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Opportunity comes knocking and Maoris seize the moment (slightly edited) (First published in the Otago Daily Times on Thursday, October 31, 2002) © Denis Hampton 2002

 

In 1994, Pita Rikys, a senior lecturer in law at Auckland University said the Treaty of Waitangi was absolutely central for resource management in New Zealand. He talked of Pakehas’ eurocentric conception of the environment, and said the Maori view was frequently misunderstood. “The trees, the water, the sea, the sand — all are part of an interlinked process of relationships and ancestral knowledge” he said.

Dr Rikys’ demand that biculturalism in resource management “become a reality rather than a fiction” was surprising. After all, Parliament by then had passed the Resource Management Act. This landmark legislation clearly states that Maori culture and traditions with respect to ancestral lands and other resources are “matters of national importance”. And to remove any doubt about compliance, those administering the Act are required to “take into account the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi” (whatever they might be).

A further clause requires our resource managers to have particular regard to kaitiakitanga. This was originally defined as the exercise of guardianship, and included the ethic of stewardship. A later amendment required that it be in accordance with Maori customary values and practices. Not surprisingly, it has no single meaning. It apparently has both physical and spiritual dimensions. Its application may differ eveii among members of the same kin group.

Much can now be read on the subject of kaitiakitanga. The concept, however, does not appear in some early texts on Maori customs and culture. It, in fact, first surfaced during the resource management law reform review of the late 1980s.

The word itself has still not been included in dictionaries. Even kaitiakilguardian did not appear until 1983. The root word tiaki, i.e. to guard or to keep, has always appeared, but not apparently in a conservation context.

That is not to say Maoris were devoid of any concern for the natural resources a round them. In order to survive they had to eat, and the food sources in their immediate vicinity required protection. Guardianship for early Maoris, however, was the sole domain of the gods. For the people, the custom of tapu was the means by which their food, fish, and forests were regulated. Clearly, though, there was no overall plan, and the long-term effects speak for themselves.

In a 1987 article, archaeologist Dr Bruce McFadgen wrote of the impact on the landscape by early Polynesians. He had little doubt the consequences of their settlement were: “Almost half of the forest was burnt off; all 12 species of moas became extinct; at least 20 other bird species became extinct in certain areas; seals and other sea mammals, which had previously bred all round the coastline, were reduced to breeding in only a few locations.”

In 1851, land purchase commissioner Donald McLean noted that, apart from economic gain, one reason Hawkes Bay chiefs were willing to sell large land blocks was that the birds and native rats which made them valuable to Maoris were already gone.

It must be acknowledged that European colonists also had a large and not always beneficial impact on the environment. But it was not wanton destruction, and was necessary for the creation of the farms and towns that now make up our modern nation.

It is largely they, however, who are now blamed. Yet it was in their, rather than in Maori ranks, that the modern conservation ethic took root.

Early conservationists included lawyer Alexander Bathgate (1845-1930), who long fought against the destruction of vegetation around Dunedin. In 1891, he published a plea for the establishment of Arbor Day, which he wished to see celebrated throughout New Zealand.

Appreciation of this country’s flora and fauna has long been promoted by the likes of Mr Bathgate and organisations such as the Royal Society, the Ornithological Society, and of particular note, the (Royal) Forest and Bird Society.

It could well be argued that the modern conservation movement began in 1959. In June that year, Victoria University scientist Dr John Salmon attended a convention in Christchurch of the New Zealand Travel and Holidays Association. In a riveting address, he bemoaned the impact of power development on scenic beauty. He lamented the lowered levels of Lake Waikaremoana and was highly critical of the proposal to raise Manapouri.

Many others, including Forest and Bird, rallied to this cause. The Save Manapouri campaign gathered momentum over the next decade, and was marked by a 1970 petition of 265,000 signatures, a record for the time.

In February 1973, with that battle won, Prime Minister Norman Kirk established the Guardians of Lakes Manapouri and Te Anau to advise the then Electricity Department on the management of both lakes. The six appointed were led by the Dunedin botanist Dr Alan Mark, whose research had demonstrated that high water levels would lead to lake-edge instability.

And so this novel approach to environmental management began. In 1973, Guardians were appointed for Lake Wanaka, and the following year a third group for the Rotorua Lakes.

In 1984 the Waitangi Tribunal began hearings on a claim about the “despoilatioii’ of Manukau Harbour. In its report the following year, the tribunal recommended Guardians be appointed to provide Maori and environmental overviews of the harbour and its environs. The recommendation was based not on some traditional code of Maori conservation practice, but on the experience of the government-appointed lake guardians over the previous decade. As the Commissioner for the Environment at the time said: “It is a very effective tool of environmental management

Maoris were eager participants in the resource management law reform consultation of the late 1980s. Maruwhenua, the Maori secretariat of the Minister for the Environment, were invited by iwi authorities to attend huis from Kaitaia to Invercargill.

The Resource Management Act shows they were indeed well heard. Maoris have, in effect, been given a raft of special rights, notably involving consultation. Many resource consents now require iwi approval. In Dunedin and Invercargill, Ngai Tahu have established offices for this purpose.

The Conservation Act is similarly magnanimous. As well as also requiring adherence to the “principles” of the Treaty of Waitangi, it makes special provisions for appointments to the New Zealand Conservation Authority and Conservation Boards. It now requires that the Guardians of the southern lakes include at least one person nominated by Ngai Tahu.

Yet again, our legislators have bowed to a vocal minority. The result is law that is both separatist and, in parts, of quite uncertain meaning.

If Maoris really had been classic conservationists, some measures to protect their interests may have been appropriate. My research, however, suggests otherwise. I say they are recent opportunists — jumpers on a bandwagon.

 

See also: Hobson's Pledge

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