Voice of hope

As I awaited the Devonport ferry for the brief ride to downtown Auckland, there came a happy confusion; a barrage of te reo Māori signs triggered momentary doubt. Had the right vessel been boarded?

- BERNARD LAGAN

Heightened awareness came in the central city; rubbish and recycling receptacles labelled in te reo. So, too, petrol pumps.

My large extended Pākehā New Zealand family now habitually sprinkle conversation and communications with te reo. To them, the infusion is natural. But to this once-frequent visitor, long locked out by the Covid pandemic, the growing presence of te reo in public and private language seems accelerated.

Not everyone embraces the enlarging emblems of New Zealand's first inhabitants, nor shares this visitor's ease with their ascendancy. Yet, the dividends to the nation of the Mäori renaissance serve as a dispiriting reminder of how far behind my adopted homeland across the Tasman lags in reaching an enduring reconciliation with its own First Peoples, the Aboriginal nations.

The shock 35 years ago upon first entering a wrecked, joyless Aboriginal community lingers. Hope had vanished, spirits splintered. A few months ago, 2000km across the country in the dust of Alice Springs' outer badlands where Aboriginal people were banished, I saw a similar scene.