I am glad I am not a Maori. It must be awful being a Maori. So embarrassing.
Fancy knowing that you are so dumb you need extra resources for your education, that you are not capable of becoming a nurse without special help such as being allowed to sit your tests again and again till you pass, that you need a special quota system to give you a chance of becoming a doctor or a teacher or a policeman, that you are very good at “cultural” things such as singing and dancing and flax-weaving, but absolutely hopeless at practical things and useless at business!
Fancy knowing that you have criminal tendencies that can only be cured by massive doses of self-esteem and taxpayer funding, that you are not capable of learning English like most of the world. And all this just because your great-granny had it away in the bushes with the cute young Maori bloke from over the road about a century ago!
Powerful stuff, that Maori blood. Three or 4 per cent of it running through your veins is enough to change you from being a normal person into some sort of deprived halfwit. Three or 4 per cent of it and you are instantaneously transformed into a deeply cultural and spiritual person who is easily offended by people taking the mickey out of you.
Maori blood is the most powerful blood in the world, probably the most powerful substance known to man. Just a smidgen of it entitles you to special consideration and deference and a healthy extra dollop of taxpayer money.
Just a whisker entitles you to an extra share of land, fish and political influence. You might even own the entire Pacific Ocean—after all, your ancestors did canoe over it—if you can find a court to listen to your claim.
This stuff is embarrassing.
It is embarrassing when nurses have to be taught “cultural safety”—when what they really get taught is about the terrible effects of colonisation on Maori health.
But hang on—I know measles and such-like knocked plenty off. But as I recall it, the pre-European Maori had a life expectancy of 20-25 years. Colonisation obviously did not do them too much harm!
It is embarrassing that Maoris are sometimes claimed as outstanding conservationists. They were a stone-age hunting and gathering society—when they used up the resources they moved elsewhere. Ask the moas, they will tell you.
It is embarrassing when well-heeled white liberals go on about aroha—sure the Maoris had aroha—and they also ate their slaves and their enemies.
It is embarrassing when wetheads go on about the “unique beauty of the language”. It was a stone-age, limited syllabary, much like thousands of others.
It is embarrassing that outmoded customs according special importance to the first-born, and special rights to males, should be elevated in importance and enshrined as sacred cows when everyone else in the world is expected to obey laws against discrimination.
Every other group, race, society, culture in the world is expected to join the human race in the late 20th century—except Maoris.
How much more embarrassment can a people stand?
When I am playing golf with a Maori, should I let him play off the women’s tee because he is a member of a downtrodden race and cannot be expected to compete with me on level terms?
When I play cricket, should I bowl especially slowly to any poor soul unfortunate enough to have had his life ruined by a touch of Maori blood?
Should we promote more Maori rugby players into the All Black team?
It completely beats me, all this stuff. All the Maoris I know are just as capable as I am (and a damned sight better at golf and cricket). They do not need special treatment.
They do not want me to fall down and worship at their feet. As far as I can tell they expect me to treat them in exactly the same way that I treat everyone else—with complete disrespect and side-splitting hilarity!
So I do.
Craig Bauld is [was] principal of Waikohu College at Te Karaka, near Gisborne.
Powerful stuff, that Maori blood. Three or 4 per cent of it running through your veins is enough to change you from being a normal person into some sort of deprived halfwit. Three or 4 per cent of it and you are instantaneously transformed into a deeply cultural and spiritual person who is easily offended by people taking the mickey out of you.
Maori blood is the most powerful blood in the world, probably the most powerful substance known to man. Just a smidgen of it entitles you to special consideration and deference and a healthy extra dollop of taxpayer money.
Just a whisker entitles you to an extra share of land, fish and political influence. You might even own the entire Pacific Ocean—after all, your ancestors did canoe over it—if you can find a court to listen to your claim.
This stuff is embarrassing.
It is embarrassing when nurses have to be taught “cultural safety”—when what they really get taught is about the terrible effects of colonisation on Maori health.
But hang on—I know measles and such-like knocked plenty off. But as I recall it, the pre-European Maori had a life expectancy of 20-25 years. Colonisation obviously did not do them too much harm!
It is embarrassing that Maoris are sometimes claimed as outstanding conservationists. They were a stone-age hunting and gathering society—when they used up the resources they moved elsewhere. Ask the moas, they will tell you.
It is embarrassing when well-heeled white liberals go on about aroha—sure the Maoris had aroha—and they also ate their slaves and their enemies.
It is embarrassing when wetheads go on about the “unique beauty of the language”. It was a stone-age, limited syllabary, much like thousands of others.
It is embarrassing that outmoded customs according special importance to the first-born, and special rights to males, should be elevated in importance and enshrined as sacred cows when everyone else in the world is expected to obey laws against discrimination.
Every other group, race, society, culture in the world is expected to join the human race in the late 20th century—except Maoris.
How much more embarrassment can a people stand?
When I am playing golf with a Maori, should I let him play off the women’s tee because he is a member of a downtrodden race and cannot be expected to compete with me on level terms?
When I play cricket, should I bowl especially slowly to any poor soul unfortunate enough to have had his life ruined by a touch of Maori blood?
Should we promote more Maori rugby players into the All Black team?
It completely beats me, all this stuff. All the Maoris I know are just as capable as I am (and a damned sight better at golf and cricket). They do not need special treatment.
They do not want me to fall down and worship at their feet. As far as I can tell they expect me to treat them in exactly the same way that I treat everyone else—with complete disrespect and side-splitting hilarity!
So I do.
Craig Bauld is [was] principal of Waikohu College at Te Karaka, near Gisborne.
Source: Facebook
2 comments:
He would be censored and fired now
Imagine publishing this today! Oh wait, you did!
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