James Fisher-Harris has always been quiet. It is easy to make assumptions about why.
On the footy field, the unnervingly large Penrith prop could be seen as a case of “it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for”.
Off it – and especially when contrasted with the cheekier, more boisterous Panthers boys such as Jarome Luai and Brian To’o – you find yourself quoting Stephen Hawking.
Whether he fits the “quiet people have the loudest minds” category is open to interpretation. Fisher-Harris’ own explanation, true to form, does not waste words. “I’m just not that loud,” he says. “It’s just natural for me. The boys take the spotlight; we’ve got enough loud boys here.”
It soon becomes clear, though, that the 28-year-old is not quiet because he does not have things to say; he just prefers to learn before he speaks.
That has been true of his NRL career, as observed by teammate Moses Leota, who has watched his old friend grow from a 17-year-old fresh off the plane from New Zealand who “didn’t really say much” to one of the league’s premier front-rowers who “speaks up a lot in leadership meetings”.
And it is evident in his decision to return home a decade later, with the primary purpose of learning more about his Maori lineage and becoming a family leader who can pass that knowledge down to the next generation.
Fisher-Harris was taught his native language at school in his tiny Northland home village of Kohukohu, but only began to properly contemplate his culture in adulthood.
The faint pull of Northland has grown over the years but it had been more of a one-day vision, blurred slightly by the three premierships and three babies with which he has been blessed in western Sydney – the only other place he feels a strong connection.
The catalyst was the death of his grandfather, Karani Harris. “My pop was a big one. He passed, and it was just another reason,” he says. “Everything just added up.” In March, Fisher-Harris and his wife Natalie took their kids back to Kohukohu for the funeral, and visited his pop’s place.
“My auntie stays near there, so she opened it up this year when I went back, and we just went through a whole lot of stuff, which was pretty cool for photos – before my time, when mum was a baby,” he says.
“He had the knowledge, and he had loads of books and stuff written down, about our whanau [family] and our lineage, which I’m pretty curious about. I think I’m just at the age where I want to know about all that stuff. I find that fascinating.”
That trip – and the stark realisation that his whanau’s remaining kaumatua [leaders] would not be around forever – cemented the feeling of responsibility Fisher-Harris carried back to Penrith and into Ivan Cleary’s office to ask for a release from the final two years of his contract.
The Panthers granted it on compassionate grounds, and he was snapped up by the Warriors on a four-year deal that will allow him to absorb as much as he can from his elders while there is still time. A big part of that will be mastering the local Māori dialect.
“I did learn at school – that was just the environment back home, they’re pretty big on it – but I still wasn’t paying attention,” he says. “I learned a little bit, but I’m probably still a level one – not even one. I’m just a rookie, to be honest. I find times when I’m in it hard trying to learn, and then something happens or footy gets in the way. Then I try to find my way back to learn a bit more. It’s a rollercoaster.
“Just through the course of life I want to learn it more, to pass it on to my little ones. Because at one point in time I’m going to have to speak it on the marae [a communal, sacred meeting ground]. We’re the next generation, especially in my family. Everyone’s ageing, and it’s going to be our time soon, so I just want to prepare a little bit.
“My pop’s brothers and sisters, they’re the ones that speak. My auntie’s pretty into it, so I can always ask her for advice. And there’s actually a few people out there that I could lean on in that space, especially being with the Māori All Stars, I reach out to those fellas.”
Playing for the Warriors from 2025 means Fisher-Harris will live in Auckland – a four-hour drive from Kohukohu. “I think I’d have to,” he says, before pausing. “But the traffic’s pretty bad.”
But he does plan to get back to the village populated by fewer than 200 people, with the sole pub and the wharf he used to jump off and fish from, the school grounds he’d kick the footy around and the quiet streets he’d roam with his cousins, either on foot or quad bikes.
It was where he has memories of playing in the same open-grade rugby team with his father, stepdad and brother, and realised his father played “pretty aggressive, pretty dirty, but I know he gets a lot of respect from a lot of people about how he went about his footy”.
Auckland is significant, too, being the city his manager, Darryl Mather, discovered the then 16-year-old during a week-long national schools league competition before engineering his move across the Tasman at 17.
“He helped me big time,” Fisher-Harris recalls. “Came up to my house up north, just gave me a chance. He knew Gus [Gould], so we just hit Gus up to see if there were any free spots for me. I think he said it was full, but he said ‘just give me a go’.
“I was keen to go straight away – that was my only option. Parents were a bit sceptical. Now, being a parent, I know why they were like that. Letting your kid go to a different country and try to chase his dream, by yourself with no real support. You’ve got to put a whole lot of trust in people you don’t even know.
“I had a few boys from back in Northland that came over with me, like Corey Harawira-Naera and Hamish Pomare, so I think that made it a little bit easier for them. We had each other. We went out to the horse stables and it was just loving life, just chasing our dream.”
A lot has happened since those early days living rough on top of horse stables at a Mulgoa farm. Even back then, Leota had pinned his fellow front-rower and Kiwi as a “pretty scary dude”.
“Just on the field,” Leota clarifies. “A lot of people get intimidated by him, but off the field he’s a good fella, good family guy. That’s the case with a lot of the guys, like Jared [Waerea-Hargreaves] for instance.”
In the flesh at Panthers Rugby League Academy this week before Penrith’s preliminary final with Cronulla, this quirky juxtaposition makes a lot of sense. Fisher-Harris is ripped and tattooed, with an expression that could well be telling you he’s about to flatten you with one foot.
At the same time, the smaller you are, the less terrifying he seems. The inverse correlation is heightened once you catch a view of the jibbitz charms on his Crocs.
And as he is talking you through Fresh Princess, Thenos, a cute dinosaur and an All Blacks logo, you realise this man will not be squashing a soul while wearing child-friendly rubber sandals and describing how emotional it felt to watch a special video message from whānau and his NRL peers before his 200th game this month.
When he leaves – with a fourth premiership or not – the thing he will miss most are the people from the club where he came of age.
“It frickin’ feels like time’s flown hey. I pretty much grew with most of these boys,” he says.
“I’m in a place now where I don’t have to be anyone else, I just have to be me. I think that took me a while. You come in as a rookie, and I wasn’t confident to just be myself. I’m pretty quiet, but I was extra quiet then.
“And it was different coaching. We’re at a place now – the club’s at a place now – where anyone can just be themselves and they embrace being themselves, which I’m happy to be a part of.
“I’ve been taking in moments at game, especially the last home game last week, which was pretty special. Now I’m just trying to help this club and area go one more. To give back before I go, because they gave me my opportunity.”
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