RATANA BIRTH REBIRTH

Tu Tangata, Issue 1, 1 August 1981, Page 27

RATANA BIRTH REBIRTH

by Selwyn Muru

Once again followers of the Ratana faith flocked in their thousands to Ratana Pa earlier this year to celebrate the birthday of Tahu Potiki Wiremu Ratana. The hui was particularly well-attended this year partly because a new building was dedicated and opened, partly because of the highly charged political and ecumenical climate these days, and partly perhaps because all our hui seem to be getting larger and larger.

Selwyn Muru was there, and provides us with this penetrating but entertaining account of an important hui. He also drew the accompanying pictures. The photograph over the page is by Henare Everitt.

Heaps of fleecy cottonwool roll in from the Tasman and hang exquisitely over Ratana Pa. A sense of surrealism pervades above. The wind conjures up heads of chiefs, prophets, canoes ad nauseam as the cloud formations glide and twist their way across the heavens.

To a mind continually puzzled by the Ratana phenomenon, there is no end to the passing images. Perhaps similar clouds were seen by Tahu Potiki Wiremu Ratana when a voice came to the prophet at this very spot in 1918. Fear not, I am the Holy Ghost. I have travelled around the world to find the people upon whom I can stand. I have come back to Aotearoa to choose the Maori people. Repent! Cleanse yourself and family.

For the past three days, the mana of this man sees buses, cars, motorcycles vehicles of all descriptions bring in the hordes from the seven tribal winds. There is also a chartered plane from the Chathams.

They come to honour the birth of Tahu Potiki Wiremu Ratana, founder of the Church; and also to witness the opening of the Manuao accomodation building. The pilgrimage is an annual affair.

On arrival the manuhiri enter the temple, make peace with their maker, then on to the marae for the welcoming mihi.

Sentiments are paid to the living and dead, the tapu lifted off the visitors, and another group mingles with the throng that builds up on the third day to 37,000 plus. There are the run-of-the-mill manuhiri like the ardent followers of the faith, and those with a vested interest in the spiritual and political realms. I take special interest in the latter, easing into their orations. A sizeable group of Catholic priests with their disciples arrives, led by the venerable Father Durning. For nigh on forty years the good father has continued to minister to the river folk of Wanganui where he’s mastered every nuance of the language and its use, in a way that only the great orator knows how. His use of proverb and metaphor makes those to whom the language belongs feel uneasy.

One asks, why the preponderance of priests at a Ratana hui? Is there truth after all in the rumour that more and more Catholics are defecting to Ratanaism? There is a brief lull, then another huge ope arrives; the Ringatu from the East,

followers of the faith founded last century by an earlier warrior prophet, Te Kooti Rikirangi. The legacy left by the unscrupulous land sharks and the continued dwindling of Maori land give the church its soul. It is no wonder they are enthusiastic supporters of Matiu Rata’s Mana Motuhake Party.

The group is highly honoured, their leader Haare Reneti being asked to participate in many of the formal aspects of the hui.

Later, Matiu Rata arrives flanked on all sides by defiant kaumatua from the north. With Mana Motuhake black and gold rosettes and ribbons ablaze in the Aotea sun, their mission is obvious: to give support to their man of the hour, Matiu Rata. (A northern hardcase kaumatua: “What do you think of Rata’s football team?”) Anyway, many belong to the Who’s Who of Ngapuhi: Kawiti, Parangi, Hei Hei Maihi, they’re all here. For many, the life-long fight for Maori rights has taken its toll. Fragility of body and feebleness of voice struggle in vain to exhort the pain of a people fast becoming landless in their own land.

Impromptu sparring in the evening against northern counterpart Dr Bruce Gregory and other Labour stalwarts, we’re told, showed Rata in top form. He threw left jabs, right hooks, and counter-punched effortlessly. Before the end of the final round, he threw two finely executed uppercuts, leaving half a dozen opponents dazed and flabbergasted.

An over-confident Rata however fails later to draw the church hierarchy into an open-slather punch-up on the marae. Their reply is terse and to the point: “This is a church hui; boxing is not on the agenda”.

So far the hui has had its up and downs for Matiu Rata. He’d earlier received a drubbing at the hands of the Katipa (church wardens) at the gates. Rata’s standing as a politician and also his position as apostle of the Ratana Church adds to nothing with the katipa. He’s unable to satisfy them fully as to his real reasons for being at the Pa. Finally however the silver-tongued politician succeeds with the katipa and is quickly snapped up by a television news team standing by.

As we saw with the treatment of Matiu Rata, crowd control is super-efficient. The katipa, both male and female, resplendent in heavy black caps and uniforms, appear rather ludicrous in the sweltering summer sun. They’re everywhere. IWseems every second Maori is a katipa. Armed with walkie talkies, they’re forever muttering, “Charlie Brown to base, what can we do about so and so?” Then the fun begins. There are so many Charlie Browns contacting base, a simple statement takes at least a quarter of an hour to sort out.

Our film crew cops it with both barrels. “You can wait here all day ’til base gives clearance”, quip the S.S. Katipa. “Hey, I spent three days last week talking to the presidcnte. Permission was granted. We know the tapu areas”.. . A Charlie Brown finally makes contact with presidente and we’re allowed in.

At dusk each evening, we witness Ratana interdenominational open-air services. Ministers from other churches are given a prominent part. Perhaps here lies the answer to the vexed question of church union that religious leaders have tried to resolve over the years.

No sooner are the final “Amens” expressed, they’re quickly lost in the swirl of live reggae and pop music where the solemn service has just been conducted. Candidates are quickly enlisted for the night’s impromptu concert and talent quest. Self-consciousness is non-existent here. Young and old throw their names into the hat. An elderly entertainer comes each year to perform on his concertina and mouth organ popular ditties of the thirties. Deep into the night the sounds and voices reverberate around the plaza until the announcement of semi-finalists that takes them to the grand-slam final evening. These music festivals predate even Woodstock. At Nambassa we hear of arrests being made by the police for violence and other crimes. There isn’t one policeman at Ratana Pa. Ratana’s dictum prevails: Kia tau tonu te rangimarie; let there always be peace.

With a few hours to sun up, there is still a lot of hooting and laughter erupting from all around. The multitudes retreat to their marquees, tents and caravans to catch a few winks. The new Manuao with its tapu lifted happily embraces a large chunk of the humanity that travelled the furthest. For many the pilgrimage to the Pa is not a time to sleep. Rather it’s time for reminiscing and seeing whether the “Dad’s” teachings are still being followed.

We’re awakened very early by a booming stentorian voice reminding all, “Breakfast is served, closes in fifteen minutes”, followed by a brief summary of the day’s activities. Is there a Big Brother watching? One sheepishly wipes away remaining sleep from tired eyes wondering whether the Orwellian vision had enroached into the Pa. I pinch my face awake ... it is still three years to 1984. Later, the human mass arrows towards the marae. I do a spotting game. I see Rua Rakena, a high priest of the Methodists. There is Te Mara of the Maori Presbyterian Synod and Sid and Hana Jackson and many many more prominent folk. An assortment of Pakeha academics are also present. We’re told one joined the Ratana movement recently having roamed the world in

search of spiritual fulfilment. And now another ope is arriving. It is being piped on to the marae by one of the Ratana brass bands. It is Opposition leader Bill Rowling accompanied by a gaggle of Labour MPs and party faithfuls.

Not naturally endowed with the orator’s thrust and parry, Rowling’s utterances are lost in the dust of the marae as it spirals skywards. I catch his pleas for Ratana and Labour to continue the partnership forged over forty years ago. That Labour will continue to champion Maori needs.

At this point, a Mana Motuhake kaumatua grunts his disapproval. “If he listened to Matiu Rata, he wouldn’t be crawling to us today. They helped create Mana Motuhake. They don’t give a hoot about the Maori people.” To add further contempt to his words, he walks away while Rowling is still on his feet.

Soon the band strikes up again. Significant arrivals are led to the marae at a snappy military pace. The incongruity of the ecclesiastical and the military overlapping has long been an accepted tradition of the Pa. It is impossible to imagine any other way of moving large groups of people from one area to another. The band is almost up to the marae. Behind them is Bishop Manuhuia Bennett’s ope. It is the last of the elites. The retiring Bishop of Aotearoa is cloaked with a human korowai of all denominations symbolic of the enormous mana that his Maori kin have heaped on him during his twelve years as their Bishop.

As eulogies pour forth he sits by capturing every twist and turn of the mihi booming across the marae. With the wisdom of two cultures, Manuhuia has helped fashion a new ethos for our nation. A few days earlier, he said in the press: “Sometimes I’ve had to choose between the church’s official attitude to the Ratana Church that it is here and my own attitude to the Ratana people, who are my own relatives. I’ve generally chosen my own relatives.” He believes the old Anglican attitudes to the Ratana Church are meaningless and will be allowed to die a natural death.

The Tangatawhenua have spoken. The Bishop will not speak. His uncle Te Hemana Pokiha, paramount chief of Ngati Pikiao, rises to give tongue to the manuhiri. The main service later in the temple, which brings the Ratana multitudes to the Pa each year, sees the Bishop preaching the main sermon. It is a superb expose on the virtues of church unity being epitomised at the hui. I’m tempted later to rib the Bishop and say to him: “How does it feel preaching to a real congregation of thousands?” But I’m

scared off. He looks too awesome in his God squad gear! The main service over, the combined brass bands snake the multitudes back to the marae. Mrs Reo Hura, the Church’s President, delivers a moving mihi and blessing to all those assembled. She’s the last surviving member of Ratana’s children and exudes the spirituality of her father and prophets before him; Te Whiti-o-Rongomai and Tohu-kakahi. Mihi and whaikorero over, long queues scramble into the dining room for hakari. Service inside is super-efficient, but catering for a hui of this magnitude is a test even to those accustomed to large crowds. The massive conveyor belt servery gradually whittles down the human mass until, late in the afternoon, all have eaten. It’s time to set the tables again for dinner. An army of cooks and waitresses, all on a voluntary basis, work around the clock to keep the dining room “Ki Koopu”, which literally means “full stomach”, functioning. Many veterans come to the Pa with everything but the kitchen sink and prepare their own meals to avoid endless queuing at the dining room. Feasting over, there is much nose rubbing, kissing and hugging followed by departing convoys spiritually cleansed and prepared for the joys, sorrows and social upheavals of 1981.

As the Ratana village slowly disappears behind Whangaehu’s rolling farmlands, certain things prod the mind. The missionary fathers on arrival to these shores claimed that the devil was in the Pa and had to be driven out. In their zeal to drive it out they became intent also on sweeping away hundreds of years of custom and tradition. If they came humbly and crowned the old religion with the new, they would probably have suceeded. Ratana obviously did it the other way around, he crowned the new with the old making religion comprehensible to the Maori mind. This is probably the main reason for its continued success and why Ratana Pa has become the Vatican of the Maori people.

Ko ta te rino i tukituki ai Ma te rino ano hei honohono; Ko ta te kakaka i haehae Ma te kaka ano hei tuitui. What the Pakeha sought to disrupt The pakeha will seek to restore What the Maori has lost The Maori will strive to regain.