A story about a photograph, love, and a lifelong te reo Māori journey
Friday, 17 September 2021
There is an old black and white photograph taken on the steps of Parliament of seven members of Ngā Tamatoa.
It was November 11, 1972. Two weeks before a general election.
Orewa Barrett-Ohia is sitting at the front on the left. Behind her, second from the left, is John Ohia.
About two months earlier, TV news footage had shown another member of Ngā Tamatoa, Hana Jackson (Te Hemara), on those same Wellington steps presenting a petition with more than 30,000 signatures asking for te reo Māori to be taught in schools.
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A new generation was demanding change from the Government.
Almost 50 years later, sitting in their whare in Tauranga Moana during Te Wiki o te Reo Māori, Orewa and John took a trip down memory lane.
They were both in their 20s when that photograph was taken.
Orewa is now 70. John is 77.
Stuck on the walls of their lounge are pieces of paper featuring handwritten waiata that they are busy learning, studying.
It’s homework. Orewa and John are both enrolled in a free te reo Māori course at Te Wānanga o Aotearoa.
The 1970s feel like a long time ago.
That was the decade in which Ngā Tamatoa fought for Māori rights and against racial discrimination.
The group took part in protests and shook things up. They were seen by many as radicals.
“The beginning of a new way of doing things, that’s what I saw it as,” John says.
The photograph on the steps of Parliament was taken by an Evening Post staff photographer during a three-week Ngā Tamatoa sit-in protest.
The protesters slept in tents given to them by locals. There was a large banner set up that read “Māori control of all things Māori”.
John says there was no planning beforehand, and they didn’t know how long they would be there.
“We had no equipment, nothing. The only thing we had was the clothes that we were wearing. It was totally new, we didn’t know what was going to happen. But, in the end, when we got there, people from Wellington started bringing us stuff, including food.”
Orewa says there were a lot of issues at the heart of that protest – loss of whenua, loss of reo.
She says they were part of a new generation of Māori who had had enough.
“Had enough of being told we weren’t this and that, listening to people on the marae pining for the past, pining for the land that had been taken, watching more land being taken, being always told that we needed to be more educated … being told that all those old ways or even our reo, our language, you know, ‘Leave that behind, forget about that.’”
Orewa and John had only been together for a few months when that photo was taken.
Orewa (Ngāti Maniapoto) grew up in the hills of Waitomo, up behind the famous caves.
She spent a lot of her childhood with her grandmother, soaking up the kuia’s kōrero, and her reo.
Orewa says she could always understand te reo Māori and would listen to people speaking on the marae, but the little she spoke started to disappear when she entered primary school.
Later on, her grandmother would talk to her in te reo, and she would reply in English.
A year spent in Tonga, straight out of high school opened Orewa’s eyes to a world not dominated by Pākehā, and she returned to Aotearoa motivated.
She was studying to be a teacher in Hamilton when she wrote a letter to Syd and Hana Jackson of Ngā Tamatoa, asking if she could open a Waikato branch.
Orewa and John first met at John’s flat on Symonds St in Auckland, the headquarters of Ngā Tamatoa.
John was studying at the University of Auckland at the time.
Their second meeting, at a Ngā Tamatoa hui at Te Puea marae in Māngere, saw the start of their relationship.
Orewa moved to Auckland, where she and John worked as teachers.
They got married in May 1974 at Rātana Pā, less than two years after the Parliament protest. They have four children.
Their participation in historic protests and land marches didn’t go unnoticed by their whānau and wider community.
It caused friction at times, for example, when John was seen on TV by his family running on to Hamilton's Rugby Park during the 1981 Springbok Tour protests.
“Because they were at home ready to watch the game,” John says with a loud laugh.
Both Orewa and John say those early struggles were worth it when they turn on the TV now and see te reo Māori being spoken so regularly.
“It wasn’t easy. We were lucky we were young. Just being together kept us happy, and we enjoyed each other’s company,” Orewa says of Ngā Tamatoa.
They have stayed in touch with many of those old friends, she says, and there is reunion coming up.
Orewa and John are enjoying their Te Wānanga o Aotearoa course. It’s been hard work, getting back into study.
“It’s been bloody awesome,” John says. “So much work to be done, though.
“I think it gives me a chance to get to know the language better, to get to know more about the language, and also make it available to our grandchildren and to our children.”
John (Ngāi Te Rangi, Ngāti Pūkenga, Ngā Pōtiki, Ngāti Awa, Te Arawa) didn’t grow up speaking te reo Māori in Tauranga Moana.
He says he only started learning the language when he began his teaching career.
For him and Orewa, their te reo Māori journey has been a lifelong journey. Members of their whānau are now on that journey with them.
Orewa says studying te reo this year has reconnected her with home, stories have come flooding back after all these years.
She has learnt more about her whakapapa, filled in gaps.
At one point during our kōrero, Orewa points to one of the pieces of paper up on the wall.
“Can you believe that this waiata was written before the Treaty of Waitangi?” she says, her voice full of awe.
It’s a love song, Orewa says. A beautiful love song.
“It just brings back that love for our reo. We love our reo.”