke to shared the sentiment that there is no sum of money nor redress that could ever truly make up for what Māori women have had to endure. However, they did agree that there are steps the Crown can take towards acknowledging what they have done and at least attempting to rectify the problems they have caused.

“I do think that there are a number of things that can be done to address this grievance,” says Henry. “Providing adequate resources to tell the truth about the history of Māori society [is one example], because I think there are a lot of particularly younger urban Māori who have lost contact with these ancient stories of the mana of women; allocation of funding to support Māori women to become leaders in our community as we were prior to the Treaty; more Māori women representing our people on high level boards and entities.

“We’ve seen over the last 30 plus years a range of settlements that whilst the government has not been legally bound to address these issues, they are certainly morally bound to. Successive governments have actually acknowledged that moral requirement.”

Adds Evans: “For starters we’d be looking for an apology, that would not be a light-hearted apology.

“I mean, how do you apologise for 181 years of colonisation and systemic racism? We would want to look at a quantum. We would like to look at what governance looks like. We want remedies around systemic racism and legislation in terms of commissions.”

Says Allen: “Honouring Te Tiriti doesn’t mean we can invite Māori to the table, it means we’re all at the table. It’s not a consultation, it’s about a 50/50 partnership.”

She acknowledges the many wāhine that have gone before, who started the mahi they now continue in their honour. “I hope that those wāhine who have long done that for this claim and many claims before, know that we see them, what they’ve done, and we appreciate that.”

Keep going!
The original film poster for Patu! (1983)
The original film poster for Patu! (1983)

ĀteaJuly 30, 2021

The incredible legacy of Merata Mita’s Patu!

The original film poster for Patu! (1983)
The original film poster for Patu! (1983)

As part of an exhibition on the 1981 Springbok tour protest, Ngā Taonga Sound & Vision has restored and remastered Patu!, the masterwork of wahine Māori filmmaker Merata Mita and her artistic collaborators. Dan Taipua looks back at the legacy of this cinematic taonga.

Patu! is a documentary from a different age: before the tools for filmmaking were widely democratised, before video footage of protests could be captured by just about anyone, back when film was difficult and required a bloody-minded commitment to complete. Against these constraints, and against the will of an aggressive government and widespread public opposition, Merata Mita and crew were able to create a vital and galvanising work of art that perfectly captures the spirit of its time and continues to resonate today.

Patu! isn’t a film about the South African rugby team touring Aotearoa in 1981. Instead it focuses on the protest movement here in response to apartheid. Its story is told entirely from within that movement, filmed in situ, never shifting position from the people it stands beside. The film is an ally to the cause, and an act of solidarity through its record of events.

As the film progresses we see the machine of the protest movement come to life in real time – from public engagement and ally-seeking, to solidification of purpose and resolve, and finally direct action at great personal danger and cost. We also see the machine of massive state and corporate power bear down on the protest movement – from monitoring of groups, to forceful restriction of movement and association, to outright bloody violence against citizens.

Police meet protestors in a scene from Patu! (dir. Merata Mita, 1983)

Peace in the meeting house, violence on the streets

Following a strict chronology of events, Patu! begins at the announcement of the 1981 tour, before any rugby games have taken place and before the South African team has even arrived in the country. Meetings at the HART (Halt All Racist Tours) headquarters in Auckland show that group planning a campaign of public education on the realities of the apartheid regime, posting flyers, collecting signatures for petitions and unifying their sense of purpose as a group. At this point the filming is largely indoors, with stable lighting conditions and among a sympathetic crowd.

When it is made clear by the National government and the New Zealand Rugby Union that the tour will definitely go ahead, the protest movement reaffirms its own commitment and mobilises into mass demonstration. An increasing number of groups gather to protest, including the major denominations of Christian churches, workers’ unions, school students, representatives from Black South Africa, and many more. The film crew now have more activity to capture across a wide array of locations. They’re filming at night, at public demonstrations, at marae and at family homes, and the action moves between locations to relate the simultaneity of events.

By the time of the first match between the Waikato and Springbok teams in Hamilton, everything is on foot and in the moment. Protesters are now standing at barbed wire fences around rugby stadiums, being beaten by rugby fans and trying to make their way to the centre of the pitch. On the nighttime streets of Wellington, young women are beaten bloody by a confused and defensive police force.

From this point forward, across different games in different cities, filming is a kinetic and almost desperate navigation of space; the camera is almost continually in motion, attempting to capture as much as it possibly can. With synchronised audio impossible, wild sound is layered into the mix to orient or disorient the action on screen. The chaos of real life violence becomes chaos on screen.

Merata Mita. (Image: Gil Hanly contact sheet from the film Merata: How Mum Decolonised the Screen)

Authoring a documentary

The presentation of Patu! is perhaps most remarkable for what it doesn’t include. There is only a small amount of narration from Mita, employed only to communicate the passage of time or to give concise historical or societal context. Likewise, title cards are kept to a minimum. Most noticeably there is a very limited use of “talking head” interviews. When people are talking they are usually addressing a crowd or a gathering of peers, contributing to or negotiating a collective response.

We call a director the author of a film as a result of certain cinematic traditions, but in Patu! Mita reshapes this tradition by allowing a number of voices to represent themselves, as they were heard, in front of their own allies. These voices are sometimes critical of the protest movement, even when they come from within the movement itself. Anyone familiar with te ao Māori will recognise this practice of communication: it is a simulation of the paepae, where we speak forthright and earnestly and listen with that same spirit. It elides the idea that any group is monolithic within itself, while that group is still able to embody a unified sense of purpose, or kaupapa.

The range of perspectives within Patu! also reflects the way the film was made. The credits list no fewer than 16 camera operators and nearly as many sound recordists, and while this makes it sound like epic and well-funded organisation, the truth was the exact opposite. The high cost of filming meant that most of Patu! was created on the scrounge, with the team digging up “short ends” of film stock left over from other projects or jobs. Maybe someone was filming an advert and added an extra day to camera hire so they could steal away to a night protest. Or maybe someone took a reel of Eastman Video News 16mm, used a few frames on a job, then marked it as spent. To make Patu!, many people contributed their time, skills and hustle to a collective cause – just like the protest groups themselves.

The protestors gather in Patu!

A lasting legacy

In the intervening 40 years, history has judged Patu! much more kindly and accurately than the forces that sought to see it buried. Patu! has been accused of being one-sided, but it is only “biased” if we accept that an accurate record of real-life events, captured as they occur, represents a mistruth. Certainly, it is not the only record that exists: the Springbok tour was covered widely in print, and on radio and television. Many other documentarians have covered the events from a historical viewpoint. Ross Meurant, a leader of the violent police response, authored a book about his own role in the affair.

Patu! stands as a landmark contribution to documentary and to cinema as direct action, easily placed alongside other works like Agnes Varda’s The Black Panthers (1968) and Barbara Kopple’s Harlan County, USA (1976). It holds a special place in the hearts of the Indigenous filmmakers who were inspired and energised by it, and who recognised the paepae aspect of authorship mirrored in their own cultures. Most significantly, it was viewed with respect and solidarity by Black South Africans, including Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and by fellow Indigenous people. Few works of documentary ever become moral as well as artistic achievements.

Patu! restored

Ngā Taonga Sound & Vision are making sure the legacy of Patu! endures by commissioning a full digital restoration of the film. This includes digitally scanning each frame captured by the 16 different camera operators shown in the final cut, filmed in varying conditions of light and natural deterioration, and carefully restoring colour to every image. Ngā Taonga has also cleaned and carefully matched the recorded sound to maintain the intentions of the original filmmakers.

Truly a national treasure, the fully restored version of Patu! screened on July 25th at Hamilton Museum with an introduction from HART organiser, John Minto.

While we await a wider public release of this reclaimed taonga, a full-length stream of the original film is available here.