Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

The mackerel sky —

From east to west stretched a broad band of cloud broken into long, thin, parallel masses, as if shoals of fish were teeming just below its surface. Everywhere silvered mackerel were leaping. They had been disturbed by a young boy on a wild palomino, urging his horse to the place where the hills cut sharply into the blue.

My eyes blurred with tears.

‘Yes, Uncle Sam, go . Go, dammit, go . Don’t look back, you’re free now —’

With a hoarse cry the boy kicked the stallion to jump into the sky. The mackerel shoal opened up and scattered, flash, flash, flash around him. The sky filled with a sparkling radiance like silver rain.

‘It’s done, Auntie Pat. It’s done.’

‘You’re back just in time,’ Roimata said.

The First Peoples’ Hall was crowded for the final session. It was time to light the second match.

‘I understand that we have a late remit,’ Bertram Pine Hawk said. ‘Mr Mahana, I see it’s you again.’

The conference murmured with laughter, but I was in no laughing mood. Even Roimata was anxious as I hugged her and made my way to the podium. All I could think of was Uncle Sam. I had reached the point of emotional exhaustion. When I put the motion which Lang, Sterling and Wandisa had prepared, I did it with too much anger.

‘In the beginning, our Maori legends tell us, Earth and Sky were lovers who embraced each other so tightly that there was no space between them. When they had children, who were gods, those children were squeezed within whatever cracks they could find. It was one of those gods, Tane, who conspired with some of his brother gods to separate Earth and Sky. When the Great Separation was achieved, that was the beginning of our legacy. The light came flooding in. We, the children, were able to walk upright upon the bright strand between.

‘Many people have seen, in this myth, a metaphor applicable to all kinds of situations. That independence does not come without sacrifice. That fighting for space and for light, the universal image for knowledge or enlightenment or freedom, is the continual challenge for all peoples who cannot see the sky. I would like to deploy this myth in another manner.

‘I am a gay man. Of all the children of the gods, my kind — gay, lesbian, transvestite and transsexual — inhabited the lowest and darkest cracks between the Primal Parents. We, now, also wish to walk upright upon this bright strand.

‘To do this, we must make a stand. For those of us who are First Peoples, this is not something to be done lightly nor without knowledge of risk. In my own country, my own Maori people are among the most homophobic in the world. They are a strong, wonderful people but their codes are so patriarchal as to disallow any inclusion of gay Maori men and women within the tribe. As long as we do not speak of our sin openly, we are accepted. But if we speak of it, if we stand up for it, we are cast out. My own uncle was cast out. I have been cast out. Many of us, in all our cultures, have been cast out. There is nowhere else for us to go except into the borderlands and there create our own tribe. But there is another way. Only you, however, can sanction it. This is why I am standing today.

‘The issue here is that for too long all of you who come from traditional cultures have profited by the efforts of those gay men and women who, for love of their nations, developed the songs, the poems, the dances, the arts of all of us. You need only to look in your hearts to know that what I say is true. You need only to look into each other’s eyes to know that all our genealogies are intertwined with people of two spirits. But they are people who, to do their work, had to pretend they did not exist. They had to deny themselves the right to walk proud among us. You knew they were two spirited. You knew that they were giving you gifts of their talents. You knew —’

I couldn’t carry on. I thought of Uncle Sam, and I wanted to tell him that what I was doing was for him as much as for anybody else.

It’s still a war zone, Uncle Sam.

I closed my eyes and began to weep. I didn’t give a damn that I was making a fool of myself. I was aware that Roimata had come to join me at the podium. Then Lang joined her with Sterling and Wandisa.

Oh, such a small tribe in that hall so filled with history.

Lang claimed the microphone.

‘Michael has been brave to bring this matter before us,’ he said. ‘But in this country it is our fight, not his. I ask this conference, in the name of all two-spirited people, to recognise the achievements of our two-spirit ancestors to all our traditions.’

There was a silence. Bertram Pine Hawk, without looking at us, got up and said:

‘A motion has been put to this plenary. I need two delegates to second the motion before I can put it to the vote. I ask for the first —’

There was a murmur and then a receding of noise into silence. I felt ashamed that I had pushed too strongly. Had I been more accommodating, I would not have alienated the audience from the remit.

‘You’ve all known I was a gay man,’ Franklin said. ‘I may as well come out now. I will support the motion.’

He was trembling, but then he lifted his head and seemed to grow in stature. Growing, growing like a tall tree of the forest.

‘I need a second person to support the remit,’ Bertram Pine Hawk persisted. ‘May I ask for a second?’

This time the silence was so deafening that I knew we had lost. My heart went out to my small gay tribe — Wandisa, head bowed to the floor. Sterling, unable to look anyone in the eye, and staring at his feet. Roimata and I, we were leaving Canada in the morning. But they lived here. For them there was no easy escape. For the rest of their lives they would be damned for standing up this day.

From the corner of my eye I saw Albert Pentecost whisper to Bertram Pine Hawk. The old man stood up, came forward, and I heard Lang groan in despair.

‘You all know me,’ Albert Pentecost began. ‘You all know my grandson. I apologise to you all, because it was wrong of him to stand up and to ask you to support and to vote on this thing which recognises people of two spirits. It was wrong.’

I thought the old man was disciplining us. I thought he was against us. Lang thought so too. He shaded his eyes and stepped into the arms of Sterling and Wandisa. But the old man’s voice changed. It was like the wind had turned and was blowing from another direction.

‘It was wrong of Lang because he was not the one who should have done this thing. It was I who should have done it. Me. I am his chief. It is my job to do these hard things and to make the hard decisions.’

The old man pointed at Lang.

‘Look at my grandson. He is just a boy. I am a man. This was a man’s job and a boy has done it. I am ashamed of myself but I am proud of him. He has shown more courage than many men in exposing himself in this battle. He and all who stand with him have exposed themselves to us. They have formed their war party and what are their weapons? Where are their bows and arrows? Where are their spears? Where are their other braves and warriors? They have brought only themselves to their battle. They are foolish, but I salute them for their courage. And I salute them for bringing to our attention something we have known for years.’

Albert Pentecost turned to Bertram Pine Hawk.

‘I join my co-committee member, Franklin Eaglen, in seconding the motion.’

Bertram Pine Hawk would not look at me. At us. He was one of us, but he would not look at us.

‘I will ask for the vote. All in favour, please raise your hands and say Aye.’

For a moment there was silence. Then from every part of the hall came scattered ‘Ayes.’ Surely the ‘Noes’ would outnumber us.