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Jacinda Ardern with the ie tōga, part of the ifoga process, the Samoan tradition of asking for forgiveness. Photo by Fiona Goodall/Getty Images
Jacinda Ardern with the ie tōga, part of the ifoga process, the Samoan tradition of asking for forgiveness. Photo by Fiona Goodall/Getty Images

PoliticsAugust 2, 2021

‘We accept your apology. However …’ Pacific leaders look to ‘new dawn’

Jacinda Ardern with the ie tōga, part of the ifoga process, the Samoan tradition of asking for forgiveness. Photo by Fiona Goodall/Getty Images
Jacinda Ardern with the ie tōga, part of the ifoga process, the Samoan tradition of asking for forgiveness. Photo by Fiona Goodall/Getty Images

Pacific leaders thanked Jacinda Ardern for her formal apology for the dawn raids yesterday, at the same time as challenging the government to work to ensure the racism experienced by their communities is rubbed out. 

Shortly after emerging from underneath a finely woven mat, as part of a modified version of the Sāmoan Ifoga forgiveness ceremony, Jacinda Ardern declared a “formal and unreserved apology” for the dawn raids on the homes of Pacific people in 1970s New Zealand.

“Our government conveys to the future generations of Aotearoa that the past actions of the Crown were wrong, and that the treatment of your ancestors was wrong,” the prime minister told a packed Auckland Town Hall. “We convey to you our deepest and sincerest apology.”

Ardern acknowledged that words alone were not enough and announced $3.1m in education scholarships for Pacific youth in New Zealand and those in Samoa, Tonga, Tuvalu and Fiji who wished to come here for training.

“It is my sincere hope that this apology will go some way in helping the Pacific youth of today know, with certainty, that they have every right to hold their head up high, and feel confident and proud of their Pacific heritage, and in particular the sacrifices their parents and grandparents have made for Aotearoa New Zealand,” she said.

On behalf of the Tongan community, Princess Mele Siu’ilikutapu Kalaniuvalu Fotofili recalled her own memories of hearing of the raids and the sorrow it caused her. She urged the government to consider creating more equitable pathways to residency and offering an amnesty to current overstayers.

“We accept your apology,” she said. “However …” After a long pause she added that the government’s offer could be better if it were to “promptly respond to the immigration needs of our community”, prompting vocal acclamation from the audience. “This is a new dawn for my community and the Pacific community at large so let us count our blessings.”

Respected community leader and pioneering educationalist Toesulu Brown spoke on behalf of the Samoan community. As she held back tears, she reiterated how important it was for this dark part of New Zealand’s history to be shared with future generations, and also how impressed she was that Ardern had “apologised for something that did not happen on your watch”.

She said: “I thank you, faafetai, faafetai, faafetai.”

The Auckland Town Hall was full for the dawn raid apology. Photo by Fiona Goodall/Getty Images

Māngere East couple Roger Fowler and Lyn Doherty were among the hundreds that packed into the Town Hall. Doherty said they fought alongside the Polynesian Panthers right from the group’s inception as part of an ally organisation called the People’s Union.  “I lived with some of them,” she said.

“We were in the Pig Patrol. So we would listen in on scanners and then follow the police as they arrived at houses. We’d take photos for evidence of police trying to provoke families into violence and then we would give out pamphlets and inform those being detained of their legal rights.”

Fowler said it was special to be present at the event but the struggle continued. “An apology doesn’t stop institutional racism,” he said. “It is a important historical occasion and it’s just the beginning really as there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

One Tree Hill College pupils Amber Neilnili, right, and Courtney Matthews attended with teacher Katie Philson. (Photo: Justin Latif)

One Tree Hill College pupils Amber Neilnili and Courtney Matthews attended with teacher Katie Philson. Matthews said they first “learnt about this at school” and the pain the dawn raids caused, so “having this apology has released some of that trauma in a way”.

Neilnili said she hoped the event would mark a change in how Pacific people are treated in New Zealand. “This apology is long overdue and it marks a very special moment for Pacific people and I think this would pave a path for the government and Pacific people to have reconciliation.”

Two of the youngest faces among dignitaries on the stage for the apology were Josiah Tualamali’i and Benji Timu. The pair were singled out by Polynesian Panthers’ co-founder Rev Alec Toleafoa as being instrumental in getting this event happening, by driving a petition campaign that was presented to parliament earlier this year.

Timu was “humbled” to be a part of it all, and said it went “perfectly” given how hard it was just getting this event to occur. “We just happened to be the people who got it out there. We knew nothing about [the dawn raids] while at high school, and given there had been no apology, we thought we should spark up a movement to get it going.”

Dawn Raid Apology petition organisers Josiah Tualamali’i and Benji Timu. (Photo: Justin Latif)

Tualamali’i said his hope from Sunday was that the government would start to be more responsive to the needs of all Pacific communities. “We have our values and ways of being as Pacific people, but we are also Niueans, Tongans, Sāmoans and Cook Islanders as well. So it’s important the government takes the time to hear from the different communities about what they need and that will only strengthen what’s been done here today.”

A number of church ministers also responded to the government’s apology and the scripture that repeatedly came up was Micah 6:8, which talks about how God is more impressed by acts of mercy and justice than rituals.

And with parliament’s speaker Trevor Mallard a few rows back from the stage, Methodist minister Rev Tevita Finau reminded those gathered that a government shouldn’t be judged whether it uses prayer in parliament or not, but by its actions. “I believe we have not lost any blessing by not reciting the Lord’s prayer in parliament, but we will lose it all, if we lose the will to do justice and love kindness and walk humbly.”

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Robert Reid, a couple of years after he fell out of love with National. Photo: Supplied
Robert Reid, a couple of years after he fell out of love with National. Photo: Supplied

PoliticsJuly 31, 2021

The day I began my journey from Young Nat to committed socialist

Robert Reid, a couple of years after he fell out of love with National. Photo: Supplied
Robert Reid, a couple of years after he fell out of love with National. Photo: Supplied

Robert Reid is a veteran of New Zealand’s trade union movement. But, believe it or not, he was once a committed National Party member.

Fifty years ago, on Saturday 31 July, 1971, I left the National Party.

Those who know me (or even troll me) as a socialist and trade unionist may be surprised that I was once a member of the National Party, albeit leaving it at the tender age of 18 years.

I come from farming stock (no pun intended) with my grandfather and then my uncle running the family sheep farm in Waikaka Valley, just north of Gore. I had an interest in politics and at the even more tender age of 14 decided to join the Young Nationals, the youth branch of our family’s political party. My uncle George was a branch official of the Clutha Electorate and good friend with the then MP for Clutha, Peter Gordon. I lived with my widowed mother in Dunedin and visits to the farm were a regular occurrence every school holidays, bringing with them a lot of farming based political discussion.

Even at that age I was a bit of a comic and was a member and later leader of Kaikorai Valley High School’s debating team. Where my peers would paste pictures of their pop idols, I would cut out pictures of the entire national Cabinet at the time and plaster them on the inside of my school bag.

I collected subscriptions for the National Party in the leafy suburbs of Dunedin – such as the incongruously named Māori Hill. I would attend meetings when any of the National Party cabinet ministers came to town. I acted as an underage barman for an up-and-coming politician called Robert Muldoon at a National Party function Dunedin.

Yet just a year or so later, while still a National Party member, I found myself an anti-Vietnam War activist. On the Friday night of the annual National Party conference in Dunedin, an anti-war rally was being held in the city. I took part – I even addressed the crowd – and then took a letter from the rally into the party gathering.

While National Party delegates were filing into the Friday night session, a group of protesters from the rally rushed to the doors of the town hall and tried to prevent delegates from entering. The nation’s newspapers all reported on this “outrage”. On Saturday July 31, 1971, the New Zealand Herald ran the headline: “Conference Hall Besieged; MOB BACKS PM AGAINST WALL”.

So it was into this lion’s den that I went with my letter from the rally outside. At the first lull in proceedings I got to my feet, went to the floor microphone, called a point of order (I also listened to parliament too much) and started reading from the letter. I was immediately drowned out by booing. The then vice-president of the National Party, the urbane George Chapman, intervened and said that there was no time to hear the letter read that evening but he would make time the following day. I resumed my seat and sat out the evening’s proceedings.

The following day the conference started as planned but after an hour no mention was made of when I could read the letter. Undeterred, I stood again at the next break in proceedings and asked when I could read it. George Chapman again got up and stated that the National Party executive had met overnight and determined that the letter would not be read and that was the end of the matter. I had, of course, been well out-manoeuvred and after a short protest and an increasing number of boos I made a strategic withdrawal to the back of the hall. The odd person, and certainly the media present commended me for my bravery as I withdrew. I left the conference before it finished. And that was the end of my National Party career.

Things moved fast for me from that stage in my trajectory from the right to the left. By the end of that year (1971) I had become international vice president of the NZ University Students Association (NZUSA) and a member of the Hart National Council. On my 19th birthday, November 11 1971, I refused to register for compulsory military training (CMT) as the law required and instead established the Organisation to Halt Military Service (OHMS). In the space of just over one year, we successfully saw the abolition of CMT by the incoming Kirk Labour government, having made the CMT system completely unworkable with false registration forms, false medical checks and with courts starting to be clogged with draft resisters like myself.

But in truth my shift from the right to the left had begun before the day I walked out of the National Party in 1971.

In many ways I was probably never “right”. Perhaps I was the epitome of the centrist that I now so despise. I was interested in politics, so I joined the political party of my family. I liked the words I heard from the National Party about it being the party of freedom. What young man does not want to be free? I allowed myself to be convinced that New Zealand had troops in Vietnam to protect the South Vietnamese people’s freedom from the terrible communists in the North. I swallowed the line that apartheid was the best system in South Africa as the blacks were not “ready” to govern themselves and politics and sport should not mix.

Yet underneath this I had a well of social justice bubbling up. My father, a Presbyterian minister until he died, when I was 12, served in the second world war but insisted on being a non-combatant and served in the Medical Corp. On my mother’s side I inherited some of the same genes as Archibald Baxter who as a pacifist was brutally punished for his beliefs in the first world war.

But it took two life and mind changing events to launch me from the centre right to the “far left” during these formative years.

In my last year of high school, still a Young Nat, I attended a United Nations Association Conference in Masterton. I can remember the late Jack Shallcrass and many others from the left-liberal establishment being there and giving us their views on education, apartheid, the Vietnam War and more. I heard views and opinions that I had never heard before. My mind had been opened.

Just before I left school in 1970 I was invited to a secondary schools camp in the Taieri organised by the Student Christian Movement. Although I was still a seventh former, I was asked to debate whether NZ should have troops in Vietnam with Bill Richards, a local trade union leader and communist. Bold as brass, I took the National Party line and even called on the help of the local office for arguments for the position I had to debate. Bill Richards could have destroyed this upstart 17-year-old, but he didn’t. He patiently answered all the points that I raised with a reasoned rebuttal. I felt my views changing as we debated. At the end he came and commended me for my efforts in a genuine, non-patronising way. “Robert,” he said holding out a piece of paper. “You may be interested in reading these books I have jotted down. I predict that after you do and think about them you will change your view on the Vietnam War. And you may even become a communist.” The rest, as they say, is history.

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