Obituaries — Hon Parekura Horomia

Rt Hon JOHN KEY (Prime Minister) : I move, That the House place on record its high sense of the devoted and distinguished service rendered to his people and New Zealand by the late Hon Parekura Horomia, a member of this House representing Ikaroa-Rāwhiti from 1999 and holding the Māori Affairs portfolio from 2000 to 2008, who died on 29 April 2013; and respectfully tender to his whānau its sincerest sympathy in their tragic bereavement; and that as a mark of respect to the memory of the late member, the House do now adjourn.

Tātou katoa e huihui nei, tēnā koutou katoa.

[To all of us gathered here, salutations to you all.]

Parekura Horomia was a man of immense mana who worked tirelessly for his people, and he was taken from us far too soon. It is extremely rare for New Zealand to lose a member of Parliament, and in my 11 years in this House Parekura is just the third member to pass away. Although today is a time for us to pay tribute to Parekura, it is also a time to reflect on the loss of Rod Donald and Allan Peachey, and to reflect on the other former members of this House who have passed away in recent years.

Over the past week we have all heard stories of Parekura’s achievements. There has been an endless supply of amusing stories about Parekura from iwi, community groups, non-governmental organisations, and sports clubs. He was elected to this House as the member for Ikaroa-Rāwhiti in 1999. I am told that he made it his mission to travel the length and breadth of this extensive electorate, and he did just that. This was no mean feat, as Ikaroa-Rāwhiti covers the size of seven general electorates, stretching from just north of Wellington all the way up the East Coast. Before entering this House, Parekura had a varied career, and much of his time was spent on the land. He spent time working as a fencer, scrub-cutter, and farmer. He also did a stint as a shearer, and I note, Mr Speaker, that you yourself said that perhaps you could have given him a run for his money in the shearing sheds. Parekura also spent time working in the local Gisborne Herald offices, before moving on to a career with the Department of Labour, both locally in Gisborne and here in Wellington.

We can all acknowledge Parekura as a man of his people. To Parliament he brought an unfailing connection with his community and the ability to bridge between leaders and ordinary Kiwis. As a nation we have come together over the past week to share in the grief of losing a colleague and a friend to many. Parekura had the rare ability of bridging the parliamentary divide. The spirit of bipartisanship within which Parekura operated is very powerful, very special, and very rare to find. He became the person able to bring all Māori MPs together from across the House. As a senior Māori member and former Minister of Māori Affairs, his experience and mana were often drawn upon, and in many respects Parekura was Parliament’s kaumātua figure. On any marae in the country, and especially amongst his own people, he was in his element. I myself remember a number of occasions when he came up when I was on the marae to ensure that I was comfortable and aware of the protocols and procedures.

The respect he commanded was born from his tireless work for his people—the people from Ikaroa-Rāwhiti and all of Māoridom. I heard a touching story last week from my cultural adviser Lewis Moeau, who spent 4 years working for Parekura during his time as Minister of Māori Affairs. Lewis tells me it was not unusual for Parekura to arrive at a tangi as late as midnight, which is not traditionally the done thing, but in at least three cases that was the earliest he could get there. He knew how important it was to pay his respects in this way. The thousands of New Zealanders from all walks of life who made the journey to Hauiti Marae over the course of Parekura’s tangi last week are testament to the many lives that he touched. Parekura’s family and his iwi, Ngati Porou, have shared him with all of New Zealand for the past 14 years.

Last week the people of Gisborne and, particularly, Hauiti Marae opened their gates to allow us all to share in their grief and to pay our respects to Parekura Horomia. As Prime Minister I thank you for the warm welcome you gave me and those accompanying me. Your welcome did not distinguish between the mourners, and the hospitality you showed all of us was widely appreciated. I say thank you for pulling together to host us all at a time of great personal sorrow. I am told that over the course of the week Hauiti Marae and the small community of 800 hosted 12,500 visitors, which is an impressive feat, and I know this put immense pressure on your resources, so thank you. Let us all share in your grief, after years of sharing your father, grandfather, brother, uncle, cousin, and friend. Now Parekura has been returned to you, his family, for his final rest.

Despite our political differences, and because of our shared love of making up words, I have always had enormous respect for Parekura and his command of the English language. He never forgot where he came from and why he was here in Parliament. Parekura played an extremely important role in building the strong and positive relationship that currently exists between Māori and the Crown, and I hope his family are as proud of his achievements in this area as in every other. Parekura was staunchly loyal to his Prime Minister, to his party, and, most important, to his people. Through some of the most difficult times he took counsel from the people he was elected to serve. Through everything he championed a better deal for Māori. He did so across party lines, and he was not afraid to fight for what he believed in. I will remember his presence in this Chamber, his big smile, and his warm heart. E te rangatira Parekura, haere rā. To the chief Parekura, farewell.

DAVID SHEARER (Leader of the Opposition) : E te rangatira nui a Parekura, e moe i te okioki mutunga. Ka nui te mihi ki a koutou o Te Tai Rāwhiti. E te whānau o Parekura, haere mai. Tēnā koutou katoa.

[Parekura, the great leader, slumber there in the place of eternal rest. I have much admiration for you collectively of the East Coast. To the family of Parekura, welcome to you all.]

We come here today to mourn the loss of a friend, a colleague, and the matua of our party, te Rōpū Reipa. Parekura touched the lives of so many of us here today. They say that grief is the price we pay for love. At the tangi that we were all at we saw exactly just how much Parekura was loved, how much he was respected, how much people thought of him, and the grief, the love, and the laughter—because wherever Parekura went, there was always laughter that went with his presence as well. I want to say, before I go on, a big thankyou to the people who are here today from Hauiti Marae, who welcomed us on, who showed so much aroha and manaakitanga in hosting us when we were there.

We mourn the loss of Parekura, but we also celebrate his life. He started from humble beginnings as a labourer, as a shearer, and as a printer—a qualified printer. He went on to become a community development worker in the Department of Labour and Te Puni Kōkiri as well, before becoming a Minister. But he never forgot where he came from. He never forgot his people. I think that is the thing that all of us will remember more than anything else. He never became a big fish head in shiny pants, as he called it. He maintained those connections.

I remember more than once in our caucus meetings when we were talking about high-level sorts of issues on policy and getting rather hypothetical about things, it would be Parekura who would bring us down to earth, talking about the family he met when he was travelling up that day, and talking about that family whom he met, those people whom he met, and asking what they would get out of that particular policy that we were pushing out in front of us. Often when I would ring him he would be on the road, because he was on the road an enormous amount. You would get this road noise in the background, while trying to understand Parekura as he was travelling up and down the country. As somebody was saying to us today, on his last trip from Wellington back to his home marae he stopped off, despite being in pain and despite having to take morphine, at many of the Labour branches and communities as he went up the road, to say goodbye to people. That was the measure of the man.

But I do not want to say that he did not talk about policy and that he did not talk about those things, because under his time as Minister he introduced iwi radio, he introduced Māori Television, 67 percent more Māori went on to tertiary education, and Māori unemployment halved—during his time. He made a huge contribution to not only his people but the people of New Zealand. When I often spoke to him about his time as a Minister, he would often not talk so much about being a Minister but would refer back to his days when he was working for the Department of Labour and Te Puni Kōkiri. He would talk about how many people he was able to get into employment, how many people he was able to push through and get into schools, and how many of his people came out the other end. Those are the things that he was most proud of.

He was a wise counsel to me not only on the marae—as the Prime Minister said, when you were sitting beside Parekura he was always the person who made you feel reassured just by his presence sitting beside you—but by the way he came to you. I remember he would often come into my room in the last few months and say “Kia ora, chief.”, as he walked in through the door. He always called everybody chief. It was not just because I was the leader of the Labour Party—everybody was known as chief. He would say “Kia ora, chief.”, and he would plant himself down on the sofa in my room. My staff would say: “Look, we’ve got people waiting outside ready to come in.” I would have to say: “Look, Parekura has arrived. He’s going to be here for a couple of minutes, so they are just going to have to wait for a little while.”

Parekura would get whatever he wanted to say off his chest, tell me what he thought, and then he would say “Kapai, chief.”, and he would be out the door. I would be left sometimes knowing exactly what he was talking about, and sometimes with a kind of a feeling that I knew what he was talking about, but had not necessarily got it anchored down, but more often than not it would come to me during the course of the day, and I would go “Of course, that’s what he meant.” He had that sort of elliptical way of talking and discussing, but a way that actually, I think, ended up making more impact on you because you had to fight to understand what it all meant.

His last communication to me was over a text. I was overseas and he texted me about 4 days or 5 days before he passed away. It started off with “Kia ora, chief.”, and he went through a long list of the people whom he had met on his most recent travels. As he finished he said: “I’m having a bit of trouble typing here because of this new iPhone that I have got.” Sure enough the predictive text on the iPhone has made his elliptical way of speaking much more complicated. I have this on my phone now and I look at it from time to time and it is like a puzzle to me. I keep looking at it. I wrote back to him and said: “Thank you for your message. Kapai, chief. And by the way, you need to work on your typing.” He wrote back and said: “Kapai, chief. Happy travels. Safe travels.” I have that with me.

His way of speaking extended to the debating chamber as well. There is a well-known, famous story—a question, I think, by Winston Peters to Parekura when he was Minister: “Just exactly how many additional Māori are now in employment?”. Parekura jumped up and said: “Heaps.” It was not an exact figure, but everybody knew exactly what he meant.

As I said, he gave his life to his people and I am, and we are, so grateful to you—to those people who are sitting here today, his family, his iwi—who gave up so much of him so that we could have him with us and leading us to where we were going. We appreciate that and I want to say thank you.

In Parekura’s maiden speech, he talked about a school bus, and about him walking to school 5 kilometres there and back with his seven brothers and sisters, while the school bus that was often full of Pākehā kids was driving by him, going to school, and then driving back past him as they were walking home. He said in his maiden speech, as he became Minister: “now, as an Associate Minister of Education, responsible for school transport … I am helping to drive the bus”. And he said that as one of the drivers, you could be damn sure he was going to stop the bus and pick up as many Māori as possible. He did that all his life, and he picked up a whole lot of Pākehā along the way as well. E moe, e moe, e Pare. Haere atu rā, tōku hoa, tōku matua. E Te Ao Māori, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou.

[Pare, rest, sleep on. Goodbye, my friend, my fatherly figure. I salute you, Māoridom, and thank you.]

Rest in peace, Parekura. Kia ora, chief.

METIRIA TUREI (Co-Leader—Green) :Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Tēnā koutou e te Whare. I te tuatahi, moe mai rā Nanny Ani Denham o te marae Āraiteuru i Ōtepoti, moe mai rā, moe mai rā. Kua hinga he uri o Ūawanui a Ruamatua, te whatukura o Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, te māngai o Ikaroa-Rāwhiti. Kua haere tō tātou hoa kei tua o te ārai. Ki a koe e te rangatira, Parekura, moe mai rā. Moe mai rā i te whenua o Kohimārama, i te taha o tō whaea. Moe mai rā i tō moenga roa. Mā tō mana nui koe e kawe ki ngā ringaringa o ō mātua tūpuna. Ki ngā uri o Te Kani-a-Takirau, ki ngā kaitiaki o te ahikā o Hauiti, ngā mihi aroha ki a koutou mō tō koutou manaaki rangatira ki a tātou i tērā wiki.

[Thank you, Mr Speaker. Greetings to the House. First of all, to you Nanny Ani Denham of Āraiteuru courtyard in Dunedin, rest and slumber there. Ruamatua, a descendant of Ūawanui, a noble of Hauiti and the representative of Ikaroa-Rāwhiti has fallen. Our colleague has gone beyond the divide. To you the leader, Parekura, sleep and rest there at Kohimārama, beside your mother. Sleep the long sleep of no awakening. Let your huge influence deliver you to your ancestors. Fond regards to you, the descendants of Te Kani-a-Takirau, and those of Hauiti who keep the home fires burning. Thank you for the wonderful way you looked after us last week.]

So what of the man whose tangi brings more than 12,000 people from across the country who travel many, many hours and many hundreds of kilometres to pay their respects to him at his death? There are two views of Parekura Horomia—views that epitomise, I think, the cultural gap in Aotearoa New Zealand. One was a very stereotypical view of a working-class Māori man, assumed, perhaps, to be above his station. It was a very unflattering view, and one often perpetuated in the media. The other view was of a member of Parliament—a Māori member of Parliament—who was loved and supported because he was genuinely a man of his people, a man who understood that he lost nothing by supporting and encouraging others. It is clear to us now how much he gained by his generosity and his lack of ego.

He was not always the greatest combatant in this fighting Chamber, although he certainly could be the funniest. He was often more shield than sword. But this arena is only one measure—and, many believe, a poor measure—of what it means to be a good member of Parliament and a good representative. The other measure is whether he achieved for his people and how he treated others in making those achievements. I talked with Russel about this yesterday, and he told me that Parekura had been incredibly supportive and encouraging when Russel spoke at Te Tii Marae at Waitangi for the first time on our behalf. He was certainly very supportive of me personally as a young and somewhat politically clumsy MP during the foreshore and seabed debates, when we were on opposite sides of the issue.

Over the last week we have heard story after story of his major achievements, but, more important, story after story of the many small, significant things he did to support his people. Most of those achievements, the ones that mattered the most to the people who depended on him the most, have gone unnoticed by mainstream New Zealand. He was harshly judged at times by criteria that were culturally bound and, therefore, missed the true measure of Parekura Horomia. Parekura was not an arrogant man. He never held himself above other people; he carried them on his shoulders—a true rangatira.

Nō reira, e ai ki te whakataukī: “Toitū te whenua, whatu ngarongaro te tangata”. Ko tēnei te wā whakaata mō Parekura ēngari, haere tonu āna mahi, ō tātou katoa mō te hauora o ō tātou whānau, tamariki me te taiao e whāngai nei i a tātou. Nō reira, huri noa i tēnei Whare Mīere, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.

[So, according to the proverb: “Land remains while people disappear”. This is rest time for Parekura, but his work, as with all of our work, goes on for the health of our families, children, and the environment that nourishes us. Therefore, I acknowledge, salute, and thank you all throughout the Beehive.]

Rt Hon WINSTON PETERS (Leader—NZ First) : E ngā reo, e ngā mana, e ngā waka, e ngā pū kōrero o ngā hau e whā, e rau rangatira mā, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.

[To the voices, authorities, mediums, orators of the four winds, and to the leaders of a hundredfold, salutations, greetings, and acknowledgments to us all.]

This is a time of mourning, yet also a time of celebration, of Parekura Horomia’s life and work. Parekura, as we all know, was the subject of much criticism—mostly unjustified—which in time, with perseverance and great humour, he turned into respect throughout this country, not perhaps in some sectors but where it mattered, and particularly in this Parliament. He was loyal to his family and to his people and to his country, and he had values that reflected his background and his childhood. In other words, Parekura knew what poverty and hard times looked like, smelt like, and felt like, and he never ever forgot that background in his views on policies in this Parliament. He never did put aside the interests of his people and he was no stranger to hard manual work and sacrifice, and it may astonish some people here to know that he played about 100 games of rugby for the East Coast.

He had learnt a trade, he had worked for the Department of Labour, and he was a highly successful manager of work schemes on the East Coast, in Poverty Bay, and in the Hawke’s Bay. Parekura was a former Māori warden in an organisation that has been seriously revived in the last few years, and he was a great contributor to that revival. He was on the Māori Council executive locally and a chairperson of the Ngati Porou Te Kōhanga Reo Trust Training Board. Parekura had a very, very full life.

Politics for the committed is a tough business, and there is no doubt that it affected Parekura’s health. Now he has gone. He has had no time for a well-earned retirement, no time just for himself, and, above all, no time to spend with his three sons and his wider family any more. One hopes that people in this country sometimes reflect upon that when they are talking about parliamentary pensions, because Parekura will not get to see even one day of it. On these occasions it is usual for all manner of people to rise to their feet and be laudatory and to praise someone like this, but on this particular occasion we know that our words have a particular and special significance. It is sad to say that maybe we are all guilty of not sending Parekura home earlier and to leave him to keep on working at a time when maybe his health could have been in recovery. That is also something for people to reflect upon, and when they do, I hope that they are unstinting in their gratitude for the time and effort he put into what was for him at the beginning a difficult political career, but which in the end he was seriously triumphant in fulfilling.

At the end of the day, we are terribly sad to see him go and very sad not to have the son of Ngati Porou here with us, as we for so long have taken him for granted on every day when he was sitting in this House. I am grateful that his people, and others around the country, have come down to Parliament to see him off. That is a fitting tribute. To use the old biblical phrase, we can all say: “Well done, ye good and faithful servant.” Kia ora tātou.

Hon Dr PITA SHARPLES (Co-Leader—Māori Party) : Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Ā, tēnā koutou, koutou kua haere manuhiri mai i tēnei ata, te mau nei i ō koutou mate ki rō Whare kia mihia rātou. E kore e mutu ngā korero ki a rātou, ki a Parekura, ki ngā mate e tīraha tonu i ngā marae maha o te motu. Nā reira koutou, haere, haere atu rā, okioki. Ahakoa kua pau aku poroporoaki ki a Parekura i Hauiti, ka tū anō au ki te tautoko i ngā mihi o ēnei ki a koutou kua hara mai nei i tēnei rā. Tēnā koutou, e whakatū tēnā tangihanga kua kitea e te motu. Kua kōrerohia kei roto i ngā niupepa, ngā pouaka whakaata e pā ana ki ō koutou manaaki ki ngā manuhiri i haere tawhiti ake, ki a koutou, ā, kia taea e rātou te utaina ngā kōrero me ngā hūpē ki runga i a ia i ō rātou poroporoaki. Nā reira, tēnā koutou.

Kua kite te ao o Aotearoa nei ki tēnei āhuatanga o ngāi tāua, arā, te hōhonutanga o te tangihanga, nā tā koutou aroha, manaaki i tēnei ō koutou, ō tātou, arā, ki a Parekura. Tēnā koutou, Hauiti marae, Ngati Porou, Ngāti Kahungunu, ngā kārangarangatanga maha; koutou kua hara mai nei i tēnei rā hoki, ā, ki te tautoko i tēnei āhuatanga, ki te takahia i tōna whare me ērā āhuatanga kia oti pai, tāna noho i roto i te Whare Pāremata nei i tēnei rā. Ka nui ngā mihi ki a koutou. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou.

[Thank you, Mr Speaker. Welcome to you who have arrived here this morning to bring your deaths into the House to be acknowledged. The tributes to those, and, indeed, to Parekura, who continue to lie in state on the many courtyards of the country will never cease. And so, I say unto you the dead, farewell and rest there. Although my farewells to Parekura at Hauiti are spent, I rise again to endorse those you have brought with you today. Thank you for that mourning ceremony you held for the nation to view. The generosity you extended towards the visitors who came from afar made it possible for them to heap upon him what they wanted to say to him in their farewell tributes, as well as express their emotions, and that has been reported in newspapers and on television. And so, thank you.

New Zealand at large witnessed this situation of ours in terms of the depth of a mourning ceremony, because of your love for this one of yours and ours and the way you looked after Parekura. I acknowledge you, Hauiti courtyard, Ngati Porou, Ngāti Kahungunu and the many callings, as well as those of you who came here today to endorse this situation and to render his residence and those sorts of things of his goodness again, so that his term in Parliament House is free again of impediments. My thanks to you are enormous. Thank you, thank you, and thank you .]

I would like to talk “extempor-or-raneously” about my people, locked in the matrix of dysfunctionality, or words to that effect. If you do not understand them, pretend that you do. Parekura was a man of the people and a man of this House. When I first got into Parliament he was a Minister. He invited my wife and me to dinner in a Chinese restaurant, here in Wellington, and then he laid down the “do’s and the don’ts” in Parliament, amongst the people here. I particularly remember: “Don’t accept favours from anybody, because they will hold you up to something else later on. When they take you to dinner, don’t let them pay. That’s a common trick. Ask Winston.” He said: “Because if they pay, then later on they will come and collect.” He gave us all this good advice at dinner. Immediately after dinner, he got up and paid for the dinner. But that was the man. He told fibs. Fancy saying Mangatuna’s eels are bigger than Ngāti Kahungunu’s eels! I find that one really hard to believe.

But what a man. He united us. All sorts of people were united at that tangihanga. It was good to see all the parties present, hear the speeches given, and all united in a common cause. But more important was how many tribes came to that funeral. They came from all over New Zealand—all over—and in large numbers. And so it is a compliment to the hosts, the marae of Hauiti, Ngati Porou whānui, and everybody else who participated in that tangi.

I would like to acknowledge the army. It turns out when we ask it to help in tangihanga. Sometimes it is a very small tangi in a very small marae in a remote area—invaluable. Other times it is like this, when thousands and thousands come and it is so needed to help, with its cooking machinery and so on. Its dedication to the task is enormous. It is a time to thank wardens. They are at every tangihanga, they are out on the streets, they are out on their duty, and this was part of his army that he had following him. I would like to acknowledge Te Puni Kōkiri, which worked with Parekura for 8 years as a team, and even there the host people were acknowledging particular Te Puni Kōkiri workers in his last hours.

So that is all I would like to say. He united us. I hope that we can unite more on other things, remembering why we got here and why we came here, and that we can laugh, too, like we laughed with Parekura. Nā reira kei te rangatira, okioki tonu i Te Kaihanga hei whāriki mō mātou. Haere, haere atu rā. Tēnā koe.

[And so, to you the leader, continue to rest there with the Creator as a mat for us. Depart, farewell. Thank you.]

HONE HARAWIRA (Leader—Mana) : Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Ā, tēnā tātou katoa e te Whare. Tēnā koutou e te whānau i haere tawhiti mai kia rongohia ngā poroporoaki mō tō tātou nei tangata a Parekura.

[Thank you, Mr Speaker. And greetings to us all across the House. Salutations to the family that came from afar to hear the farewell speeches for this man of ours, Parekura.]

I feel a bit funny standing up in front of him with him at my back, but he always said he had my back, so he is still there. I was thinking of some of the kōrero up at the tangi—some wonderful kōrero, particularly during the service from David Ruru and Wira Gardiner. There was some wonderful kōrero. I noted that Wira made mention of the fact that although Hekia is a Minister in the National Government, she voted every 3 years for Parekura. But, to make the Prime Minister not feel so bad, I think David Shearer already knows that Shane Jones has been voting for me ever since I got into Parliament as well. I was also listening to somebody talking about how Parekura used to get Hekia to write speeches for him and then never used to read them. So just before I came to the House I ran across to Hekia’s office and said: “Look, can you send me across a few notes that I could use in my kōrero today?”. She sent me a few—and this thick bundle is kind of why Parekura never bothered to use any of it, because this is the kind of stuff that Hekia sends across.

Out on the road, which is where most of us knew him—not in here; out on the road—Parekura was a wonderful speaker. Not your true orator in the Māori sense. We had wonderful orators at the tangi. We had some of the best from all around the country, and Parekura was not like any of those guys. He was a natural chap, he was a funny guy, and all of his stories were real stories. I think, more than anything, that is what most of us are going to miss about Parekura. When you saw Parekura, you just saw a mate. He did not get overly fussed about the politics. He was for a while there, when Tariana came marching up on to Parliament here with 50,000 people to oppose the foreshore and seabed legislation, but apart from that he was easy to get on with. So I am going to miss seeing him waddle around the House here. I am not going to miss him telling me what to do, though. I used to say to him: “Parekura, you’re not even in the same party as me. You can’t tell me what to do.” He would say “Oh, I know that.”, and then he would still tell me what to do. I am going to miss all of that, and I think a lot of us are. Yes, he was a good man.

So to all of you, to Hauiti, and to all of Ngati Porou, on behalf of all of us I just want to say thank you very much for how well you looked after us when we came up to the mate. The singing was superb—absolutely superb. The speeches of welcome were fabulous—just the warmth was excellent. The kai—I was telling my wife about it when we had gone home, because she loves her kai moana. I said that the tables were so full that they actually had to stack the kai moana on top of each other. So me mihi atu ki a koutou katoa. I mean, with most of us, as most of you will know, we do not often remember the things that are said, but we certainly remember what we had for kai. So, you know, an honour to Hauiti—that you took so much good care of all of us is something that I do not think any of us will ever forget. It was a wonderful occasion.

Just all of the nice things that have been said about Parekura—one of the kuia just outside here actually asked me whether I could get up and say the same kōrero here that I said at the tangi. I had to apologise and say: “No, I don’t think you’re allowed to swear in Parliament.” But those of you who knew Parekura knew that he could swear like a trooper, eh—he was terrible. When he could bail us up in a room, when there were not too many other people listening, he used to say some things to us that probably cannot be repeated in here. But right afterwards he would take us for a kai—and, unlike what Pete said, he would make us pay.

Me mihi atu ki tō tātou hoa, tō tātou rangatira, a Parekura, kua ngaro atu i a tātou i tēnei wā, i roto i tēnei Whare, i roto i ō koutou ake whare kei roto o Hauiti. I tēnei wā, me mihi anō hoki au ki tētahi ō ōku kuia kātahi anō ka mate. I nehu atu i te rā o Parekura. Kei roto i a mātou i Te Kao a Kui Mātiu. He tino kuia i roto i a mātou, 96 ōna tau. I tēnei wā kua ngaro anō hoki.

[I pay a tribute to our colleague and leader, Parekura, who is lost from us at this point in time and from your own homes in Hauiti. I acknowledge one of my elderly women who passed away recently, too, and was buried on the same day as Parekura. The elderly lady, Kui Mātiu, lived among us at Te Kao. She was a prominent aged woman of ours and was 96 years old.]

I was just thinking about some of the old people who have died up home in just the last couple of weeks: Kui Mātiu, Cinderella, Hūria Subritzky, Rata Harrison, and, of course, Parekura. So I am quite sure that he will catch up with them on the journey and share a few stories about his life, his life amongst us in the North, and how proud he was—I have to say this—that his mokopuna was a Ngāpuhi. Hoi anō, ka nui tērā māku, me mihi atu ki a koutou.

[So that is enough from me and I acknowledge you collectively.]

Oh, and one final thing—one final thing: when Shane Jones gets up to speak afterwards, none of what he has to say will be true. Kia ora tātou katoa.

Hon JOHN BANKS (Leader—ACT) : On behalf of the ACT Party I rise to pay my respects to the late Hon Parekura Horomia. It was clear to anyone who attended his tangi or watched or read about it in the news that this was a man who was held in great respect not only by his own family, his own people, and his own community but by iwi and communities from every corner of our country.

What a memorable occasion it was at his marae last week, last Thursday. It is a truly beautiful place in a wonderful but isolated part of Earth. If you had to move on from this world, Tolaga Bay would be a great stepping stone. What struck me most about that day visit to Tolaga Bay was the generous spirit of Parekura’s family and his wider whānau. The welcome for the Prime Minister’s party was something I will never forget. It is a long time since little kids have asked me for an autograph. I must go back again next year!

Life is like a pile of sand—some of us are given more than others—from which we sprinkle a little each day. Parekura sprinkled the last of his sand early last week. And we know, do we not, that the tears at the tomb of Nazareth were not tears of despair but tears of joy. There was much joy and celebration last week across this country of a life well lived.

When I came back to this place, after a third reincarnation, I stopped him in the corridor one day, and I resisted the temptation of saying: “You know who I am, don’t you?”. I said to him: “I’m Banksie. I thought I should meet you.” He stood there for about 5 minutes, shaking my hand, and he said quite a lot. I still do not remember exactly what he said, but he was very, very friendly. He was a very friendly man.

When I reflect on the great members of Parliament whom I have known in this place over 10 Parliaments—the wonderful Whetu Tirikatene-Sullivan, Koro Wētere, and Peter Tapsell, just to name a few—I see that they had a common thread through them, these Māori role-model leaders, and that was that they went about their work in a very dignified way. They had their say and did not make too many enemies, but they did make a difference.

Māoridom has lost a significant figure in Parekura’s passing. His constituents have lost a leader and an advocate for them in this House, and since his death, many have remarked on just how tirelessly he worked for his community. I was sitting here 2 weeks ago, looking across the House, and he did not look well at all. I thought: “Wow, he is still working. His heart and soul is in this business.” At the end of the day, as I saw when I was at the marae last week, the only thing that really matters is that your family loves you—and Parekura’s family loved him. It was a great farewell from the family for a father, for the wonderful person he was.

Parekura worked his way from the bottom up, holding jobs as a manual labourer, a printer, a fencer, a worker, and many careers in between before he became a member of Parliament and a Minister of the Crown. Today it seems that many of our young people want a short cut to the top. When they find how much hard work has to be done and how much is needed to get there, they often give up before they begin. Parekura was living proof that no matter what your background is, if you put your mind to it and are prepared to put in the hard work, you can achieve anything.

At 62, Parekura Horomia was still a relatively young man, and although his health struggles have not been secret, his death still comes as a surprise to all of us. I offer my sincerest condolences today to his whānau, friends, and colleagues in this House.

Your waka travels in a direction in which you will not return, Parekura, but may God cherish and look after you on this journey.

Hon PETER DUNNE (Leader—United Future) :Mā wai rā e taurima te marae, te wāhi nei? Mā te tika, mā te pono, mā te aroha e. Those words are the chorus from a traditional Ngati Porou lament, which translate as: “Who will take responsibility on the marae now? There can be justice and truth only if there is love.” I think they are particularly apposite to the life and achievements of the Hon Parekura Horomia.

Some people come to this place and assert their leadership by the power of their oratory, the bulk of their size, or the range of spectacular achievements. Others, like Parekura, assert their leadership and authority by their absolutely genuine nature, and the love that they show for the job that they do, for the people whom they represent, and for the task ahead of them every day they are in this place. That is where the justice and the truth comes from.

I think one of the great examples that Parekura has left us is of a form of leadership that is not about self but about others. It is about putting oneself out for the good of others. It is about achieving and caring for, at all times, the well-being of others, and always doing it with a sense of humour, light-heartedness, and warmth that made the recipients of his great interest and his aroha feel particularly proud and wanted.

We have all recalled stories about Parekura, over the last few days, that sum up the essence of the man. My instance relates to an event a couple of years ago. I went up to Gisborne to open a new dental clinic at a very large intermediate school. By coincidence at the airport I ran into Parekura. “What are you doing here?”, he said. I told him what I was doing. He said: “Oh, that’s in my electorate. I’d better come. Have you got a car?”. I said: “I’ve got a driver waiting.” “OK. I’ll come too.”, he said. So he piled into the car, which lurched considerably to the right as we drove off to the school. The moment we arrived, he took over. I was ushered on to the marae. He was my translator, my minder, and the person who pushed me forward and made me do all the things that I was expected to do, and he did it with aplomb. He was the star of the show.

When the time came to leave, he said: “Where are you going now?”. I said I was going on to a meeting at the hospital. “Oh, I’d better come too.”, he said. So he tagged along, and we went through the same procedure, and it was the same procedure at the third appointment. Then it was time for me to go back to the airport, so he came back to the airport with me, and as the driver dropped me off, Parekura said: “Oh, just one thing—is it OK for him to run me up the coast now and run me home?”. I could hardly say no. The driver then completed the occasion by saying: “Well, I should, actually, take you home because the last time I drove past your place, a couple of weeks ago, the lawns hadn’t been mowed.” So Parekura was going home to sort it out.

I thought of that experience a lot during the tangi when we were there on Friday. I agree with my colleague to my left, the Hon John Banks, about the awesome occasion that the people of Hauiti Marae provided. The sorrow, the leadership, the humour, the food, and the surroundings were sublime, but I thought then of Parekura coming home to check that the lawn had been mowed and everything had been tidied up and put in its place. I could just see it all occurring and I could see it being done in a way where none of that great bulk was being thrown around, but the power of his presence and his whole style and tone would have ensured that everything got done as it should have been.

There are some people who spend a period of time in this House and who go and are not remembered. Parekura will not be one of those. He was a unique member of Parliament. We have heard stories being told of his extraordinary dedication to the task and of his wiliness on occasions—there are one or two stories I have heard about his pursuit of fish and chips and his use of various means to acquire those, even when he should not have because of his doctor’s advice. We have heard stories about his commitment to his constituents.

I suspect that every member in the House today would secretly hope that when their time comes they are remembered in a similar way—that they are remembered as Parekura Horomia will be, as a person who sought to help others; as a person who sought to use his gifts, his talents, and his political commitment to ensuring that every waking moment of his day was devoted to the cause of others; and, sadly, as a person who, at the end, probably sacrificed himself to that very cause.

This place will in due course elect a new member to fill that seat, but, with the greatest of respect, that new member will not fill those shoes, because Parekura has left shoes that are very big to fill. There is a gap in this House today. There is a gap in the lives of his colleagues, his friends, his whānau, his family, and a gap in the lives of all of us that will not be easily filled.

I am sure that for a long time to come we will cherish the memory of that smile, that big presence, that shuffling gait, and that incomprehensible language that was at the same time endearing, and we will know of the power of his achievements, the affection of his people, and the regard in which he was held. Haere rā, Parekura. May you rest in peace. The journey you have embarked upon is at an end for now. You deserve your peace. You deserve your quiet. Reflect on your achievements. Go well into the future.

Hon SHANE JONES (Labour) : Tuatahi māku taku waiata e tuku ki a Parekura.

[First, I will sing my lament to Parekura.]

Ko te ūranga o te rā,

Terenga waka tōrangapū.

He waihoe tuku iho,

Ko Apirana kei te ihu,

Ko Parekura kei te rapa e-e.

E Hina i te pō hūtea

E tama te pāinaina

Hei i a wai te hoe a Pare?

Haupū ngā moehewa

Tere ana ki te pae wai

He waka ūtanga kaitā e-e.

E ahu ki te pae o te rangi

Mā te tai a Paikea Ariki

Te Matau-ā-Māui Tikitiki

Te Upoko o te Ika,

Te ripo o te kāwanatanga e-e.

Nāna te ōhakī whakarere,

Whāngaia a pīpī pātere,

Kia ngata, kia māpuapūa

E Pare, tēnei koe e whakawairua kau iho e-e.

[Under a glaring sun,

Behold a political canoe.

Paddlers of yesteryear working in unison,

Apirana at the bow,

And Parekura at the sternpost, alas.

Moon goddess of pale light,

Sun god we feel your heat.

Who has Pare’s paddle?

Driven by great dreams,

Drifting to the water’s edge,

A canoe with a massive cargo, alas.

Fix your course on the horizon,

By the tides of the High Chief Paikea,

Past the fish-hook of Māui Tikitiki-ā-Taranga,

To the head of the fish,

Where government swirls, alas.

He leaves the legacy,

Feed the little ones,

So they may grow and flourish.

Pare, you enjoin us spiritually. ]

E te iwi kua tau nei ki Te Upoko o te Ika, ki te whakatutuki i te kaupapa mō te mārohirohi o te Ao Māori, nāna tēnei Whare i whakakōrero, nāna ngā marae o ngā iwi katoa i whakamanuhiri. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.

[To the people who came here to Wellington to conclude this matter about Māori tenacity, he was the one who made this House talk and visited the courtyards of every tribe. I acknowledge, salute, and thank you all collectively.]

I come from the far north, and the best way to memorialise someone, in our upbringing, was to compose a waiata. Unfortunately, I have sung that waiata in front of the cultural aristocrats of Ngati Porou. But take it as a heartfelt expression for my closest friend in the political world. Take it as an expression from those of the Māori MPs who often would say to each other: “Let’s construct a perfect Māori parliamentarian. Let that person be possessed of acuity of analysis, clarity of thought, lucidity of expression, athletic prowess, nimbleness in the media.” And then we would say: “We ended up with Parekura.”—without a doubt a person of our time who will prove to be the most popular parliamentarian to the Māori people. To the family, and to the visitors of Te Tai Rāwhiti, your thoughts, no doubt, will go to his replacement, but know this: his impact, and the affection with which he was held during his political journey, crossed boundaries.

I must acknowledge the presence of all the parliamentarians at that tangi. Partisanship aside, to the senior team of the Crown, the Government of the day, I have no doubt that the Māori of the East Coast felt proud that the Government of the day decided to grace that marae and honour Parekura with such a presentation of power and personality from the Government of the day.

In terms of Parekura’s children, know this. Parekura was a person who said: “You know, e hoa Shane, people will forget what you say, people will often forget what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel.” That was the genius of your father, this parliamentarian. Sure, we talk about his elliptical kinds of expressions, and we talk in jest about his style of operation, but he knew that if you want to connect with your community, understand how they feel. He was a person who brought feeling to this House.

Just before I wind up, when David Shearer had his by-election, Parekura, Kelvin Davis, and Shane Jones were dispatched to the rather grimy streets of Avondale to doorknock. Parekura, being the senior, dispatched Kelvin Davis. He said: “Here, boy, here’s some pamphlets. Go and stand on the other side of the street. Go up there, down there.” He said: “Shane, hei noho mai koe ki konei. Chief, you stay with me. You stay with me. We’ll go up the other end of the street.”, which we did. Then, getting outside a house, Parekura said to me: “Now, boy, you take these pamphlets. I’ll guard our waka. Just go and knock on that door.” I proceeded to knock on the door, only to be greeted by the largest angry dog in John Tamihere’s neighbourhood. And as the dog barked at me, Parekura called out: “E hoa, pussy, pussy, pussy.” A Māori came out of that house. He looked at me and said: “Yeah, what do you want?”. I said: “By-election, e hoa—pamphlets.”, as the dog barked. He looked past me and he saw Parekura. Parekura hopped out of the car. He said: “Oh, kia ora, uncle.” as he went into that house. As Parekura sensed the fish heads cooking, he became positively athletic. Kelvin Davis, meanwhile, was wandering around in circles. The moral of the story is the randomness of politics. Parekura, you are in Hawaiki; Kelvin Davis, you are unemployed; Shane Jones, you have been in the crap; and David Shearer is our leader. Kia ora tātou.

Hon PHIL GOFF (Labour—Mt Roskill) : E te iwi o Parekura, e ngā hau e whā, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa. E Parekura, haere, haere, haere atu rā.

[To Parekura’s people and to the four winds, greetings, salutations, and acknowledgments to you collectively and to us all.]

This is our final farewell to a good friend, to a person whose mana, whose passion, whose warmth, and whose good humour we will greatly miss in this place. I extend my welcome to the whānau and the supporters who have come from all parts of the country, and, in particular, those who have come from Ikaroa-Rāwhiti, to farewell Parekura in this, our place. Can I thank you, the people of Hauiti Marae, for the love and the respect with which you farewelled our friend last week. It was a hugely moving occasion, and we thank you for your hospitality, and we thank you for your inclusiveness. Parekura’s life on the marae was celebrated with tears and laughter, and with stories. I thought, as we shovelled the soil to cover his coffin, that we had farewelled our friend with the respect and the honour that he so richly deserved.

I first met Parekura when I was Minister of Labour back in the 1980s. Parekura was in charge of a group called the Group Employment Liaison Scheme. The first time he came in he said: “G’day, chief.” I was momentarily impressed, thinking my status in life had been recognised, and then I realised that that was what he said to everybody. But I remember him as a person who was larger than life in that job. He was passionate about what he was doing. He was honest, and that gave him his influence. He was a strong advocate for his people, and he was a particularly strong advocate for those who had been dealt a rough hand in life.

He not only impressed the Labour Ministers but also, apparently, impressed one of the people in this House who was the hardest to impress, a guy called Bill Birch. Bill Birch was known to have called in the Ministry of Education and the Department of Labour people, and for half an hour he grilled the Ministry of Education people. He gave them an incredibly hard time, and then at the end of it he turned to Parekura and said: “All OK, Parekura? Fine, that’s OK then.” I think that speaks volumes for how he was regarded and the confidence that Ministers had in him.

Parekura had a huge commitment to basic Labour principles of fairness and of equity. He hated disadvantage. He hated the injustice that was meted out to people. He was 100 percent loyal to Labour and its leadership.

His networks around the country were amazing. I had the privilege of travelling with him extensively over the 3 years I was Leader of the Opposition. Kelvin Davis reminded me this morning of a story. We were up in Kaitāia. Parekura said: “Hey, chief, I need to get some money out of the money machine.” He hopped out and was getting his money out. There was a car driving by. It slammed on its brakes and went into reverse, the window wound open, and a voice from inside called out “Uncle Pare!”. That was the sort of thing that actually happened to Pare all over the country. He was respected by Māori royalty and iwi leaders, but he was loved by the grassroots.

He worked so hard. Every 28th Māori Battalion reunion, he attended. Every Matatini, he went to. In fact, I found him there one time working in the ticket office. He said this was the best way to see everybody who came in. It was a good trick. We can all learn from that. Every koroneihana, the Māori Women’s Welfare League, he was always there. He was granted the honour—strange for a male—of being made a life member; he was probably the only male life member that the Māori Women’s Welfare League has ever had, but that was deserved as well.

Pare’s health was not great, but he persevered. I remember the story he told me. He told me it a couple of times. He said: “Phil, I was told by a doctor 12 years ago that if I didn’t lose weight I only had 6 months to live. Hey, Phil, you know that doctor? He’s dead.”, he said triumphantly. In his final hours Parekura said to my colleague Shane: “That is it. Now it is time to rest.” So rest now, Pare. Your work is done. Moe mai e te rangatira, moe mai e te hoa. Haere, haere, haere atu rā.

[Rest there, the esteemed leader and friend, slumber on. Depart, leave, alas goodbye.]

Hon GERRY BROWNLEE (Minister for Canterbury Earthquake Recovery) : First, to the family and the wider iwi of Parekura, welcome to this place and thank you for dignifying this tribute to Parekura from us by your presence. Thank you also for the great generosity you showed us when we came to pay our tribute and respects to Parekura on the marae last week. It was one of those occasions that will live forever, certainly in my memory and, I think, in the memories of the others who were part of that party. Your generosity was quite outstanding. I felt guilty, when I had heard on the Wednesday night that you had so far consumed 400 crayfish at the tangi, for thinking that if that was the case perhaps I had better be there.

The truth is that I held Pare in the highest of regard and with the greatest of respect. I did not know him as many of you did, as the father, the grandfather, the brother, the family member, and part of your closer iwi community. I only knew him for his time here in Parliament. During that time, I think, all of the comments that have been made about him and about his personality I would have to agree with. He was one of those very warm people who could articulate an argument in his favour without being in any way vindictive, without any degree of vehemence, but simply with a desire to stick to the issues and to respect individuals for their own beliefs.

Many people have over the last few days talked about Pare’s particular style of speaking and his use of the language, both Te Reo and English, and I have to say we experienced that here quite a lot. His way of answering questions when he was a Minister was truly unique. You heard a little bit of that when the circumstances were repeated of his answering a question from the Rt Hon Winston Peters. The truth is that there were many times when he gave answers that no one could take a point of order on, because no one had a clue what he had said. It was only for fear that you might be made to look foolish that you stayed quiet. So it was quite a successful tactic. He also spent most of his time here as a Minister—quite a unique thing as well.

For many years I was sitting in one of those seats over there and he was over here. He had this habit of during the prayer holding his hands like so, his head down, with one eye shut and the other eye roving round the House. If you happened to see this activity, he would send you a note to say: “I noticed you didn’t have your eyes closed during the prayer. That’s most disrespectful.”

He had this wonderful way also of quite often sending notes across the House to me and Simon Power—we shared a bench on either side of the House for about 8 years. There was a particular occasion during the very heated debate around the foreshore and seabed. It was the second bill that we promoted when we came into Government. Pare was very passionate about those things, and he had fought very hard for his party and for the position. No one could doubt his genuine belief in what he was committed to, and he was obviously opposed to what we were doing. During the debate one of the colleagues on this side of the House gave an impassioned speech in which he said words to the effect that the almighty God had created the foreshore and seabed for the enjoyment of all New Zealanders. Pare saw Simon and me sitting here and sent us over a note very, very quickly that said: “Gerry, Simon, tell that fool God’s a woman and she is giving it all to the Māori.”

I think the other point I would just like to say is that when you spoke with Pare, he was always a person who just made you feel very comfortable in his presence. That is an interesting thing. He did not have any airs and graces and he did not accept any airs and graces. I think that is what will be missed most about him from my perspective.

I first met him when I was a brand new MP back in about 1997, I think, at a select committee where he was presenting at a financial review as the person who was in charge of the Community Employment Group. Anyone who knows how that works—people come in and they sit at the end of the table, they are generally invited to make a few opening comments, and then there is a series of questions. Well, Pare’s comments went on for quite some time. I had been warned before that this man was somewhat of a jargonaut. His speech and comments were filled with macros, micros, matrixes, analyses, synergies, and paradigms. It was a wonderful story, and beautifully articulated, but it left you somewhat perplexed as to what exactly it was about. So I very boldly asked him. I said: “That’s very well, Mr Horomia, but what does it mean?”. And he said: “Oh, well, chief, it means we’ve done a good job.” On that note can I simply say: Pare, you have done a good job.

CATHERINE DELAHUNTY (Green) : He mihi nui ki te tangata whenua o Mangatuna, o Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, me ngā iwi katoa o Te Tai Rāwhiti, tēnā koutou.

[The locals of Mangatuna, Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, and all the tribes of the East Coast are greatly appreciated. Well done.]

I would just like to stand and acknowledge all who have come from Te Tai Rāwhiti. I had the privilege of living and working in your rohe for some time. I acknowledge your loss and your contribution by giving us one of your favourite sons. There is a whakataukī: “He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.”

[What is the most important thing in the world? It is people, it is people, it is people.]

Parekura certainly was a great man in many ways. He was great in size, great in appetite, great in rhetoric, and great as a leader who showed us what leadership can mean. I did not know him as well as many of you, but living on the Coast and working in the rohe you could not avoid the reputation and the experience of seeing him everywhere.

I will always remember one morning at 7 a.m. I was driving down from Ūawa to the coast, and there he was fencing. He was the Minister of Māori Affairs at the time and he was fencing with a couple of other people, just getting out there, doing stuff before he started his day’s work. I think that is the kind of MP we need, along with everybody else.

I would like to acknowledge the fact that he was a shearer, because I also spent 10 years in a shearing gang, and one thing you learn in that environment—sometimes it is more relaxing than Parliament—is how to avoid wool-gathering. You know when people are wool-gathering, you know how to identify wool-gathering, and you also have to work with some real dags, which I think was good practice for the new careers that both Parekura and I took up—there was certainly plenty of that.

But I would also like to acknowledge that, as the Prime Minister said, we have lost a few MPs in our time. I would like to thank him for bringing Rod Donald into the room. I acknowledge that for Labour it is different. All of us will feel the loss—all of his friends, the Māori caucus in particular across Parliament—but for you it is different, because you have to carry on every day. The party has to carry on every day. We know what that feels like, and we appreciate the rawness of his absence. It is going to be felt every day by your party. We lived through that and we had a lot of support, for which we are grateful, but when somebody goes before we thought they would go, it is hard on the people closest. So I just want to acknowledge that—both the whānau and the colleagues who worked particularly closely with him.

I would just also like to briefly say that I was involved with the Community Employment Group when Parekura was the leader, and he was spoken about in reverent tones because no one really knew what he did, but they knew he was making things happen. One of the things I would like to honour is that from Moerewa to Wairoa, Parekura really got the funding to places where it needed to be and he really understood what community economic development was. In his own unique way, he made a big difference to those of us who were community workers at the time. And I just want to acknowledge that. It should never be forgotten. It was an awesome organisation and he was a real rangatira. He really led and he really made sure that the resources were there with the people who needed them.

I would like to also acknowledge the tangi—what an incredible moment. The karanga just brought all my own grief back to the surface, like it does for all of us, in the most wonderful way and made me feel so honoured to be there. The paepae was just extraordinary. You know, you saw this line of incredible rangatira, and their speeches were fantastic. The kitchen was pumping, and all of the rangatahi of Ūawa were out there doing their thing and directing traffic, and Maryan was out there directing traffic, and there were the bosses. It was a fantastic experience to come to the tangihanga, but always there was sadness in the knowledge that we were saying goodbye. I reckon that if Parekura had looked down, he would have thought: “What is going on there? What are they doing there? I better get there.”, because it was such a big tangi and he would never have expected that for himself, and that is leadership in another way.

I would finally just like to say that the concept of public service is not always acknowledged in the 21st century. This man was a true public servant, and, as someone else has pointed out, he was very unwell, and we took him for granted—we thought he would always carry on. Those of us who were working with him from more of a distance did not realise; we did not know. But he did give his life in public service, and that is the measure of a true rangatira. Moe moe, e rangatira. Tēnā koe.

DENISE ROCHE (Green) : Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Ki te Whare, tēnā koutou katoa. Ki ngā iwi rā, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa. He hōnore, he korōria ki Te Atua, he maungarongo ki te whenua, he whakaaro pai ki ngā tāngata katoa.

[Greetings to you, Mr Speaker, and to you all across the House. To the tribes there, I acknowledge and extend greetings and salutations to each and every one of you collectively. Honour and glory to God, peace upon the nation, and goodwill to all mankind.]

I rise to add my condolences and my aroha to the kōrero about this rangatira, Parekura Horomia. Firstly, I acknowledge the loss that matua Parekura’s passing has to his whānau, to his hapū, to his iwi, to his constituents—his people throughout Ikaroa-Rāwhiti—and to his Labour Party colleagues as well. His loss is felt also across the country. In the days while he was lying at Hauiti, I was travelling around the country doing meetings. At every single meeting, his death was acknowledged and he was mourned for the loss of the contribution that he had made to this Parliament and to Aotearoa.

I have the industrial relations portfolio, and the last time I spent with matua Parekura was in Whakatāne at a hui there a few weeks back for the Rūnanga Kaimahi—the Council of Trade Unions. He was really, really respected. He did not look very well and he was cared for, but he was hugely respected for the support that he has given to Māori and to Māori workers throughout his long decades of work himself in every area that he has worked in, and particularly as a parliamentarian. He was well known for supporting workers, and particularly Māori workers, to have a collective voice through their unions. So it was appropriate for me that when I came to Hauiti for his tangi last week, with my colleague Catherine, we came on with those workers from the Rūnanga Kaimahi—the Council of Trade Unions.

Parekura was extremely well known for the work that he did in promoting Māori into education and into good, strong jobs—decent jobs. His support was unfailing. He was also an incredibly strong supporter of the third sector, especially in employment development—things like social enterprises, through his work with the Community Employment Group. I hold the portfolios also for the community and voluntary sector and for gambling issues, and matua Parekura was very well known for his strong support for reform for the gambling sector, because he knew too well the damage that pokies have done in his electorate and he wanted to reduce that harm to his people.

My experience of Parekura was that he was very kind and generous, and he never ever spoke down to anybody. But listening to the Prime Minister and also to David Shearer, I understand that he never spoke up to anybody either. He was very encouraging. He came up to me in the House one day after I had delivered a speech that I was feeling quite shaky about, on one of the Treaty bills. He just came up to me, he patted me on the shoulder, and he said: “You did all right, girl.” It was really comforting, and then it was afterwards that I realised: “Woo, nobody’s called me ‘girl’ for ages.”

In the days and the weeks and the years ahead we will continue to feel his loss, and for his family, for his whānau, I join with the many others who have thanked you for loaning your father, your grandfather, your husband, your uncle to the public service of this country. He devoted his life to that service, and your sacrifice is to be acknowledged. Moe mai e te rangatira. Haere rā, haere rā, haere atu rā.

[Sleep on, the leader. Depart, journey on, farewell.]

BRENDAN HORAN (Independent) : He hōnore, he korōria ki Te Atua, he maungarongo ki runga i te whenua. Āmine. E mihi ana ki a rātou mā kua ngaro atu ki te pō, ki te pō uriuri ki te pō tangotango. Moe mai, moe mai, moe mai, tihei mauri ora. He mihi tonu atu ki a koe e te matua Parekura, te tangata mana, te tangata hūmarie, te tangata tautoko. He tangata rangatira.

[Honour and glory to God, peace upon the nation, and goodwill to all mankind. Amen. I acknowledge those who have gone to the place where the dead assemble, to the dark and holding void. Sleep, slumber, and repose there, behold the breath of life. A huge appreciation to you, the fatherly figure Parekura, the man of integrity, with a pleasant disposition, and who was supportive. He was a leader of the highest order.]

He was a man of mana, he was a man of great humility, and he was a man of sincere and awesome leadership for his people. Much has been said about that leadership and his work ethic and his presence. Only 2½ weeks ago we had the Pacific Parliamentary and Political Leaders Forum and he was in Parliament here, welcoming MPs from all over the Pacific. For many of those MPs, they met him just the once, and yet that presence resonated throughout the Pacific. I would like to share some of these tributes from some of those Pacific MPs.

This tribute is from the Hon Archie Soliai from American Samoa: “This is sad news for the people of New Zealand and the Pacific as well, as he was a Māori icon. Please accept my deepest condolences for the loss of such a great leader.”

This one is from Arnold Prasad from the Republic of Vanuatu: “It is with great sadness that I have been informed about the sudden passing of MP Parekura Horomia. He did an excellent job as the orator leading the pōwhiri that opened the forum at Parliament of which I was a delegate. The many activities and achievements done on behalf of Māori will always be remembered by the Māori people in New Zealand. Please pass our sincere condolences to MP Horomia’s family.”

And this one is from the Hon Martin Moreti, MP from Kiribati: “I, with my family and fellow Kiribati people working in New Zealand and here in Kiribati, offer our great honour to convey words of sadness to Parekura Horomia’s family for the mystery of life. We know on our daily life and the moment of taking away our beloved one and our brother and sister, as we are Pacific parliamentarians. I pray to our God to welcome MP Parekura Horomia to everlasting life. May God bless him and his family.”

This is one from an MP in Fiji: “It is with great sadness that we hear of the passing of the Hon Parekura Horomia. I was part of the group of five Fijians selected to be part of this historic event in your Parliament. The welcome and words of kindness by Hon Parekura continues to resonate in my mind, and hopefully one day, when we do return to parliamentary democracy in Fiji, that we will reciprocate the love of our Māori and New Zealand brothers and never forget the seed sown at the inaugural forum. Farewell, Hon Parekura Horomia. The Almighty give you rest and blessings to your family.”

And here is another one from another Pacific Island: “I am deeply saddened at the news of the passing away of the Mighty Tōtara. I can still vividly recall the powerful and moving pōwhiri ceremony, in which he played a key role. His authority at that momentous ceremony was no doubt a measure of his immense contributions to the Māori community and the nation of New Zealand. I understand that it will be a difficult thing for the MPs and his constituents to farewell him this Saturday, when he will be laid to rest. I must offer my deep condolences to his family members. I pray with all of you in New Zealand that may his soul rest in peace and his family and friends gather the courage to perform his last rites as per his wishes.”

And although there were many, I would just mention this last one. It is: “On behalf of the Legislative Assembly of the Kingdom of Tonga, I would like to express our heartfelt condolences to the family of Parekura Horomia on his untimely passing. His dedication, hard work, and leadership as a parliamentarian will not be forgotten. With deepest sympathy, Lord Fakafanua, Speaker of the Legislative Assembly of Tonga, Kingdom of Tonga.” For many of those MPs, that was from just hearing Parekura and meeting him just once, such was his mighty presence.

I would like to acknowledge, on behalf of Tainui, the very special relationship that Tainui have with the East Coast, cemented by Māhinarangi. Parekura continued with that support for the people of Tainui. His support of Kīngitanga and his continued presence at Tūrangawaewae throughout his tenure garnered so much respect from Maniapoto and Tainui to all members of the East Coast. On behalf of Tainui, thank you, thank you, thank you. To everyone who has travelled here, kia ora. It is great to see so many people here, and it has been difficult for many of you to get here, and yet all of us here represent so many thousands of people—Kiwis—all over who cannot be here today.

I would like to share a little moment, and again it is from 2½ weeks ago, because for all the Māori MPs in here Parekura was also a kaitiaki. He took it upon himself to look after all the Māori MPs and the new MPs who came. But last week after the pōwhiri we sat outside on the bench, waiting for his car to arrive, and it started raining. I went to get an umbrella, but he said: “No, no.” He said “The old people knew.” We sat there—and it was great—because he just wanted to feel the wind in his hair and the rain on his face. So we sat there and we got wet, but he loved it. It was a measure of the man, because he faced everything and he stood tall and proud.

To Desmond, Wallace, Tūrei, and the grandchildren, although we here in Parliament have lost a colleague and a friend, you have lost a father, and we thank you for sharing him with us. Although he probably would have said: “Look at all this hoo-ha.”, stand tall and proud as we here are all proud to have been able to call him our friend. To Parekura: your work is done. Rest in peace.

Hon ANNETTE KING (Labour—Rongotai) : Kia ora tātou. Nau mai, haere mai. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa. I too want to acknowledge those who have travelled so far for this tribute to Parekura today. I know that since 5 a.m. this morning you have followed Parekura’s long trek on the road to Wellington, the trek that he followed week in, week out from 1999 until a few weeks ago—14 years. He knew every curve, every corner in the road, every town, and the people who needed his help along the way, and he would sit back there in the car, driven by one of his stable of drivers, working his cellphone. He could be mightily frustrating when you wanted to ring him, because he was always engaged on that phone.

So much has been said over the last week. What is left to say? We have heard about his connection to the community, his knowledge of what was going on in people’s lives, their issues, their concerns, their hopes, their aspirations, but also his empathy for those issues and concerns. We have heard how he never got too big for his boots, that he never thought he was better than those around him. We learnt of his capacity for long hours, for long drives, and for hard work. We heard that he was hard to understand at times. I do not know whether my friend Shane Jones remembers this, but one year I went to Rātana, as we did year in, year out. Parekura never missed it. I was seated behind Shane Jones and Dover Samuels. Parekura got up and he was speaking. I leaned forward and I said to Shane and Dover: “What’s he saying?”. They said: “We haven’t got a clue.”

We heard that people told him he should go home. He would not go home from this place, this place he loved. This is the place where he did his magic. This is the place where he wanted to be for as long as he could. He wanted to die in the job, and that is what he did. But I want to say that his work was made possible by the support of so many people, by his whānau, his friends, his supporters, and his parliamentary staff. But today I want to particularly acknowledge the women in Pare’s life. I am not talking about his love interests. I know nothing of that matter. I want to acknowledge the women who organised things for him, who looked after him, who nagged him to slow down, who fed him, who drove him, and who would do anything for him. He was surrounded by wonderful women. I used to tease him and call them his harem. He would laugh and he would nod. I want to thank all those wonderful women who made Pare’s hectic, chaotic, and hard-out life more bearable and more successful.

There were other women in Pare’s life as well. You heard from Phil Goff of Pare’s love for the Māori Women’s Welfare League. I went along with him, when I was a Minister, to one of its annual conferences. I have never walked so slowly through a crowd. He was stopped by everybody. He was hugged, he was kissed, he was cajoled, and he was acknowledged. He never pushed himself forward. He knew his place. He was always respectful at those conferences. His contribution to the Māori Women’s Welfare League was acknowledged with life membership. I have to tell you, he was so proud of that honour. I loved that cartoon by Tom Scott that was in the paper last week. And what was Pare wearing in that cartoon? His life membership of the Māori Women’s Welfare League. I am not sure how many times he went to its conferences. Sometimes it was 42, sometimes it was 44; it could have been 46. But he went for decades, such was his commitment.

There was another woman in Pare’s life, and that was the former Prime Minister Helen Clark. Her words were read out at his tangi. He was her rock, and he was our rock. He was our constant in all things Māori. Helen relied upon him, but she worried about him. Everyone knows that Pare had a weight problem. I became Minister of Health; therefore, I was supposed to know something about health. I was sent along to talk to Pare about his weight. I went into his office and I said: “Pare, you’ve got to lose weight. You’re going to join Weight Watchers.” He looked at me for a while and he said: “OK.” He then wrote out a cheque for Weight Watchers and became a weight-watcher by correspondence. It was a mission impossible. I am so glad that Pare’s cardiologist did not know that I was his health mentor; otherwise, he might not have got such good service, because I was the person who backed into Mr Abernathy’s new Jaguar.

I first met Parekura in 1989 when I was Minister of Employment. In fact, I was the Minister who set up the community employment development unit, which was its name before it was changed by the next Government to the Community Employment Group. We have heard about it today. It was set up to think outside the square and to look at grassroots, community-based economic development and job creation. It was set up by a small group of amazing people. It was led by people like Garry Moore, who went on to become the Mayor of Christchurch. But there were also Wally Stone, Jay Sepie, Hilary Allison, Richard Brooking, John Bishara, David Wilson—to name a few. It was cutting-edge stuff in terms of economic development. It scared the daylights out of the then Secretary of Labour, Jas McKenzie. It needed a director, a person who understood the community, who understood economic development and regional development, who knew what was possible, where the resources were, who the movers and shakers were in the community, and who had been there and done that. As they say, you know what the end of the story was: Parekura was the person who was chosen for the job, because, as Garry Moore said to me, no one understood people with their backside out of their trousers like Parekura did. His commitment to local economic development was total. Only a few weeks ago he would say in the corridor: “Hey, we’ve got to get back on to that local economic development. That is what this community needs.”

He was never the stereotypical bureaucrat. In fact, Garry Moore said that he was called into Pare’s office when he was the director and Pare said: “I’ve got to go to see the new National Minister.” Garry was not sure what he was meant to do, but Pare said: “Teach me how to put on a tie.” In fact, Pare did not know how to tie a tie until Garry Moore taught him, and I give him 2 out of 10—it was hopeless from then on.

Parekura did what he loved doing. He did it, as Phil Goff said, with passion, with warmth, with humour, and—I would add another word—with naughtiness. Pare was naughty. You need only to ask our whips: the leave that was asked for that was never taken; the leave that was taken that was never asked for. We loved Pare. We will always remember him. He was an incredibly special person. Shane, he has passed the baton on to you, and I know that you will honour his memory and the work that he did. Kia ora tātou.

Su’a WILLIAM SIO (Labour—Māngere) : It is my privilege to join with the rest of the House here to pay our tributes and final farewell to Parekura Horomia. I want to, firstly, acknowledge the presence of so many tribal leaders from Ngati Porou and other iwi who are present, as well as the members of Parekura Horomia’s family.

The last time I saw Parekura was when, as Brendan said, he conducted and led a pōwhiri on behalf of all Parliament to welcome to this House the parliamentary leaders from the Pacific. I know that Tau Henare had asked him to do this, and that morning he asked me what time he needed to be there. I could hear in his voice that he was weak. In fact, we had seen him earlier in the week and you could see life ebbing away from his body. So I said to him: “You don’t have to do it, Pare. You can stay home.” But no, no, he insisted. He insisted on coming.

Most of the House will not know that when Pare was a Minister he was elected by the Ministers of Education of the Pacific Islands Forum to chair that forum. In fact, he said to me that Trevor did not like it, but he did not know about it. So, even when we lost Government, even when Labour was out of Government, for some reason or other the Ministers of Education from the Pacific Islands Forum continued to ask him to chair those forums.

When he died that week, members of the Pacific community from across the nation called up. Former colleagues of his and many others wanted to pay tribute, wanted to offer something on behalf of the Pacific community. I was reluctant at first, because of the cultures that I practise, but also not fully understanding how Hauiti Marae, Ngati Porou, would receive it, and for all the range of political reasons. But in the end my colleagues from Auckland came up and we were privileged—and I want to acknowledge Hauiti Marae and the elders there for receiving us—to acknowledge Parekura as a chief by presenting to the marae and to his whānau a Samoan fine mat, a tapa from Tonga called the pulupulu, and a basket of food that did not have any food. I suppose in the end we decided not to include the food because when Parekura was alive he was on a diet and we felt instead that that basket would symbolise the love and appreciation of members of the Pacific community who knew Parekura even before he became a member of Parliament.

Those of us who were privileged to be part of the tangi and the final days and final hours with the family and Ngati Porou felt that that was perhaps our finest hour, that Parekura brought together people from all walks of life, from the four corners of Aotearoa New Zealand, that he was not just a politician, that he was a father, he was a koro, he was an uncle, and, indeed, he was a friend to many of us here in this House.

When we reflected at a meeting last night in Māngere upon what had occurred in the life of Parekura, one of the Tongan leaders said to me that this Tongan proverb best reflects how things occurred at the tangi, and it goes like this: ‘Ōku ‘ilonga hoto ‘ulungaanga, ‘i he’ete mate. The translation is: the reputation or mana of a person is revealed for all to see when they die.

I suppose we were all captivated by the way New Zealand as a whole, from Kīngi Tuheitia, from the Prime Minister, from the Speaker, from the Ministers, from politicians from both sides of the House, from chief executive officers of business, from farmers, from students, from rugby players—it did not matter what they were but they all felt that Parekura had touched them throughout their lives, and they came to pay their respects, offer their condolences, and convey their genuine and sincere love for the man called Parekura. I think that reflects, in my personal opinion, our finest hour of what is possible for a place called Aotearoa New Zealand.

Many of us reflect on Parekura’s role with the Community Employment Group, how he was a staunch advocate for communities, for local solutions, and how he was a staunch advocate for the young people, our youth. I share with him the belief that we have a role to play in preparing our youth, Māori and Pacific in particular, to take up leadership roles in whatever forum in this country of ours. There is a Māori proverb that I think sums up his desire for young people: “Whāia te iti kahuranga ki te tūohu koe me he maunga teitei”—aim for the highest cloud so that if you miss it, you will hit a lofty mountain. I am not sure whether Parekura shared that with me, but certainly in our conversations he was a staunch, staunch advocate of our young people.

As I conclude, I think, above all, Parekura knew more than most of us his role in this House, and that is, at the end of the day, when all has been done and said, the question will be asked: “What was your purpose here?”, and his answer would be: “It was about people, it was about people, it was about people.” I agree with the minister at the funeral service, when he said Pare’s legacy was to feed the people, to feed the children. I hope, as others here in the House have expressed, that there are times in this House that we take on board what Pare’s life means for all of us, and that is that we need to forget about the politics and do the right thing because it is the right thing for the people. Fa’auma atu se mātou fa’amatalaga. Ia vave taape le ao pouliuli ua ufitia ai Ngati Porou ma le aiga fa’anoanoa o Parekura. May the dark clouds that hover over Ngati Porou and the bereaved family of Parekura quickly dissipate. Ia manuia lau malaga, Parekura; safe journey.

TE URUROA FLAVELL (Māori Party—Waiariki) : Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Kia ora tātou katoa e te Whare. E Para, hoki wairua mai ki tō Whare. Taihoa ake nei ka hoki mai ki a koe ēngari, me mihi ki tō rahi i haere tawhiti mai kia eke ki roto i te Whare Pāremata. Taihoa ki a koe. Tītoko o te rangi tau ārai o te pō i te urunga mai o Tama-nui-te-rā, me mihi rā ka tika ki ngā tai o Te Rāwhiti i pakaru mai nei ki runga i Te Upoko o te Ika, te Whare Pāremata, te Whare o ngā Raiona, te Whare o te Raiona o Mangatuna kua moe.

Tēnā koutou, haere mai, haere mai, haere mai. E te rohe o te maunga neke kore ki Tītīrangi, ki ngā awa e karekare mai rā i Ūawa i tōna reo waitī, he reo waitā, he wainene te reo pekerangi, te reo koha mai a ngā atua e tākirikiri ana i ngā tauwharewharenga o te ngākau; haere mai, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou.

E Pare, kua rongo koe i ngā kōrero ēngari me mihi rā ki tō iwi nā rātou anō te motu i tiaki i ngā rā tata kua hipa ake. I whakatuwhera nei i te matapihi o Te Ao Māori ki te motu, ki te ao nā runga i ngā rauemi o tēnei wā te rorohiko, ahakoa tō koretake ki te mahi i te rorohiko ēngari, kite mai ai ngā tōpito katoa o te ao i te āhuatanga manaaki o tō iwi i te motu. Me mihi ki a rātou ka tika ngā ringa raupā ō-mua, ō-muri, ā, e kōrerohia ake nei e ngā kaikōrero i mua i a au.

Ko tāku he tautoko ake i ngā mihi ki a rātou katoa o Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, o Ngati Porou whānui tonu, tēnā koutou katoa. Tēnā, Parekura, hoki wairua mai kia kōrero tāua ki te tangata nei. Waiho ngā kōrero kua kōrerohia ēngari he take tāku, he take nui, whakaharahara. He take nui i kōrerohia e te Māori nei i te wā i a ia. E ai ki a ia, o te motu whānui tonu kotahi anake te tīma whutupōro i kawe nei i Te Reo Māori ki ngā tōpito, ki ngā whīra katoa o te motu. Ko wai tērā? Ko Ngati Porou - East Coast. Nō reira, ko tāku he whakatakoto i tērā kōrero ki roto i te Whare Pāremata kia tuhia ki roto i ngā pukapuka a Hansard kia tāea ai e tāua e Para te kī atu, ā, kua tuhia ki roto i ngā pukapuka a te Whare Pāremata. Āe, ko East Coast - Ngati Porou, ko Ngati Porou - East Coast rānei. Kua tuhia he ingoa tonu o tētahi tīma whutupōro, he ingoa Māori, he whakapapa tōna. Me waiho tērā kōrero ki reira.

E hoa, kua raruraru tonu tāua i wētahi wā i roto i te Whare, i te komiti whiriwhiri take Māori. I ētahi wā, e hoa, kāre au e tino whai tonu i te āhuatanga o ō kōrero i te mea, i te kōrero mātou mō tētahi kaupapa hōhonu nei, te mutunga mai o te hōhonu, inā kē ōna toronga, hā, kātahi koe ka whakaputa noa, kotahi anake te tīma e kawe nei i te ingoa Māori, ko Ngati Porou. Ka pātai au ki a au anō, ā tēnā, he aha te tikanga o tērā kōrero ki tēnei kaupapa? Ēngari, kāore koe e whakautu ka whakatakoto noa i tērā kōrero hei mea whakakatakata, he mea whakangāhau mō mātou. Ēngari e kore au e wareware i te āhuatanga o tērā kōrero. Ko koe tērā i tuitui nei i a mātou katoa o te Whare Pāremata. I kōrerohia tērā i ngā rā kua hipa. Anei tō hoariri, anei tō hoariri, auē taihoa. Anei tō hoariri, mātou o tēnei taha e tuohu nei te māhunga ki a koe nā runga i te āhuatanga o tō ngākau nui ki te tangata—nui te tangata, nui te ngākau. Nō reira ko koe tērā.

Kua rongo i ngā kōrero a te Pirimia i a ia e kōrero ana. E Para, e whitu ngā tūru Pākehā kei roto i tō rohe, e whitu ngā tūru Pākehā kei roto i tō rohe. E hoa mā, me āta whakaaro tātou mō tērā. E whitu ngā tūru Pākehā i roto i te mea kotahi Māori nei. Koinei pea koe i mate ai? Nā tō kaha, nā tō pukumahi ki te whaiwhai haere i ngā kaupapa o Te Ao Māori. E aroha atu ana ki a tāua, e aroha atu ana ki a tātou ngā mema Māori o tēnei Whare Pāremata i te mea. Koinei te āhuatanga o ngā tūru Māori.

E aroha atu ana ki te kōrero a Te Winitana Pita nei i a ia e kōrero ana, i haere mai te Māori nei ki roto i tēnei Whare Pāremata, i hoki mate nei koe ki tō iwi. Koinei te whakamā, koinei te whakamā e Pare. Kāre mātou i āta tiaki i a koe i te wā e takatū ana koe i te mata o te whenua. Māmā noa iho te kōrero me te kī atu, e hoki ki tō kāinga. Ko te mate kē kāore mātou i tiki i a koe, i tuku i a koe ki roto motokā me te kī atu, me hoki tāua ki tō maunga. Nō reira, waiho tērā kōrero ki a tāua. E ohorere anō a au ki tērā kōrero ēngari, e tika ana tā Te Winitana Pita, ē, kia tūpato, kia tūpato tātou i a tātou e noho nei i te mata o te whenua. Ē, kia kaua e whai i te huarahi i oti i a koe i te wā i a koe e takatū ana i te mata o te whenua.

He kupu whakamutunga ki a koe e hoa. Kua raruraru katoa mātou ngā mema Pāremata i nāianei. I te mutunga mai o tō tangihanga, nā mema o Te Rōpū Wāhine Māori Toko i te Ora, i kangakanga mai ki a mātou me te kī mai, me tae mai koe ki te hui o te iwi, ki te koroneihana, ki Rātana, ki Waitangi, ki ngā hui katoa, he aha ai? Ko koe tērā i whakarite nei i tērā huarahi, tērā tauira mō mātou. He uaua te whaiwhai haere i tērā āhuatanga ēngari, koinei te mihi o te ngākau ki a koe. Ko koe tērā i whakarite nei i te taumata o te kōrero, o te mahi, o te pukumahi ēngari i tōna mutunga, te taumata o te manaaki tangata ahakoa ko wai, e moe, e moe, e moe. E hoki ki tō hoa rangatira e tatari mai nā ki a koe. Takoto mai. Kia ora tātou katoa.

[Thank you, Mr Speaker. Salutations to us all across the House. Para, return in spirit to your House. I will come back to you shortly, as I must acknowledge the very vast number of yours who have descended upon Parliament House from afar. I will come back to you shortly. Prop of the heavens and barrier of the void, as when the sun enters, it is right that I welcome the tides from the East Coast that have flowed into Wellington, to Parliament House, House of the Lions, and House of the Lion from Mangatuna, at rest now.

Greetings to you collectively, welcome, welcome, welcome. To the region of the mountain that never moves, to Tītīrangi as well, to the rippling waters there at Tolaga Bay with its sweet, melodious, and beautiful voice gifted from the gods, which tugs at the heart strings; welcome, salutations, greetings, and acknowledgments to you collectively.

Pare, you have heard what has been stated, but I must commend your tribe, who really looked after the nation in the past days. They opened up the window of Māoridom to the country and to the world through the resources of these times, the computer even if your computer skills were quite hopeless, but, nevertheless, aspects on how your tribe looked after the nation were viewed from all ends of the world. Without a doubt we must commend them, the busy people up front and at the back, whom previous speakers before me alluded to.

My part is merely to endorse the accolades to all of them of Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti andNgati Porou at large, so congratulations to you all. So, Parekura, return in spirit so that you and I can talk to this man. Leave what has been stated already to one side, as I have an important and an extraordinary matter to bring up. It was a matter of huge significance that this Māori alluded to in his time. According to him, there was only one team in the entire country that took the Māori language to every nook and cranny and to every rugby field of the country. And who was that? It was the Ngati Porou - East Coast team, of course. My part was to merely make that statement in the House to have it recorded in the volumes of Hansard so that you and I, Pare, are able to say that it has been written into the official records of Parliament House. Yes, it is East Coast - Ngati Porou, or Ngati Porou - East Coast. An actual name of a rugby team is on record; it is a Māori name with its genesis. Let us leave that conversation there.

My friend, there have been times when you and I have had difficulties in the House and in a Māori Affairs Committee hearing. At times, fellow colleague, I have not been able to follow the gist of your statements because we, not you, would be discussing a matter at great depth, unbelievably great depth, and its branches were just that much, when all of a sudden you would say that, however, there is only one team that has a Māori name. It is Ngati Porou. So I ask myself again what the meaning of this postulation is. But you do not respond and merely put that statement out there as something for us to laugh and amuse ourselves over. But that sort of contribution will never be forgotten. Nevertheless, I will never forget the nature of that kind of statement. It was you who united all of us across the House. That part of you was referred to in days just passed. Here is your opposition standing here, here is your rival, oh, hang on, here is your opposition, we of this side of the House, standing before you with heads bowed saluting you because of your commitment to people—a big man with a big heart. And that is you to the letter.

I heard the words of the Prime Minister during his speech. Para, there are seven general seats in your electorate. There are seven general seats in your electorate. Fellow colleagues, we need to actually consider that. There are seven general seats in the one Māori electorate. Perhaps this is the reason why you died? Perhaps it was due to the fact that your efforts were robust and that you worked hard to follow up matters that affected Māoridom. I pity us two and all of us Māori members of this House, because we are who we are. This is the nature of Māori seats.

I empathise with what Winston Peters said during his address, when he stated that this Māori here came into this Parliament House alive, but he went home sick to his tribe. This is the shame and embarrassment, Pare. We did not look after you enough while you were up and about the country. Telling someone to go home is an easy thing to do. The problem was that we didn’t get you in the car and say to you, let us go back to your mountain. So I leave that conversation there between us. I am alarmed at those words, but what the Rt Hon Winston Peters said is quite true. We need to take care of ourselves properly as we go up and about the country doing our business.

A final tribute to you, my colleague, and that is that all of us Māori members of Parliament are in a bit of a fix now. When your funeral was over, we were berated by members of the Māori Women’s Welfare League. They said to us, you must come to the tribal conference, to the coronation, to Rātana, to Waitangi. You must get to all the meetings. Why? It was you who set that down as an example for us to follow. It is going to be a hard act to follow and it is the reason why I tip my hat to you. It was you who was considered the standard for communicating, working, and performing, and, at the end of it all, the standard for looking after a person whoever she or he was. Slumber and rest on. Return to your wife, who awaits you. Lie there. Thank you to us all .]

Hon HEKIA PARATA (National) : Ko Hikurangi me Aoraki aku maunga, ko Waiapū me Waitaki ngā awa, ko Ngati Porou me Ngāi Tahu ngā iwi, koinei tāua. Haere atu rā, e te Minita, haere atu rā e te mema Pāremata, haere atu rā e te whanaunga hoa, haere atu rā e te kaimahi, haere atu rā e te tūngane. Hoki mai ki a tātou, nā hunga ora, ngā kanohi o rātou kua mene atu ki te pō. Tēnā koutou e whakawhāiti nei i roto i tēnei Whare o tātou o Aotearoa nei. Tēnā koutou, Tūrei, koutou ko ō kōkā, o pāpā, o tīpuna o te whānau pani, i hara mai i tēnei rā, i te taha o Ngati Porou, o Kahungunu, o ngā ropu katoa e tautoko ana koutou i tēnei ahiahi, tēnā koutou.

Hauiti koutou kei te kāinga e mātakitaki mai nei, e whakarongo ana, tēnā koutou. Nā koutou i waha te tangihanga te poroporoaki mō ta tātou tangata, i takatu ki muri, i takatu ki roto ā, i kōrero ki mua. Tēnā koutou. Kia koutou, kia tātou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, kia ora tātou katoa.

[My mountains are Hikurangi and Aoraki. The rivers are Waiapū and Waitaki. Ngati Porou and Ngāi Tahu are the tribes. This is us two. Farewell to the Minister, the member of Parliament, my fellow relative, worker, and brother. Let us come back to us, the ones who are alive, and the faces of those who have assembled in the abode of the dead. Well done to you crammed into this House of ours here in New Zealand. Hello there, Tūrei, to you and your aunties, uncles, and grandparents of the bereaved family who came today with Ngati Porou, Ngāti Kahungunu, and all the other groups. You are playing a supportive role this afternoon. Good stuff.

To you, Hauiti, back there at home, watching and listening, congratulations. You took care of the funeral and eulogies for our man, and you did the preparations at the back, inside, and up the front in terms of the speeches and calls of welcome; it was wonderful. I acknowledge and congratulate us all collectively .]

We have been farewelling Parekura Horomia for the past 10 days, I think, and all of those at home and those here, and many, many more from all around the country have been a part of that process, and it has been fitting. As all of the speakers previous to me have noted, he reached out and touched so many people, so many lives, so many hearts. It has been totally fitting. Over the time that Parekura was laid at, first, Hinemaurea, and then at Hauiti, people came from all over. I think that he would have been happy with his tangi. I think that ensuring that all who came were manaaki, they felt the generosity of the hau kāinga of Hauiti, bolstered and supported by Ngati Porou whānui, ngā iwi o Turanganui-a-Kiwa, o Kahungunu, o ngā iwi katoa [the tribe of Porou at large, the ones of Gisborne, Kahungunu, and all the tribes]. Ngāi Tahu came up from Te Wai Pounamu, tērā taha tōna[that side of his]. Everyone came from all parts of Aotearoa to pay their respects, to make their tributes, to tell their jokes, and to repeat their anecdotes and to colonise them as their own and repeat them on other occasions. It was truly a mourning of his passing, but a celebration of his life as well, and that is as it should have been and should be. Parekura and I, kua oti kē taku kōrero ā-whanau i te pō whakamutunga, nē rā, nā reira i tēnei wā kei te kōrero au mōna i roto i a Tūranga, i a Te Whanga-nui-a-Tara, me ngā mahi i mahia e ia.

[I already covered the stories about him and the family at that night of final accolades, did I not? So, this time I am going to talk about him in Wellington and what he achieved here.]

Parekura and I came from the same little marae out at the mouth of the Waiapū. As do many of us, we have many sides to us. We come from different parts of our rohe and we share whakapapa. But the first time we worked together officially was in 1985—was that when the Hui Taumata was, I ask the official historian sitting up in the gallery—when both he and I spoke at the Hui Taumata, which had been organised by the Hon Koro Wētere. It drew together in a very historic—and, as it happens, appropriately herstoric—way, men and women, young and old, throughout the country to talk together about what the challenges were that faced us as Māori and that faced us as New Zealanders and as participants in, contributors to, and shapers of our own destinies, and in so doing contributing to the strength of our country, Aotearoa New Zealand.

I went on to work with Parekura as a public servant—he in the Department of Labour, I in a range of Government departments. We did not always disclose our affiliation or whanaungatanga, as we worked different sides of the kaupapa. In many instances in that time we set about trying to design Māori affairs policies that would deliver better than those we had experienced or seen ourselves. I worked for him as Minister of Māori Affairs—again working on how we could better develop policy that would support Māori to be successful.

It has been mentioned already that Parekura was a true public servant. He served many publics, and he came from a tribe and a community that honoured public service and commitment to community. One of the things that I think I will always remember him for and honour him for—well, actually, a collection of things—is that all of his work was based on belief, understanding, respect, and the wish to showcase what was right about being Māori, not what was wrong; what was powerful and positive about being Māori, not what was a problem and deficit; what was normal and wonderful and beautiful about being Māori, not what it was to fix it up to make it look better. He started truly using policy analysis terms for a proficiency analysis. He believed in what was possible, what the potential was here, and how it might be realised.

He may not have expressed it that way. Many have commented on his “mikirapu-ness”, to use a Ngati Porou term, on how he used words. At home people just called that “Para-phrasing”, because, of course, as all of you who came to the coast will know, although Parekura was known as Parekura here, or Parry, or Pare, at home he was always known as Para or Uncle Para. So, yes, it was just a question that he was “Para-phrasing”, and he would always return to “Para-dise”. That is what he has done in Hauiti.

He was truly a member of the House of Representatives, which all of us who sit in today worked so hard to get to and participate in. He brought the diversity, and the richness, and the authenticity that is so important to a true representative democracy. He did spend a lot of time on the road, up and down the communities of this country, reaching out and touching people. There are stories that are told about him all the time about him pulling up to houses. Shane Jones has already mentioned that, in terms of a by-election he was a part of—in terms of a by-election I was a part of. I know how much campaigning my cousin did against me—this much. I know where the election pamphlets to oppose me went to—certainly into an opening, but not a letterbox.

I know that Parekura was loved and respected in little communities and big communities, and in small organisations and big organisations. I worked with Parekura and for Parekura, and I saw him operate successfully and effectively no matter which Government was in power, because he went with authenticity for what he was trying to achieve. I think that he was very effective, and I think it is important that in a democracy like ours and in a House of Representatives like this we always welcome and value that rich diversity that he personified, not only in what he did but in the way he did it and the way that he was warm and generous.

It has already been said that he was a big man with a big heart—he absolutely was. He worked extremely hard. I totally agree with Annette King, I think it was, who said he wanted to die doing what he loved doing. The idea that he anointed successors I just do not believe. He did flirt with the idea now and again, and you would have heard that in the eulogies at Hauiti over the weekend, but he wanted to do what he was doing. Actually, I think this is a very fitting way for him to have left from all the work, the mahi, that he did, which he loved doing, and which he was respected for doing.

We both come from a community where Apirana Ngata stood tall. Many know him as the guy on the $50 note. Where we grew up he walked tall in our community. Songs were, and are, sung about him. It was many years before I discovered he had actually passed away, because all of the stories spoke of him as if he was very much alive. One of the things that he wrote before he passed away, which has been quoted many times in this House, in its shortened version was: “E tipu e rea mō ngā rā o tō ao.” Grow up and serve the needs of your generation. That is what Parekura has done. He has served the needs of his generation and he has honoured that whakataukī, that poroporoaki, of his tipuna of Apirana Ngata.

So I would like to share in thanking him for the contributions that he made both personally and professionally, the contributions that he made in terms of politics and policy. Many on the other side of the House will not know—they may have suspected—that he gave me constant feedback on how I was doing here in this House. All of you here and certainly all of our whanaunga will notice that messengers operate in this House. You do not know where a message has come from. I would often get one from my tungāne on the other side of the Chamber. I will not be sharing what they were, but I really appreciated them and I will miss looking across the House to see him speak so expressively with his eyes and his eyebrows, which he held many conversations through as we sat opposite each other in this House. Haere, oki atu rā e te tūngane.

[Farewell and rest up, brother.]

Our rambling, shambling man, thank you for so much that you gave to all of us. You will be remembered. Whāia te iti kahurangi, ki te tuoho koe, me he maunga teitei—strive for the ultimate, and if you must bow your head, let it be to a lofty mountain. Katahi anō a ia ka tū nui—finally, he has bowed his head. Kia ora. Tēnā koutou.

MOANA MACKEY (Labour) : Ko Hikurangi te maunga, ko Waiapū te awa, ko Ngati Porou te iwi. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

[Hikurangi is the mountain, Waiapū is the river, and Ngati Porou is the tribe. Salutations, greetings, and acknowledgments to you and to us all collectively.]

I have had the privilege of working with Parekura on the East Coast over the last decade. I saw how hard he worked, the long distances he had to travel, the sacrifices that his whānau made. The Māori seats are not like the general seats at all. The distances and the expectations are so much bigger. Engagement is done kanohi ki te kanohi, not by teleconference. It is about the personal relationships, not just the professional. I want to thank his whānau and his community for sharing him with us for so long, and all his staff who worked tirelessly to help him carry out a very difficult job. We know that he did not do it alone, as he so often pointed out.

Parekura was a good Labour man and a strong supporter of women—within our party, within his electorate, and across the country—as evidenced by his life membership of the Māori Women’s Welfare League. When I first entered Parliament, he called me into his office and he said: “Don’t you let those men push you around. You stand up for yourself.” It is not always easy being the whitest Māori in the room, and I always appreciated how he looked out for me and supported me. Despite always telling me to shut up, he had my back. Thank you, Pare.

Others have spoken of his many accomplishments, but I want to talk about his home. I cannot even begin to imagine the East Coast without Parekura. He worked tirelessly for his electorate. He hated seeing young people—

Hon Member: Shut up, Moana!

MOANA MACKEY: —shut up, Moana—leaving the Coast in droves because of the lack of opportunities. As a Minister he took his experience from the Coast and passionately advocated for regional economic development. He knew that a one-size-fits-all approach would never work for places like Tai Rāwhiti, and that unless you have experienced the sheer isolation of many of these communities you could not fully understand the barriers they face—like not having a rail line.

I think that one of the most extraordinary things about Parekura and one of the reasons he was so popular was that Parliament did not change him. This place changes everyone, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Even the most strident activists who come in promising to change the system end up being changed by it, but not Pare. Despite the most intense pressure from the media and others to change the way he spoke or the way he looked, Parekura stayed true to who he was. He knew what he was talking about, even if others did not. But I can tell you that for every person in the beltway who said that they could not understand what he said, I could find two people up the Coast who would say: “He’s the only one of you buggers who makes any sense.”

Parekura was a mentor and a friend to me. I suspect that, to him, I was first and foremost a somewhat reluctant co-conspirator in his elaborate plots to avoid having to come to Wellington each week. It was my job to back him up. I remember him phoning me after he had told the whips that his flight from Gisborne to Wellington had been diverted. He said that they did not believe him, so I said: “Well, where did you tell them it had been diverted to?”. He said: “Auckland.” I asked him why he did not say Napier or Palmerston North or indeed any other place actually on the way to Wellington instead of 500 kilometres in the opposite direction, to which he simply replied: “Shut up, Moana.” I also remember the day Air New Zealand announced that it was increasing the number of flights between Gisborne and Wellington—a dark day for Parekura. I also remember the ensuing phone call instructing me in very colourful language to keep my mouth shut and to not tell the whips about the extra flights. I will miss the phone calls, I will miss him shouting questions to me from the other end of the plane on our flights home, and I would give anything to hear him say “Shut up, Moana.” one last time.

I think it is only appropriate that his recipe for bully beef stew with spaghetti and mussels goes with him to his grave. Anyone who says Pare never had a bad word to say about anyone obviously never told him to take a break or to take better care of his health, which would always invoke a string of expletives. You quickly learnt that the best you could do was to support him and to try to share some of the load, and his family and staff did just that. The loyalty he engendered in his staff was amazing. There was not anything they would not do for him, through the good times and bad, right down to having to negotiate him out of a tractor he bought on TradeMe for his farm in Mangatuna, when he had not realised that the pick-up was in Central Otago.

Parekura was the son of a manual labourer who made it to the highest levels of Government. You do not get there without passion and smarts, and he had both. Some have expressed astonishment at the enormous numbers who came to mourn him, from prime ministers and kings to the guy who washes windows down the street, but those of us who worked with him on an everyday basis were not surprised us all. I think it is fair to say, Pare, that you know you have had an impact on people’s lives when your tangi has an information stand and Radio New Zealand is reporting traffic updates for Auckland, Wellington, and Tolaga Bay.

To the wonderful Ūawa community and the people of Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, thank you for your hospitality last week and for sharing your paradise with the people of New Zealand. For my part, I choose to remember him wandering up and down the sidelines at Ūawa rugby matches dressed in his polar fleece, his gumboots, and his suit pants, telling the ref loudly and frequently to get some eyes. Moe mai rā e te rangatira, Parekura.

[Rest indeed, Parekura, the leader.]

You will be missed more than you know.

LOUISA WALL (Labour—Manurewa) :

Moe mai, e Pare, i roto i te aroha,

Takoto mai i runga i tō atamira.

Ka heke i aku kamo,

Ngā wai roimata.

Auē e Pare, e tuohu atu nei.

Ngā mihi aroha e ngā whānau o Parekura, Desmond, Wallace, Tūrei, Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngati Porou, Ngāi Tahu. Rau rangatira mā, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

[Sleep the loving sleep, Pare,

Lie there upon your stage.

Falling from eyes,

Are the tears .

Alas Pare, I stand with my head bowed before you .

Fond regards to you the families of Parekura, Desmond, Wallace, Tūrei, descendants of Hauiti, and tribes of Kahungunu, Porou, and Tahu. To you, the leaders of a hundredfold, I salute, acknowledge, and greet you and us all collectively. ]

Feed the whānau; feed the children. I was at the marae on Tuesday night, and they were the instructions. They were the instructions that Wayne Ngata and the whānau there were given by Parekura Horomia. I want to say to the whānau that he would be so proud, because you fed the whānau and you fed the children. So we want to say thank you for your hospitality; thank you for the crayfish and the paua, and all that beautiful food that where I come from, Waitahanui, is our hākari food, but we had that for every meal.

I was really privileged in this term to sit next to Pare at caucus. Parekura ended up being a mentor for me in many ways. Rather than telling me to shut up, like he did to Moana Mackey, he would just grab my arm and tell me to calm down. I also sat next to Parekura at the Māori Affairs Committee. I want to mihi to Tau Henare, who is the chair of our Māori Affairs Committee, but, in fact, Pare was the chief. That was the reality. Any manuhiri who came into our select committee, it was Pare who did the mihi. Not only did Pare boss Hone Harawira around, but Rino Tirikatene always had to do the karakia, and Te Ururoa Flavell got bossed around. Basically he was the rangatira of that group who made us all safe. It did not matter where we went, Parekura steered our waka in a very straight direction, and we all knew what the kawa was, what the protocols were.

We went over to Australia as a select committee at the end of last year. We went over to find out from the Aussies how we could better help our indigenous people. The irony of that is that what we found out from our experience in Australia was that, in fact, the best way we can help our whānau here is to make sure our babies, our tamariki, our mokopuna, speak the Reo, and know our tikanga. So when I think about Parekura, actually, I think about a man whose policies, in fact, are going to ensure that our Māori identity mai rānō, will continue for ever and ever. That is the legacy that I see in Parekura in establishing Māori Television and iwi radio. It actually was about fundamentally ingraining into our babies the opportunity to be Māori. So the “Feed the whānau; feed the children.” instruction was actually to house the children, clothe the children, make sure our children can get to the doctor. I think that the Māori Affairs Committee and the inquiry it is doing is going to be Pare’s legacy. So it is a challenge to this House how we do that.

Parekura for me was also a kaitohe mana wahine. Pākehās would call it a feminist. He was a feminist. At the Māori Women’s Welfare League hui last year in Blenheim, Parekura spoke. He spoke about being proud to be part of the league. For me, the highlight of his kōrero in terms of recounting about all these beautiful Māori women who had been part of his life was also saying that Māori women should be able to speak on the marae. I thought that was pretty brave and bold of Pare, but, actually, for him it was all about the Reo and it was all about the tikanga. So if our wāhine have the Reo and they have the tikanga, then why should they not? That is one of the challenges I think he has left for Māoridom. I think that is the legacy that Parekura, again, has created for all of us. Parekura loved Hukarere Girls’ College. I think one of the last legacies that we all have to now fulfil is about the chapel. It was spoken about a lot during his tangi that that was one of the things he did not achieve. I think for us here in the House, the question is how we can help that reality come to fruition. I know that for Parekura it burned in him, the responsibility he had to help shape young women, leaders of the future.

Parekura was our matua, but, more than that, he was our kaitiaki. For me, Parekura was the balance. He was the balance within te Rōpū Reipa. He was the balance within caucus. Parekura and his leadership—the fact that he could go on to any marae in the country. I was privileged last year, with Trevor Mallard, actually, to go to Waimārama Taumāunu’s mother’s tangi. We were part of a crew who turned up outside of the hours where you normally take manuhiri, but with Pare we could go anywhere at any time. So we went on, we paid our respects. We got back to the hotel at midnight. We were up at 6. We were there in the kitchen. It was a real insight into the work that Parekura did, and he did it because, for him, whānau was so important. That is why he was the tangi man. He made it back to every tangi because, for him, that is why he was here. That was why he was here.

I just want to highlight what the Rev. Hirini Kaa said when he spoke about Parekura. He talked about him being a pononga—a pononga, a true servant of the people. You do not get politicians like Parekura today. Most of us go to events so we can get in the paper. Most of us go to events so that people know what we are doing. Parekura did not want that recognition. He did not need that recognition. His recognition was in his whānau knowing that he was there for them, with them, at all times. That is something that I wanted to bring into my political career. It was about relationships. It was about whanaungatanga, about knowing why you are in this place, and not becoming disconnected from the people you are here to serve.

So I pay tribute to Parekura, who is a mentor for me. He is somebody whom I will carry in my heart for my entire political career, and he is somebody whom I think, from what we have heard today and what we heard over the last week on the marae, we are so proud of, whom we love so much. I think that is the enduring legacy of Parekura: his love and the love that we all had for him. I guess the challenge is how we translate that into the work that we do. It is something that I know I am thinking about, it is something that my colleagues are thinking about, and it is something that provides some guidance into the future. Moe mai e te rangatira, Parekura. Moe mai, moe mai, moe mai. Kia ora.

[Rest there, Parekura, the leader. Sleep, sleep, and slumber there. Thank you.]

Hon TAU HENARE (National) :E Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, e Ngati Porou, tēnā koutou. Tēnā koutou i haere mai nei i tēnei rā, ki te poroporoaki i tō koutou tamaiti. Nō reira, e mihi kau atu au i a koutou katoa.

[Greetings to you collectively of Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti and Ngati Porou who have arrived here today to farewell your son. And so I acknowledge you all indeed.]

You know, over the past week or so we have heard of Parekura’s prowess in tribal links—Ūawa, Ngāti Hauiti, Ngati Porou—his prowess as a rugby player, and his prowess as a fisherman of some note. The Horomia family is an old and respected whānau from Te Araroa, on my wife’s side. My wife and Parekura are very closely related, from Kōpuapounamu, where his father, Willow, is buried, te whānau a Tūwhakairiora, so much so that when I first started going out with my wife—well, she was going out with me—one of the things that my brother-in-law Tuku Morgan and I used to do every Christmas was make this pilgrimage to Te Araroa. If any of you have ever been there, you will know that it is the most idyllic spot. If it was in America you just could not afford to live there—actually, you can afford to live there. There is a place called Matakaoa Point, which juts out, basically, into the Pacific Ocean. The next piece of land you would bump into is South America.

I want to relate a fishing story about my brother, who would interrupt his holidays and come for a holiday with Tuku and me. If people know Matakaoa Point, they will know that you actually have to get there in a four-wheel drive. You have to walk about a mile or so down to the bottom, where you can fish. I am sure you all know that whenever more than two Māori men get together there is a competition about something. It is either a competition about what is happening then or a competition that happened 200 or 300 years before, between Ngati Porou and some other people, which I will get to soon.

My lasting memory of one of those pilgrimages is that there were three grown men who could not fish to save themselves, including me, my brother-in-law Tuku, and Parekura. On the first time that we went out, while Tuku and I were after the big kingie off the shore—and we could actually see kingies jumping out of the water, waving at us as if to say: “Get me, get me.”; it was the most idyllic day of one’s life, with beautiful sun, plenty of fish in the sea—we looked around and Parekura was up on the hill trying to undo his birds’ nest and also having lunch. He had prepared this picnic for us. He came all the way from Mangatuna early in the morning—very early in the morning—and he had prepared this feast of roast chicken, of rēwena, of spuds, of kūmara, and no green stuff—absolutely none. We had the most wonderful day talking about all sorts of things.

It was not long after I had become Minister of Māori Affairs and my brother-in-law was involved in some TV—

Hon Shane Jones: Episode.

Hon TAU HENARE: —episode. I tell you what, during that episode, apart from my leader, Winston, not one Māori in the community stood up for us two apart from Parekura. Uncle Pita bagged us from here to eternity. Trevor Mallard normally bags anybody from here to eternity. But Parekura, he was not even in the place. He always gave us support. When I was Minister, he was always up in my office, giving us support and giving us advice.

You know, when I came back into Parliament, the first thing that Parekura said to me was: “What’s those Pākehās like, bro? What are those Pākehās like—your Pākehās?”, and I got it. I was quite honoured to have this bunch of Pākehās with me and be in charge of these Pākehās, but that was Parekura. Parekura sort of knew what question to ask and how to ask it.

Rt Hon Winston Peters: What did you say?

Hon TAU HENARE: You will have to ask Parekura.

They said his politics were clean, but sure, over the last 10 days or so, I have asked about his rugby. On the day of the pōwhiri for the Pacific Island community leaders and politicians I went over to him. He was sitting where David Parker is now, and I asked him how he was. He rubbed his leg and he said: “You know, bro, my rugby injury’s been playing up.” Then he proceeded to blame my wife’s mother’s brother, Uncle EB. Now EB has been dead for 2 or 3 years, and everywhere I have been with Parekura, especially up on the Coast, he has always got up and said EB was a dirty player. He used to show us his finger—even at the funeral Parekura had a sore finger—because EB had bitten his finger. This is what we were brought up with, until I met a colleague of Parekura’s who played rugby with him on the same team, and he said that Parekura was the dirtiest player you could ever have played against.

Hon Trevor Mallard: Or even with.

Hon TAU HENARE: Or with. I want to say, you know, there have been lots of nice words slung about this House today about Parekura. He was kind, he was jovial, he was friendly, he was humble. Yes, he was—he was all of that. But on the rugby field, no, he was not. He was a thug, which sort of says to me that he gave as good as he got, and that was in the House as well.

When I got the news from my brother-in-law that my mate had passed away, I was, and I will always be, devastated by that news. At 62 years of age, I think we robbed him of some of his better years, and he robbed us of some of those years that we could have had, and should have had, with him. My heart does go out to the whānau, to the sons.

But at least he told me once—and this is one of those myths that I am about to explode—and I am sorry, Ngati Porou, but he has a Ngāpuhi connection, like most people do. That Ngāpuhi connection was through a battle. His tupuna was taken to the north, but eventually he came back to the Coast, and he brought Christianity with him. He was one of those people who brought Christianity to the Coast.

My family, my wife, and my kids loved that man so much that this place is going to be the worse for his leaving. Kia ora.

RINO TIRIKATENE (Labour—Te Tai Tonga) : Tihei mauri ora. Parekura, hoki wairua mai. Hoki wairua mai ki te Whare Pāremata o Niu Tīreni. Ko te Whare tēnei i nohoa ai e koe, 14 ngā tau. Hoki wairua mai ki te Whare i nohoa ai e tō tupuna a Tā Apirana Ngata. Nō reira e te matua Parekura, moe mai, moe mai, moe mai i roto i Te Ariki. Āpiti hono, tātai hono, ko te hunga mate ki te hunga mate; āpiti hono, tātai hono, ko te hunga ora ki te hunga ora. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

E ngā iwi o Te Tai Rāwhiti, tēnā koutou. Tēnā koutou te haere mai nei ki te Whare Pāremata ki te whakatutuki i tō tātou kaupapa i tīmataria i Hauiti i te wiki kua taha. Haere mai, haere mai, haere mai koutou o Te Tai Rāwhiti. Nō reira, tēnā koutou. E aku rangatira huri noa i te Whare, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

[Behold the breath of life. Return here spiritually, Parekura. Come back to Parliament House New Zealand, to this House where you lived for 14 years. Return here in spirit to the House that your ancestor Sir Apirana Ngata occupied. And so sleep, the fatherly figure, Parekura. Slumber on within the Lord. The lines are joined; allow the dead to remain with the dead. The lines are joined; allow the living to remain with the living. So salutations, greetings, and acknowledgments to you and to us all collectively.

To you the tribes of the East Coast, I acknowledge you. Thank you for coming to Parliament House to finish off our matter, which began in Hauiti last week. Welcome, welcome, and welcome to you of the East Coast. I salute you. To my esteemed leaders throughout the House, acknowledgments to you and to all of us .]

It is a great honour for me to speak and pay tribute to Parekura. So much has been said over the past week and, indeed, this afternoon. There is really not much more I can add. It has been a sad week, a very sad week, but it has also been a very great, great week. It has been momentous in the depth and in the breadth of Māoritanga that has been displayed. It was there on display up there in the house of Hauiti on the marae, and it was shown by the people of Ūawa, Tolaga Bay, and the Ngati Porou whānui. The sheer size of the tangi for Parekura was testament to the mana of the man, and the mana of his hapū, Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti and Porourangi.

All the appropriate tohu availed themselves upon us for those 4 days. The marae smiled in warm sunshine and cried when the heavens opened. We have heard the great oratory on the marae. They managed to keep Shane Jones contained for 4 days as he sat on the pae there. We heard the wonderful oratory, the wonderful tributes. We even had the Prime Minister fly in by helicopter. To see the front bench of the Government—te Kāwanatanga—pay tribute to our chief, Parekura, was really one of those moments of parliamentary unity that made me proud to be an MP—all in honour of our chief.

We have heard about Parekura the shearer. Tau talked about his prowess as a fisherman. We have heard about him as a senior civil servant, as a Minister of the Crown, as a member—a hard-working member—for Ikaroa-Rāwhiti. We have heard about him as a family man and as a great orator, as he was in his own way. I would like to say that Parekura was also another: he was a weaver. I say “Parekura, the weaver” because he was a real rangatira. To adopt a “Parekura-ism”, the etymology, or the root word, of “rangatira” consists of “ranga”, to weave, and “tira”, the people.

As we have heard over this past week from all people, from all backgrounds, that is what Parekura was to us here and also to everyone in this Parliament and to all the people whom he touched and whom he worked with so closely over many years. He had that ability to bring everyone from all backgrounds, from all socio-economic backgrounds, whether it be the Speaker of the House of Parliament, or Ministers, or kings, through to the whānau, the fishermen, and the freezing workers, he was able to bring all cultures together. That was appropriately paid tribute to by my colleague Su’a when the Pacific peoples paid honour to Parekura on the marae. The giving of those gifts of those fine mats on the marae was something that was very moving. It was testament to the mana of the man.

So much has been said. Parekura took me under his wing as a new MP, and one of the things he used to do to me was give me a bit of a nudge when I was going on for too long. He would always say to me afterwards: “It was good, but, you know, you don’t need to raise so many points. Just make your points and ka nui tēnā.”—leave it at that. So I will be following his instructions, just as they will be carried with me throughout my, hopefully, long career. I honour our chief and just carry his memory with me, as I know we all do. Moe mai rā e te rangatira. Haere ki te torona o Īhowa, haere ki te Kaiwhakaora. Kia ora mai anō tātou.

[I say unto you the leader, sleep on. Go forth to the throne of the Lord and to the Redeemer. Acknowledgments once again to us collectively.]

Hon NANAIA MAHUTA (Labour—Hauraki-Waikato) : Kua rehu te rā ki tōna rua, ka tau ake anō te hinapōuri ki runga i te motu. Parekura, o te tini, Parekura o te mano, Parekura o te marea kua parekuratia te motu i tō ngaronga. Haere e Pare kia kata pai ngā tūpuna i te pō. Parekura, nāu i rata ngā wharekai, nāu i whakahoahoa ngā tāngata ahakoa ko wai, ahakoa nō whea.

Ka tika te haere mai o ngā iwi tinitini ki runga o Hauiti, ki runga o Te Tai Rāwhiti, mōu te take. Ko tēnei rangi ka muia te tini ki roto i tō wāhi mahi, te Whare Pāremata, mōu tonu te take. Haere e hoa ki te urunga tē taka, ki te moenga tē whakaarahia, te pō ki a koe. E te hoa, e te rangatira, e moe, haere, haere atu rā.

[The sun has disappeared into its chasms and darkness settles once more upon the country. Parekura, of the very many, the thousands, the public, the nation, is in a calamity at your loss. Depart, Pare, so that the ancestors in the void will be humoured well. Parekura, you made the dining halls take a shine to you; the people, regardless of who they were and where they were from, befriended you.

It is fitting, indeed, that a multitude of tribes descended upon Hauiti and the East Coast. You were responsible for that. Today, your workplace, Parliament House, is swarming with the multitude. You caused that. Depart, friend, to the place where the pillow does not fall, where one cannot be roused from the bed. The void is yours. To the colleague and leader, sleep, depart, farewell .]

I offer my condolences to the whānau pani, the people of Te Aitanga-a-Hauiti, the people of Te Tai Rāwhiti, of Ngāti Kahungunu, and all the constituents of Ikaroa-Rāwhiti. Parekura was a regular presence amongst the people of Waikato. He had a close and special affinity with the late Dame Te Ata and my late father, extending to his close relationship with Tuheitia. His kin connections to the Kīngitanga were well known, and there was always a place to stay or kai on the table should he ever drop in, and he dropped in often. I started making cups of tea for Parekura when I was 15. It never stopped! I kind of closed my eyes as people were talking today, thinking that if I could have visualised Parekura sitting on that great paepae in heaven, what he would be looking like. He would have a big, broad smile, with his eyes closed because he was grinning from ear to ear, and he would be saying: “Quick, quick, get up. They’re making me a saint. Get up and say something.” That is kind of how he was. He could always inject the right amount of humour into an occasion at the right time for the right reason. People loved Parekura for who he was.

Parekura consolidated the relationships that he had, no matter where he worked. His time leading the Community Employment Group gave him godlike qualities. People who worked for and with him and those who benefited from the Community Employment Group grants would go out of their way to support Parekura, and I saw that mostly during campaign time, on the campaign trail. He always seemed to know and keep tabs on the people who worked for them, and he knew that no matter where they sat on the political spectrum, he always had one up on them. He would say to us: “Don’t worry about such and such. They used to work for me.”—eh, Hone? He always referred to Hone Harawira when he made those types of comments.

Parekura had very much a grassroots personality. He enjoyed rugby, as people have mentioned. He loved the endeavours of young people. He supported the Māori Women’s Welfare League in all manner of ways. In fact, he was godlike, like Winston is, to the Māori Women’s Welfare League—when he walks through the sea of women, they part. He always had an ear to the ground when it came to the New Zealand Māori Council. I can remember just recently, when te kaunihera had a Māori hui in Rotorua and the New Zealand Māori Council was choosing its chairs—it was supposed to be chairs; then it ended up being co-chairs—Parekura said to our hui: “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find out what they’re doing and I’ve got to make sure they select the right person.” Well, when he came back and said that it had selected co-chairs, we thought: “Oh, I wonder whether he had any influence over that one.”

But he regularly attended all our key events in Māoridom—koroneihana, Rātana, Waitangi—and people knew him for the person he was outside Parliament, and he never changed on coming into Parliament. You see, Parekura had small-town values, which he never lost when he moved to the big city lights. He understood that the heartbeat of Māori communities were the women—are the women. He was raised by his nannies and aunties, and he often, often talked about them and remembered them fondly. He was always surrounded by the aunties, the cuzzies, and the ladies when he campaigned throughout his rohe. He knew that getting on the wrong side of them was a mistake, yet he had a knack of getting all his aunties and his cousins and the ladies running around after him. It seemed effortless. They would do whatever he asked.

I experienced Parekura’s support throughout our time in Parliament as a friend and as a colleague, and I appreciated that. Parekura lived by two very simple tikanga: manaakitanga—to care for people—and kanohi kitea—to be visible; to be present. He did a lot of his electorate work, as many of you know, by attending hui, going to birthdays and tangi, and attending the regular events on the Māori calendar. His style of politics could be best termed as old-school—always willing to have a good bust-up without making too many enemies along the way, always doing the business, and never appearing too tired when it came to his people. He gave so much of himself.

Parekura was no good with technology. I suspect he moved to the iPhone only because his moko—“Big Moko”—was a gun on the gadgets, and he always told me that. I have to admit that face-to-face conversations with Parekura were often very long, and if I had a really important question and I needed a simple yes or no answer, I would just text him. I kind of got some really good text responses to me, but they were never more than two or three words, and I liked that.

Parekura had a quick temper, and if he got all worked up he would thump the table, his eyes would bulge, and the sentences got shorter and shorter. In fact, he had a number of two-word sentences—you fill in the gaps. You kind of got the feeling that this was his rugby character, and you had better step back because he would explode. We never heard too many stories about how explosive Pare was on the rugby pitch, but we were told—you know that cricket patch that goes up and down the rugby pitch? That was where he was supposed to be the gun, on that little cricket pitch. He made a good little number there. And Tau is right. I suspect Parekura gave it as much as he got it. He was no good at fund-raising. I remember at a Labour Party fund-raiser we got him to auction some wine, and he sold a $30 bottle of wine to an auntie for $2, and after that bottle we said: “You’re sacked. We’ll bring in someone else to auction this wine off.”

No story about Parekura would be complete without mentioning his many drivers, and there were many. Whanaunga, staff, mates, ministerial drivers—every one of those people will have a story. Parekura was shocking. I went in the car with him only once, and I never ever went again unless he promised me that he was not driving. But you got value out of every kilometre that he travelled. He would always know where the hui was, where the tangi was, where a birthday was. Just calling in was enough, and you would see the delight of his people when he just called in unannounced, when they would know that they were special enough for him to call in. I really admired that about him. He never had too short a time to have a cup of tea. The only problem was with every cup of tea came the cakes and the sausage rolls, and all of that. So, you know, people made comments about his size and all of that, but it was really indicative of the love that his people showed for him. Let it be a timely lesson for us all that love can be shown with a salad and a carrot stick, and maybe a gluten-free something—watch this space. As I said, some of the best stories will remain with the many people who drove him around and saw the extent of the mahi he really did. He was always good for a yarn on those long trips, and members of our caucus will miss him for that.

There were several times that I would walk into the office and he would be having a conversation with his son Wal, inquiring about his farm, a busted gate, sending some meat for a tangi somewhere down the line, paying for this and that. Wal always seemed to have the con on whatever Parekura did or wanted to do. Desmond had “Big Moko” in Auckland. Parekura was proud of Des’ achievements and the fact that moko played softball and was a gun on the gadgets. We would pick up and drop off Parekura from Des’ place when he had to go to Auckland. Parekura glowed when he talked about his two moko. To them he was just Papa, and that is the way he liked it. Tūrei—well, I suspect he always made Parekura feel like a father. He was always forever worrying about Tūrei. If it was not one thing, it was another. But it did not matter to Pare. He was immensely proud of each and every one of his sons, and, true to form, so as not to boast, he never ever cooked his affection for his sons from what I saw. He simply loved them for who they were.

Parekura supported many things during his time as Minister, and much mention has been made of that, but we should say it again and again because this is where the heartbeat of Māoridom is, and Parekura understood it—Te Matatini, waka ama, Māori wardens, Māori Television, Māori radio, Māori tourism, Treaty settlements, the wānanga settlement, and a Māori curriculum in education. He always focused on what was good for Māori. Shivers, if we applied a rugby analogy to it, he always played the ball, not the man.

He was a steady hand for the Māori affairs portfolio, but I am sure he caused a bit of a flurry now and then—in fact, I am absolutely positive. I can remember going to a secondary school national kapa haka event, and he was staggered by the numbers of young people turning out to that event to show their prowess on the stage. He asked his Te Puni Kōkiri official: “How much have we given to this event?”. When he was told the minimum figure by his official, he wrote something on the piece of paper and he gave it to me just as I was going up to thank everyone on behalf of the Government at the time. He told me to tell everybody that this will go towards helping pay for the buses for the next nationals. Anyway, I get up and I make the announcement on behalf of the Minister of Māori Affairs that a sum had been made for every kapa haka group coming to the nationals, and there was a loud applause and roar. I walked back down and the Te Puni Kōkiri regional officer was rubbing her head in despair. I said: “What’s wrong? Your Minister just OK’d it.” She said: “Yeah, that’s one thing. But head office will tell me I’ve got to find the savings within my regional budget because he made the announcement in my area.” Such was the man. He really had a sense of what was needed at the right time.

Parekura was a public figure, but he was a very private man. He never let on to his colleagues the extent of any illness that had afflicted him. He would try very hard to meet his regular calendar of commitments, but in the last year it became evident that he had slowed right down. Parekura was a working-class politician with a grassroots sense of gravitas. He joined the Keep Our Assets hīkoi. He marched for port workers. He stood side by side on the picket line with meat workers. He never lost sight of the real issues that affected real people—jobs, kai for the kids, a warm home, and looking after the old battlers who fought for our proud nation. Parekura exemplified all the values that he lived by. During his time as an MP and a Minister, he was served by some very loyal staff who respected his passion and laughed around him, got frustrated with him, and were dedicated to his cause of Māori development. Although we would have preferred to hear a valedictory speech from Parekura, sadly that is not to be.

Parekura had a deep spiritual side. He would always talk about all these different spiritualities as he was growing up. But you can count on this, certainly for the members of the Māori caucus: if a karakia needed to be said, because we did not know our way through or we did not know what was happening or something needed to be corrected, Parekura would always follow his Māori heart and confirm the spirituality within him. I respect him for that.

Today, Parliament has an opportunity to farewell a friend, colleague, loyal servant of his people, and faithful member of the Labour Party. Right now I just want to recognise Joe, who in his electorate was Parekura’s eyes, his ears, and his hands. He would mobilise people throughout his electorate if he needed them to be somewhere to support him. Joe, you have not stopped working for him, right to this current day. Your service, I think, has made a big difference to the things that Parekura did in his time. He will be remembered for the impression he left and for the laughs along the way. We remember him fondly. Nō reira, e moe, Parekura. Nō reira, kia tau ki a tātou katoa te atawhai o tō tātou Ariki a Ihu Karaiti, te aroha o Te Atua, me te whiwhingatahitanga ki Te Wairua Tapu, ake, ake ake, āmine.

[And so, rest, Parekura. Let the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the ability to access the Holy Spirit be with us all for ever and ever, amen.]

• Motion agreed to.

• Waiata

• Karanga