Our story

"A box of beers”

Dr. Naomi Simmonds

Dear J Swap

Seven years ago, you came to our marae with a box of beer in your hands and asked of our hapū, let

us destroy your pā site, known as Pirauiti, to make our quarry compliant with the legislation.

We said NO.

Seven years ago, you told us there is no other option, the health and safety of our workers is in the

hands of Ngāti Huri, we have to destroy your pā site.

We said NO.

We said; the health and safety of your workers has always been in your hands, you chose to flout the

rules and now you want us to pay the price - the ultimate sacrifice, our ancestral land, our ancestors.

You went away but we knew you would return.

You did. With a new request.

We need your approval for the extension of our quarry so we can operate for another 35 years.

We said; What about our pā site? AND what about the eleven other pā sites in the area?

You said; the good stuff, the real money, sits beneath.

The safety of your workers disappeared from the conversation. Your hand was shown and your bets

placed – if we cut around the pā site, leave it standing, and gouge into the rest of the lands, surely

you will be happy Ngāti Huri?

We said NEVER. The pā site would be an island, bound to fall to the greed that you have carved

around it.

You kept coming back. Not hearing, not listening, never learning. Tunnel vision.

You act as if you were doing us a courtesy, that we should feel grateful.

Naïve and hopeful we moved through formal avenues, processes and legislation that has failed us

time and time again. A thousand-piece puzzle with no picture to follow and no one authority taking

responsibility.

It is on us. We keep talking, sharing who we are, finding fissures in the BS to try and wānanga, grow, educate.

Foolish were we.

You came back to the marae on the 8th of December 2020. You had learnt one thing at least - there

was no box of beer this time. Just maps, to try and impress us.

Don’t you know maps were used to colonise this land. Lines and boundaries imposed over

whakapapa, wāhi tapu and intergenerational relationships.

Your maps show us what we already know, how you would profit from our lands for another 35

years to come. We were even supposed to be impressed that you had bought the surrounding land

to ‘avoid’ the pā. Such capitalist privilege to sweep up more of our lands for our supposed benefit.

We said again; the pā would be an island, lonely, like a toe cut from its foot.

We dig our toes in.

We said; this is about the pā site AND it is bigger than the pā site. Don’t you get that yet?

You are mining our mother.

Your parting gift to us at that time was we will do better and be open and transparent and inform

you of everything moving forward.

We trusted you.

Foolish were we.

The very next day, on the 9th of December 2020 you went to the council and made your application.

Without a word spoken to us.

With hindsight, you said at the next hui, we can see how this might be perceived.

With hindsight, we said, why did we think we could trust you.

Six years of foresight and generous sharing of our knowledge, history, and time, should have been

enough. Generations of hindsight has not worked in our favour and is a comfortable excuse for the

continued theft and destruction of our lands and waters.

Foolish were we.

One last effort. We tried to speak to you in a different way. We wrote. Eighty pages setting out our

values, histories, cultural impact statements.

Shared our visions and aspirations for our lands and people.

Remembrance.

Connection.

Restoration.

Revitalisation.

We said; Not one more grain of dirt. We don’t want to have to tell stories of a place that was.

We said; We as Ngāti Huri OPPOSE the quarry operation and the proposed quarry expansion.

You came back, confused and mad that we would make these statements. You gave no answers, no

solutions, no compromise. Not even a box of beer. Just anger at us for saying what we had been

saying for years.

You asked for time to respond.

AND then -

A call from a local farmer. A slip. Pirauiti. We get a photo. Our hearts sink and bones ache.

We screamed to you; There is a slip on Pirauiti, what has happened, this is urgent.

You said Pirauiti is intact. And then said it again -

and again.

We mobilise. Fearful.

We’re locked down.

Our pā sits slipping into the quarry pit as you continue to blast, dig, and scratch out our lands.

Helpless.

We can’t get on site. Locked out by you.

We need an authority from the powers that be. Escorted like we are visitors, tourists on our own

land.

We are heartbroken. Fearful but hopeful that the strength of our pā will prevail.

On Thursday 7th October 2021, we visit Pirauiti.

Crack.

Fissure.

Fracture.

Broken.

Severed.

Destroyed.

The damage is worse than any of us expected. Seemingly irreparable.

It is like walking into see a loved one after a horrific accident. Unrecognisable.

We wail. The karakia struggles to come out because of choked sobs. The karanga flows with wails

and tears usually reserved for tangihanga.

Then we go quiet.

We don’t speak. Words unable to express our shock. Our grief.

Holding on to every part of ourselves to maintain composure. You will not get to experience our pain

and grief. That is for us.

You will, however, experience our anger and our power that is buried within those lands.

The worst has happened ... our rage will now bare itself.

You need to be accountable, responsible. We already know you are not remorseful.

For the trauma you have exacted on our land. Our ancestors. On our generations yet to be born.

We return to our elders, we don’t need to speak – they already know. Tears come and will not stop

for generations.

Intergenerational trauma.

We whisper:

Utu.

Ngāti Huri E Tū!

K’lee’s poem