Books
The history man
by Nicholas Reid
Some books are publishing events for what they are. Others are publishing events for how they came to be written.
Ray Fargher’s biography of Donald McLean manages to be both.
In 1947, Fargher was a young man who had served in the war and returned home to study history. He produced an MA thesis on McLean. Academic historians greatly admired it. Keith Sinclair cited it when he wrote on the origins of what were then still called the Maori wars.
But Fargher didn’t become an academic historian. He had a long career in educational administration before deciding, after his retirement, to return to the topic of McLean. Now he had access to papers unavailable in 1947. He was also able to draw on a couple of new generations of historians. So, 60 years after he first thought of it, his biography of McLean at last appears.
The wait was worth it. Fargher gives both a robust narrative and a nuanced interpretation of his controversial subject. He also has the courtesy to inform readers how his views have changed over the years. (In one detailed end-note, he admits how wrong his youthful opinion of Governor Gore Browne was.) Nowadays, McLean can’t help being seen in the light of Waitangi Tribunal findings. These Fargher cites readily.
The book has one very unusual feature. In an opening four-page essay, Fargher spells out exactly what he thinks of his subject’s place in New Zealand history. Most historians save such conclusions for their wrap-up – the answer at the back of the book, after the working out.
This aside, the book justifies the question mark in the title. McLean is not an enigma, but he is a paradox.
He was a single-minded Scot with a firmly reined-in emotional life. His brief marriage ended when his wife died in childbirth, and that seems to have been the only time he let his feelings go. He spoke te reo fluently, had huge mana among the rangatira who negotiated with him, began with genuinely humanitarian principles and probably understood Maori values better than the overwhelming majority of his Pakeha contemporaries. And yet he was more directly responsible for the taking of Maori land (often in dodgy deals) than any other individual.
In a way, as he moved from “Sub-Protector of Aborigines” to Commissioner for Lands, he was the classic gamekeeper-turned-poacher – and he did enrich himself in some later deals. But, as Fargher shows, some things about him were very consistent, such as his Presbyterian faith and his firm belief in the benefits of the British Empire. Many historical judgments on him might be negative, but it would be hard to call him a hypocrite.
This is a densely packed narrative, taking in contentious matters like McLean’s part in the Waitara Purchase and in the provocation of Te Kooti. It’s the wealth of specific examples, and Fargher’s clear commentary, that make it so highly readable.
THE BEST MAN WHO EVER SERVED THE CROWN? A Life of Donald McLean, by Ray Fargher (Victoria University Press, $50).
