Marama Lyall Barraball receives her vaccine from Dr Maia Melbourne-Wilcox (Photo: Supplied)
Marama Lyall Barraball receives her vaccine from Dr Maia Melbourne-Wilcox (Photo: Supplied)

ĀteaAugust 10, 2021

Protecting the pā: Vaccinating against Covid-19 on the marae

Marama Lyall Barraball receives her vaccine from Dr Maia Melbourne-Wilcox (Photo: Supplied)
Marama Lyall Barraball receives her vaccine from Dr Maia Melbourne-Wilcox (Photo: Supplied)

In some rural areas of Canterbury, mana whenua working alongside the University of Otago have created safe spaces for Māori to get vaccinated against Covid-19 on their own marae.

When you arrive at the Tuahiwi Marae, north of Christchurch, old-school pop hits greet visitors at the door. The sounds of laughter from the wharekai follow suit. It’s a very different vibe from the clinical white rooms of the traditional vaccination clinics dotted around the country. 

Groups of whānau and friends walk through the open doors, all there to get vaccinated and many for their second dose. Familiar faces greet them at the door, like that of Amber Clarke (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāi Tūāhuriri), mana whenua and one of the organisers of the marae clinics, who shares jokes and hugs with almost everyone who walks in.

She’s taken the role of kaimanaaki, making sure everyone coming through the clinics feels welcome and liaising between Ngāi Tahu. 

“It’s really just to make sure that all of our manuhiri and whānau are well looked after, that they have kai, that they have a hot drink, that they’re comfortable,” Clarke says.

This particular clinic is the fourth the MIHI (Māori/Indigenous Health Institute) team, University of Otago, Christchurch, have undertaken at various marae around Christchurch. It’s the second at Tuahiwi Marae, and most people coming through from the small town nestled between Kaiapoi and Rangiora are getting their second dose.

Tuahiwi Marae, where hundreds have now received their Covid-19 vaccines (Photo: Alice Webb-Liddall)

Dr Cameron Lacey (Te Atiawa), has been in charge of liaising with the Canterbury DHB throughout the process in the set-up of the marae clinics. He says MIHI was onboard right from the start, after being approached by local iwi wanting to protect their communities.

“The initiative for this came from mana whenua representatives who said ‘we want to be a part of supporting our communities to get the vaccine’.” he says.

Now, the team, which comprises MIHI team members as well as Māori nurses and administrators from the CDHB, have administered over 2,000 vaccines to Māori across the wider Christchurch area, and with more clinics in the pipeline, that number is set to multiply.

Lacey thinks these results can be put down to the Māori community-focused response. The marae clinics encapsulate a kaupapa Māori approach: Māori health in Māori hands, so they envelop Māori values within the service delivery. 

“The mainstream approach is much more like a conveyor belt, so you sit there in a chair by yourself for 20 minutes to wait and they move you through quickly. However, as you can see in our clinics, whanaungatanga, manaakitanga and kaitiakitanga are embedded in how the service is delivered,” says Lacey. 

Data from the Ministry of Health and Stats NZ showed Māori Covid-19 vaccination rates were almost half that of Pākehā and Asian populations as of last month. A 2019 report by the Health Quality and Safety Commission explains that “Māori face greater barriers to accessing healthcare, are less likely to receive the best-quality healthcare and are more likely to have a poor experience of care”, which all contribute to lower trust in the healthcare system.

Getting the correct information about the vaccine to the communities in rural parts of the country is important, and Clarke says the way that information is told makes all the difference.

“It’s the beauty of our people being in multiple spaces, the fact that we have long-term relationships across the board so that we could define what a Māori response looks like.”

Amber Clarke has been pivotal in making the clinics as safe as possible for those coming through (Photo: Alice Webb-Liddall)

For Dr Maira Patu (Ngāi Tahu, Te Arawa), GP and clinical senior lecturer at MIHI, University of Otago, Christchurch, and the clinical lead at these marae vaccination centres, a Māori response is important to close the gaps in healthcare for tangata whenua. 

“One thing that’s been lovely about vaccinating on the marae is we’ve had a number of people tell us that they wouldn’t have got the vaccination otherwise because they don’t have a good relationship with current healthcare services,” she says.

By bringing the healthcare to a space where Māori feel comfortable, and having a full Māori staff made up of Māori doctors, Māori nurses, Māori psychologists, and Māori administration staff, there’s an extra level of trust between the patients, the administrative team and vaccinators.

“This health system has failed Māori for decades so we need to not only provide a service, but regain Māori trust in the health system.”

Importantly, that trust is not only beneficial for the patients, but also for the doctors and nurses on staff. One of the nurses who had been vaccinating at the marae told Patu she felt more comfortable doing her work on the marae than she ever had in a hospital.

“One of my staff said yesterday that it’s the first time in her very long career that she’s felt like she never had to justify herself… It’s really nice, there’s no questioning of who we are and our qualifications, it’s just a really safe space where we get to feel excellent.”

Tuahiwi Marae (Photo: Alice Webb-Liddall)

‘Protect the Pā’ was a slogan created by Dame Aroha Reiriti-Crofts, kaumatua of Tuahiwi Marae, when she agreed to host the very first of the MIHI Māori Mobile vaccine clinics in Christchurch. It was a concept that recognised the need for Māori to protect Māori from Covid-19 and has now underpinned the kaupapa of the clinics.  

“Discussing the devastating impacts of past pandemics on Ngāi Tahu, she paused and said ‘we must protect our pā, because if we don’t, who will?’,” says MIHI Professor Suzanne Pitama (Ngāti Kahungunu).  

“Her comment stuck with us all. It reminded us of when Māori health was not in Māori hands, and the implications of this. We are grateful that the partnership between our team, Canterbury DHB and Ngāi Tahu is assisting us support mana whenua aspirations.”  

Once patients have filled in their vaccination forms with the administration team at Tuahiwi Marae, they’re taken through to the vaccination stations in the wharenui where they wait for one of Patu’s team to call on them. They’re offered time to ask any questions about the vaccine and talk to the nurses and doctors there. 

Patients have to wait 20 minutes after they’re vaccinated, and so they’re sent back into the wharekai to have a cup of tea and a bite to eat, a contrast to other vaccine clinics, where patients wait in a quiet room on chairs placed one metre apart until they’re told they can leave.

Often, the groups at Tuahiwi Marae end up staying far longer than the 20-minute mark, using the opportunity to catch up with friends who’ve also come in for their vaccinations, says Lacey. 

“Because it’s an environment where they feel comfortable, people stay so they can support other whānau and their community.”

Dr Suzanne Pitama, Dr Cameron Lacey and Dr Maira Patu stand in front of Maahunui II, the wharenui at Tuahiwi Marae (Photo: Alice Webb-Liddall)

For the communities involved, the clinics aren’t just about getting the vaccinations – they’re also a chance to slow down, talk with friends and be on the marae. That’s why Clarke says the kai is a necessary expense.

“It’s really important to us that there is kai for the whole day. I can’t mihi to our kairingawera enough, because that is significant for us, and that comes with a smile, that comes with a kōrero.” 

The success of the approach for the community and whānau is apparent in the laughter that permeates through the hallways. It’s more than just a medical clinic. For these communities, these days are about coming together to protect each other. For Māori, the vaccination is about more than just protecting oneself, it’s about protecting the whole pā.

The opportunity to provide a potentially life-saving service to their communities is crucial for the MIHI team and Ngāi Tahu. In future, such models of co-design and partnership, like here at Tuahiwi Marae, might be the future of Māori health services with the new Māori Health Authority. Until then, this Māori-focused approach to vaccine clinics by MIHI and Ngāi Tahu will continue until December.

Keep going!
Rosette Hailes-Paku of Karaoke Superstars models some of her designs (Image: SuppliedBianca Cross)
Rosette Hailes-Paku of Karaoke Superstars models some of her designs (Image: SuppliedBianca Cross)

ĀteaAugust 6, 2021

The young Māori designer overcoming whakamā with fluoro

Rosette Hailes-Paku of Karaoke Superstars models some of her designs (Image: SuppliedBianca Cross)
Rosette Hailes-Paku of Karaoke Superstars models some of her designs (Image: SuppliedBianca Cross)

Small Ōtepoti label Karaoke Superstars has gained a cult following on social media for its distinct motocross-meets-goth hoodies and t-shirts. Charlotte Muru-Lanning talks to Rosette Hailes-Paku, the designer behind the brand.

Dressing up in her mum’s ever-growing collection of vintage dresses as a child sparked Rosette Hailes-Paku’s fascination with fashion. 

Now 23, Hailes-Paku helms Karaoke Superstars – a small, slow fashion brand based in Ōtepoti/Dunedin. Each one-off piece, with its chaotic prints and visible stitching, is designed, sewn and printed by Hailes-Paku, usually while she listens to 80s music. Her collections are heavy on hoodies and oversized t-shirts – a mirror of her own everyday style.

After finishing her honours in fashion design at Otago Polytechnic in 2019, Hailes-Paku picked up a retail assistant job at Glassons to fill the gap before her planned move to New York City. But as it was for many, those overseas plans were foiled by the pandemic. 

“That kind of got me down,” she says. So she handed in her resignation and began setting up her own label, which she now sells through her own website and various brick-and-mortar stores.

When it came to naming her brand, she took inspiration from her youngest sister, who while at primary school entered a series of singing competitions named Karaoke Superstar. The medals she won still hang in the bathroom of her parents’ home.

Now Dunedin based, Hailes-Paku grew up in Motueka, just outside Nelson. Through her dad, she has whakapapa to Ngāti Kahungunu and Ngāi Tuhoe. That side of her whānau live all around the North Island. 

Until recently, the Cook Strait that separates the South Island, where Hailes-Paku has spent almost all of her life, and the North Island of her dad’s whānau represented a very real feeling of disconnection with her Māori whakapapa. 

“When I try to learn more I find it really hard because I get so embarrassed that I don’t really know anything.” But, she adds, “My family isn’t judging me because of that, it’s myself making me feel like that.” 

Despite the weight of that feeling of whakamā, she’s been finding ways back in through reading and connecting with the ever-growing community of young Māori creatives on social media. Most significantly, over the summer she travelled to visit her whānau in Wairoa, who she didn’t grow up around but who have embraced her. “It’s been really nice to be able to reconnect and actually learn more about where I’m from,” she says. 

Lately, she’s started researching korowai and raranga and is hopeful she’ll find ways to incorporate traditional Māori design into her own work. But she says for now, “I’m just so aware of how little I know, and I don’t want to do anything wrong.

“That’s going to be a process that I’m going to have to slowly work away at to feel comfortable.”

In contrast to the eye-catching shard-like graphics and cutting fluorescent colours of her output, Hailes-Paku is softly spoken and thoughtful. Most times we chat on the phone, Hailes-Paku is sewing. One time she’s furiously putting together a last-minute organza dress complete with a corset top, for an event later that night.

There’s a definite Dunedin inflection to the clothing Hailes-Paku creates. “My mum’s family is from Dunedin so I did actually spend a lot of time here when I was a child – it’s kind of like a second home to me.” The city is replete with gothic and punk cultural influences that are translated into the prints and occasional leather and metalwork, romantic sleeves and ruffles Hailes-Paku incorporates. 

The motocross aesthetic Hailes-Paku and her three siblings grew up with runs through her pieces too. Proportions are reminiscent of those blocky styles worn by riders. Clashing, splatter-like dyed textiles call to mind sprays of mud. In fact it was only when her brother pointed out the similarities that Hailes-Paku started to see the parallels.

(Images: Supplied/Instagram)

Success within the global fashion industry is notoriously nepotistic, and it’s not much different in Aotearoa. It’s a competitive industry that can be hard to crack if you don’t come from a particular brand of privilege; it helps to be wealthy and it certainly helps to have close connections in the industry. That means capital to set up your brand. It means friends and family who can afford to support you. A foot in the door is always a lot easier when your friend has the keys. As a result, it’s small wonder there’s so little diversity within the industry.

Hailes-Paku grew up comfortably, but she didn’t have the affluent background that’s common among those who make it in the fashion world. While this can make breaking into the industry more difficult, it’s also encouraged Hailes-Paku towards a certain type of creativity that she uses to her advantage. She can’t afford expensive fabrics so she reuses scraps of fabric or reworks older garments, “which is more sustainable, more fun, more interesting”. And she makes everything herself.

When Chloe Hill, contributing fashion editor at Viva magazine, messaged out of the blue earlier this year to ask Hailes-Paku about featuring a few Karaoke Superstars pieces in the magazine, she initially thought it was some kind of scam. 

As the June issue of the magazine hit the shelves of supermarkets and dairies, it created a flurry of interest in her already in-demand pieces. Hailes couldn’t even afford a copy of the magazine, so her ex-lecturer Simon Swale bought it for her. 

https://www.instagram.com/p/CPznldpJZPR/

“It’s so hard trying to get enough money,” she says. “Every time someone buys something I’m like, ‘yus, I can buy dinner’ or ‘I can buy some more fabric to make something else’.

Each piece represents near impossible to measure time and labour for Hailes-Paku; years of study, inspiration, designing, sourcing, bleaching, reverse-dying, spray-painting, screen-printing, cutting and sewing. 

“I feel like a lot of people don’t know the amount of work that goes into clothing, especially because there’s so many fast fashion brands these days,” she says.

Because of fickle trend cycles and the pervasiveness of fast fashion, Hailes-Paku believes there’s a fixation on the end product on the rack, instead of everything that went into making it. “People can buy things so cheaply, because they’re being made overseas by people who are getting paid like nothing,” she says.

“That really devalues clothing and it’s really annoying as a designer doing everything myself.”

She’d love to see more fashion scholarships and funding for Māori and Pasifika students. “It’s really difficult to get any funding for fashion-design-related projects in New Zealand,” she says. “Most creative funding platforms will fund everything but fashion.” As she grows her own brand, she’d like to offer opportunities to emerging Māori designers through scholarships or internships. 

Inspiring teachers and mentors have propelled her through the world of fashion – from her “amazing” textiles teacher at her small Catholic high school to Margo Barton, head of fashion at polytech, who has been “so supportive”. It was Barton who encouraged Hailes-Paku to enter the influential ID emerging designers show in 2019. 

“She made me sit down one day until about nine o’clock because it was the night before the applications closed.” Hailes-Paku didn’t want to enter, mainly because she didn’t think she had a chance. “I was kind of just applying to get her off my back.” To Hailes-Paku’s surprise, she ended up winning the “most commercial collection” award.

The uncertainty of the future can be intimidating for Hailes-Paku. But she’s sure about  one thing – she’ll always make clothes.

“When I think about what I’m going to make in the future, the skills I’m going to learn over the years – it just makes me really excited.”