The western word taboo originates in the word tapu, a word harvested by pākehā adventurers in our Pacific waters. But they are not the same thing. Often when we think of the word tapu we imagine a set of restrictions and rules. An invisible police officer who will punish us if we break these rules. Outsiders who are critical of Te Ao Māori will call tapu “sexist” when it means that women must sit at the back, that we generally do not speak on the pae of the marae, when we cannot enter the cemetery while bleeding or pregnant.

Tapu is not a rule book. When we navigate tapu we are navigating safeties and risks in our environment. Tapu is balanced with noa. It is about the sacred, respect, and balance. Noa is the mundane, the plain, the everyday state of the world. Tapu is the bleeding woman, and when she stops, she is noa. Tapu may be those in positions of mana or power.

To whakanoa is to settle a space and make it safe – to use kai or karakia or waiata to settle our minds and our wairua after it has been charged. When we enter a pōhiri it is a tapu space because it is a ritual of encounter. Historically, this encounter could be one of danger. Thus, we whakanoa by singing together and eating together. Everyday we interact with tapu and noa; we engage in a conversation, whether we know it or not.

Reducing the inequalities faced by rangatahi Māori must be a national imperative. In the ngāhere we understand that if the indigenous plant thrives, the whole forest thrives. What rights should a young Māori person have? And how can we sustainably support the future for Māori? This question is imperative not only to one’s sense of self, but to the collective building of Aotearoa as one well-functioning eco-system; a ngāhere, so to speak, that sustainably and successfully supports individuals to succeed.

Our current political climate is in a state of limbo. The Māori Party and Mana Party will not have any seats in parliament, with Labour winning all the Māori seats. The future of our government will soon be decided by Winston Peters and NZ First. This upcoming government will see the rise of many new Māori politicians, some of whom we may not be familiar with. Hei aha tērā, there is always mahi to be done by all.

Mā whero, mā pango, ka oti te mahi. While those at the top of parliament decide how our government will proceed in the future, as tauira we must decide how we will proceed. How will policy influence us, and how can we in turn change society? The net that is now being woven will one day grow old. Where in Te Ao Māori will we stand when it does?

Whakamāori nā Migoto Eria

Kohukohu ana ki te rangi

Kohukohu ana ki te papa

Kohukohu ana ki te ao, kohukohu ana ki te pō,

Arā ngā kākahu a Hinepūkohurangi.

Kei taku kura tuatahi, ka whakaakona e rātou te whakakīngia i tō mātou pepeha. He pepa e A4 te rahi, he wāhi tuhituhi e wātea ana mō ō ake whakautu. I a au e wānangahia te whakatakoto o tōku pepeha, he rite taku reo hamumu i taku tamarikitanga, e 10 tau taku pakeke. Tōku maunga, tōku awa, tōku marae, tōku hapū, tōku iwi me tōku waka. Ki te mōhio koe i tō pepeha, e mōhio ana hoki nō hea koe ā-whenua nei: koinei tō mātou awa e kaukau nei mātou hei te Raumati, koinei tōku maunga e whakamaru i a mātou i te Takurua, koinei tōku marae, te papa kāinga o ōku tupuna. Ko tōku pepeha ko au, ko au tōku pepeha.

I tērā tau ka puta mai te māramatanga ki a au i roto i ētahi wānanga, kotahi tau te roanga o te whakapakari tangata me ētahi rangatahi Māori mai i ngā pito o te motu. I a au e wānanga ana me tēnei rōpu, ka puta mai te whakatau ki te takahi i tētahi ara me te whāinga kia riro i a au taku tā moko tuatahi. Ko tēnei ara tā moko mōku he reo karanga o tōku whakapapa, he pito arataki i a au i roto i tōku pepeha. He rangatahi tonu au, kāore i te tino kaha te kōrero Māori, he tawhiti hoki mai i tōku kāinga i a au e rangahau ana. Ahakoa he tairo tonu ēnei, e mōhio pūmau ana he ara tika tēnei mōku.

Ka waea atu au ki tōku Pāpā me taku īnoi.

“Kia ora e kō,” ka whakautu a ia tōna waea.

“Pāpā.” Ka rongo au i a ia e inu tī ana. “Pīrangi ana au te mau moko.”

Ka pātai mai ia kei tēhea wāhi o tōku tinana, ko tāku, “Kei aku kikopuku, ringa rānei.”

Ka kī au ki a ia kua rite au te kimi whakaaro, engari he paku āwhina te hiahia, “He aha rā te āhua o taku moko?”

I āta whakaaro a Pāpā mō te wā poto, me tōna whakautu.

“Ko tō whakapapa te kaupapa. He kāwai tupuna anō hoki. Tērā pea ko te tipuna nei a Hinepūkohurangi tētahi whakaaro, he hononga ki tō taha Tūhoe.”

Ko taku waea atu ki tōku Pāpā he tuatahitanga i tēnei ara, he tīmatanga. Ko te pātai matua e pā ana ki te whakapapa. Nō te kīanga o Hinepūkohurangi e tōku pāpā, koinei te wā tuatahi e wānangahia ana mō te tipuna nei kua tā ki taku kiri. Ko Hinepūkohurangi tō mātou tipuna, ko ia te atua o te kohu. Ka whārikitia e ia i a Papatūānuku me ōna makawe mā, roroa anō hoki.

E ai ki ā mātou pūrākau, ka puta mai a Ngāi Tūhoe i te piringa a Hinepūkohurangi me Te Maunga – ko ia ko ngā puke me ngā maunga tiketike. E tika ana tēnei kaupapa mā mātou, ka whānau mai te iwi i ngā puke kua kākahutia e te kohu o Te Urewera. Ko mātou “Ngā Tamariki o te Kohu.” He mātau aku whānau ki ngā ara hīkoi ki tērā takiwā me te mahinga kai mai i te whenua.

Kua kohia hoki au i ngā whakapapa o Mataatua waka, nāna aku tipuna i kawea ki Te Moana a Toi. Tokotoru ngā tamariki a Wekanui me Irakewa, arā, ko Puhi, ko Muriwai me Toroa. Ka moe a Toroa me Kake-Pikitia, ka puta mai tā rāua tamāhine a Wairaka. Ko te tamaiti a Wairaka ko Tamatea Ki Te Huatahi, ā, i moe a ia ki a Paewhiti, te tamāhine a Taneatua. Tokotoru ā rāua tama, kotahi te tamāhine. Ko te pōtiki, ko Tūhoe-Pōtiki, nā ka puta mai ko Ngāi Tūhoe te ingoa o te iwi. Ko te whakamārama o tēnei ko “ngā uri a Tūhoe.”

Inā kīi mai taku whakapapa, he uri ahau o Hinepūkohurangi, te wahine o te kohu, ko te kūare kei roto i ahau e kīia nei he kōrero paki noa. Kāore i te whakaaetia e tērā o ngā rangahau i ahu mai mātou i te Moana nui a Kiwa, mai i Āhia me Āwherika.

Kua rongo au i a rātou e mātau ana ki ā rātou whakapapa ki ngā tipuna motuhake, tekau reanga ki muri. E mārama ana rātou ki ngā mahi whakaakoranga o ō rātou tīpuna me pēhea hoki rātou tae ki taua māramatanga. Kua rongo hoki au i ētahi e taki whakapapa ana o ngā iwi katoa o Aotearoa me ngā tātai, hononga katoa ki a Māui, Kupe me ngā atua, tērā whakapapa e kīia nei he Māori.

Ko tēnei te take ka tīmata au i tēnei ara o te whakapapa. Kaua mō taku taha Māori anake, e ngari mō taku taha Pākehā anō hoki. Ka taea e tōku kuia te maumahara e 15 ngā reanga ki muri o ngā hononga ki Tenemāka, Kōtarana me Ingarangi. He kaha nōna te awhi mai i a au te kohi i ngā mauhanga whānautanga, matenga hoki o ētahi o aku whānau. He nui tonu ngā mea kāore i te mōhio, he nui hoki ngā pātai kāore anō kia whakautu. Koirā te mate o te tāmitanga, whakapāwera hītori, te pūnaha whāngai tamariki me te pāmamae ki runga i ngā whānau.

Ko tātou ngā whakatipuranga o ō mātou wāhi. Ki taku nei tirohanga ka taea te kite me pēhea tōku whakaputanga mai ki te ao nei. Tāiritia ana Hinepūkohurangi i Te Urewera i te ata, whārikitia ana te riu katoa e te kohu mātotoru. E mākū ana te otaota, e puke ana te awa, ka whārikitia ana i te maunga, arā, ko tana whaiāipo. He tohu a ia mō te mea ngaro – mō tētahi ūpoko māro e tae ate ako me pēhea te piri ki te ara inā tē taea te kite te 30 henemita ki mua. Ko tōna taenga mai (a Hinepūkohurangi) he tohu mō te putanga ki waho o te whare ki tōna kohu mātotoru, noho pū ki roto rānei hei kōrero, hei wānanga rānei i te whakaaro. He akoranga ēnei mōku mai i a Hinepūkohurangi, mā te whenua hoki tātou e ako pēnei i tō tātou whānau.

He kōrero tawhito mai i a Elsdon Best mō tōna mīharo ki ō tātou whakapapa, arā, he uri whakaheke ā-toto nei mātou mai i a Hinepūkohurangi. He rite tahi ko ngā tohunga tikanga tangata, ngā kaipūtaiao rānei e kīia nei he paki noa ēnei kōrero. Ahakoa tērā, ko Hinepūkohurangi tō mātou whāea, nāna ngā tikanga me ngā whanonga o Ngāi Tūhoe i waihanga.

Kātahi anō ka riro i a au taku tā moko tuatahi, ka tīmata mai i tētahi wāhanga ātaahua ki te kawititanga o taku ringa matau. He mihi ki a Pāpā i mate atu nō muri mai i tōku haerenga i tōku ara. He nui ngā akoranga whakapapa i runga i tēnei ara, engari ki te ako tonu au, he māramatanga nōku he nui kē atu te mātauranga kei waenganui i a tātou. Māku au e whakatōkia ki roto i taua whakapapa, he āta haere, he āta mahi pēnei i te mahi raranga, ka whakakotahi te kōrero o taku tuakiritanga.

Where are our histories preserved? In statues dedicated to Pākehā men in our parks and town squares. In stale documentaries that prioritise certain dominant voices and neglect others. We know that the media has a bias, but we are not critical of history in the same way. But history is written by humans. Last week I had a kōrero with historian Angela Wanhalla. She is of Kai Tahu descent, and has whakapapa back to Ngāti Moki marae of the Ngāi Te Ruahikihiki hapū. Her new book with Lachy Paterson brings forth a rich puna of historical knowledge that is not often talked about. That is the voice of wāhine Māori. He Reo Wāhine disrupts the narrative of our colonial history, bringing to the light the voices of our wāhine in the 19th century.

What are your areas of interest? And what questions do you ask yourself when you’re doing your kind of research?

A lot of my interest in history is to do with women’s history and Māori history. That goes back to my PhD which was on the history of a community who lived in a reserve on the northern banks of the Taieri River in Otago. The reason why I studied that community was because my family have a connection to it through my father, and my dad never knew very much about it. So as I was doing my PhD he got to kind of explore that part of his whakapapa in a bit more detail which was really great. It became quite clear that it was a community that was really unusual because it had a really high level of intermarriage. Through the story of intermarriage I could tell a little bit about how that community changed over time. But also it could help me think about how to make Māori women the centre of the story as well.

One thing I find with New Zealand history is that, particularly for the colonial view of looking at the 19th century, Māori women don’t really feature very strongly in it. Often because it’s said that there aren’t any sources available to tell their stories — and by that I mean the kind of sources that historians would traditionally use. We want to think about how we might respond to an argument that’s been made that there just aren’t the sources out there. We both want to see Māori women’s history, but also Māori writing from the 19th century be two central features.

I’ve heard that as an indigenous people, we have the greatest written record of our language because of things like letters in archives. This is information that we can’t really use properly because of the volume of it. In writing this book, what was your encounter with that archive?

There is a huge, rich, wonderful archive of Māori writing available. That’s through things like the Māori language newspapers from the 19th century — which Lachy Paterson has written a book about. There are also, as you mentioned, a huge number of letters available. Many of those have been sent to colonial officials, so Archives NZ and their branches across the country do hold a number of wonderful Māori language materials in their archives. You’ve got Māori sending huge numbers of letters to officials. Sometimes as friends, but often to complain about injustices. There are also lots of petitions that Māori send to the government during the 19th century — I think in total there are over 2000 petitions and they are a wonderful resource for exploring Māori collective protest. Māori women just loved sending letters to each other, and they could see how letters in particular fitted really beautifully within oral culture. Also, many Māori wrote manuscripts, and a number of those are lodged in archives as well. There’s a huge wealth of material out there that historians can work with but, because quite a lot of it is in Te Reo Māori, not a lot of historians are making use of it.

I saw a quote from the book — “Do not think that this letter is from a man. No, I am a woman who wrote this letter.” (Kataraina Kahuwahine). Do you think that the resources you encountered challenge the narrative of what we are told about Māori women in the 19th century?

Like you, I really like that quote because it indicates that often we assume that people who are writing in the 19th century are men. It shows from that woman’s perspective that she didn’t want a colonial official to simply see this as a man’s voice or perspective. Māori women were as interested in the effects of land loss on their community as men were. What I think our book shows is that Māori women are deeply engaged, and they had a perspective and a voice. They were willing to engage with the state as much as they possibly could to register those injustices at the feet of colonial officials. I am just so amazed at the amount of material that’s out there in the archives, showcasing Māori women’s abilities to politically organise and to engage with the state and try and gain some justice during that period.

What is something that you found particularly exciting to write about?

What is most exciting about this book is that there is a wealth of material from Māori women out there that Māori women wrote. I think that’s really important in terms of how we might tackle colonial history. What it also does, is help us understand how big histories like colonisation and capitalism — those big drivers of change — also affect people at the most personal level. We get to hear Māori women say that and say how they experience the effects of colonialism in their communities. It’s also bringing in slightly different communities that we don’t always hear about in history books. One of them is Taumutu, near Lake Ellesmere, and that’s where my family connect to. What was really exciting for me on a personal level was to see that women from that community were writing and petitioning and they feature in the chapter that’s focused on petitions. Often in histories we write, we don’t often see those little communities at the forefront.

What is the importance for you (as a Māori woman) of writing books like this, of bringing these materials to light? Why do this work?

As a Māori woman, but also as a historian, I’m really passionate about telling histories that matter to people. I think the stories that are in He Reo Wāhine will matter to a lot of people because they will see their tūpuna there and they’ll see the people that they can really admire represented in this book. I want to write histories where my father can recognise himself in it and he can recognise his family. Where my brother and sister can recognise themselves too. I think that historians have to do our best to actually represent the diversity of the past in the present day, as much as we possibly can. Because if we don’t, we effectively exclude people from history. And I don’t want to write histories that exclude. That’s why He Reo Wāhine exists.

We often have particular narratives that are quite strong in our history. I am influenced by the work of Aroha Harris, Atholl Anderson, Judith Binney — all those wonderful historians. They’re the people who I admire greatly. I want to write histories like them that challenge some of those deeply held narratives that we have. Those narratives that make assumptions about New Zealand having a racially harmonious past when that’s clearly not the case! Challenging narratives and making people uncomfortable is what historians should be doing.

Why do you think the women that are doing these petitions, writing these letters to officials, aren’t remembered or aren’t known about?

I think they are remembered in their communities and in their families. They just haven’t been foregrounded as much as they possibly could in our written histories.We’ve seen that kind of trend here where New Zealand history wasn’t at all of interest to New Zealanders. It wasn’t a part of the academy until around the 1950s and 1960s. The history that New Zealanders read and got taught at school was British history, the history of other places, not the history of us. There’s been this kind of remarkable shift in the last 70 years where we’ve produced our own academic scholarship that explains why this place and our people and our history is really important and exciting and interesting. In the 1970s and 1980s feminist scholars were coming to the floor; also, at the same time, we’ve got the growth of Māori history where Māori historians were also saying the same thing — we need to look at Māori history too. What we have seen in the last 15–20 years is that there is now recognition of the wonderful rich resources out there that are available. That includes work by Māori, and also Māori women. We tell the history of war, as a major event in people’s lives. Those kinds of histories tend to be more prominent too.

Ki ngā maunga kārangaranga o tōku papakāinga

Ki ngā wai kaukau ō tōku iwi, ngā wai tuku oranga mō te iwi

Hai tōku whakapapa, tōku here ki ōku tīpuna mai rā anō

Ko tēnei te reo hai whakaahua i ōku whakaaro

He reo whakapuaki i heke mai i a rātau mā kua nunumi atu ki te pō

Ko ā rātau nā taonga tukuiho, kai te mau tonu, kai te mau tonu

He uri tēnei nā Hinepūkohurangi e tāpiripiri nei i ngā kupu kōrero hai kaikanohi mā tātau katoa

Tīhei mauri ora!

Tēnā tātou e te tini, e te mano. Nau mai ki tēnei kaupapa motuhake, arā, ko te whakanui i ngā āhuatanga katoa o te ao Māori. I ahau e tipu ana, kaha rawa atu ngā hua o taku Māoritanga hei arataki i a au. He aroha mutunga kore ki ērā tāngata, ōku kuia, ōku koroua, ōku mātua, ōku kaiako, rātou mā i whai wāhi ai kia ora tēnei tūranga mōku. He nui aku mihi ki ērā tāngata kaha ki te whawhai mō te orangatonutanga o te reo te take. Me pēhea rā tātau te whakatipuranga nei e pupuri ki ngā kaupapa, kia mau?

This issue has no theme. I did not give it one but rather searched broadly for the kōrero of our tauira. The history that precedes us is overwhelming. We know about those who preempted us. They have fought for Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori, have fought for our people. To even have this space in a student magazine is a legacy that weighs deeply on my mind. One annual issue for our people is a small success, and only the first step on a long path. Our mana is strong in our spaces, but there is much mahi to be done in the mainstream.

To quote the first Te Ao Mārama in 1972: “There will be many people around this university who will be feeling left out after looking at the front cover of this issue. The intention is to help you feel just that. If you are not interested in Māori culture you will read little, if anything, in this Salient — and so perpetuate your ignorance.” We are not looking to leave out, but rather we invite everyone — including tauiwi — to come and listen to us as we talk to each other. Without assigning a theme, it feels right to have Tino Rangatiratanga hanging over this kōrero. The contributors to this issue are the fruits of some of the efforts of Tino Rangatiratanga. In Te Ao Mārama 2017 we wānanga on how to continue this kaupapa.

Nāku noa,
Nā Kahu Kutia (Ngāi Tūhoe)

I tērā mārama, ka whakaputa te kōrero nā te pāti Act mō ngā mahi o te whānau. E ai ki tētahi, ko te mahi whakatipu tamariki, he mahi mō te whānau nāna te pūtea ki te whakatipu tamariki anake. Wāwau ana te whakaaro nei! Nā Metiria Turei – te takirua o te Pāti Kakariki – tētahi whakautu. I tāna wā, i whakaheke a Turei ki te Manatū Whakahiato Ora. Ko tēnei hei mau tonu ia i ngā pūtea hei awhi i tōna whānau, me tōna tamaiti. He ahua i kitea i te katoa o ngā whānau. He kaha te whawhai mō tātou oranga.

Titiro ki ngā kaupapa whakahaere o te kāwanatanga, ngā ture o tēnei whenua. He taniwha kei reira. He uaua te mahi ki te whakatipu tamariki i tēnei rā; mō nga māmā, ngā pāpā, ngā koroua, kuia, ngā matakēkē hoki. I kite au tētahi whakaaro pai mā runga Pukamata i tērā wiki.

“In the latest government budget we are investing five times the amount of money into building prisons than social housing. What about the baby mamas who have no one to advocate for them? And imagine if we invested in actual adequate social housing with the money we spend in motels and prisons?”

He aha ngā mea nui hei whakatipu i te whānau? Me kuhu ngā tamariki ki tētahi whare mahana, me hoko kākahu, me hoko kai. Me āwhinatia e tātou kia haere ngā tamariki ki te kura. Ko ēnei ngā kai hei ora i ngā tamariki i te tuatahi. Ki au nei, ko tētahi āhua o te Mana Wāhine kei waenganui te mahi whāngai mō ngā tamariki. Ko Metiria Turei tēnei, ā, ko tātou māmā katoa tēnei. Nā te whakatauki te kōrero: tangata ako ana i te whare, te turanga ki te marae, tau ana. Tika tērā, ā, i tēnei wiki kei te mihi ki ngā wāhine kaha ki te mahi whakatipu whānau!

As a biological “half-caste” I have been meditating on issues of movement and place my whole life. The movements that made me, the immigrants of various pieces of land that settled new cultures and identities. Last year I encountered an idea from academic Epeli Hau’ofa. He introduced to me the revolutionary difference between “islands in a far sea” and “a sea of islands.” This is the difference between the “Pacific Islands” (sounds small, cute, and quaint in the same way that Bulls or Masterton is) and “Oceania” (sounds very cool, definitely could be in a sci-fi movie).

“It should be clear now that the world of Oceania is neither tiny nor deficient in resources. It was so only as a condition of colonial confinement that lasted less than a hundred of a history of thousands of years. Human nature demands space for free movement, and the larger the space the better it is for people. Islanders have broken out of their confinement, are moving around and away from their homelands, not so much because their countries are poor, but because they had been unnaturally confined and severed from much of their traditional sources of wealth, and because it is in their blood to be mobile. They are once again enlarging their world, establishing new resource bases and expanded networks for circulation”

(Epeli Hau’ofa, A New Oceania: Rediscovering our Sea of Islands).

This concept is so revolutionary because it imagines migration in a radically different way to what we are taught in school. No longer do the oceans separate us; they connect us. Not a barrier, but a mechanism to reach other corners of land, resource, and life. Hau’ofa’s re-imagining of the Pacific re-distributes power away from the continental land mass, and towards the cultural exchange between island nations. But how do foreigners fit in?

As a person of this whenua, I have the assumption that I will inevitably be buried by my marae, on my soil, with all my family around me. It is an assumption I take for granted every day. My dad told me that the value of burial is that your bones have a final resting place, and if that is by your whenua, then your grandchildren always have a reason to return home. This is very different to the sacrifice immigrants make, whether you move here voluntarily or by forced migration. Unavoidably you are entertaining the possibility that your bones will never return to the same soil of your ancestors. For indigenous peoples whose islands are already sinking below the sea, this is not if but when.

Tama-nui-te-rā. July 3, 2017. Trinity Thompson-Browne.

As someone whose life revolves so closely around the idea of homeland, I know I would find it difficult to make that same sacrifice. So often we say that immigrants to western countries are “lucky” to be hosted by the western world. But who is really lucky when you have to take on a new language, new practices, and put your own culture to the side? Assimilation is valued as the priority for arrivals to new shores. But assimilation dampens individuality and hinders cultural exchange, some of the most beautiful things that can arise out of global migration.

In our cities where accommodation is cramped and rental prices are too high, it can be easy to become caught in the xenophobic fear that foreigners will take over our land. But Māori already know what that feels like. Our land has already been taken over by foreigners. Foreigners who have been here for centuries now, made their own roots, intermingled with the tangata whenua. People want refugees to come to New Zealand and speak English, but those people have forgotten that the English language smothered the primary language of New Zealand, which was Te Reo Māori.

Being Māori fuels my personal desire to welcome other people to our land, to show manaakitanga. It does not hinder it. In the spaces where I have been privileged to share and exchange culture with other indigenous people, there has also been growth, and new learning. As we share ideas, we not only confirm ourselves but strengthen bonds of community.

I understand the practical necessity to speak English here, but xenophobia is a hypocrite if it says we should all speak English. As a country we do not understand the value that other cultures offer us as a nation, because we do not understand the cultural value of our own tangata whenua in the first place. I think the revitalisation of Te Ao Māori and the welcoming of foreign people to our shores are interdependent movements. This is a migration not to be measured along national borders, but along the lines created by indigenous peoples long ago that do not separate, but rather connect us and tell the shared relationship and whakapapa of all things. Like Moana said, we were voyagers.

It is inevitable that our lives will be influenced by global movements both ancient and contemporary. The human race is naturally migratory. We migrate out of our small towns that we thought we couldn’t bear, but turns out we actually really miss. We migrate from halls, to flats, to the first house that really feels like a home. We migrate from maraes to cities, and then to other countries to entertain new ideas. We migrate to merge with new families, to escape wars and rising sea levels. Optional or not, Hau’ofa is right when he says it is in our blood to be mobile.

Most weeks, some news gets us rolling our eyes, and last week was no exception. News arose of the Kapiti Council’s proposed plan to name seven new sections of road, recently built in their rohe. The proposed names, listed above, honour the history of the local rohe, and the legacy and taonga given by the tangata whenua of the area. Some, however, were not so pleased with the proposed plans. Their reasons? The names are “unpronouncable”.

The complaint is one that, unfortunately, is far too common in Aotearoa. Shout out to everyone who has had to correct a teacher’s pronunciation of their name, or spell it out. When we mispronounce, Taupō becomes Tow-poe, and Kawerau becomes Kah-wee-reow. Don’t even get me started on when Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson pulls out his haka in the Fate of the Furious (rolling eyes emoji).

We could talk about two very different issues here. Are New Zealanders uncomfortable with acknowledging the Māori history that inevitably exists in their areas? Or are we just lazy, and unwilling to put effort into trying out Māori pronunciations. I know of kids who have had their names completely destroyed, or a teacher has decided to call them by their Pākehā middle name instead. Such moves are not just lazy, but they remove the mana of an individual.

A short Google into any of the proposed names brings about a rich kōrero and history of Mana Māori. Not that this seems to be of any value to those who have complained about the proposed names. It’s not all perfect, we all slip into lazy pronunciation sometimes (Ar-oh Fish and Chip Shop anyone?) but to dismiss these names as an inconvenience is absolutely unacceptable Aotearoa. Instead of dismissing these names, how about we start teaching our tamariki more Te Reo in schools? Just a thought whānau. Ngā mihi.

Chevron Te Whetumatarau Hassett, Mum with wakahuia

When I was studying art in high school, it was very rare that I could find a Māori artist to inspire my research — rarer still to find a Māori photographer. Historically we have always been in front of the lens, categorised, fetishised by classical anthropologists, consistently portrayed by an external “other”. We were Victorian-style portraits in black and white, or primitive brown bodies crouched before a fire. We were tourism ads, heavily edited in bad taste, to lure tourists into meeting “the simple folk of a time gone by.”

When I first came across Chev’s work, my first reaction was one of deep excitement. Here, FINALLY, I relished the moment of seeing someone who is young, who is Māori, in control of the image and the stories it tells. No longer a slave to the stranger and their pocket Pentax, finally someone to guide whakaaro Māori (Māori ways of thinking) in the work they are creating, and gifting to the world.

Chev’s images are an insight into his whakapapa. He invites us in, and through the image we gather and share stories of his whānau, and his iwi (Ngāti Porou). Here, his Pākehā mother holds up a waka huia, a taonga made for her by Chev’s father. Raised into the sky, I feel a certain reverence for the piece, and what it means for telling the kōrero of one’s whānau. For me at least, there is a kind of deeply felt nostalgia. While these figures are not my own family, they are archetypal characters in whom I recognise my own loved ones.

There is a word in Ngāi Tūhoe, “matemateaone”. The word speaks literally to how we all die by the same dirt, but more so than this, the word is something that is only recognised when felt. Some say it represents the land that we all eventually return to, and our duty to protect it. Some may say it invokes a shared humanity, and the recognition of people in the faces and actions of others. To feed others is to feed oneself, and to connect with a person is to connect with their tīpuna, their whakapapa, the land that fed and nourished them. E ai ki te kōrero, he aha te mea nui o te Ao? Ko te whakautu: “he tangata, he tangata, he tangata”. He whakaaro tēnei ki roto i ēnei whakaahua. Mai i te huinga o te tangata ki te tangata, te kanohi ki te kanohi, ka puta mai te whanaungatanga, me ngā whakaaro hōhonu mō ngā iwi kē o te Ao.

These are things I feel when I see Chev’s images. I see my own uncles and aunties, working on the marae. I see our kuia in their diva-like glory. Our taonga, treasured and loved as they are, amongst the taiao (natural environment). There is a desire to connect and to whakarongo (listen). The narrative is distinctly Ngāti Porou, an iwi of people who, as Chev proudly told me, were probably one of the first to occupy Aotearoa. In this image, I recognise my own Pākehā mother, and the deep connection she feels to Te Ao Māori, having carried and raised two Māori children of her own. In what ways are our Pākehā parents, our Pākehā whānau, weaved into the narrative of whakapapa Māori?

I think there is a story to tell, if you look into these images deep enough. The story is one of colonisation, and of the modern Māori. Especially in art, that conversation has not been unaddressed. Ralph Hotere, Michel Tuffery, Robyn Kahukiwa, are all Polynesian artists who have successfully explored culture in modernity, and in diaspora. The interaction of Te Ao Māori and Te Ao Pākeha has a well documented conversation over many different realms of creativity. Nevertheless, these images offer something new to that conversation; a resounding statement that these people are here to stay.

As a single image, this photo is emotive, a face raised to enlightenment in Te Ao Mārama. As a series though, this work becomes a narrative. The people of these images, clad in everyday clothing, seem finally comfortable to be in view. Photographed in places of significance, the ngahere, the moana, and on the marae, this is the revitalisation of Māoritanga on this land.

Those paua eyes set deep in the waka huia glare at me. Inside them is a challenge and an invitation; pull fast into the currents or be swept away. It’s not the most traditional method of kōrero, but Te Ao Māori is definitely at least as cool as Chev is making it out to be.

He kōrero kei runga mō te huinga tāngata ki roto i te ao. He whakawhanaungatanga ka puta atu, mai i te noho kanohi ki te kanohi . Koinei te āhua o ngā pikitia nei. Ko te mahi a te kaiwhakaahua, he mahi hononga. Māku e kī, ko te wero me whakanui tātou i ēnei mahi hononga, ngā mahi toi a te rangatahi Māori. Nā te mea, ko te rangatahi i tā i te ao kei waenganui, kei mua hoki, i a tātou. Tīhei mauri ora.