The Parihaka Woman

by Ihimaera, Witi

  Taking advantage of the moment, village women, in traditional dress and wearing the raukura in their hair, came singing onto the marae. Right in the front were Ripeka and Meri, with poi in their hands.

  ‘Titiro nga putiputi!’ the crowd roared as they began to dance: ‘Takiri te raukura,’ the women sang, ‘’aere koe i runga, ’uri ’aere ra i te motu e! Takiri te raukura, ’aere koe i runga, waiho te ture kia rere i raro e! Let the raukura dance, go forth the raukura, fluttering above and arise upwards! Throughout the land let the raukura dance, fluttering above while the laws are fluttering down below!’

  Erenora slipped between the many men and women in the crowd. ‘Let me through, let me through.’ Her heart was pounding when she finally joined the ranks of the elders standing with Te Whiti. ‘Must we allow Mr Bryce to come riding into our kainga?’ she asked.

  The prophet smiled quizzically at her. ‘I have always relied on you, Erenora, to ask the difficult questions but … tell me … do you know the will of God?’

  Chastened by the remark, Erenora bowed her head. Te Whiti kissed her on the cheek, ‘Kei te pai, Erenora.’ He turned to watch as the men took the places of the women to perform an ’aka. Raised to the dazzling sun, their faces were full of pride:

  ‘Ko te tongi a Noa ’e aka te oranga!’ they sang. ‘Ko te tongi a Te Whiti ’e raukura e! The symbol of Noah is the ark! Likewise the symbol of Te Whiti is the white feather e!’

  Te Whiti and Tohu were wearing fine cloaks. Te Whiti’s eyes again alighted on Erenora. Without wanting to, she began to weep with frustration. He shook his head, ‘No, Erenora, don’t cry.’ She heard his voice again, whispering to her like a warm wind through the din around them. ‘Rather, gather your strength for the journey you are soon to undertake to te Pito o te Ao, the end of the world.’

  Then the ’aka was over.

  ‘We expected Mr Bryce to dismount,’ Erenora wrote, ‘so that Te Whiti and Tohu could begin the speechmaking. But what did Mr Bryce do? He remained on his horse. And Piharo and the accompanying constabulary, they also would not dismount.’

  Nevertheless, Te Whiti and Tohu stood and welcomed Bryce ko’uru.

  They waited for him to reply to their mi’i. But he remained seated on his horse, silent, his eyes looking straight ahead. What was he waiting for?

  For almost an hour there was no reciprocal exchange of greetings.

  ‘Then, at 10 o’clock, Mr Bryce finally made his move. He nodded his head and a Pakeha officer of insufficient mana abused the hospitality of the two prophets by speaking to them with unseemly directness. “What is your answer, Te Whiti, to the proclamation of 19 October?” he asked.

  ‘When Te Whiti did not reply, Mr Bryce bid his underling to read out the Riot Act: “You are unlawfully, riotously and tumultuously assembled. You must disperse, otherwise you will be arrested. You have one hour to leave Parihaka.”

  ‘Nobody stirred. The silence remained. The allotted hour passed.

  ‘And then Mr Bryce took upon himself the conqueror’s right to read out the warrants of arrest for Te Whiti and Tohu. A warrant was also read out for Wiremu Hiroki, who stepped forward when his name was called.

  ‘A bugle began to play, Tatara-raa! Tatara-raa! And the forest suddenly quaked as Mr Bryce’s army emerged from it and burst into the kainga to execute the arrests. As they rushed in, the birds appeared. Disturbed by the army they shrilled in untimely song, flocking above Parihaka before seeking the safety of the sky.’

  5.

  O God of Israel, I ask of you, why didn’t you come down from your glorious throne and smite the Pakeha?

  You gave your divine assistance to Joshua when he blew his trumpet and brought down the walls of Jericho. You saved Lot and destroyed the twin cities of evil, Sodom and Gomorrah. You gave Samson back his strength so that he could demolish the Temple of Dagon. And you chose Moses, closing the Red Sea over the pursuing Pharaoh and his cohorts of the Egyptians.

  O God of Ages, why did you not do the same for your prophets Te Whiti and Tohu and your beloved Maori people?

  ‘After that,’ Erenora wrote, ‘everything happened quickly. Two Pakeha officers moved up with an arresting party armed with revolvers and handcuffs. The arresting officer was Captain Stuart Newall.

  ‘Te Whiti said to us, “Be of good heart and patient. This day’s work is not my doing. It comes from the heart of the Pakeha. On my fall the Pakeha builds his work: but be you steadfast in all that is peaceful.”

  ‘And as Tohu was handcuffed, he turned and said, “Be not sad. Turn away the sorrowful heart from you … Be not dismayed. Have no fear but be steadfast.”

  ‘The arrests were too terrible to behold. There arose a sound of such grief, such a deep moaning, that you could not stop your own sadness spilling out. A surge like a deep sea swell compelled the people forward to try to stop the arrests. But I remembered that other prophets of the Holy Bible had suffered in the hands of despots, and I saw that as Te Whiti and Tohu were led away, they were not bowed down. I turned to the villagers. “Why are you grieved?” I asked them. “Look, they are smiling as they walk away with the Pakeha.”

  ‘The two prophets were taken by trap to Pungarehu. As soon as they left Parihaka, the rain came squalling down.’

  Let me put it to you.

  It didn’t matter that the people of Parihaka were unarmed. All it would have taken was one shot. One rifle raised, one Maori sighted, one trigger pressed and …

  Think about it.

  And do you remember that Te Whiti had proclaimed four phases in the history of Parihaka? Some people say that the invasion of the citadel was the third one, Tupapaku.

  It was the day that Parihaka died.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Sacking of Parihaka

  1.

  ‘To the victor the spoils,’ Erenora wrote, ‘is a story older than the fall of Troy.

  ‘For two days, however, the rain kept Mr Bryce’s army at bay. It wasn’t until 8 November that the weather cleared. Only then did the army enter Parihaka again, and the wolf came down on the fold.

  ‘The pretext was that they were searching for so-called hidden caches of gunpowder, firearms and weapons. All the search parties found were fowling pieces, tomahawks and axes but in the process they stole many pounamu and other taonga, banknotes and savings.

  ‘Piharo made a special visit to my house. “Aren’t you going to ask me for my warrant?” he laughed.’

  ‘Mr Bryce appeared on his white charger. “The time has come”, he said, “for all tribes, who came to support the Parihaka people to pack up and leave.” ‘He posted a proclamation to all Waikato, Whanganui, Ngati

  Awa and other tribes on the west coast to get out. He called them “strangers” and gave them an hour to comply. If they did not, the Armstrong cannon would be fired on Parihaka. They refused to leave and, instead, sat with us on the marae, disregarding the order.

  ‘Mr Bryce’s threat was an empty one. The cannon remained silent.

  ‘But then Mr Bryce began the forcible and savage removal of the “strangers” and the destruction of domestic village w’are — whether they belonged to our visitors or not. He had always considered Parihaka as a sanctuary for criminals and now he took the opportunity to rid himself of it: Maori supporters from Whanganui were targeted first, arrested and moved out. Next were those from the Waikato. Once they were “identified”, rightly or wrongly, they were marched out of Parihaka and, just in case they thought of returning, their houses were destroyed.

  ‘I was sick at heart as I watched men, women and children lined up and, at the word of a Maori informer, identified as one of us or not. More than 400 from North Taranaki were marched away, some in handcuffs, to New Plymouth; 200 from South Taranaki were escorted to Opunake.

  ‘Mr Bryce ordered the destruction of the plantations. If any remaining “strangers” wouldn’t leave, he would starve them out.’

  2.

  By 18 November, just over 1,000 people were left in Parihaka.<
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  They were mostly women and children now, and the tataraki’i had assumed the front line defence on the marae, making loud sounds of anger whenever the constabulary appeared.

  Over 400 more people were identified as not belonging to Parihaka and forced to leave. By 20 November, 1,443 people had been thrown out.

  Mr Bryce then turned to destroying the wairua of Parihaka. He ordered the pulling down of the ‘sacred medicine-house’.

  By 22 November, 2,200 people had been evicted at gunpoint. The remaining villagers were given passes, not only to identify those belonging to Parihaka but also to prevent those who had been forced out from returning and resuming life in the village. ‘Parihaka continued to be looted,’ Erenora wrote. ‘Houses were torched, crops destroyed and livestock — hundreds of pigs, cattle and horses — driven away.

  ‘Among the livestock were the village’s 100 bullocks. Some refused to be herded from the kainga and, escaping the constabulary, returned again and again to Parihaka. In the end, the decision was made to slaughter them in their enclosures. A small shooting detail was given the task but at the first gunshots the bullocks created havoc, bellowing loudly and crashing against the high wooden fences where the shooters were standing.

  ‘I ran, crying, to the paddocks. I wrenched a rifle from one of the constabulary. Their shooting was so indiscriminate. They were too far away to give the fatal shot and some of the wounded bullocks were still writhing with terror.

  ‘“I will do it,” I screamed at the shooters. My will was so ferocious that the men stepped aside for me. They thought I was crazy to go into the paddock but, as soon as the bullocks saw me and heard my comforting voice, they stopped stampeding. And so I was able to move among them, scolding, “Why didn’t you go with your new masters?” I knew, of course, why they hadn’t but, oh, how I wished they had not turned back to the kainga.

  ‘I gathered my strength and commanded them all to lie down. “Thank you for your companionship,” I told them. “Look into my eyes now,” I said to each one and, while they were looking at me, I put the rifle to their foreheads and pressed the trigger.

  ‘Oh, what beloved companions they had been.’

  ‘Within three weeks we were down to 400 villagers, mostly women and the tataraki’i, and we were starving. Ripeka and I would go out at night to pick over the razed crops and bring back kai for Meri’s boy, Kawa, and other children.

  ‘When the house of my dear adoptive mother, Huhana, was burnt down she decided she had suffered enough. “I’m going back to Warea,” she told us. “Why don’t you girls come with me? We can wait out the troubles there.” My sisters and I said, “No.”

  ‘By the time Huhana was ready to leave, others had decided to go with her. We wept as they departed: such a small band of men and women. But Huhana called to us, “Don’t cry. This has happened before and, no doubt, it will happen again. We have always been more’u, pilgrims.”

  ‘The kainga was at the mercy of kites and crows. We were unprotected and exposed to marauders. Not long after Huhana left, some men, their faces hidden, came with a more sinister intent. They stole into some of the houses, muffled the sounds of sleeping women, bound them and put them into carts. But I was roused by nearby screams. I went to Meri’s house and told her, “Protect your son.” Where was Ripeka? I took up a butcher’s knife and went to find our sister.

  ‘Three men had decided there was time enough to have their way with her. They were raping her, two of them holding her down and the third on top of her, grunting like a pig. Rage possessed me and I screamed at them. I lashed at the man who was taking my darling sister against her will and, howling, he fell away from her. Of course, Meri was never obedient and she showed up with the only weapon she could find — a broom — but her appearance was enough to make the other two marauders take fright. They ran away into the night.

  ‘Meri comforted Ripeka. Our sister was moaning and swaying from side to side with grief. Then she began to scream, over and over again, “I should have fought harder.” It took us a long time to calm her down. When she had done so, she became still and silent. With perspiration beading her brow, she hissed at us with great fierceness, “This is our secret, you hear, sisters? Ours. Paora must never know. Never.”

  ‘She became distraught again, so, to calm her down, Meri began to tap her poi and made up a song to go with it:

  ‘“Titiro taku poi! Tapiri atu tapiri mai, taku poi, tapiri atu! Look at my poi, sister, as it dances up and down. It invites you to sing and dance with it! Come, sister, smile!”

  ‘I don’t know what happened to the women who were carted away from Parihaka. I hear that some were forced to become wives of settlers. Others were given as sexual fodder to constabulary in other parts of New Zealand. But I now knew how Horitana felt whenever the blood-lust came upon him. I wanted to follow the rapists to the end of the earth and geld them.’

  ‘On 12 November Te Whiti, Tohu and Hiroki were transferred from Pungarehu to New Plymouth Gaol. They were remanded in custody, to await trial on 1 May 1882. Before that could happen, however, Mr Bryce passed a bill that rendered their trial unnecessary: they were lawfully imprisoned without appearing in court.

  ‘To make sure that the presence of the prophets in Taranaki would not prove an inspiration to the people, they were taken by ship from New Plymouth to Wellington.’

  3.

  With the crops razed, Erenora took to slipping at night through the constabulary’s cordon to the sea. There, she would throw her net for fish.

  One morning, just as she had managed to get back into Parihaka, she saw a man on a horse riding towards her. It was Piharo. Her first impulse was to run. Instead she threw her catch into flax, moved quickly away from it and stood her ground, her fists bunched.

  Piharo reined up beside her and leant down from his saddle. ‘Your scarring has gone,’ he observed. ‘As for mine, never.’ When Erenora tried to move past him he drove his horse into her, knocking her to the ground. ‘Did I ever tell you that I have democratic tastes?’ he asked. ‘I’ll let you starve just a little bit longer. Perhaps that might bring down a pride like yours sufficient for you to make the walk to my gateway, as many have already.’

  ‘Never,’ Erenora said to him as she stood up. ‘Never.’

  Bryce tried to enforce a media blackout. He said he would arrest any newspapermen at Parihaka. His threat didn’t work: two correspondents sneaked in and were hidden by Maori on the marae. Not only that, but photographers were able to take pictures of Bryce’s army as it awaited orders to move against Parihaka. One, from the W.A. Price Collection in Wellington’s Alexander Turnbull Library, shows serried ranks of men, arms at the shoulder, like toy soldiers. In the background among the trees you can see their tented camp. Another photograph shows the villagers of Parihaka in defiant waiata. Yes, the three women in front are Erenora, Ripeka and Meri.

  Their mouths are opened as if they have swallowed the sun. ‘Ka manawanui au i ’ei ’a!’ they are crying defiantly. ‘We are indeed of stout heart au i ’ei ’a!’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A Wife’s Decision

  1.

  Flow on, bitter tears, flow on. Weep for the soul of the Maori people, weep. Shadows hide the light, dark as darkest night. Weep, o women, for the more’u, lost to the world.

  ‘In the aftermath of Parihaka’s fall,’ Erenora wrote, ‘Ripeka, Meri and I thought constantly of our husbands. By now, two years had passed since they had been taken away from New Plymouth. Since then, other men had also been submitted to imprisonment without trial. And when our two rangatira, Te Whiti and Tohu, were taken away from us, well, that was a black day.

  ‘Piharo was still harassing me, wishing to enslave me. Even though his property was now unimpeded of Maori title, he liked to ride to Parihaka for the express purpose of mocking me with his success. He would follow me as I scrabbled for food, asking, “Are you not hungry yet? I have a place already set for you at my table. Will you not join me one evening?”

/>   ‘Bedevilled by him, I sought escape by going down to the sea, and it was there that I had a matakite, a vision, about Horitana. At least I thought it was Horitana, except that all I could see was … a mokomokai, but it was shining like silver. As I was looking at it, the face began to sing, but the voice was Horitana’s. His song was full of pain and agony:

  ‘“Aue, e Atua!’ he cried. ‘O God! Kua ngaro a’au i te Po! How dark it is in this mokomokai! Aue ’oki te pouri o tenei Ao! How terrible this silence!”

  ‘I did not understand the vision and, although my soul was filled with foreboding, I voiced the thought that came to me: “Horitana is still alive! If he had been dead his spirit would have visited me to tell me he was waiting for me in Te Reinga.”

  ‘But why was he in so much pain? His agony was so intense that I put my hands to my head, moaning. Even when the vision ended, I could not rid my memory of that tragic voice coming from the mokomokai and the agony that inflected it. What had happened to him?

  ‘Yes, that was the moment of my decision. I would go and look for him. What else could I do? Ka patupatu taku manawa.’

  With beating heart, Erenora began her quest to find Horitana. But how would she, a Maori woman, be able to travel through a hostile Pakeha land?

  One evening her glance happened to light upon the book of Shakespeare’s plays given to her by a kind visitor to Parihaka. In Twelfth Night, she recalled, the heroine, Viola, is wrecked on the coast of Illyria and must masquerade as a man to survive in a hostile land.