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It’s been grim-times at home in Taradale, and that’s more than the recession or a bit of shitty weather. Last weekend, the first in May, a local bloke, Michael Meehan, was shot dead at the river, down the back of the pa. He was duckshooting with family. A day’s recreational excursion to Waiohiki turned to tragedy and he never returned home alive. His family is shattered and the love of a good dad is now just a memory for his boys. That piece of land on which Mike Meehan died was well known to Senior Constable Len Snee, our local Taradale copper. Len foraged around it many times, sometimes simply on a run for relaxation and fitness, other times as part of operational duties, surveillance and intelligence gathering. He was old school in that way, thinking nothing of parking up in trees near a backyard and seeing things for himself. Len pissed off many of the local bad boys because he was so good at his job; “pissed off” I might say, kindly, in the same way that one gets pissed off at a good player who sidesteps you to score, or out-scrummages you. It’s a grudging-respect-pissed-off. I liked Len. In some senses and at certain times over the past years that I’ve known him, unlike
when he was making a visit to the generally well-heeled suburbs of Hospital Hill, Len might have had cause to be unsure about what he might encounter when he visited Waiohiki. At times if he came armed it would not have been without reason. But in recent years perhaps the circumstances have changed; people have mellowed, behaviours improved. These days, if he needed to, Len would simply pop around to my home, on his own, and have a chat. Sometimes it was a warning, advice for me to share with those who had ears to hear; sometimes a request for help in a troublesome situation; sometimes an explanation. There was no breaking of confidences, no soft deals or anything – if the law had been broken and proven so, Len Snee would not hesitate to prosecute – but, pragmatically, if justice could be served by a collegial community-based response and followed by the required behaviour change, then he would enable that to happen. I call it Kiwi-policing; it’s an indigenous approach…you might call it Maori policing….and take that in any way you like. On Thursday morning I was back up home from Wellington for a meeting. There’d been a car crash on the Napier Hastings expressway. It was blocked off for a while, and some members of our group were delayed. There was much wailing of
sirens and we thought nothing much of it. We were well into the swing of things when the urgent phone went off. It was a Wellington official. A policeman had been shot and killed in Napier. Some reports had it being near a gang headquarters. Did I know what was up? I was stunned when I eventually heard that it was Len Snee who was dead. All I could think of was how he would have simply gone out to work that day and, in what should have been unexceptional circumstances, expected to come home to his family. Like Michael Meehan down at the river it wasn’t part of
Len's plan to come home dead at the hands of an angry gun-lover called Jan
Molenaar. I went down to the florist in Taradale and asked her to make up a wreath. I didn’t really know what to say to the detective who took it from me, so we just nodded, and that was probably enough. ‘Firm but fair doing your job’ I had written on the card. Moe mai koe te tuakana e Len.
Haere ki te maunga Ruahine. Haere, haere ki to matua tipuna a Hehu. Haere atu ra e te rangatira, te toa, haere atu ra.
I appreciate that what you see and how you interpret it depends on your glasses, the framework of your world. A week or two back a group of Black Power went to Unity Books in Wellington for the launch of John Newtown’s book ‘Double Rainbow’. The book treats contemporary history, telling the story of ‘nga mokai’, Jimmy Baxter’s notional tribe and the commune movement that he built at Jerusalem, Hiruharama, on the Whanganui River, not long before his death in 1972. Woven into the latter part of the story are the Black Power, essentially the Wellington chapter, with Gabe Taiwhiti, Bill Maung and me making the occasional appearance. The book records a national waananga that the Black Power held at Hiruharama (Whanganui) in 1989 and the haka ‘Te Rongo Toa’ – the “Warrior Wind”
– that arose from the hui. We were gathering to perform it as a tribute to the author. Because the boys didn’t know where Unity Books was we agreed to meet outside the Wellington Library as an easy to find spot. However such is the state of national anxiety about gang members that a couple of policemen turned up to check out what was happening and started aggressive questioning. Despite the fact we were adjacent to Wellington Central, where help abounded if required, one policeman came armed, ostentatiously wearing his Glock pistol – his ‘dick on his hip’ as it was expressed to me. I explained that we were gathered for a cultural event, a book launch. It must have sounded disingenuous. The Police followed us down Willis St wanting to take statements and the like. They had the wrong glasses on for the moment and it seemed they were overreacting. On the other hand three Napier cops, Len Snee, Bruce Miller and Grant Driver had their ‘not a problem’ glasses on last Thursday, for a standard job in well heeled suburb, and look what happened there. You just can’t tell. A week or two ago I’d have willingly
criticised the armed cop in Wellington for patently over reacting, but now, with Len in mind, I think I’d shut up. I don’t want to throw the baby of civic freedom out with the bathwater of violent offending, but how do we handle this sort of thing? As the days go on more will be revealed and our sense of bewilderment will subside. Regardless it’s a hard one alright.
Let’s leave the slogans alone, and give talkback policy making a miss. With respect for those who have died, and
others who may yet die, let’s move back from the precipice together. Arohanui. D
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