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The University of Otago’s proposed new ingoa Māori and logo (Image: Supplied)
The University of Otago’s proposed new ingoa Māori and logo (Image: Supplied)

ĀteaMarch 15, 2023

The process to rebrand our oldest university

The University of Otago’s proposed new ingoa Māori and logo (Image: Supplied)
The University of Otago’s proposed new ingoa Māori and logo (Image: Supplied)

In collaboration with mana whenua, New Zealand’s oldest university – established 1869 – is refreshing its visual identification in a bold and exciting way. 

Most New Zealand universities have used the Māori name “Te Whare Wānanga o…” at some point. In modern te reo Māori “whare wānanga” often specifically denotes a university. For example; Te Whare Wānanga o Waitaha (Canterbury) and Te Whare Wānanga o Waikato. Although these names accurately represent the universities as learning institutions, they partly omit the metaphorical beauty of te reo Māori titles. Auckland University and Victoria University recently both got less literal and more emblematic ingoa Māori: Waipapa Taumata Rau and Te Herenga Waka, respectively. Te Herenga Waka means the mooring place of many waka, which became official during the institution’s 2019/2020 rebranding. Waipapa Taumata Rau was gifted by Ngāti Whātua ki Ōrākei in 2021. It references local waterways (Waipapa) and the achievement and excellence (Taumata) of many (Rau). 

As of March the 15th, 2023, The University of Otago, Te Whare Wānanga o Otāgo, is kicking off a consultation to replace its generic “Te Whare Wānanga” name with a new symbolic Māori one. The word Otago is actually a two-century-old mispronunciation of Ōtākou, so it makes sense that the university’s proposed new ingoa Māori is “Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka”, a name that nods to the academic excellence of the university, and its place as a kainga for the mana whenua and manuhiri who study and teach there every year. Otago is also consulting to adopt a Māori tohu, meaning that its logo with the old-school blue-gold shield featuring the Latin phrase “sapere aude” (dare to know) will be used mainly for ceremonial purposes.

The proposed new ikoa Māori and new logo of the University of Otago (Image: Supplied)

Tuakiritaka is what Otago University is calling this rebrand, a reference to identity through culture and language. Recently appointed vice-chancellor, Professor David Murdoch, wants to progress Te Tiriti-led policy tangibly – like partnership with mana whenua. One key policy is an aspirational, inclusive visual identity. Edward Ellison (Kāi Tāhu, Ngāti Mutunga), the upoko of Te Rūnaka o Ōtākou, says the rebranding resets Otago University’s ahua “in relation to place, culture, Treaty and takata whenua.” Dunedin’s mana whenua welcome steps forward like tuakiritaka, which they co-designed. A mana whenua steering group including experts in te reo Māori, whakapapa, tikaka and pūrākau constructively engaged in the rebranding process.

Paulette Tāmati-Elliffe (Kāi Tāhu, Te Atiawa) is an expert on the Kāi Tāhu dialect, and was a vital member of the mana whenua co-design team that selected the name Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka. Ōtākou refers to the eastern awa (channel) that leads from the open seas, into the harbour. Across history, the Ōtākou awa brought waka and ships into what is now Dunedin. Eventually, Pākehā whalers and settlers attached the name primarily to the whenua instead of the awa and distorted the name Ōtākou to Otago. 

Paulette Tamati-Elliffe (Image:John Ross, Madison Henry Ryan)

“Whakaihu” means two things to Tāmati-Elliffe. Literally, it can refer to a headland, that being the striking point that waves of seafarers were drawn to. Metaphorically, whakaihu can mean the “champion” or the first to do something. It references Otago University as the motu’s first university and its recognised international standard of academic excellence. Yet it also references the students as champions of their whānau and communities. Tāmati-Elliffe mentiones that many Māori students are the first in their whānau to graduate from university. These first-generation Māori graduates break ground that their future mokopuna can eventually build upon. 

In this context, waka refers not only to the boats that first brought takata Māori to these motu but also the western ships, planes, cars and carriages that have since brought manuhiri to the area. “There is a place for everyone within that name,” says Tāmati-Elliffe, since it covers all the various “waka” arrivals. 

Tāmati-Elliffe is thankful that with the new Māori name, Kāi Tāhu gets to “be part of something where our worldview is being included.” 

Edward Ellison outside Wharenui Tamatea Ōtākou Marae (Image: Erin Isaacs)

The local dialect replaces g and ng with k, as in Ōtākou not Ōtago, wānaka not wānanga and tikaka not tikanga. The name Otago is meaningless to mana whenua, so restoring the name Ōtākou works towards reclaiming the integrity of the original Kāi Tāhu dialect, Tāmati-Elliffe affirms. She believes that “giving consideration to a Māori name that isn’t just a translation, and has layers of connection to our people,” will enable Otago University to become a better Treaty partner. 

Tuakiritaka is currently going out for consultation among the university’s community. The consultation process will continue until mid-April and is an opportunity to inform the university council on how to proceed with the rebrand. The consultation plan has already started among some critical stakeholders like mana whenua rūnaka, student associations and the university council. Otago is seeking further feedback from current students and staff (both academic and professional) alongside their vast alumni network. The consultation will be held in person and online. 

Professor Tony Ballantyne (Image: Erin Isaacs)

Tuakiritaka was enabled by a rōpū of mana whenua teaching Otago University about local history and whakapapa. Deputy vice-chancellor Tony Ballantyne doesn’t mince his words when talking about that history. He says that colonisation marginalised mana whenua and created the inequalities of today. But across history, notes Ballantyne, there had been historical moments of Māori-Pākehā reciprocal relationship building in the rohe. Co-designing tuakiritaka is the latest constructive chapter in that relationship. Getting a new metaphorical ikoa Māori brings with it “a real responsibility to deliver” for Māori at the university, says Ballantyne.

The whakatauki “Kia whakatōmuri te haere whakamua” – “walking backwards into the future with eyes fixed on the past”, comes to mind when talking about the rebranding process thus far. Tuakiritaka recognises the precariousness of the past while enabling collaboration with mana whenua to enhance the future. In that way, Murdoch acknowledges that the new branding reflects history better than the old version ever could. 

Professor David Murdoch and Edward Ellison (Image: Erin Isaacs)

The university is taking a generational strategic planning approach with its longterm “Vision 2040” scheme leading up to the 200th anniversary of the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, our nation’s founding document. Tuakiritaka is one part of Vision 2040. Redefining cultural identity necessitates focusing on the “key relationships that shape the institution”, says Ballantyne, referring to the relationship with mana whenua. He notes that tuakiritaka “for the first time clearly articulates the importance of those relationships in a visible way.” A generational view is required to redefine Otago University’s culture from solely a Scottish-New Zealand institution to one that is genuinely inclusive of te ao Māori. 

Tāmati-Elliffe anticipates that because there is a story behind the new name, it will inspire a cultural shift towards greater awareness of te ao Māori at the university. She believes that greater “awareness and understanding that there is more than one worldview” will enable mātauraka and Western knowledge systems to collaborate and support one another better.

Sunrise over Ōtākou Harbour (Image: John Ross, Madison Henry Ryan)

This rebranding has been a collaboration since it was first initiated four years ago. Murdoch says that this has been “one of the best projects that I’ve been involved in” during his two decades at Otago University. The mana whenua/university relationship has been continuously and positively growing since 2000 when formal relations between the two were re-established, says Ellison. He calls tuakiritaka a “turning point” for this relationship, a sign of genuine partnership going forward. Throughout the process, the university has been careful to act in a way that follows tikaka, and Ellison says this has helped to strengthen those relationships with mana whenua.

Tuakiritaka is just one part of Otago University’s wider plan to create a safer space for takata whenua by 2040. The university has been staunch in their aim to create a more inclusive environment, and are making “very serious attempts to do that”, investing in areas to reduce institutional barriers to Māori advancement. Murdoch is excited that tuakiritaka will cause a fundamental shift in direction for an 150+ year-old institution. Creating an inclusive institution for takata whenua won’t happen overnight, but the rebranding is an “opportunity for an old institution to take a good step into the future,” says Murdoch. Ellison calls the rebranding a reawakening of respect for takata whenua, making it easier to do “what should have been done since the Treaty.”

Mana whenua and Otago University leadership hope that the wider community shares their sentiments, and that from the years of mahi it’s taken to get to this point, Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka is born. 

Keep going!
Hūhana Lyndon and flooding in Whakapara during Cyclone Gabrielle (Photos: Nadine Anne Hura)
Hūhana Lyndon and flooding in Whakapara during Cyclone Gabrielle (Photos: Nadine Anne Hura)

ĀteaMarch 10, 2023

On the ground in Whangārei: ‘It doesn’t matter about tribal boundaries. It’s all about the aroha and manaaki’

Hūhana Lyndon and flooding in Whakapara during Cyclone Gabrielle (Photos: Nadine Anne Hura)
Hūhana Lyndon and flooding in Whakapara during Cyclone Gabrielle (Photos: Nadine Anne Hura)

When Cyclone Gabrielle hit, the marae and haukāinga of Ngāti Wai jumped into action, offering safe haven to anyone who needed it. It was a similar story in many regions – so why aren’t Māori providers resourced in times of crisis?

Hūhana Lyndon (Ngāti Wai, Ngāti Hine, Te Waiariki, Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi nui tōnu) is the Raukura CEO of Te Poari o Ngāti Wai, whose tribal rohe stretches from the Bay of Islands, through Whāngarei, Mahurangi and out to Aotea (Great Barrier). With one foot in the marae and one foot in the Green Party, Hūhana is able to see and describe up close the ways in which systemic inequity is playing out in the climate crisis.

As told to Nadine Anne Hura. This article is the third in a series of short features profiling New Zealanders who are often overlooked in news coverage.

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Before the cyclone hit, we knew which papakāinga wanted to open and provide a space for those who might need to evacuate. We learnt a lot through Covid about how to work together as a hapū, and we knew that if we could just front-load our marae with resources, whether a dollar in their bank account or a load of shopping, they would be prepared. We know which areas are prone to flooding and where the slips are likely to happen, so we mobilised around that knowledge. 

Marae aren’t considered “official” civil defence hubs, so there isn’t any government funding. That was a constraint and a challenge for us. Official agencies like health and social services didn’t come in until after the storm, but marae and haukāinga were on the ground from the start.

It’s a special tribute to marae, you know, that in times of crisis, we open our doors. People are at the heart of everything we do. The genealogical connections between us are our strength. It doesn’t matter about tribal boundaries. It’s all about the aroha and manaaki.

Hūhana Lyndon: ‘It’s a special tribute to marae that in a crisis we open our doors’ (Photo: Nadine Anne Hura)

Each of our kāinga move in different ways. Some marae were delivering hot meals to our kaumātua who wanted to stay home. Others were taking in families who had to evacuate. Marae that had generators were a lifeline to many. They were humming and it was beautiful to see. That’s something we really learned, about the power of self-sufficiency.

Some marae are well connected with civil defence (CDEM) and were working together. Not all CDEM co-ordinators have strong connections into Māori communities, but we can help fill in the gaps. CDEM’s role is often one of conduit, sharing knowledge and information. When it works well it can be a well-oiled machine. 

In Whangārei city, it was a different story. The CBD was evacuated, including the homeless shelter. In Covid times, our homeless were taken care of. These are whānau who live in the shadows, on the fringes, in the bushes and under bridges. How were they meant to cope in a cyclone with gale-force winds and when the bridge they sleep under floods?

Our urban marae, Whangārei Terenga Parāoa, were there. We had families who’d evacuated, elders who were lonely, kaimahi from the homeless shelter and other agencies from time to time, we even had freedom campers parked up next to the marae for security. People in the community were driving down dropping off kai, we had local nurses coming in to assist. It was a safe haven for everyone – and yet it was branded as a homeless shelter.

Hūhana Lyndon with Josephine Edwards and Ngāhuia Notton, Whakapara Marae (Photo: Nadine Anne Hura)

There was even a note on the civil defence Facebook page sending homeless people to the marae, whereas Kensington Stadium was presented as the official civil defence hub.

I ended up going up to Kensington Stadium to have a look. I’d heard some people had been turned away so I went to ask them what the story was. They had their camper beds set up, it was all kitted out, but there had only been about three whānau come through. I asked them why they wouldn’t send some of their resources down to the marae. I said we needed blankets and dry clothes and they said we should send our whānau up to them. That upset me. Terenga Parāoa was full and performing the same role as civil defence and yet it was only considered a “community response”. 

I really want to acknowledge our kaimahi Māori within councils and inside the government. They are really good, trying to understand what was happening in our kāinga and  translating the issues back into the machinery. They are an important link and need to be strengthened. But really, hapū and marae need to be brought into the conversation much earlier, so that we can be partners. We shouldn’t have resources sitting in a stadium with few people  when others are in need and going without.

This situation is really hard to take because the only reason we’re in this situation is because of acts and omissions of the Crown. Our rivers have been altered, our wetlands drained for farms, our food basket contaminated with silt and tiko, we’re surrounded by developments that aren’t ours. We’re on remnant pieces of land prone to flooding because the government didn’t uphold its Te Tiriti obligations.

Flooding in Whakapara during cyclone Gabrielle (Photo: Nadine Anne Hura)

The tribes of Whangārei own only 4% of the land. Whangārei city is built on whenua raupatu (stolen land). When you’ve only got a little, you’re living on the edge of things and it’s very difficult to build an economic base to be self-sufficient and to thrive.

We might have to retreat, but retreat where? You can’t just rate us off the whenua. You can’t red zone us because there’s nowhere to go. This is an equity issue. A lot of whānau have lost everything but they don’t have insurance, so the conversation about insurance is irrelevant to them. It’s the same with our homeless whānau. If you didn’t have a home to lose, then what is there for the government to compensate? The government is prepared to compensate West Canterbury Finance over a billion dollars, but how do you compensate a landless people? What we are asking for as ngā hapū me ngā iwi o Te Tai Tokerau is simply fair and equitable access to the resources to support our kāinga and marae to prepare and respond in times of crisis.

This is Public Interest Journalism funded through NZ On Air.