As a student at Auckland Girls’ Grammar School, you could tell when it was Polyfest season. The school halls came alive with the humming of waiata, Niuean kamata’anga chants, the slapping hands of a Tongan mā'ulu’ulu and Samoan tau’olunga.
In my third-form maths class, girls were writing down the algebra problems on the blackboard at the front of the class, while softly reciting the ancient lyrics of Imene tuki, a Cook Islands hymn.
When the 3pm bell rang, a herd of teenage girls would rush to their Polyfest practices on the front lawn. The sea of blue uniforms quickly turned into colourful lavalava (wraparound skirt) and pareu (Cook Island sarong). The sound of the Cook Islands log drums in the gymnasium echoed across the school.
The ASB Polyfest was the cultural highlight of our year. As a student, the thrill of being on stage and the deafening screams from the crowd were unforgettable and exhilarating. After hours and weeks of tough and exhausting practices, that moment on stage felt fleeting.
But left behind was a long-lasting pride in where you come from and who you are. It’s a priceless gift Polyfest gives back to each performer, and one that adds strength years later as an adult. Cultural identity and knowing who you are is everything.
I look at old Polyfest photos now and there are many cultural pioneers who passed on invaluable knowledge who have since died. Some of my school mates in my old Polyfest photos, with whom I danced on stage, have also died. Those memories of my own Polyfest years are precious taonga to me.
My Polyfest stage experience looks very different now in 2025. I’m that mum in the backstage tent every year wrapping fine mats around my daughter’s waist, yelling out for bobby pins and passing around hair spray. I know now that Polyfest has reached its 50-year milestone only because communities have kept it alive.
Teachers put in hours of unpaid work and often reach into their own pockets to help. Parents lead fundraisers and raffles to help pay for uniforms and transport. And then there’s the local takeaway shop in Māngere, which donated a trophy decades ago that still sits on the Māori stage today.
I first got to tell the Polyfest story as a 15-year-old roving reporter for Tagata Pasifika on TVNZ. It was my first job, and I had auditioned with dozens of other high school students across Auckland to get it. I didn’t know it then, but it would open the door to a passion for storytelling and more than two decades of journalism.
Twenty-five years later, I am putting together a documentary to celebrate Polyfest’s 50th anniversary. In the archives, I found 15-year-old me interviewing the Cook Islands stage co-ordinator Tupou Manapori. She is now an 80-year-old Polyfest matriarch and remains the festival’s longest-serving stage co-ordinator.
The Polyfest story has been told by many reporters over the years on programmes such as Te Karere, Tagata Pasifika, Marae and Fresh TV. I thought I knew this story well. But researching its history led me to discover some painful, untold stories and some powerful unknown connections behind those who have fought to keep the kaupapa alive.
It is a story of healing and resilience in some of Aotearoa’s toughest communities. And when I went back to where it all started – at Hillary College (now Sir Edmund Hillary Collegiate) in Ōtara in 1976, the fact that it even took place, let alone survived for another 50 years, is a story in itself.
The story starts with a 16-year-old Māori student at the college who first discussed the idea with her mates in the Polynesian Club. No one has heard from her in Polyfest’s 50-year history. So I went on a mission to find her and tell her story, which you can see in my documentary.
The club was filled with Māori and Pacific students led by Bill Tawhai, Hone and Heniarata Green and principal Garfield Johnson. The kids learned waiata and haka, alongside the Samoan sāsā and Cook Islands kapa rima.
It was also the peak of the dawn raids – the racially targeted immigration crackdown on alleged overstayers from the Pacific. In the archives, I found a story about a police dawn raid on a Tongan family which was broadcast on the same day the first Polyfest – then named the Auckland Secondary Schools’ Polynesian Festival – took place in the school hall.
So, while police were raiding the homes of Pacific Island families, including those with kids at Hillary College, their Māori school mates were embracing them and helping them to celebrate their culture and identity.
“Being Māori, we embraced our Pacific Island whānau because that’s where our roots come from,” an ex-Hillary College Polyfest student told me for the documentary. “Our ancestors travelled the Pacific, they called into Tahiti, Rarotonga, other islands. So, when they hurt, we hurt.”
A lot has changed in 50 years. These days, as well as stages for Polynesian groups, there’s a “diversity stage” for performances from other cultures. The event now attracts more than 250 schools and nearly 100,000 visitors. Polyfest remains a taonga but more importantly, its legacy is one of unity, solidarity and embracing one another.
“We’ve inherited that legacy,” Māori stage co-ordinator Pā Chris Selwyn told me. “This is what our tūpuna left us and we have this responsibility to continue the taonga. We can’t let that go.”
Indira Stewart’s ASB Polyfest: The Untold Legacy will be available from Tuesday April 1, and ASB Polyfest: Fight for Survival from Tuesday April 8.
