Pride from the Coromandel
I was sipping tea at my aunt and uncle’s house in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland) when I clicked an article about 2026 Auckland Pride and Director Hāmiora Bailey. Inspired by the kid from Whangapoua I went to kindergarten with, I want to celebrate Coromandel Pride for us all.
Hāmiora Bailey (he/him/they/them) carries the Coromandel with him. Raised in Whangapoua and educated at Te Rerenga School, he is Ngāti Huarere and Ngāti Porou ki Harataunga, and is Director of Auckland Pride.
Most locals will remember Hāmiora as Sammy: Angie’s boy, Sande’s nephew, Win and Zim’s moko. Growing up in Whangapoua, he was raised by grandparents and aunties in a small Lockwood home that was constantly full of whānau (family), friends and visitors.
As Hāmiora describes it, “Daily life revolved around making tea, washing dishes, setting tables, feeding people, and being accountable through small acts of service and manaakitanga (hospitality). That was my first education.”
That upbringing shaped a worldview grounded in care, responsibility, and whakapapa (genealogy). Through whānau, hapū, and iwi, Hāmiora learned that identity is not always something you invent, but something you inherit. Whangapoua, he says, is not a postcard but his ūkaipō – a place of return and belonging. With the passing of his grandmother, that connection has deepened, bringing a growing sense of guardianship and responsibility for place and people.
Like many raised in the Coromandel, Hāmiora also grew up aware of the tension between paradise and reality. He saw how outsiders could arrive, consume the beauty of the place, and claim ownership over its stories while histories of raupatu (confiscation), burial grounds and whakapapa were ignored. That awareness later became essential when navigating life in Auckland, a city that often rewards speed and extraction over care and continuity.
Moving to Auckland allowed Hāmiora to better understand his sexuality and find community. His takatāpui (diverse gender/sexuality) whānau held him through transition, uncertainty and growth. On Karangahape Road, creative spaces like Lowtide became formative. “That is where my curatorial practice began, learning how to make space for others and care for a room full of people.” These city communities reflected the same values Hāmiora was raised with in the Coromandel, and for a long time he kept those worlds separate in order to protect home. Now, he is learning to bring them together.
As Auckland Pride approaches the 40th anniversary of Homosexual Law Reform in 2026, Hāmiora sees the kaupapa Ngā Uri E! (a rallying call to descendants of activist movements) as both celebration and responsibility. “I wasn’t there in 1986, but I’m here because of it.” He describes himself as an uri (descendant) of the movement – shaped by the organisers, queens, unionists, and activists who pushed long before the law caught up. While legislation mattered, it did not magically make people safe, and the work has continued across generations. Māori and queer resistance, Hāmiora emphasises, are not separate stories but share whakapapa.
For Hāmiora, Pride doesn’t need to look the same everywhere. In the Coromandel, the places where people already feel a sense of belonging – like art groups, sport teams, local groups, families – can also become spaces to explore gender, sexuality, and self-expression. Meaningful Pride grows from where people already gather, existing connections nurtured over time.
To young rainbow people in the Coromandel, Hāmiora offers reassurance: “You don’t have to rush to become anything before you’re ready to be yourself. Your whenua (land), your moana (sea), your people, they already know how to hold complexity, even if it doesn’t always feel like it yet.” He acknowledges that belonging can take time and that arriving into yourself can happen again and again. “There are people who came from where you are, who are thinking of you, backing you, and making space so that when you’re ready, you’ll have somewhere to land.”
For Hāmiora, that journey continues. He looks forward to returning home, raising children, and contributing meaningfully to the place that raised him – the mountains, waterways, air, and community his ancestors have long cared for. Pride, in all its forms, begins there.
PRIDE POETRY BY MAJELLA
Majella writes from lived experience. She didn’t question her sexuality until her late teens, realising it wasn’t exactly the norm to have a crush on your best friend – or to be dating a guy while finding his mum more attractive. Growing up without visible LGBTQI+ role models, she didn’t see many examples that showed it was okay to step outside rigid heteronormative expectations.
Her work comes from a place of love instead of fear, shared through writing, music and photography, with raw honesty and vulnerability. Through her art, Majella hopes to illuminate a path for others who have felt the same confusion, shame or silence – and to remind them that loving someone is never something to be ashamed of.
ASHAMED
oh the things I dream of doing
I don’t dare to say
because I feel so ashamed
of the way she has me hypnotised
the way desire unfolds inside
as I’m trying not to lose my mind
when I just crave to feel
her body beneath mine
but she’s a goddess
sweet and delicious
exquisite like expensive wine
and I know I will never be worthy
in her eyes
she won’t even consider a try
so the things I dream of doing
they remain unsaid
weighing down my heart
heavy in the space between our lips
when all mine yearn for
is the taste of her kiss
even just one second
to experience such bliss
but I open my mouth
and no sound comes out
so she remains oblivious
and I convince myself
she’ll never be interested
that even if I bared my all
gave her my naked soul
told her how I feel
right to her face
that she would just turn her head
and look the other way
and all I’ll be left to spend the night with
is the feeling of shame
so I bite my tongue
and write poetry instead
making love to the silence
of unspoken desires
time and time again
and the things I dream of doing
I don’t ever say
so watch me carry on pretending
that she’s just a friend
and naively hoping
that maybe someday
she’ll read my thoughts
and help rewrite our story
with a happy end
Words by Ayana Piper-Healion
Photo Credit: Matt Hurley
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