God Bless the Turks

Do you know the haka? It’s a cannibal war dance to terrify the enemy you plan to kill and eat. A kind of terpsichorean apéritif if you will. Originally something for Maoris only, it is now performed indiscriminately by New Zealanders of every kind, with rolling eyes, fearful grimaces, protruding tongues, bared teeth, and horrible cries and yells. They say there are also more amiable hakas suitable for welcoming the first cuckoo in spring. But I haven’t seen them. The only hakas I’ve seen are meant to scare the living daylights out of those about to die.

One must assume that this is also the kind of haka the Turks have seen, and that is why, in April of this year, their prime minister banned its unseemly barbarities from the annual Gallipoli commemorations. It was delicately put about that the haka was in some way “culturally offensive” to the Turks. A certain arm gesture was deemed unacceptable. Elsewhere, in private no doubt, Mr Erdogan was reported as describing the haka as obscene—if not pornographic.

Turkey’s prime minister may not be much of a diplomat—but what a critic he is! In speaking up on this matter he was only doing his duty, but the whole world is in his debt, and I foresee a wider role for the Turks in New Zealand’s affairs. Istanbul plainly represents an immeasurably higher civilization than anything to be found in the South Seas, and a wholesale Turkish influx is now something everything thoughtful New Zealander should encourage. After a while the immigrants might come to outnumber the home side; and the prospect of some future follower of Mr Erdogan holding power in Wellington, and undertaking to ban the haka nationwide, is thrilling.

In the meantime can I make a modest suggestion? Not only are the gestures of the haka obscene, as performed at hundreds of rugby football matches there is more than a hint of onanistic pointlessness about the whole thing. It was once intended to precede cooking and feasting. At present you see a bunch of sweaty young men working themselves up in the most dreadful way—their mouths wide open, their tongues protruding, their lips slavering, and then…? Nothing. An all-too-visible hunger goes unappeased.

Let us have no more of this. Let us return full-bloodedly to the past. We shall agree that New Zealanders have the right to perform the haka at violent physical contests—but only on condition that they kill, cook, and eat the defeated enemy after the match. The cuisine will be strictly traditional: no salt and pepper, no vinegar or tomato sauce. Once this rule is in place, overseas fixtures involving New Zealand rugby footballers should rapidly diminish, while at home their plague-like numbers will be gradually reduced. Let the beaten be eaten: any way you look at it a clear win-win.

July 2005