Personal Essay: When the heavy knocks from officials came at the door back in the 70s, my dad said he didn’t answer. Well, he couldn’t.
During the Dawn Raids, safety meant hiding out with his friends or climbing up into the ceiling until the police went away. Only those with legal papers could open the door.
Sitting at home with my dad, Siosiua Tuitupou, interviewing him and talking about his life is always a reminder of just how far we’ve come. And when Tongan Language Week rolls around, it brings his whole journey back to the surface.
Me and dad at in our home. Photo: Te Ao Māori News. My dad’s early years in Tonga
Dad was born in Navutoka, a rural village on Tongatapu Island. One of 13 children, he was later adopted into what he describes as a “poor family.”
He grew up in a house out in the bush. “My roof was coconut leaves, my walls were coconut leaves, my floor was coconut leaves.”
He carried a deep sense of shame about his upbringing and never brought anyone home. “I remember there was a concert and all my friends dressed up, I had no nice pants, no nice shirt, so I lied and told them I can’t go because my mum is sick.”
By his early twenties, he decided to move to New Zealand, where the rest of his biological family was living. Without any official documents, he snuck onto a container ship and endured an eight-day crossing to reach Aotearoa. “It’s not nice coming on a boat. I wished I came by plane.”
Dad in his younger days in our family home. Photo: Te Ao Māori News.
When the ship arrived, Dad and his friends managed to bypass officials by jumping off the container boat and fleeing to their families. He settled in South Auckland, where he spent most of his time, but the reality of being in the country without papers soon caught up with him.
My dad’s experience living through the Dawn Raids era
Living through the Dawn Raids meant constantly watching your back, spending days hiding in houses, and knowing that a simple knock on the door could change everything.
Those operations started in 1974 under Prime Minister Norman Kirk’s Labour government and expanded under Robert Muldoon’s National government. While official figures showed most overstayers came from Great Britain, Europe, South Africa, and the United States, police task forces disproportionately targeted Pacific communities in early-morning raids and immigration sweeps.
The raids ended in the late 1970s, and more than four decades later, the Government formally apologised to Pacific communities in 2021.
Dad remembers Auckland being heavily targeted, so he and two friends fled south.
They went first to Rotorua, where they found work, before moving on to Taupō. He eventually made his way to Wellington and then further south to Christchurch, trying to stay under the radar.
Later, he returned up to Wellington. It was there that his life took another turn when he met my mum, who is Tūhoe.
Mum and dad celebrating their anniversary. Photo: Te Ao Māori News. My dad’s new reality: raising a big family
Mum and Dad went on to have nine children together, and we were all brought up in our family home in Ōtara.
On both sides of the whānau, we were the first generation of mixed Māori and Tongan children.
When Dad started raising us, he wanted us to speak English so we wouldn’t have the same struggles he had. “I would have preferred my children to speak Māori and English,” he says.
For decades, Dad carried that weight and the belief that “if my English had been better, I would have had a better life.”
Family photo. Photo: Te Ao Māori News.
Though he felt he could have had a better life, he definitely gave me and my siblings a good life.
My four older siblings went to day care and mainstream school, but we younger ones went to kōhanga reo and kura kaupapa. Looking back, Dad says the decision came from wanting Mum to be able to stay close to us and raise us while he worked to support our family.
“I say to my wife… why not go to the kōhanga reo, take the kids, and I’m happy I did that and I can see the result and I’m really proud of it.“
In his later years, Dad became a New Zealand citizen, or as he calls it, a “tangata whenua.”
My dad at his ceremony when he became a citizen of New Zealand. Photo: Te Ao Māori News
Tongan Language Week always makes me reflect on his journey and how we got here. Today, he is a proud dad of nine Māori-Tongan children, a koro of ten grandchildren, and proud to be a citizen of Aotearoa.