o New Zealand by promises of land grants in return for military service.
The defending Māori irregulars came mainly from the three-local iwi of Ngāiterangi, Ngāti Ranginui and Ngāti Pūkenga, reinforced by contingents from other tribes: Waitaha, Whakatōhea from the Eastern Bay of Plenty, perennial Tauranga allies Ngāti Rangiwewehi of Te Arawa and an itinerant band of Māori mercenaries, Ngāti Koheriki, largely members of the Hauraki iwi of Ngāti Pāoa and who came from the East Wairoa–Hunua area.
The Māori numbers were estimated to be around 230, possibly a few more. When the battle was over on the following morning, there were 111 British dead and wounded. On the Māori side, it was estimated that about 25–30 Māori had been killed and an unknown number wounded.
In New Zealand, this small piece of our history is not particularly well known. School curricula for many generations have not been too fussed with New Zealand history, something that is thankfully changing.
But it is a shame, because it means many opportunities have been missed for us to ask ourselves questions like: what lessons can we learn today from the events of that afternoon in 1864 and its aftermath?
Largely driven by the revival of Anzac Day remembrances, our attitudes to wars past have changed dramatically. Where once the war dead were characterised as noble and glorious heroes who laid down their lives to preserve our freedom, that is now undergoing a subtle change and is being replaced by a sobering sadness at the waste of millions of lives and a sometimes bitter resentment at the blind loyalty to the inept leadership that threw those young lives away.
On a smaller scale, it is the same with Gate Pā. Over 150 years on, there is no glorious victory to celebrate, but there is a sadness derived from the mature reflection of hindsight and regret that no one in Tauranga on either side saw the opportunity to broker a resolution that did not involve fighting.
So why should this battle, a relatively small affray in the affairs of the Empire, be of such importance, and why should the battle be regarded as something other than a brief engagement on a muddy hillside on a wet afternoon in April 1864?
While the Imperial troops were in possession of the battlefield on the day after the fight, there is nothing in their correspondence or demeanour to suggest they saw themselves as victors. They clearly saw Gate Pā as a defeat.
But in the shock of defeat, a legend about the chivalrous conduct of the Māori participants was born, so much so that in subsequent years the aftermath of the battle was thought by Pākehā to be worthy of remembrance, even celebration.
It is very rare that there are positives to be drawn from war, but at Gate Pā, the way the Māori fighters conducted themselves is the single aspect of the battle to which both Māori and Pākehā are drawn.
The voluntary code which Māori drew up and fought under best exemplifies that conduct and the humanity needed to give it effect.
That voluntary code is described by some as a precursor for the Geneva Convention. It certainly has some common elements. It required humane treatment by the Māori soldiers of non-combatants — women and children, prisoners, or those who might run away from the battle, “ … being carried away by his fears”.
The code itself is recorded in a letter, dated 28 March 1864, and addressed to the commanding officer in Tauranga at that time, Lt Colonel Henry Greer of the 68th Regiment:
Friend, do you give heed to our laws for regulating the fight.
Rule 1. If wounded or captured whole, and butt of the musket or hilt of the sword be turned to me, he will be saved.
Rule 2. If any Pakeha, being a soldier by name, shall be travelling unarmed and meets me, he will be captured, and handed over to the direction of the law.
Rule 3. The soldier who flees, being carried away by his fears, and goes to the house of the priest with his gun (even though carrying arms) will be saved. I will not go there.
Rule 4. The unarmed Pakehas, women and children, will be spared.
The end. These are binding laws for Tauranga.
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