Hīkoi mō Te Tiriti: Flags of hope

The hīkoi for Te Tiriti has given us something to be proud of, despite the ongoing struggle, writes Catherine Delahunty.

 

When we squeezed into the 7am train on the Kāpiti line, there were no seats but many flags and banners. Young people jumped up and gave us their seats. A few slightly bemused commuters heading to work found themselves engulfed in the hīkoi momentum.

I looked at the woman across the aisle. Her calm smile reminded me of someone. After we chatted with her friend who was sitting next to us, she suddenly called my name: “I know that voice!”

It was someone I had worked with 30 years ago, and here we were on the hīkoi train. We’d been youth workers in a small town, and now we were grandmothers. She was working with her people to regain their land, and I was back in that small town teaching Te Tiriti. She had returned to her whenua and grown into her place. I’d been down a long road and come full circle.

To meet again on this day was wonderful, as the train rocked through the stations, too full for any more passengers. Her friend told us this was the first protest of her entire life, but it was necessary.

At the Wellington railway station, we joined a flood of humanity flowing onto the wharves. In front of us and behind us, the crowds grew and grew. The wind was rising across the water and the endless flags were flapping red, black and white.

The first thing we noticed was how many whānau were walking with babies in carts and strollers, and elders in wheelchairs and with walking sticks. Many of them were carrying homemade signs. There was a feeling of warmth and joy you don’t get on the way to a rock concert or a football match, a sense of a common and beloved kaupapa.

As we walked to Waitangi Park, I made eye contact with other Pākehā — many more than when we marched for the takutai moana, the foreshore and seabed, in 2004, on that long-off rainy day.

At the park, we sat down on a low wall and introduced ourselves to the whānau resting next to us. They were from Waitakaruru. We were from Thames, just down the road. We laughed at how far we’d come for this common purpose. To find each other on a low wall in Pōneke.

Word was coming through on my phone about the hīkoi happening in Thames for locals who couldn’t come south. I’d lent them my megaphone, which my partner had given me for Christmas.

Stan Walker was singing into the growing vastness as I searched for our other Hauraki mates on the grass. Even with texts, it was hard to reach them because of the density of people. People smiling and chatting, waiting.

The MC was urging everyone to look out for tamariki and mokopuna: “Write your phone number on their arm so we can call you if they get lost.”

When we started to move, it was inch by inch. No pushing, no shoving, and no hurry. And so we flowed on down through the city in a sea of flags and chants. Hugging friends and connecting with family. Acknowledging people we hadn’t met before.

It was like a glimpse of the country as we want it to be: diverse and respectful and Māori-led.

Meanwhile, on my Twitter feed, the trolls were ranting, saying the people marching didn’t know why they were there.

You only had to read the homemade signs to see this was not true. Tauiwi carrying a clear message of support for Māori. Tauiwi with “Sovereignty never ceded” signs. Signs of peace and “David. See yourself out”. So much Maōri humour, te reo, and resistance messages without abuse.

The conversations around me were not only about the bizarre content of the Treaty principles bill. They were about the attack on the Māori Health Authority, the amendments to the Marine and Coastal Area (Takutai Moana) Act, the stripping of whakapapa criteria from the Oranga Tamariki Bill, the fast-track bill’s attack on te taiao, and the need for us to always support te reo, everywhere.

These people were certainly better informed than people who were listening only to the Act Party’s slogans about “equality”, meaning white supremacy.

The people I saw included every culture living in Aotearoa, from tangata Moana to the peoples of the continents of Africa, Asia and the Americas.

And that’s new.

In 2004, it was tangata whenua and a sprinkling of Pākehā. The world has changed, and those of us who teach Te Tiriti o Waitangi were heartened that, slowly, we’re reaching more communities.

I am so proud of my friends from Treaty People who’ve translated Te Tiriti into numerous languages and are teaching within the cultural frameworks of the many who’ve made Aotearoa home.

When we got near Parliament Buildings, people following the live stream from the grounds told us there was no more room. This has never happened in my experience before, and I’ve been part of protests at parliament since I was three years old.

The streets were crammed full of people and the feeling of power and joy remained strong. There was no aggression or disrespect, just the pride of tangata whenua, which makes us blessed to live in this country.

We headed back to the train station awash with the huge adrenaline of this remarkable day. Being older and with sore feet now, we were grateful for a seat on the train and delighted to see the young whānau who’d hosted us for dinner the night before. To roll home with my friend Jack McDonald, his partner Kelsey Lee and baby Te Kare, and other whānau, was the icing on the happy day cake!

This whānau typifies the generational change. They’ve learned their reo Māori as young adults, but their pēpi is learning it from birth. She is being raised in the confidence and commitment of her whānau, inherited from their tūpuna, and are taking it in a new direction. They give me hope for this country.

The train was so full that people were sitting on the floor, and next to us, a four-year-old slept deep in the arms of his koro.

Newly impressed by the benefits of public transport to the community, we jumped off at Paraparaumu and drove as far as Taihape. I was exhausted but inspired, and the next morning, I was happy to chat with some tangata whenua locals who were unable to go to the hīkoi because of mahi but were keen to hear more about it.

When I got home and went to get my haircut, my hairdresser who is a migrant from London, commented on how peaceful and positive the hĩkoi looked to her.

We are moving towards something beautiful despite the global far-right’s attack on Indigenous peoples.

We have something to be proud of in November 2024, as well as an ongoing struggle. As someone who helped fundraise for the hīkoi, I will never forget the generosity of the many individuals and organisations who were eager to support it.

Despite everything, the flags of hope continue to fly in the hands of those I walked alongside this week.

 

Catherine Delahunty is a Pākehā activist in environmental, social justice, and Te Tiriti o Waitangi issues. She is a writer and a tutor on social change issues, and a grandmother. Catherine was a Green MP for nine years and lives in Hauraki.

E-Tangata, 2024