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James Prendergast, New Zealand’s third chief justice (Alexander Turnbull Library Ref: 1/2-031752; F)
James Prendergast, New Zealand’s third chief justice (Alexander Turnbull Library Ref: 1/2-031752; F)

SocietyNovember 11, 2017

Unjust: the story of James Prendergast

James Prendergast, New Zealand’s third chief justice (Alexander Turnbull Library Ref: 1/2-031752; F)
James Prendergast, New Zealand’s third chief justice (Alexander Turnbull Library Ref: 1/2-031752; F)

Black Sheep is an RNZ series about the shady, controversial and sometimes downright villainous characters of New Zealand history, presented by William Ray. Here he introduces James Prendergast, the attorney general and chief justice accused of being a racist enemy of Māori. 

“A simple nullity” – three words which damned the man who uttered them to become the most reviled judge in New Zealand history.

The quote referred to the Treaty of Waitangi and was part of a ruling which helped justify the separation of Māori from their lands for more than a hundred years. Other words in that ruling include “simple barbarians” and “savages”.

James Prendergast arrived in New Zealand during the Otago gold-rush in 1862. The son of a judge and trained as a lawyer at Cambridge University, he rose rapidly through the ranks of the legal profession and was appointed attorney general just three years after arriving in New Zealand.

“That is just a classic colonial [situation],” says Grant Morris, Victoria University legal historian and author of Prendergast: Legal Villain? “They just don’t have the people with enough experience to fill these roles, or at least they only have a few – so there is not a lot of competition.”

Listen to the podcast that accompanies this story here.

James Prendergast, New Zealand’s third chief justice (Alexander Turnbull Library Ref: 1/2-031752; F)

In the role of attorney general, Prendergast provided legal justification for horrific acts of the New Zealand Wars, including the use of ‘dead or alive’ bounties for Māori leaders.

In one legal opinion he wrote that “the revolt has now been carried out in defiance of all the laws of nature, and there can be no doubt that all who have taken part in it have forfeited all claim for mercy.”

He also dismissed the legitimacy of Māori grievances against the Crown saying:

“The Māoris now in arms have put forward no grievance for which they seek redress. Their objective, so far as can be collected from their acts, is murder, cannibalism and rape. They form themselves into bands and roam the country seeking prey”

“There were definitely people in the colony at the time who saw his opinions as being overly harsh,” says Grant Morris. “Some would have seen them as not even abiding by the law of the time.”

Prendergast served as attorney general until 1875 when he was appointed chief justice. In that role, he – alongside fellow judge Christopher Richmond – presided over the Wi Parata case. As part of his ruling, he declared the Treaty of Waitangi was a “simple nullity” insofar as it purported to cede sovereignty to the Crown because the Crown’s sovereignty came from ‘discovery and occupation’ rather than the Treaty.

Christopher William Richmond, the judge who heard the Wi Parata case alongside Prendergast (Alexander Turnbull Library Ref: 1/1-013502; G)

“But Prendergast actually goes further than that,” says Grant Morris.  “He says it’s not even a proper international treaty, because to have a proper international treaty you need to have the capacity or sovereignty to cede in the first place. He said Māori didn’t have that capacity because they were ‘primitive barbarians’ and ‘savages’.”

It’s this part of the ruling which has seen Prendergast condemned as a racist enemy of Māori.

“It becomes a judge’s societal view of race. It’s Prendergast and Richmond saying there is a hierarchy of civilisations, that Māori are down near the bottom and their society didn’t have the ability or the sophistication to enter into a treaty,” says Grant.

Surprisingly, newspapers of the time hardly mention the Wi Parata verdict. Instead, they reported breathlessly on the personal feud between Prendergast and Parata’s lawyer, an Irishman called George Barton.

That feud erupted a year after the Wi Parata decision when Prendergast held Barton in contempt of court and sentenced him to a month in prison. Barton responded by running for parliament while still in jail and won. He was elected as an MP for Wellington.

Wiremu Te Kākākura Parata, who took the case in which Prendergast declared the Treaty a “simple nullity”. (Alexander Turnbull Library Reference: 1/1-020616-G)

But while the saga of Prendergast vs. Barton has been mostly forgotten today, his reputation as a racist, ‘legal villain’ has stuck with him for the Wi Parata ruling.

Grant Morris says that reputation is deserved in part, but argues the significance of Prendergast’s role in disenfranchising Māori is sometimes exaggerated.

“Prendergast was one person in a group of people who were ‘settling’ New Zealand and in many ways, they saw Māori as being in the way. From that sense, you can understand the anger at someone like Prendergast but to have all of it directed at [him] is out of proportion,” Grant says.

“Certainly from our perspective today he is a racist, and for some at the time he would have been seen like that as well. [But] a lot of views he had at the time were widely held.”

Listen to the full Black Sheep podcast to hear about Prendergast’s role in authorising the invasion of Parihaka, his near-death experience on the Australian gold fields and whether he authorised war-crimes while serving as Attorney General.


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Asylum seekers from Norwegian freighter the MV Tampa and local fishing boat the Aceng arrive at Nauru off the Australian coast on 19 September 2001. (Photo by Fairfax Media/Fairfax Media via Getty Images)
Asylum seekers from Norwegian freighter the MV Tampa and local fishing boat the Aceng arrive at Nauru off the Australian coast on 19 September 2001. (Photo by Fairfax Media/Fairfax Media via Getty Images)

SocietyNovember 11, 2017

As a Tampa refugee, I have seen first-hand the impact when NZ takes moral leadership

Asylum seekers from Norwegian freighter the MV Tampa and local fishing boat the Aceng arrive at Nauru off the Australian coast on 19 September 2001. (Photo by Fairfax Media/Fairfax Media via Getty Images)
Asylum seekers from Norwegian freighter the MV Tampa and local fishing boat the Aceng arrive at Nauru off the Australian coast on 19 September 2001. (Photo by Fairfax Media/Fairfax Media via Getty Images)

I was just a child when NZ took me and my family. Today, as hundreds of refugees cry out for help from Manus Island, we need to remember what we’re really about as a nation, writes Abbas Nazari.

During her first foreign trip as prime minister, Jacinda Ardern on Sunday renewed New Zealand’s offer to take 150 refugees from Manus Island and Nauru, the sites of offshore Australian detention centres. Reiterating the pledge from the previous government, she said New Zealand had an obligation “to make sure that we maintain our obligations to the United Nations to take refugees”.

Malcolm Turnbull said Australia would not take up the offer “at this time”.

The Australian PM turned down the offer despite the torturous situation on Manus Island. As I write this, some 600 refugees remain at the closed Australian detention centre, without food, water, electricity and other essential services. Australia has pulled the plug.

It is easy to think that these refugees are far from our shores. But this is in the Pacific. Our backyard. Not some refugee camp in a far off continent, but a small and impoverished island only a few hundred kilometres from the Australian mainland.

When I see the pictures of men in the camps, with their misspelled signs and determined faces, I am reminded of our journey to New Zealand.

My story has a happy ending, but for the majority of people in war-torn countries, the reality is that life is indeed nasty, brutish and short.

I was born in Afghanistan where I lived until the age of seven. At that time, Afghanistan was under Taliban rule and a conflict that had largely remained confined to Kabul and the other major centres spilled into the rural provinces.

No longer safe in the mountainous valley where my family had lived for generations, my parents made the decision to leave and seek a better life elsewhere.

That new life was going to be in Australia, a promised land that was open to refugees.

Just like all the other refugees who undertake the perilous journey in search of another life, I was too young to comprehend the gravity of the journey ahead, or the risks involved. We made our way into Pakistan where we boarded a plane to Indonesia.

As a kid who had grown up in a landlocked valley, being on an aeroplane was an exciting adventure. I saw the ocean for the first time – an experience that stays with me to this day.

In Indonesia, we spent our days reading and writing Farsi, our native language, as my parents didn’t want us to fall behind in school.

One night my parents woke us up.

“Get dressed and get your things together. We’re going on another trip.”

I packed a t shirt, a pair of pants, a pencil and my Farsi notebook into a plastic bag. We boarded a bus and journeyed in the dark to the seaside where I could hear the crash of waves against the docked boats. Other families joined us and we were ushered into the belly of a ship.

Dawn broke and I remember seeing the endless and undisturbed horizon. We were finally at sea. The boat was packed on all levels including the deck and storage areas beneath. It was a fishing vessel, with a hole in the deck for a toilet. As day turned to dusk the weather changed, bringing in a heavy swell. The storm was so severe that the boat was at the mercy of the waves which pounded it back and forth. Those brave enough got up to bucket out the water and plug holes. The engine had cut amid the storm and each wave would batter the sides with such force that capsizing seemed imminent.

Up to this point, my childish understanding of our journey from Afghanistan seemed like a big adventure, but hearing the hushed prayers of the parents and the piercing cries from the babies suddenly grounded me to the situation. Men and women who had risked it all to deliver their families to a new beginning had accepted the risks but hoped they would never come to be. Now I could hear them praying aloud that should this be their final moments; then may God deliver their bodies to shore so they could be buried on land.

It seemed the powers that be were listening, because we survived that night, and the next day we were rescued by the container ship, the MV Tampa, all 433 of us. What ensued was an international debacle over responsibility for the boatload of mostly Afghan refugees. But the New Zealand government and public were watching and taking pity on our situation, they welcomed us to our new homeland with open arms.

I’ve been living in New Zealand ever since and I’m proud to call myself a Kiwi. I have been back to Afghanistan twice in the years since we arrived in New Zealand, and I have seen what life would have been like had my family stayed in war-torn Afghanistan.

In the beginning we were welfare dependent, but gradually we built ourselves up to integrate into the fabric of New Zealand society. The Tampa refugees are now small business owners, home owners, doctors, nurses, public servants, students and pretty keen rugby players. Given the chance at a new life, we have grabbed it with both hands.

Asylum seekers both from the Tampa and Aceng arrive at Nauru in September 2001. Photo: Fairfax Media via Getty Images

There was a story I learned in primary school about the discovery of the Land of the Long White Cloud. A contingent of waka that had been at the mercy of the mighty Pacific found refuge on the shores of these undiscovered islands. These initial settlers were joined centuries later by other intrepid souls.

We learned that gradually the society of the Land of the Long White Cloud grew to encompass people from all over the world. Men on the chase for gold, families repatriating from their homes and those joining from the Pacific community. Each new addition added their own substance and flavour to the New Zealand cooking pot and helped create the kai that is unique to this part of the world.

Now as we debate the migrant crisis, I can’t help but recall that story we learned as children. It is all the more relevant today. Because we seem to have forgotten the underlying premise of the tale – that everyone living in New Zealand is a migrant, a refugee or a descendant of one. It is all too easy to imagine ourselves intrinsically different to the Syrians and Iraqis fleeing their homes, but is their story so different from that of Polish and Dutch refugees whom sought refuge in New Zealand following world war Two?

We often look at the Tampa affair as a moment when Kiwis stood up and raised their flag of moral leadership. We can’t help the 52 million displaced people around the world, but we can do more to help the men trapped in limbo on these islands so close to home.