Rumus Thompson-Jackson

Haare Williams describes a chance meeting with a ‘street kaumatua’ as the illuminating shafts of light through the trees that shone across Grafton Gully on Waitangi Day 2014.   

Rumus at Grafton Gully Cemetery

It's Wednesday 13 February, seven days and 174 years on since Hobson witnessed the signing of the treaty at Waitangi.  It's a warm mid-summer, afternoon sun, a time to reflect our nation's history and future.  Yes, it’s that time again to celebrate our past as we place the foundations for a vibrant modern city and  future.

I came here to The Grafton Bridge Cemetery to honour probably the nation's most iconic figure in our short history; "Captain William Hobson, Lieutenant Governor, 1840-1842."  But I wasn't alone because as I turned, I was greeted by a calm and gravelly voice, "Ko Remus ahau - Remus Thompson-Jackson taku ingoa, no Tainui."  Surprised, but not unexpected.

We shared a short karakia with Hobson, then silence.  When he opened his eyes and mouth I was immediately drawn to the poet in him.  He told me of his whakapapa to Kukutai, a noble whanau of his Waiuku and Te Awhitu homelands, a descendant therefore of the thirty-two, the only signatories of the English version at Waiuku. A rare distinction.

In Auckland, the treaty was signed in five (or six) places, the first on 4 March 1840 at Karaka Bay along the shoreline between Tamaki River and Howick (Maraetai).  The last at Waiuku (near the Waikato Heads) on 11 April 1840 by thirty-two rangatira of Ngati Paoa, Ngati Maru, Ngati Tipa, Ngati Pou and Ngati Tamatera (possibly Ngai Tai and Ngati Te Ata) and countersigned by Captain Nia and missionaries Henry Williams and William Fairburn.

We were both meant to be here.  His face was engraved by layered narratives from the streets that he has walked and by his own admission, himself a street kid at seventy something.  His wiry beard framed a face that spoke with wit, a poetic vision and empathy.

He spoke on decorously, "Heke knew what these tauiwi (strangers) wanted; Land.  Heke and other rangatira wanted protection of their lands.  But they were spurred on by the spirit of building a new colony.  Te Apihai Te Kawau of Ngati Whatua wanted the same by giving a huge koha of land to build a city and the start of a new settlement."

"Don't forget." I said, "No I won't."

"Maori were sailors, whalers, boat builders, farmers, traders and business people.  You should know they beat them at their own game." He then took a long breath.

This is a waahi tapu, e hoa.  It needs tenderness and aroha.  It lacks that human touch."

"Pakeha people, they don't care for their mate (dead); nor about their tupuna (ancestors), and they talk without stop about love for te tai ao (the environment).  No!  We, Maori are the ones who suffered the cost of environmental damage; we're still paying the price.  Ae! Ko te tangata te utu mo te hara o te tangata."

"Ko to ratau atua ko te moni ke." Money.  That's the Pakeha god.  Just look at this place. It's nothing more than a toilet."

He spoke. I tried to edge a word.  He, as I was deeply shocked by the stressful look of Hobson's resting place in a forgotten nothingness.  A man revered then and now by Maori as a rangatira.

The site is littered with rubbish, some damaged headstones, a veritable rubbish dump, and unkempt trees hidden away so that the city without eyes, ears and or a heart cannot see.  His voice rises and falls, sometimes into a whisper.

"This 'Mighty-Big-Super-City Council', will it be the most liveable in the world.  What about the residents of this holy waahi tapu."

We were there for probably an hour, maybe more.  It seemed like an eternity.  Yet a crisp flash of wisdom from this luminary who has walked his city.  Before I left, he nudged me to recite a karakia and asked for “Whakaaria Mai” (Amazing Grace) for Hobson, this waahi tapu, for our youth and for the indifference of a city for those who rest here.

We embraced in a hongi, and as we parted I said, "Thank you your amazing grace." He nodded and smiled.

I looked back to wave and catch is eye, but he was sitting beside Hobson in an animated expressiveness and quite likely apologising for the sins and omissions of the great city he founded.  Again I saw a poet who did not lack nuance or faith in his words.  He struck me as angry, yes but rich, feisty and compassionate.  Hobson's remains lie here in a forgotten nothingness, where then is the noble patrimony of our church, state, local and communities leaders. 

I know I met a poet who sees a city desperate for happiness, a kind epiphany in his eyes and words denouncing an "... uncaring city."  Is this retribution for having the vision and courage to build Auckland?  No!  Remus Thompson-Jackson was a lonely voice for hope. We share William Hobson’s hope.

" He iwi kotahi tatau; we are one people."

  (Hobson Waitangi 6 February 1840)

Hei kona mai.