The shape of service
This year I attended the ANZAC dawn service and something felt different straight away.
It wasn’t the ceremony. That was the same.
For as long as I can remember, my Pāpā has been there. I was raised witnessing his contribution to community, including as the District Commander of the Moutoa Māori Wardens. My late younger sister used to stand alongside him too. That’s just how it’s always been.
This year I stepped forward to lay a wreath on behalf of Council, and he wasn’t there.
This year I stood in remembrance, and felt it more deeply than I have before.
The morning moved on in that way ANZAC Day always does.
From the stillness of the dawn service into the Māori Battalion service, where the rhythm changes slightly. If you’ve been to something like it, you’ll know what I mean. After the formalities, the porridge is hot, the brown sugar is generous, and there’s a heavy pot of scrambled eggs cooked by our nannies who were up well before sunrise. That early morning quiet, like on the marae, where the parakuihi just hits different.
We shared kai, caught up, checked in on each other.
Then I headed back for the 9.30 service, this time wearing a few different pōtae. Deputy Chair, Presiding Member, and māmā. I didn’t lead from the front. I stood at the back with my tamariki, managing snacks, keeping things settled, watching the service in pieces. If you’re raising tamariki, you’ll understand that kind of presence. You’re there, but you’re also holding a hundred other things at the same time.
And after that, we went to the local rest home for a special Anzac service.
The band played the bagpipes and a resident read the ode. It was simple, but it mattered —because all members of our community deserve to participate. I watched the way my Dad’s face lit up, and although my Māmā potae only let me stay there for a few moments, I think I’ll hold that quiet memory for a lifetime.
And that’s the reality of this leadership journey.
There isn’t a version of me that gets to separate worlds or fully take one pōtae off. I don’t leave one to do the other. I hold many roles and they all have whakapapa.
Standing at the dawn service, I realised something I hadn’t fully put into words before.
These roles don’t wait for you to be ready.
They arrive.
And you step into them.
With what you have.
With who you are.
With everything you’ve been building, often without realising it.
Indeed, ANZAC Day is about remembrance.
This year, I was reminded that leadership doesn’t always look the way you expect.
But it still asks you to show up.
And those who are brave enough to lead, may put themselves on the line—but in doing so, they are making decisions that will, in time, be felt for generations to come.
He maumahara tonu tātou ki a rātou.
