There has been much discussion about the land at Ihumatao. Certain groups claim it to be sacred to them and say it is historically significant to their people etc.
Other groups claim it is just land and, by doing a deal with the people they sold it to, are doing what they can to help their own people. They perhaps feel that the money, the land returned and the homes that will be created in today’s world, outweigh their sense of loss from hundreds of years ago.
Some look forward with purpose and anticipation, some look back with unresolved indignation and undisguised contempt for all other involved parties, including their own ancestors, as the newbies are perhaps ascribing far more value to the land than the original inhabitants ever did.
Did those original inhabitants of the land care greatly about their history on that particular piece of dirt? Possibly, but did they see a need that was greater for them at that time and go with what seemed like the best option for them in the circumstances?
Does the fact that the land was then subsequently sold for a much higher value mean they were ripped off? Or is it simply that the old timers were happy with what they were getting because they had other desires that were more important than the land at the time?
What I have been thinking about though, is how is this land sale any different to every other legitimate land sale before or since?
And I wonder how this all differs to my own piece of Sacred Land.
When I was a one-year-old, my parents, through hard work and determination, were able to purchase a small block of land on the waterfront way up North at Coopers Beach for use as a holiday home. This included my Mother working nearly full time as well as my Dad, sacrificing much to be able to afford this luxury.
We managed to build a modest bach on the block and this became the focal point for my childhood. I have extremely fond memories of the long summers spent at ‘The Beach’. As my Dad was a school principal, we were able to spend at least six weeks there over summer, and pretty much every other holiday and long weekend, we would be up there.
Over time our family expanded and the wee bach became a bit small for us so, being practical parents, they subdivided a section off the back of the lot which enabled us to lift the bach and double its size.
Sure we loved that back lot, we used to play there all the time, we had little blue penguins living up there, and it was where we collected Titree to smoke our fish. But at the end of the day, they valued what we could get, (a bigger better house), over the value they put on the land.
Our place was really a bit like a Pa to us. We would sit on the deck keeping an eye out for invading parties from further up the beach trying to muscle in on our area. We could watch for the signs of the birds working and we would race down to the beach, dragging a boat and motor behind us, so we could be the first to get into the kahawai.
This was how we fed our family, and to a large extent, the greater community as whenever anyone caught more than they needed for themselves, we would fillet it up or smoke it and us kids would be sent around all the other families giving away the excess.
Our bach was also a meeting place. There was a communal bbq at our place most weekends. The men from the community would all sit around sharing a feed and a double brown solving the problems of the world. The womenfolk would keep everyone fed and watered and would themselves sit around keeping abreast of everything of import that was happening within our little community.
Us kids, well we would just be kids, doing all the things that kids did back then, before running back to the Mums to patch us up before heading out to do a bit more of whatever we had been doing.
This place, this piece of land, is what shaped me as a human being. It was a place of learning. Learning to fish, to build things, to be self-sufficient, to feed ourselves with tuatuas and crabs, to not be smart to your Dad’s mates because they had an inalienable right to give you a whack if they felt you needed it. It was where we grew up, where we left great quantities of sunburnt peeled skin, where we bled, loved and laughed. It was our whenua. Heck, we even had our own midden.
But as time passed, and we all grew up, there came a time when Dad decided to sell the property. He was living in Auckland then and struggled to maintain a property so far away. My three siblings and I tried to find a way to buy it from Dad, but as we were all having our own kids and buying houses etc, we just couldn’t make it work.
Dad sold the property for about $240,000. Not long after, it was worth $500,000. Some enhancement work was done to the property by the new owner and in 2008 it sold for $995,000. I tried again to buy it back in 2013 but again just couldn’t get there with the finances. Someone else owns it now. I wish it was still ours, but it’s not.
So when my Dad sold the property, the value he ascribed to it was less than the value that he ascribed to what he was going to do with the money. And fair enough, it was his choice, he was the owner and he did what he felt was right at the time.
But I do not have the right to go back to that property now and stage a sit-in. I have no right to say that my Dad was wrong and that he sold it too cheaply. I have no right to ask for compensation from the current owner.
And for sure, there is no right for the descendants of my relatives or of my long distant cuzzies or nieces to now claim that land as their own, or indeed even suggest that they may be due compensation.
In my humble opinion, the Pania Newton’s of this world would be far better off working hard and making those sacrifices now, the way my parents did, so their own children can have the better life that they no doubt desire for them.
Purpose and anticipation will lead you forward, indignation and contempt will eat you alive, and it will be their kids that will suffer the most when that happens.
So where was your sacred land? How did it shape your lives? And do you still have it? Tell us about it below.
PS. Please don’t sell waterfront land, your kids need it!
