Anzac is not just about what we should never forget, it is also what we choose to remember., writes Thomas Tarurongo Wynne.

In the windswept fields of Europe and the burning sands of Sinai, Cook Islanders, and many others from the moana, dug tunnels, carried ammunitions and some died. Not only in service of the British Empire, but also in pursuit of a promise: one of dignity, of honour, and equality as citizens of the Crown. And yet, over a century later, their names were barely whispered in commemorations, their sacrifices shelved in the dusty corners of a selective colonial memory, and the equality they died for in the Cook Islands, would not be fully realised till August 1965.

We know now, because of the efforts of a small dedicated few, that more than 500 Cook Islands men were recruited to fight in the First World War. The recruitment was orchestrated with a mixture of Māori politicians, in need of filling a promised quota, a colonial office, including resident commissioners Henry Northcroft and Frederick Platts, and LMS missionary Rev. Percy Hall, who preached from his pulpit, that to enlist was to serve God.

“To serve the King in this hour is to serve Christ. Let no man say he is a believer if he does not answer this call.” – Rev. Percy Hall, Sermon at Avarua LMS Church, 1915.

This combined effort by colonial instruments in our paradise along with uncomfortable truth that many Māori in Aotearoa would not fight for this King or a country that had confiscated their land, led Sir Apirana Ngata, to turn his face and recruitment to the Moana Nui a Kiva. He had promised the King 500 men, but with Tuhoe and Tainui refusing to shed their blood, or give their sons for this war, he looked to the Cook Islands and our moana brothers to fill that void.

And so began a recruitment drive that bent its own rules: the age and height restrictions were lowered. The minimum height requirement, usually 5 feet 4 inches, was dropped to just over 5 feet. The age threshold, meant to exclude boys, was relaxed, and many recruits were underage, some as young as 16.

This was done despite military knowledge that men of smaller stature would be physically disadvantaged in the freezing trenches and under the weight of European army kits designed for taller and older men. These younger, smaller-bodied recruits were also more vulnerable to illness, especially respiratory diseases in cold European winters. Many therefore, died not from combat wounds but from pneumonia, bronchitis, tuberculosis, and exposure – often in training camps like Narrow Neck in Auckland, before even reaching the frontlines.

In official reports, military doctors frequently expressed concern about the physical unsuitability of Pacific recruits. But political and imperial pressure –combined with Apirana Ngata’s urgent need to supply troops – meant those warnings were mostly ignored.

What did this mean in practice? It meant young boys – some as young as 16 –were marched into military camps and shipped off with inadequate training and gear. These men, labelled physically unfit to fight alongside the Papaa troops on the frontlines, were instead used for heavy labour and support roles in extreme conditions. Was their labour exploited, as they made their way to Narrow Neck and was their health neglected, as they marched away onto ships and an unknown future?

In 1916, Resident Commissioner in Rarotonga, William Hall said, “It is important that the loyalty of the Native people be made visible in this war. Their service will reflect favourably upon their standing as subjects of the Crown.” And yet, this was not the case, they would not see this standing as equals as subjects of the Crown in their lifetime. And it would instead be our people, often children and grandchildren of these men, our politicians, both here and in Aotearoa, our archivists, our people in Aotearoa and those like Cate Walker, that would lead the charge for our men and their recognition.

They are all heroes, every single one of them that enlisted, and not just because of their decision to serve, and the many reasons they did this, but also, because their sacrifice built a platform to celebrate the birth of a national consciousness that develops and deepens with each year we remember our 500. Anzac is not just about what we should never forget, it is also what we as a country and people, choose to remember.  “Kua kite au i toku turanga, e avaiki toku – I know who I am, I have a homeland”.