You Can't Please All of the People - by Delwyn Pittar

It was a crisp morning in the spring of 1990 – the year that the Government-sponsored wakas were all being launched and blessed at various venues around the country.

We stood on the shoreline at Sulphur Point, just down from the treatment station, waiting.

Takitimu arrived resplendent in her white crown of feathers that stood out from the prow of the canoe. Her warriors in various shades of brown and white paddled her into the shore, their white-tipped paddles leaping in unison and disappearing together into the water, like synchronised swimmers. Now the warriors were still, paddles upright, silent.

A welcoming karanga was sung and the kaumatuas called to their ancestors to bless this waka. The crowd gathered round; the children bounced and chased each other; the warriors left the craft and heaved Takitimu onto the sandy beach, before lining up to perform a vigorous haka. It was a moving ceremony, full of mana and pride in the completion of this magnificent waka.

Eventually the crowd moved up onto the grassed foreshore.  A line of seats were provided for the dignitaries facing eastward and the balance of the crowd moved to the west to face them and the estuary, leaving a area of grass between the two groups – space that allowed both groups to view each other from a polite distance.

The keynote speaker that morning was the Honourable Winston Peters, current Member for Tauranga. Because of his party’s balance of power in Parliament, under MMP, Winston had procured for Tauranga the new Waikareo Estuary Expressway – or ‘P’ Route, as it was known locally.  It was under construction and nearly completed. We were sitting behind the microphone as he walked to the microphone to speak.

As it was a Saturday we had taken our nine-year-old son with us to enjoy the event and he was between his father and me. In the middle of Winston’s speech, a young Māori lass stepped forward from the people watching, and began to harangue him. She paced up and down in front of Winston, between the crowd behind her and the official guests in front. Winston stopped speaking to listen to her as she shouted first in Māori and in English. She was very, very angry. She said he had allowed the pakeha Government to put its feet in their food basket. She was referring quite clearly to the construction of the Expressway over their pipi and cockle beds – their kai moana had been crushed and damaged.

Without warning she turned her back on him, bent over and threw her long skirt up and over her head. She was naked underneath. It was an insult to Winston – a particular Māori insult, delivered with much style.

I remember distinctly our son saying “I can’t see, I can’t see” as he bobbed his head to left and right trying to see what the commotion was all about as Winston was blocking his view.

My first thought on viewing her rounded coffee- and honey-coloured buttocks was, “Oh, what a beautiful bum”.  The vision has stayed with me over the years, probably because I was listening intently to what was being said and suddenly the view changed.

Winston, ever the consummate politician, paused to see if she had finished, took a breath and resumed his speech as the lass stomped away.