Prime Movers sector report: Maori Fishing

By IRENE CHAPPLE

Swinging his arm out to the sea, sweeping up the sparkling Gisborne day, Stan Pardoe starts another story.

"You know," he says, "whales used to wash up here and my ancestors would claim rights over the spoils."

Pardoe, a short, stocky man with a talent for talking, reckons it stands to reason the rights would span the generations.

And so he claimed customary rights over the Jody F Millennium when it was beached last year.

There would have been some good spoils, after all. The log carrier, stuck on a sandbank for almost a fortnight, was chock-full of oil, though some of it had already leaked into the sea.

Anyway, the claim was rejected. "Never mind," hoots Pardoe, moving on to the next story.

Pardoe is a big player in Gisborne. He waves at almost everyone he sees.

Even the taxi driver is a fan, talking about him with reverential respect.

"He's a big cheese around here," she says. "But he is straight up with money, everyone knows what is going on when Stan's in charge."

She is talking about Pardoe's involvement with Te Runanga o Turanganui a Kiwa, a commercial organisation of three iwi - representing just under 10,000 people - around the Gisborne area.

Pardoe was a farmer, like his dad, for 25 years. He got into fishing late, initially with an investment in Auckland-based Treaty of Waitangi Fisheries Commission subsidiary Moana Pacific.

That was in the early 90s, around the time Maori began to benefit from Crown recognition of their fishing rights under the Treaty of Waitangi.

In 1989, an interim deal had been struck with Maori over their fishing rights, giving them 10 per cent of the fishing quota and $10 million in cash.

In 1992, the "Sealord deal" was struck, when the Treaty of Waitangi Fisheries Commission received $150 million from the Crown to buy half the fishing company, more cash and rights over 20 per cent of new species under the quota system.

The assets since then have grown to be worth around $700 million and remain in limbo, waiting to be allocated.

Painful and litigious negotiations have hogged allocation plans for more than a decade, but the saga looks likely to have a We have always done everything on a strictly commercial basis. We don't get into the emotion or politics Stan Pardoe

Te Runanga o Turanganui a Kiwa

Body1: resolution by the end of this year. Pardoe and his business partner Tama Brown established the Gisborne runanga in 1987 after running a successful business lending to Maori enterprises.

They had around $1 million in funds.

Fisheries, on the back of the Sealord deal, looked attractive.

Moana Pacific was selling shares and Pardoe bought in. From there, things moved fast.

Beyond its interests in Moana Pacific, the runanga leased quota, bought a boat and began its own fishing operation.

It is now onto its third boat, worth around a million, and owns $2 million worth of quota. Turnover of the fishing business is around $600,000 a year, with around $100,000 in profits churned back into investment or training.

"The difference is we always did our homework, we have always been very thorough," says Pardoe, who credits the thoughtful and meticulous Brown with much of the businesses success.

However, Pardoe does call fishing a sunset industry, saying that despite New Zealand's highly regarded quota management system, supplies will be depleted.

Aquaculture, says Pardoe, is the sunrise industry.

Indeed, the potential of aquaculture was recognised by Government last year, when it slapped a two-year moratorium on new marine farms to stop a goldrush of applications before the introduction of new legislation.

While much of the industry is still wrapped up in debate around the legislation, the Gisborne runanga has simply set up its aquaculture venture inshore.

The move was partly through necessity - Poverty Bay was not suitable for an offshore marine farm.

The inshore paua and lobster farm, converted from an old garage, is not ready for commercial production and is used only for training students.

Eventually, Pardoe hopes to export "cocktail" paua - bred to be bite-sized - into the lucrative Asian market.

Says Pardoe: "We are a small player, so we need to be smart."

Meanwhile, students are learning how to breed the paua, feeding them on bits of dog biscuit and watching how they respond to light and temperature. The school is a division of the runanga, set up as part of its social agenda.

New Zealand Qualifications Authority-accredited courses, including one that aims to help youth at risk, are open to any iwi, any race.

While there is a desire to employ the runanga's iwi members, the right person will always get the job, says Pardoe.

Once he employed a Pakeha woman to teach Te Reo. She was good, and initial disgruntlement among iwi members faded.

Despite Pardoe calling himself a political animal - he once stood unsuccessfully for the Gisborne District Council - the runanga has managed to avoid the conflicts that have held up allocation of the fisheries assets.

Politically, Pardoe's iwi should naturally side with the Iwi Forum, the Treaty of Waitangi Fisheries Commission's greatest opponent throughout allocation negotiations last year.

Beliefs such as "mana whenua mana moana" - essentially meaning a tribe should have rights over fish directly beyond their coastline - would put his iwi, Rongowhakaata, firmly in the dissidents' camp.

Despite that, and because the iwi is so small, Pardoe rejected overtures from the Iwi Forum.

"I could not see any benefit from aligning myself with them," says Pardoe. "The Iwi Forum never had a mandate to put anything forward to Government. The commission is the only one which has the mandate."

So, despite reservations, he supported the commission.

Since then, Pardoe has concentrated on readying his iwi for allocation. There are strict criteria around the financial and management structures of iwi before they are eligible.

Pardoe needs to organise the iwi structure for receipt of its share of allocation assets. It is almost ready.

And so, Pardoe has continued his commitment to commercialism. "We have always done everything on a strictly commercial basis. We don't get into the emotion or politics."

These days, Pardoe drives a four-wheel-drive with the number plate Huihop, a gift from his children on his 60th birthday a couple of years ago.

His kids reckon he's been doing nothing but hop from hui (meeting) to hui over the past five years.

Pardoe pretty much agrees with them. He's involved in so many organisations - from the Seafood Industry Training Organisation, to occasionally representing the Treaty of Waitangi Fisheries Commission, to being spokesman for his iwi and again for the runanga - he frequently prefaces his comments with an explanation as to which hat he's wearing.

But ultimately, Pardoe is a businessman whose mind is focused, in his words, on "how to make a buck".

He runs the runanga in a self-admitted autocratic style, which irritates some. The business will be set up in a company structure this year, but Pardoe's influence is unlikely to diminish.

"My wife says I am arrogant and maybe I am," he says. "But if you have got your people to support you, you should do what is needed."

Facts:

Total fishing industry export value: $1.5 billion annually

Number of employees: 26, 620

Maori fishing: 39 per cent of total industry earnings

Treaty of Waitangi Fisheries Commission holds $700 million in quota, cash and company shares

Commission to create Aotearoa Fisheries, with $350 million in six companies

Iwi to benefit through dividends