strands
we first built them with
rock and stone from
the moana
they were to keep the
sand from washing into the water
and the earth on the ground
our borders were natural
but then paasipooti entered the tongan vernacular
and we were kept in and out
european pencil lines drawn around
our own plantations
breadfruit trees left to grow over boundaries
prison walls shut before countries do
& pandemics discriminate
& we didn’t come up with the idea of borders
they scar Indigenous skin
❃
new zealand’s perimeter was shut when
the country was overrun with sheep
because there were enough pale hands for shearing
then the trees weighed heavy
with stone fruit and berries
so they opened the gates
and told us to come in
& make ourselves at home
we shelled peas
sanded branches into chairs
and blackberry juice stained
our hands
we bagged rotting apricots to take to our
weather board state houses
our children dripped with juice
we dug makeshift ‘umu into the ground
to make our backyards smell like tonga
and samoa and niue
but winter came
the trees frosted
and stopped talking
leaves became snowflakes and fruit sunk into the mud
our feet got stuck too
so we were told to leave
sweet fruit breaks backs
❃
in te papa’s pacific cultures collection
a 1976 immigration poster tells people
to register and return home with dignity
we no longer had the right
to breathe on land we were lured over to maintain
leave without stigma it reads
the notice is first in english
then samoan
then tongan
forty-four years later i read it in english
and the words block my breath
then i stumble through the tongan
i wonder who translated it
i wonder if they were allowed to stay
everyone else had until the 30th of June 1976 to leave
after which police began to beat through state houses
and any place that looked like it would house brown
they placed borders around our suburbs and dreams
before we could even think about
stepping outside them
❃
the media say south auckland with twisted mouths
like it it’ll dirty your hands
if you hold it for too long
but south auckland is where
i first heard tongan not from my father’s mouth
& its where you can buy an overflowing bag of keke for $3
i wander its streets
and carefully place the familiar smells
of me’akai into my backpack
no one here minds that i mispronounce
my own words
they smile and nod and say malo
❃
march 2020
and tonga has shut their borders
to both foreigners and nationals
we are all landlocked by the sea
❃
new zealand’s borders are now shut too
the virus sits on the outer line of the map
we are told to stay inside
so i call my uncle
but i don’t know how to translate pandemic into tongan
i have always sat on the border of my ancestors’ tongue
houses
unlock
for blue uniforms again
there are brown bodies
hiding
behind the floor length curtains
and in the basement
police are allowed in
but we aren’t allowed out
borders are erected between communities and painted blue
because they are building
safer communities together?
❃
yesterday i saw a tweet that said
DAWN RAIDS 2020
i laughed & sent a screenshot to my fāmili whatsapp
last time my Pop was
stopped
in the street
asked for his papers
while others walked past
even though he was here legally
my ancestors weaved their violent colonial experiences
into a soft skin for me to wear
so i’m safe
dawn means that light fills my room
dawn does not mean that
blue vests are surrounding my house
yesterday i sat in the library and laughed at the tweet
& history repeating itself because
its quieter to laugh than wail
❃
august 2020
new cases of community transmission
a cluster has formed in south auckland
when you’re a minority
its never good to read the comments
but i can’t help seeing them anyway
on every livestream
under every news article
in popular pākehā columns
i’m not going to write them down
we’ve heard them all before
they don’t deserve any space on the page
but south auckland knows about pandemics
the way it knows about borders
this isn’t the first one Pasifika communities have faced
i watch my people drive to testing stations
and hear their accounts of waiting in line for hours
to have swabs pushed up their noses
new zealand builds colonial borders around brown people
but Pasifika peoples have the highest covid testing rates
closely followed by Māori
i cry when i see these statistics
dealing with a pandemic is an Indigenous way of knowing
we know how to keep communities safe
❃
the fonua in tonga waits patiently
for us to come home
i dream of how i’ll sneak through borders on both sides
but how am i meant to imagine anything different
to the current bone prison in which i reside?
my imagination is colonised
and my hands are not much better
❃
the lines on the ground between
us | them
get thicker
with every legislation
with every mispronounced Indigenous name
the lines get darker
every time i can’t remember a tongan word
every time Pasifika and Māori peoples are blamed
every time south auckland is circled in blood red on the front page of the newspaper
we rub saltwater on the blood borders
but they don’t dissolve
sink deeper into our skin
❃
if covid-19 becomes memory
people will fly to the islands again
and leave more than footprints in the sand
their boarding passes will be encrusted in gold
with seats six feet apart
and the food will be served on silver platters
we will be priced out of coming home to our fonua
instead having to dream of
the bright blues and seas of coconut trees
build a bridge between here and there
but who will be allowed to walk it?
will people forget that we are explorers?
❃
this new world is the old world
but the sick are sicker
poor, poorer
fruit hangs heavy on the trees
faces are masked by apathy
and dawn lingers longer than it needs to
the borders are cemented shut
unless a film crew wants to shoot a blockbuster in wellington
so i fill myself up with silence
there are shadow lines
that the light does not touch
my older selves shudder
but they lift my hands to the hand sanitiser each time i enter a building
because this is an Indigenous way of knowing
our ancestors know
Written by Rhegan Tu'akoi | Mentored by Hana Pera Aoake