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gangs supplying 'drugs and
intimidation' interrupt boyhood games; the 'rats that were
everywhere'
thrive in the squalor of 'rotting and abandoned
[...] state-railway houses'; and the atmosphere is
thick with
running jokes about 'white flight'. However, the narrator also
finds inspiration in loner
Piri Paea's relentless efforts to carve
his initials--his identity--into the neighborhood's '162
wooden
power poles' before the city council replaces them with
concrete poles. Nevertheless, in the
narrative's violent and bloody
climax, Piri murders Jack, a council worker who is trying to prevent
him
from etching his initials into the last of the poles. His ensuing
'lockup' and institutionalisation,
along with the
council's removal of the wooden poles, invite an examination of the
link between
specific environments and indigenous identity.
It is impossible to comprehend Piri's demise without seeing
the wooden poles (or pou) as a
metaphorical representation of culture.
Ngapo begins his narrative with a gloss that is indicative of
the
seminal roles of both pou and Maori epistemology in the shaping of
identity. Ngapo firstly
defines the word in terms that speak to cultural
identity: '(noun) pole, pillar, post, support,
sustenance, expert,
teacher'. From a structural perspective, the power poles certainly
support the
narrative in much the same manner as the poupou support the
roof of the wharenui. In this context
with respect to the wharenui and
the practice of korero---Ngapo's narrator might be said to tell
his
story under the watchful eyes of the pou tupuna (ancestral figures).
Furthermore, the visual prominence of the 'wooden powerpoles' that 'lined the roadsides'--like the
pou taiepasurrounding a marae or a pa--suggests a sense of community andbelonging, as well as
protection from outside forces. To see thestory's many power poles in this light is to see the
boys'neighbourhood as Ngapo's literal construction of a marae. From anecocritical perspective,
however, this analogy is incomplete withoutMerata Kawharu's explanation of the relationship
betweenidentities, marae, and environment:
the marae is the focus of a wider ancestral landscape
and
the central focus of kin group identity. It embodies the
relationships between people and their
environment and
between people and their forebears. The environment
may be considered as an
extension of all that the marae
symbolises, and vice versa; marae are an extension of a
wider
environment. (4)
Reading the analogy in this context connects to Ngapo's
additional annotation of pou: '(verb) (-a) to
stick in, erect,
plunge in'. In other words, imagining the wooden poles, or pou, as
the pillars that
link identity and environment on and within
Ngapo's urban marae makes their removal of
paramount significance
to lais characters' survival.
Despite the neighbourhood's ties to the land through the pou,
Ngapo has created an environment in
the middle of a literal
'nowhere' and without any specific meaning for the community;
it holds no
memory. The ancestral landscape of the 'old
neighbourhood [...] was wrecked by the floods in '81'.
The new
neighbourhood becomes a version of 'the Bronx' in New York
City; a haven for 'wannabe
tough guys' rather than a locale
for tangata whenua. It is also interesting to note that a story
that
takes place in a 'mostly Maori neighborhood' provides so few
visible signs of indigenous
identity. While the narrator remains
anonymous throughout the story, for instance, the test of the
gang
members are known as Snotty, Ginga, Black, Tubz, and Chong. Only Piri
Paea can be clearly
identified by his Maori name. Collective identifies
are equally ambiguous, with the gang sometimes
falling apart and then
regrouping, while undergoing a series of name changes--'The
Bronx
Brotherhood Badness', 'The Triple Bs', or 'The Bronx
Bad Boys'. Sometimes, 'ex-Mighty Crew'
members forswear
ties to the community altogether and move up north to become
'born-again'
Christians. In the midst of this confusion, the
community has lost its knowledge of the 'performative
application
of marae principles'. (5)
According to the narrator, 'Henchmen would roll in to the
Bronx to throw Molotov cocktails at
Mighty Crew pads, or hit the local
pubs in numbers looking to rumble, or worse'.
The 'rituals of encounter between tangata whenua (hosts) and
manuhiri (guests)' are as broken as
the 'cracked
footpaths' upon which they negotiate their way through this land.
(6) Piri is the only
character who seems able to avoid falling through
the cracks. His grandmother says that he is
different because of a
problem with the way his brain grew before he was born. She said he
was
like a butterfly--a pururehua--that couldn't quite break free from
his cocoon. His beautiful
wings lay hall in, half out--trapped, unable
to fly.
Although Piri cannot fly, he can climb and his attempts to carve
his initials--'PP' into the poles can
be interpreted as
analogous to the carving of the ancestral figures (pou tupuna) that line
the walls
of the whare tupuna. These particular pou, according to
Kawharu,
symbolise tribal heritage and celebrate noted ancestors
whose deeds or actions----often in relation
to protecting
a group's interest in land or in relation to alliances that
may have been formed
through marriage--affirm
descendants' ties to an environment and to a group. (7)
Piri's killing of the council worker is a literal
manifestation of the stories inherent in the many pou:
He had killed a power board worker and was found up a
blood-stained power pole, his carved
initials, PP,
outlined in a muddy red were lit up in the late August
moonlight.
The sheer number of Piri's ascents suggests his continuous
reaffirmation of this cultural awareness.
The message of the last pole
is Piri's articulation of his desire to protect the land. Written
in blood,
this message endures in the memories of the people who gather
at the scene.
Suffused within this powerful image, however, is the last vestige
of cultural identity. When the
community draws together to watch
'the first of the 162 wooden power poles [...]
unceremoniously
ripped out' of the earth 'by the powerful crane', its
removal leaves a 'deep hole', a
cultural abyss reflected in
the 'chants of the tohunga', which 'trailed off into
silence'. Watching
from his kitchen window, the narrator feels the
'deep hole [...tear] straight though' his 'heart'
and
he vomits his 'raw confusion' onto the floor. His lack of
individual identity--'hanging and broken like
that blood-stained
pou'--is 'laid bare' before him. He weeps.
For Piri, institutionalised after he kills Jack, there is no
escape. The 'beautiful butterfly' remains
'trapped'.
The tragedy momentarily brings Maori and Pakeha, 'elders,
contractors and councillors',
together, but Ngapo's vision for
the people of 'the Bronx' is a bleak one. The maternal centre
of the
community, Aunty Nan, dies of a broken heart, families leave the
neighbourhood, the liminal
identity and community provided by the gang
culture are shattered, and the council articulates an
empty rhetoric of
'rebuilding' and dialogues with 'stakeholders'. Yet,
Piri's legacy lives on in the
narrator. Overcoming the cycle of
abuse and alienation that marked his childhood and adolescence,
he
'break[s] free'. But this does not represent a rejection or
loss of origin and identity. His
'break[ing] free' is
psychological more than geographic, a movement away from the
imported,
illusory, potentially destructive identity of his gang membership to the
cultural identity
represented by Piri's carved initials. The
acknowledgement of his own hurt and emptiness, and the
catharsis of his
tears, lead him to a place of healing and reintegration. Years later he
returns to the
community of his childhood to 'help the youth'
and he regularly visits Piri, taking on the mantle of
cultural mentor
and guardian. He has become the pou, the 'expert, teacher' who
sustains and
supports others.
His part-teasing, part-serious urging that Piri decorate the
'wooden beams that line the hospital
corridors' with
'giant PPs' can perhaps be read as a call to transform places
of alienation into the
protective shelter of the marae.
Notes
(1) Andre Ngapo Contributor Profile, Learning Media
Website:
http://www.learningmedia.co.nz/node/1026.
(2) Andre Ngapo, 'Te Pou', Sunday Star Times, 8 November
2008,
http://www.stuff.co.nz/sunday-star-times/features/featurearchive/710033/ Te-Pou. All subsequent
quotes from the story come from this
on-line, unpaginated source.
(3) For a more fully realised discussion of issues of the local and
the global in relation to identity
see: Jason Waterman, with Jan
Pilditch and Fiona Matin, '"Then They Grow Away from
Earth": An
Eco-Critical Reading of Leslie Marmon Silko's
Almanac of the Dead and James George's Ocean
Roads',
Australasian Journal of American Studies, 30.1 (2011), 39-56.
(4) Merata Kawharu, 'Environment as a Marae Locale', in
Maori and the Environment: Kailiaki, ed.
by Rachel Selby, Pataka Moore,
and Malcolm Mulholland (Wellington: Huia Publishers, 2010), pp.
227-28.
(5) Kawharu, p. 227.
(6) Kawharu, p. 227.
(7) Kawharu, p. 228.