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OPINION: It’s one week on from the 50th ASB Polyfest celebrations that packed out the Manukau Sports Bowl over four days and was a stunning display of Māori and Pasifika talent, community, hard work and joy. But why did the festival that’s been a part of my life for nearly three decades feel different this year? By Indira Stewart
Since January, I was privileged to have access to the stage coordinators who, for decades, have been behind the scenes building the ASB Polyfest legacy. I interviewed the students who helped create the very first Polyfest in 1976 at Hillary College in Ōtara and stalwarts like 86-year-old Te Kepa Stirling, a veteran organiser of Polyfest in its first two decades.
One thing has been consistently true from its inception to today – the cultural phenomenon of what has become the biggest festival of its kind in the world is only alive because of community. That is the community of students, teachers, parents, cultural tutors and even the local takeaway in Māngere – just one of a number of small businesses who’ve donated taonga and trophies for performing groups.
It was widely known that this year the ASB Polyfest suffered significant cuts to funding. Outside of its naming rights sponsor ASB – which has faithfully backed the festival for 40 years – it’s also funded by various government ministries, businesses and other local organisations. Creative NZ, once a major source of funding, reduced its input by two thirds this year. Director Seiuli Terri Leo-Mauu says it was disheartening when other sponsors reduced funding or pulled out altogether this year.
The cuts to funding meant the festival lost its Diversity stage, for the first time since it was introduced 30 years ago. Both the Niue and Cook Islands stage coordinators agreed to share their stages last Wednesday to provide a platform for the 119 groups who would’ve performed on the Diversity platform.
Entry fees went up to $10 per person this year. For the first time, the ASB Polyfest trust charged livestream day passes for each stage for those who wanted to watch performances online. Supported by Whakaata Māori, the Māori stage broadcast and livestream plays remain free to watch.
Schools pay an initial fee of $250 to enter a performing group into the ASB Polyfest and then a $100 fee for each additional performing group. In addition to this, student performers are required to pay to enter the festival on the remaining three days they aren’t scheduled to perform. Most students attend the rest of the festival to support other groups in their school or to attend the final day of prizegiving.
Last year, Board Chairperson Steve Hargreaves, told media the festival had run at a loss for several years and the board had relied on reserves and sponsors to fill the gaps. But those reserves had run dry and this year’s entry and livestream fees were increased to cover the financial shortfall.
There is one party who has always stepped up to cover the financial shortfall who isn’t acknowledged enough – our communities.
Two weeks before the festival, Tongan stage coordinator Fane Ketu’u didn’t have enough trophies and was struggling to buy them herself. What many people don’t always realise is that the stage coordinators themselves are mainly working teachers and forking out of their own pockets to ensure students can experience the festival is a frequent occurrence, often unrecognised. By the final day of ASB Polyfest, nearly 20 brand new trophies had arrived, donated by members of the Tongan community including past Polyfest performers.
I’ve witnessed many such stories, where community members come through to support a legacy still struggling to survive in its growing capacity. These stories and incidents such as the devastating cancellation of the Māori stage last Friday are at the core of why the future of the ASB Polyfest legacy, in its current form, is at stake. With a record-breaking 11,000 student performers this year and more than 100,000 visitors, there are doubts that the Manukau Sports Bowl has the capacity to continue to host the festival.
Extreme weather conditions causing significant damage to the Māori stage was the reason its coordinators, Pā Chris Selwyn and Tracey Watkinson, were forced to cancel its programme last Friday. Within five minutes, local school Kia Aroha College put their hand up to offer their gymnasium and host all the performing groups scheduled. Unfortunately, the logistics of that were difficult and would have unfair impacts on the performances.
Earlier that morning we captured on camera an intense conversation between the stage coordinators and Polyfest Director Seiuli. It exposed the passion and advocacy that goes on behind the scenes to ensure rangatahi are able to display their hard work.
“We want to give the kids a fair shot when we’re making those calls,” Watkinson told Seiuli.
“You can actually see that driving rain coming in there and see what the facility is like. Everybody is waiting for that, for us to make that assessment to be safe and make it about the kids.”
For rangatahi Māori, the stakes are much higher when competing at the ASB Polyfest. Performing groups are ranked into three divisions and the Polyfest competition is an opportunity to move up in rankings and eventually qualify for the National Māori Secondary Schools Kapa Haka competition, Te Ahurea Tino Rangatiratanga, which takes place every two years. This year was crucial because it was a qualifying year.
Several of the stages had programme delays that day due to weather conditions and circuit breaks. Niue stage coordinator Meleua Ikiua, a teacher at Alfriston College, was in her third change of clothes by the time we saw her at 11am and was drenched again standing backstage helping to put up another marquee to shelter elderly supporters, young children and those with disabilities who had come to watch their children on stage. The Tongan stage programme finished just after 9:30pm with loyal families standing on muddy grounds in the dark dressed in ponchos and holding up umbrellas to the bitter and joyous end.
Stories of struggle and resilience
When I set out to cover the 50-year-legacy of the ASB Polyfest in our TVNZ+ documentary, I was curious to learn about the mechanisms and relationships behind the scenes. I wasn’t as prepared for the tales of struggle, resilience, heartache and healing. For years the public has seen the shining faces of gorgeous kids on stage while families know well the sacrifices made to get them there. Not much has been told about how the festival and each stage is organised behind the scenes and why every year is a struggle.
Seiuli Terri Leo-Mauu held a VIP conference in the Greyhound Lounge building at the Manukau Velodrome which featured stakeholders and politicians who hold the keys to more investment into the festival’s future and sustainability. I stood in the back row watching her plead for their support as she directed them to look outside the window where the Māori stage and the damage it had suffered was in full view.
“Our Māori stage is not going at the moment, if only we had the funding to be able to continue them on right now but it’s not safe to go ahead.
“This is the kind of thing where if we had [enough] funding, we could have a plan B, but we don’t. We don’t because we don’t have that luxury.”
It was a confronting visual for those in power, dry and warm inside the comfort of the VIP lounge. Water had been leaking from the roof of the Māori stage onto the platform, several microphones had blown out and gates had fallen over. A steel bridge which stood about three metres above ground and had cost an additional $10,000 to build was the only way student performers could enter from the carpark to the Māori stage area. As the greyhound racing track needed water treatment everyday, the bridge was built at height to allow for the treatment process to continue during the festival’s four days. It was not only an eyesore but a safety hazard, especially in the weather conditions.
“We have prayed for better weather, but we go on because nothing is going to stop us from celebrating our 50 years,” Seiuli told politicans and corporate businesspeople.
“Go see our young people. Go see what they’re doing out there in the rain, because they’re so proud to be standing out there for their families. They’re proud to be out there for their culture.”
Growing success, shrinking support
I have learned many lessons covering Polyfest this year but what I have grappled with the most is the unfairness that still exists for an event of its size, uniqueness and magnificence. For decades, politicians adorned with leis have toured the grounds, praising the festival’s success while communities continue to scrape and sacrifice to keep it alive. You cannot put a price on the taonga that is held up by communities and passed down every year through the ASB Polyfest.
The festival itself reflects a significant relationship between Māori, Pasifika and other diverse communities. Looking into its history, I learned of the humility and generosity of Māori kids and kaiako who in 1976 sought to embrace and support other Pasifika students here in Aotearoa. The ASB Polyfest was birthed during a time when Pasifika weren’t always made to feel valued in Aotearoa – 1976 was the peak of the dawn raid era. Times have changed and it’s a victory I hope all Pasifika young people remember when they get on stage.
A memory that will stay with me is our visit to Ngā Tapuwae College’s wharenui where we filmed an interview with 86-year-old Māori education stalwart Te Kepa Stirling. It was a building he had renovated in the 70s and frequently used to hide his Pasifika students at night while their houses were raided by Immigration officers and police.
In one conversation I had with Māori stage coordinator and tumuaki (principal) of Ngā Puna o Waiorea, Pā Chris Selwyn, he reflected on the history of Polyfest and reminded me of the Māori proverb pointing to what is the most important thing in the world.
He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata. It is the people, the people, the people.
I had invited him to bring cultural items to his interview at TVNZ and he arrived with the trophies and taonga won by his school’s Kapa Haka rōpū at last year’s ASB Polyfest. It included a beautiful large wood carving and a grand stirling silver trophy cup. When I asked what he hoped to pass down through the Polyfest legacy he pulled out the smallest trophy, so petite it fit into one hand.
“You know, it’s quite a small taonga when you look at it but it was donated by the local takeaway in Māngere at the time. With this also goes all of the networking, I suppose, that happened at the time to get the local takeaways to tautoko Polyfest by donating the taonga to the Māori stage,” he said.
In its continued struggle to get funding, did he think we needed to go back to the local takeaway for support? “Yes, we need the big sponsors to make the actual event happen but there would be no event without the students. There would be no event without the kaiako, there would be no event without the whānau.
And with a slight pause, he ended with a cheeky grin “and without the local takeaway”.
Perhaps that is the 50-year-old legacy of Polyfest. Community. He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata.
The ASB Polyfest has become a cultural beacon both here in Aotearoa and around the world. But for how much longer can communities be expected to ensure the survival of such a mammoth event?
