My friend called me Saturday morning in a panic. “Tameem, have you got a spare kawhia?” they asked.
His pronunciation confused me. “A what?” I said.
“A keffiyeh. A Palestinian keffiyeh,” they responded, referring to the traditional black and white head scarf that is so popular in the Middle East.
“Sure,” I said, a little glow of excitement growing inside me.
Unlike my friend who had to wake up at dawn and catch the hired van for the trip down to Ngāruawāhia, I just had to walk across the road to Tūrangawaewae Marae. We are the only Palestinian family who live in the historic town of Ngāruawāhia. It’s a pretty little place where the waters of the Waikato and Waipā rivers join; and home to the headquarters of the Kīngitanga, the Māori King Movement.
Convenience had little to do with my desire to attend Tūrangawaewae. When Kīngi Tuheitia announced a hui-ā-motu at Tūrangawaewae Marae I knew I had to be there – as did thousands of others.
I wanted to join the call. As a New Zealander, I feel privileged to live here by virtue of Te Tiriti o Waitangi or Treaty of Waitangi, our founding document which was meant to be a partnership between Māori and the British Crown. I view upholding Te Tiriti o Waitangi as a major responsibility for me as a citizen of this country, and when Māori leaders say they are concerned about the new government’s anti-Māori plans, I feel obliged to listen.
The second reason I wanted to answer the call, is because as an exile Palestinian whose own family were dispossessed of their home and lands in Palestine, I have a strong connection with Māori people. Look at the plains of the Great South Road where I live and where Waikato-Tainui people were driven out of their lands in 1863; and I picture my own family as they were forced to leave their hometown in Palestine in 1948. I went to the hui because, like Māori people, I am indigenous too and I was ripped away from my home by colonialism, and I stand in solidarity with indigenous people all around the world.
There were around 10,000 people on the grounds of Tūrangawaewae on Saturday. As I got closer to the gates, I started looking for my friends among the sea of bobbing heads. In the distance I spotted a small Palestine flag on a tiny pole sticking out of someone’s backpack. Good thinking by my friend, I thought. Imagine the surprise on the stranger’s face when I grabbed their shoulder! Offering an apology, I kept looking again. Eventually I found them – both Māori - one already wore a kuffiyeh. I gave my spare kuffiyeh to the other. As they folded it over their head I noticed the beautiful earrings bearing a ‘Free Palestine’ inscription. That little glow inside me began to take flame.
This was my third time at the magnificent marae. The first two were when I had my Covid vaccinations when the marae became a vaccination site. On Saturday, marquees were setup everywhere with screens and speakers for thousands of people, and we stood behind the main marquee as the pōwhiri welcoming ceremony started. It did not take long for Gaza and Palestinians to get a mention by one of the speakers, in relation to the hatred directed at indigenous and colonised peoples including Māori.
I attended parts of the ‘National Unity’ and ‘Treaty, wellbeing, and environment’ breakout sessions, and I learned a lot about what makes our country unique, treaty principles, Māori iwi concerns and aspirations, and historical context. In one of the sessions, I was distracted by the earrings of the lady in front of me which had images of watermelon on them, not just because it was a sweltering summer day and I craved cool watermelons, but also because watermelons have become a symbol of solidarity with Palestinians.
I was stunned to see so many Palestinian symbols at a non-Palestinian event. T-shirts with Palestine flags, Palestinian kuffiyehs, Palestinian flags, and watermelon images were everywhere. But it was not surprising. I am used now to seeing strong Māori-Palestinian solidarity at a time when we all are watching an ongoing war taking place in Gaza. Just like my Palestinian friends in New Zealand and I look up to Māori for their generosity, inclusiveness, humbleness, and pride in their culture and connection to land, I am also told by my Māori friends how they find inspiration in Palestinians’ resistance and steadfastness. I was really touched yesterday to see that many Māori people, on their significant day at Tūrangawaewae, chose to uplift Palestine and to remind everyone of the ongoing conflict that is now being discussed as an alleged act of genocide by the International Court of Justice.
As I was taking a break between the sessions, one man came and sat next to me in the shade. He was curious about my kuffiyeh, and he asked me about Palestine. I told him; “My family were expelled,” and he was like, “say no more.” He naturally got it, and after some more discussion he said he would go to work Monday and tell his colleague, whom I presumed was constantly debating him on Palestine, that he was “full of bullshit.”
Throughout the day, many people approached me to ask about Palestine and check on my loved ones. I touched by their curiosity, ease with which they related to my story. As a Palestinian I did not feel pity in my conversions but organic solidarity and expression of unity. Talking to a Māori is like talking to a fellow Palestinian: there is no difference in mindset when it comes to their experience of colonialism.
By the end of the day I left Tūrangawaewae with the glow in my belly burning brightly. I had so much to reflect on, and to talk about with my family and friends. If that was not already good enough, as a bonus I left with a sense of fellowship and pride in my Palestinian spirit. Kia ora.
Tameem Shaltoni, is a Palestinian-New Zealander who moved under the skilled migrant visa programme in 2014. He works as an IT professional and is father to school-aged children.