Life is hectic for Ngāi Te Rangi chief executive Paora Stanley who is pictured at Wairiki Marae. Photo / Mead Norton
Iwi are stamping their mark on the business world and providing employment opportunities, health, social services and cultural connections. Carmen Hall spends a week with Ngāi Te Rangi and its chief executive, Paora Stanley, in an exclusive and rare behind-the-scenes look at the iwi's operations. This is part one of the series.
It's Monday morning and a homicide has already sent the week into a tailspin. Work calendars have been reshuffled. Teams, including social workers, are mobilised and on standby to help any whānau affected by the tragedy.
Ngāi Te Rangi chief executive Paora Stanley is driving towards his office at Whareroa in a black VW double cab truck with tinted windows.
The killing has hit close to home. Stanley has organised time off and support for one of his managers, who is an immediate family member.
Iwi marquees and a pop-up gazebo are in transit to the marae to provide shelter for mourners expected to attend.
Arrangements are made for colleagues, iwi representatives and dignitaries to pay their respects the following day when the deceased makes his final journey to Maungatapu Marae.
Stanley has juggled this between meetings all over Tauranga, starting at 7am.
He had two coffees and a bacon and egg muffin for breakfast with Priority One chief executive Nigel Tutt. Hopes are high to get buy-in from industry to further Ngāi Te Rangi's forklift-driving programme and get more people into jobs.
The regular catch-up is part of Stanley's "intel-gathering" - a strategy he swears by to build and foster relationships with those who will be beneficial to the iwi's growth and success.
He has already visited staff at the Ngāi Te Rangi Iwi Settlement Trust office beside the Port of Tauranga and had a face-to-face discussion with one manager and a potential property developer who has been approached by Kāinga Ora about a chunk of land he owns.
"You definitely have some options to think about, bro," Stanley tells the developer.
At the Historic Village Hall, Race Relations Commissioner Meng Foon is addressing a forum about racism. He's in town following community concerns about white supremacist issues in Tauranga.
Stanley experienced an incident the week before and every Māori has, he says.
Back in his truck, a phone call interrupts Van Morrison's Bright Side of the Road playing through the speakers.
A distraught kaumātua is at the hospital. His wife has been put into the Covid ward due to a lack of space. They won't let him visit.
His voice quavers as he asks Stanley for help.
The conversation ends with apologies that sit heavy in the air.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do. I am not leaving her alone. I am sitting on the stairway," the kaumātua tells Stanley.
Stanley clenches the steering wheel as emotion takes over.
He wipes tears from his cheek.
"This is not ****ing right,'' he says. "She is terminally ill, he needs to be with her."
Stanley pulls up outside his office. Whareroa marae sits in the distance on the harbour edge. The back end of Ballance Agri-Nutrients looms large, framing one end of the picturesque site which is encircled by commercial industrial neighbours.
Stanley has calmed down. "I can't make decisions when I'm mad."
Before dialling into a Zoom meeting with the Western Bay of Plenty Primary Health Organisation about men's health, he contacts the Bay of Plenty District Health Board.
Within the hour, the kaumatua is at his wife's bedside and Stanley is walking into the Tauranga Business Chamber. He is there to discuss his gig as a panellist with other leaders. They talk tactics, topics and questions in the lead-up to a Meet the Tauranga Electorate Candidates event.
"Welcome to my world," he says.
The rohe of Ngāi Te Rangi encompasses the lands and waters of Tauranga Moana and runs from Ngā Kurī ā Whārei in the north to Te Tumu in the south and includes Motiti, Matakana, Rangiwaea, Motuhoa, Tuhua, Motuotau, Moturiki and Kārewa Islands.
It's Tuesday, 5.45am. The sky is still dark and a stiff chill lingers in the air. A small crowd is gathering. Government Minister Jan Tinetti, who has the internal affairs, women and associate education portfolios, gets out of a taxi and is greeted with warm embraces and a kiss on the cheek.
She is at Ngāi Te Rangi's office at Taiaho Place to attend the formal blessing of its new boardroom, Pikirangi, and a 24m waka, Waitaki - a crayfish vessel from Bluff.
The dawn breaks to the sound of karakia and other formalities. Hands are laid on the walls of the building and the body of the orange boat to ward off bad spirits.
Over a cup of tea, sitting in front of a table laden with chicken soup, bread buns, mini quiches, blueberry muffins, grapes, strawberries and pineapple, Stanley says Pikirangi has a significant meaning.
"When the tribe had issues or feuds they used to go to Pikirangi, which was an ancient place to sort it out."
The waka would be used as a training vessel for its young people and as a possible link to the mainland for kaumātua on Matakana and Tuha Islands.
Back at the Ngāi Te Rangi Settlement Trust office in the old Mount Maunganui police station, social workers Glen Shee and Patrick Mitchell are getting their week in order. The concrete building shows its age and is a rabbit warren stemming from one gloomy hallway.
Shee and Mitchell share one space and combined enthusiasm for their respective roles in mental health, emergency/transitional housing and drug addiction. Demand is growing as the iwi picks up more government funding and contracts to provide help.
In July last year, it bought a block of eight apartments to provide transitional housing for some of the city's most vulnerable residents. It offers holistic wraparound services that extend to the homeless living in motels.
It's midday as the hearse slowly makes its way up the driveway. Three kuia, dressed in long black skirts and headscarves, stand in unison. The atmosphere is solemn as the homicide victim's coffin is carried on to Maungatapu Marae in near silence.
Whānau loved ones and tribe dignitaries gather in the wharenui, the crowd spilling outside. Hundreds of mourners shuffle from foot to foot on the lawn as the sea laps at the shoreline behind them.
A toddler in bare feet with pink tights twists and twirls her way through the crowd as her parents watch on.
Ngāi Te Rangi deputy chief executive Roimata Ah Sam says in hushed tones that Māori grieved and celebrated death. The marae is a sacred, cultural place where whānau members can come together in aroha to say their last goodbyes.
Stanley leans on his carved tokotoko [walking stick] as he walks down the gravel pathway. Another contingent waits at the gate.
Stanley climbs into the passenger's side of a Ngāi Te Rangi vehicle and remains thoughtful as he's driven back to the office.
Not one to shy away from a battle, Stanley is riled up. He estimates he currently has six on his hands, not to mention the ongoing saga with Hauraki iwi who believe they have a stake in Tauranga Moana and the fight with the Port of Tauranga over its proposal to deep water dredge the harbour - again.
He is talking to a commercial property developer on his laptop. They are both livid with land and property deals involving local and central government.
"This s*** is going to blow," Stanley says.
Ngāi Te Rangi signed its $26.5 million Treaty of Waitangi Settlement in 2013. Today it is worth about $60 million and has acquired commercial properties, transitional housing, social service government contracts, fisheries and investments.
It's Wednesday morning and all eyes are on the baby. He is perched on his mother Roimata Timutimu's lap. His head is rested on her shoulder and he is looking nowhere in particular. There are requests for him to come in for cuddles as soon as possible so that he can be handed around like pass the parcel.
Baby Penetaka doesn't know what all the fuss is about or that his namesake was a Ngāi Te Rangi warrior, military engineer, land protester, and chief.
Today it is not war raging but a meeting of the board. Baby Taka and four other board members have beamed in via Zoom while a handful of others flank chairman Charlie Tawhiao.
There are jet planes, bite-size Moro bars, and flakes - one pudding bowl for two on the massive oval table that has inbuilt power plugs, which don't work yet.
Stanley is first up and absentmindedly runs his fingers through his silver-grey beard. He touches on $20,000 in education grants that were given to 51 iwi members - 10 per cent of those applicants were doing PhDs and doctorates.
Discussion topics range from buying heavy equipment to clean marae for free to a recognition that only 30per cent of iwi members can speak te reo which prompted ongoing initiatives that would start in the home.
The discovery board members were being grossly underpaid according to The Institute of Directors, which recommended rates of $20,000 to $45,000 a year, comes as a surprise. The members were nowhere near the first rung of the ladder.
Stanley says it may come as a shock and reviews were in order, however "in the last five years the organisation's value has literally doubled" from about $30 million to $60m and some credit was due.
Trustee Eddie Bluegum acknowledges it is not about the money. Duty, pride and giving back are major drivers.
Tawhiao says their jobs aren't for the faint-hearted and the importance of really solid governance cannot be understated. However, he jokes it will be him fronting up to the tribe about any pay rises. To avoid getting shot, he thinks it could be a good idea to phase them in over time.
A close examination of the books shows the trust is in a strong position although it has struggled to fill vacancies due to Covid. Its income has also increased due to 29 government contracts with most funding coming from the ministries of health, education, social development, housing and urban development, Oranga Tamariki, children, justice, police and the Western Bay of Plenty Primary Health Organisation.
Ngāi Te Rangi owns the Mount Central complex at Mount Maunganui and a three-storey commercial building on Second Ave. It has an apartment block in Mayfair St for transitional housing and six, six-bedroom houses in Windermere, which are used as student accommodation.
A recommendation by trustee Ngaraima Taingahue to sign off $230,000 to fight the Port of Tauranga in the Environment Court was deferred to the Annual General Meeting.
However, feelings run deep and indications show the iwi will put its hand in its pocket to protect the harbour.
"We will fight - and I don't fight fair," Stanley says.
It's estimated about 28,000 people are affiliated to Ngāi Te Rangi. Some 8646 were verified on the tribal register while Facebook followers had jumped by 40 per cent in one year.
It's Thursday morning and Stanley is in his office at Whareroa before the sun rises. His workday often slides into night meetings and it is not uncommon for him to board a plane or drive hundreds of kilometres at a moment's notice.
An oversized, comfy, sage-coloured couch covered with a lush mink blanket and stuffed cushions takes up a large chunk of his office. He is known to take the odd power nap.
The walls are decorated with artefacts that pay tribute to his culture including a taiaha, framed prints and carvings. There is also a nod towards his time as executive director for the Listuguj Mi'gmaq Government, a tribal authority valued at about $136m in Quebec, Canada.
Moccasin boots hang alongside a traditional pipe and decorated native drums. His wife, Laverna, is from the Miawpukek First Nation of Newfoundland.
A "Live Free or Die" New Hampshire number plate is pinned by the door. It pays homage to Stanley's passion for Harley-Davidsons and Chevys.
Dressed in long shorts, a Ngāi Te Rangi shirt and grey Crocs, which are never far from his feet, Stanley is at his desk about to print out a 150-page document.
He is looking forward to meeting with a GP who has developed a new health app, although back-to-back meetings with Western Bay of Plenty Primary Health Organisation general manager Phil Back and Port of Tauranga property and infrastructure manager Dan Kneebone will dominate his day.
The banter is light and informative - despite some underlying issues, all parties continue to navigate through.
However, Stanley always has his eye on his overarching goals, despite his casual demeanour and unassuming nature.
"Don't look at the spuds when there is steak on the table," he says.
Established in 2009, Ngāi Te Rangi's free Mobile Health Waka is still considered one of the most innovative, youth health initiatives in the Southern Hemisphere and on average its accessed by 2500 people a year.
It's Friday morning and Stanley is reminiscing as we drive down the East Coast Highway heading towards Whakatāne. His language is colourful and his mood is cheery.
He has just left a morning hui. A special workshop run by Tauranga City Council and Tangata Whenua about putting in a submission for the draft National Adaptation Plan released by Climate Change Minister James Shaw.
Environmental issues were high on the agenda with iwi and hapū representatives concerned that the council did not understand Māori's cultural connection to the land, sea and air.
"Some people hate their job, I love mine," Stanley says.
"I am here for my people. That is what gets me out of bed in the morning."
However, the responsibility weighs heavily on his shoulders.
''I can't **** this up,'' he says. "My mana and the reputation of my whānau, mokopunas and great mokos are on the line. This is not a normal scenario where you just lose your job and walk away and get another.
"I have the future of the iwi and future generations to look after."
Brought up in a flea-and-cockroach-ridden garage in South Auckland, Stanley may have defied the odds but is adamant that he's not special.
"I'm from the school of hard knocks."
His father had tuberculosis and died young. Four of his brothers died in infancy and his mother suffered from heart problems. He started a milk run when he was 11 and became the main breadwinner for his family. He joined the New Zealand Navy at 15 to see the world and it took him four goes to pass his driver's licence, which he did by memorising the sequence of answers.
He has arrived at his destination.
Nestled in a kiwifruit orchard off the beaten track about 20 minutes from Ōpōtiki is a modest home on concrete blocks. Mattresses are piled high in the bedrooms. He is here to do a maintenance check.
Stanley says it was a mission to get the house up the long, winding driveway but the small site, which is no larger than a quarter-acre, has great significance as it was gifted to the iwi by Ngāi Tai.
Plans are afoot to connect the power and give it a spruce-up so that it can be utilised better.
Three small cows scurry past the truck, followed by a brown horse doing a quick trot.
Stanley is parked up on a grass verge beside a graffiti-covered hall with smashed windows at Tōrere.
He is on an urgent Zoom meeting with Ngāi Te Ranginui about hopes to set up a multimillion-dollar Māori health service commissioning agency in the Western Bay.
They want support from the Western Bay of Plenty Primary Health Organisation which was set up by both iwi and doctors.
A teenager in shorts and a T-shirt with a rope in his hand is running along the side of the road.
"You lost a horse, bro, and three cows?" Stanley says, his finger pointing left.
"Yip," the boy huffs.
"**** me," Stanley laughs, as he pulls back onto State Highway 2 towards Tauranga.
I am a soaring albatross high above Kārewa, a stout-hearted child that belongs to Ngāi Te Rangi.
"Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds."
It's 10am on Saturday morning and Stanley repeats the lyrics of Bob Marley's Redemption Song when he addresses a first-year class, of about 25 social work students at Te Wānanga o Aotearoa.
Only two men make up the mix of mostly mature people. Most identify as Māori.
Stanley is at ease talking to his audience and gives them fair warning: ''I swear a lot''.
Laughter erupts but behind the jokes and wisecracks, Stanley's message doesn't pull any punches.
At 29, Stanley learned to read and write properly. He went to Auckland University and gained two degrees with honours in education. He is on the Harvard Negotiation Programme and doing a PHD on Negotiation at an NZ university.
The pāpā of five and koroua of four has an impressive portfolio. Jobs have included: prison officer, university lecturer, social worker in New Zealand and California, health researcher, teacher and general manager of Te Whānau o Waipareira Trust.
Emancipating yourself means to liberate, Stanley says, then you will find your freedom.
To hammer home his point, he selects five people to stand in a straight line. They are asked to take one step forward or back, depending on their answers to questions. These include if they had a father figure in their life, went without meals as a child, had access to private tuition or knew what it was like to live in poverty.
People had different starting blocks in life, Stanley says - look how some are further back than others. Some have started the race of life at a canter. This is what privilege looks like, he says, as three people stand further back than the others.
"I'm making no excuses for Māori but Pākehā find it hard to understand why so many of our people are in jail. They think we are lazy or stupid. That is the harsh reality."
He says they can make a difference, they can bring about change and any goal is achievable if you keep reaching for it regardless of the obstacles.
Stanley also encourages them to call out racism, which in his view is prevalent in New Zealand and Tauranga.
"We need to put the hammer down. Hate cannot get rid of hate. We have to be able to unpack the levels of racism in our society and challenge it.
"You are the scariest native when you are intellectually powerful."
As the crowd chanted, Seymour walked back into the Beehive with his MPs.