70 years old and still going strong

Forget the ‘nannies brigade’. The Ma¯ori Women’s Welfare League is as vital and necessary today as it was when it was founded 70 years ago. Maxine Jacobs speaks to three generations of wa¯hine, from the same wha¯nau, committed to continuing the league’s l

At 12 years old, the future was set for Reriti Tau. ‘‘If you’re old enough to have an ATM card you’re old enough to join the league,’’ her ta¯ ua (grandmother) told her.

As a legacy member of Te Ro¯ pu¯ Wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori Toko i te Ora, the Ma¯ ori Women’s Welfare League, the now 29-year-old feels the pressure to uphold the voices of wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori.

But it’s her birthright, she said, and one she’s glad to shoulder as she works to help create a brighter future for Ma¯ ori.

Auckland-based Tau is the fourth generation of her Nga¯ i Tahu wha¯ nau from Canterbury to serve in the league. She works alongside her ta¯ ua, Dame Aroha Reriti-Crofts and ma¯ ma¯ Amiria Reriti, to support Ma¯ ori across Aotearoa.

The wha¯ nau is proud of its achievements and what they do for families, like theirs, but the league’s work is never done.

As Te Ro¯ pu¯ Wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori Toko i te Ora, the Ma¯ ori Women’s Welfare League, enters its 70th year, current president Prue Kapua says the legacy that surrounds its members, are traditions they continue to follow and build upon, and it’s empowering.

But the issues wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori and, indeed, wha¯ nau Ma¯ ori faced in 1951 when the league first started, are still rife.

Seven decades ago, on September 25, almost 90 wa¯ hine, representing 187 branches and 2500 members, gathered at Wellington’s Nga¯ ti Poneke Hall for the first conference of Te Ro¯ pu¯ Wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori Toko i te Ora.

It’s been an uphill battle ever since, independently advocating for wa¯ hine and wha¯ nau Ma¯ ori.

Early leaders refused to bow down to the Crown, that sought to place them under the umbrella of the Government.

It allowed them to be independent as the first national Ma¯ ori organisation established in New Zealand, speaking freely to any decisions affecting wha¯ nau, which is every decision the Government has made, says Kapua.

The league has researched health inequalities, built clinics and developed educational institutions. Together its members have spearheaded programmes to help Ma¯ ori quit smoking, increase their fitness, upskill wa¯ hine, and promote tamariki health.

Kapua says the programmes are successful because they have been rolled out by wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori for wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori and their wha¯ nau, but the contribution it could make in these areas is no less required today than it was 70 years ago.

The work of the ro¯ pu¯ hasn’t always been in the minds of New Zealand’s political leaders, she says, but it’s been seen in the lives of Ma¯ ori, as members continue to address the issues of urbanisation and health inequities.

Tau’s mother, Amiria Reriti, 60, was 16 when she joined the league in 1976 after watching Dame Miraka Szaszy speak on the marae.

‘‘As a young impressionable woman it was tapu to speak on the marae, so that impressed me,’’ says Reriti.

Her mother, Dame Aroha ReritiCrofts, was often away from home working for the league, which bothered her when she was younger. ‘‘I wasn’t seeing necessarily that we were the beneficiaries of that,’’ she says.

A shy young woman, Reriti gained her confidence as she moved through the leadership ranks. She learned how to pitch to Government officials, speak on behalf of her delegation, and provide strong advocacy for the array of concerns she saw among Ma¯ ori families.

Today, Reriti is the league’s vice-president, following in the footsteps of her ma¯ ma¯ , a former president. It’s not a question of relevance in modern society, Reriti says, the league has always been necessary to challenge the status quo.

‘‘It’s good if you’ve been a member and understand what the focus and the vision of it is. I get tired of those who make throwaway comments about the league being the nannies’ brigade,’’ says Rereti.

‘‘All these women, they’re pioneers in their own right.

Although the league prefers to let its mahi (work) do the talking, it found itself in a troubling spotlight 10 years ago. When Destiny Church co-founder Hannah Tamaki vied for presidency in 2011, the eyes of the nation turned to the league.

The league investigated some of its branches as membership numbers suddenly jumped. At the time, Tamaki said the league’s move was a bid to halt her leadership aspirations, leading to her attempt to sue the ro¯ pu¯ .

But the High Court ruled Tamaki had stacked the league with extra members, and suspended their votes.

Reriti says it’s disappointing that it’s this incident that’s seared into the minds of many people when they think of the league, rather than all the mahi that wa¯ hine have committed to and carried out over 70 years.

From Dame Whina Cooper, the league’s founding president, and other women alongside her, many have given thousands of hours of voluntary work to improve Ma¯ ori health, welfare, and cultural strength.

Where other groups failed to make progress, Ma¯ ori women have emerged as champions, succeeding through the kaupapa of putting Ma¯ ori first, says Rereti.

The league was staunch in its opposition to the Springbok Tour in 1981, and refused to accept the suggestion of ‘‘honorary white’’ players.

It was at the forefront of the ko¯ hanga reo movement which opened its first centre in 1982.

In 1984, more than 1100 wa¯ hine were surveyed in 80 days to create the milestone research report Rapuora: Health and Ma¯ ori Women, highlighting health concerns among wha¯ nau Ma¯ ori.

Aotearoa Ma¯ ori Netball was established under Dame June Hinekahukura Mariu in 1987 to promote healthy lifestyles, which has created a decades-long legacy.

The league established Ma¯ ori Women’s Development Incorporated in 1997 to uplift Ma¯ ori women in business and gain financial independence.

And every step along the way, it has been on the ground, working to improve Ma¯ ori welfare, from helping wha¯ nau access kai, acting as matua wha¯ ngai during Oranga Tamariki uplifts, and raising a voice to highlight the inequities between Ma¯ ori and Pa¯ keha¯ .

Reriti-Crofts, former president of the Ma¯ ori Women’s Welfare League, is proud of her daughter and mokopuna who have taken on the service she committed to in 1968. Including Tau, the 83-year-old has four mokopuna in the league in O¯ tautahi (Christchurch), Ta¯ maki Makaurau (Auckland) and O¯ tipo¯ ti (Dunedin). It’s in their blood to serve their wha¯ nau.

Ta¯ tau ta¯ tau, she says, repeating the league’s motto. All of us together.

‘‘Seventy years of advocacy for wha¯ nau, Ma¯ ori women and children is a long history.

‘‘Given that the organisation was set up for Ma¯ ori women to air their voices, I think the welfare league has been hugely successful.’’

Reriti-Crofts joined the O¯ tautahi branch, then called the Christchurch branch, with her aunty after she heard other wha¯ nau talking about the ro¯ pu¯ (group).

It was the thrill of being a Ma¯ ori woman in a Ma¯ ori organisation that would never back down from doing what was best for wha¯ nau, no matter what the challenge, she says.

And the kaupapa (purpose) continues today. She watches as generations of Ma¯ ori women work to build a better future for the next generation, whom she hopes will take up the commitment after them.

Covid-19 has meant the cancellation of the league’s annual conference for two years in a row now, a real blow for members who miss the physical connection of the branches, but plans remain to host the conference when the country returns to alert level 1.

Despite the interruptions, Reriti-Crofts has been using Zoom to connect with delegates to ensure they continue to reach those who need them the most.

‘‘We cover such a lot of ground in supporting wha¯ nau spiritually, physically, educationally, economically, and in justice. Anything that affects Ma¯ ori, affects the league, so we’re right there.

‘‘Unfortunately the governments of the day have not been very supportive of the league, but that matters not because we can target any government.

‘‘We’re never going to go away because we’re still needed. We have to be there for our people.’’

Kapua agrees. A lot has changed in the past 70 years, but the issues haven’t.

‘‘Things haven’t worked. We’re not in a better position, the issues that we have are no different in terms of the statistics.’’

Covid-19 has been a prime example of the importance of the league, Reriti says.

As a Ma¯ ori liaison to Auckland’s regional public health service, Reriti is constantly reminded of inequities, such as vaccination rates, and the lack of trust some Ma¯ ori have in the health system.

Before and during the initial roll-out of the Pfizer vaccines, Ma¯ ori health experts begged the Government to target all Ma¯ ori age groups, but they were ignored, she says.

And despite the best efforts of Ma¯ ori health providers working to improve vaccination rates, it has not been enough. Their plans have been hamstrung by resource constraints, a lack of funding, and an ineffective national vaccine campaign creating inequitable health outcomes for Ma¯ ori.

‘‘Successive governments haven’t revamped or restructured to take into account another world view,’’ Reriti says.

‘‘It’s monocultural. There is a process of healing and I would like to build on that.’’

The league should act as a bridge between wha¯ nau and government agencies, to share knowledge and support the efforts of Ma¯ ori and Pa¯ keha¯ to work towards positive outcomes for wha¯ nau, Kapua says.

‘‘The time has passed to be sitting and waiting for the Government to have an epiphany. We have a huge amount of expertise and experience in the league. There hasn’t been a difference in the results, and what we need to look at is what is the danger of doing things differently. One of the ways is to give the league a seat at the table.’’

In the past 10 years, Kapua has worked to modernise the league, advocating for seats at select committees and state inquiries, building working relationships with agencies and ministries, and upskilling members to support the activism their tı¯puna (ancestors) founded the ro¯ pu¯ on.

‘‘We’ve tended to be separate branches where we work independently, but now we work collectively so, where we need to, we can push as a national body.

‘‘There’s an element of where you need to get into a position where they’re afraid to ignore you. You can use a number of different ways to influence that.’’

Last year the league signed a memorandum of understanding with the police to advise them on how to improve their policies when working with Ma¯ ori.

‘‘Some people would say, ‘Why are you doing that,’ but [the police] were one of the first agencies to come to us and say, ‘We know there are some trust issues, but we want to know how we can do better.’’’

The league did the same with Oranga Tamariki, entering into a strategic partnership to identify areas of improvement.

Countless letters have also been written to ministers and agencies pushing for Ma¯ ori voices to have a say, not just be heard. It’s an issue the league has struggled with since its inception, Kapua said.

One of the key issues is funding. There’s no philanthropic body pumping the Ma¯ ori Women’s Welfare League with cash, so for now it is reliant on the goodwill of those in power listening to their voices.

But with an international stage that could change.

Last month the league attained ECOSOC status at the United Nations’ Economic and Social Council, earning its delegations the right to attend forums to voice their concerns for wa¯ hine and wha¯ nau to the world.

‘‘If you want to make change domestically, the eyes of the international body can help you,’’ Kapua says.

For Tau, she hopes the fight will end.

The perspective the league brings to the issues facing Ma¯ ori is hugely important now, but she hopes for a future where the league is unnecessary.

‘‘What I love about the league is that all these issues we’re fighting in our iwi, we bring to the league and we fight them together, but my hope is we don’t have to fight anymore.

‘‘But until that day comes, I hope we continue to bring new wa¯ hine into the league of different generations and voices who will continue to stand up for Ma¯ ori.’’

In the words of Te Puea He¯ rangi, the daughter of the second Ma¯ ori King and the first patroness of the Te Ro¯ pu¯ Wa¯ hine Ma¯ ori Toko i te Ora: ‘‘Ko te puawaitanga o nga¯ moemoea, me whakamahi.’’ Dreams become reality when we take action.

Last January Angela Merkel’s Christian Democrats (CDU) were ahead in the German opinion polls by 15 points. She was stepping down after 16 years as chancellor (prime minister), but she was still by far the most trusted politician in Germany.

Indeed, she is universally known as ‘Mutti’ (‘Mummy’).

Yet by June the Greens had overtaken the CDU and were leading in the polls for the first time ever. Green Party leader Annalena Baerbock looked stunned by the turn of events, but it didn’t last long.

Allegations of plagiarism in her new book quickly punctured her balloon.

By this month, with national elections due tomorrow, it’s the Social Democrats (SPD) who are well ahead of the pack, and party leader Olaf Scholz looks like a shoo-in as the next chancellor (prime minister).

How to explain the high-speed churn? ‘‘You may as well cite chaos theory,’’ said an SDP staffer.

But it’s not really that mysterious. The election campaign has really been a search to identify which candidate can best fill the role of ‘Mutti’.

The CDU’s own candidate, Armen Laschet, proved too gaffe-prone for the job.

(He was caught on camera laughing at some private joke while the president delivered a eulogy for the flood victims in a devastated Rhineland town.)

So when the Green leader also flamed out, the mantle of front-runner draped itself around the shoulders of a quite surprised Olaf Scholz.

Olaf Scholz used to be known as ‘Scholzomat’ for his robotic delivery when speaking in public, or even the ‘grinning Smurf’ for his blue eyes and fixed smile. Then he had an ‘‘ideological detox’’ (his own words) that moved him well to the right in the Socialist Party.

That made him eligible for senior cabinet positions when the SPD went into coalition with the CDU in 2013, and for the last four years he has been Germany’s finance minister.

He got the new nickname of ‘Bazooka Man’ when he described his pandemic bail-out plan as ‘‘the big bazooka we need to get the job done,’’ but he still wasn’t seen as a likely candidate for chancellor.

Thanks mostly to the underperformance of his opponents, he has emerged over the past four months as the odds-on favourite for the chancellorship. Now his aides call him ‘Lazarus’, and one of his own campaign ads says bluntly ‘‘er kann Kanzlerin’’.

That means ‘‘he can do the Chancellor’s job’’ – but ‘Kanzlerin’ is the feminine form of the word.

He may never fill Mutti’s sensible shoes, but he will probably be the leader of the second-biggest Western democracy for the next four years, so what he does in office will have an impact on many things beyond Germany.

German governments are almost always coalitions, so the first question is: who does Scholz form a coalition with?

The probable answer is the ‘traffic light coalition’, so called because the traditional colours of the three parties involved – the SPD, the Free Democrats and the Greens – are red, yellow and green.

Such a government would be centreleft, but not very far to the left because the pro-business Free Democrats would be a brake on that.

Scholz intends to raise the minimum wage to 12 euros an hour ($14), but promises no major redistribution of wealth.

The traffic-light coalition would be committed to fighting climate change, but its internal dynamics would prevent it from doing anything drastic like shutting down coal-fired power stations or imposing speed limits on motorways.

The Merkel status quo would largely survive the transfer of power.

And if the electoral arithmetic turns out to work in the other direction and the CDU emerges as the biggest single party, nothing much changes either. The most plausible deal then would be the ‘Jamaica coalition’, after the colours of the Jamaican flag, but it just substitutes the CDU’s black for the SDP’s red.

The other two parties would remain the same.

In other words, much commotion but not much change – which is, in fact, what almost everybody who isn’t German would prefer. Germany has been a rock of stability in a world where many previously predictable countries have been breaking loose from their moorings: Modi in India, Brexit in Britain, Bolsonaro in Brazil, Xi in China, Trump in the United States.

Maybe Joe Biden can restore the United States to its traditional role as the guarantor of the status quo, but that remains to be seen – nor does everybody even want the status quo back.

The tectonic plates will continue to shift, and nobody knows where we will all end up.

But it is reassuring that Europe, the principal source of wars for the past four centuries, remains a stable and relatively contented island of peace and prosperity.

It owes that, in large measure, to the sane and undramatic politics of Germany.