Nonviolence by Mark Kurlansky Page B

polite, and would continue ploughing acre after acre from sunrise to sunset every day. Sir Hercules Robinson, the governor, rode out to see and, according to witnesses, “almost exploded with indignation.”
    While the government hesitated, a group of angry white settlers declared an independent republic and pledged to kill the ploughmen. Te Whiti instructed the ploughmen: “Go put your hands to the plough. Look not back. If any come with guns or with swords, be not afraid. If they smite you, smite not in return. If they rend you, be not discouraged. Another will take up the good work.”
    The settlers strangely panicked in the face of this nonresistance. Some built fortresses around their homes. Some dug trenches. The local newspaper called for a “war of extermination.” Te Whiti told his followers not to disturb the property of fleeing whites. “If any man molests me,” he said, “I will talk with my weapon—the tongue.”
    The government began arresting the ploughmen, who did not resist. Te Whiti sent out five each day. Hundreds were being arrested and shipped to the South Island, where they were held without trial. Some died from the poor conditions. Still, more and more white-held land was being marked by the furrows of Maori ploughs. The army moved in, building blockhouses and digging trenches as though preparing for a major battle. The ploughing continued. The Maori warriors, who had defeated armed columns twelve years earlier, met the invaders and gave them gifts.
    By 1880 the government estimated that it had already spent close to £1 million trying to put down the nonviolent uprising. The Parihakas, identifying themselves by the wearing of a white feather, were becoming an obsession of the press. There was, however, almost no coverage of the fate of some four hundred Parihaka prisoners until a few of them were released. Once their stories were told, their treatment fast became a national scandal and all four hundred prisoners were released.
    Hundreds of Maori were out working their reclaimed fields every day. But the local constabulary had raised an army of 2,500. When they attacked Parihakas they were met by young girls singing songs. Though cursed at and threatened with swords and charging horses, they continued singing and playing. When the army finally made its way to the center of town, the entire village was seated on the ground waiting for them. The commander gave them one hour to disperse, but several hours later the entire village was still ignoring their presence. Finally Te Whiti was arrested and taken away. The chief smiled as he walked away under guard. Even with Te Whiti in prison, and later in exile in the south, with troops destroying their homes, the Parihakas still continued to find means of non-violent protest, such as refusing to pay taxes. In 1897 they began another ploughing campaign.
    Te Whiti died in November 1907 and was buried with a cloud of white feathers. The Maori did not take back the land, and the half-million Maori today are only 20 percent of New Zealand's population. But Te Whiti and his movement in Parihaka are credited with stopping a war of genocide that would have meant the end of theMaori people. What might have been the fate of the Maori with more Te Whitis? What might the Spanish and French have done in the face of nonviolent resistance on Hispaniola? What if there had been a Te Whiti among the Cherokee or the Iroquois? But such leaders are rare, and, as the Quakers said, there has to be someone to begin it.

VI

We abhor fighting for Freedom. Freedom gotten by the sword is an established bondage to some part or other of the creation. Victory that is gotten by the sword is a victory that slaves get one over another.
—GERRARD WINSTANLEY,
leader of the Diggers, 1650
    S omeone who had not studied history might have imagined this war-torn world welcoming one peaceful state. But an age-old lesson was seen once again in colonial Pennsylvania. The new Americans could not