David Seymour and Me

The Saga, part 1

In the wake of another attack on me, delivered on Wednesday - the day Creative New Zealand announced that I have been awarded the 2023 Prime Minister’s Award for Poetry - I thought, I’d go back to the beginning.

(Putting in the link to ACT’s press release, just now, I’ve had to squint my eyes so as not to read it. I haven’t read it or any of the articles that have been published over the last couple of days. (I read the first lot back in March and my most trusteds tell me this is even more personal and vicious) . One day I’ll make something more creative from it, but for now I need to protect my mental/ emotional health and not have that gas-lighting filth on loop-track in my head.

So, back to the beginning of ACT’s now 9 month many pronged attack on me. This period of time is long enough to grow a baby, but the nasty succubus that has emerged, is a many-headed poison-spitting monster that needs a saga to contain it.

Here we go.

I am a poet and I do what poets do, I write about what is important to me. In 2019 Aotearoa celebrated the 250^th anniversary of James Cook’s arrival in Aotearoa and I was gobsmacked. (Little did I realise the country was spending $20 million on this celebration, into the bargain.)

What were we celebrating? The beginning of colonisation? But, why? Colonisation brought genocide, rape and land theft to the indigenous people of this land. Colonisation almost succeeded in destroying an entire language. Colonisation ransacked and pillaged Maori, so, 250 years later they make up 17% of the population and 52% of the prison population.

Read those percentages again. Let the maths of it sink in.

250 years later, Maori are drastically over represented in every negative statistic you can think of: life expectancy, physical and mental health, poverty, unemployment etc etc etc.

To celebrate this is offensive in the extreme.

So, I did what a poet does. I wrote a poem in response to such a celebration. I wrote a poem about Cook’s arrival and what followed it. I didn’t hide that I was angry – what kind of soulless creature wouldn’t feel angry about such terrible injustice? Why wouldn’t I be angry about the massacres that followed Cook’s ‘discovery’ of ‘New Zealand’? The massacres many of us know of (like Parihaka) and all the ones that have been systematically buried.

All the massacres, rapes, removal of children, unjust imprisonments, land thefts that we have not been taught about in our school system that has always told us a different story, so, now we believe they never happened. Why wouldn’t I be angry at the scale of this injustice? Why isn’t everyone?

When he arrived, Cook didn’t just land here and harmlessly potter about looking through his telescope, ‘encountering’ Maori and brushing his wig.

Tina Ngata points out, “When someone lands and shoots the first person they see and then the next day shoots another 15 and then wants to get a closer look at a waka, so they shoot everybody in the waka…and everybody in the waka was unarmed - they were just fisherpeople. To call that an ‘encounter’ is egregious in the extreme.”

This was the beginning of Aotearoa’s Gaza. How could I sit back and be silent while people celebrated? What kind of heartless monster devoid of conscience would I have to be?

So, I wrote a poem called ‘The 250^th Anniversary of James Cook’s Arrival in New Zealand’ and I didn’t mince my words. Strong injustice demands strong words. Why should I play nice? What was I afraid of? Who was I going to offend? And, what kind of people would be offended by such a poem?

(Four years after writing this poem it became part of The Savage Coloniser Show, a stage adaptation of the book, which was published in 2020 and won best book of poetry at the Ockham New Zealand Book Awards. The show was partly funded by Creative New Zealand and featured in 2023 Auckland Arts Festival.)

Four years after I wrote the poem it also appeared in Stuff and then I found out what kind of people were offended by such a poem. They were David Seymour, Sean Plunkett and creepy far right white supremacist, Lee Williams. (I mean they’re all far right creepy white supremecists, but I’m guessing you’ve heard of the other two.).

David Seymour had the biggest platform and got the most attention. And he went for the jugular.

Seymour said the Government should come out and denounce my show and "declare it will give nothing to racism, and withdraw the funding". 

Hang on a minute, how does a show about racism become accused of being racist?

Seymour continues: "The [Labour] Government says it wants to stop hate and then it appoints board members who fund this stuff. How is it any different from the kind of hatred that led to the Christchurch shootings?"

Answer: when it is used by a deeply cynical, stop-at-nothing person who would compare a protest poem to the Christchurch shootings. The same kind of person who would invoke the ongoing trauma of a whole community to get more air time.

Vile.

On a lower rung of the right wing ladder, Sean Plunket was busy ranting, red-faced from his pulpit and encouraging people to complain to the Race Relations Commission (more than 300 people made official complaints) and the NZ Media Council (a group of people made a complaint).

Remember, this is a poem they’re complaining about. A poem!

I wish things had stopped there: just a bunch of complaints and nasty things said about me by a politician looking for more sensational air time in the run up to the election. But things got crazy. And dangerous. There was hate mail and there was a death threat.

For the next instalment of the Cray-cray and the Dangerous, tune in soon for part 2 of the David Seymour and Me Saga. In the meantime, here is the poem in question.

(First, a few poem  backstory notes for you:

Cook was killed at Kealakekua Bay in Hawai’i after he tried to kidnap the high chief, Kalaniopu’u. Makahiki is the Hawai’ian new year celebration. The list of names are those of the Hawai’ians who were involved in or present at Cook ‘s death. The justice precinct refers to the one in Otautahi/ Christchurch CBD.)

250th anniversary of James Cook’s arrival in New Zealand

Hey James,

yeah, you

in the white wig

in that big Endeavour

sailing the blue, blue water

like a big arsehole

FUCK YOU, BITCH.

James,

I heard someone

shoved a knife

right up

into the gap between

your white ribs

at Kealakekua Bay.

I’m gonna go there

make a big Makahiki luau

cook a white pig

feed it to the dogs

and FUCK YOU UP, BITCH.

Hey James,

it’s us.

These days

we’re driving round

in SUVs

looking for ya

or white men like you

who might be thieves

or rapists

or kidnappers

or murderers

yeah,

or any of your descendants

or any of your incarnations

cos, you know

ay, bitch?

We’re gonna FUCK YOU UP.

Tonight, James,

it’s me

Lani, Danielle

and a car full of brown girls

we find you

on the corner

of the Justice Precinct

you’ve got another woman

in a headlock

and I’ve got my father’s

pig-hunting knife

in my fist

and we’re coming to get you

sailing round

in your Resolution

your Friendship

your Discovery

and your fucking Freelove.

Watch your ribs, James

cos, I’m coming with

Kalaniopu’u

Kanekapolei

Kanaina

Keawe’opala

Kuka’ilimoku

who is a god

and Nua’a

who is king with a knife.

And then

James,

then

we’re gonna

FUCK.

YOU.

UP.

FOR.

GOOD.

BITCH.

For a fantastic explanation of the poem read Claire Mabey’s guide. For a ridiculous interview watch Brooke Van Velden on AM (starts at 3 minutes).