#HandsOffOurTamariki

The #HandsOffOurTamariki kōrero last night was both distressing and amazing. So much was said and it’s hard to summarise. But if I had to, what I took away was this:

Children are being removed from their whānau and dying in alarming numbers. Both Māori and Pākehā children have been killed in unsafe environments, but we only hear of the Māori cases. Māori are then blamed for these deaths and the bad decisions of CYF. This blame has allowed Anne Tolley and the state to ignore the local and international reports about how bad CYF are doing, and how they need to work closer with iwi/hapū. It’s allowed them to create a new Ministry, and strip out the clause for children to remain with iwi/hapū. The end goal is to privatise child care (like what is happening in the UK). This will lead to a ‘care pipeline’ where multi-nationals like Serco profit from the removal and incarceration of Māori.

The ultimate cause of this is colonisation, which attacks Māori so that capitalism can make a profit from the harm that stems from colonisation. It’s a vicious cycle of dispossession and exploitation, and one that is ongoing today. Until Māori are truly in control of their lands, lives and power, it is ridiculous to talk of a post-colonial society. If this is the context, then the struggle for the care of tamariki needs to be a struggle about sovereignty as affirmed in te Tiriti o Waitangi, and as it existed on the ground in this land before 1840.

Further reading is available on the Facebook page, but this article by Kim McBreen is an excellent overview: http://starspangledrodeo.blogspot.co.nz/2016/10/the-nz-state-making-children-vulnerable.html

Matiki Mai Aotearoa: Independent Working Group on Constitutional Transformation - report released

The Report of Matiki Mai Aotearoa: Independent Working Group on Constitutional Transformation has just been released. Convened by Moana Jackson and chaired by Margaret Mutu, extensive consultation across the country was undertaken between 2012-2015 and included 252 hui, written submissions, organised focus groups and one-to-one interviews.

The Terms of Reference sought advice on types of constitutionalism that is based upon He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti.

“To develop and implement a model for an inclusive Constitution for Aotearoa based on tikanga and kawa, He Whakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga o Niu Tireni of 1835, Te Tiriti o Waitangi of 1840, and other indigenous human rights instruments which enjoy a wide degree of international recognition”. The Terms of Reference did not ask the Working Group to consider such questions as “How might the Treaty fit within the current Westminster constitutional system” but rather required it to seek advice on a different type of constitutionalism that is based upon He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti. For that reason this Report uses the term “constitutional transformation” rather than “constitutional change.”

It really is an amazing document, both for its simple language and what it could mean for future indigenous-settler/Māori-Pākehā relations.

Read it here: http://www.converge.org.nz/pma/MatikeMaiAotearoaReport.pdf

The Colonial Continuum: Archives, Access, and Power

This paper, which won the 2016 Michael Standish Prize for best archival essay, comes from Archifacts: Journal of the Archives and Records Association of New Zealand, April 2015. Many thanks to Julie Black, Kim McBreen and Hinerangi Himiona for their input and support. You can download a PDF version at academia.edu here.

Abstract: As Ann Laura Stoler notes, “what constitutes the archive, what form it takes, and what systems of classification and epistemology signal at specific times are (and reflect) critical features of colonial politics and state power.” These forms and systems determine what records are discovered, how they are accessed, and the experience of the user.

Drawing on work with Māori/iwi/hapū groups, this paper addresses settler colonialism and its continuing impact on records creation, archival access, and knowledge production. It argues that archivists should address the way our institutions are organized (both spatially and structurally), and our obligations under te Tiriti o Waitangi. 

The use of public records is at the heart of my job as an archivist. I view myself as a facilitator of cultural production, someone who aids the accessing of stories in order to weave new narratives (including counter-narratives). But this image of myself is constantly challenged in my day-to-day practice. As an archivist working with government records, my relationship with the user is immediately complex: I become the personification of the state.i As a Pākehā archivist working with government records that document settler colonialism in its many forms—dispossession, theft, cultural suppression, sexism, murder—I become something more specific. Whether I like it or not, in my role and in relation to Māori researchers, I embody settler colonialism.

I am challenged by this idea, and feel uncomfortable that I may be seen as a gatekeeper to stolen knowledge—literally the person between the researcher and their tūpuna. Both the physical space of institutions, and the process of accessing records, does little to damper the perception that I serve the government of past and present. In the words of Sue McKemmish, “the very form of the archive provides evidence of the power relationships and social values of the society that produced it, including the prevailing evidentiary paradigm.”ii

If we are to shake off what colonial dust we can within current social and economic limitations, then questions relating to settler colonialism, records creation, archival access, and knowledge production need to be addressed. While I touch on these topics below, and highlight possible organizational models based on tikanga Māori and te Tiriti o Waitangi, my polemic does not pretend to cover them in any detail. Rather, it forms part of a wider constitutional discussion taking place outside of the archive—one I think archivists could and should be participating in.

Settler colonialism 
Settler colonialism is “a process in which colons emigrate(d) with the express purposes of territorial occupation and the formation of a new community.”iii Rather than just the extraction of labour or resources (although this is still a feature), these new communities settle on land already occupied by indigenous peoples. Through various means, some more insidious than others, land and sovereignty was (and is) taken from these peoples for the benefit of settler communities.iv As Edward Cavanagh and Lorenzo Veracini note, “settler colonialism is a global and transnational phenomenon, and as much a thing of the past as a thing of the present.” There is no such thing as post-colonialism, they argue, because settler colonialism—and the white supremacist, patriarchal capitalism that drives it—“is a resilient formation that rarely ends.”v

The effects of settler colonialism on indigenous peoples have been felt in every aspect of their spiritual and material lives. In her excellent paper on the tapu of taonga, Kim Mcbreen notes how colonialism attempts “to destroy the structures of Māori society including mātauranga Māori, and the tikanga based on it.”vi Not only does it impose “western authority over indigenous lands, indigenous modes of production and indigenous law and government, but the imposition of western authority over all aspects of indigenous knowledge’s, languages and cultures.”vii As Waziyatawin, a Minnesota professor and activist, writes:

Colonialism is the massive fog that has clouded our imaginations regarding who we could be, excised our memories of who we once were, and numbed our understanding of our current existence. Colonialism is the force that disallows us from recognizing its confines while at the same time limiting our vision of possibilities. Colonialism is the farce that compels us to feel gratitude for small concessions while our fundamental freedoms are denied. Colonialism has set the parameters of our imaginations to constrain our vision of what is possible.viii

Because of this, indigenous peoples have struggled in various ways against settler colonialism. For some this entails a radical social shift, one that dismantles the entire colonial system, decentralizes power, and reestablishes the sovereignty of indigenous peoples. Without this, any repatriation of land or principles of partnership fall short of meaningful change. Glen Sean Coulthard (Yellowknives Dene) argues forcibly that “accommodation of cultural differences, and even transfers of land, can be accepted by the state so long as the power relationship remains intact and the capitalist system animating it remains unquestioned... accepting these offers of recognition has only meant the continued dispossession of our homelands."ix

The colonial continuum and issues of access
This is not the place to assess the Aotearoa experience with regard to decolonization or tino rangatiratanga. But with the ongoing settlement of claims relating to te Tiriti o Waitangi, more and more iwi and hapū are visiting archives for cultural redress. With this comes the very real issue of access. Writing of her work with an indigenous community in northern Australia, activist and intellectual property scholar Jane Anderson posits this challenge:

Imagine that members of the community have grown tired of having to travel for several days in order to see any documentation about the community. They have grown tired of people turning up with documents and information that they didn’t know existed. They have grown tired of being told their own history by non- indigenous people with greater access to archives in metropolitan centres. They have grown frustrated at not being able to control the circulation of the knowledge held within documents that they have not been given time to assess; that they do not own.x

My cultural biases may cloud my experience of iwi visits, but a recent example is telling. On the surface there is excitement at the prospect of accessing their stories as viewed and documented by the state. It is acknowledged that the collection is important, sacred, and one that must be cared for. But the colonial context and history that led to the creation of the records is always present. “The colonial collecting endeavor was not innocent,” argues Anderson. “It had intent, it had effects and it has remaining consequences.”xi For example, when showing a deed of purchase for a large tract of land to one researcher, I could feel the anger and emotion the record stirred. And there is every right to be angry—both at the undoing of indigenous sovereignty, and the fact that to access an account of that undoing has to be through a Pākehā intermediary, through a Pākehā finding aid and system of organization, and inside a Pākehā institution.

We cannot change the past; nor should we abandon core archival principles that help illuminate it. But as Ann Laura Stoler notes, “what constitutes the archive, what form it takes, and what systems of classification and epistemology signal at specific times are (and reflect) critical features of colonial politics and state power.”xii This relates as much to current practice as it does to the past.

The issue of colonial power manifests itself in other ways. Research shows that monocultural spaces such as government buildings can act as a barrier to access. A survey conducted by Auckland Libraries found that nearly a third of Māori participants reported feelings of discomfort, while my own research into non-users found that participants interviewed felt some form of institutional anxiety.xiii Such anxiety will always likely to be present for Māori until they see their culture reflected in public institutions; until information systems and spaces are truly “based on the philosophies or belief systems of iwi.”xiv Yet according to Luqman Hayes’ 2012 study, there was “scant evidence that kaupapa Māori, mātauranga Māori and Te Ao Māori form part of a formalized bicultural strategy within small and medium (that is, level two and three) public libraries in New Zealand.”xv That libraries are still ahead of archives in this area is revealing.

Records creation and the ownership of knowledge
The question of access leads on to records creation and the ownership of knowledge, especially indigenous knowledge. Anderson writes of colonial law being the “archon of the archive.” It governs the collection and ensures indigenous peoples, as the ‘subjects’ of records, are “not recognized as having legal rights as ‘authors’, ‘artists’ or ‘owners’. Simply, and literally, they did not ‘make’ the record.”xvi This paradigm of colonial control has “ongoing legacies in archives where indigenous people still have to mount arguments for why they also have rights to access, to copy and to control material that documents and records their lives and cultures in intimate detail.”xvii

Some may argue that according to the Public Records Act the records are ‘theirs’, in that the collection exists as a cultural memory accessible to anyone. They are, after all, public records. But this says nothing of power dynamics and the many barriers to access, let alone non-western understandings of knowledge and ownership. As one participant in my research argued, western paradigms, coupled with socio-economic factors, would prevent many like him from accessing archives. “There are all sorts of ways that people are disenfranchised from accessing information,” he said, “whether that’s various kinds of literacy i.e. the most basic literacy, or literacy on the level of being able to filter and understand the particular languages that are used by officialdom.” There was also the “emotional reality of being disenfranchised—what’s your motivation to access information and know about the particulars of your disenfranchisement if you don’t have hope for things being different?”xviii

To paraphrase Anderson and Stoler, the colonial continuum reveals and reproduces the power of the state. At its most basic level, it determines what records are discovered and accessed. For example, the iwi researcher could not understand why the deed, which contained many names of family signatories and sites of immense importance, were not listed in the finding aid. Why, he could have asked, was a detailed series description on the government agency that created the record available, but nothing existed on the other party? Were not the Māori signatories equal creators of the record, equal predecessor agencies? Where was the metadata that he could search, that he could relate to? Adding intuitive metadata for Māori to existing records is just one small way of unsettling such power. An EDRMS based on mātauranga Māori would be another way to future-proof intuitive access.

Tikanga Māori and te Tiriti o Waitangi 
If we are to remain custodians of documented interaction with tangata whenua, then we have a responsibility to continue changes in the archival profession. The way our institutions are organized (both spatially and structurally), and the way we approach knowledge production, need to be governed with those whose land our archives possess. In doing so we acknowledge that Māori, in signing te Tiriti o Waitangi (and not the English ‘version’) never ceded their sovereignty. In doing so we acknowledge that tikanga was the first law of Aotearoa, and that it has a place outside of policy documents or powhiri.

According to Moana Jackson, “tikanga has been diminished and constrained by the labels of colonization... tikanga has been transformed from its expanding site of freedom and political sovereignty into a subordinate place of ceremony.”xix Ani Mikaere writes how this elaborate system of balance and regulation “was ensured through the exercise of rangatiratanga, which was ‘a total political authority’. Importantly,” she notes, “both the Declaration of Independence and te Tiriti o Waitangi that followed it reaffirmed that authority.”xx If we are to acknowledge te Tiriti as understood and documented in te reo Māori, then tikanga Māori and its political framework cannot be divorced from it.

This is not a matter of ‘special treatment’. Nor is it the imposition of the past actions of others onto future generations. It is the recognition that unlike Pakeha or other cultural groups that make up Aotearoa, “Māori are tangata whenua—Māori culture, history and language have no other home.”xxi Sven Lindqvist in Terra Nullius reminds us that as beneficiaries of settler colonialism, Pākehā have no right to disown the dirtier aspects of our past: “I’d had my share of the booty, so I had to take my share of the responsibility, too.”xxii

With this responsibility comes a unique opportunity—one that could inform others the world over. Recent debates around constitutional reform show us that sincere, Tiriti-based models of governance and organization are available. A long-standing example is the Raukawa-Mihinare Model. This decision-making structure consists of three houses:

Tikanga Māori House: where the Māori partners plan and prepare their proposals
Tikanga Pākehā House: where the Pākehā partners plan and prepare their submissions
Two-Tikanga (or Tiriti o Waitangi) House: where a council of representatives of the two tikanga houses consider individual and joint proposals against a set of criteriaxxiii

According to this structure, all proposals are tested against te Tiriti o Waitangi, and decision making within both the Māori and the Two-Tikanga house is by consensus.xxiv

One organization that has formally adopted and adapted this framework is the NZ Playcentre Federation. It is also governed at a national level by the Raukawa-Mihinare model. Decisions made by Te Whare Tikanga Māori and Tangata Tiriti House are brought together and then celebrated in Te Wa o Rongo, The Treaty of Waitangi House. In the words of Rachelle Hautapu, “we have said yes to the opportunity to show Aotearoa New Zealand what a Tiriti based partnership can look like, to demonstrate how we can preserve the mana of both Māori and Pākehā in ways that are authentic and meaningful.”xxv

This model had already been extended to the GLAM sector. Whatarangi Winiata from Te Wānanga o Raukawa talks of the relationship between a Māori worldview and the organization of their library, and the development of a kaupapa-tikanga framework.xxvi Winiata gives examples of how this works in practice:

Other examples exist, such as that used by The Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia (which has their own tikanga house model). The Independent Iwi Constitutional Working Group, convened by Professor Margaret Mutu and chaired by Moana Jackson, has also been developing a constitutional model based on tikanga Māori, He Whakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga o Niu Tireni (1835), and te Tiriti o Waitangi. The United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples is core to their work.xxvii

In conclusion, there are past and present examples of how our institutions could be organised differently, as well as future opportunities not yet developed. A wider conversation is needed to see how an archival model could be implemented; one that is beyond the scope of this short text. Nonetheless, I want to end by echoing the words of Ani Mikaere: the recognition of tikanga Māori as the first law of Aotearoa need not be a cause for alarm. As Pākehā, confronting our past and our colonialism “might prove liberating.”xxviii Acknowledging tikanga Māori and the overriding authority of tino rangatiratanga that was reaffirmed in 1840 allows us to create a meaningful Tiriti relationship, one that carries the seeds of a fruitful future.xxix While extra metadata and the recognition of tikanga in the archive falls short of decolonization, it goes some way to address the promises made by the Crown. By honoring such promises, we honor the importance of our collection, our collective past, and our future users.


Endnotes
i. Given that the state is an abstract way of defining social relationships between people, it’s not technically correct for me to say that I personify it. More fitting would be that my relationship with the user becomes ‘statist’, but I didn’t want to bore with ultra-left semantics in the first paragraph.
ii. Sue McKemmish, ‘Traces: Document, record, archives, archives’ in Sue McKemmish, Michael Piggott, Barbara Reed & Frank Upward (eds.), Archives: Recordkeeping in Society, New South Wales: Centre for Information Studies, 2005, p.18.
iii. Ashley Wiersma, ‘What is settler colonialism?’, available online at http://colonialismthroughtheveil.wordpress.com/2012/09/07/what-is-settler-colonialism/
iv. It is important to note that settler communities are not homogenous—divisions of class, gender etc ensures certain parts of the community benefit more than others. However, the fundamental fact that all settlers benefit from colonialism remains.
v. Edward Cavanagh and Lorenzo Veracini, as cited by Wiersma, ‘What is settler colonialism?’
vi. Kim Mcbreen, ‘The tapu of toanga and wāhine in a colonized land’, available online at http://starspangledrodeo.blogspot.co.nz/2011/02/tapu-of-taonga-and-wahine-in-colonised.html
vii. Linda Smith, as cited by Mcbreen, ‘The tapu of toanga and wāhine in a colonized land’
viii. Waziyatawin, ‘Colonialism on the Ground’ in Unsettling Ourselves: Reflections and Resources for Deconstructing Colonial Mentality, Minnesota: Unsettling Minnesota, 2009, p.192.
ix. Glen Sean Coulthard (Yellowknives Dene), as cited by Daniel Tseghay, available online at http://rabble.ca/blogs/bloggers/mainlander/2014/08/book-review-red-skin-white-masks-rejecting-colonial-politics-recog
x. Jane Anderson, ‘(Colonial) Archives and (Copyright) Law’, available online at http://nomorepotlucks.org/site/colonial-archives- and-copyright-law/
xi. Ibid.
xii. Ann Laura Stoler, ‘Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance’, Archival Science, 2007, p.87.
xiii. Luqman Hayes, ‘Kaupapa Māori In New Zealand Public Libraries,’ New Zealand Library and Information Management Journal 53 (December 2013). Available online at http://www.lianza.org.nz/resources/lianza-publications/nzlimj-e-journal/kaupapa- m%C4%81ori-newzealand-public-libraries; Jared Davidson, ‘Out of Sight, Out of Mind? Non-user Understandings of Archives in Aotearoa New Zealand’, Masters Research Essay, February 2014, available online at http://researcharchive.vuw.ac.nz/xmlui/bitstream/handle/10063/3397/thesis.pdf?sequence=2
xiv. Hayes, ‘Kaupapa Māori in New Zealand Public Libraries, p.87.
xv. Ibid.
xvi. Anderson, ‘(Colonial) Archives and (Copyright) Law’.
xvii. Anderson, ‘(Colonial) Archives and (Copyright) Law’.
xviii. Davidson, ‘Out of Sight, Out of Mind?, p.22.
xix. Moana Jackson, as cited by Ani Mikaere, ‘The Treaty of Waitangi and Recognition of Tikanga Māori’ in Michael Belgrave, Merata Kawharu, & David Vernon Williams (eds.), Waitangi Revisited: Perspectives on the Treaty of Waitangi, Oxford University Press, 2005, p.330.
xx. Ibid., p.332.
xxi. Constitutional Advisory Panel, New Zealand’s Constitution: A Report on a Conversation, November 2013, p.33.
xxii. Sven Lindqvist, Terra Nullius: A Journey through No One’s Land, London: Grata Books, 2007, p.12.
xxiii. Whatarangi Winiata, ‘Raukawa-Mihinare Constitutional Model - Our People, Our Future, Our Way’. Presentation at Our People, Our Future, Our Way, Te Wānanga o Raukawa, Ōtaki, 18 November 2013.
xxiv. Ibid.
xxv. Rachelle Hautapu, ‘A Perspective on the New Federation Structure’, Playcentre Journal 142, 2011, p.27.
xxvi. Whatarangi Winiata, ‘Our knowledge, our future: Puna maumahara & the mātauranga continuum’. Presentation at Sixth International Indigenous Librarians' Forum , Ōtaki, 1-4 February, 2009.
xxvii. Independent Iwi Constitutional Working Group, http://www.converge.org.nz/pma/iwi.htm
xxviii. Mikaere, ‘The Treaty of Waitangi and Recognition of Tikanga Māori’, p.345.
xxix. Ibid.

A day-by-day account of the signing of te Tiriti o Waitangi - Archives New Zealand

2015 marks the 175th anniversary of the signing of te Tiriti o Waitangi. In recognition of this landmark occasion, Archives New Zealand is tweeting records from the collection as they happened in 1840, using the hashtag #Waitangi175.

Each record is shared on twitter so that you can experience the signings day-by-day throughout 2015. You can follow these on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ArchivesNZ

The tweets link through to the Waitangi 175 Flickr album: https://www.flickr.com/photos/archivesnz/sets/72157649292890288. Here each record is arranged chronologically. It forms an excellent resource for anyone interested in the history of the signings, with detailed captions and plenty of content to explore.

As the project coordinator, it has been a great learning experience—both in terms of the records we hold, and learning more about the Tiriti process. It has meant exploring some unfamiliar and interesting collections, such as harbour charts, patent records, publicity studios negatives, Governor correspondence, and school journal artwork.

The project runs until November, so get onto Twitter and follow #Waitangi175 or he Archives New Zealand account.

Why the term ‘settler’ needs to stick

By Corey Snelgrove and Klara Woldenga, The Martlet

This semester, I’ve heard at least one person express their love for this land and their discomfort with the term “settler.” This individual did not see how the term applied to their situation and found it divisive and hurtful. They chalked up conflicts within indigenous-settler solidarity efforts to simple differences in cultures and worldviews.

The latter statement is fundamentally connected to the speaker’s discomfort with the term “settler.”

Simplifying these conflicts ignores and hides the ongoing colonial power dynamics that shape indigenous-settler relationships. This logic frames colonialism as historic, rather than an ongoing structure.

This is why the term “settler” is used: to denaturalize our — that is, all non-indigenous peoples’ — status on this land, to force colonialism into the forefront of our consciousness, to cause discomfort and force a reckoning with our inherited colonial status, to create the understanding and desire to embrace, demand and effect change.

“Settler” is a political and relational term describing our contemporary relationship to colonialism. It is not a racial signifier. Rather, it is a non-homogenous, spatial term signifying the fact that colonial settlement has never ceased. Colonial settlement is ongoing and it will remain so as long as we continue our implicit consent by remaining willfully oblivious to, or worse, actively and consciously defending, colonial power relations.

Dispossession, disconnection and destruction is the story of Canada. But it doesn’t have to be our future.

If we don’t acknowledge and understand our settler status, how will we work together, in solidarity and in practice, for a better future?

Of course, being called a settler or self-identifying as a settler doesn’t mean we understand this relationship — perhaps we never will fully understand the extent of it. Nor is it an end in itself. Unsettling is a longer and larger-than-life process involving the emotional, psychological and mental, but more importantly, the material.

We have inherited “settler” status because the structures of colonial domination remain to benefit us, whether you are first or eleventh generation on these lands (though these benefits flow unequally amongst us). Understanding this is the first step in creating new relationships based on peace and mutual respect — the first move towards producing the conditions for solidarity.

But this is only the first step.

Defending Ōrākau

Reposted from NatLib: Many New Zealanders will be aware of the approaching centenary of the beginning of the Great War, but it is also important to remember the New Zealand Wars fought on our own soil. Between March and June, the 150th anniversaries of the battles of Ōrākau, Pukehinahina (Gate Pā), and Te Ranga will be commemorated. Next week the Library is hosting public events featuring different perspectives on the Waikato War, and in particular, the battle of Ōrākau.

This is in association with the exhibition Borderland: The World of James Cowan , currently showing in the Turnbull Gallery. The writer James Cowan (1870-1943) grew up close to the site of the Ōrākau battle, and his family farm included part of the Ōrākau pā.

Sketch of the country about Orakau. Plate 16 from Journals of the Deputy Quartermaster General, 1864. Ref: MapColl 832.14hkm 1864 6659

The Waikato War (1863–64) was waged by the government against the Kīngitanga movement, which arose in resistance to land sales in Waikato.

Towards the end of that war, Rewi Maniapoto was persuaded by members of Ngāti Raukawa and Tūhoe to defend Ōrākau. The fortified pā was still being built on 31 March 1864 when more than 1,000 British troops arrived, led by Brigadier-General Carey. The pā withstood frontal attacks and shelling, before the British soldiers surrounded it and constructed a sap, digging their way in a zig-zag motion towards the 300 Māori defenders.

By the time General Cameron arrived on 2 April, the Māori were suffering from thirst and starvation. Cameron called for a ceasefire and offered them a chance to surrender.

There are several versions of what happened next. Most agree that one of the defenders replied with: ‘E hoa, ka whawhai tonu ki a koe, ake, ake’ – ‘Friend, we will fight you forever and ever’. The women were then offered a chance to leave, but Ahumai Te Paerata replied: ‘Ki te mate ngā tāne, me mate anō ngā wāhine me ngā tamariki’ – ‘If the men die, then the women and children must also die’.

Rewi defying the British troops at Orakau. Wilson & Horton lith. Auckland, 1893. Ref: C-033-004.

 Later that day, the Māori defenders broke out of the pā in a group, taking the British by surprise. They headed towards the nearby swampland and scattered. One of the survivors, Hitiri Te Paerata, later reported: ‘A storm of bullets … seemed to encircle us like hail’. Of the 300 in the pā, 160 were killed.

One survivor of the Waikato War – after being invited to attend the 50th ‘jubilee’ event commemorating the battle in 1914 – said to James Cowan ‘The Pākehā, is willing to let bygones to be bygones, but does he offer to give me back my potato ground?’

At a recent symposium hosted by the Alexander Turnbull Library, in conjunction with the Centre for Colonial Studies of the University of Otago, various themes were explored into Cowan’s legacy, including relating to his recording of the battle of Ōrākau. Paul Meredith, of Ngāti Maniapoto, who grew up in Kihikihi area, spoke about Cowan’s methods of writing down oral histories, and collaborating with tribal scholars such as Raureti Te Huia when he gathered information about the wars. Meredith suggested that Cowan’s methods have parellels with kaupapa Māori methodology of today.

There is a letter in Borderland from Raureti Te Huia to Cowan, in which Te Huia gives feedback on the validity of two maps that Cowan had sent him, relating to the layout of Ōrākau pa. This letter was a part of the collection of Cowan papers that the library acquired at the end of 2012 which inspired the Borderland exhibition.

Photograph of six Ngāti Maniapoto survivors of the Ōrākau battle, taken by James Cowan in 1914. Ref: 1/1-017975-G

 Commemorations for the 150th anniversary of Ōrākau include three days of activities in Waikato (31 March-2 April).

The National Library is hosting a season of lunchtime talks next week, focusing on Ōrākau.

On 24 March we have the kuia, Rovina Maniapoto, a mokopuna of some of those who fought at the battle, who will be talking about the Ngāti Maniapoto perspective on the events of the battle and what has happened since.

On 25 March Te Kenehi Teira will be talking about The New Zealand Historic Places Trust's recent registration of Ōrākau as a wāhi tapu area. Teira, who spoke at the recent Cowan symposium, will also talk about the driving tour ‘apps’ they have developed which allow people to learn a lot about the history of Waikato War sites, while at the relevant sites.

On 26 March, the historian Vincent O’Malley will talk about how Ōrākau has been remembered (or forgotten) focussing on the 50th and 100th year commemorations in 1914 and 1964.

And there are more events coming up soon. Have a look!
 
For more information about the James Cowan symposium held at the National Library, see this post from Lachlan Paterson on the Centre for Research on Colonial Culture's blog.

And if you'd like to learn more about the the Battle of Ōrākau you could start with this page from NZHistory.net.

The Ōrākau battlefield as it appears today. Photo: Paul Diamond

The Treaty and the Word: The Colonization of Māori Philosophy (an extract)

Sheet 1: The Waitangi Sheet. [IA 9 9 Sheet 1]

The nature of my work means I engage with Te Tiriti o Waitangi on a regular basis. This has led me to learn a lot more about Te Tiriti, the colonial history of Aotearoa, and tikanga (Māori law). There are a number of resources available on these topics, but two writers that have challenged my  understandings of both Te Tiriti and tikanga are Moana Jackson and Ani Mikaere.

The following extract is from a chapter written by Moana Jackson in Justice, Ethics, and New Zealand Society (Oxford University Press Australia & New Zealand, 1992). There are one or two other chapters worth reading, but 'The Treaty and the Word: The Colonization of Maori Philosophy' stands out for its radical re-framing of the Treaty debate, its clear description of tikanga (Māori law), and its sweeping critique of colonization. 

To take an extract out of its context is always problematic, especially when the text has been constructed in a concerted way. However, the part I've highlighted here really is worth highlighting.


The Māori philosophy of law, te māramatanga o ngā tikanga, was sourced in the beginning. From the kete of Tāne it was handed down through the precedent and practice of ancestors. Like an intricate tāniko pattern, it was interwoven with the reality of kinship relations and the ideal balance for those within such relationships. It provided sanctions against the commission of hara or wrongs which upset that balance, and it established rules for negotiation and agreement between whānau, hapū, and iwi. It formulated a clear set of rights which individuals could exercise in the context of their responsibility to the collective. It also laid down clear procedures for the mediation of disputes and for adaption to new and different circumstances.

This philosophy was a body of thought which acknowledged the potential for conflict in human relations, a conflict sourced in the beginning disputes of creation. Its wisdom lay in the ideas it developed to maintain balance in accordance with the notion of whakawhitiwhiti kōrero, or consensual mediation. Its efficacy was ensured through the exercise of political authority, mana, or rangatiratanga, which compelled compliance through ultimate sanctions such as muru or utu.

The effectiveness of sanctions was due to the fact that rangatiratanga was a total political authority. It was defined by Sir James Henare in 1987 as authority over the Māori way of life, and by Te Ataria a century earlier as the power to determine life and death. It was also, as the 1835 Declaration attests, a statement or philosophy of independence

This philosophy and the institutions which arose from it were, of course, quite different from those of the Pākehā law. they were also quite unacceptable in the context of the power structures which colonization sought to implement. They were, in fact, a source of independent sovereign authority incompatible with the givens of the colonial way. If colonization was to proceed, therefore, they needed to be dismissed, redefined, or subsumed within the alien institutions of the colonist. They were a part of the Māori soul, and the needed to be attacked by the Leviathan of Crown sovereignty.

The institutions of Māori law were to be replaced by a mythology of Pākehā law which sought to deny the reality of its cultural bias and its political servitude through a dishonest rhetoric of impartiality and equality. And they were to be supplanted by a Pākehā political authority which sought to justify its power through a rhetoric sourced in the mythology of that law.

In the realm of mythology, however, the ultimate reality is human interest, and the mask of mythology rarely hides the truth. In imposing their own myths, the fabric of their own word, Pākehā law and politics removed Māori rights and authority from their philosophical base. Colonization demanded, and still requires, that Māori no longer source their right to do anything in the rules of their own law. Rather they have to have their rights defined by Pākehā; they have to seek permission from an alien word to do those things which their philosophy had permitted for centuries.

Their rights as tangata whenua defined by Māori law have been replaced by a Pākehā concept of aboriginal rights exercised within, and limited by, the Pākehā law. Their political status, as determined by a shared whakapapa which underlay the exercise of rangatiratanga, has been replaced by a common subordination to a foreign sovereignty. The mythological right to impose that sovereignty is claimed by the Crown on several grounds. The imperial order of annexation issued by the Colonial Office in January 1840, the unilateral alleged conquest of Maāori in battle, and of course, the Treaty - these are all advanced as proof of the Crown's right to rule over Māori.

Yet such claims flow from an acceptance of the givens of the Pākehā word and a rejection of the Māori. At its most simplistic level they articulate what is almost a petulant position: that because the Crown has proclaimed sovereignty it has it. Like deLoria's bully, the Crown pouts and claims, "I have asserted my sovereignty, so of course I am sovereign."

Alternatively, in a slightly more refined petulance, it claims that because it now exercises de facto sovereignty, the Pākehā rule of law requires the rejection of any other sovereign claim. The validity of Māori rule of law is, of course, lost in the petulance. However, the mere assertion of authority or the passage of time can neither justify an imposed power, nor render meaningless the rights of those who have been subjected.

Yet the assurance and arrogance of the Pākehā word are such that it can make these claims: within its law they are valid. But according to the word of the people over whom the claims are made, they are not at all valid. They are merely symbols of oppression which no amount of legalistic righteousness can deny.

Under Māori law, it was impossible for any iwi to declare its authority over another except through absolute military conquest. It was equally impossible for any iwi to give away its sovereignty to another. The sovereign mana or rangatiratanga of an iwi was handed down from the ancestors to be nurtured by the living for the generations yet to be. It could not be granted to the descendants of a different ancestor, nor subordinated to the will of another.

This firm reality, however, was dismissed by the alien word - if in fact it was ever understood. It was merely part of a primitive political construct which needed to be civilized; and if, as the Black American writer LeRoi Jones has stated, 'in order to civilize you must first oppress', then so be it. And if that Māori construct was ever to be actually given written expression, as it was in the Treaty, then it needed to be redefined and made acceptable to the oppressor's word.

 The story of this redefinition, and indeed the whole Pākehā analysis of the Treaty, is one of legal and political gymnastics performed behind a veil of apparently reasoned justification. As such it is a story that has more to do with a continuing but covert colonization than it does with acknowledging the truth; with creating ever-changing myths about the reality of power, rather than establishing honest relations between Māori and Pākehā.

The opening chapter of this story is always a debate about whether the Treaty is, in fact, a valid agreement under Pākehā law. The fact that it is valid in Māori law does not even merit a footnote.

The question of whether or not it is legal under Pākehā law does not prevent the second chapter beginning with the claim that the cession of Māori sovereignty in Article One of the English text is a clear and valid transfer of authority to the Crown. Because of this claim. the Pākehā word and its writ can run according to its law for the rest of the story. The attacks on Māori soul can hereafter be carried out in the name of Pākehā law.

Māori law and the Māori text of the Treaty, of course, allowed no such thing. Because it was impossible to give away the mana of the iwi under Māori law, no transfer of sovereignty could occur, hence no attack on the rights or soul of the Māori was permitted or even contemplated.

Thus, in Article One of the Māori text, the rangatira grant to the Crown a notion of kawangatanga - of authority to govern the settlers, the people our ancestors called 'ngā tangata whai muri' - 'those who came after'. For the Māori text to have done more would have been contrary to Māori law, and the rangatira would have been unable to sign.

The Māori version of the Treaty is a reflection of the ancestral precedents and rights which were defined by Māori law. If fulfilled the form of Māori law since it was discussed by the representatives of iwi, and it both recognised and preserved the authority which they had as rangatira to sign on behalf of their people. It was the text around which all the discussion at Waitangi was based, and to which most rangatira attached their moko. It did not, therefore, give the Crown the right to rule of Māori simply because within the philosophy of Māori life and law that was impossible. It did not even suggest such an option because the political realities of 1840 precluded it.

Article Two of the Māori text acknowledged both the political reality and Māori philosophy when it reaffirmed the rangatiratanga of iwi. In spite of that acknowledgment, however, the truths of Māori law and political control remained unacceptable to the colonizer's view of the new world they sought to create and the new word they sought to impose. The Māori text was therefore eventually dismissed, and the word of the English was elevated into an unchallengeable given.

- Moana Jackson

Urewera 4: hung jury

From October 15th: ‘We consider the inability of the jury to make a decision on Count 1 in the Urewera case a victory. The inability of the jury to make a decision on Count 1 in the Urewera case is evidence that the crown’s story doesn’t stack up. We have always said that this charge was laid specifically in order that the crown could use evidence it knew was illegal in order to secure convictions on firearms charges. It is a stitch up from start to finish’ said Valerie Morse from the October 15th Solidarity group.

‘The Supreme Court’s decision in September last year stated unequivocally that the evidence was illegal. It couldn’t be used against those charged only under the Arms Act. For the five who were charged under section 98A – Participation in an organised criminal group, the evidence was admissible, despite it being illegal. This charge should never have been allowed.’

‘Operation 8 was a multimillion dollar police operation designed to harass Tuhoe and political activists. After six years, the crown has secured a few firearms convictions based on illegal evidence. This whole episode reveals the sad face of a racist country determined to quash Maori aspirations for sovereignty.’

Katipo Books: new website & e-newsletter sign-up

The Katipo collective are pretty excited about our new website, which now has some new books available—if you haven't already seen it, have a peek here: http://katipobooks.co.nz/ If you've linked to us in the past, you may need to change the link (the old website is long gone).

The new website also has one of those email sign-up things, so if you want to stay in touch with us, be informed of new books, and know when we are having stalls or events, please take a second to sign up here (or at our website): http://eepurl.com/jxeE9 We promise not to spam you too much : )

Because our website is still new, we'd be stoked if you wanted to forward this email to a friend.

Thanks again from the Katipo Books Workers' Co-Operative

--
Katipo Books Workers Co-Operative
http://katipobooks.co.nz/

Oppression within oppression: a response to “A Question of Privilege”

This is an excellent article from my friend Hana—well worth a read.

 
This is a response to an article called “A Question of Privilege” that was posted on the newly formed national libcomaotearoa list, which you can find here. I am disturbed by many of the ideas conveyed in this article, because they clearly represent a trend in anarchist class struggle that disregards an analysis of power as it pertains to relationships within the working class. I have been reluctant to respond to the arguments in “A Question of Privilege”, because it feels like going back-to-basics. Surely most anarchists understand that an analysis of power must have a prominent place in the way we organise toward revolution. Yet hostility to analyses of power that are not purely class-based (i.e. feminist and decolonial theories) appears to be brewing in libertarian class struggle circles, which is really worrying to me. While I do not see class struggle as the only site of resistance, it is certainly essential if we are to create social movements that will really change things. And while I do not want to squeeze all other theories against oppression into a (still narrow) class struggle framework, I do want class struggle movements to be a place where those of us marginalised within the working class (by gender, race and/or whatever else) can shape theory, strategy and practice. For this to happen, conversations about feminism, decolonisation and other struggles against oppression must be in dialogue with class struggle discourse. In this response I focus on how many of the ideas conveyed in “A Question of Privilege” devalue the role of feminist theory in shaping anarchist class struggle. (Note: I use the word ‘power’ interchangeably with ‘privilege’: I like ‘power’ better because it feels less fixed).

“A Question of Privilege” represents the view that an analysis of power has no relevance to class struggle. At its most basic level, an analysis of power requires the understanding that some people have access to more power than others in this society, and that those with more can benefit from the oppression of those with less. Therefore, it is up to those oppressed or exploited and their allies to get organised and overthrow the hierarchy, be it that created by capitalism, patriarchy, colonisation or anything else. To struggle together even when we are affected by divergent oppressions, we need to be able to give up power-over: a ruling class person would have to give up their access to the means of production in order to struggle alongside workers. Not all power-over is as simple as that, but being an ally is about giving up power-over to the extent that it is possible. I cannot give up my white skin, and the fact that this makes me less likely to be arrested for the same crime as other Māori who are brown. Yet being prepared to investigate how this place of relative power and how it informs my viewpoint is fundamental to me being able to stand in solidarity with other Māori in the struggle against colonialism and racism. To me, this analysis of power is fundamental to anarchist praxis.

However, in “A Question of Privilege” Anonymous argues that the ruling class is the only group that can be said to be privileged, claiming that we cannot give up power (such as masculine privilege) when it is tied up with capitalism. I agree that most oppression (i.e. patriarchal oppression) is inextricable with capital, and that approaches to power that do not recognise this are unable to help build a movement against capitalism. However, does that mean that we should not try to understand the historical and present-day struggles of people oppressed by patriarchy? By never indicating that feminism or any other analysis of oppression has a place in informing the way we organise against capital, Anonymous disregards the relevance of these discourses to the struggles of working class people. I disagree vehemently with the notion that an analysis of power has no place in understanding relationships within the working class, indeed, oppression and privilege clearly impact on our capacity to organise together. For me, the willingness to interrogate my position of powerin relation to others, or their power in relation to is an essential part of forming solidarity with folks who are also exploited by class. For that reason and many others, feminism and other discourses that further the interests of those marginalised by any oppressive structure should have an important place in informing class struggle praxis.

For me, the most noticeable thing about “A Question of Privilege” is that it uses language that minimises the impact of patriarchy, white supremacy and other systems of oppression that are not purely about class. For instance, Anonymous asserts that: “‘privileges’ granted by the ruling order to people in certain social categories among the exploited actually amount to nothing more than a lessening of the intensity of exploitation and oppression experienced by these people relative to others”. It is a pity the writers felt the need to belittle the experience of oppression within oppression, for the point that there is commonality across the working class in terms of how we are exploited would have stood perfectly well on its own. Unless of course, Anonymous intends to minimise the experiences of those of us marginalised within the working class, and thereby infer that we should practice class struggle without reference to any other form of oppression. Anonymous also dismisses the critical response to marginalisation, characterising the understanding that some people within the working class have more privilege than others as “useless from an anarchist and revolutionary perspective”. Here, the word ‘useless’ implies a non-negotiable disregard for an analysis of power other than that between ruling and working class. But if there is no place for other analyses of power, then where is the place of feminism, of decolonisation, or any other discourse that furthers the interests of people oppressed in multiple ways?

Because oppression is inextricable from capitalism, Anonymous draws the conclusion that we should not try to ameliorate it, but rather seek to overthrow capital. I agree that freedom from patriarchy cannot be realised so long as there is capitalism, and I have certainly experienced anarchist settings where people act as if it were, even if they theoretically admit that it is not. Here, the struggle against sexism is often figured as the effort to purge it from our lives and ourselves, rather than a constant challenge to power-over and the will to power. However, just because we cannot get rid of sexism without overthrowing capitalism, does that mean that we should not challenge the exercise of power-over? For instance, I think it is appropriate to exclude known violent abusers from anarchist organisations. I also think that it is important to acknowledge that this is only a line in the sand. Many of us go home to families, have friends, or work with people for whom violence is the norm and yet we are not prepared to cut ties. This contradiction is simply a reality of living under patriarchy and trying to struggle against it at the same time. For me, the political imperative to purge sexism has been crazy-making and isolating. Yet an acceptance of sexist behavior would be to comply with the subordination of women or anyone else on the receiving end of it. To me, this conundrum represents a tension that we need to negotiate constantly, rather than an either/or situation.

Anonymous draws attention to the way the ruling class uses oppression within the working class to divide us, but fails to acknowledge the room we do have to limit our use of power. Anonymous contends that privilege is conferred by the ruling class as a means to focus our antagonism on each other rather than them: “[privileges] are intended to convince these people that they have more in common with their exploiters than with those not granted the same “privileges” and to convince the others that their real enemy is not the ruling class, but rather those granted a less intense level of exploitation”. I agree that the Ruling Class does indeed benefit from our dividedness, and that bourgeois ideology encourages the oppressed to identify with the ruling class rather than each other. However, Anonymous neglects the fact that those with relative power can extract material gains at the expense of those with less. Indeed, I strongly disagree with Anonymous’s argument that relative privilege is a “phantom”, i.e. has no material basis, and their inference that letting go of power-over has no place in class struggle. Anonymous contends that the fact women are more likely to experience sexual harassment amounts to an easing of the conditions of exploitation for men. Writing as though sexual harassment were created by the ruling class to divide us, Anonymous fails to acknowledge the agency of the working class men who sexually harass women, and the complicity of those who support them. If sexism is challenged and those challenged refuse to engage, it is they, not the challengers who are ‘dividing the working class’.

If the writers of “A Question of Privilege” are trying to say that certain discourses around privilege do not further class struggle, I can agree with that. Indeed, I feel it is crucial to maintain a critical culture that constantly re-evaluates how we approach oppression. From what I have seen, anarchist praxis that insists on perfect ideological understanding as a prerequisite to collective organisation does not often extend beyond friendship groups. While I lived in Wellington (2004-2007) much of our focus as anarchist-feminists went into dealing with sexism within that anarchist scene. This is no mean feat, and I think an significant growth in consciousness around sexism occurred within that scene through the efforts and persistence of feminists and pro-feminists. However, there was also an collective unwillingness to work with anyone (of whatever gender) who did not already have a certain type of consciousness about oppression, or was not quick to learn. From that unwillingness flowed a praxis that was somewhat severed from the material conditions of our lives. We attended and organised protests, formed the radical wing of reformist campaigns and occasionally ‘fucked shit up’. Yet none of these political strategies required us to go out of our comfort zones and work with others with similar material interests, but did not necessarily share our ideology. This approach to politics culminated in a insular and unfocused anarchist scene that could not help build a diverse movement against capital or patriarchy. However, I do not blame a militant stance on sexist oppression for this, but rather ideological puritanism coupled with the notion that the world can be changed by a small group of committed individuals fucking shit up.

If we are to create theory that addresses the reality of working class women, we need an analysis of power and a dedication to critical exchange. Sexism in all its forms (internalised, implicit, or openly acted out), attacks women’s power and therefore has a direct impact on our ability to organise politically or have a voice in how theory is developed. On an email list where the emphasis is on intellectual exchange, an analysis of power can help ensure that marginalised voices are heard and theory that addresses our concerns can be created. A willingness to dialogue about feminism and class struggle requires first of all an acknowledgement that what feminists have to offer is important. This does not necessitate that anyone secede to whatever feminists think, but rather a dedication to constructive conversation. This works best when we can interrogate our positions of power or bias whilst still valuing our own critical perspective (paradoxical, I know!). Passivity and guilt are common responses to being asked to evaluate ones use of power, yet they are not helpful. Rather than deciding from an informed perspective what sexist practices they will relinquish, guilt ridden men often revert to ‘good little boy’ mode, and sullenly do whatever feminists tell them to do. Yet men giving up responsibility for themselves does not constitute feminist practice. Personally, I would prefer to talk with mature people who can limit their use of power without having to negate themselves.

Whereas the refusal to acknowledge power differences is complicit in the privileging of some peoples interests over another, a willingness to challenge power-over is a call to empower all. The ideas purveyed in “A Question of Privilege” are disturbing because they disregard the importance of feminism and other struggles against power-over by dismissing an analysis of power. Yet an analysis of power is essential to non-hierarchical class struggle because it provides us with understanding and strategies that enable us to stand in solidarity, not in the sense of having entirely eliminated oppression, but rather in a dialectical sense of ongoing confrontation, engagement, and hopefully synthesis. For this to happen, there needs to be a dialogue between feminist and class struggle discourses, and attention paid to the areas where they consciously cross over, from theorists like Mariarosa Dalla Costa, to us everyday people who happen to be passionate about both.
Hana Plant

Operation 8: the movie

nzherald.co.nz: If you're not paranoid, you haven't been paying attention. It's an old line, coined half in wry humour, half in deadly earnest, but it has a special pungency for Wellington filmmaker Errol Wright.

Wright and co-director Abi King-Jones have spent most of the last three years making Operation 8, a restrained, even sober survey of the October 2007 "anti-terror raids" and their aftermath, that patiently paints a disturbing picture of the use of state force to suppress political dissent.

Wright is aware that the undertaking will have attracted close official attention. He recalls driving along a remote road late one evening and noticing a car a couple of hundred metres behind.
"My cellphone rang," he says, "so I pulled over to answer it. And the other car pulled over 200m back. Then when I drove off, it continued to follow me."

The incident spurred Wright to write to the Security Intelligence Service asking what information it held about him. He shows me the short letter he received in response. Over the signature of director Warren Tucker, it declines to confirm or deny that the SIS holds anything. In doing so, the letter says, it relies on section 32 of the Privacy Act, which allows an agency to withhold information if its release could "prejudice the maintenance of the law".

"Which is a yes," chips in King-Jones.

"We have just taken the view that we expect there will be surveillance [of us] and we carry on. It's not a very nice feeling, but it brings you closer to the world of the people you are documenting."

The events of October 15, 2007 introduced the word "terrorist" into our domestic political discourse for the first time since 9/11 made it the century's most electrifying buzzword. More than 300 police raided 60 houses around the country, many in the Ruatoki valley in the heart of Tuhoe country.
The raids, which resulted in 18 arrests, followed more than a year of surveillance and related to an alleged paramilitary training camp deep in the forests of the Urewera ranges.

Within less than four weeks, the police case was in tatters: charges laid under the Terrorism Suppression Act 2002 were dropped after the Solicitor-General declined to prosecute them. He specifically defended the police action, but said there was insufficient evidence to sustain the charges, brought under legislation he called "complex and incoherent" and "almost impossible to apply to domestic circumstances".

The firearms charges that remain are scheduled to be heard - controversially before a judge alone, not a jury, for reasons that have themselves been suppressed - next month in Auckland.

Operation 8 - the film takes its title from the police codename for the 2007 raids - deliberately avoids using an instructive or tendentious voiceover. But it provides a pretty useful summary of a story which, its makers fear, has fallen off the public radar.

"I think a lot of people are saying 'whatever happened with that? Are they in prison?'," says King-Jones. "Other people think the whole issue was finished when the Solicitor-General made the decision. People want to know - and they need to know - what happened and why."

What's new about the film is that it gives a voice to those who have so far been voiceless. The opening shots, a helicopter-eye view of the forest, plays over the words of 12-year-old Patricia Lambert, caught in the raids on Tuhoe.

"I saw all these people in black," she says. "It was really scary."

Patricia ushers in the testimony of others in Tuhoe and elsewhere whose stories of police actions would be comical if they were not so chilling: unlocked doors kicked down; fences smashed a few metres from a wide-open gate; children and grannies in their nightwear, kneeling on wet concrete at gunpoint; officers yelling "you will be sent to Guantanamo!".

Meanwhile a gallery of talking heads including security analyst Paul Buchanan, law professor Jane Kelsey and lawyer Moana Jackson comment lucidly and disturbingly on the original actions and the conduct of the case since.

There is testimony from former cops too, including Ross Meurant, whose contribution lent the film its subtitle "Deep in the Forest", and a one-time undercover man who makes some troubling inferences from the size of a police application for a surveillance warrant.

Wright and King-Jones are aware of the charge that they sometimes appear almost to merge with their subjects. At one point, one of the more eloquent of those arrested, Valerie Morse, accosts Detective Sergeant Aaron Pascoe, the head of the operation, outside the Auckland District Court. "Do you really think I am a terrorist?", she asks.

The microphone she thrusts towards him is plugged into King's camera and I feel constrained to ask him whether he has crossed the invisible, but important, line between a documentarian and his subject.
"I think it's impossible to be totally neutral when you are making something. It's very difficult to understand what the environment is for being a political activist in NZ if you don't spend enough time finding out."

Adds King-Jones: "When you collect all this observational material, you get to know these people. It's an important part of the process because these people are in a way quite isolated because of what they have been through. You have to get over their very understandable suspicion. They are wondering 'Are you someone that can be trusted?' or 'What's your angle?', that sort of thing. You can't really separate yourself from your environment."

No one disputes that most, if not all, of the 18 have a history of activism. But the film raises concerns about the role police anti-terrorism measures can play in stifling the legitimate dissent that is the lifeblood of democracy.

Wright and King-Jones point out that what might be dubbed the "protest movement" has been sidelined since the 1970s when political dissent was commonplace.

"It's been really crushed in the last 10 or 20 years," says Wright, "and this was a further crunch."
In any case they are impatient with the notion of objectivity, a term commonly used by people who wish something had been slanted their way.

"[In the raid], 18 people were arrested, 60 houses smashed into, stuff turned totally upside down," says Wright. "The police got to present their point of view through the media and they called press conferences all the time. They have a whole full-time PR team at Police National HQ. They are very well-resourced to look after their own interests. And at the same time, you have these people who really have no voice."

So is their film a dispassionate or activist one?

"Both, really," says King-Jones. "It's about allowing the audience to hear and see something and take away from it what they want. They don't want to be banged over the head with anything. But you want to be able to take them by the hand and lead them somewhere and say: 'What do you think of that?'."
Unsurprisingly the pair are hoping for a good turnout at the screenings - and even a bit of noise. "It's an opportunity for people to take stock of where this country is going," says Wright, "and ask themselves whether we want this kind of country. Because if we don't rein it in soon we are going to be in too deep."

King-Jones: "I just hope that audiences will get a first-hand experience of the people who were targeted. If you are able to get a broader picture of where this has all come from, maybe you will go away from it being more aware of what's going on."

Operation 8: Deep In The Forest screens at the Paramount in Wellington tomorrow at 2.45pm and at Skycity Theatre in Auckland on Monday at 3pm and 8.15pm as part of the World Cinema Showcase.

Towards a Constructive Anarchism: the Strategy of Beyond Resistance

In Aotearoa, as around the world, we face many obstacles to the growth of a mass, anarchist communist movement. The forces of capitalism and the state aside, we are up against a society used to the delegation of power to someone else. Politicians, union and community bureacrats, and lobbying are the main channels of current dissent in Aotearoa. Likewise, our highly individualised society — with its loss of community and the increase of isolation, consumption, and apathy — has overshadowed the ideas of direct action, collective decision making, solidarity, and self-organisation. In the workplace we face individual contracts, casualised labour, and a lack of class conciousness; where unions do exist, they are hopelessly reformist and entirely entrenched in the current capitalist structure.

The position of Beyond Resistance is that in order to challenge these current conditions, it is necessary to struggle. But if we are a fighting organisation, then strategy and tactics must be applied. We need to know well our long term objectives and how to overcome these obstacles — the end being to weaken our class enemy, strengthening organs of self-management and dual power, and take concrete tactical steps which bring us closer to a position of breaking with the current system.

Propaganda is necessary to build a visible and vibrant working class movement. But it cannot be the exclusive focus of our efforts — propaganda cannot determine the needs of an organisation; it is the needs of the organisation that have to determine the propaganda.

With this in mind, we must be able to offer constructive and practical action based on our ideas, our methods and our goals. We must work towards a constructive anarchism. Therefore, Beyond Resistance seeks to implement the strategy put forward here.

Film and fundraiser for Oct.15th arrestees

REMEMBER THE STATE TERROR RAIDS OF 2007

On Monday, October 15th 2007, more than 300 police carried out dawn raids on dozens of houses all over Aotearoa / New Zealand. Police claim the raids were in response to 'concrete terrorist threats' from indigenous activists. 20 people are facing charges under the Arms Act, in a trial that could take several years.

Beyond Resistance is proud to present Tuhoe: History of Resistance, the fiery account of Tuhoe’s resistance to the NZ Governement and its volatile relationship with the Crown, in rememberence of the State Terror Raids of 2007. Presented to mark the 3rd anniversary of the raids, all proceeds from the night will go to the ongoing struggle of the arrestees and their defense fund.

"The Tuhoe people of the Urewera region have suffered since a Crown invasion and persecution from the 1860s. It is a Sunday in January of 2005 in the Ruatoki valley. A Waitangi Tribunal hearing has been called. Tuhoe are waiting to meet the visitors many are on horseback. Determined to remind the Crown of these many wrongdoings, Tuhoe have come out in force. Robert Pouwhare’s film documents and records that day.

Tame Iti elaborates "We wanted them to feel the heat and smoke, and Tuhoe outrage and disgust at the way we have been treated for 200 years, (The Crown) destroyed people's homes and burned their crops and we wanted them to feel that yesterday. We wanted to demonstrate to them what it feels like being powerless. The confiscation and subsequent colonisation have had a devastating effect on Tuhoe over the past 100 years."

Reflecting on the day Iri Akarana-Rewi of Ngapuhi says "Maori culture has lost something, it has become catalogued and contained on performance stages at kapa haka festivals, Tuhoe have taken it off the stage and used it to challenge the powers that be and here it is where it should be in all its honest intensity, in the valleys, on the roads and streets a functioning part of everyday life. My uncle once said that the struggle of people against power was the same as the struggle of remembering against forgetting. Today Tuhoe has chosen not to forget, today Tuhoe has shown us the way."

Watch the trailer here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uBOHFOHxbE

Food, drinks and childcare will be provided, so come on down and join your local anarchists as part of our monthly film nights at the WEA! Zines, books and more will also be available on the night thanks to the lovely folks at Katipo Books.


Thursday 29th October, 6.30pm. WEA (59 Gloucester Street), Otautahi/Christchurch.

$5 entry — all proceeds to the October 15th defense fund.

Film length: 60 minutes

For more information contact:
otautahianarchists (at) gmail.com
beyondresistance.wordpress.com

Explosive Expression Art Auction

October 15th Solidarity screenprint

Haven't designed anything in a wee while, so when I was asked to design the poster for the upcoming October 15th Solidarity Exhibition and Auction I had to dust off the inner cobwebs, so to speak. Quite happy with the result, which I will hand screenprint this week at SRA2 size (640mm x 540mm). Trying to get the third colour from overprinting the red onto black, which I haven't done in that particular combo, so we'll see how it goes! Not sure if you can make it out, but the lovely gentleman featured is our very own Police Commissioner Howard Broad.

Make sure you try and get down to the exhibition, check out the full events on offer, and show you support for the arrestees of the October 15th 2007 state terror raids.

Beyond Resistance: a new collective of class struggle anarchists

After a few local events and discussions, a new anarchist group has formed in Otautahi.

Beyond Resistance is a collective of revolutionary class struggle anarchists in Otautahi/Christchurch, Aotearoa, who have come together in the hope of creating a coherent and organised anarchist presence in our area. Our name reflects our intended approach to struggle — a visible and constructive anarchism that goes beyond mere reaction, both in the workplace and the community.

We are a new collective which hopes to grow and develop over time — through good group process, regular events such as our monthly film nights and forums, our own paper, and most importantly, clear strategy and vision for constructive struggle. Feel free to check out our aims & principles for where we stand, or visit our (very new) website: Beyond Resistance.

Our group strategy will be coming soon (after our first strategy hui), but we recognse that an anarchist position should be that in order to have improvements, it is necessary to struggle. So if we are a fighting organisation, then strategy and tactics must be applied to advance our anarchist positions and in order to build dual power — to take concrete tactical steps which bring us closer to a position of breaking with and destroying the prevailing order. Without a program, we have nothing to offer those wanting to empower themselves through class struggle, and the potential of anarchist input in this struggle, as a result, becomes near to naught.

This is the task in front of us as a small collective wanting to punch above it’s weight. We look forward to this struggle, and hope to build strong relationships with other groups around Aotearoa with similar positions.

If you’re in Otautahi and would like to get involved then please get in touch, or to be informed of local upcoming events (such as the film screening of Lucio this Thursday at the WEA), sign on to the Otautahi anarchist announcement list. We meet every second Thursday at the WEA from 6.30pm, but if you can't make regular meetings and are keen to help out, then you can become a support member with the option of paying dues and being involved in other ways. Again, feel free to get in touch to find out more.

In solidarity!
Beyond Resistance

Email: otautahianarchists (at) gmail.com
Web: http://beyondresistance.wordpress.com/
List: http://lists.anarchism.org.nz/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/otautahi

Tino Rangatiratanga?

Great comment from Indymedia.

The systems of trustboards and runanga were modelled off of the Maori Affairs model and has circumvented the traditional system of checks and balances within most iwi areas.

The very structure of some iwi is now based on what is the mordern corporation with share holders, CEOs, board of directors etc.

The major difference being that most of the members of the iwi are not active participants in the planning and restructuring of the iwi model or even the day to day runnings, but are bystanders watching corporate elites with timi bit of knowledge and knowhow of modern corporations, finance and investment, playing with the blood money payed as hush money by the Government, now used by corporate iwi elites to forge a new class of Maori elite rich fat cats.

Tino Rangatiratanga is rapidly being swapped for the illusion of power that masses of putea gives, and all the empty souless development projects that will add huge financial asset bases to the books of these iwi corporations.

These iwi corp leaders are frauds, they stand as imposter rangatira, brown people in suits who are using the mana of the iwi (and the power that exists when people are bandied together as an iwi is with their autonomy that comes from such unities) to build their own empires at the behest of future generations of Maori that will have to learn about their culture in a museum and reruns of Waka Huia on tv.

Those future generations that will learn about the ocean as it was, the seabed and foreshores as they were, the forests that used to be, the rivers as they used to be, the lakes as they used to be, the mana that their tribes used to have, everything in past tense.

And when all the putea is gone, and the assets have been sold off by creditors to pay the bills, the fishing trawlers hocked off for a song because the fish stocks were fucked years before the crown craftly handed Maori the quotas in a swap for our mana moana, when the land turns to dust from years of over fertilisation that took palce long before it was returned to Maori in a treaty settlement, when the foreshores that used to team with fish, shell fish and other marine life are covered in mussel spat from the over use of mussel farms smothering every bit of life from the seabed...

...and when the last Maori dies that could fluently converse in te reo Maori, and all that we know now is gone or exists as replicas or computerised, or preserved like a mokomokai in some museum, I hope that all of us that lived through this period of time, wherever we may be at that time, be it rarohenga or beyond, I hope we hang our heads in shame, for it is in this generation, our generation, that the final hammer and nails have been handed to us, to this generation, to nail into the coffin of the people currently called Maori and we are either nailing them in hard, or standing by watching without interfering.

This bullshit being passed off as iwi settlements and iwi investment and this new unprecendented rise in cooption of Maori representation into Parliament, needs to be stopped now and those perpetrators need to be held to account. The masses of Maori uninvolved in these doings still hold the mana and do have the ability to put pay to the short sighted deluded actions of a few elitests and wannabe dogooders who are convinced that this is the right way forward for Maori.

Kia mau tonu ra ki to kawau maro

Karawhiua!

Te Iwitoa

Treaty of Waitangi (or Tino Rangatiratanga) for beginners

From Arena.

Conversations around the Treaty of Waitangi tend to generate a lot of heat, but not much light. Some Maori people and their supporters claim that the Treaty has not been honoured. Those with somewhat redder necks say the Treaty should be scrapped because "after all, we're all one people, aren't we?" Many fair-minded people stay silent during these conversations, because they feel the Treaty is too complicated and they don’t have enough knowledge to challenge some of the claims made for or against it. This article is for those people.

In fact, the issues raised by the Treaty are very simple and easy for everyone to understand. The Treaty was an agreement between the British Crown on the one hand and Maori chiefs on the other. For the purposes of the Treaty, the British recognized those Maori who signed it as representing the whole of Maoridom as a nation. It was first signed at Waitangi in the Bay of Islands on February 6, 1840, and there were basically two versions, one in English and one in Maori. Most of the chiefs signed the Maori version.

There are basic differences between the English and the Maori versions, since the Maori version is not a literal translation of the English Treaty. However, under the terms of international law, which governs the signing of agreements between nations, only the Maori version has any legitimacy. This is important, because the differences in the translation are crucial to understanding why many Maori feel the Treaty has not been honoured.

The Treaty of Waitangi consists of a preamble and three basic clauses, called "Articles". (Some Maori signed a version of the Treaty with four articles, but there is little disagreement about the meaning of the fourth, and we can safely ignore it, at least until we have an understanding of the first three.)

In the English version, Article one signs the rights of sovereignty in New Zealand over to the Queen of England. That means that the power to make and enforce laws over the whole country was given to the British Crown. But in the Maori version, something very different, called "kawanatanga", was granted to the Crown in Article I.

An understanding of what is meant by the term kawanatanga is crucial to an understanding of the Treaty, and of the role of Pakeha people and Pakeha institutions in Aotearoa/New Zealand today.

Kawanatanga is a transliteration of the English word "governorship". The difference between kawanatanga and sovereignty is at the heart of many disputes over the Treaty. The present Government cites Article I of the English Treaty as the basis of its claim to sovereignty - the right to rule - in New Zealand. But the claim just doesn’t stand up. Maori who signed the Treaty were led to understand that the status of kawanatanga granted to the British in Article I was a good deal less than that of full sovereignty, or tino rangatiratanga. In their view, they were certainly not signing away their sovereignty when they signed Article I.

So what did they think they were signing? According to records made at the time the Treaty was signed, a missionary by the name of Williams, who had translated the Treaty into Maori, explained the difference between kawanatanga and tino rangatiratanga in terms of the Biblical story of Pontius Pilate. Pilate was the Governor of Judea at the time of Christ’s crucifixion, and as such he was said to exercise "kawanatanga" – governorship. The Maori chiefs were led to understand that Pilate did not have the power of life and death over those he governed. His kawanatanga was something a lot less than the tino rangatiratanga - the chiefly authority - that the Chiefs themselves exercised.

Further, the phrase tino rangatiratanga had previously been used to translate the word "sovereignty" in the 1835 Declaration of Maori Independence. This document, signed five years before the Treaty, was an agreement in which the British Crown had recognized the sovereignty of Maori chiefs in New Zealand. Many of the same chiefs who signed the Declaration also signed the Treaty and would have recognized the use of the phrase from that.



So Article I of the Maori version granted something less than complete sovereign authority to the British, but there is some confusion about what it actually did grant. Fortunately, the confusion is easily cleared up.

The preamble of the Treaty refers to creating good order and harmonious relations between settlers and Maori. That’s because relationships between Europeans and Maori up to that point had been less than ideal. Settlers tended to be a rowdy, uncultured lot who nevertheless considered that the colour of their skin made them superior to the "savages" they encountered in Aotearoa. Maori communities close to European settlements like Kororareka (today called Russell) suffered from frequent looting, rape, general drunkenness and disrespect from white visitors. Defensive measures taken by Maori often resulted in military reprisals. Attempts to bargain with representatives of the British Crown for stricter enforcement of behaviour standards got nowhere because the British Crown was powerless - legally and physically. Despite being able to commandeer the British Navy to punish Maori villages who had dealt summary justice to a lawless whaler, the Crown was unwilling to establish a police force for white folks, because it didn’t have any legal authority in Aotearoa.

The British Resident at the time, a man called James Busby, advised the Chiefs that no-one had any recognized legal authority in Aotearoa. He recommended that the Chiefs get the British Crown to recognize their authority.

That was how the Declaration of Maori Independence came into being. In this document, the British Crown recognized, as noted earlier, that Maori Chiefs exercised sovereignty (tino rangatiratanga) in Aotearoa. But the fact that the British Crown recognized Maori sovereignty did not mean that the settlers were going to follow suit. The lawlessness continued. After another five years, Maori chiefs around Northland had had enough. The Treaty of Waitangi was signed in an attempt to give the British Crown authority over settlers in Aotearoa.

In this way, Article I of the Treaty granted the limited authority of kawanatanga over the Pakeha population of Aotearoa to the British Crown.

Just to make the position absolutely clear, Article II was completely unequivocal in the Maori version. Article II reserved tino rangatiratanga - full sovereign authority - over their lands, forests, fisheries "me o ratou taonga katoa" (and everything they valued) to the chiefs. It further stipulated that any land bought by settlers could not be bought directly from Maori, but had to be acquired by the British Crown first. This carries the clear implication that land acquired by the Crown became land over which British kawanatanga would be exercised. The rest of the land would remain under Maori law.

Article III stated that everyone in Aotearoa would have the rights and privileges of British subjects, but clearly avoided handing Maori any responsibilities or duties to the Crown.

As each chief signed, Governor Hobson is reported to have said to them: "He iwi tahi tatou" (we are one people). It is significant that he said this in Maori, since in the intervening years, most people have taken his words to mean that Maori should become brown-skinned Pakeha, rather than that Pakeha were now to become more like Maori.

After the initial signing at Waitangi, the Treaty was taken to various places around the country and eventually collected signatures from over 500 chiefs. Governor Hobson however, became bored by the process at one stage and claimed the South Island by "right of discovery". Some major tribes, including the Waikato tribes (united in later years under the Maori King) and Tuhoe, to name just two, never signed the Treaty.

Today, many people think that the Treaty gives Maori certain rights. It does not. The rights of sovereignty which Maori exercised for at least 800 years before the arrival of the Pakeha could not and still cannot be "granted" by the Crown. The British Crown officially recognized those rights in the 1835 Declaration of Maori Independence, and that recognition was reaffirmed in Article II of the Treaty. In effect, the Treaty does not give Maori any rights they didn’t already have, but it does give Pakeha certain limited rights - the rights covered by the term kawanatanga.

The Treaty of Waitangi is today the only legal basis for the presence of non-Maori settlers here in Aotearoa/NZ. Maori never gave up their rights (as the Crown claims), nor were they ever conquered, despite several attempts. If we take away the Treaty, the legal right of non-Maori people to live in this country is removed with it. The Treaty of Waitangi is actually about Pakeha rights, not Maori rights. And those rights do not include the right to rule Maori people or Maori land.

That is why many Maori feel the Treaty has not been honoured.

From Arena.