James Christophers
2021-02-26 01:46:29 UTC
This week's Upper Hutt Leader's front page features the recent renaming of Maoribank School, a significant landmark in the educational progress and history of the forever doom-dark end of the Hutt Valley.
The new name is Te Kura o Hau Karetu, both officially and by its prominent signage. And why not, you may ask?
Why not, indeed?
This led me further to idly ponder the hapless foreign arrival on a mission, driving north from Wellington airport who, having only a little rudimentary English at his shaky command, has just arrived in a country whose numberless iterations of the politically-correct diversities now includes 'Aotearoa' as its preferred identity and moniker; the familiar 'New Zealand' having been previously flogged to him as his destination back home.
Imagine, then, this same tourist, a Japanese visitor who, finding himself lost in the deep fastness of Upper Hutt, pulls in and stops the car and winds down the window:
Driver (haltingly): “Excuh-huuuse me, weeech way.... ah-ah-ah-to Mahahhooooribank Schoor pliz”
Maori activist: “Oh, you mean te Kura o Hau Karetu. Five words, not two. Better, eh bro? Easier to pronounce to, oi reckon, eh?
Driver (again haltingly): “No, Maahooooribank Schoo pliz – name they geeev me.”
Maori activist: “Well vey’re wrong mite. Anyway, yooo’ve a long way furver to go bro, so stop again and ask anybody, but call the schoo its roight name or vey won’t know what yo talking about. So on ya go bro and cheers mite!” (Activist moves on...)
Driver: (calling after him) “But...I-I-I don’t hhhh-ah-have a Ghhho-Pro. Do I need one?
Maori activist: (distantly) Naaah mite. They's no-go bro, they’s a waste a’mun-ny”. Total no-no.
Driver: Stops engine, screams, and performs harakiri.
The new name is Te Kura o Hau Karetu, both officially and by its prominent signage. And why not, you may ask?
Why not, indeed?
This led me further to idly ponder the hapless foreign arrival on a mission, driving north from Wellington airport who, having only a little rudimentary English at his shaky command, has just arrived in a country whose numberless iterations of the politically-correct diversities now includes 'Aotearoa' as its preferred identity and moniker; the familiar 'New Zealand' having been previously flogged to him as his destination back home.
Imagine, then, this same tourist, a Japanese visitor who, finding himself lost in the deep fastness of Upper Hutt, pulls in and stops the car and winds down the window:
Driver (haltingly): “Excuh-huuuse me, weeech way.... ah-ah-ah-to Mahahhooooribank Schoor pliz”
Maori activist: “Oh, you mean te Kura o Hau Karetu. Five words, not two. Better, eh bro? Easier to pronounce to, oi reckon, eh?
Driver (again haltingly): “No, Maahooooribank Schoo pliz – name they geeev me.”
Maori activist: “Well vey’re wrong mite. Anyway, yooo’ve a long way furver to go bro, so stop again and ask anybody, but call the schoo its roight name or vey won’t know what yo talking about. So on ya go bro and cheers mite!” (Activist moves on...)
Driver: (calling after him) “But...I-I-I don’t hhhh-ah-have a Ghhho-Pro. Do I need one?
Maori activist: (distantly) Naaah mite. They's no-go bro, they’s a waste a’mun-ny”. Total no-no.
Driver: Stops engine, screams, and performs harakiri.