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Thread ID: 56679	2005-04-12 09:50:00	Blatantly racist	Peterj116 (6762)	PC World Chat

Post ID	Timestamp	Content	User
344213	2005-04-16 08:42:00	Returning to the original post (Tama Hairy only talking to Maori media), some of you will recall Robert Muldoon. Do we have to? :D All I remember of Piggy is his sales tax on records, which he happily admitted was soley because he didn't like rock music (still have that anti-sales tax record Culture, by The Knobz, gathering dust somewhere) and his stint in the Rocky Horror Show. Couldn't get tickets. :( ...our liberal perceptions are so attuned not to criticise anything Maori that we shrug when a Maori MP elects to effectively ban a section of the media. Even worse, the decision is based on race. Which is Peter's point. I'm very uncomfortable with this. A Member of the New Zealand Parliament is answerable to all citizens. He should not be able to pick and choose on the basis of race. Thankyou, Winston. What makes it even more ridiculous is that it isn't even a Maori issue. He criticized Women, Jews & anyone else he didn't like. Why the need to play the race card? You wouldn't get a Pakeha politician suddenly bringing up their race when they're in trouble.	Peterj116 (6762)
344214	2005-04-16 22:54:00	you're never going to stop racism, it's built in to all of us.	Phil B (648)
344215	2005-04-17 00:24:00	you're never going to stop racism, it's built in to all of us. I don't think it's racism that is built in,it's more the other fellow. We don't like English rugby players,or North Islanders,or Muslims and so on. One would be hard put to find someone who is not biased to some degree.	Cicero (40)
344216	2005-04-17 02:05:00	This thread has already covered more ground than the early settlers so I hope a little poetry won’t be too far out of place. Now, before reading the poem I think I should give you some background. The poet is by none other than the Australian Icon A.B. (Banjo Patterson). It can be found in every library so the PC Brigade must have approved it. It is worth noting that apart from being a poet and journalist he was also a solicitor, which I hope pleases Winston. :D Anyway, Banjo was a master of placing actual events into poetry/prose and this event happened in the late 1800’s early 1900’s whilst he was in “Godsone.” Enjoy. THE MAORI’S WOOL THE Maoris are a mighty race—the finest ever known; Before the missionaries came they worshipped wood and stone; They went to war and fought like fiends, and when the war was done They pacified their conquered foes by eating every one. But now-a-days about the pahs in idleness they lurk, Prepared to smoke or drink or talk— or anything but work. The richest tribe in all the North in sheep and horse and cow, Were those who led their simple lives at Rooti-iti-au. ‘Twas down to town at Wellington a noble Maori came, A Rangatira of the best, Rerenga was his name— (The word Rerenga means a “snag”—but until he was gone This didn’t strike the folk he met—it struck them later on). He stalked into the Bank they call the “Great Financial Hell”, And told the Chief Financial Fiend the tribe had wool to sell. The Bold Bank Manager looked grave—the price of wool was high. He said, “We’ll lend you what you need—we’re not disposed to buy. “You ship the wool to England, Chief!—You’ll find it’s good advice, And meanwhile you can draw from us the local market price.” The Chief he thanked him courteously and said he wished to state In all the Rooti-iti tribe his mana would be great, But still the tribe were simple folk, and did not understand This strange finance that gave them cash without the wool in hand. So off he started home again, with trouble on his brow, To lay the case before the tribe at Rooti-iti-au. They held a great korero in the Rooti-iti clan, With speeches lasting half a day from every leading man. They called themselves poetic names—”lost children in a wood”; They said the Great Bank Manager was Kapai—extra good! And so they sent Rerenga down, full-powered and well-equipped, To draw as much as he could get, and let the wool be shipped; And wedged into a “Cargo Tank”, full up from stern to bow, A mighty clip of wool went Home from Rooti-iti-au. It was the Bold Bank Manager who drew a heavy cheque; Rerenga cashed it thoughtfully, then clasped him round the neck; A hug from him was not at all a thing you’d call a lark— You see he lived on mutton-birds and dried remains of shark— But still it showed his gratitude; and, as he pouched the pelf, “I’ll haka for you, sir,” he said, “in honour of yourself!” The haka is a striking dance—the sort they don’t allow In any place more civilized than Rooti-iti-au. He “haka’d” most effectively—then, with an airy grace, Rubbed noses with the Manager, and vanished into space. But when the wool return came back, ah me, what sighs and groans! For every bale of Maori wool was loaded up with stones! Yes—thumping great New Zealand rocks among the wool they found; On every rock the Bank had lent just eighteen-pence a pound. And now the Bold Bank Manager, with trouble on his brow, Is searching vainly for the chief from Rooti-iti-au.	B.M. (505)
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