The crowds have dispersed, and the tide has receded, marking the end of another year at Waitangi. Yet, the marae at its core stands steadfast, forever tied to the land where a pivotal moment in our country’s history began.
Te Tii Marae is a special place. It’s where He Whakaputanga, the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1835, and where Rangatira wrestled with the decision of whether or not to sign Te Tiriti o Waitangi five years later.
However, that’s not always the story people have been told about this place.
Its ancestral house stands proudly, like a sentinel over the landscape, rejuvenated with freshly carved whakairo, a newly paved forecourt and a fresh lick of paint after a year of restoration.
Last week, the people of Ngāti Rāhiri hosted a dawn service to mark its grand-reopening. And in a move that surprised many, they allowed mainstream media to enter and film for the first time in years.
I wasn’t yet a reporter when Waitangi commemorations were held at Te Tii, before a decision was made to move official events north of the Waitangi bridge in 2018.
But the TVNZ archive offers a certain insight into what it was like. There are images of men and women shouting at police, engaging in heated stand-offs. One year, a protester grabbed former prime minister John Key by the collar. Another time, Helen Clark cried over speaking rights on the marae. And who could forget when mud was thrown at Don Brash?
TV cameras were always there, swooping in on the drama, and leaving when Waitangi Day was over.
Eventually, mainstream media were no longer welcome at Te Tii. Kaumātua had grown tired of the negative coverage. But that didn’t stop reporters from showing up. I have heard stories of journalists arguing with locals at the front gate, demanding entry.
I often think about that and how unfathomable it would be for someone to behave that way at one of my marae – a stranger, with no whakapapa or relationship to the area, demanding to be let in against the wishes of my people.
I’d liken such an act to someone demanding entry into my home, to film all my personal belongings, without my consent.
The marae later put in place entry fees for media wishing to film there, which enraged reporters even more. The fee became one of the biggest stories at the time, with much of the reporting framing the marae as unreasonable, and reporters as hard-done by.
Shortly after the dawn service, I spoke to the marae chairman, Ngāti Kawa, about the impact that past media coverage had on his people.
“Most of it hasn’t been that good,” he said.
“People didn’t know us very well, they didn’t understand who we were and what we were about.”
By “people”, he means the media.
“And as a result, some out there had negative perceptions of us, our hapū, and our marae.”
He acknowledged that some of the past protest actions over breaches of Te Tiriti had been “violent”.
“It got pretty hard core, especially in the 70s and 80s, and we’re trying to clean that up,” he said.
“But some people call that passion. Our kaumātua were fighting for what they believed in.”
The remark made me wonder – what is a reasonable response to 185 years of injustice?
And why now, were the media allowed back after all these years?
He explained that he didn’t want whānau who couldn’t attend the re-opening to miss out, and that through our coverage, they wouldn’t have to.
It dawned on me that for years, the story of Te Tii Marae has been whatever the media has wanted it to be. The protests, the stand-offs, the violence.
Now, the people were letting us back in, offering the chance to see things through their eyes. I can almost hear them asking, what story will you tell now?
