&

trying to heal things that were never mine or never intended for me to heal.

is some fucked up shit.


kpm©

1.

” … rua kenana,
tuhoe prophet from the uruwera …

he told his people not to go to war
let the white man fight the white man’s war … “

david grace, 1992

#brownfacts 👊🏾


kpm©


 

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hine-nui-te-po …

turns out

she was whitewashed too.

man-splained away.

somehow, her skirt was too short.

her hair was too bleached.

she was too drunk, too dumb, too …

that the assault was a necessary, if not a slightly unfortunate event.

& moving on.

they shredded her dignity, again

& told another tale.

like any tale of history,

it’s told from the point of view of the cunt who has the most to loose.

she took her ‘shame’ deep deep into the place that would enshroud

protect

and hold her.

there she became what she is known as today.

there, the untold story unfolded.

there, in the darkness

she wept, grieved.

raged, screamed.

moved, ran.

slept, hid.

then smiled, laughed.

then did it all over again & again.

until she embodied her story.

wrote and spoke her narrative.

wept and screamed her truths.

moved and broke her ground.

she, in all her fierce strength,

grace and embodied beauty,

is the hine-nui-te-po,

as explained to me,

by her.


kpm©


 

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alright, so the convent ay …

Anyone would think I didn’t enjoy the convent with a title like that … Or that I don’t like churches ??

But seriously … I did enjoy the ‘convent’ and I don’t like churches :)

I guess I’ve been mulching the whole thing round in my already fucked pts(d) brain and trying to put in into perspective  – my perspective that is.

I dig the convent. The Nuns. The whole experience. I like the whole shutting yourself off from the rest of the world scenario, so you can get back to the ‘god’ experience. I dig it. Completely. I remember the same feeling at the monastery I used to go too. Peaceful dudes just doing their thang.

What I don’t dig … is the whole colonial, missionary, great-white-hope gig.

Don’t dig it at all.

And even though this whole up-the-river journey was extremely gangstah … I just couldn’t get rid of that looming feeling of impending colonisation that has stained this part of the country … that has stained the entire country really.

There were tourists for miles.

Lots and lots of white tourists. Taking photos. Talking about the shit roads. Asking questions about the history of the Nuns and Jerusalem itself. To the ‘keepers’ of the convents credit, these dudes knew a shitload of actual history regarding the influx of ‘settlers’ and tourists and entrepreneurs and thieves and drunkards and disease spreading peeps … to these parts.

This convent was started when apparently lots of ‘babies’ were left on the doorstep of this Nun. According to one dude, they were ‘white’ babies … my guess is they were actually beige babies … brown babies whose white families would be shamed if the mother brought them home.

So the convent took them all in and raised them, schooled them, fed them, clothed them … ‘saved them’.

My beef … .well one of the many beefs … is prior to colonisation the family unit (hapu) of tangata whenua was made up of everybody. Everyone had a place. Babies were precious … they were / are the future … they are our blood, our ties, our transition, our legacy, our hope, our Future. They were never unwanted. Not ever.

How did we get to the place where less than 50 years after colonisation there is a house, and a ‘need’ for a house, to house children who were unwanted????

Thats completely fucked up.

And shit has not changed in the slightest since then.

There is still an overarching mentality that believes We cannot look after our children: that the great white hope knows better than We do: and We need their assistance.

Excuse Me for stating the obvious though.

“They caused the mess. They pretended We caused the mess. Then they came to Us with their solutions to Our (Their) mess which included Us being eternally grateful to them for cleaning up Our (Their) mess.”

It’s mind bendingly fucked!

Part of the ‘sickness’ solutions came in the form of Our medicines … which we apparently ‘lost’. Thats right … ‘Lost’. Fuck sakes.

They bottled them. Sold them. Did good by distributing them to the natives so they could heal themselves.

Pretty hard not to throw up at this point.

Not only was it ‘outlawed’ – Us preparing our own ‘medicines’; but we were forced to have babies indoors under the supervision of a ‘midwife’ … the placentas were ripped from Us and thrown in the garbage … we were forced into clothing and footwear that didn’t do us any favours … and when we got sicker and sicker … we got served up a medicine that was Ours, bottled by the great white hope.

To her Nunnery credit: apparently when the money makers decided to make a few more dollars off’ve the concoctions she had bottled, she threw the bottles and the ‘recipes’ back into the river, saying … they belong here.

Did she have a pang of conscience somewhere as she saw Us dropping like flies?

Theres other parts of her history and the things she did that are completely cool .. that she tried to ‘fix’ what her male compadres had wreaked on this country.

But I have trouble swallowing the ‘lets be grateful’ routine, when all I can see is the bullshit that the great white hope has left behind.

That grateful routine is still being utilised in our parliament. It’s still embedded in tangata whenua mindset.

That the Great-White-Hope is the only hope: the most intelligent: the most superior.

Not realising or admitting the sad fact: that they caused the mess in the first place and the solutions they sell back to Us, were Ours in the first place.

However … I loved the convents walls … the architecture … the ‘oldness’ of it all.

But it’s walls creaked with a history that seems like it wants to be forgotten … but I heard loud and clear.

<3


kpm ©


 

Link

Donald Trump’s racism is a White American value.

#racism #reality #history and #truth from “The Negro Subversive”.

The Negro Subversive

I’ve long since lost track of when I first heard it. In all likelihood, it was during the primaries, maybe it was after Trump said that Mexico was dumping rapists and murderers across its northern border. Maybe it was after he attacked the parents of a dead Muslim soldier, implying that his grieving father had beaten his grieving mother into silent submission. Maybe it came earlier: Maybe after it became common knowledge that Trump took out full paged ads calling for a return of the death penalty, just so the state of New York could kill five Black teenagers falsely convicted of raping a White jogger. I could have first heard it in a thousand places, but, I can never ignore it when I hear it. It grates. It twists itself into my abdomen, it triggers a mild but unmistakable bullshit induced stress response. Trump says something hateful: pundits respond:…

View original post 1,703 more words

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te ngutu o te manu

translation : ‘the Beak of the Bird’

.

every year we remember the queen and her god dam birthday.

it has no relevance to us and if anything, is a fucking insult.

her imported colonial disease ridden troops,

borrowed from all corners of the globe.

stolen from other countries and cultures they had killed off.

absorbing their people into their front line troops.

expendable i think they call them.

.

of this batch, came mongrels.

commemorated mongrels.

that have streets and parks named after them.

plaques and crosses erected in their honour.

scattered all over our land

stand their erections of dysfunction.

it reads the dead memory:

this cross is erected in memory

of the officers & men who fell or died

from wounds received near this spot

in engagements with the maori tribes on the night

of August 20th and the morning of

August 21st 1868 and on September 7th 1868.

and 1oo years on

they remembered tangata whenua

as an after thought they named one,

and mention those

who were not caught up in an engagement.

but were defending their lands.

their homes.

their families.

their right.

to live.

their turangawaewae.

it reads:

Te Ngutu O Te Manu

This domain marks the locality of the fortified village Te Ngutu o te Manu

which in 1868 was the headquarters of the Maori tohunga and warrior chief,

Titokowaru.

On 21 August 1868 it was attacked and partially destroyed

by colonial forces commanded by Lieutenant~Colonel McDonnell.

A second assault made on 7 September by a combined European and Maori force,

resulted in a decisive victory for the defenders.

Among those killed on this occasion was Inspector Von Tempsky

of the Armed Constabulary who led one of the three

detachments of the attacking forces.

and still its commemoration

is polluted with blaming language.

the type that makes the engage-ees

complicit in their own demise.

and places the perpetrator in a more

respectable, victorious and historic light.

but no mention, other than the word ‘village’

denotes the sanctity of this place.

the place; when your feet touch the ground

you can hear the children,

and the soothing song of their mamas.

where; as you brush your finger tips over the branches,

you can smell the blood.

the tears.

where you can feel the war cry.

where you can feel the strategy,

the survival.

in the sunshine and the rain

you can feel their voices

whispering their strength

whispering their lives.

you can feel their voices

raging against the invasion

standing under the power of their ancient maunga

and their beautiful tipuna.

#lestweforget


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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