Thomas Wynne: Peace and agreement

In 1965 Taru Moana said the following, “I te patu paepae ka kaue taenatini, ka poroaki ei kia ‘au – On the meeting ground, matters of disagreement can be discussed and resolved by peaceful means, writes Thomas Wynne.

To be willing to discuss – is to desire for a solution. How these words are so applicable for the world we find ourselves in today and for those of us within and beyond the reef of home.

We have all been bombarded by opinions and experts, academics, former politicians, both regionally and globally and yet it is those in our region, within our moana that interest me most. Just this week I was reading a paper called “Security cooperation in the Pacific Islands: architecture, complex, community, or something else” which said, “We argue that security cooperation in the Pacific Islands is best described as a patchwork of bilateral ties, multilateral arrangements, and both formal and informal relationships across the local, regional, and global levels.”

Patchwork, I thought, like our Tivaevae, an adaptation of western sewing and indigenous way of creating something, one small piece at a time. Sewn with a vision of the finished product, and slowly and meticulously, woven together one stitch at a time. Multiple pieces, complex arrangements, and time, but when put together the beauty of the Tivaevae and its purpose, to cover and adorn those we love is complete.

These words and the troubles in our world today remind us that security, like the mat woven by our tupuna, or the tivaevae is not forged in concrete foundations or architecture or in other worldviews. It is meticulously woven together, strand by strand, relationship by relationship, utlising those deep moana virtues of cooperation, respect and trust.

And yet, we must also ask: Who are the weavers of our security as a country, as a region and as a world.? And who gets to decide what counts as “security” in our part of the moana? In 2018, Pacific Islands Forum leaders signed the Boe Declaration, acknowledging “an increasingly complex regional security environment” and committing to strengthening the “regional security architecture.” But more than five years on, the architecture remains unclear — perhaps not because we have failed to build it, but because we are using tools and a blueprint that did not capture our complexity of moana ways and world views.

Rather than a single cohesive structure, this patchwork is a fair observation. But as someone raised in a region and country where patchwork was never a flaw but a sign of relational genius, I cannot help but see both promise and peril in this framing. Security, for us, peace of us is not just military alliances or strategic access agreements. It is secure food, secure land, secure homes, secure culture, and secure languages. It is the right to stand, not just in our EEZs, but in our multiplicity of moana identities. And any cooperation, agreement or coming together regionally or otherwise, must reflect that truth. We are the many not the one.

And yet, increasingly, we see our regional dialogue shaped not by community consensus, but by academic abstraction and official proclamation. Academics can examine and postulate, dissect and theories us. But in doing so, do they also unintentionally silence or diminish the voices of the very people they aim to speak for. When their work is built with little contact with grassroots communities, or constructed from afar using the statements of officials, we must ask: what are they really basing their theories on? Is it our voice or is it theirs?

This is particularly problematic in a region where officials do not always speak on behalf of the people, but rather for their ministries, for foreign policy ambitions, or for the political aspirations of their leaders. When researchers and institutions take these official statements at face value, without anchoring them in the lived experiences of our Iti Tangata, the result is often a narrative, an agreement or strategy built about us, but without us.

And perhaps nowhere is this disconnect more apparent than in the use of the phrase “The Pacific Way.” Coined by Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, it was meant to evoke a uniquely regional approach to diplomacy — one of consensus, mutual respect, and dialogue. But we must ask: whose Pacific Way? Which Pacific?

Because if we look at the recent treatment of our former Prime Minister, Henry Puna, during his time as Pacific Islands Forum Secretary-General, where the very unity this phrase celebrates was fractured by internal dissent, then clearly this “Pacific Way” is not as universally embraced or understood, as it is so often assumed to be.

To pluralise us into a single term like “Pacific Way” or even “Pasifika” can be disingenuous. It smooths over our complexity and diversity. It becomes a kind of internal colonization, where the vast distinctions between Rapa Nui and Rarotonga, between Niue and New Caledonia, are flattened into a one-size-fits-all identity. It’s not just inaccurate, it’s dishonest and does not serve those it was built for. As Taru Moana said in 1965, we must be willing to discuss –to desire a solution, and build together even, on the paepae of disagreement. That is who we are, in the patchwork and complexity of people; of in and from the moana.