Fifty years on, Samoans say it's now 'our place'

Samoan settlement in New Zealand, particularly in Auckland, has been neither painless nor quick. WARREN GAMBLE reports on the struggle to belong.

In a central Auckland neighbourhood in the late 1960s, a Samoan girl waited by a fence to wave at passers-by.

She was one of a family of 10 who had just moved into a Grey Lynn street of ageing homes and elderly residents well before the suburb became fashionable.

At the gate of their old villa, she would lie in wait for pedestrians with a smile and a "hello lady," "hello man." In reply she got startled looks, silence and eyes front.

For several days the same scene played out, until the passers-by began to return the girl's hellos. After several weeks they made a point of stopping at the gate to talk.

Agnes Tuisamoa, a Fijian-born part-Chinese, part-Samoan former social worker, tells her daughter's story to illustrate how racial distances can be bridged when individuals relate to each other.

In those days, she says, Samoans were new and different. Other neighbours used to pull down the blinds when they saw the family outside.

"The thing I have learned in my 67 years is a human thing; once you get to know somebody it is all right.

"It was a little girl doing the introduction for these people. I don't know if they felt sorry for her, but so it all starts."

The story of the Samoan community's settlement in New Zealand, particularly in Auckland, is not so painless or quick.

Unemployment, poverty and social problems are still out of proportion for the 101,000 Samoans in New Zealand, particularly for the newer migrants.

But 50 years after the first Samoans arrived to fill the industrial demands of postwar New Zealand, there is a new confidence about their island past and Auckland present.

Belonging can be signalled in the smallest ways. As Auckland writer and actor Oscar Kightley, joint creator of the Naked Samoans comedy show, puts it: "Even the fact they don't look twice is a sign of their acceptance and subconscious appreciation."

Born in the village of Faleatiu, Kightley has earliest memories of church, washing under a tap, outdoor toilets and running around.

He remembers as a 4-year-old a ride in his uncle's pick-up truck that took him to the airport and a new life with relatives in Auckland.

He started school in Te Atatu North without speaking any English. At home his upbringing was strict, with discipline and church the constants, while school trips often went begging.

Samoan was spoken at home; English at school.

And while there was no discrimination - "the white people I grew up with were like Islanders anyway; they were Westies" - there was no focus on his Samoan past.

The cultural reminders surfaced in his first job as a cadet reporter on the former Auckland Star. He was told of the need to look people in the eye - considered rude in Samoa, but dodgy if not practised by a journalist.

Asking confrontational questions to ageing councillors also went against the grain; "anyone white in a tie is right."

A trip to his homeland at 21 saw him return as a born-again Samoan, complete with a shoulder tattoo. While he winces at the initial zeal, it did set him on a path combining writing talent and self-discovery.

His play Dawn Raids skewered the 1970s campaign against Pacific Island overstayers but also caught the generational divides in the Samoan community.

In one scene, the Samoan dad, bewildered by his radical lefty daughter and Elvis-wannabe son, asks: "What's wrong with dawn raids? It's the only way some of them get up early."

Kightley has also been slightly shocked at how some of his material has struck a chord, like a scene inNaked Samoans when a mother gave her children a hiding.

"People laughed because it was so familiar to them and a little part of me thought ... our community needs help if this is a shared experience."

Kightley believes sport, and the All Blacks in particular, have been the main circuit-breaker for Pacific acceptance in the wider community.

Players like Bryan Williams, the first Samoan All Black, swerved around and through many barriers.

New Zealand-born Samoan boxer David Tua's knockout-strewn path to a world heavyweight bout has also captured national support.

"The fact white New Zealanders can glory in the achievements of a Samoan boxer - it just goes to show how much part of the furniture we are becoming."

Now aged 30, Kightley says many young Samoans are proud of the dual heritage, finding it a reason to celebrate rather than hide.

Going home he is now treated like a tourist, something he was initially upset about but now accepts.

"We eat more dairy products, we dress differently, we have a different lifestyle. We are just a different species of Samoan."

For church minister Wayne Toleafoa, the generational gap is most marked in his own children.

As a travelling churchman, his two older teenage boys were not immersed in the Samoan language and culture as youngsters.

As a result one was now "more or less like a Kiwi boy, out flatting with Kiwi friends" while the other kept closer links to his culture through the church and his grandfather.

Mr Toleafoa said he had enrolled his two younger children in a Samoan language nest, and they were now on an extended holiday in Samoa.

New Zealand-born from parents who came here in 1951 and struggled from scratch to buy a home in then undesirable Ponsonby, Mr Toleafoa said he still believed he was being bought up in the Samoan way until he travelled there.

Homes were a clear example of difference. In Samoa everyone lived in a single-room house, the concept of privacy was "wrapping a lavalava around yourself when you got changed."

The shift in lifestyle to a cash economy meant not living according to the Samoan way.

"It can be difficult for some people because you have two sets of expectations - being a good Kiwi with a house, car and independence and the Samoan expectation of give, give, give to family projects and the church."

Giving is also vital to the Samoan economy, with large sums of money - Mr Toleafoa has heard estimates of up to $61 million a year - sent from families in New Zealand to relatives in Samoa.

Some of the money in turn is used to provide educational opportunities for a new generation in New Zealand. Figures from the last census show that while Pacific Island people are still under-represented among degree graduates, the numbers are improving.

And overall Pacific people have a higher participation rate in education than the total population, with a significantly higher rate for fulltime study.

With higher fertility rates among Pacific peoples, they are forecast to make up almost a third of the new labour market entrants in 20 years.

Agnes Tuisamoa says she is filled with pride when she hears about the appointment of Samoans or other Pacific Islanders to high positions.

"When I first came here [in 1953] it was unheard of. We are still struggling but the doors are opening."

She said that while there was generally more acceptance of Samoans as New Zealanders, there were still double standards.

"When we are playing football and Samoan players are doing well, Kiwis say these are our people. When we bash a window or do something bad we are Samoan.

"But Palagi people can't do anything much about it. We are here to stay. This is our place."

Out of Samoa: facts, figures

* There were 101,754 people claiming Samoan ethnicity in the 1996 census. That compares with Samoa's home population of 171,000.

* A total of 70,875 said they spoke Samoan, the third most widely spoken language in New Zealand after English and Maori.

* Samoa is the only country which has a statute allowing residency in New Zealand - for up to 1100 Samoan-born citizens aged between 18 and 45 with a job offer.

* An Auckland language map published this year shows Samoan speakers are concentrated in Mangere, Otahuhu, Avondale, Henderson, Mt Roskill and Glen Innes.

* The median age for New Zealand's Pacific population is 20.4 years compared with 32.9 for the total population.

Herald Online feature: the immigrants

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