Hīkoi mō Te Tiriti: Is this what peace feels like?

“This wasn’t a protest. It was an affirmation of Te Tiriti.” — Meriana Johnsen. (Video: The Hui)

 

Meriana Johnsen, a reporter for The Hui, was one of the more than 50,000 who joined the hīkoi when it reached Wellington. 

 

For a crowd of more than 50,000, it was quiet. Very quiet.

From the green barriers separating parliament from the masses, a friend remarked to me how strange it was that the crowd was so subdued.

Solemn maybe, I suggested.

But then as we quietly thought about it, staring out into the sea of faces and flags, it occurred to me.

Maybe this is what peace feels like.

We’re so used to protests being loud and fiery. The build-up to this moment has been full of powerful moments, igniting the nation (and recently, the world) using the oldest form of protest in this land: Haka.

At Waitangi, we saw Toitū Te Tiriti burst onto the marae ātea in full force, with a haka.

In the House, Hana-Rāwhiti Maipi-Clarke rattled the walls of the Westminster-tution, with a rallying cry: “Kāwana, ka whakamanuwhiritia koe e au!” (“Government, I afford you the privileges of a visitor!”) A reminder to the coalition government: Don’t forget, you’re only here with our permission.

This was followed by the Ngāti Toa haka, Ka Mate, which their rangatira Te Rauparaha had used to lead them into battle. The Ngāti Toa in the public gallery amplified it: the descendants of that haka evoking the wairua of their tīpuna.

The outrage at the Treaty principles bill (now named the Principles of the Treaty of Waitangi Bill) has been palpable. Opposition to it has rippled across the nation, from Te Rerenga Wairua in the north to Te Motupōhue in the south.

But the fire that’s been lit under this nation this past year — a fire that, really, has been burning since 1840 — didn’t burst into flames on the steps of parliament.

Instead, it smouldered. And tens of thousands of tangata whenua and tangata Tiriti gathered to bask in its warmth.

Because, as a tangata Tiriti commented, the Treaty is all of ours.

The masses of quiet, attentive people spilling out of Parliament Grounds onto the streets only accentuated the contrast of the stark, grey, almost empty forecourt, with police and security stationed throughout.

The kāwanatanga, and the people. Divided.

One side at the ready for unrest and violence to break out. The other knitted tightly in a mat woven by threads of red, white and black.

Organisers had made it clear that the space in front of the banner was to be kept clear the whole way along Courtenay Place, Manners St, Willis St, Lambton Quay, and then, finally, parliament.

This was to be treated like the tapu space on a marae, a place you do not cross, protest spokesperson Eru Kapa-Kingi told hīkoi followers on social media platforms the day before the protest.

This space is reserved only for kaikarakia and kaikaranga, who walked in front of the hīkoi, clearing the way forward, spiritually.

The ope tāua at the front, laying down the wero, the challenge, just like on a marae.

This is the power of tikanga, to hold a space and a people together. Under a spiritual korowai, bound by forces not necessarily understood but felt.

Later, at Waitangi Park, when the organiser told the disappointed crowd they had to wrap up because they were already running over time, someone started to complain.

Those nearby turned around briefly, before shrugging their shoulders, some with a quiet chuckle.

And then he stopped.

Because anger has nowhere to go if it isn’t fuelled.

The korowai of protection was there until the end.

I think we’re so used to fighting as Māori that we don’t know what peace feels like.

The blatant racism, microaggressions, and subjugation that te iwi Māori have experienced since colonisation has made us a battle-hardened people.

But this time, Māori weren’t standing alone.

So the strangely still atmosphere, punctuated only by waiata, cheers and rallying calls, was one of peace, I think.

And it completely shattered the narrative that Māori are an angry, violent people that can only make the point with intimidation and thuggery.

This wasn’t a protest. It was an affirmation of Te Tiriti.

Tens of thousands stoked the fire.

And Te Tiriti will continue to be an enduring flame, āke, ake, ake.

Meriana Johnsen (Kāi Tahu, Kāti Mamoe, Rangitāne) is a writer and journalist. She is a reporter with the Māori current affairs show The Hui, where she covers history, politics and land issues.

E-Tangata, 2024