. . . and survey pegs into peace symbols
Yesterday I was asked by National Geographic to write a “letter from New Zealand.” When I thought about what I might write, I reflected that on Friday 15th, the day of the mosque attacks, I had kayaked to Waiheke to see the annual sculpture show, which sprawls along the coastal hills above Matiatia.
I paid particular attention to one installation about Parihaka—a place and community and history I feel close to, having written at length about it. The installation, by Anton Forde, consists of 1881 survey pegs, the number referring to the year of the Parihaka invasion, and the pegs representing the issue that led up to the attack: government appropriation of Taranaki land, with surveyors the front-line agents of dispossession.
Viewers were invited to take a peg from a boundary line and place it in a triple-feather design that had been laid out on the land. The triple feather has become the symbol of Parihaka, evoking its stand of nonviolent resistance in the face of state aggression. I placed a peg and paddled back to Auckland.*
When I came to write my letter, I thought about the symbolism. Parihaka literally opposed the sword with the ploughshare—the community’s chief act of resistance was to plough up the surveyors’ pegs and lines. The great outpouring of aroha I am seeing in my own neighbourhood of Avondale towards the Muslim community here, and across the country, is a Parihaka-style response to the evil that struck in Christchurch: facing down an ideology of hatred with a demonstration of love. A symbolic melting of the cold steel of violence in the hot tears of compassion, welcome, and the radical identification that says: “They are us.”
Here is the letter.
*By the time the sculpture show closed in late March, 9000 people had participated as peg shifters. Such is the enduring resonance of Parihaka.