04/06/2026
THE BOATS HE WATCHED SINK
They told the small boats, keep your motors running, keep your hands on the wheel, keep your nets clean, keep your faith in the promises spoken from carpeted rooms far from the salt and diesel smell of men and women trying to feed their families.
They said there would always be fish. They said the ocean was a business that could print money if you only stayed loyal, if you only kept going, if you only believed the ones who smiled beside the harbour when the cameras were watching.
Don was meant to be a man for the people. That is what they said. That is what some believed. A voice for the working hands, for the families with weathered faces, for the small business owners who know that the sea gives nothing for free.
But promises are easy when the tide is high. It is when the water drops that you see what is left behind.
And when the warnings should have come, there was silence. When support should have arrived, there was distance. When the industry cried out, there were polished words, closed doors, and another problem handballed down the line.
Not my department. Not my decision. Not my fault. Not today.
That is how a harbour empties. Not all at once, but one avoided question at a time. One ignored family at a time. One licence, one boat, one debt, one broken promise at a time.
The boats he once stood around began to sink in spirit before they ever touched the bottom. And he sat back, watching the water rise, while the people who trusted him were left bailing out their futures with bare hands.
They were told to invest. They were told to believe. They were told there was a tomorrow waiting beyond the next tide. But what good is tomorrow when today has been sold from under you?
Now we hear the language of consultation, the soft official words, the meetings, the nodding, the careful photographs, the selected voices held up like shields. And many of us are left asking who is really being heard, who is really being helped, and who is being used so the government can say it did the right thing.
Because Elders should never be treated like stamps on a decision already made. Culture should never be carried into a room just to make power look clean. Respect is not a payment. Respect is not a press release. Respect is not a handshake while another community is left drowning.
We see it. We feel it. We know the difference between listening and using.
Don, you were meant to stand with people, not stand behind excuses. You were meant to speak for workers, not speak in circles. You were meant to look small business in the eye before the storm hit, not after the damage was done.
But now the strings are showing. The voice has changed. The hands have changed. The man for the people looks more and more like a puppet performing for a Muppet show where the script was written before the fishermen ever walked in.
And still the tide remembers. The ramps remember. The families remember. The quiet sheds remember. The unpaid bills remember. The children who watched their parents worry remember.
You can handball the questions, you can hide from the harbour, you can bury truth beneath paperwork, you can dress betrayal in government language, but you cannot make the people forget what it felt like to be promised an ocean and left with a sinking boat.
There will always be fish, you said. Maybe there will. But will there always be fishermen? Will there always be families who can afford to stay? Will there always be culture respected, small business protected, and truth spoken before the damage is done?
A real leader does not wait until the boats go under. A real leader does not vanish when the tide turns rough. A real leader does not use the people’s pain as something to manage, spin, or silence.
So let this be said from the shore, from the jetty, from the old hands, from the young ones watching, from every family who gave their life to the water:
We are not props. We are not numbers. We are not problems to handball. We are not background faces for another government photo.
We are the people who trusted the promise. We are the people who saw the warning signs. We are the people left standing in the spray while the man who said he stood with us sat back and watched the boats sink.
Moi Jones
