The many lives of Ngaiterangi Iwi's Paul Stanley

By Kristin Edge
You could be forgiven for thinking Paul Stanley is a chameleon.
Not because the sturdy 46-year-old has an amazing ability to change his skin to bright colours but rather the ease at which the father-of-three adjusts to various situations and how he can relate to a myriad of different people.
The former New Zealand Navy weapons and explosives expert is just as comfortable dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and suit walking Parliament's corridors advising politicians as he is in jeans and a T-shirt yarning with hardened gang members. He's also lectured in front of a packed theatre in a Moscow university as well as broken up brawls in New Zealand's maximum security prison at Paremoremo. He reckons it's no big deal.
"My life's been a journey. There's been nothing overly great about it."
Today he's dressed in a black polo shirt bearing the Ngaiterangi Iwi logo and blue jeans. Dark Ray-Ban sunglasses sit atop his head of shortly cropped black, slightly greying, hair.
"Kia ora," he booms, extending his big brown hand.
Stanley is a reluctant subject.
He doesn't like being singled out and quickly tells me he's suspicious of the media as I follow him through the modest Ngaiterangi headquarters in Harris St, Mount Maunganui.
He's the type of guy who calls a spade a spade and expects everyone he deals with to be equally as up-front.
Stanley is a driving force, along with a dedicated team at Ngaiterangi Iwi established in 1989, in developing the social, education, health and economic aspirations of the tribe.
"Working here at the iwi has been a convergence of everything I have learnt over the years. I'm utilising skills I've learnt from other walks of life."
He's also a member of the Pharmac Committee and chairman of the Western Bay Primary Health Organisation.
Stanley believes his ability to slip into so many roles is - in part - thanks to society's changing views.
"The society that we live in these days is moving out of the ice age. We have outwardly looking Maori people and an outwardly looking society, which as it moves takes on a global perspective.
"I love the Greenpeace theory 'think globally act locally' and I think society is moving that way. Maori and other cultures are being allowed to contribute to that."
Stanley has been been involved with volunteer iwi committees for the past 15 years. But it was only last year he was made manager after helping with a public health bid.
Get him talking about the future for Maori and his enthusiasm and passion quickly bubbles to the surface. It's obvious he's proud of his Ngaiterangi, Ngati Ranganui, Ngati Mahuta and Ngati Koroki lineage.
"In terms of Ngaiterangi we have to learn about leadership and planning for the next 25 years. When you are out there slugging away in society, it's hard to think down the track. We are in the engine room of building a forward-looking New Zealand.
"But we need to be preparing our people for that and getting people thinking about preparing their children for the future and letting them contribute to society in a meaningful way."
While Stanley is positive about the future for his own tamariki and those of the iwi, his own upbringing as a youngster wasn't always that rosy.
Sitting on chairs in the back garden outside the converted two-storey house, the hub for the hard working iwi team, Stanley's voice drops a few decibels as he begins to talk about his childhood.
His parents met in Auckland when his dad Ricki Stanley was a stoker on the Kestrel ferry in Devonport and his mum Puti just happened to be a passenger.
Stanley was born in a rush "somewhere in Tauranga" before his mother could make it to hospital from Matakana Island in Tauranga Harbour.
The first four years of his life were spent on the island. The arrival of a sister saw the whanau move to Wiltsdown, near Putaruru.
His brown eyes light up momentarily: "Initially they were happy times."
His father worked in a sawmill and the family enjoyed the affluence of the 60s.
But poor health for both his parents saw things deteriorate.
"It's a real blur. My mother lost a couple of kids; she was in and out of hospital with a heart valve problem. The lead-up to my father being diagnosed with TB was a long haul. We were getting poorer and poorer.
"Because of those times, everyone knew us as 'the poor Stanley kids'. The social worker, the shop keeper, the head master, the cop - everybody knew us and felt pity.
"Memories of my home are poverty, cold, fleas, cockroaches and mosquitoes - it was a shit-hole."
Eventually the family moved to Auckland. The kids were told it was so they could make a fresh start but looking back Stanley says it was so his parents could be close to better hospitals.
At age 11, Stanley took on a milk round to boost the dwindling family income.
He pauses, draws breath and speaks deliberately as he recalls an incident.
"I came home from my milk round one day. I brought back some beer I was gifted for Christmas. Dad was sitting at the table and I gave him my pay. I cracked a big bottle of beer open and my Dad just sat there looking at me. Next thing 'pow' he punched me in the face and knocked me over."
It was a defining moment.
"Here's this bloke who had worked all his life but could not provide for his family ... his 11-year-old son was the main bread-winner.
"Many, many years later I got to understand that and the issue of his mana, about health, about the sociology of men and work and how that destroys a man.
"It was a powerful incident. I thought I had earned the right to do what I wanted and that included drinking but I hadn't earned the right to disrespect my Dad."
At 15, Stanley joined the navy, finding his niche in weapons and explosives.
"I loved it," he exclaims. "I had spent years being the man of the house but my parents' health was finally stable and I could leave and do something for me."
In five years' sailing the high seas aboard the frigate HMNZS Waikato, Stanley moved his way up the ranks and at 17 was leading his own platoon. He visited many ports around the Pacific and docked in Canada and the United States.
"It gave me a different appreciation of how the world turned and how insular we are in New Zealand."
After seven years he reluctantly left his seafaring comrades.
"I thought I was in love and was made to choose between "me or the navy".'
So he started his stint as a prison guard. First in Invercargill, then at New Zealand's notorious Paremoremo Prison in Auckland.
"I've seen enough blood to last me a lifetime from working there."
The prison experience left him doubtful of their rehabilitative effectiveness. "I hate the whole thought of prisons. It doesn't serve a purpose other than taking someone out of circulation and it puts them back into circulation more angry and more criminally skilled."
But it was within the confines of Paremoremo that an interest in psychology was sparked.
Finding a former rugby league team-mate hanging in a cell haunted him and forced him to start on another path.
He dabbled in social work but he "sucked" and moved back to Auckland to be with his ill father, who died of cancer in 1987. "When he died it left me pretty empty. It took him apart psychologically.
"He was a tough labourer, pushed a lot of weights and then when he died he was just skin basically."
His mother died six years ago.
After a few months' pouring concrete and bouncing in Auckland night clubs, he decided it was time for a change.
Stanley's first "academic achievement' was when he passed his driver's licence at age 27.
The lack of an official document and literary and numeracy skills hadn't stopped him getting behind the wheel - he was a competent driver aged 11 motoring around in a milk delivery truck.
Unable to read, Stanley learned by rote the sequence for the a-b-c-styled driving test answers. Third time lucky and he was legally on the road.
"It meant I was out of the dumb range academically. Every other test I'd failed."
That success sparked a fire that turned into a raging inferno and quest for knowledge.
Reading his CV you would never guess Stanley had struggled to read or write.
Under the heading "Academic Qualifications" is a list of impressive accomplishments: Bachelor of Education, Masters (first class honours) in Education Psychology, Certificate in Adult teaching. Listed under "Publications" is a string of articles penned by Stanley and published nationally and internationally.
So what inspired him?
Paulo Freire, the Brazilian educationalist and his emphasis on dialogue and his concern for the oppressed. Stanley adopted his catch-cry "I want to read and write so I don't have to walk in the shadow of others".
"When you can't read or write properly you adapt and work around it. You get skilled at getting others to help you. But it doesn't mean you are dumb ... you watch and learn. You develop a good memory.
"I always wanted to be a mechanic but no one would take me on because of my lack of literacy and numeracy."
The education journey was by no means easy, particularly when combined with raising a young family. Dreams of being a lawyer were dashed during his first year of study because it was simply too hard and he felt his skills would be better used in education.
"Getting to university, I thought I wasn't going to make it. Learning from others was the key."
After graduating, seven years were spent researching for Auckland University, in particular Maori and health issues.
Lecturing was another string to his bow and took him places like Moscow. He has even worked in America breaking down gang influence in indigenous communities.
"I come from a family of orators. Lecturing was easy and I got in the groove and felt I was pretty good."
Back home he lectured at Te Whare Wananga O Awanuiarangi and Bay of Plenty Polytechnic before taking up his managerial role at Ngaiterangi.
Now his days are packed.
But that's what you get when you're a member of the Pharmac committee, chairman of the Western Bay Primary Health Organisation, chairman of Otepou Kura Kaupapa Maori, manager for Ngaiterangi Iwi and a dedicated father.
He's also one of five gambling commissioners - an independent decision-making body that hears casino licensing applications and appeals on licensing and enforcement decisions made by the Secretary of Internal Affairs in relation to gaming machines.
"In order to be creative and innovative you have to know the work you do. I survive on about five hours' sleep a night."
His bubbling enthusiasm is kept going knowing he is part of a team that is making a difference.
The other passion are his children, daughters Roimata, 16, Keeri, 13 and son Tauhe, 6.
"I never envisaged ending up where I am now or having the experiences around the world," Stanley says modestly.
He laughs and says it's been a journey "nothing overly great about it though".