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(Image: Tina Tiller)
(Image: Tina Tiller)

ĀteaMarch 7, 2023

How Te Matatini made the whole world Māori

(Image: Tina Tiller)
(Image: Tina Tiller)

For four days Te Matatini transformed everyday life into an experience that was unapologetically Māori. The impact of that was life-changing, writes Charlotte Muru-Lanning.

It was beyond the gates of Eden Park, after the four-day national kapa haka competition had come to a close, that the effects of being immersed in the world of Te Matatini really took hold. 

On the evening after the finals we were out for dinner on Karangahape Road. In an indecisive mood, and with a lengthy menu confronting me, I landed upon a blackberry-laced cocktail. One sip in, and my brain made the journey to the fruit-filled garden that wraps itself around the whare my great-grandparents built next to the pā. Among the echoed discord of plates and cutlery, my ears repeatedly deceived me: turning conversations spoken entirely in English at the table next to us into what sounded, to me at least, like humming kōrero. Within the ambient restaurant music, I felt my ears searching for kupu, for taonga pūoro, for a Māori guitar strum. While exiting the restaurant, up a flight of stairs, we heard haka. And then stood still in disbelief as it dawned on us that there was in fact no haka, just the muffled acoustics of the restaurant below. 

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Anna Rawhiti-Connell
— Senior writer

As we looked for a spot to order a taxi at the end of the night, we were sure this time. A harmonious waiata was spilling out of the teensy karaoke bar across the road. Finding a gap in the traffic, we shuffled over for a closer listen, agreeing with confidence as we power walked: “that is definitely waiata”. And yet, as we neared and our ears gained clarity, the song slowly morphed into Rihanna’s ‘Don’t Stop the Music’ (which, as an aside, and after further listening, would actually make an excellent poi tune).

There’s probably plentiful scientific data exploring the cognitive effects of cultural and linguistic immersion. And yet, I don’t even need to search Google Scholar. I have my own qualitative data set right here. 

Te Matatini saw 40 of the best kapa haka groups in the world descend upon Tāmaki Makaurau. And without fail, each day was brimming with T-shirts proudly declaring iwi affiliations, tino rangatiratanga flags fluttering overhead, impressive pōtae, immense taonga, kaimoana galore, coffees ordered in te reo Māori, and kaihaka on stage with chins raised confidently. Almost everything was Māori, and proudly so. 

Te Kapa Haka o Ngāti Whakaue on the final day of Te Matatini. (Image: Charlotte Muru-Lanning)

For some Māori, this kind of everyday immersion is just plain ordinary. Whereas, for others, the inverse is true. In my case, no matter how proud I might feel, being Māori has almost always felt like something that’s expected to politely find space within the claustrophobic cracks of te ao Pākehā: a hushed karakia before dinner, begrudgingly performing kapa haka at high school assemblies to a room full of giggles, or, an apologetic “friendly” reminder to the flat group chat to “please wash the tea towels separately”.

That’s why having everyday life suspended for this celebration of all things Māori, in the suburb in which I’ve lived most of my life, was so profound. I get the impression that I’m not the only one who felt this way. 

Te Matatini was streamed on TVNZ+ 1.8 million times, making it the most watched programme on the channel last week. Over 900,000 New Zealanders tuned into the livestreams or watched on television and 100,000 attended in person – numbers that only underscore the absurdity of the millions of dollars in funding disparity between the competition and the likes of NZSO and the Royal New Zealand Ballet. 

Social media was alight with excited chatter about being able to readily access kai Māori – fry bread, foil-wrapped hāngī, pāua fritters, kina shots, mussel-laden chowder, raw fish, platters of half-shell oysters, steamed pudding – something that’s seldom available to buy in the central city. Melodies, rhythms and instruments rarely heard on our radio waves permeated the stadium and its surrounds. Te reo Māori speakers and learners buzzed over the opportunity to kōrero in the marketplace. The diverse concerns of iwi were quite literally given centre stage. Kaihaka were rightfully transformed into superstars as they stepped onstage. Everyone became kapa haka experts. Commentators fawned over the uniquely Māori fashion on display. And perhaps slightly more questionably, on TikTok, some lusted over the dapper men of Ngāti Whātua Ōrākei. Te ao Māori infiltrated even the most unexpected and curious corners of our culture for the week – and the crowds seemed to happily embrace it all.

This explicit Māori-ness didn’t exist on its own, rather, it was accompanied by inclusivity. The crowds were diverse, translations of performances were available in multiple languages and Lebanese, Cantonese, Tongan and Cook Island food stalls punctuated the kai options. As if in response to the humdrum angst surrounding terms like co-governance, Te Matatini showed exactly how fruitful shared arrangements can be. 

By now, the stalls and stage will have been packed down. The 40 kapa haka groups will have all returned home along with their whānau, friends and tutors. After years of preparations, the physical presence of the competition might have been fleeting, but its impact resonates. Not just in our ears tricking us into hearing waiata as we left restaurants, but in the alternatives it opened up in our everyday lives. Of being able to access our own kai. Of being able to kōrero Māori while we order that food. Of actually hearing waiata Māori when we leave the restaurant at the end of the night. It gave us a glimpse into a Māori future. 

Keep going!
Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

ĀteaMarch 6, 2023

Are we there yet? The slow inclusion of mātauranga Māori in schools

Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

Developing curriculums to include mātauranga Māori is a slow process – but it’s worth the wait, writes Melisa Chase.

Nāku te rourou, nāu te rourou, ka ora ai te iwi – From my contribution, and your contribution, we will flourish.

It’s an interesting time in education with the recent inclusion of mātauranga Māori into the curriculum. I’m fortunate to work at a kura where the complexities of the recent inclusion of mātauranga Māori in the curriculum did not cause the leaders to succumb to their fears. Instead they chose to talk to the right people, make it a priority and problem solve ways to authentically move forward. Of course it hasn’t been roses, sparkles and sunshine but we are committed to transforming mindsets of teachers and students by providing equal space for mātauranga Māori into our teaching practice, in order for it to permeate our classrooms. 

Titiro whakamuri, ka kōkiri whakamua – Look back and reflect so we can move forward

It’s a stark contrast to my childhood school days. Growing up in the 70s and 80s was a different landscape. We enjoyed long hot summers, one cent lollies, 75 cent Big Macs and dial telephones that were stuck on the wall. As teenagers we would sneak away on a Saturday night to Papa’s Place, where there was breakdancing, bopping and lots of hip hop music. Everything was different, even our language: we called each other muppets or eggs, chewing gum was chuddy, being hearty was having the guts, and school shoes were Charlie Browns or Nomads. If you had caramel Nomads, you were a flash fulla. I had black Charlie Browns because they were cheaper, but I always dreamed of those (very ugly) Nomads. Primary and intermediate schools’ focus was predominantly on reading, writing, arithmetic, arts and sports. High schools offered more subjects, and although the curriculum and school responsibilities were less demanding than today, they neglected to offer a balanced view of New Zealand history, thus erasing Māori knowledge and replacing it with homogeneity to the majority and invisibility to the minority. 

If we go back a further 130 years to 1840, I know my tupuna (ancestors) agreed to an interdependent country that would include our history, but this is not what I was offered when attending school. I imagine they expected I would also learn about our migration story that began centuries before our arrival to Aotearoa in the 1200s. I’m sure they wanted me to know that I come from a whakapapa of the best navigators in history because of the knowledge and state-of-the-art technology required to traverse the largest ocean on the planet for three weeks in one sail, discovering islands along the way. This was during a time the rest of the world believed if they sailed too far, they would fall into an abyss. My tupuna would have anticipated that my learning would include the difficulties they had acclimatising to an untouched island and how they settled in with the land. Obviously I would be able to contribute to the lesson, sharing where my waka Te Arawa and Tainui landed, and how my iwi adapted to the whenua and puna wai ariki (sacred waters) of Taupō-nui-a-Tia and Karapiro. I’m sure my classmates would have been fascinated with how far back my knowledge and connection to the land goes, exceeding theirs by hundreds of years.   

Maintaining our own language, spiritual and medicinal knowledge would’ve been areas that my tupuna naturally considered non-negotiable. Learning what plants to use for health issues, which Atua provides the kai, where to find beneficial kai sources and where to avoid. I should have learned about why we read the environment and stars to harvest, cultivate and replenish the earthly resources. And let’s not forget the sacredness of spiritual intelligence, procreation, parenting, kaumatua and the value of my ikura (menstruation). What about the many brutal inter-tribal wars that occurred all around the whenua (land) because I am a mokopuna (descendant) of warriors? But the cream of the crop of important information would have been our version of the arrival of Abel Tasman in 1642 and then Cook in 1769. I mean, those arrivals would have been the laughter of the island, not just because of the ridiculously clunky, slow boats they sailed in, but also the low intelligence of these peculiar, smelly people. 

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Calum Henderson
— Production editor

So, yes, it’s about time mātauranga Māori was included into the curriculum, because our contribution to this land is even more vast than what has been mentioned above. Te Tiriti was signed as a declaration of partnership, but instead we have built separate communities who are blissfully ignorant of the land we call home where newer New Zealanders occupy more space than Māori. Māori are caught between the dichotomy of being proud to be Māori and the shame of being Māori, so therefore it is safer for me to be less brown and more white. In Becoming Pākehā, John Bluck wrote “Māori have no choice about being bicultural. They have to operate in what is still a dominantly Pākehā world. Pākehā don’t have to. They can still live here as though Māori don’t exist.”

Tūwhitia te hopo, mairangitia te angitū – Eliminate the negative, accentuate the positive. 

It’s been two years since I was invited by management to engage in conversation around MOE’s new (but vague) mātauranga Māori and mana ōrite (equal status for Māori knowledge) initiative. I won’t lie, I was just as confused as my colleagues and I am the te reo Māori teacher. One of my roles as an in-school Kāhui Ako leader is to deliver mātauranga Māori professional learning to my kura. To set the scene further for you, Māori are a minority, both students and teachers. Are you reading between the lines? 

Confronting my own lack of knowledge of Māori history and deep seated insecurities around my Māori-ness and indigeneity caused me to pause. The erasure of Māori knowledge from the landscape of mainstream New Zealand was delivered through colonisation and fortified in every home. My parents, brothers and I as well as most of our offspring, are products of this. 

In a short space of time, myself and colleague Ruth Richardson delivered the first of many planned Mātauranga Māori professional learning sessions to our staff of 85. To be clear, I am not advocating for the erasure or replacement of NZ History, but I am advocating for a wave of change by the inclusion of indigenous stories. I am insisting they sit side by side. I am not saying, “You are wrong.” I am saying, “I am right too.”

We ran sessions over three weeks and we used Matariki to frame the learning: Waitī and Waitā. Teaching traditional weaving, Matariki & Rehua – looking at the healing powers of pepeha and whakawhanaungatanga, ururangi and waipunarangi. Considering the implementation of te reo Māori in science, tupuanuku and tupuarangi –seeing the world through Māori eyes, an academic approach. And finally, hiwa-i-te-rangi – looking at how mātauranga Māori has evolved over time.

That’s a lot right? So, how did we go? 

Everett Rogers’ Diffusion of Innovations Theory posits that when new innovations or behaviour are introduced to a community, everyone falls into five different adopter groups. The percentages are gathered according to the time it takes to adopt new innovations or behaviour. The groups are as follows:  2.5% are the innovators (the movers and shakers), 13.5% will be the early adopters (the enthusiastic go-getters), 34% are the early majority adopters (the FOMO), 34% the late adopters (If I have to!) and the 16% laggers (they are not buying what you are selling!). These percentages create an ‘S curve’ and within the curve are “chasms” which are the gaps between each group representing the difficulties of any group in accepting change. 

As a reflective practitioner, I would say our percentages do reflect the Diffusion of Innovation Theory, and I would also agree with Simon Sinek when he suggested that the innovation be aimed toward the early adopters as they will create the movement. The late adopters will come along because they have to, and as for the laggers, they will always exist. Let’s be straight up here, implementing Mātauranga Māori into mainstream schools is messy and uncomfortable, and when change is required, resistance and fear is guaranteed. 

Regardless of where people are grouped or what phase we are in, I am not discouraged by these metrics because this has always been about honouring treaty partnerships, and if there is one thing Māori know, since the signing of He Whakaputanga (Declaration of Independence) in 1835, we have always been willing and patient participants at the table. 

This article was written as part of the Education Perfect Fellowship, which supports teachers doing post-graduate studies to investigate critical issues in education. 

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