A la búsqueda de una imagen vivida en su infancia, un hombre inmenso con imágenes casi reales grabadas en la piel, lleva a Gisa Schleelein hasta el misterioso y extravagante mundo de los tatuajes. Conoce al maestro tatuador polinesio mas relevante del momento, Paulo Sulu’ape, de Samoa. Es una toda una celebridad en la escena de tatuaje occidental y una de las pocas personas que domina la técnica del ta’tau haciendo uso de instrumentos tradicionales samoanos. Sulu’ ape invita a la directora de cine a Polinesia, la cuna del arte del ta’tau. En Samoa ta’tau significa literalmente “ golpear las heridas “. Allí documenta este antiguo ritual de iniciación a través de su cámara. Poco antes de su viaje a los Mares del Sur Sulu’ape es víctima de una muerte violenta. A pesar de la fatal circunstancia Schleelein viaja hasta el archipiélago polinesio para investigar acerca del destino de Sulu’ape y su cultura ancestral.

Samoa Tatau : A Journey to the Origings of the Art of Tattoing cuenta la historia de este apasionante viaje; siguiendo la vida de Sulu’ape, desde Nueva York a Aotearoa Nueva Zelanda, la tierra de los maori, los Tangata Whenua  Las conversaciones con amigos y familiares van desvelando los motivos de su asesinato y, al mismo tiempo, reconstruyendo la leyenda del gran maestro. En Auckland ( Aotearoa Nueva Zelanda) los samoanos emigrados muestran orgullosamente el legado que Paulo Sulu’ape dejo sobre su piel: el auténtico ta’tau de Samoa, el pe’a ( murciélago) de los hombres, el malu (casa) de las mujeres. Finalmente y en Samoa, la directora de cine, conoce al hermano de Paulo, Petelo Sulu’ape, respetado tufuga ta ta’tau. El le cuenta los mitos y las leyendas de sus antepasados, quienes sobrevivieron a la presencia de los misioneros sin verse obligados a renunciar a su cultura. Petelo celebra el ritual original. En siete días tatúa los principios de la vida en la piel de un hombre y una muchacha. Es la dolorosa iniciación que abre las puertas a una nueva vida.

“… En el Pacífico veo las sombras de las criaturas marinas que los samoanos marcaban en su piel. Vuelo a Samoa para visitar a Petelo, hermano menor de Paulo, quién también aprendió de su padre el arte del ta’tau…”

“… Ta’tau significa “golpear heridas” . Mediante este doloroso ritual, uno se convierte en una persona adulta. Un viaje interior hacia una nueva fase de la vida. Se me permite ser testigo de este ritual de iniciación…”

“… Empieza con la ceremonia de la kava. La mezcla embriagadora de la kava ahuyenta la ansiedad de la persona que va a ser tatuada. Los jefes se encomiendan y rezan a los antepasados de Petelo. Su’a, la familia de tatuadores que cuentan las leyendas…”

“… Petelo martillea un triángulo en la piel fina de la espalda: el pe’a. El símbolo del murciélago gigante que identifica a la solícita madre naturaleza. El pe’a es un símbolo de protección contra los elementos invisibles de la vida. Todo samoano genuino lo lleva en su piel…”

“… En las líneas y superficies bien definidas se reflejan las leyes y obligaciones estrictas que el tatuado deberá acatar con respecto a su familia, clan y pueblo. La forma negra de la canoa, sin una canoa no puedes pescar. Quienquiera que porte estos símbolos, sobre él recae la responsabilidad de la familia. Es doloroso alcanzar la madurez. A Tuaa no le está permitido mostrar el dolor. Su familia está con él…”

“… La piel de Tuaa esta muy irritada. Cada golpe duele a un más. Los asistentes del tatuador estiran la piel, para que de esta manera las líneas sean perfectas y los instrumentos no se claven en la carne…”

” … Las líneas exactas de las caderas unen los elementos del pe’a. Limitan el ansia de los hombres a tomar del mar
todo aquello que desean…”

“… Los hombres cocinan como lo hacen cada día. Incluso los alimentos son representados en el pe’a :
El taro, el bananero y el cocotero…”

“… El dolor que sufre Tuaa es inmenso. En el tercer día sus piernas se han hinchado hasta alcanzar el doble de su tamaño. Se volvería a tras aunque si así lo hiciera, su familia sería considerada como cobarde por generaciones . Debe continuar. Petelo le da un respiro y decide que es el momento adecuado para iniciar el malu de su hija Rita. Su iniciación llevará muchas horas…”

“… Malu significa: la casa. Protege del sol y de la lluvia. La mujer debe ser para la familia lo que una casa representa para esta misma. Los diseños del malu son más delicados. No son los mismos que se encuentran en las líneas del pe’a masculino. Amables como las estrellas que una vez guiaron a los primeros polinesios a través del mar amenazante, hasta llegar a Samoa. Así, de esta manera, la mujer debe guiar a su familia a través de la vida…”

” … Estrellas negras tintinean sobre la piel. Como de igual modo lo hacen, cuando las manos cariñosas del amante las acarician… El consejo que mi madre me dio : No intentes suprimir el dolor. Simplemente permanece tendida, relajate y entrega tu cuerpo al hombre que tatúa tus piernas…”

Tatau Samoa A Journey to the Origings of the Art of Tattoing
Directora: GISA SCHLEELEIN
LITCHTBLICK KÖLN
En Asociación con  MAXIMAGE ZÜRICH

Tangata O Te Moana Nui : Tatuaje en Samoa & Polinesia

No prizes for guessing that the losers are Pita Sharples and Tariana Turia for proving to be weak as ditchwater over Hone Harawira.

Adam was right it seems last week in his award of Winner of the Week to the nasty and vile racist of the Far North.

The Maori Party leadership have crumbled and capitulated to the Harawira mob, people who focus on victimhood and brood, much like the Serbs of the wrongs of the past rather than seeking to progress to the future.

It was the perfect evening. Good friends, blue skies, cold cider, interesting conversation, minimal bruises, not much shouting…

You see, I’m learning two languages in New Zealand: Māori and sailing. Yachting has its own vocabulary and style of communication. Mostly shouting, that is. At least, that’s what it feels like when you’re first learning and don’t understand the words yet.

Māori war canoe in Bay of Islands

There’s halyards and sheets, starboard and port, leeward and windward, gennakers and spinnakers and genoas, and my personal favorite, the vang. You have to figure out quickly why “coming about” means you could soon have a bruise on your head or what to do when everyone’s yelling about a “lazy sheet.” And in the world of the sea, everything is relative to the wind. For instance, I’m still struggling with the concept that make a right-angle turn has two words for it – tacking and jibing – depending on how the boat is changing relative to the prevailing gusts. That’s like trying to give someone driving directions relative to the nearest mountain – if the mountain liked to jump around a lot and change locations.

Why is a girl from land-locked desert highlands suddenly struck with sailing? You’d think I would have already picked it up in Seattle, if I was so keen, wouldn’t you? My only real explanation is that, well, it’s just what people DO in Auckland. Here in the City of Sails, there are approximately 135,000 yachts and launches – that’s 1 boat for every 10 people in a city of 1.3 million people. Keep in mind that a sailboat generally needs more than one person to take it out, and that means LOTS of opportunities to get onto a boat.

50 cent coin

Sailing is in the psyche, here in the “Land of the Long White Cloud.” After all, that’s how everyone got here up until the 20th century. Don’t let the image of a slim Māori war canoe fool you. They didn’t paddle all the way here from their Polynesian homeland. They flew before the winds in a double-hulled voyaging canoe, balancing on the high seas with sails and an outrigger. The first European ship to land here, Captain Cook’s HMS Endeavor, is memorialized on the 50-cent coin. Even air travelers are reminded that good winds matter here, when they drive past giant white metal sails at Auckland International Airport.

Yes, the most popular sport to watch in New Zealand is rugby.  But Aucklanders’ favorite sport to DO is sailing. Not surprising, then, that I showed up and was signed up for a local yacht club before we even moved into our apartment. We have our all-around sportsman fellow American, Bryon, to thank for introducing us to the Richmond Yacht Club. Lest you hear “yacht club” and think we’re walking around in summer whites and tut-tutting with a bunch of wealthy boat-owners, you have to understand two things. First, “yacht” really just means “sailboat.” Even better, the word comes from the Norwegian word jaght meaning“fast pirate ship.” I love that! Second, RYC draws a pretty down-to-earth, even somewhat blue-collar crowd. We know boat owners who are firemen and builders and university professors, but no corporate moguls or trust-fund heirs. Hell, there isn’t even a dress code for the post-race prize givings!

Tall ships at Auckland Anniversary Day Regatta

Didn’t I mention that most of our sailing is races? Ah, well now perhaps you understand some of the shouting. And the bruising. We got started with RYC’s Friday Night Special race series, where they let rank beginners (i.e. me) onto a succession of different yachts over the course of 8 evening races. The first thing you learn is how not to get hit in the head – or knocked overboard – by the boom.

For you beginners, the mainsail is attached to the mast going upwards and the boom going parallel to the boat’s deck. “Coming about” is when the boat is turning sufficiently for the mainsail to change from one side of the boat to the other. The boom is that huge metal rod going over your head very quickly. DUCK! Oh, and scramble to the other side of the boat while you’re doing this!  Since you’re not very important ‘cause you don’t know anything, you generally don’t get to do this in the recessed cockpit where you can just bend down a bit. You have to climb over the top of the cabin, banging yourself on every metal bit sticking out. And you’re on a keeled boat that tends to, well, keel over at 45 degrees to the water, so you need to do this at the right time so you don’t end up trying to climb up the boat to the high side. And try not to sit on any of the lines or get in the way too much, eh? That’s the first day.

Cooling my heels on the Coastal

It gets better. Really! For instance, we newbies get to spend plenty of time relaxing on the rail with our legs hanging off the boat where one can admire the view, chat with fellow sailors, wave at or taunt other boats, and listen to the experienced crew discuss strategy. If we get bored, we can admire all the bad sailing puns in the boat names: Prawn Broker, Knighthawk, Xtsea, Deep Throttle, Aquaholic …

The best part, though, is when you actually start knowing what you’re doing. Even the shouting becomes kinda fun then. The first time I started to feel that way was on the 2009 Coastal Classic in late October. The Coastal is a long-distance sailing race that starts in Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour and terminates at Russell in the Bay of Islands. We were lucky to get invited onto Peppermint Planet, owned by brothers’-in-law Rodney and Peter. Realistically, I think Chuck was invited and I somehow managed to tag along.

We showed up on the dock to discover that Peppermint Planet had no less than eight crewmembers. This seemed like a lot of bodies for the number of jobs aboard. As one of the least experienced, I was pretty sure I was destined to be “rail meat”, i.e. ballast that does what you tell it to. I was feeling a bit blue, since I was hoping to do something useful and learn more. Chuck spoke up and volunteered me to run the keys, which meant learning a whole new set of skills. I was thrilled!

The keys w/ Auckland skyline

Little did I know that I was signing up to be the eye of the shouting storm. Rodney and Bryon quickly explained which lines went through the keys, how they worked and what problems to watch out for. I should point out that there are no “ropes” on a sailboat. Every line has a special name. Woohoo! More vocabulary! I eventually worked out that most of the keys control lines that go up and down. Phew! Means I don’t have to think about the sheets, which pull the headsail back and forth horizontally. That doesn’t stop me from starting every time someone says to do something with the sheets, fervently searching the keys to find that they’re not listed and finally remembering they’re not my problem.

Peppermint Planet

You’ve probably heard that old adage that describes flying as “hours of boredom interrupted by moments of stark terror.” That pretty aptly describes running the keys. You’ve not really needed much of the time. But when it’s time to change the headsail, to take better advantage of the winds you’re getting, it’s panic time. There’s lots of shouting and gesturing coming from several people at once. Often, you can’t hear them as their voices get lost in the wind. Oh, and apparently everyone on the boat has a slightly different term for the SAME damned line! Who knew that “uphaul” was the same thing as “toppers,” which is marked as “topping lift” on the key itself? And there’s an outhaul and a downhaul to remember, too. Yeah, it all makes sense when you sit down and work out what everything does. But during all the shouting and boat tipping and hauling on lines, that all goes out the window.

What I’m saying is that it was AWESOME! I mattered! I was doing something that actually affected the boat! And, I could spend some time in the cockpit, where the under-boom scrambling was less painful. The bruises on top of my bruises breathed a sigh of momentary relief. And I was learning the whys behind all the words and shouting. Very cool.

Rodney aboard Peppermint Planet

It was a thrill to get to know the crew better, too. We were an international mix of people of quite varied experience. Our nimble Kiwi skipper Rodney kept us in good form, only occasionally doing his angry Rumplestiltskin impression when we’d really mucked something up. Sailing queen “Skiff” originally from Portsmouth, England, kept the headsails trimmed – and showed how great it is to have some clear female communication onboard. One of three professional sailmakers onboard, Brendan remained almost imperturbable running the mainsail. Charlie from Rarotonga saved me from being the newest person aboard, as this was his 3rd time on a sailboat. He spent the entire time grinning ear-to-ear or grinding on a winch whenever Skiff yelled, “Trim, Charlie!” When not working the bow, slim eighteen-year old Jay told us about his experiences growing up on sailboats in Spain and the Bay of Islands, while our buddy Bryon put up with Rodney’s jibes about being better ballast than the rest of us because of his large frame.

The race was lovely. The sun was shining the whole time, and we had a lovely wind pushing us up the coast most of the way. Most boats were flying their spinnakers, which made the start line a many-hued rainbow of colorful kites. The weather was so spectacularly beautiful that some crazy kiteboarder was racing right behind the record-setting winner, Alfa Romeo. He made it 261kms, only giving up when the wind gave out near Russell. We made our own record, finishing in 14 hours 7 minutes.

Sunset at Bay of Islands

So, I’m learning to understand and even speak this new language, bit by bit. Sailing isn’t exactly a democracy, but there are often multiple voices putting their oars in on what oughta happen next or, more often, “what the heck happened there when everything went to custard?” It’s been fantastic to finally understand what all the chatter is about. And Rodney’s let us know that we’re now “expected” on the more hardcore Wednesday night race series.

I’m finding myself part of a community I never expected to join. Last night, Peter showed me how to pack the spinnaker properly. As we started, I thought he asked me, “Do you have a clue?” After a heartbeat, I realized he was talking about the lower corners of the sail. And as I grabbed the clew, I realized that I felt like the answer to the question I thought I heard was finally “yes.”

See what it looks like at: Coastal Classic 09 by jocuteca

Want to know about something specific about New Zealand? Leave me a request for a blog about it!

So Phil Goff has gone in on race relations. Basically he’s just yelling “LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME!”

So don’t look, it’ll only encourage him.

Just a quick post … well a link really to the SLENZ (Second Life Education NZ) …an interesting post about Maaori Tikanga online. A blessing for a second life campus building followed traditional Maaori tikanga/protocol was carried out online, demonstrating that cultures can transform places and spaces … even virtual ones … SLENZ

Once were warriors is a New Zealand movie, notable among other things for the number of Maori people involved in its production – the director, Lee Tamahori, the entire cast.  the movie was very successful in New Zealand and got recognition around the world.
based on the 1980 novel of the same name, Once… narrates the struggles of a family living in Auckland. not quite living  in poverty but getting there, the father, Jake Haka, has lost his job and spends most days and nights drinking at the pub. his wife, Beth, is the usual victim of Jake’s rages.  each of the children is getting lost in their own way.  it takes a series of incidents, up to a tragic one, for Beth to finally decide to leave Jake and take the children back with her to the Maori village she’s from.
the movie is remarkable for its representation of the violence in the Haka household, the alienation of the Maori from the majority white society, the efforts of some to use traditional Maori history and customs to instill pride and responsibility on the young men.

trailer

ONCE WERE WARRIORS – Trailer (French subtitles)

Jake, Jake the Muss

Once Were Warriors – Jake, Jake the Muss

you think your fist is your weapon?

Once Were Warriors – You think your fist is your weapon?

the soundtrack uses traditional Maori songs alongside modern Maori sounds.  an example of the later is What’s the time Mr. Wolf?

Nablopomo 2009 badge

THE SLENZ  PROJECT:

Formal  in-world Maori Kaumatua’s

‘blessing’  for Foundation build

Is this a world first?

Historic moment: Kaumatua Matua Wati Ratana  in two places at once

- he also is in SL as  Matua (Teacher) Mistwood.*

For what is believed to be the first time in the history of Second Life,  and probably in the history of virtual worlds, a Maori Kaumatua (respected elder) has conducted a public ceremony of blessing in a virtual building with an avatar.

The ceremony was conducted by Manukau Institute of Technology Kaumatua Wati Ratana (SL: Matua Mistwood) on the Foundation Learning build on the SLENZ Project island of Kowhai. Arranged and facilitated by Manukau Institute of Technology lecturer and SLENZ Project lead educator, Merle Lemon (SL: Briarmelle Quintessa) the ceremony was attended by leading members of the SLENZ Project and other guests.

Ceremonies of this nature are part of the normal dedication  of New Zealand-Aotearoa public buildings both in New Zealand and abroad.

However, it is believed that this was the first time an event of this nature had been held in a virtual world.

The ceremony included an informal welcome, known as a whakatau, because a karanga (formal welcome to a marae) was not considered appropriate, according to Lemon.The cermemony commenced with a karakia (prayer) offered by Matua Mistwood. DaKesha Novaland (RL: Whaea Helen Rawiri) was present to support Matua Mistwood.

For the ceremony Mistwood wore a kiwi feather korowai (cloak) made especially for the occasion and donated by Second Life builder, Theo Republic, of Adelaide, Australia.

The official Maori  party with two helpers ( back to front): student helper,

Kaumatua Wati Ratana and Kuia Waea Helen Rawiri, and another helper.

The waiata (song) in support of Matua Mistwood was He aha te hau, a Ngati Whatua song, used to acknowledge the tangatawhenua (people of this place) from Manukau Institute of Technology. The responding waiata was Tutira Mai, in support of the whaikorero (formal speech),  delivered by Martin Bryers (SL: Martini Manimbo), of Northland Polytechnic (NorthTec)

After hongi (a traditional Maori greeting) were exchanged via HUDs worn by participants, Kaumatua Mistwood proceeded to enter the Foundation Learning build’s Whanau Room alone to pronounce the blessing.

He later blessed the “food” which was served in world to all guests at the conclusion of the ceremony.

“Despite  some small technical hitches, It was a really good experience,” Lemon said after the  function.  “We made history having an actual  Kaumatua come into  a Second Life build to  bless a room for students. To my knowledge it has never been done before in a virtual world.

“I really loved being able to bring a Kaumatua and a Kuia into Second Life, Their first impression was that it would be a wonderful  for the education of Maori students, particularly in Te Reo and literacy programmes.

“They even talked of building a 3d version of a full Maori marae in a virtual world like Second Life,” Lemon said.

The SLENZ Project  which has run two  pilot education programmes in Second Life is funded by the New Zealand Government’s  Tertiary Education Commission.

Kaumatua Matua Ratana greets participants with a traditional hongi.

*All pictures in this blog issue taken by Dave Snell, LTC.

Rotorua ungewollt ein 3. Mal

Ursprünglich wollte ich ja direkt nach New Plymouth, aber der „Nakedbus“ war da wieder etwas unflexibel – es gibt keine direkte Verbindung. Ich musste also über Rotorua reisen, dort einmal übernachten und dann erst konnte ich über Hamilton die Küste entlang nach New Plymouth herunterfahren. Die Fahrt dauerte 6 Stunden.
Dennoch hatte ich es mir viel schlimmer vorgestellt, als es tatsächlich gekommen ist: Ich hab mich in Rotorua sehr nett mit einem Maori im Hostel unterhalten, der ein bisschen über meine Reise erfahren wollte und ein wenig deutsch lernen wollte. Er studiert Management und Touristik in Rotorua und hilft im Hostel mit um näher an den Leuten dran zu sein und um wertvolle Infos direkt zu bekommen, die – wie er mir erzählte, andere erst recherchieren müssten, während er sie direkt von uns erhielte.
Am Morgen vor der Abreise aßen wir dann gemeinsam Frühstück und er hat mir mein „Backpack“ zum Bus getragen und sogar mit mir auf den Bus gewartet.

New Plymouth

Ich war 5 Tage in New Plymouth. Mir gefällt´s hier. Das Hostel ist nett. Es ist ruhig und nicht zu viele Leute um einen herum, einmal ein bisschen Abstand von den großen überlaufenen Hostels, in denen man mit 7 weiteren Leuten in einem Raum schläft und außerdem in einem Stockbett schläft. Hier im Hostel habe ich mal ein einzelnes Bett und teile mir den Raum mit nur einer weiteren Person.
Es ist nur einen Katzensprung von der „Tasmansea“ entfernt. Der „Costalwalkway“ ist direkt begehbar und recht schön. Ich hab einen längeren Spaziergang zu dem „Paritutu Rock“ gemacht, der ein ehemaliger Vulkan ist und der Track zur Spitze ist sehr steil. Die dahinter gelegenen „Mataroa“, runden Felsen, sagten mir mehr zu. Sie liegen direkt im Meer und grenzen an den schwarzen Sandstrand an. Hier habe ich den Sonnenuntergang betrachtet und auf dem Rückweg, den „Costalwalkway“ entlanggehend, traf ich eine einsame Katze an, die ich zwar ein wenig überreden musste, die sich aber dann streicheln ließ und sehr zutraulich wurde.
Da erinnere ich mich an die Hostelbesitzerin, die meinte, als ich ihren Kater streichelte, und sie mir Futter für ihn gab, damit ich mich bei ihm beliebt machen konnte, dass ich wohl eine „catperson“ wäre. Ihrem Hund habe ich anscheinend nicht ausreichend Aufmerksamkeit geschenkt. Naja, ich freu mich immer Katzen auf meiner Reise anzutreffen. In manchen Hostels gibt es welche.

Gleich am ersten Tag hatte ich die Gelegenheit zu einem kleinen Track am Fuße des „Mt. Taranaki“ mitgenommen zu werden. Es war recht schön, aber der Berg versteckte sich ein bisschen hinter den Wolken. Dennoch hatte es sich für mich gelohnt, ich wollte wenigstens einmal zum „Mt. Taranaki“ kommen.
Derjenige, der mich mitgenommen hatte, fuhr dann praktischerweise auch gleich noch zum Supermarkt, d.h. Ich musste meine Lebensmittel keine 2 km? zum Hostel transportieren.

Sehr interessant fand ich auch die beiden Art Galerien, „Tart“ und die „Govett-Brewester Art Gallery“. „Tart“ stellt Kunst von örtlichen Künstlern aus. Ich fand es recht interessant. In der anderen Galerie gefielen mir besonders die Werke von einer Chinesin „Guo Fengyi“, die vor allem mit Halbkreisen und Strichen arbeitet und die Werke von einer Inderin „Nalini Malani“, deren kräftige, ausdrucksstarke Farbwahl mir sehr gefallen hat.

Heute geh ich sicher noch in den „Pukekura Park“ und ansonsten genieße ich die Ruhe hier im Hostel. Die Stadt New Plymouth selbst ist da schon etwas beschäftigter.
Morgen rise ich dann nach Wellington weiter. Der Bus fährt relativ spät ab, sodass ich spät in Wellington ankomme. Das Hostel, das ich mir dort ausgeguckt habe, scheint auch eines der kleineren und angenehmeren zu sein, dafür aber auch etwas weiter außerhalb. Morgen werde ich also mein Gepäck wieder etwas weiter schleppen müssen.

Track am Fuße des Mt. Taranaki

Mt. Taranaki

Bei Mataora, den runden Felsen und dem schwarzen Strand.

Waha Wera heißt „brennender Mund“ in der Sprache der Maori, den Ureinwohnern Neuseelands. Und so mystisch die Geschichten über Kannibalismus und Kriegstänze sind, die sich um die Maori ranken, so mystisch ist auch diese Chillisauce. Die Waha Wera ist eine Mischung aus Kiwifrucht, Manuka Honig und Habanero Pfeffer Sauce. 1996 findet die Ozeanierin erstmals die Anerkennung als „Weltbeste scharfe Fruchtsauce“. Das Chile Peppers Magazine „Fiery Foods Challenge“ in Albuquerque (USA) ist genauso überzeugt wie wir…

Unübertroffen ist die die Sauce für Marinaden oder einfach als würziger grüner Begleiter auf dem Tisch. Die Waha Wera Sauce bringt Sie geschmacklich recht zielsicher ans andere Ende der Welt.

This has got to be the best office in the world!!!!

The sunrise view of South East Bay from my bunk

I’ve just spent a week with 14 other staff, four volunteers and two owners on Tuhua (Mayor) Island.  Whilst the view of the sunrise from my bunk each morning was a great way to start each day, it was certainly no holiday. 

Each day we loaded our gear and set off on a range of tasks all over the island, returning at the end of day to eat and fall into bed, exhausted but excited to have made a dent in the long list of jobs we had to complete.

Our hard work was rewarded by regular sightings of rare birds, plants, lizards and marine mammals.  Here are just a few of the locals that we saw.

We’ve been working in partnership with the owners (Tuhua Trust Board) for many years to restore the pest-free island and now we’re helping them to make it more accessible for people to enjoy.

I spent three days with our botanist and weed specialists spraying and searching for weeds all over the island, including one day of wading through a wetland, pushing through head-high walls of vegetation in search of the invasive royal fern.  

Spray unit loaded and off to spray weeds

The wetland we waded through

My last day was spent helping to fix the floor of the caretakers cottage and shifting firewood.

Eveyone’s skills and expertise were used around the island – upgrading buildings, tracks, water supply, removing massive fallen pohutukawa logs from where they had fallen on top of buildings, cleaning up the ammentity areas, killing weeds, patrolling the Marine Reserve, searching for springs in preparation for our orange-front parakeet transfer coming up in December and checking on the pateke (brown teal) and kiwi that have been released on the island.

Rope & chainsaw skills got put to the test

Dave checked out a cliffside kiwi nest

Chris and John fixed the floor

Tawara cleared the track

Dean & Alastair built a huge firewood pile

As inviting as the water looked, I only managed one swim – the cool water and 2m shark we saw swimming in the bay on our first evening were a little off-putting.  But when I did get wet, I took mask & snorkel with me and got to see some beautiful kelp beds, big angel fish and incredibly glossy obsidian.

Click here to find out how you could visit Tuhua – Tauranga’s piece of paradise.

Hinemoa’s Daugther (Charlie Ward) Poema recitado por Apirana Taylor

Much as it hurts to come to this conclusion, Adam is of the view that Hone Harawira is the winner.

Claire Trevett writes in the NZ Herald on growing support for the controversial and to Adam’s mind unacceptable MP. Adam has reluctantly come to the conclusion that the Maori Party will take Harawira back into the fold, after ritual noises of how he has promised to mend his ways. (Tui moment here). Of course this sends the wrong signals to the electorate and has already encouraged Labour, traditionla political ‘home’ of Maori to play the race card. It seems that race will now feature quite strongly as an overt part of NZ politics.

A strong runner as well were the powerful iwi promoting themselves to a special place in the trough in regard to the ETS and thus raising questions as to who actually runs the Maori Party and whose interests are actually being promoted.

I’ve pondered the issues and events around Hone Harawira’s run-in with most of white New Zealand and, it seems, many Maori as well (specially his own Maori Party) and I’ve found it very hard to put together a coherent single position. I guess that could be put down to profound ambivalence on many aspects.

What has concerned me most though, from a pakeha perspective, is the way in which events – particularly Hone’s angry email message and his reaction to the resultant publicity – have thrown up all sorts of side issues and exposed underlying attitudes, like lifting a large garden rock to observe the creatures beneath.

In the workplace I was inhabiting at the time of the radio announcement, the reaction was pure venom, as if Hone had just walked in the office and thrown fresh excrement at all the white occupants. Much comment then and since has centred on the two popular themes, summarised as: “he should be sacked” (no-one suggested by whom and from what), and “if a white person said those things they would be crucified”. Well, sorry, but I hear the sort of language that Hone used every second day around here.

I am challenged by Hone’s comments and attitudes, but I’m afraid I can’t seem to be able to work up any real anger about it. And when I try to explore if he makes me feel offended, I find myself becoming more offended by people’s reactions to him than by Hone himself.

As I said, I have no single coherent position to put here. I’ve read several good commentators and columnists who have placed the whole (on-going) episode into some sensible political and social perspective, but for my part I’ve only come up with some observations about various facets. Here goes.

My first arose from the coincidence that both Harawira and Rodney Hide got into trouble with their mouths around the same time. Hide admitted it in his seemingly honest apology to the nation: How easy it is to let your position and status, as a politician with your hands on power, go to your head. I wouldn’t want to get too judgmental here, because I can easily imagine getting a bit of strut into my stride if I had my every word listened to and analysed, and perhaps feared, on a regular basis!

Both men need to learn the responsibilities that go with power, that a dash of humility can go a long way, and that posturing rarely produces lasting and worthwhile results.

Then there was the language Harawira used. As I said above, I hear that stuff every second day, and you’ll hear worse every Friday night on the brilliant television comedy show, 7 Days. Sure, we’d like to think that politicians were somehow one level up in their use of language, but they are human and have been subject over the years to a variety of sources of crude talk. I only have to listen to my neighbours shouting at their kids in expletives to wonder how those kids could possibly end up not using the same language as standard adult talk.

And we do need to remember that Hone’s expletive-laden outburst was part of a private email.

There has also been comment about Hone’s liberal use of vernacular slang and phrases, and in particular that Labour leader Phil Goff should be lined up to be shot for his support of the Foreshore and Seabed legislation. Again, I’ve heard this used plenty of times by all manner of people who, like Hone, don’t mean it in any literal sense. You know: “Look at the way Joe treats his dog, he should be shot for it”, or “Those boy racers kept me awake all last night – I’d like to line them all up against a wall and shoot the lot”. It’s the sort of phrase you use in anger. It’s a metaphor. Get over it! (Fortunately Phil Goff recognised it as such and didn’t hire himself bodyguards as a result.)

Then there’s the small matter of Hone being basically correct on historical matters. Set aside the language and the association of the race relations issue with the Paris trip, and what he’s saying is an accurate representation of historic events.

One facet of the issue that has amused (as well as dismayed) me is the reaction of the so called anti-PC brigade, those who say people should be able to say what they think, call a spade a spade, regardless of who may be offended. When they themselves are offended by a spade being called thus, one of the first things they call for is the Race Relations Conciliator to take action against Harawira!! (Wow, that’s classy!)

Freedom of speech is an important feature of a healthy democracy, especially if it’s in private correspondence. How many pakeha who are currently venting against Harawira and Maori in general have never made offensive comments about them in private? Sure, Hone gave permission to publicise his email, but my reading of his reasons for doing so were not that he wanted it to be public and to offend, but rather that he didn’t want to follow the normal practice of expressing anger and disgust privately but sweet-talking about the same issue in public – which most politicians normally do. At least you cannot accuse Harawira of being two-faced, you know where he stands.

My reaction to the common attitudes expressed in many of the country’s Letters to the Editor pages over the past week goes as follows:

Whether it’s blatant racism, cultural arrogance or just plain ignorance, I’m not sure. But the common theme – that Maori should get over the wrongs done to them in ancient and recent history and be thankful for all the good things that the big white man has brought to them – stinks of paternalism, condescension and …. well, it simply stinks.

White settlers did not bring with them television, cars, iPods and shopping malls. These so-called advances grew up in an already mixed society, often imported from countries with populations of many races and colours.

As I see it, the sub-text of the Treaty of Waitangi is that both founding cultures accept, respect and value each other’s views and offerings, with no sense that one is intrinsically better than the other, and that both equally have contributions to make to New Zealand’s future.

It’s fine to express opinions about Hone’s place and worth in politics, but don’t use his actions as a stick to strike out at all things Maori.

SO how do I see Hone Harawira now? I feel some sadness that such a strong and driven man can allow his sense of victimhood, justifiable or not, to control so much of his life. Clearly he believes in his message and mission strongly, but he’s missing half of the message.

He could take Ranginui Walker and Pita Sharples as his role models – it’s OK to be angry and driven and express strong opinions, but posturing and being abusive doesn’t get you very far and tend to make things worse in the long run.

If he’s representing his electorate and many of them think this way, then Hone has a duty to work with them and lead them to a better relationship with pakeha, even when pakeha act badly to him.

He should follow the example set for my wife and me (and a few other tourists) by the Maori tour guide who showed us around Waitangi last year. We could tell he had strong views, he knew his history and he knew the people involved. But he didn’t use the hour-long tour to harangue us or to preach. He applied his quiet charm, his mana, and gently led and educated us to see his perspective and the history and current relationship as local Maori see it. And it worked!

And if my thoughts sound like yet another example of patronising racism, then I’m sorry ..

I was too young to really get Mike Tyson in his heyday.  My mom was uncomfortable when Tyson’s story was on Morning Edition because she didn’t want to explain rape.  I knew he hurt a woman.  A few years later he was on NPR again for biting someone’s ear off. For years his violent persona has been fixed in the recesses of my mind.

“Tyson” the documentary has certainly made the man more interesting and sympathetic.  Through much of the film Tyson comes across as sincere.  I find myself thinking, ‘this guy has life figured out.’  Other times he comes across as sincerely naive, like when he shows off his Che Guevara tattoo.  Like a friend who had the name of his favorite band tattooed across his chest.

The filmmakers cut in such a way that it’s like Tyson’s never taking a breath.  This allows them to punctuate Tyson’s monologues.  They’ll draw skepticism by repeating his canned stories.  He’ll talk about his troubled youth, and they’ll cut to him saying the exact same thing again, or they’ll even pull out some found footage of him saying the same thing in the late 80’s.  If it were a one off gimmick I’d think they were subverting his trust or something.  Here I don’t think it’s necessarily subverting his intentions because they really move his story forward.

In the second half of the film Tyson talks candidly about life in prison. Here they use repetition to ratchet up the urgency of what Tyson’s saying.  One painful memory gives way immediately to another.  Maybe I’m just listening because he’s a fascinating celebrity.   I’m not so worried about that though.  Maybe that’s what it takes a bit of celebrity to humanize the incarcerated.

Tyson talks about time spent talking to himself in the hole.  The screen is split up as below.  His voice in each window is faded out under the arrival of full volume in the new screen.  He’s talking to himself while being heard by millions of people who watch his film.

I’m just going to transcribe some of what he says and leave it at that:

By going to prison I lost my faith of trust in God.  I really… I became a Muslim in prison, but I really lost my faith in myself.  I became like almost unhuman.  I seen things that really I couldn’t understand one human being doing to another.  For example many times I seen people come down, especially umm medication or police guards They come and they give medication and a guard comes with them.  The guard may have been one of the guards that locked the guy up and all of a sudden a pile of shit comes and smash him right in the face. [Cut w/ emphasis] A pile of shit comes out and smash you in your face. A pile of piss comes smash you in the face.  These guys pick up their own um feces and hit somebody with it…

All of a sudden might be a race war…

Else one day somebody might throw some gasoline and try to light it in your cell and burn you up.  Or you might be a lady guard and somebody grab you and throw you in the bathroom and rape you.

Just so many things happen in prison.  You can’t believe it happening.

These people don’t care.  They got 40 years, a hundred years.  People don’t care what they do.  You can’t give um any more time than they already have. So um, you’re walking a thin rope messing with these kind of people.

These people are borderline sociopaths.  These people need to be in hospitals more than prisons so to speak.

Trust me I’m not trying to play a tough guy at all.  I have three years [probation?] i don’t want no trouble with no one.

Well um, I been to the hole quite a few times and being in the hole is just insane in itself.  I’m in there 24 hours a day, 23 hours a day with the light on.  people treat you horribly. you never get the light turned off. and they take your blanket and you’re sleeping on concrete. you’re subject to strip search randomly. you never know when they gonna come search your room and make you strip.

Death is to be welcome. That particular time. Listen man you feel like your dead because when you in prison that’s the closest thing to death. You stay there so long, you become so used to being by yourself that you’re used to talking with yourself. you become your own best friend.  own best company. everybody’s gone. nobody calls you. visits become shorter and shorter and I know I’m going insane and I’m crazy for being here but it’s the only sanity that I know. That’s the sanity that I know.  I know that sounds so contradictory but it’s the life that I know at that particular time and situation.  The sanity is my… My insanity is my only sanity.

Nach langer Prozedur, und nicht aufgeben, habe ich es geschafft gestern meinen nächsten Trip vom „Nakedpassport“ vom „Nakedbus“ zu buchen.. letztendlich stellte sich heraus, dass sie die Internetseite neu geupdated haben und ich deshalb keinen Zugriff darauf hatte, erfuhr ich dann per Telefon, vom I-Site aus. Es ließ sich dann aber doch alles klären.
Man hat hier doch mit einigen organisatorischen Dingen und Unstimmigkeiten zu kämpfen. Die Busse fahren leider auch nicht so regelmäßig oder zu den Zeiten zu denen ich es gern hätte, damit mir nicht zu viel Zeit verloren geht.
Deshalb habe ich beschlossen erstmal gen Rotorua zu reisen.
Ich hoffe ja, dass ich alles schaffe, denn ich habe langsam den Eindruck, dass es so viel zu sehen gibt, dass ich langsam Zeitdruck bekomme, wenn ich auch noch die größere Südinsel sehen möchte und dennoch rechtzeitig wieder in Auckland für den Rückflug da sein möchte. Anfang Februar geht’s schon zurück.
Aber ich habe heute Abend festgestellt, dass ich wohl nochmal nach Hamilton zurückkehren möchte, weil es so zentral liegt und weil ich Reglan von hier aus erreiche mit einem Tagestrip. Der Hostelbesitzer schwärmte davon. Er erzhählte mir eine lange Geschichte von den Gehstöcken und dem Schmuck, den er selbst dort in Reglan anfertigte als er dort wohnte.. es gibt dort anscheinend viele Hobbykünstler und es ist direkt an der Westküste an der Tasman Sea.

Nun aber zu Rotorua:
Ich bin hier 4 Tage gewesen. Es riecht nach faulen Eiern, weil es sehr geothermisch aktiv ist. Ich bin in einer aktiven Vulkangegend.
Überall in diesem Ort brodelt, kocht, dampft, blubert es aus der Erde heraus. Heißes Wasser Sprüht etc. aus kleinen bis mittelgroßen Erdlöchern im Park in Rotorua. Es ist wirklich interessant hier.

Der Ort selbst ist recht schön, die Häuser sind aus Holz und klein wie überall in Neuseeland. Mit dem Hostel habe ich es auch gut getroffen. Meine Zimmermitbewohner schnarchen nicht und die Leute sind nett. Es ist erstaunlich wie viele Leute man wieder in so kurzer Zeit kennenlernt. Mehrere Deutsche, einen Schotten, einen Chinesen, 2 Französinnen, uvm.
Abends ist kaum etwas los hier. Selbst am Wochenende nicht. Am Samstag angekommen, habe ich mich gleich mit ein paar Deutschen angefreundet und wir sind abends zusammen weggegangen. Montag war ich dann in „Te Puia“, einem Maoridorf mit Geysier und weiteren geothermischen Aktivitäten. Ich hatte es ausgewählt um die Maorikultur besser kennen zu lernen und um zu sehen wie und woraus die Maoribekleidung hergestellt wird/ wurde. Es sind verschiedene Gräserarten, vor allem aus Flax (= eine Flachsart?), die aus großen länglichen Blättern bestehen und die dann auf eine bestimmte Art aufgerollt werden, sodass sie aussehen wie getrocknetes Stroh. Dieses „Stroh“ wird dann nebeneinander verbunden, sodass es einen „Rock“ ergibt.
Außerdem wurden verschiedene Webarten von Gräsern zu Taschen usw. sowie die Bedeutung der verscheidenen Muster erklärt.
Dann habe ich mit einem, den ich im Hostel kennen gelelernt habe, mir eine Maori-Performance angesehen, die den Haka und ein paar Maorilieder enthielt.
Auf dem Weg zum Geysier kam ich an einem Ort vorbei, an dem ich dann einen Kiwi gesehen habe (der aber leider nicht in seiner freien Wildbahn zu sehen ist).

Heute, am 17.09., war ich mit einer weiteren Bekanntschaft in „Wai-O-Tapu Thermal Wonderland“, was „Heilige Wasser“ bedeutet. Dort konnte ich sehr schöne bunte Seen bzw. Teiche, verschiedene kochende Schlammlöcher, einen Wasserfall und einen sehr schönen Geysier sehen, der etwa 20 m hoch war.
Es gibt unmengen Dinge hier in Rotorua zu tun, aber es ist auch teuer.

Morgen reise ich nach Taupo weiter, wo ich aber nur kurz bleiben möchte. Ich habe beschlossen erst gen Süden zu ziehen und nicht nach Norden, denn dafür bin ich jetzt schon zu südlich. Ich werde, wenn es klappt, mit einem Brasilianer, den ich heute in Wai-o-Tapu kennen gelernt habe, nahe Turangi das „Tongariro Alpine Crossing“ machen.

I think this is a good test for the Maori Party in determining its maturity and the changing role it’s got. The party came in as a one-issue party. Now, being a party of government, it’s got wider responsibilities and this could be the making of it.”

While it was essential to be aware of the grievances Mr Harawira had raised and their impact on the lives of today’s Maori, he believed both sides now acknowledged those things happened in the past.

“I think he’s making it quite clear he’s not going to change and if that’s the case, and those are the views he holds, I don’t think he’s suitable to be an MP.”

Buddy Mikaere as quoted in today’s NZ Herald on the Hone Harawira issue

In the post Race, Crime, Genes, Culture, Capitalism, Urbanization: Some Puzzles (How is that for a title?), I discussed the possibilities that “super-cultures” may exist that exert incredible influence on the genes of the persons living in those cultures. Super-cultures have “gene-warping effects, such that gene expression is warped in a profound way, often for the better.

The example of the Moriori was given, at first one of the most ferociously evil people on Earth, transformed via a Superculture into one of the most pacifistic people on Earth, so pacifist, that they got almost completely genocided due to their inability to fight back when faced with the true Maori who attacked them in the 1800’s.

I also suggested that Islam is a Superculture. Blacks living under Islam have a fairly low crime rate rate, including a violent crime rate, and they have a relatively low level of the social pathologies that we have come to associate with Blacks all over the world. Something about Islam is so gene-warping that it is modifying typical gene expression in Blacks.

A commenter, who opposes Islam, comments below. I agree with his comments in many ways. Let us say that I do not think that the West is compatible with Islam. We can handle a few of them, but once we get over a certain tipping point it is not going to be a tea party anymore. Here in the secular, let it all hang out West, Islam is pretty much the opposite of what we want in a society.

On the other hand, I believe in people’s rights to live how they choose, and if Muslim countries wish to live under Islam, so be it. This goes along with the principle of self-determination that we advocate here on this blog. Muslims can be Muslims all they want to in Muslim countries.

Nevertheless, Muslims do not seem to do so well as minorities in non-Muslim nations. There is a sense that Muslims are not required to live under infidel rule, and in fact, they seem to bristle at the very notion. Never mind that there are correlates in Islamic Law that state that Muslims in infidel countries must follow infidel law, else just go home. This is a more liberal reading of Islamic Law. It is rather disturbing that once they get to around 3-4% or so, Muslims start demanding Islamic Law for their civil and marriage law courts.

And once you get a large Muslim minority, you usually have some sort of an insurgency, often a separatist one, on your hands. Philippines, Thailand, India, China, Russia, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Nigeria, and Israel are good examples. While some of these are justified, the take home point, if you are a non-Muslim country, seems to be to not allow large Muslim minorities to even get started in the first place.

That word super culture. I don’t think it should be used to describe Islam…I don’t even think Islam is a culture. In fact, Islam is anti culture. Think about it. All the demands Muslims make around the world in non-Muslim countries they live in…which actually have culture…are subtractive.

They are against dance, music, mixing of genders, fashion, women, gays, sex, alcohol, etc…they offer no replacement for the things they want to subtract…except prayer and boring lifeless existence. They are anti-culture…and culture can not survive Islam…at least not without going underground.

I don’t think Islam is a religion either…not as much as it is a regimented way of life and control…those are its key elements…with fear of violent punishments for the slightest dissent…that’s why in Black Islamic communities, Blacks cannot be violent and criminal…because the consequences are basically…death.

Yes it’s a gene warping thing…un-natural selection…sticking to the system without deviating one inch…ensures survival and breeding…making each next generation more genetically fanatically religious. Gradually the power of rational thinking and logic and ability to question dogma is bred out altogether.

This book feels like a significant waypost on the journey of a country to understanding their identity. Reading it feels like a re-tracing of that journey for an individual. Michael King is trying to understand (through autobiography) what it is to be a Pakeha New Zealander: a non-Maori New Zealander – but to define this in a sense that is not merely negative, not defined by a lack, but in a positive sense. On the way the book raises uncomfortable questions about race relations in New Zealand, about our past Pakeha-Maori relations. King argues that Pakeha are distinctively New Zealanders (rather than Europeans or immigrants), that they are indigenous in some sense by their belonging and relationship to the land and country, while not denying that Maori – tangata whenua – have a privileged position as “first comers”. He also argues that there is a shared set of values that all New Zealanders, both Pakeha and Maori, have. A  realisation that came to him (as it does to many of us) as he returned from travelling overseas, best summed up in this passage (pp 178-9):

All this contributed to a conviction that New Zealanders, for all their faults, had virtues that were precious: an unwillingness to be intimidated by the new, the formidable, or class systems; trust in situations where there would otherwise be none; compassion for the underdog; a sense of responsibility for people in difficulty; not undertaking to do something without seeing it through…a lesser degree of racial prejudice (though not an absence) than that apparent in many other parts of the world…I also became more conscious of the value of my Maori associations – of what New Zealand would lose…if it were left solely with its Anglo-Saxon-Celtic heritage.

If you are interested in the history of New Zealand thought and identity, or are just trying to make sense of what being a Pakeha in the 21st century is all about, then this is a must read.