Valedictory Korero

Ngakau Mahaki

Unitec

December 2nd 2019.

John G Davies

(mihi)

I have never spoken of these things, the experiences that have formed my relationships with Maori people, relationships that have shaped my present understanding and assertions. But I owe this house an explanation, of why I am here; of why this came about.

E te whare, ko taku whakamarama tenei. Tenei aku korero ki a koe.

I grew up on a sheep farm in a valley called Ngatamahine near the towns of Aria and Piopio. Te Rohe Potae, the King Country, was by 1885 the last area of Aotearoa remaining under Maori government. Following the invasion of Waikato in 1863 Kingi Tawhiao; fated with the unenviable task of leading his people into exile amongst their cousins Ngati Maniapoto, is said to have placed his hat on a map of Te Ika a Maui and declared, “all the land beneath the hat should remain under my control”. It was not to be. It was the railroad that goes from Auckland to Wellington started in 1887 and finished in 1908 that clinched it. Then the Public Works Acts; the first in 1850 and the last in 2000.

Public Works, the name of alienation.

My father cut virgin forest to establish his sheep farm. The shearing shed was built of lumber from the great Rata logs hauled from the slopes of the farm he called Glen Rata. The Public Works Act of 1928 gave the government power to alienate this land and they had tried during the economic depression in the 1930’s to de-forest and make pasture. The war intervened so the returning soldiers in 1946 were given cheap land, my parents were one such family. My father would say, “I fought that war-they gave me this farm. A pretty good deal”.

Then during the Korean Peninsula war of the early 1950s the Americans sought support of allies New Zealand. In return, New Zealand gained access to American markets to sell wool, US soldiers freezing on the Korean Peninsula needed woollen uniforms.

My dad grew wool.

Then in 1955 the US once again needed allies as it opened a military front in Vietnam. New Zealand agreed to send soldiers and in return got access to the US lamb market.

My dad grew lambs.

I had a wonderful childhood and the fiscal returns of growing wool and lamb meant I grew up privileged; we owned land, we had powerful international trading partners.

My parents were good people; they worked hard and were well rewarded. But there is a chill in my baby boomer tale of fortune, I grew on a farm that was stolen- money made from deals with imperial military built my privilege.

This is the way of the world-but it haunts me.

In the 1950’s Piopio was a bustling country town, on Fridays the shops closed at 9pm, parents bought supplies and went to the pub, kids ate fish and chips and us country bumpkins explored the urban jungle. My contact with Maori was with my friends at school, but I never interacted with Maori outside of that. One Friday evening walking with my mother I watched two Maori women. Both wore kaue moko and were sitting on a little bench where the bus stopped. They spoke in Maori and the sound of te reo and their laughter and regal otherworldly atmosphere made a deep impression on me. They wore dark clothing, long skirts, head scarves and hei tiki pounamu. A girl I recognised from school sat with them eating an ice-cream. These two women would have been perhaps 70 years old, which meant they had been born in the 1890’s. At the age of five, I couldn’t understand who they were. They looked so different from my mother and her bright print 1950’s frocks. The shock of seeing them remains with me still; “don’t stare” my mother said.

At the age of 10 I stood in line outside the classroom, waiting for the signal from the teacher to enter for our first lesson of the day. It was July, a famous King Country frost bit the air and made the grass white. Behind me stood a Maori boy named John. Johns feet were bare. I remember being startled and thinking, ‘gee he must be tough, not wearing shoes in the frost”. I liked this John, he had an air of humble dignity about him, he was a superb athlete and we were friends. Later that day I saw, to my concern and confusion a discharge from his ear. Snotty noses was one thing, but how come John had seepage from his ear? This was the face of poverty. Two years later he and I contested for the Tennis Cup and after a long hot match, he beat me. The headmaster umpired the match and afterwards said “shake hands” The smiles we exchanged as we shyly, in front of the rest of our classmates shook hands like gentleman are part of a sweet boyhood memory.

In 1985 there was an initiative from a loose collective of actors in Auckland to deal with the demise of Mercury Theatre and the pending closure of Theatre Corporate. At one of our meetings a number of Maori actors attended. Anzac Wallace spoke to us and then went around the whole room; hongi for each person. I had no idea how to behave. To my eternal embarrassment I sat, along with everyone else and he bent to hongi. The heat and sweat of his brow intensified my feeling of not having conducted myself in an appropriate manner. He told a story of being cast in a play that had a Maori character and not being invited into the dressing room but preparing his costume and makeup in the passage way backstage. The impression of his brow on mine remains like a print. Later that day an agenda item was; what should we name our loose collective. One suggestion had been that we call it ‘Public Works’. This appealed to some proletariat leanings that saw us living for the people, performing a vital social function, but real, like making roads and public buildings, real work. Then one of the Maori actors spoke relating what this title meant to his family. A chill descended and I realised again how little I knew. Public Works mercifully slipped off the list of options.

In 1990 I made a solo play called Te Tupua-The Goblin. The story was a fictional account based on historical writings about pakeha who had, in early 19th century lived as Maori, and in the case of my protagonist had been tattooed, full moko. Matua Hare Williams was here at Unitec at that time and he advised and guided me in the preparation of the script and performance. One morning I went to his office with yet another request concerning protocols and appropriate action and he asked, “do you have the script with you, and the mask you wish to wear”? As it happened these items were in my car outside, “get them please” he said. We went to te puna just up from Te Puukenga and he put the script and mask beside the pool and blessed them, sprinkling water and reciting karakia. Then he spoke to me, “don’t let anyone sway you from your course, you are safe to tell your stories. If you ever feel worried you must ring me and I will say a karakia on the phone”. Matua, your assurance lives deep in my heart.

These four incidents, being fascinated at a very young age by kuia and their otherworldliness, realising my friend lived in poverty, understanding that I knew nothing of Maori protocol or experience and the blessing and assurance from a man of esteemed mana, these are but four of so many incidents that have informed and built my understanding and propelled my endeavours.

I owe a debt of gratitude to you, te whare e tu nei. In 2013 we came here for karakia before we set off to premier our opera on the slopes of Monte Cassino. Matua asked us to touch the pou that stands just there, the pou that stands for the soldiers of Te Hokowhitu a Tu. With pride I have sat each year as we welcome our new students, “listen to walls of this whare” I tell them in my heart. In 2015 we welcomed Yannis Simonides into this whare and from that moment grew Te Pakkhai, the play that finished our season of student works just three weeks ago. Matua Hare (Paniora), throughout the process of creating that work you showed unstinting concern and support. My gratitude for you, and for the people who raised you and taught you such humility and insight is endless. We have been having conversations with an industry based production company and our Te Pakkhai is due for more development, so it’s not over yet Matua, I’ll be back with more questions. To all of the whanau here at Te Nohokotahitanga, Whaea Linda, whaea Jessica, Hohepa, whaea Tonina, Victor, Matua Hare all of you, thank you for your grace and companionship. Always the guardians of this house have shown my colleagues and I generosity, kindness, guidance and humour. On behalf of all of us, but especially for myself I wish to express sincere gratitude.

When it comes to education, and life, my three mentors have been Greek, Japanese and Maori.

Socrates- the Socratic method, Socratic debate, is a form of cooperative argument and dialogue between individuals, based on asking questions to stimulate critical thinking and to draw out ideas and underlying presuppositions. As a faculty teaching Actor training we have developed some little sayings, one of which is “What is your question”.

Tunasaburo Makaguchi was a teacher in the first half of the 20th century in Japan and wrote extensively about education. His fundamental assertion was that education should serve the happiness and creativity of the student, rather than the needs of the state, or the corporation. His theory of ‘value creation’ underlies all his writings.

Maori Marsden was a scholar and teacher and church minister who wrote- Education is a journey to the centre of yourself. The purpose is for the achievement of authentic being.

These three fundamental principles of

• Questioning and dialogue

• Value creation

• Journey toward the authentic self

These have served as guides on my own journey as a teacher.

There has been much said of late about matauranga Maori and how to imbed this stream of knowledge into a tertiary curriculum. In 2016 I attended a lecture given by Professor Rawiri Taonui. It is his assertion that the word ‘matauranga’ is a pakeha construction; that in Maori there was no such word, but pakeha, needing to frame in Maori language a European idea, (that is the need to name a body of knowledge), brought matau and ranga together in order to do this.

Matau -to know, to understand,

Ranga-a suffix used to make verbs into nouns.

This construction first appeared in the 1920’s and gave pakeha a word to contain an idea. In English words contain ideas; in Maori words open doors into possibilities.

Te roopu kaihautu and Maori staff here at Unitec have worked tirelessly to educate and inspire their pakeha colleagues to see the value of Maori knowledge and thinking, and to bring this into everyday teaching. It’s been a slow process but there is I believe goodwill and in some quarters genuine excitement. Here at the moment of my departure from tertiary settings I will offer an encouragement. If we want our students to truly experience Maori thinking, knowledge and perspective then that experience must be immersive. To sprinkle words, and prayers and waiata is all good and part of what can be done, but for students to live in it day after day for an extended period of time, to make it a daily reality, this can create transformation. And Unitec, employ Maori people to do this. Is does not mean drafting Maori into existing jobs, it means insisting that staff create meaningful relationships with Maori in their field and together we deliver. If we want partnership then we, the teachers, must model it in front of our students.

Easy to chuck advice around now eh.

To Unitec I wish to sincerely thank you. I’ve been known to grumble, but I’m grateful for the opportunities you have given me, for the support and encouragement. Thank you. I see a bright and positive future for this institution. E noho ana Unitec.

I wish to acknowledge here my own immediate family. Ali is here and our son Nico. Tena korua, thank you for coming today. Our eldest boy is at work and our daughter at school.

To my colleagues. At our PASA farewell I spoke to each of you but today I wish to speak to my team of trusted colleagues. Pedro your wide ranging research and sideways perspective has been of such value to me. I wish you all the best for studies and teaching. Elizabeth you have been a colleague of authority and value. Thank you. Will Wallace your everlasting loyalty and can do spirit embodies real values of our school, your skill as a teacher is frequently acknowledged by students. And finally Alexandra. Leaving here means leaving you but this is good because you must step into the light and fulfil what awaits you. You must step onto the larger stage of research and leadership, its coming, you cannot hide from it. Some years ago a theatre company from the Soloman Islands, a company of women, came to work in our studios with Conch Theatre. We welcomed them into this whare and they gave me this. This is famous throughout Ocenania as a symbol of good fortune and well being. It has come to have significant meaning for me and it does carry the mauri, the essence of our degree. I pass it on now to you. One day maybe next week, maybe in 10 years you will in turn pass it on, but for now it rests with you.

I’m happy

I’m relieved

I’m grateful

I’m done.

(waiata)