Power and Visibility Post-COVID: Crisis Capitalism vs. Hapū Rangatiratanga
The Avery Review, 50
9 December 2020
As I make my daily pilgrimage along the shore at Pārua, Whangārei-Terenga-Parāoa, during the COVID-19 lockdown here in Aotearoa, I think about the shifting tides. Tai timu, tai pari. Some days, the sea withdraws and scrapes over the shore, the tidal flats pockmarked and laid bare; other times the sea laps against the seawall, the sand swallowed whole, barely visible beneath the surface of water made hazy through constant motion. I wonder about the maramataka,2 which has been elevated in my consciousness as my reality has suddenly narrowed, with lockdown forcing a new, daily intimacy with place. Is it a good day for fishing? For planting? Is it a high-energy or low-energy day? Small observations needed for accurate interpretation require a certain amount of slow attentiveness. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’m beginning to notice things. I think of our grandparents often, growing up on the kāinga on the other side of the harbor, and I wonder if their days had a similar quality.
I keep a running list of kai species that grow on the farm and in the surrounding areas, both cultivated and wild. The season shifts, almost imperceptibly, and I might not notice but for the fruits that steadily grow and ripen until, all of a sudden, there is a bounty. There is so much abundance, more than I know what to do with. I start to notice the manu, the bird life. A shrieking flock of kākā make ugly noises from their lovely beaks and leave a mess in the persimmon tree. One night, an insect in the tree outside my whare5 keeps me awake for hours. Another night, the full moon shines through the gaps in the blinds and the room is awash with light. I wander outside sleeplessly and lie on the deck in the cool night air, watching as the clouds wash over the brilliant moon.
