Monday, November 23, 2015

Memory aids

As I near the end of my D'Arcy Residency and work to finish my my ten - or fifteen, or perhaps twenty - thousand word essay about TongaI'm flicking through photographs I took during our last visit to the kingdom in July and August. As I strive to remember the difference between a cassava and a tapioca plant, or the way the sun feels when it is reflected from a coral road on Tonagatapu at two in the afternoon, or the colour schemes various denominations favour on the rooves of their churches, the photographs have become essential references. After looking at them too long and too wistfully, I've begun to unlearn geography. I look out the window of my study at suburban Auckland, half-expecting to see the fruit bats and sperm whales of the Tongatapu channel.  

Here are Cerian and Aneirin, dining under the cool gaze of the late King Tupou V; the fleet of fishing boats at Ohonua, the capital village and only port of 'Eua Island; the old gas station on 'Eua's plateau; the cemetery named Pangai, on the road out of Ohonua, where some of the original refugees from the slave raid on 'Ata are buried; a Free Wesleyan Church on the plateau, with cyclone-proof pillars and Mondrianesque plastic windows; our 'Atan friends Pisaina and Masalu Halahala having lunch with us at the Hideaway lodge; and the half-dead shark that fishermen brought up from the Tongatapu channel in a blue ute one afternoon.
[Posted by Scott Hamilton]

Sunday, November 15, 2015

A quick post about poetry and the attack on Paris

While bombs were exploding in Paris Murray Edmond and I were reading poetry at Titirangi Public Library. Murray had been asked to read to a meeting of the Titirangi Poets group, and he'd asked me to come along as a support act.

Murray read a series of poems from his new book, Shaggy Magpie Songs. A piece that went down particularly well described a meeting between the young Murray Edmond and Jean-Paul Sartre beside the Waikato River. The two men talked extravagantly, and perhaps drunkenly, about the meaning of life, before the great philosopher made a pass at a young woman who had wandered out of the local pub. The woman and Sartre ended up jumping in the Waikato. Murray ended up bemused.

The audience loved the poem, and not only because of the half-mocking, half-reverential Left Bank accent in which Murray delivered Sartre's lines.

With his intellectual bravura, unabashed concupiscence, and political elan, Jean-Paul Sartre represents much of what I admire about French culture, or a part of French culture. Sartre also represents the antithesis of the life-denying creed of ISIS. No wonder that the suicidal volunteers of ISIS aimed their weapons at the Parisian streets and cafes that Sartre made into a workshop.

The Islamophobes who have responded to the Paris atrocities with demands for the mass deportation of Muslims and the carpet bombing of Middle Eastern cities are the corollary of ISIS, rather than genuine opponents of the group's ideology. When they assert that secular Islam is a contradiction in terms, and that a true Muslim is a violent opponent of civil society and democracy, they echo the pronouncements of ISIS.

The Islamophobes claim that the collective punishment of Muslims is necessary if ISIS is to be defeated. They cannot acknowledge that ISIS is being defeated right now, in the Middle East, by secular Muslims. In the latest issue of the New York Review of Books Jonathan Steele describes how left-wing Kurds, whose militia include hundreds of female volunteers, have liberated a series of towns from ISIS and created their own state in northern Syria. Auckland's Kurdish community has marched down Queen Street to show its support for the fight by their compatriots against ISIS.

The Kurds defeating ISIS in northern Syria have much more in common with Jean-Paul Sartre than they do with the likes of the late and unlamented Jihadi John.

[Posted by Scott Hamilton]

Monday, November 09, 2015

Waipoua Forest and the incredible shrinking conspiracy theory

[I regularly find folks at websites like Reddit, Wikipedia, Grownupsnz, and Kiwiblog linking to posts I've made about theories that a pre-Maori civilisation existed in New Zealand. Recently I followed a link to Kiwiblog, where a prolific commenter who uses the slightly sinister nom de plume Unity was talking darkly about a conspiracy by scholars, museologists, Maori radicals, and the Key government, a conspiracy designed to obscure the peoples who supposedly settled these islands hundreds or thousands of years before Maori. 
I had a long conversation with Unity and Kiwiblog, and I thought this conversation was interesting, because of the way it showed how a very elaborate conspiracy theory can be made to rest upon the slightest and most trifling fact.]
...the Ngapuhi elder, David Rankin has said that in stories passed down through the ages, it was said there were always other people here before – blonde, blue eyes, red hair? He also said Maori weren’t indigenous or great navigators. They came here in the main on a tidal drift. They all arrived here by boat. That was news to me but it makes sense because if they were such great navigators, why didn’t they never return to their homelands at some stage? Life must have been very hard here. 


Polynesians most certainly did return from Aotearoa to the tropics, Unity – we know this because we’ve found obsidian from the Bay of Plenty amongst prehistoric artefacts on Raoull Island. And DNA analysis of the kiore, or Polynesian rat, indicates a genetic diversity that would be hard to account for if only one group of settlers from one island got here. Far from being hard here, life would have been extraordinarily good, compared to life on the small and relatively poorly resources islands of Eastern Polynesia.
David Rankin is not a rangatira, and is not taken seriously within Nga Puhi – he represents nobody but himself. Having said that, he’s as entitled to an opinion as anyone else and if he ever presents any evidence for ancient Celts/Atlanteans/Martians coming here thousands of years ago then I’ll certainly be interested in taking a look. Until then I’ll go with the science. The rest of it is hidden behind a paywall, but here’s the abstract for Lisa Matisoo-Smith’s paper about her DNA tests of kiore, where she argues that the range of genetic variation suggests multiple rather than a singe voyage by Polynesian settlers. 
I’ve been reading your comments with great interest, Scott. Are you able to tell me why a 75 year moratorium was placed on Waipoua Forest several years ago when Labour was in power? No archaeological digs are allowed to take place and it is well known that there are many sites in the forest that prove there were people here long before the 1300’s from when it is known that natives lived here. They weren’t called ‘Maori’ in those days. Why are we not allowed to examine these sites when there are so many of interest in there? I would have thought it was in the interests of all of us to know whatever there is to learn about the history of this country. It all seems very strange to me to hush these things up. It is also well known that ‘Maori’ have destroyed many sites elsewhere. Why?
I found the following link when Googling ‘Waipoua Forest Moratorium’. There are other interesting things under that Google heading too.
These conspiracy theory-related claims get bigger and bigger in the retelling. It would be pretty hard to put a ‘moratorium’ on Waipoua forest, which is vast and is full of public walking tracks. Numerous archaeological surveys and digs have been done in Waipoua forest; many of them have been written up and can be read in research libraries (there are half a dozen in the University of Auckland library catalogue).

A small amount of one report was apparently withheld from publication, after requests from local iwi. It isn’t at all unusual for moratoriums to be put on documents that contain sensitive information – I was recently looking through the Hillary papers, and noticed that Sir Ed’s family have put moratoria on various documents that are related to his personal life. When I wrote a PhD on EP Thompson I had to put up with a fifty year moratorium on the papers he left the Bodleian library. I would guess that the deleted paragraphs in the Waipoua report relate to burial sites. A lot of iwi now keep information about burial caves close to their chests because of damage done to these sites by ghoulish fossickers.

Martin Doutre has erected an enormous fantasy on the top of a couple of deleted passages in a single report on Waipoua. He thinks there’s a huge Celtic city in the forest, and that the report has been censored to hide this fact. But thousands of people visit Waipoua every year and numerous archaeologists have studied the forest.

With regard to the 75 year moratorium placed on archaeological digs in the Waipoua Forest it’s all in the following link, Scott.


I had a quick look at that site, which is run by Martin Doutre, and even by his account it seems there’s less to the Waipoua case than I thought. Some documents in national archives were held back from scrutiny on the request of an iwi – until 1996! What moratorium are we talking about then, Unity?


Right at the very beginning of that article is the front page of the Archives document which states very clearly in handwriting ‘restricted until 2063’. Up until that date it requires the approval of Iwi. Why? It was very clearly imposing a restriction on certain information related to the extensive and very expensive archaeological excavations conducted in the Waipoua Forest between the late 1970’s until the late 1980’s. Obviously they found something and one wonders why we are not allowed to know.
After that there was much ducking and diving by various departments and people trying to say there never was a moratorium. I cannot for the life of me understand why the archaeological excavations were not allowed to continue and why we are not allowed to delve into our history. I can’t think of any other country where archaeological digs are curtailed and what was already discovered is ‘covered up’. I also have it on very good authority that today if someone went into the forest and tried to delve into things in there, they are very quickly ushered out by ‘Maori’. One would think they too would be very interested to learn what is in there because there are most definitely several things that we already know of that point to a much more advanced civilisation than the native one.
I hope this answers your question.
I feel you may be misunderstanding the note that’s been written on the document at the top of the page, which appears to be Michael Taylor’s report on his work at Waiopua. You seem to think that the note indicates that Taylor’s work was called off, and the site he was studying was placed off limits until 2063. But doesn’t the handwritten amendment call for passages of Taylor’s report on his work to be restricted until 2063? That’s quite a different thing. As I mentioned earlier, a moratorium on part of the report needn’t have been motivated by sinister ends – huge numbers of documents in all our research libraries are the subject of moratoria for one reason or another (I mentioned the Hillary papers). But as the later letters show, the Taylor report was not restricted until 2063. The letter from Philida Bunkle says that copies of the report filed with National Archives have been available since 1996.
I can’t see, then, how you get the idea that the government somehow intervened and called off archaeological work at Waipoua until 2063. And archaeological work has continued at the forest since 1988, when Taylor made his report. I just looked in the University of Auckland library catalogue and I see it has a report by Taylor on his work in Waipoua in 1988. Isn’t this the document that Doutre claims was repressed? It doesn’t look like the sinister forces charged with hiding our true history made much of a job of it!
Title: Waipoua Archaeological Project stages II and III : management and research undertaken during 1985-87
Author(s): Michael Taylor
Annetta Sutton; New Zealand. Department of Conservation.; Waipoua Archaeological Project.
Published: Auckland N.Z. : Dept. of Conservation 1988
Description: 70, [110] p. (1 folded) : ill., facsims., maps ; 30 cm..
Subjects: Excavations (Archaeology) — New Zealand — Waipoua State Forest; Maori (New Zealand people) — Antiquities; Waipoua State Forest (N.Z.) — Antiquities
Related Titles: Variant Title: Waipoua Archaeological Project.
Notes: Cover title: Waipoua Archaeological Project.
“Unpublished internal report”–Disclaimer.
“February 1988.”
Includes bibliographical references (p. 67-70 (1st sequence)).
Data Source: Alma: 21154978930002091
This all seems like a pretty small foundation for Doutre’s claims of a conspiracy to hide NZ’s ancient Celtic history. And I find it curious that Doutre apparently hasn’t bothered to go to Wellington and read a copy of Taylor’s report, in the nineteenth years since it was made available to the public. Wouldn’t he want to get his hands on the document and publicise its explosive contents?
But of course the point is that if Doutre’s theory were correct, and a huge and technologically sophisticated Celtic civilisation existed all over NZ thousands of years ago, we wouldn’t have to go scratching about in the backwoods of Northland to find evidence of such a civilisation. Doutre claims Auckland was crammed with settlements thousands of years ago, and claims that the stones on the tops of our volcanoes are the remains of ancient observatories. If it were true that a European great city lay across this isthmus thousands of years ago, why haven’t the tens of thousands of excavations carried out not by archaeologists but by spades and diggers and road building gangs over the past one hundred and fifty years found a single artefact – a sword, a piece of pottery, a coin, anything – from an antique European culture buried under the city? The British can’t build a chicken coop without discovering some Roman coin or road.

Thank you for that, Scott. However, it still seems rather strange that Taylor’s work would initially be suppressed until 2063. What on earth could he have discovered that couldn’t be seen until 2063? I would have thought that more care would be taken with sites of interest and finding the truth for everyone whatever their ethnicity. Why did one Maori man say that some carbon dating preceded Maori by 500 years and then a moratorium was placed on everything? If it is now permitted to see this archaeological information, I’m not convinced that it is all being seen rather than selected parts of it.
Also how about the hassling, threatening notices left on cars etc that still happen today? There is something very fishy no matter how people try to dress it up. I’m not defending Doutre or whoever was responsible for the Celtic site but I need to be convinced in my own mind and that hasn’t happened yet.
That’s the first I’ve heard of ‘a huge and technologically sophisticated Celtic civilisation existed all over NZ thousands of years ago.’ A bit over the top don’t you think? I don’t even know that it was Celtic but that’s not the important point which is that some of our archaelogical work is being suppressed and I want to know why. We should all know about whatever turns up no matter how inconvenient it might be to what we have always believed our history to be. My mind will always remain open but also questioning especially when we aren’t being told everything.


I was just talking about the theories of Martin Doutre, the bloke whose site you linked to, Unity. Doutre claims that at least half a million white people created an advanced civilisation here thousands of years ago after arriving here via South America and Easter Island. Read the rest of his website.

But I don’t think that Doutre claims that the page you linked to shows there’s a seventy-five year moratorium on archaeological work in Waipoua. Assuming they are genuine, the documents on his page show that there was a seventy-five year moratorium put on passages in a report on Waipoua that was written in 1988, and that this moratorium was lifted in 1996 – nineteen years ago. So where is the suppression of history?

I’m more interested in the suppressing of archaeological information which is not Maori and is carbon dated 500 years before they are reputed to have arrived here. However because of the stories I have heard from Maori, Moriori and others, I do believe (until someone can refute it) that this country was occupied by others earlier than the official version. Also, in favour of the Celtic theory, there are many designs in Scotland that are the same as those attributed to Maori. Did Maori learn them from someone else? How do you know that all the archaeological information that was suppressed and then released covered everything and not just selected pieces of it?

You say you’re not too interested in arguing the pros and cons of Martin Doutre and his views, but would rather focus on the radiocarbon test results from Waipoua that were repressed because they indicated a people lived on the site five hundred years before Maori arrived. The trouble is that you’ve taken the latter claim straight from the website of a certain Martin Doutre, and the claim is not supported by anything other than the word of the same Martin Doutre. There’s no name given for the Maori who supposedly witnessed the suppression of the radiocarbon data, no date is given for this dirty deed, the artefact that was tested is not named, and no indication is given about what happened to said artefact.
Given all this, it’s a bit rich for you to say you’re not interested in considering the credibility of Doutre and his ideas. I’ve already talked about why I consider the Celtic New Zealand theory fantastic, but I wonder if you’re aware of some of the other rather dubious claims that Doutre makes about the world and its history. He’s an enthusiastic proponent of the idea that the 9/11 attacks were not the work of the Osama bin Laden but an ‘inside job’ by sinister elements within the American and Israeli governments. He denies that a plane even hit the Pentagon on 9/11.  
Doutre is also a committed Holocaust denier, who believes that Hitler is a victim of a Jewish conspiracy to blacken his name in the years since World War Two. I’ve highlighted his explicit Holocaust denial here.
We’re faced, then, with a man with a history of making fantastic, demonstrably false, and deeply bigoted statements aiming a very serious allegation of criminal conspiracy against a group of New Zealand scientists – an allegation which he has no substantiated with a single piece of evidence. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take Doutre’s allegation seriously. I wonder why you’ve chosen to take it seriously.
The funny is that, back in the ’90s, when Doutre alleges this huge coverup was taking place, Kiwi scientists really did come up with a radiocarbon dating that predated accepted estimates for the Maori arrival in these islands. They responded not with a coverup but by publishing their results and beginning a debate that continues to this day. That’s how scholars, as opposed to conspiracy theorists, behave.
[Posted by Scott Hamilton]

Tuesday, November 03, 2015

Islamophobia, and other ways to lose a war

Warda Jawad applied for a job as a psychologist attached to the New Zealand Defence Force, but was rejected after she was deemed a security risk. Jawad was born in Iraq, but left that country for New Zealand when she was three. She is a Muslim. 

The news that foreign-born Muslims are viewed with suspicion by the Security Intelligence Service, the agency charged with assessing would-be recruits to the military, has prompted a variety of responses. Labour Party spokesman Phil Goff and National Party pollster and blogger David Farrar have both called the rejection of Jawad stupid, but at right-wing blogs many commenters have insisted that Muslims should have no place in New Zealand's public service, let alone its defence forces. For these commenters, people like Warda Jawad can serve no conceivable purpose in the forces, and might even endanger the safety of the Kiwi troops stationed in Iraq. The Islamophobes at David Farrar's Kiwiblog condemned their host for cowardice in the face of the enemy.

The negative reactions to Jawad show how little conservative New Zealanders have learned from the failure of the West's recent military adventures in the Middle East.

In 2001 and 2003 Western armies occupied Afghanistan and Iraq, and guerrilla campaigns against their presence began. Armies of occupation faced with an insurgencies always need local collaborators and high-quality intelligence, but it’s often very difficult for them to get these things, because of the vacuum that tends to exist between occupier and the occupied. 
In his account of the Iraq war, which he witnessed as an embedded journalist, George Packer shows how the US initially tried to respond to the Iraqi insurgency with simple force. This approach was an extension of the ‘shock and awe’ strategy that had characterised the first phase of the war, and had seen the Americans aim missiles and mortars at anything resembling an enemy combatant or position. For more than a year after it occupied Iraq, the Bush government refused even to use 'insurgency' to describe the armed resistance it was facing. The word was associated with Vietnam.

As American casualties rose, though, local commanders became desperate, and began to improvise their own counter-insurgency campaigns. Packer shows the Americans flicking through old manuals of counter-insurgency produced by the British, and trying some of the same tactics - propaganda, fraternisation, cooption, intelligence gathering, anthropological surveys - that helped the British subdue the armed uprisings that strew the history of their empire. The more daring American commanders began to live amongst Iraqis, to learn Arabic, and to cultivate local tribal and sectarian networks. Sometimes they were able to take advantage of old divisions and disputes, as Iraqis hostile to the insurgency because of blood or theology passed on news about planned attacks or drew the locations of ammunition dumps and training bases on maps.
The British Empire lasted as long as it did largely because its administrators were so skilled at coopting local leaders and creating intelligence networks. As Tony Ballantyne shows in his book Webs of Empire, the British ran thousands of spies and won many local factions to their campaigns during their nineteenth century conquests of India and Aotearoa. In 1863, when he was planning his invasion of the Waikato Kingdom, Governor George Grey was opening letter after letter from chiefs opposed to the Waikato. Iwi hoping for booty or wanting to continue old wars volunteered to fight under the Union Jack. Grey and the governors of Britain's scores of other colonies knew that ruling meant dividing. 
Packer describes how an increasingly coherent anti-insurgent strategy gradually developed in Iraq during 2005 and 2006, as local American commanders swapped tips and interpreters and fragments of intelligence. But this strategy never got very far, partly because of the gap between the American top brass and local Iraqi culture. When local American commanders were able to make connections and win intelligence, they were often pulled up by their bosses, who distrusted any close collaboration with Iraqis and Muslims. American troops were increasingly withdrawn into enormous bases, from which they ventured occasionally in helicopters. Iraqis who had assisted the occupiers, like the hundreds of interpreters employed by the American army, were either abandoned or flown out of Iraq.  
The new Western military adventure in Iraq also relies upon huge bases and a soldiery insulated from the Iraqi population. As Phil Goff pointed out last week, when he criticised the rebuke to Warda Jawad, the New Zealand defence forces are flying blind in Iraq, because they have few members who can even speak the local language, let alone interpret the local culture. 
The anti-Muslim feeling that has grown up in the West, and which is perhaps particularly strong in parts of the security forces of Western countries, ultimately makes the defeat of insurgents in Muslim countries like Iraq and Afghanistan impossible, because it prevents the creation of alliances with local forces, and prevents the gathering of quality intelligence. The old British imperialists were more subtle and intelligent than today’s variety. They would have sent Warda Jawad to Iraq, and put her to work. As someone who thinks that the world would be better off if every last Western soldier, oilman, and economic adviser were to leave the Middle East, I’m pleased by the ineptitude of the neo-imperialists.

[Posted by Scott Hamilton]

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Paul's nose job

Paul Janman's latest short film, which you can watch at Vimeo, documents the attempt by a team of scholars and musicians to renew the venerable and endangered Tongan art form of tufunga ngaohifangufangu, or nose flute making and playing.

You may recognise 'Okusitino Mahina, the anthropologist and graduate of the 'Atenisi Institute whom I showed jamming on the fangufangu and arguing about the meaning of tapu in this 2011 post, and Kolokesa Mahina-Tuai, the museologist and curator whose subversion of Eurocentric art categories I celebrated last year in an EyeContact review and a blog post.

I'm very pleased Paul sent me a link to his new film, because I've needed an excuse, this morning, to turn away from the telly and the radio and the scenes outside my window. In our part of Auckland preparations for the World Cup final seem to have become oddly mixed with preparations for Halloween.

As their parents sit in parked cars listening anxiously to anxious pre-match commentaries on Radio Sport and half a dozen other stations, kids are wandering the streets wearing black, and tossing about plastic pumpkins and rugby balls. Black flags emblazoned with silver ferns and skulls flap from porches and postboxes.

With World Cup hysteria peaking, transtasman relations deteriorating to a point not seen since Trevor Chapple took up lawn bowls at the MCG in 1981, and Maori Wallaby Quade Cooper being once against accused of treason and sentenced to death on social media, it must be time for me to post a link to this old blog post, in which I tried to use the Oceanian genius Epeli Hau'ofa to defend Quade.

[Posted by Scott Hamilton]

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

TE Hulme at night

Since I'm supposed be the guest at the latest Write Night, a monthly event at Titirangi's Te Uru gallery where scribes 'discuss projects, seek advice' and 'eat biscuits', I've been thinking about the literature of the night. For me, TE Hulme's 'Autumn' is the finest night-time poem in the English language: 

A touch of cold in the Autumn night -

I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children. 

Hulme is the only man to have been expelled - or sent down, in the charmingly indirect parlance of the English - twice from Cambridge University. He was sent packing in 1904 after some mysterious 'boisterousness' at a party on the River Cam, then spent years wandering through the cafes and salons of Paris and the plains of western Canada, before producing a long, fragmentary manifesto called 'Cinders', which mixed pessimistic statements about the frailty and fallibility of human beings, vivid travel sketches, and calls for a way of thinking and writing that was 'dry and hard'. 'Cinders' earned Hulme a recall to Cambridge. He was expelled a second time when his love letters to a teenage girl were uncovered by that girl's father, who happened to be one of his teachers. The letters' dry and hard prose style alarmed the don. 

Oliver Tearle thinks that TE Hulme was the first modern poet in English, and he's quite possibly right. Along with his mate Ezra Pound, Hulme inveighed against the beautiful imprecision of the late nineteenth century. The two modernists poured DDT over the luxuriant plantations of Swinburne and Tennyson, and raised austere Japanese stone gardens on the ground they had ravaged. 

Learning from the haiku writers of Kyoto as well as the telegraph operators of America, Hulme and Pound replaced extended passages of narrative and explanation with unexplained and therefore exhilarating leaps from one object or event and another. Decades before the internet was a twinkle in the eye of Steve Jobs, they had already mastered the hyperlink

Like so many ferocious innovators, though, TE Hulme had a secret, and perhaps subconscious, love of the past. The severe shapes and surfaces of his poems can't hide his affection for the English landscape, and for the poets who have celebrated that landscape. 'Autumn' seemed shockingly short and coarse when it was published in 1909, but the poem helped renew a pastoral tradition that had become exhausted in the late nineteenth century, because it found fresh images for old conceits. The contrast between a healthy countryside and a baleful urban world, which Raymond Williams and William Empson have identified as essential to English pastoral poetry, informs Hulme's picture of a ruddy-faced moon and pale 'city' stars. 

By the time he volunteered for frontline duty in the First World War, Hulme had decided that he was a 'sort of a Tory', and had become friendly with the neo-royalist, anti-democratic Action Francaise movement.  

The author of 'Autumn' was blown apart ninety-eight years by a German shell. His comrades had heard the weapon's whine and dived to safety. Hulme, who had a half-finished manuscript about modern art in his pocket, had been too busy thinking to move.  

I don't mourn Hulme in quite the same way I mourn other great poets who died in World War One, like Isaac Rosenberg and Georg Trakl, because if the author of 'Autumn' had lived long enough he might well have followed Ezra Pound into the ranks of Europe's fascist movement, and tarnished poems like 'Autumn'. 

If you're in Titirangi tonight I'd love to talk about TE Hulme with you over a biscuit or three. 

[Posted by Scott Hamilton]

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

New Zealand's road of refugees

[Paul Janman, Ian Powell and I enjoyed visiting Otahuhu last Monday night to talk with locals about the film and book we're making, with the help of Len Brown, about the Great South Road. Here's an adapted excerpt from the book.]

Last March the New Zealand Herald published an article by Rachel Smalley called 'What a Civil War would do to New Zealand'. In an effort to make her readers empathise with the refugees who are fleeing Syria's conflict, Smalley tried to imagine how a similar war and refugee crisis might look in New Zealand. She described a conflict beginning in Wellington and then spreading, in a matter of months, to other cities. After the leafy suburbs of Auckland became a battlefield, middle class refugees began filling the city's parks.

Smalley's article was accompanied by an image that showed shacks clustering beneath the classical facade of Auckland's museum. The parkland around the museum had become a refugee camp. Tiny kids dragged pitchers of tapwater through the mud; a man leaned weakly on the roughly hewn fence around his shack; smoke from a campfire or a missile strike rose in the distance. The unnerving scene had been created by splicing together a photograph of Syrian refugees in some anonymous camp and an image of Auckland's beloved museum.

At the beginning of her article, Rachel Smalley admitted that civil war and a refugee crisis are 'hard to imagine in New Zealand'.

But Aucklanders do not necessarily need to look abroad to consider civil war, and the refugees who inevitably flee from civil war. The Great South Road that connects Auckland with the Waikato has been a route to war, and a highway for refugees. Although the refugees who travelled the Great South Road lack official memorials, and are seldom mentioned in history books, they sometimes gather at the edge of Aucklanders' consciousness, and they haunt the texts of several of the city's greatest writers.

On the 9th and 10th of July, 1863, young men rode from central Auckland to six Maori villages - Ihumatao, Pukaki, Mangere, Patumahoe, Tuakau, Pokeno, and Kirikiri - on the city's southern fringes, and read aloud a proclamation from George Grey, the governor of the colony of New Zealand. Grey's statement denounced the Maori kingdom of the Waikato as a threat to the British Empire, and demanded that all Maori living in Auckland either declare their loyalty to the empire or else leave the district for the Waikato.

Three days after Grey had sent his proclamation out on horseback, a British army crossed the Mangatawhiri, a creek that flows into the Waikato River near Mercer, and that in 1863 marked the northern border of the Waikato Kingdom. The Waikato War had begun.

A year and a half before he had written his proclamation, Grey had begun building the Great South Road to connect Auckland, which was the headquarters of his administration as well as the seat of the colonial Pakeha government, with the northern edge of the Waikato Kingdom. The road had been laid by British soldiers, and in July 1863 those soldiers waited in a redoubt in Pokeno, a few miles from the Mangatawhiri Stream.
In 1863 most of the Maori inhabitants of South Auckland had complex genealogical and economic relationships with the Waikato peoples and their king Tawhiao. To swear loyalty to the British queen, when the queen's army was preparing to invade the Waikato Kingdom, would mean betraying kin.

In his book The Maori King, John Gorst described the delivery of Grey's proclamation to the Maori villages of South Auckland, and the subsequent abandonment of these villages. At Kirikiri, a village in the hills above Papakura, the 'old people showed the most intense grief' at leaving their houses and cultivations. At Pukaki and Mangere, ancient villages beside the Manukau harbour, looters arrived as soon as Maori had gone: 'canoes were broken to pieces and burned, cattle seized, houses ransacked, and horses brought to Auckland' and sold.

Some South Auckland Maori fled their villages by waka, travelling down the Manukau harbour and across an ancient portage to the Waikato River. Many, though, fled south, on the same road that the British had built for their war.   Mohi Te Ahiatapu, the chief of Pukaki village, went south with his people on the eleventh of July. On the sixteenth of July the Daily Southern Cross reported that 'one hundred or one hundred and fifty' of the Pukaki Maori had arrived in Papakura.

The refugees had loaded 'fifteen or sixteen' drays with their goods, and were 'driving fifty or sixty horses' before them. After stopping at Kirikiri, Mohi and his people continued south to the temporary safety of the Waikato.
After crossing the Mangatawhiri and advancing a short distance in the second half of July, the British army did not resume its push into the Waikato Kingdom until the end of October. In a letter to the British War Office, General Duncan Cameron, the commander of the invasion force, blamed the pause in his campaign partly on the exodus of Maori from Auckland to the Waikato. So many refugees had taken to the Great South Road that the wagoners who supplied Cameron's troops moved at an embarrassingly slow rate. John Gorst talks about the road becoming 'thronged', as 'armed men of every description, from the veteran British soldier to the raw colonial shop boy, shouldering his musket for the first time' had to share the route with 'refugees from Pukaki, Mangere and other places'.
Gorst reports that, as they travelled down the Great South Road, Maori refugees 'became alarmed' by the 'martial array' moving in the same direction. The refugees had, he notes, 'good reason' to feel alarmed. Many of them would cross the Mangatawhiri safely, only to be overtaken by the Pakeha army, as it pushed south into the Waikato at the end of 1863. Their drays and herds would be plundered by the advancing soldiers, as their houses had earlier been plundered by the settlers of Auckland.

Some of the Maori who remained in Auckland after hearing Grey's proclamation also became refugees. A week check after the reading of the proclamation, four hundred armed men raided the village of Kirikiri, where they arrested the chief Ihaka Takanini and twenty-two of his relations.

Ihaka Takanini had neither declared his loyalty to Queen Victoria nor fled to the rohe of Tawhiao. He had for years gained mana and money by mediating between the colonial government and Auckland Maori, and he may have hoped once again to play peacemaker. But the colonial parliament in Auckland had just passed the Suppression of Rebellion Act, which allowed the indefinite imprisonment without trial of any Maori suspected of disloyalty to the queen. The Takanini family were locked in the Otahuhu military barracks for months, where many of them died of disease, then exiled to Rakino Island in the Hauraki Gulf. Ihaka Takanini is buried on the island.

Refugees fled north as well as south during the Waikato War. After the crossing of the Mangatawhiri in July, supporters of King Tawhiao began a guerrilla war in South Auckland. They crossed the Waikato River in small waka, made smokeless camps in the forests on both sides of the Great South Road, and ambushed wagonloads of soldiers and munitions bound for the Waikato frontline.

Tawhiao's irregulars also raided the clearing that Pakeha settlers had burned from the bush. They stole cattle, dismembered farmers with tomahawks, and fired their muskets at the specially reinforced walls of the settlers' churches. Women and children began to flee up the Great South Road to the safety of Auckland; husbands and fathers followed them, leaving their cottages and hayricks to burn.

In August 1863 the Otago Daily Times published a letter that lamented the way that 'the tomahawk' had 'obliged...harmless unsuspecting families' to 'flee their homesteads in South Auckland'. The letter urged South Islanders to come north and help to defend the Great South Road. By the end of 1863, though, the guerrilla war in South Auckland had petered out, and settlers were returning to the area.

In 1864 the British army won a series of battles, the Great South Road was extended deep into the Waikato, and thousands of Tawhiao's followers fled south across the Puniu River, into the region of bush and hills that has become known as the King Country. Until the middle of the 1880s, when Tawhiao made peace with the colonial government, the Puniu would be, like the Mangatawhiri before it, a frontier between Maori and Pakeha law.
The King Country quickly became a refuge for Maori at odds with the British Empire. The rebel prophets Te Kooti and Te Mahuki, who preached that resistance to the white man was commanded by Jehovah, retreated from colonial soldiers and police to the King Country. Scores of Te Kooti's followers from the eastern parts of Te Ika a Maui established a village at Otewa, near Otorohanga, a few miles south of the Puniu River.

In 1876 a young man named Taurangaka Winiata escaped from Auckland down the Great South Road to Tawhiao's realm. After being suspected of killing Edwin Packer, a Pakeha who had been working alongside him on a farm in Epsom, Winiata had fled to a cave in Kohimarama, where he hid for several days, then began a furtive journey south. At Mercer he crossed the Mangatawhiri, which was now spanned by a bridge; at Rangiriri he drank in the hotel that had risen beside the great pa General Cameron's army stormed in 1863. Dozens of police and pro-government Maori volunteers pursued Winiata; once a couple of policemen almost caught him, but he was able to hide in roadside scrub.

After Winiata crossed the Puniu River and was given sanctuary by King Tawhiao, the colonial government offered a reward of five hundred pounds for the capture of the refugee. Winiata's heavy, neatly bearded jaw and small dark eyes appeared on WANTED posters that were posted in pubs as far south as the Wairarapa.

In the winter of 1882 a half-caste Maori named Robert Barlow walked his horse through the Puniu River, rode to Otorohanga, where Winiata was living, and stayed up all night drinking rum with the fugitive. The next morning Barlow arrived at Kihikihi, a fortified village just north of the Puniu, with a hungover Winiata tied to the back of his horse.

Taurangaka Winiata was put on public display in Hamilton, before making a journey back up the Great South Road to Mount Eden prison. One rainy morning at the beginning of August the former refugee slowly asphyxiated in the prison yard, as a damp rope refused to snap his spine.
Robert Barlow's bounty hunt was celebrated by Auckland's newspapers. In a portrait published by admirers at the Observer, Barlow stares calmly, even sleepily, at his sketcher; his shoulders are wide and his huge chest threatens to break the top button of his jacket. Only a few days after Winiata's death, Barlow visited Alexandra, another fortified village on the frontier of the King Country. Inside the Alexandra Hotel he encountered some Kingites who had crossed the Puniu to drink; one of them raised a glass, and toasted the 'kahuru (traitor) Barlow'. When Barlow went to the hotel's stable to retrieve his horse someone fired two bullets at him; the first missed, and the second ripped his waistcoat. A squad of police escorted Barlow up the Great South Road to the safety of Auckland. The bounty hunter bought a farm at Mangere with the reward he earned for snaring Winiata, but he soon died from a mysterious illness that many Maori blamed on makutu.

At the beginning of the twenty-first century, an Auckland pensioner named Valerie Sherwood became obsessed with Taurangaka Winiata. She prised police records and court transcripts from chaotic colonial archives, collated newspaper articles, consulted and contested oral traditions, and eventually argued, in the thesis that earned her a Masters Degree from the University of Auckland, that Winiata had never murdered Edwin Packer. Packer and Winiata had been friends; police had never questioned a Pakeha who was observed running from the Epsom farm shortly after Packer's murder. Winiata's flight down the Great South Road to Tawhiao's relict kingdom was proof enough, for Auckland's papers and jurors, of his guilt.

By the 1930s the wars between Pakeha and Maori were more than half a century in the past. The colonial state had extended its authority through New Zealand, and the Puniu and Mangatawhiri were obscure creeks rather than international frontiers. In the first years of the '30s, though, refugees once again began fleeing from New Zealand's largest city.  Some walked down the Great South Road into the Waikato; others lingered in shabby camps close to the old frontier of Pakeha settlement.
The new refugees were almost all Pakeha males, and they had been driven south by unemployment and hunger, rather than war. In the three years after the Wall Street Crash of 1929 New Zealand's economy shrank by a quarter. In a country of one and a half million, one hundred thousand men were soon jobless. The conservative government of George Forbes and Gordon Coates offered some of the unemployed an income - in 1931 Pakeha men got seven shillings a week, while Maori men got three shillings and nine sixpence a week - but demanded that they work for it.

Some unemployed men were able to do 'relief work' in the towns and cities, but others were made to fence farms or clear bush or lay country roads, and had to relocate to speedily and shoddily constructed 'relief camps'.

In November 1931 Michael Joseph Savage stood up in parliament and read extracts from a letter he had received about conditions at a relief camp in Ramarama, on the southern edge of Auckland. The twenty-six inmates of the Ramarama relief camp had been told to reroute the nearby Great South Road, so that it went around rather than over a low hill, and had been issued with a few handheld scoops and wheelbarrows to help them accomplish this task. The Ramarama men were expected to wash in cold water drawn from a local stream and to sleep in tents, on bunks made from sack stretchers and straw. After Savage's intervention several journalists and an archbishop visited the Ramarama workers, and heard their pathetic demands: wooden floors for their tents, books to read in the evenings, a ration of tobacco.

In April 1932 members of the Unemployed Workers Movement rallied on Auckland's main street to denounce their pay and conditions. Jimmy Edwards, the leader of the Unemployed Workers Movement, stood on a bench outside the Town Hall and started to address the crowd; a police approached him from behind and batoned the back of his head. While Edwards lay in hospital unemployed men fought and disarmed the police, then smashed most of the windows on Queen Street.

After unemployed men had rioted in a series of New Zealand towns and cities, the Forbes-Coates government passed the Public Safety Conservation Act, and announced that jobless urbanites unwilling to resettle in rural relief camps would lose their benefits. In his history of the Great Depression in New Zealand, Tony Simpson argues that the government decided to isolate troublesome unemployed men in remote parts of the countryside, where they could be collectively punished.
By the time Forbes and Coates were defeated by Michael Joseph Savage's Labour Party in November 1935 thousands of men were labouring in camps far from their homes, and thousands of others were wandering from town to town, begging for work and for meals from farmers and hoteliers. John A Lee remembered that in the early 1930s New Zealand's 'country roads were thronged with young men' who had been 'starved out of town' by Coates and Forbes.

In the 'Dominion', the long and angry poem that he wrote in the winter of 1935, ARD Fairburn made the relief workers into symbols:

Backblock camps for the outcasts, the superfluous, 
reading back-date magazines, rolling cheap cigarettes, not mated;
witness to the constriction of life essential
to the maintenance of the rate of profit

The hero of John Mulgan's novel Man Alone wanders hungrily across New Zealand, then asks for an unemployment benefit and finds himself in a relief camp on the edge of Auckland, laying a road through mud. Mulgan's protagonist joins the demonstration in Queen Street, smashes a few windows, is chased by the police, and escapes from Auckland by stowing away on a train bound, significantly, for the King Country.

CK Stead grew up obsessed with Man Alone, and in 1971 published his own version of Mulgan's classic. The hero of Smith's Dream is an Aucklander who becomes disillusioned with civilisation after his marriage fails. Smith abandons Auckland and secludes himself on an island off the Coromandel, where he grows vegetables and a beard and listens to classical music on his transistor radio. But the right-wing dictatorship that has taken over New Zealand decides that Smith is a communist guerrilla-in-training, rather than a melancholy hermit, and brings him back to Auckland for torture and interrogation.

Travelling in a secret policeman's car up the Great South Road and southern motorway, Smith studies billboards covered in the curiously mystical slogans - AFFIRM! and CREATIVE RESPONSE! - of the dictatorship, as well as a sign with the legend WELCOME TO THE CAPITAL. Auckland is now the seat of government, just as it was in 1863.
Smith eventually outwits his captors, and escapes from Auckland a second time, walking down the Great South Road to freedom, and meeting cows 'with beautiful pre-Raphaelite eyes' and a lascivious cowgirl on the way. He becomes a reluctant member of the armed resistance to the dictatorship, and makes a return journey up the Great South Road in a horizontal position after being ambushed and gunned down by dictator's secret police. In 1977 Roger Donaldson turned Smith's story into Sleeping Dogs, the first local feature film to make it to the movie screens of the northern hemisphere.

In the 1970s and '80s, many Kiwis saw Smith's Dream and Sleeping Dogs as almost contemporary stories, rather than visions of any far-fetched or far-distant future. As he battled with trade unions, Maori nationalists, and anti-apartheid protesters, National Party strongman Rob Muldoon was sometimes compared to the dictator in Stead's book. In 1981 Stead himself was arrested by the police, in the famous protest against apartheid and Muldoon that took over Hamilton's Rugby Park.

Muldoon did not become a dictator, and New Zealand did not become a venue for guerrilla war in the last decades of the twentieth century. Smith's Dream has remained a vision of a possible future, rather than a prophecy fulfilled. But like John Mulgan's Man Alone, Stead's novel is unnerving partly because of the way it reprises, perhaps half-consciously, some of the characters and dramas of the nineteenth century. With their flights south from Auckland to freedom, Johnson and Smith are latter-day Winiatas; with its liberated zone south of Auckland and its guerrilla raids through the bush, the resistance that Smith joins recalls Tawhiao's movement.

Although the wars between Pakeha and Maori have received some official acknowledgement and public attention in recent years, the refugee crises that accompanied them remain obscure. We remember warriors like Von Tempsky and Rewi Maniapoto, but we have neglected men like Mohi Te Ahiatapu and Ihaka Takanini, who had to lead their peoples into exile, rather than battle. We raise monuments over old battlefields like Rangiriri and Orakau, but not over the remains of evacuated villages like Kirikiri. The refugees from British law who sought the King Country in the 1870s and the economic refugees who took to the Great South Road and other routes in the 1930s go uncommemorated. It is not surprising that, when she set out to write about a refugee crisis in New Zealand, Rachel Smalley turned to alternative history, rather than to real events.

[Posted by Scott Hamilton]