Ko Waimārama te moana.
Ko Tukituki te awa.
Ko Kahurānaki te maunga.
Nō Heretaunga ahau.
Ko Trevor Sweeney tōku matua. Nō Te Aroha ia.
Ko Margaret McCann tōku whaea. Nō Otira ia.
Ahakoa ko Ngāti Pākehā tōku iwi, he kaha tōku hononga ki te whenua o Ngāti Kahungunu.
Ko Rebbecca Sweeney ahau.

This is my pepeha. I extended it last year and can now say it without prompts, and in any situation. It’s time to extend it again, or perhaps prepare a wider range of pepeha and mihi to use in different situations. I’m learning to crawl in the Māori world.

I started my journey when I was about 7 years old when my teacher at Hastings Central School, Mrs Wilkie, taught our class to pronounce kupu Māori correctly and taught us to sing a range of waiata. She shared a passion and it certainly rubbed off on me! Thanks to Mrs Wilkie, I have always had pretty good pronunciation and I have always loved tikanga, te reo, and waiata Māori.

Many years passed. I’ve stayed on lots of marae around Aotearoa — during my years at teachers’ college; while working for government; and now, through being part of the CORE whānau. I went on a noho marae for the first time at the age of 12, to Mihiroa Marae, and loved every moment. I still remember learning some of the tikanga, kawa, on that marae through elders talking to us, or through us kids making dumb mistakes and getting told off. I still make dumb mistakes now. I still get told off. I don’t mind. I also get gentle guidance. I’m learning to crawl in the Māori world.

I am scared to share my thoughts in this post but am doing it anyway, in case it helps you to start your journey into the Māori world. It’s scary but it’s worth it. Here are some of my learnings.

Never assuming I have it all figured out…

I learned a long time ago that relationships and kōrero are hugely important to Māori. These can be cut off or broken down at any moment if I assume I know what’s best. I have learned that the same is true for all people — but Māori people taught me this. I still make mistakes, but I also see myself growing. It’s easy to forget tikanga Māori if I move too fast and make assumptions. I am Pākehā, so I always think like a Pākehā first. I need to be aware of this bias and I try to learn from the mistakes I make rather than defend myself. I accept any feedback, no matter how it is given. Relationships still matter here, and it’s sometimes hard to take feedback from people you have no connection with, but I believe it’s important to take it when you are learning to crawl in the Māori world.

Taking invitations and participation seriously…

Aotearoa is still mostly a place operating as two worlds: a Māori world and a Pākehā world. Sometimes they overlap, but not that often in my experience. Others might have different views depending on how they live their lives.

Occasionally, I get to take part in the Māori world through regular noho marae arranged by my amazing CORE whānau Māori colleagues, or through a range of tikanga that we strive to make the norm in our mahi, both internally at CORE and externally with our clients. I have learned to take the opportunities that I get very seriously. I want to genuinely contribute in ways that add value, but often I can’t. I don’t want to be the person who just takes what I need or want. I want to give as well.

Before any noho marae I get quite stressed and anxious. I spend a lot of time practising waiata and karakia, and sometimes even things like games I know we will play (no one would guess this as I am still pretty average at these things!!). Don’t get me wrong — every noho feeds my wairua and gives me renewed energy that I can’t explain. Is that mauri? I feel at home and warm around a group of people who support each other, and it is a good place to be. But I am also still learning to crawl in this Māori world and where I crawl, I feel like I am in a learning pit and I don’t want to mess up or disappoint my whānau.

Feel the fear and do it anyway!

Listen and learn…

If there is one thing I have learned that is super important, it is the need to listen and learn.

I don’t talk much in the Māori world. I think I have spoken up in a group situation on a noho marae only once, maybe twice, and that wasn’t until I’d been part of the group for a long time. If I do speak, it is often to ask a question or to try to understand something. When people around me kōrero Māori I try to keep up. I sometimes get my phone out and open the Māori Dictionary online to check some of the tricky vocab that I hear. I can never keep up but sometimes I can follow along — mostly I can’t. That’s my problem and no one else’s. I keep trying to listen to everything and to learn. There are multiple perspectives on issues and ways of working in the Māori world and every situation is unique — just as it is in the Pākehā world.

I have taken lots of te reo and other kaupapa Māori courses over the years. I started in high school when I took School C Māori in 7th form. In English, we were given a set text — a biography called Amiria by Anne Salmond. I loved the stories of the Stirling whānau and read Eruera, and then started reading all the Anne Salmond history books I could find. I remember when I was about 19, crying, as I read Two Worlds, and realised what our history really was (and had caused). I took a Māori Education paper with Wally Penetito during my Master of Education. I took the Mauri Ora course through the Open Wānanga. I took a range of online and face-to-face beginner and intermediate reo courses through places like CultureFlow, Wānanga, and more recently CORE.

It wasn’t until last year that I really learned how huge it is to learn the language. I’m not sure I will ever get very far but I will keep trying different ways to learn. It’s actually terrifying at times, but I just keep trying. Some people would say I don’t try hard enough, and that is probably true. I am grateful to the amazing Māori around me who persevere, help, laugh at and with me, give advice and lend books, demand my engagement, teach me their ways, or just offer kind words of support.

Have debates with the intent to seek common ground…

I used to avoid debates when I was younger. Many Māori have taught me not to do this — simply through their insisting that I have a debate with them! My experiences tell me that, if I don’t engage in debate with Māori when they invite it, that I won’t earn any respect. The intent is always to seek common ground or to at least ensure everyone is heard before decisions are made. I was taught this first by Māori, and later by people like Joan Dalton. Now I love debate and I step into it when it matters. I mentor others to do this, too.

Next steps for me…

Everything is harder for me in the Māori world. It makes me think about how it might be for Māori learners moving from Māori to English-medium schooling! I am learning to crawl in the Māori world. I’m not sure what my next steps are. I have goals for growing my reo. I am committed to the partnership goals that CORE has. I’m not always sure I know what it looks like to honour Te Tiriti o Waitangi as a Pākehā. This changes as I learn more. I think I need to make more of the opportunities that I get to be in the Māori world. Another recent learning for me is to make the goals far smaller and more achievable. Much smaller than the goals I might set for myself in the Pākehā world.

Maybe one day I will be able to walk in the Māori world!

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Inquiries to Anahera McGregor

Resources

• Online Programme: Te Reo Puāwai Māori
• CORE Breakfast: Mobilise my reo
• Workshop: Jumpstart my reo
• Podcast: 100% success in language learning/embrace your dickness
• Podcast: What is my role as a Pākehā in upholding the mana of Te Tiriti o Waitangi
• Shop: Te Reo Māori resources for sale

Ko Tarakoa te maunga
Ko Tohoratea te awa
Ko Ruataupare te whare
Ko Te Whānau a Ruataupare te hapū

Ko Whitireia te maunga
Ko Parirua te awa
Ko Hongoeka te marae
Ko Ngāti Toa Rangatira te iwi
Ko Ngāti Te Maunu te hapū

When asked to write a blog with a Tiriti kaupapa, I thought I could write about some common themes I’d researched or found out about over the years, however, there’s plenty of information published about these online and in books. Therefore, I decided on a more personal approach: I would write about my dad’s life. I always knew my father had an interesting upbringing from the stories I heard growing up, and his childhood seemed worlds apart compared to other parents of my generation, including my mother’s.

He momo: a way of life and kai

Kerehi Waiariki Grace grew up in Tupāroa, a once thriving seaside village near Ruatoria, during the depression. From a very large family, they didn’t have much in the way of money or personal possessions and there was, and still is, no power from the grid. But they always had plenty of food. Sheep, cattle, and pigs roamed freely and were shared communally or bartered. They also shared their large gardens with the whānau whānui, the extended whānau. who helped. And, there were plenty of communal fruit trees, and the bush also provided. They lived off the land and sea and they rotated kai gathering to different spots for sustainability. They were kaitiaki of these areas. They knew the best times to gather, they studied weather patterns, and our dad used to use the maramataka Māori, the Māori lunar calendar, for fishing and gardening.

We had a family reunion in Tupāroa once, when I was in my teens. Everyone woke at dawn and went gathering kai for breakfast. I went with an older cousin, who grew up there, to get crayfish. He knew all the spots, and in just-above-waist-deep water, armed with only shoes, a glove, and a pair of goggles would feel the ‘crays’ with his feet, tell me what size they were, and then dive in to retrieve them. The sack, I was tasked with holding, was filled in no time. We then headed back to our camp, and before 8 o’clock my uncles and aunties were preparing conger eel, shark, fish, crayfish, kina, and pāua for our breakfast feast.

My dad enjoyed hunting and eeling. When he was growing up, his grandfather, Raniera, would often give him a gun and just one bullet — to ration their ammo — and tell him to come back with a kai.

During another time camping with whānau in Hongoeka, my father prepared us a stew, which tasted like steak, although a little tough. Afterwards we realised it was the rabbits and possums he had shot that morning; the carcasses were hanging on the fence.

Dad’s favourite kai was ‘kao’, or the Māori banana. These were the smallest kūmara from their kūmara pit, which were dried and put in the hāngi skin-on. He also loved Pākehā bread that his mother bought every so often from the store in Ruatoria.

Mahi and a healthy lifestyle

There was never a shortage of work and chores to do, and living off the land kept everyone busy. Horses ran wild in those days, and my dad and whānau would catch and take them to the sandy beach to be broken in. This was their main mode of transport.

Te Marau ā-Kura kia Tina!
Visit our dedicated page for more resources with strong connections to marau ā-kura.

My father was very fit and ate whole, natural, organic, and free-range food. He didn’t smoke and wasn’t a big drinker. My mother couldn’t believe he still had all his healthy teeth well into his sixties. I remember hearing that eating fern root was good for your teeth; this was part of dad’s staple diet. In fact, he once cooked some for us. I found it bland and chewy, but dad’s culinary skills were never the best anyway. They also tended gardens daily, collected firewood, and had many other chores. When he was old enough, he took over the role from his tuakana of ploughing with horse and chains. The way dad talked about this, it seemed like it was a kind of introduction to manhood.

Healthcare and spirituality

Their mother sometimes took them to a local tohunga, a kuia, when they were sick. The tohunga cured my dad’s sister’s sickness when the Pākehā doctors at Te Puia hospital didn’t know what was wrong with her. I based a story I wrote for the School Journal entitled The Tohungaon this kōrero under the pen-name Pōtiki. In those days it was illegal to visit a tohunga under the Tohunga Suppression Act 1907 (see the Te Ara website for more information on the act), and I think my dad had blocked it out of his mind because the visits were kept secret. I recall his eyes lighting up when I asked about visits to the doctors — it was as if he only just remembered about the tohunga after my prompt.

Once, when I was about ten years old during an aunty’s unveiling in Hiruhārama, I fainted, possibly from heat stroke. I woke up lying on the ground outside of the urupā to a very old kuia reciting karakia and throwing water on me. Reflecting on this later in life, I have no doubt that she was a tohunga. I’ve always felt a spiritual connection with Tupāroa even though I didn’t grow up there. I have fond memories of staying there with whānau who I rarely saw or associated with. There were always ghost stories — my dad had many — and wāhi tapu were identified. I heard of kaitiaki in the form of animal spirits, of which I won’t mention here, and learnt of signs/omens, which were observed, whether good or bad, and subsequent actions were taken based on these. My grandfather was a follower of the Ringatū faith and, on occasions, would be heard reciting karakia. On one occasion, through a sign, he found out a mākutu had been put on him by a local tohunga. This was confirmed when he confronted the tohunga at the pub who said a local lady had asked him to put the mākutu on him.

Schooling and education

My dad was a native speaker of te reo Māori — it was the language of the home. He didn’t teach us (his tamariki) much reo growing up. I remember waking up late one night and some of his siblings and cousins had turned up at home. All night they were conversing in te reo Māori, a language that seemed foreign but beautiful to me, and I wondered why I couldn’t speak it.

Dad attended Tupāroa Native School and was strapped on several occasions for speaking Māori. I recall a letter in a newspaper where someone stated this practice was a myth. Many people, including my dad, responded to the letter with their own experiences of being strapped. I found out later that, although this wasn’t written in law, it was the policy in native schools. Although he stated these were bad experiences for him in school, it seemed like he enjoyed school in general. Unlike Pākehā school curriculum — from what dad told me — it sounded like the main things they were taught in school were based on animal husbandry. He also said the whole school created a clay tennis court once, which they dug out by hand. He was excited by this and, I think, tennis was the first sport he ever played.
His parents liked their tamariki going to school because they wanted them all to learn English. My dad also said it was the in-thing in those days — everyone wanted to learn. In fact, random transliterations or English words were often heard on the marae on formal occasions to the delight of those gathered.

Dad must have done well at school and he and others received Ngata Scholarships to attend high schools. At age 13, he bragged about getting his first pair of shoes and a uniform — although it was the wrong one. He must have strived at high school, and on finishing, his mother announced to his surprise that he was going to be a teacher, and he was sent to Wellington for teacher training. After years of teaching at various rural schools, he became a principal in Porirua, where he advocated for bilingual schools and the rejuvenation of te reo. He then worked at the Department of Education in various roles, and he helped set up different kura and kōhanga. Dad was always grounded in, and a stickler for, tikanga Māori. He had grown up on the many marae around him. He took us for kapa haka as kids and encouraged us to learn the reo. He was a driving force in establishing many marae, kura, and kōhanga reo.

The effects of the loss of our taonga

I guess, where I’m going with this is that I can see that even in dad’s generation there was still a kind of communal style of living much like our tūpuna. They still retained many of their taonga and, I think, they had the best of both worlds.

Before the establishment of a government in Aotearoa, many iwi and hapū had good relationships with Pākehā. There were intermarriages that formed strategic alliances for the benefit of all. This resulted in thriving economies.

The confiscation of land and laws that consequently resulted in the alienation of Māori land over the years was devastating. The individualisation of land by the Māori Land Court caused much division amongst hapū and whānau, who traditionally lived communally. This was a major influence in the urban drift (encouraged by the government) of Māori seeking employment and a better life. In the larger cities a ‘pepper potting’ policy was in place, in which Māori families were purposely scattered to live surrounded by Pākehā families and not together. The loss of land, culture, language, traditional knowledge, whanaungatanga, wairuatanga, kaitiakitanga, and other taonga resulted in a loss of identity for generations of Māori. Colonisation and assimilation of Māori were deemed necessary by most Pākehā. This undermined the tino rangatiratanga of hapū and the rights of Māori to be treated equally to those of British citizens.

All these things combined had, and still has, a major impact on the health — te taha tinana, te taha hinengaro, te taha wairua — of Māori. Māori is still overrepresented in poor statistics for crime, education, unemployment, and health – even in this day-and-age with all the strategies developed by successive governments to combat this.

Te Marau ā-Kura kia Tina!
Visit our dedicated page for more resources with strong connections to marau ā-kura.

Dear Teachers

I encourage you to localise the Treaty of Waitangi to where you currently reside so the day has even more meaning for the Māori students in your class and adds real contemporary texts for all students.

As Waitangi Day approaches and the media hype is sensationalised by the latest prejudices, divided opinions, and historic events of past Treaty of Waitangi protestations, I ask that you spare a thought for the student in your class who is Māori, whose descent claims an ancestry that reaches back to the beginning of time. To this student whose character continues to be shaped and influenced by the impact of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840 to 2018, 178 years later.

As a teacher, you have the opportunity to teach and LEARN how the Treaty of Waitangi may have shaped the identity of students’ whānau, their hapū, their iwi. You could extend an invitation to local people to talk about the Treaty story of their iwi and how this important partnership document has impacted and continues to affect their rights as hapū/iwi to this day. Here lies an opportunity to privilege cultural knowledge and perhaps learn about hapū and iwi approaches to maintaining their customary rights and sovereignty over their lands, water rights, and fisheries.

As the leader of learning in the class, you determine the stories that will be heard, the voices that will be listened to, and the careful selection of resources that will be viewed. These will all have a huge influence on how students view themselves as Māori, as iwi, as Treaty partners, and as tangata whenua of Aotearoa.

My mokopuna has ancestral descent lines from Te Arawa, Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Porou, Ngāi Te Rangi, Tūhoe, Te Whānau a Apanui, and Tainui. The Treaty of Waitangi has had a huge impact on each of these iwi and Treaty stories may echo similar themes, but the experiences are raw, distinctive, and unique to each tribal area.They cannot be hybridised to the Māori and the Treaty of Waitangi story, but rather, the Treaty and its impact on the iwi of Te Arawa. The Tūhoe story of the Treaty. Do not be seduced to thinking that the story ends there, as these may be individualised further to hapū or sub tribes within this iwi grouping. Not one story is the same, nor the approach as you will see in the Ngāti Porou example.

Te Arawa’s involvement with the Treaty of Waitangi

In 1840, Thomas Chapman, a well known missionary for the Church Missionary Society (CMS), was asked to seek signatures for the Treaty of Waitangi in the Rotorua and Taupō districts. The Treaty of Waitangi was first signed on the 6th February 1840. It established a British Governor in New Zealand. It recognised Māori ownership of their lands and gave Māori the rights of British subjects. It subsequently opened the door to colonisation, which had a devastating impact on tribes all over Aotearoa, including Te Arawa.

Te Arawa did not sign the Treaty in 1840, as they were confident they did not need the protection of the Queen. However, they agreed to its terms in 1860 with a group of Te Arawa leaders signing a covenant in Kohimarama, Auckland, recognising the Treaty as a binding document of partnership with the Crown. Why? Because they had suffered the negative effects of colonisation. Sadly, signing the covenant would prove meaningless as Claudia Orange comments:

The Kohimarama resolution was similar to a formal ratification of the treaty. The government promised to hold further conferences to discuss sharing power, but no more were held. The chiefs who attended the conference expected to play a greater part in decision-making, but they were to be disappointed.

In 2009, Prime Minister John Key formally apologised to Te Arawa for historical Treaty breaches against Te Arawa. “The Crown profoundly regrets and unreservedly apologises for the breaches of the Treaty of Waitangi and its principles.” Historical Treaty breaches noted in the Crown Apology included the Crown’s aggressive purchasing techniques for land opened to Pākehā settlement in the central North Island. Te Arawa suffered losses, in the main, through consolidation schemes and public works takings. The Crown officially handed over to Te Arawa $85 million in cash and assets that year.

Eru George commented then,

“It marks a conclusion in a process that has spanned generations of our tupuna [ancestors] who committed their lives to righting the wrongs and seeking resolutions for injustices on our people.”

Two important points I’d like to make here. First, George’s comment, “spanning generations of our tūpuna”. At what cost were the negotiations to families, hapū, and iwi? How were they able to fight the might of the Crown with limited resources? What drove them to continue the struggle that spanned generations? What stories of resilience, of struggle, of protest, of courage come from these times and the deeds of the ancestors of these mokopuna?

The wording of the “Crown’s aggressive purchasing techniques for land” is interesting as well. Of the hapū and iwi whose lands were seized, illegally taken or stolen, what impacts were suffered on the lives of Te Arawa people? What price in land and economic loss did Te Arawa pay for British citizenship? The effects are still felt today and are a part of our history as Te Arawa. If you were to ask, what the Treaty means to me, previously my answer would have been the legalised theft of our land and the economic decline of our tribe. Now, it is about the future and how Treaty settlements can contribute to the economic prosperity of our tribe. However the colonial residue of land loss is still an unforgotten and very real mamae (hurt).

As part of the healing process, in 2005, Te Arawa were able to express the suffering they had endured to Crown Ministers during the “Telling the Story” hui (George, 2005). This enabled Te Arawa to tell their stories of grievance, of suffering, of hurts that have had intergenerational impact. Do these stories have a place in the telling of the story of the Treaty of Waitangi in your class if you live in the tribal boundaries of Te Arawa, in Rotorua?

Moving in to 2018, however, what might the current Treaty story say? My telling would not only involve the retelling of this history and disruptive influence of colonisation but also the exciting future that lies ahead for our mokopuna. What does a Te Arawa mokopuna future look like? How have Te Arawa used Treaty settlement money so Te Arawa can thrive and prosper?

Let’s look at one example, the Ngāti Whakaue Assets Trust. Ngāti Whakaue is a sub tribe of Te Arawa. “Iwi Asset Trust doubles its asset base in 10 years to 18.3 million” — NZ Herald

In 2009 the trust was given a 9.2 million Kaingaroa Forest settlement fund to invest for the collective benefit of Ngāti Whakaue.  Thanks to “astute and strategic investment plays”, Ms Paul confirmed the asset base had since doubled and was on track to surpass $20m by 2020.

In 2016, the Trust distributed $707,975 in grants to Whakaue marae and supported various community events like Whakaue Whakanuia, which is an amazing one-day celebration of what makes a person “quintessentially Whakaue”. It is a day where Ngāti Whakaue marae congregate, including Te Papaiōuru, Tumahaurangi, Te Kuirau, and Waikuta who perform a series of items reinforcing tribal whakapapa and waiata. It is a day that privileges Whakaue tikanga and reo.

What iwi stories will you invite into the classroom?

What stories will you tell my moko, or the mokopuna who sits in your class in the lead up to Waitangi Day whether you are at the top of the North Island or the bottom of the South Island? Are you aware of the Treaty of Waitangi claims local iwi have made to the Waitangi Tribunal? (a commission of inquiry, that inquires into claims brought by Māori relating to Crown actions that breach the promises made in the Treaty of Waitangi)?

The Foreshore and Seabed controversy, which concerns the ownership of the country’s foreshore and seabed, has many iwi claiming they have a rightful claim to the title under the Treaty of Waitangi. In November 2004, New Zealand Parliament passed a law deeming the title to be held by the Crown — in other words, public ownership. This law, the Foreshore and Seabed Act 2004, was enacted on 24 November 2004. Some sections of the Act came into force on 17 January 2005. Widespread protest arose. Māori anger at this legislation resulted in the formation of the Māori Party. The Act was repealed and replaced by the Marine and Coastal Area (Takutai Moana) Act 2011. If you return to the purpose of the Treaty of Waitangi and what was signed in 1840 and 1860, iwi do have rightful claims, and honouring the partnership agreement made 178 years ago still has an enduring impact to this day.

Let’s return to my mokopuna and her whakapapa.

Ngā Puhi — If you are from the North, could your Waitangi unit be about the recent Northland Inquiry or Wai 1040 which is examining Ngā Puhi’s 600 plus Treaty claims? Some of the stories uncovered in the hearings talk of the confiscation of land for unpaid rates. Families who were trying to maintain ahi kā (keep the home fires burning) on their land were forced to give up land to pay rates arrears. An example of aggressive land purchasing techniques?

Ngāti Porou — The Takutai Moana ratification process for the iwi is huge. In October 2008 Ngā Hapū o Ngāti Porou Foreshore and Seabed Deed of Agreement was ratified and signed by 48 hapū and the Crown at Parliament. However, the repeal and replacement of the Foreshore and Seabed Act, with the Marine and Coastal Area (Takutai Moana) Act 2011 has provided the basis for these hapū and the Crown to negotiate a range of improvements to the Deed. At Te Runanganui o Ngāti Porou Annual General Meeting held 25 November 2017, 47 hapū had ratified amendments to the 2008 Ngā Hapū o Ngāti Porou Foreshore and Seabed Deed of Agreement and 8 groups had yet to decide (slide 9). The work that goes in to ensuring each hapū has the opportunity to engage with their iwi organisation and have a voice in exercising their rights as mana whenua is significant. 47 hapū having a voice in the running of their iwi affairs and a unified approach to negotiating with the Crown is no mean feat. Legislation for the iwi is a major priority in 2018 and ensuring partnerships with the Crown are honoured.

Whāia ko te mātauranga hai whitiki te iwi, kia toa ai.
Seek ye from the fountain of knowledge so the people may be uplifted, thrive, and prosper.
– Kepa Ehau (Esteemed Te Arawa orator)

Maria Tibble

Te Marau ā-Kura kia Tina!
Visit our dedicated page for more resources with strong connections to marau ā-kura.

Bibliography

Writing a blog is an opportunity to share musings, and also to reflect on how you feel and understand a topic at a certain time and place.

Two years ago I shared my reflections on te reo Māori and Te Tiriti o Waitangi in the following blog. As I read through it again, I looked for shifts in my thinking, and also did a sense test about the kaupapa in wider society two years on. I thought about the space between rangatiratanga and kāwanatanga – when to speak up and when to just comfortably ‘be’, where critique doesn’t matter, and where deep conviction is the only motivator for an innate desire to honour te reo Māori.

We contribute to reo Māori revitalisation because we care. We speak because it calls us to speak. Our contributions, whether this means improving our pronunciation, gaining fluency, or just the small steps we make towards using te reo Māori every day, will lead to the outcome of honouring Article 2 of Te Tiriti o Waitangi. I remain optimistic! I will do my part and encourage others to do theirs. As you read, please take the time to think about what contributions you might be able to make towards honouring te reo Māori through a Tiriti lens. If you’ve been on a reo learning plateau, take one more step this year. If you’re just beginning, we are cheering you on! Kia ora te reo Māori. – Anahera, February 2020.

As Waitangi day commemorations draw closer, it is an ideal time to reflect on what this day may mean to us. For me, it is an ideal opportunity to bring important issues such as culture, identity, and language to the forefront. In our special edition Waitangi week blog series, we share with you a wide range of perspectives on Treaty related topics. As the first blog in this series, I explore the kaupapa of te reo Māori in our society. So, that begs the question — He taonga rānei te reo Māori? Is te reo Māori indeed a treasure?

At the very heart of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, Article 2, we see mention of the word ‘taonga’. In the reo Māori version of the Treaty, the chiefs were confirmed and guaranteed the exercise of the chieftainship, or tino rangatiratanga over their lands, villages, and ‘taonga katoa’ — all treasured things. The crown also stated in the Treaty that there was to be exclusive and undisturbed possession of these treasures. Te reo Māori has, however, been disturbed drastically. On Waitangi Day this year, we remain in a state of fierce reclamation of our language. We continue to fight for this precious taonga that wasn’t duly protected and confirmed as intended under te Tiriti.

Te reo Māori is part of my absolute being. It flows like blood through my veins, it is in my spirit, it is in my soul. It is like oxygen, it heals, it makes my heart sing. It unites me with my tūpuna and, if I nurture it, it will connect me with my mokopuna. My reo is a huge part of my identity, possibly because I had to learn how to “be Māori”. Connection with te ao Māori was not a part of my upbringing. I started at the beginning and one step at a time have learned to walk and talk in the language and ways of my ancestors. It hasn’t always been easy, and, as I went through the stages of cultural reclamation, I learnt that attitudes towards te reo Māori are hugely diverse. I saw this diversity in my own family, my friends, and in fact everyone I interacted with.

In order to uncover the plethora of reasons why te reo Māori may or may not be embraced widely throughout our society, we need to dig deep into the ways in which the human heart responds to things Māori in general. Negativity towards te ao Māori is often felt, seen, and heard. This negativity is at times fueled by myth, media, intergenerational perspectives, or even perhaps from a space of divine, blissful ignorance. It often starts with the phrase, “I’m not racist, but….”. At the far end of the negativity scale, we see complaints received when a child is taught te reo Māori in the classroom or when parents fume because their children came home singing a Māori song. On a less explicit front, it is also felt when no attempt whatsoever is made to correctly pronounce Māori words. It is felt in the unseen, where monoculture is ever present.

As negativity continues to flourish, so does a cohort of society that is very pro-Māori. We see this in the uptake of those engaged in learning te reo Māori, in those who are committed to correct pronunciation, and those that encourage the use of reo in their everyday lives. There are also those that engage in kaupapa Māori, those that have relationships with Māori, and those that attend events in Māori settings such as marae. To all those that are taking any step, big or small, towards learning and using te reo Māori, thank you!

Of all the perspectives and attitudes towards te reo Māori, of particular interest is the notion of fear when faced with the idea of engaging with te ao Māori. Is this a fear of the unknown, fear of reprimand, fear of offending, or just fear of getting it wrong? When you learn te reo Māori you will and do get it wrong. It is like learning anything new — it is very difficult to master without practice. The only way through is through, and as with all the other learning challenges that life presents, te reo Māori is no exception to the rule. Sometimes fear may be a barrier — that, if we are honest, may actually be a handy excuse for not engaging in things that make us feel a bit uncomfortable.

If we were to exchange the word Māori, let’s say, for “maths”, what feelings does that invoke? Here are a few examples:

• “I don’t teach maths because I’m scared I’ll get it wrong”,
• “We only have 10% of children here who are interested in maths so we don’t really do very much”, or,
• “We do maths, for a week during our Matariki celebrations”.

Without a doubt, maths is an incredibly important life-long skill. How incredible could it also be to place importance on learning te reo Māori to transform not just one’s education, but to transform the very land that we live in. This is not meant to be a criticism for the sake of identifying things I don’t agree with, but it is a fight, it is advocacy, it is a plea — if our children are indeed the future, our conscious choices to do what is right for them and our society — to be free of racism, injustice, and inequity truly matters. And then there is the argument for correct pronunciation.

A focus on correct pronunciation may be painful or annoying to some. It may feel like a criticism, but imagine if everyone believed that 1 + 1 = 3. Some things are simply wrong. Like mispronunciation of te reo Māori. The language, then, just gets put into the old “too hard” basket. Or, is it even that pride may also play a part in our attitudes towards te reo Māori? I am not intending to come across as self-righteous; I am full of fault and my shortcomings are numerous. I am also full of love for, and despair over the current state of te reo Māori in our society. Advocacy for correct pronunciation is imperative, and even more so because the issue is never the issue. Underneath all the layers of mispronunciation is possibly a simple reason. It is this — ‘I actually don’t care’. I do not believe it is too hard. I do not believe it can’t be learnt. It is a conscious choice that each and every one of us makes every time we need to use a Māori word — will I attempt to say this or not? It is not about ability, but a decision made deep in the human heart.

Although discounted by many, I believe te reo Māori is currently in a state of vibrant recovery. Mainstream New Zealanders are turning towards our language now more than ever before in our history. The powerful model we see in Te Tiriti o Waitangi is one way we could actually work together to protect our taonga. I no longer see the Treaty as an object of negativity as I once did in my fiery youth. It now fills me with hope about a future filled with potential to restore te reo Māori as a taonga. Whenever I read the words of Article 2 they speak to me, reminding me of a time when we believed that language was a taonga. For the sake of a better future, let’s start today. A new word, committing to learning better pronunciation, an attitude shift or fulfilling your dream of fluency. Kia kaha rā ki a tātou katoa. He taonga te reo.

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