Gallipoli 2015

A couple of days have passed now since we arrived back to Istanbul having attended the 100th anniversary commemoration of the ANZAC landings at Gallipoli. The entire experience was, from beginning to end, moving, inspirational and emotional. As 10,000 of us lay outside in our sleeping bags, with barely enough space to lie flat, the night was passed by screenings of documentaries on the Gallipoli campaign, military historians retelling key stories and offering interpretations, music and song and a beautiful speech by youth ambassador Caitlin Pāpuni-Mclellan. The programme drew us into the history and moving reality of Gallipoli.

At one point in the early morning, the MC announced, "it is now 3am, and 3000 men began to slip quietly from their ships into landing boats to begin the journey to shore." Silence, except for the lapping of water on the beach. The Australian short film 'The Telegram Man' was played just before dawn telling the story of the man whose task it was to take telegrams communicating the death of loved ones to families living in a remote community of Australia. Silence, except for tears and the lapping of water on the beach. And then at dawn, "it was at this moment precisely 100 years ago that the first boats arrived to this shore and the invasion began." Eerily, 10,000 of us stood silent, unbelievably silent, in the opening dawn. All we could hear was the lapping of the water on the beach.

The ceremony began with the sound of a didgeridoo, played beautifully by William Barton in a section called 'The Spirit of the Land'. Our indigenous cultures do this so well - the honouring of this whenua made even more sacred by the spilling of blood and the internment of tens of thousands of fallen soldiers in largely unmarked graves; the understanding that the veil between us and our departed loved ones is so very thin, the ghosts of our past are alive and real.

The dawn ceremony proceeded with moving tributes and tearful acknowledgments. For me, the most emotional moment that morning, among many emotional moments, was seeing video of the Wellington and Auckland dawn ceremonies on the big screen. Both events looked so impressive (I even saw my Uncle Bill Nathan on screen) and I was unable to hold back the tears. I cried - deeply, completely, my body shaking - standing there in my sleeping bag. I was so very proud to be a New Zealander. How deeply and completely I love Aotearoa.

The whole nightmare of the Gallipoli campaign came into view. Letters from soldiers who were fully aware that they were about to die - and said so in their letters - were read aloud. The deeds of one Lieutenant-Colonel Malone of the Wellington Battalion were recalled. Malone refused to take his men into the senseless slaughter, pleading to be allowed to wait till at least nightfall . When night arrived his regiment was the only one remaining, the rest killed or wounded during the day. He then lead them in the taking of Chunuk Bair only to be killed himself by friendly fire.

Then there was the madness and heroism of the Australian actions at The Nek. Four waves of Australian soldiers stood side by side to charge the Turkish defenders only meters away - in an area described as being the size of two tennis courts - each wave mowed down by machine gun fire and grenade. It was overwhelming to learn of and feel the sheer scale of this senseless, insane tragedy. Over 130,000 perished. So much blood spilt in this land, so many bodies still lying in unmarked graves. Never mind who was fighting who and for what reason, the sacrifice that men - both Turk and ANZAC as young as 18 and 19 years of age (perhaps younger) - were asked to make and subsequently did make. The heart and the reality of this human tragedy was overwhelming.

The dawn ceremony completed, we made our way to Chunuk Bair, walking first with the Australians to Lone Pine and then continuing on up the hill. It was a long way up there, longer than we thought. I was exhausted when I got to the top but I am pleased to have done it. As my partner Tania said, there is no substitute for walking the whenua - to walk up there, to make the effort, to sweat, it's paying something and in the end we are rewarded.  We saw the steepness of the terrain and imagined the sheer guts and determination required to get there in 1915. We also saw the trenches and how shallow they were, offering so very little protection! The entire peninsula can be seen from there. So too can the Dardanelles, the narrow strip of water flowing from the Sea of Marmara to the Mediterranean, the control of which was the goal of the whole campaign.

When we got to Chunuk Bair, it was great to be among Kiwis. We are cousins to the Australians and we share much in common. However, there is much that is uniquely Kiwi and when we come away from New Zealand this is brought into greater relief. There is a kind of soulfulness in us Kiwis. We have a certain way with identity and community that is truly ours. I like to think that it is a reflection of the influence of Māori culture on our national shared culture, partially at least. I felt this way as we were making our way into the NZ service. We were greeted by the youth ambassadors who were leading all of us in songs from Aotearoa. 'April Sun in Cuba' by Dragon and particularly Dave Dobbyn's 'Welcome Home'. 'Pō karekare ana' and 'Pō atarau', were sung of course. It was so good to hear those beautiful young people singing songs from home, watching us all joining in together, including the top brass of our military!

The NZ padre Lance Lukin, who lead the service, was outstanding as was the young woman who lead the national anthem. Prince Charles told the story of a family whose son did not come home. The NZ service made me feel proud to be a New Zealander. I wanted to connect with Kiwis there, I wanted to share in our love for our home. So deep was my desire to unify with others that surprisingly I did not want to display the tino rangatiratanga flag that we had brought with us. (My father's first cousin Hiraina Marsden was one of the designers) Not that I do not support tino rangatiratanga, for I do and deeply so, but in that moment I did not want to display anything that others might interpret as being divisive (although I do not see it as divisive). Such is the power, the mana of Gallipoli.

There is so much to say about the whole event. Prime Minster John Key asked, "what if the situation was reversed? What if it was the Turks invading New Zealand? Would we die for our country as the Turks died for theirs?" Of course, yes was the answer. If New Zealanders could travel all the way to Turkey to join in with the allied invasion knowing too well that death was a possibility, even a probability, then of course we could make the same decision to defend our homeland. (And in that we see that war is possible.)

Of course, this was exactly the situation for many Māori in 19th century. Tribal homelands, such as Waikato, Taranaki, Te Tai Tokerau and Tauranga, were indeed invaded and many Māori died in defence of their homelands - at places like Rangiriri, Ōrākau and Pukehinahina. And yet a few decades later some of their descendants agreed to go to war in support of the British Empire. Here we see the conflicted relationship we Māori have with the Crown, the Government, the military. The consequences of 19th century British aggression against Māori are still felt today and yet our people still went to the World Wars. (My own father was in the army for many years, rising to the rank of major, and I have numerous koroua who went to both wars.) We honor those who went and those too who, through an act of conscience, did not go. These include the young men of Waikato who were instructed to stay home by Te Puea Herangi. Many of those men were imprisoned and ill treated by the NZ authorities.

Of course, British imperialism - which the Gallipoli campaign was an expression of - can and must be challenged. How much were these historical (and contemporary) actions really about protecting the interests of various elites?

All my life I have heard that Gallipoli marked the beginning of the New Zealand nation. My Māori identity says that this is not so, that the beginnings are found in the arrival of waka from Hawaiki in the 12th century. These are the true beginnings. However, coming to Gallipoli I think I understand a little more about what is meant by the idea that Gallipoli is the beginning of New Zealand's modern national identity.

Gallipoli was an unmitigated and tragic disaster on a massive scale. It was underpinned by an arrogance and superiority which, among other things, completely underestimated the abilities and commitment of the Turks. It was instigated by none other than Winston Churchill, the then Lord of the Admiralty, who was seeking to enable a Russian-British alliance against the Germans (the Russian Navy was centered in the Black Sea, the Dardenelles link the Black Sea to the Mediterranean via the Sea of Marmara) and to keep Turkey out of the war. Such was the nature of the failure that the New Zealand (and Australian) military leadership would never again blindly commit their troops to British military strategy. There was the sense that as so much of our blood was shed that we need no longer feel beholden to the British, that British superiority and New Zealand inferiority must end. The relationship was loosened. Feelings of inferiority began to fade. Of course, it would still take a long time for this to be achieved comprehensively. Nonetheless the Gallipoli campaign sowed the seeds of New Zealand's modern independence.

I want to finish with the statement by the extraordinary Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, who successfully lead the defence of his homeland at Gallipoli and who subsequently became the first President of the modern Turkey. In 1934, he said:

"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives ... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours ... You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.

Gallipoli 2015 was an extraordinary event. I am so grateful for being able to attend the 100th anniversary of the Gallipoli campaign at Gallipoli itself. I must also express my thanks, respect and mihi to the whenua and people of Turkey.