David Seymour and Me 2

The saga continues

Talofa friends

,

Thank you to those of you who have sent messages of support. Your tautoko, in whatever form it takes, means so much to me. It gives me a bulwark against the attacks ACT keep visiting on me.

I came into my room last night to find my 16 year old daughter curled up on my bed crying because she had read horrible things about me online. My poor baby! I read her some of the messages of support to remind her (and myself), there are plenty of sane, compassionate people out there who have our backs.

Here is a poem ( from my book Big Fat Brown Bitch), after the ‘250th Anniversary of James Cook Arrival in New Zealand’ poem. It starts with the same form of address, but now to our Deputy Prime Minister of the Second Half of the Regime of the People’s Democratic Republic of New Zealand.

Hey David,

Aww, babe, are you OK?

I heard you read a poem today.

Oh no!

It’s awful, ay?

That feeling you get when someone says something that upsets you.

Bae, I’ve been thinking about these lines of whakapapa behind us

long lines of ancestors, tripping over one another –

nanas and poppas, uncles and aunties shaking their heads

and throwing their tokotoko down in disappointment.

Hang on, bae, just listen for a minute.

Can you hear that still, small voice?

What are you doing, boy? Stop being stupid. Go inside and peel some spuds for Nanny

and don’t you come out till you learn where your manawa is.

Hang on a minute, bae,

didn’t you just say you were worried about the power of the state?

Y’know, like the majority silencing unpopular views?

Y’know what I mean, ay, bae?

Those hate speech laws that you said you’re against?

Cos they suppress free speech, ay?

Like, umm, who are those guys you mentioned?

Mao Zedong and Adolf Hitler, ay?

Bae, if you’re against that hate speech law, then won’t ‘hate speech’

– I’m putting quotation marks around those two words, bub,

so you know what tone I’m using here, OK? –

Won’t ‘hate speech’ become too subjective and open to being abused?

That’s pretty much, what you said, ay?

Gosh, you’re clever!

But, cuz, as two people of Polynesian heritage, I really feel for you

cos, heck yeah, I can tell you from personal experience,

it really hurts when people hate you cos of the colour of your skin.

Cuzzy, it makes me really angry too.

I get so upset, that I have to go somewhere, sit down and write poems.

But the thing is, bub, they’re only poems, ay?

And everyone – even my wee girl – knows what poems are like:

they’re like storytelling, but with layer on top of layer on top of layer

of meaning

like umm

like a massive-massive layer cake

or a lasagne

or the layers of atmosphere protecting our planet.

They’re like soul language.

Poems are awesome, bae, you don’t need to freak out

and get hurt and angry and manipulative

and greedy for attention.

Calm down, bub.

Here, hold my hand, bae, it’s OK

cos poems:

sometimes they like to make us feel

sometimes they like to flip the script

and make us wonder:

What would it be like if things were different?

And some poems, they can make us ask:

Why?

Keep reading. I’m nearly finished.

Yeah, I know, bub, it’s a long time to listen

and not get to say anything, ay?

Poems do that too.