What is it we think of when the phrase ‘New Zealand Wars’ occasionally comes up in conversation? A remote, windswept battlefield in regional North Island? A bronze plaque or perhaps a lone monument recording the largely forgotten names of British or settler militia: the regiments they fought in and who died near or at the site. But what of the thousands of anonymous toa ‘Māori warriors’ who lie fallen in the very same locations? They too fought to maintain their land, their authority over it and the cultural legacy involved in it. Who will remember them? Who will break the silence surrounding their sacrifice and not simply the more visible presence of their enemies. The writing of history, so the saying goes, belongs to the victors. But with the New Zealand Land Wars—it is completely debatable who those victors were. Certainly in Te Tai Tokerau, Ngāpuhi and their affiliated hapū do not believe, and with good reason, that they were ever conquered. Economically—yes—but on the battlefield. Kao, ‘no’.
Ngā Pakanga Whenua o Mua ‘the NZ Land Wars’ are a far more powerful presence and legacy in Aotearoa than is widely understood today. Beginning in Wairau in 1843 and the North in 1845, the Wellington region in 1846 (spreading later to Taranaki, Tāmaki, Waikato, Bay of Plenty and other regions in the 1860s) these events and the values that drove the conflicts continue to cast a long shadow across contemporary Aotearoa. Te Rangihaeata’s pā at Pāutahanui is a only a short distance south of this Waikanae gallery. The shadow of the events referenced in this exhibition Ātāroa ‘long shadow’ is then not simply an historical reference, but rather a contemporary presence.
In the paintings and photographs that comprise my exploration of this shadow I would like to suggest that ngā toa, those that fought the Crown, were no less passionate about their lands, their heritage, their values and their tūpuna than the Turkish peoples who defended their lands against the Allied invasion in the Dardenelles and at key sites like Gallipoli. Our histories, even our revisionist histories, focus a great deal on Māori grievances. These issues were and continue to be central to cultural redress in Aotearoa. Nothing should take away from the long process of working with hapū to address injustices perpetrated by settlers, the Crown and its various agencies. However, there is also another narrative here that about which not much is spoken and that is the immensity of the ‘aroha’ that embraces the sacrifices toa made for ‘ngā uri whakatuputanga’ the future generations. If one listens to some of the key players in the Northern conflict you will hear this subtext as not simply an affirmation of a Māori response to Aotearoa. Hone Heke in his 1849 letter to Queen Victoria advises ‘It rests with you to restore the flag of my island of New Zealand and the authority of the land of the people. Should you do this,’ Heke says, ‘I will perceive that you have some LOVE for New Zealand and for what King George said, for although he and Hongi are dead, still the ‘CONVERSATION LIVES’ [my emphasis].
Heke far from being the obstructive, manipulative character he is often portrayed as being is cutting to the heart of the matter. He is saying that what matters is legacy, the agreements or covenants that ancestral leaders (both Māori and British) made and the restoration of the authority of rangatira (the flag flying is simply the tangible evidence of this desire). These are the things that demonstrate aroha and which show the same conversation lives on.
The references to the impact of Ngā Pakanga are part of a reflective contribution of paintings and photographs found in the Ātāroa exhibition. These two genre are used to suggest the values and ideals that ngā toa ‘Maori warriors’ fought for in their efforts to maintain their mana whenua and their authority over their tribal lands. The photographs are largely factual records of battle sites in the Northern Wars and perhaps not often the ones conventionally taken. I photograph native trees and plants, their flowers, their leaves, their fruit, their groves. The Taranaki prophet Te Whiti o Rongomai once told a journalist that if he wanted to hear the story of Pari’aka he should, ‘ask that mountain.’ Perhaps at historic sites we need to think a little more about the natural environment as the strongest witness to these conflicts. On that tilted, elevated site at Ruapekapeka on the edge of the Tapuaeharuru ranges (1845/1846) it was the surrounding pūriri groves, from which the fortifications were extracted, that witnessed the canonballs and congreve rockets flying overhead. I have returned many times to Ohaeawai, Ruapekapeka and more recently Otuihu to photograph and research. I am not looking for plaques or monuments I am searching for the less tangible reminders. Heke’s conversation still lives, the shadow still falls and Ngā Pakanga Whenua ‘the NZ Land Wars’ continue to teach us that there is an ongoing and increasing need for aroha as Māori and tauiwi make efforts to acknowledge one another and to avoid the darker, more tangible presence of Ātāroa returning.