Mischief's no trouble to great brown hope

By MICHELE HEWITSON

John Tamihere says things about Maori issues that almost no one else says, making him irresistible to Pakeha fed up with the foreshore and other debates.

He leans back, fixes me with his dancing eyes and accuses me of being out to get him into trouble. "I can see it written all over you."

Then John Tamihere, who is very fond of saying "I don't give a hoot", gives several hoots loud enough to scare the horse in the paddock next door.

He lives, with partner Awerangi Durie, and a collection of children - he has five, to three partners - on a tranquil 2.5ha Henderson block.

It is peaceful except for the cellphone that rings often, the whirl of the fax machine, and the not-so-distant roar of angry Maori across the country.

At home, Tamihere wears shorts and a face never far from signalling mischief. He is relaxed and happy - nothing much to give a hoot about you might think if you didn't know otherwise.

Tamihere didn't give a hoot this week when his comments about proposed anti-smacking laws might have been construed as a criticism of the Prime Minister's position.

"Hey, every week's a good week," he says.

He did give a hoot about the last-minute cancellation by Ngati Whatua of the final consultation hui on the foreshore and seabed issue. But a serious embarrassment for the Government? "Well, beauty's in the eye of the beholder."

The day we saw him, Wednesday, he was in the throes of organising an alternative hui. And his hui would run like "clockwork".

Still, the Associate Minister of Maori Affairs is not a man who likes having doors slammed in his face - and that has happened more than once during the acrimonious airing of this issue.

Tamihere was incensed when activist Titewhai Harawira insisted that MPs enter through a side door at the consequently aborted Northland hui.

When Tamihere is cross he mouths off. When Tamihere is not cross - at least when he is giving a fairly good impersonation of somebody who doesn't let this sort of "nonsense" get to him - he mouths off.

So it is utter nonsense to suggest that I'm about to get him into any trouble (his version is ruder than this). You could put a tape recorder in front of him in an empty house and he'd conjure up trouble all on his own.

Within, oh, about five minutes he is as happy as a kid on a foreshore, digging himself some deep holes.

No, he won't have any of the lunch that Durie has kindly provided. You suspect it might be because he doesn't want to be seen eating quiche - he doesn't hang out with "any of the sheilas" in politics; he likes "men's things".

But he says he's been eating all day. "I was going to say I'll start looking like Parekura Horomia, but that would be terrible."

His attempts to wriggle out of this particular hole are hopeless and he knows it. Horomia, he says, between fits of giggles, has lost a lot of weight ... "Not for publication," he tries.

Too bad, I say. He takes it laughing.

You wonder what they make of him in Wellington. He's telling somebody on his phone to tell somebody else what "he can do with himself".

Who's he being rude about now? "Oh, these bloody [word too rude to print] officials, bureaucrats. They're very good at being able to tell you why you can't do something." Hasn't he learned yet that officials are more important than politicians? "They're mongrels, mate, half of them."

He is incorrigible. He is also charismatic, fearless and the great brown hope of the Labour Party. He will hate that. He has no desire, despite predictions, to be the next Minister of Maori Affairs. He doesn't want to be stereotyped. He no doubt has bigger tarakihi to fry. He's not saying. It is not a good career move, he says, to publicly make bids for your colleagues' jobs.

He doesn't want to wake up one morning and find that he's turned into, shock, horror, a "clone" of a politician.

This seems unlikely. He is not much of a diplomat. He says he hasn't been ticked off by "the big boss" - the PM - lately: "I used to." Perhaps he's learned to play nicely with others.

At one point in the interview there he is reminding himself (as much as he is telling me) that "the boss keeps telling me you've got to be more statesman-like." This is the tail end of a laughing rant about Titewhai Harawira - he calls her Ti probably because he knows it annoys her.

Of the Northland hui debacle he says, "Oh, I was outraged really. You know in my street days you would have done something about it." These days he uses words to make clear his displeasure. He is not as loose-lipped as he once was. He got into trouble - for, he would say, telling the truth. He has named Maori leaders who he said had "done their run".

He rails as he has been railing for years against Maori leaders who, as he sees it, have done too little for their people.

You wonder whether he might have some three o'clock in the morning worries about alienating Maori, about damaging his credibility with his constituency over the Government's stance on the foreshore and seabed issue. "Oh well, look, I've lost credibility with some of them because they lost credibility with me a long time ago. They ain't going to change, ever."

"They" are those Maori leaders who Tamihere says have just said "no" - without coming up with any alternatives. And "they" are the people who "ran and funded a huge campaign against me in 1999. I'd better not name names. The boss said I can't name names any more. Those who have done very well out of the fisheries deals."

As for his Maori supporters, despite the deafening din of the nay-sayers, they're out there, "under the radar screen. They're still waving with five fingers".

Tamihere doesn't want to be Minister of Maori Affairs. Still, he is the face of the foreshore and seabed issue.

"I don't know whether it's a better-looking face than old bloody Margaret Wilson or not ... "

Yes, very naughty. But he gets away with a lot because he's so likeable, so straight-talking. He says those things about Maori leadership that almost no one else says. This makes him irresistible to many Pakeha who are nervous, confused or plain fed up with what many see as the treaty grievance industry.

"Well, possibly," he is the acceptable face of Maori politics. "That's pretty tough for me to answer - it's for others to answer that." He does enjoy "engaging with Pakeha businessmen and Pakeha communities. I come from a different upbringing and background, and it's more inclusive."

He was brought up to believe "that your reo, your tikanga is used as a cloak, not a patu. Not to be used in an abusive way.

"I've seen a lot of our people walk away from our culture because they've tried to engage but they've felt abused and scared by it." He understands the language, can hold his own on the marae but is not fluent: "I won't be stood over by that nonsense."

If he, and not the minister, is the good-looking face of the foreshore issue, "look, I've been lucky enough to have been blessed and privileged with a legal education. Therefore I've got a base of knowledge that others mightn't have had."

Most politicians would admit that the last few weeks have been hell. Or at the very least, hellishly divisive.

Tamihere won't have it. The debate is a positive step forward in "this nationhood journey. And it's very healthy that a lot of people have come out from under the bed to have a go."

For Pakeha, the issue has "been a rallying point. They've had a gutsful of treaty fatigue. They've had an opportunity to vent their spleen and I think 'good'. People have felt restrained, that the debate has been too politically correct."

Even his worst enemies, those he calls the "unholy alliance" of conservative and radical Maori, could not accuse Tamihere of that.