Gathering again on campus was pivotal for us all: the isolation, locked down in our bubbles with supermarket shopping and state-sanctioned walks the only out? It helped destroy the social AND economic fabric of NZ. Though looking at the ships and airplanes still sailing and winging their way around the earth at the time of ‘lockdown’ it’s obvious it was a lockdown with no legitimate purpose but TO effect the division and ‘othering’ #ByDesign
Te Ao has protocols and rituals, observances and such. All had to be overhauled in light of the very bad cold *eyeroll*. What I love about my culture is the ability to adapt, change, alter the way things are done to keep up with what’s going on, with nary a break in stride. I guess that’s one of the secrets to our longevity.
One ‘for instance’ is our greeting, the hongi. We stopped performing it while in lockdown/mandated: it’s a touching of noses together, to share the breath of life. So, after formalities and speeches when greeted at a marae, we all line up to kiss/hongi the visitors/manuhiri. We eschewed that greeting protocol for the clotshot plandemic rules. Another was the use of materials for dyeing flax/muka in our raranga/weaving. There are plenty of natural materials available in the ngahere/forest. We couldn’t access them. After discussion with the elders and wiser heads, a decision was made to open up dyeing materials to whatever worked.
While locked down, our tutor had videoed herself dyeing flax with foodstuffs: beetroot, watercress, turmeric. Food and weaving do not ordinarily cross over; necessity is the mother of invention and we were given the green light to use what worked.
We had already had an online noho: gathering of akonga/students and the teacher. It was lovely to see everyone’s faces; I had locked down alone, so the sight of everyone was a tonic for my soul. The actual practicalities of learning a hands-on craft/skill via video were surmounted, after a fashion. The tutor had videos of her hands weaving, making the stitches, and casting off, the nuts and bolts of our skills. We could revisit these videos to cement the skills: it wasn’t ideal, there are some things that need face to face instruction, though overall I think we did well. Exceedingly well, given the obstacles and stupid fucking rules around masking, gathering etc.
Remember when you had to mask up to walk to a cafe/restaurant table? Then you could remove the mask and the very bad cold wasn’t gonna get you because you weren’t walking upright…. and all the other cuntery and spin. #Itwasacull #Clotshot I obeyed because the overwhelming majority of NZ are brown shirted CUNTS. I’d like to say it nicer than that, but that’s the truth I found. #GoodGermans, all. May they all burn.
After daily doses of fear-vertising from Cindy Hard-on, we were finally given the go-ahead to meet up again in person. With rules; MORE rules. Because of the nature of hands-on crafts, and Te Ao, the ‘rules’ were in the main, ignored as we got on with the reality of weaving. In real time. In person. Face. To. Face. As intended.
I kept my ‘It’s a cull.’ thoughts to myself, and we got together again in person. I apologise for the lack of a concrete timeline, I’m unsure whether it was THIS first noho, or the one following it where I lost my shit. I’ll try to remember the timeline accurately.
There were many different sorts of people gathered to learn weaving, and it became clear I was going to struggle to connect or make friends with anyone in the class. #MyBad I’m an anti-social, outspoken bastard. I was also starting to notice the lack of engagement from the tutor towards certain people, and her slavish over-compensation for others. I knew from my Day One joke that had gone down like a cup of cold sick, I wasn’t going to be teacher’s pet. LoL. There were a couple of wahine that FAWNED on our tutor from the get-go, and they were granted unfettered, unlimited access to the tutor’s pataka/storehouse of tips, tricks, wisdom and knowledge. And her gurning approval.
A young kotiro/girl was also lavished with time, attention, teaching and sit-down time. She wanted to watch Dragonball Z and Yugioh! on her laptop. And she did. While our tutor made the muka for her. We all struggled and slipped up, aching hands, etc. Not kotiro, oh no. Tutor babied her.
After Saturday lunch, (communal meals shared with the carvers/other students/tutors) a carver who lived in the town invited the weavers to his whare/house after teaching had wound up. We accepted, Mary*, Jan* and myself, and we went there around 8pm with some snacks and a bottle of plonk. The other students that were there were from the carving intake, and we sat around for a couple of hours, listening to music, dancing together and talking 90 to the dozen about our respective crafts. We all had one alcoholic drink each: we were too busy talking and dancing, to be perfectly frank. Returning to campus, we went to bed smiling at the evening we’d had and the new hoa/friends we’d made.
This next bit is from what I was told afterwards by Mary and Jan.
One of the tutor’s pets, let’s call her Muffy, started in on Mary at breakfast time about our evening with the carvers. ‘That’s not on. How dare you drink alcohol and party up while we’re at noho, on campus, meant to be learning!’ ‘It’s not tika/right.’ ‘How dare you drink!’
Mary was taken aback, and said ‘What *I* do, or Rex or Jan do, is up to US. You aren’t our mother! Are you pissed off you weren’t invited? Sounds like it.’ Mary is no fool, and wasn’t going to be browbeaten by a big bully.
Muffy continued to remonstrate with Mary, telling her how terrible it was to be partying while tapu/sacred work was being done, or we were trying to learn it. Muffy went on and on to Mary, while Mary was trying to eat her breakfast. ‘It’s a lack of control, is what it is. It’s not on.’ Muffy raged.
‘The same lack of control that makes you fill your plate up with food you don’t need, yet continue to shovel in like a pig at every meal, Muffy?’ Mary asked coolly. #Silence
I note Muffy didn’t come tell ME off about going to a house and drinking a glass of wine. I wonder why? *Insert thinking face here* Bullies seldom challenge people who will tell them to get fucked, I’ve found. Mary, effortlessly lovely and kind, had been underestimated by said bully. Muffy ended up with egg on her face: I guess she just pushed it into her mouth and carried on eating her silence with a side order of #SickBurn
Teacher’s pet didn’t say another word about our behaviour, well - not to our faces, that is. Said tutor carried on lavishing her time and expertise on Muffy and her pals, and the young girl who was clearly disinterested. I discovered later, the girl in question was the daughter of a friend of said tutor. She didn’t want to be there, but fucken hell, she got a good 20% of the time all to herself.
Jan was a weaver with years of experience: did she get put into the second year class? Did she fuck! Tutor was blinded to everyone but the pets and her mate’s daughter. I understand the ignoring of ME, I’m a problematic, difficult and uphill kind of person. The divide was becoming apparent every time we met. Things came to a head the very next time we met.
*Names changed for anonymity
This is good writing. If I had any bloody money I’d sling some your way. What a relief to hear your voice after Rosie Duffield MP.