Alistair Reese, theologian, historian and Bay of Plenty farmer. (Photo supplied)
Alistair Reese, a Bay of Plenty theologian and historian, reflects on a couple of recent anniversaries and argues for adding a Parihaka Day to the events we commemorate.
These are troubled times. Local and global tensions are rising, and political rhetoric has become more divisive and vindictive. As experience teaches us, extremist rhetoric and even violence can be contagious.
The question is whether this growing unease must inevitably lead to social and political violence, or whether there is another path we might choose — one rooted in the deeper wisdom of this land.
The American theologian Walter Brueggeman once wrote that if we hope to imagine a world beyond empire, we must look into “the deepest memories” of our own community and activate the symbols that have always been the basis for contradicting the prevailing consciousness.
In other words, the symbols of hope that we need are already here — in the stories, metaphors, and histories of this land.
Fortunately, in this regard, Aotearoa New Zealand has a rich historical well for us to draw from.
As November 5, the anniversary of the invasion of Parihaka, reminds us, non-violent peaceful protest is rooted deep within this nation’s whakapapa.
It’s important that the current push to restore our historical memory reflects this important aspect of our inheritance.
As a nation, we memorialise our response to conflict in a variety of ways. Waitangi is one of these. Anzac is another. We also now commemorate the New Zealand Wars on October 28, through Te Pūtake o Te Riri, He Rā Maumahara (The source of the anger, A Day of Remembrance).
In 2016, when then deputy prime minister Bill English announced the establishment of Rā Maumahara — after much lobbying, including a 2015 petition organised by Ōtorahanga College students — he said the day recognised “the need to acknowledge our own conflicts, our own wars, our own fallen.”
October 28 was chosen because it’s also the anniversary of the signing of He Whakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga o Nu Tireni — the Declaration of Independence of New Zealand, 1835.
But not all agreed with the choice. Some, including the late Ngāpuhi kaumātua Kingi Taurua, felt it overshadowed the Declaration of Independence itself. Others, like Ngāti Hine leader Pita Tipene, saw it as an opportunity to awaken the national conscience. As Te Puni Kōkiri put it: “Te Pūtake of Te Riri is the messenger whose task is to awaken the memory and conscience of a sleeping nation.”
Commemorations are now held at battle sites around the country — places like Ōrākau, Rangiriri, and Gate Pā — each telling part of the story of resistance and loss.
Remembering these conflicts matters. It grounds us in the hard truth that Aotearoa’s prosperity was built on Māori dispossession.
But, as some at Parihaka point out, there was also another response to colonial violence — one that pointed to a peaceful future.
Parihaka Pā, with Taranaki in the distance. (Photo: Alistair Reese)
Remembering Parihaka
Parihaka was a small Taranaki village led by the prophets Te Whiti o Rongomai and Tohu Kākahi, whose teachings of non-violent resistance inspired generations. Their message was simple and radical: Whai kororia ki te Atua, Maungārongo ki te whenua, Whakaaro pai ki ngā tangata katoa. Glory to God, Peace on earth, Goodwill to all.
On November 5, 1881, Native Minister John Bryce led 1600 troops into the pā. They were met not with weapons but with singing children — Ngā Tātarakihi, “the little crickets” — offering bread. In the days that followed, homes were destroyed, men imprisoned without trial, and women assaulted. Yet, through it all, the people of Parihaka held fast to peace.
At a recent hui to discuss November 5 as a Parihaka commemoration day, Parihaka resident kuia Whakaarahia Tairāwhiti-Kukutai said: “Our children shouldn’t be left sitting in October 28, but understand also that there was another response to the colonial violence.”
For her, as for many at Parihaka, divine intervention protected the village from even greater loss. Stories still circulate of a dog urinating on a militia cannon, rendering it useless — a small miracle that’s now remembered in carvings at Waahi Pā Marae in Huntly.
Among the descendants of Parihaka’s faithful was Dame Tariana Turia, whose leadership in the Māori Party carried the same quiet conviction as her tūpuna. While she is rightly remembered for her courageous stand for mana motuhake, little has been said about her deep connection to Parihaka’s kaupapa of peace.
Tariana believed the nation needed to know about Parihaka, and in 2011, she introduced a private member’s bill, Te Rā o Parihaka Bill, to make November 5 a national day of commemoration. She wrote:
This is a very important tono to Parliament — a request for Parliament to recognise 5 November as Parihaka Day to commemorate the peaceful resolution of conflict in New Zealand. This is one part of a long-standing campaign, to raise public awareness of the ongoing legacy of two visionary leaders Te Whiti o Rongomai and Tohu Kākahi — and the symbol of peace associated with their name and the small Taranaki settlement of Parihaka . . .
The philosophy of passive resistance, led here at Parihaka, is a history that precedes Gandhi’s first non-violent civil disobedience campaign in South Africa by a quarter of a century, and Martin Luther King’s first campaign for black civil rights by 75 years — but who knows of it here in New Zealand?
Throughout the illegal arrests and imprisonment, Te Whiti commanded that the ploughers should resist arrest and violence passively, saying: “Go, put your hands to the plough. Look not back. If any come with guns, be not afraid. If they smite you, smite not in return. If they rend you, be not discouraged. Another will take up the good work.”
Throughout this long, bitter invasion on the people, the spirit of non-violence prevailed.
The bill remains in the parliamentary ballot today, and is now sponsored by Green Party co-leader Marama Davidson.
“Our children shouldn’t be left sitting in October 28, but understand also that there was another response to the colonial violence,” said Parihaka resident kuia Whakaarahia Tairāwhiti-Kukutai during a recent hui to talk about commemorating Parihaka Day. Pictured: another view of Parihaka. (Photo: Alistair Reese)
A tradition of peaceful resistance
The peaceful resistance seen at Parihaka didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was part of a longer Māori tradition of a prophetic, spiritual response to injustice.
Some might point to the ethos of non-retaliation practised by Moriori on Rekohu (Chatham Islands). But I would argue that, on the mainland, it began with the indigenisation of the Christian Gospel by charismatic leaders such as Te Ua Haumene, the Taranaki prophet who founded the Pai Mārire or Hau Hau movement.
The Kīngitanga drew on that same spirit. Pōtatau Te Wherowhero, before his coronation in 1858, advised his son Tāwhiao to go to Taranakai and seek wisdom from two enlightened men, believed to be Tohu and Te Whiti.
From Taranaki, the pacifist ethos permeated through te ao Māori and continued through the 19th and 20th centuries — through leaders like Tītokowaru, Te Kooti Arikirangi, Te Puea Hērangi, and Wiremu Rātana, to name a few. In more recent times, we’ve seen it in movements at Takaparawhau (Bastion Point), Pākaitore (Moutoa Gardens), Waitangi, and Ihumātao.
Each carried elements of that same moral vision: To stand firm without hatred, to resist without violence.
In this time of heightened tension, when inflammatory rhetoric and political polarisation threaten to erode trust and goodwill, it’s good to be reminded that the trajectory of our historical resistance, especially in the late 19th century, was towards non-violence.
Honouring Parihaka on November 5 would help us to remember and nurture that tradition.
Indeed, some people have suggested that October 28 and November 5 are natural bookends. Rā Maumahara reminds us of the cost of injustice. Parihaka reminds us of the possibility of peace.
As Kīngi Tāwhiao once said: “Ki te kore te whakakitenga ka ngaro te iwi.” Without a prophetic vision, the people will suffer.
There will always be those who try to sow fear and division here, but visionary leadership that draws on the nation’s historical soil could inspire a new generation and help to manoeuvre us through these fractious times.
Dr Alistair Reese is a Pākehā theologian and historian with a particular focus on social reconciliation, seeking to strengthen the relationship between Māori and Pākehā in Aotearoa. He is also a farmer in the district of Tapuika, Bay of Plenty.
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