Activist and tourism operator Bianca Ranson (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Kahu ki Whaingaroa) is Forest & Bird’s Hauraki Gulf campaigner. A Waiheke Island resident, Ranson is also deputy chair of the Waiheke Local Board.
You spent your early years on Waiheke. How did life there shape you?
Waiheke gave me my love of the ocean, nature and community. I also saw people from all walks of life living together peacefully, whether they were artists, musicians or hippies, and most of them were passionate about conservation. We didn’t have a car back then, so we used to walk everywhere. That really connected me to my surroundings, to the environment. So, from an early age, I understood my community wasn’t just the people I shared the island with, it was all living beings.
For high school, you opted for full-immersion te reo at Western Springs College in central Auckland. What took you there?
One reason I chose Western Springs is that it has no formal uniform. Wearing a uniform would have been soul-crushing for me. The idea that girls should wear one thing and boys another didn’t sit right with me, either. Their rumaki reo [language immersion] was the other attraction, because not only would I be learning in a Māori environment, but also I’d be learning te reo Māori.
How did that lead to a career in outdoor education?
We had a really cool PE teacher who took us on amazing adventures. One time, we camped out at Whatipū on Auckland’s west coast. Many of us had never been to a black-sand beach before or seen the sun set into the ocean. Seeing the impact that had on us as urban rangatahi Māori and how it made us feel, that was a turning point. Going on those trips also showed me that outdoor education could be an actual job.
Your business, Potiki Adventures, is an interesting marriage of tourism and social work. How did that evolve?
I started Potiki Adventures 19 years ago. One arm of the business offered cultural day trips to mainly international visitors, while the other saw us taking thousands of mostly Māori and Pasifika rangatahi on multi-day trips in nature. We’d take young people kayaking, sailing or tramping to connect them with nature and te ao Māori. That led to working with Corrections, where we’d replicate those experiences within the prison grounds.
How did you replicate outdoor experiences inside a prison?
We’d go in with our gear, our packs and kai, then we’d cover a certain number of kilometres each day, as if we were in nature. Then we’d camp out overnight in these very concrete environments. We did things like weave kono to eat kai out of, or talk about our cultural connections to te taiao, to nature. Even though there weren’t any trees, because they’re seen as risky in a prison setting, for many participants it was the first time they’d slept outside their cells since they’d been sentenced, or seen the stars.
How complex was it for some of those prisoners to let their walls down?
One workshop we did was with traditional musical instruments, taonga pūoro, and one man was really closed off. He’d grown up in the gangs, and he was hanging back. Then he picked up the kōauau [a small flute], one of the most difficult instruments to play, and he instantly knew how to play it, even though he’d never played one before. With that sort of work, you never know what will have a positive impact, but to see that moment when a person clicks out of one headspace and goes on a journey, that’s the pathway to transformation.
You support a wide range of causes. What ignited your passion for activism?
I used to belong to Te Ohonga Ake. We were a group of teenage Māori activists, and we drove up and down the country going to various hui, which was partly because our parents were all involved in the Māori protest movement.
Beyond being an advocate for justice, you’re also an advocate for nature. Bearing in mind the impending general election, where is your head at?
These are unprecedented times, which is why we need leaders who are prepared to create radical change. We need politicians with the imagination and skills to address what is happening, which includes distributing resources in a way that provides everybody with the basic necessities of life. We’re seeing people in crisis, which for Māori has been the case for a long time. There’s the cost of living, the housing crisis, coming out of the pandemic, and the ongoing impact of flooding, which was a direct result of climate change. The social fabric is barely holding together, which is why the right decisions have never been so crucial.
How did your work with Potiki Adventures lead to the Forest & Bird job?
Through my work with rangatahi, I saw how reconnecting young people to the environment is one of the most powerful ways to create meaningful societal change. I’ve also been part of Protect Pūtiki, the movement opposing the marina at Pūtiki Bay on Waiheke, so joining Forest & Bird felt like a natural step.
What was Protect Pūtiki about?
It looked at the marina proposal through the lens of mātauranga, considering the mauri of Pūtiki and all the life within it. That marina is so destructive to biodiversity, for our taonga species and our community, because it puts profit above everything else, and now we have this giant floating carpark where the wealthy can park their noisy, gas-guzzling vehicles on the ocean. The little blue penguins, the kororā, had their habitat literally bulldozed, and the Wildlife Act had no power to protect them.
To lose such an important battle, are you ever tempted to give up?
We haven’t lost yet, and we can’t give up. Given the current climate and the biodiversity crises, if people don’t talk about these things, if people don’t unite and say they’ve had enough, it’ll keep happening. It’s the same with the Hauraki Gulf. Every day I go to the ocean and I see the devastation. Politicians have all this information from scientists, communities and iwi about what the ocean needs, and the government has the power to put protection zones in place, yet industry still determines outcomes. Like bottom trawling. It is arguably the most destructive fishing method in the world, and it just needs to stop, but the fishery lobby is stronger than logic.
What do you think prevents governments from acting?
I don’t know how many ministers of oceans and fisheries we’ve had over the past few years. And ministers of conservation: since Eugenie Sage [2017-20], the ministers who have ended up with conservation – one of the most important portfolios in our current climate – have lacked the political will to make the necessary changes.
So, in the face of this inertia, what do we do?
As long as our politicians remain inactive, we have to turn to the powers we do have and seek solutions made by the community for the community and led by te tiriti. Because the challenges we are facing, when we have the next massive flood or extreme drought, it’s the community you live in that will support you. So, if you can build those connections and create resilient, prepared communities, that’s the future, because that’s where the hope is, and where the pressure for change will come from.
To spread awareness about the importance of a healthy ocean, the Live Ocean midwinter dip is taking place on June 22, with ocean lovers everywhere taking the plunge on the shortest day of the year. Click here to register.
