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Daytona Taputu aka Broxh_.
Daytona Taputu aka Broxh_. (Source: Red Bull)

ĀteaJuly 17, 2024

The most popular Māori on TikTok

Daytona Taputu aka Broxh_.
Daytona Taputu aka Broxh_. (Source: Red Bull)

He hosted then prime minister Jacinda Ardern on a stream and is one of New Zealand’s most popular TikTok accounts. Liam Rātana talks to Daytona Taputu about making viral fame work for him.

It’s been four years since Daytona Taputu, aka Broxh_, shot to internet stardom. The humble whakairo artist went viral almost overnight after people began gifting and purchasing paid subscriptions to his Twitch channel, despite it being free to watch. Taputu attempted to return the money to those subscribing, which just motivated even more people to subscribe and gift. Life hasn’t been the same since.

Now 32 years old, Taputu was trained at The National Wood Carving School at Te Puia in Rotorua before beginning work as a carver in 2020 at Tamaki Māori Village (now known as Te Pā Tū). Soon after, the pandemic struck. He was told the business could no longer pay him, so Taputu decided to become a freelance carver, taking on commissions from friends and whānau.

Although he had some early success with commissions, Taputu says the money was inconsistent and there were several mahi aroha commissions, or jobs where whānau would pay with something like a kamokamo. “Those are the worst ones, because they take the longest and pay nothing,” laughs Taputu.

After seeing his cousin stream on Twitch, Taputu says he was inspired to give it a go. In April 2020, he was featured on Twitch Australia and New Zealand’s Creative Showcase. It was during one of his streams on this showcase that he caught the world’s attention.

Jacinda Ardern tries carving with Daytona Taputu (Broxh_).
Jacinda Ardern tries carving with Daytona Taputu (Broxh_). (Source: Twitch)

Although not necessary to watch his stream, a viewer gifted a subscription to Taputu’s channel for a small cost. Taputu was surprised by the kind gesture, and asked to return the money live on the stream. This only encouraged more subscriptions from those watching. Taputu insisted people hold on to their money and continue to watch him for free but it was all in vain as the internet had already fallen in love with him. A clip of Taputu’s reaction started circulating on the internet and before he knew it, there were dozens of people subscribing to his channel. In one month, Taputu had amassed 500,000 followers on the platform. “It was quite overwhelming to be honest. When I first started, I stopped one of my streams after five people started watching me because I was too shy,” Taputu says.

Six months later, then prime minister Jacinda Ardern appeared on one of Taputu’s streams as part of her election campaign. By this point, Taputu had thousands of monthly viewers, hundreds of paying subscribers, relationships with international streamers, and brands such as Red Bull had begun showing an interest in what he was doing. At his peak, Taputu had 29,000 viewers on a single livestream, over 1,000 subscribers, and was widely considered the country’s top Twitch streamer. While many would have tried to milk the opportunity for all they could, Taputu stayed humble and forever appreciative of the support he was receiving. Unlike many other streamers and vloggers that rise to stardom, Taputu has kept his relaxed and wholesome demeanour, which forms a major part of his appeal.

Like all things on the internet, virality can be incredibly short-lived. “I always knew those numbers would come down,” says Taputu. Four years on from stumbling upon internet stardom, the recently married father of two says he has managed to turn his accidental fame into a regular income, supplemented by his whakairo commissions. After three years of streaming for the love of it, Taputu says his Nan finally sat him down last year and convinced him to start embracing people’s generosity. “Only my Nan could talk me into it,” he says.

Taputu has amassed over 1.8 million followers on TikTok, making him the second most popular New Zealander on the platform behind Jazz Thornton. He’s begun streaming there too, as well as YouTube, attempting to reach a wider audience and build additional revenue streams. While the stream chat from viewers is generally good-natured, Taputu still has a team of volunteers who help moderate the chat. He has also begun sharing clips and other more general life content on his social media channel, adding to his appeal.

While the number of Twitch subscribers now sits at approximately 750, with around 260 average viewers per stream, it’s still enough for Taputu to pay his bills and feed his family. He credits his stable streaming income to the solid community, or whānau as he calls it, on his channel. “A lot of my viewers and subscribers are from overseas, predominantly the United States. They just have an interest in what I’m doing [whakairo] because they’ve never seen anything like it,” Taputu says.

In August last year, Taputu became the country’s first Twitch ambassador and subsequently attended TwitchCon in Las Vegas last October. He has received invites to travel around the world but says he struggles to leave his family alone. An added bonus of the international reach is that Taputu’s commissions are now almost all exclusively for overseas-based customers that have found him via Twitch or on socials. Taputu is about to start carving a pou whakairo of a Grand Theft Auto character for an overseas client.

While he doesn’t plan on staying a streamer forever, Taputu says the immediate goal is saving to buy a house for his whānau. The income from streaming helps to pay the bills, while the income from carving is saved towards a house deposit. “I don’t want to be 40 and streaming on Twitch, with people telling me to ‘get off the internet old man’,” he laughs.

In the meantime, Taputu continues to utilise his platform to inspire the next generation of carvers in Aotearoa, especially in his hometown of Rotorua. There have been school visits, encounters with rangatahi on the street, and thousands of viewers on his streams. Although there has been newfound fame and money, Taputu remains true to his core purpose of sharing Māori culture and whakairo with the world.

This is Public Interest Journalism funded by NZ On Air.

Shane Jones, David Seymour, and Winston Peters.
A government of racists, or really smart politicians? (Design: Tina Tiller)

OPINIONĀteaJuly 4, 2024

Could dropping reo Māori names from government agencies actually be giving mana to te reo Māori?

Shane Jones, David Seymour, and Winston Peters.
A government of racists, or really smart politicians? (Design: Tina Tiller)

The controversial policy has many supporters, for vastly different reasons. Liam Rātana explains.

During the 2023 election campaign, there was a Māori MPs debate at Terenga Paraoa Marae in Whangārei, hosted by the Public Service Association. Present are the electorate’s incumbent Kelvin Davis, Mariameno Kapa-Kingi from Te Paati Māori, Green Party local stalwart Hūhana Lyndon, and NZ First Whangārei candidate Gavin Benney.

“I can’t believe we’re even having this discussion in 2023,” Davis self-righteously exclaimed in response to a question from my uncle Ted Ratana, who asked whether or not Davis thought government departments deserved reo Māori names, even if they didn’t live up to the title.

We didn’t know it at the time, but the issue would soon balloon into a national debate.

Why is the issue so topical?

Last year, it was revealed that the new government, as part of its coalition agreement with New Zealand First, had promised to ensure that all public service departments would have their primary name in English, with the exception of those specifically related to Māori.

This led to several government agencies reverting to their English names, such as Waka Kotahi rebranding (back) to the New Zealand Transport Agency, or Toitū Te Whenua going back to Land Information New Zealand. 

The policy caused an uproar from many Māori and non-Māori who viewed it as being racist and anti-Māori. It was just one policy among several that drove thousands to protest earlier this year. In response to the announcement, Ngāi Te Rangi lodged an urgent Waitangi Tribunal claim that the policy is causing significant irreversible harm to te reo Māori. Hearings recently concluded and were emotionally charged, with some claimants and those giving evidence brought to tears.

The hīkoi that took place in May proceeds down Queen St in Tāmaki Makaurau (Photo: Fiona Goodall/Getty Images)

So New Zealand First doesn’t support te reo Māori?

While it may appear that New Zealand First is against the use of te reo Māori, further investigation shows that it might not be that simple. First up, the party’s leaders are both Māori and while they have been the subject of much controversy, there’s no denying that Shane Jones in particular has been a strong advocate for te reo Māori over the years. Jones is fluent in te reo, conducts interviews in te reo, and was once a lecturer of Māori Studies at Victoria University. Whenever I interview him, Jones always begins by speaking to me in te reo.

Then why would they request government agencies be known primarily by their English names?

The play by New Zealand First appears to be two-pronged. Firstly, pandering to its older, predominantly Pākehā voter base. Many New Zealand First voters are of an era where mispronunciation of Māori place names and phrases was common practice. A lot of these people find it difficult to pronounce, let alone understand, what is being referred to when someone mentions Te Aka Whai Ora or Ara Poutama Aotearoa. New Zealand First’s push shows its voter base that they are being heard. But beneath the political pandering, there is an argument that government agencies shouldn’t have reo Māori names unless they actually live up to the titles they are given. This is what my uncle was getting at before being scolded by Kelvin Davis. Peters and Jones are well aware that a significant portion of Māori are against these agencies having reo Māori names, so they are simultaneously appealing to anti-reo Pākehā and pro-reo Māori. It’s smart politicking.

‘He mea tautoko nā ngā mema atawhai. Supported by our generous members.’
Liam Rātana
— Ātea editor

What does ‘living up to their titles’ mean?

Take Kāinga Ora for example. Literally translated, it means “healthy homes”. The agency provides a different translation of wellbeing through places and communities. Many Kāinga Ora residents will tell you that the houses being provided by the government agency are not really healthy or conducive to positive wellbeing. Multiple reports have found that Kāinga Ora is failing as an agency, plus it has recently been announced that the chief executive and five board members are all leaving as part of a shake up by the government.

Oranga Tamariki is another classic example of an agency that many view as not being worthy of its title. The name translates to “the wellbeing of children” but again, many would argue that in reality, the agency is far from providing positive outcomes for the wellbeing of the children in its care. Many New Zealanders would say Oranga Tamariki has associations with the opposite of children being supported. This notion is also reinforced by several reports that find Oranga Tamariki is a failing agency in need of a complete overhaul.

The Department of Lands and Survey, established in 1876, was a government agency involved in the administration and allocation of land, including Māori land that had been stolen, confiscated, or acquired through purchase. It is easy to see how the agency’s Māori name Toitū Te Whenua – which translates to “the land remains” and is a catch cry for many protesting the theft of Māori land – might be seen as ironic to some, and plainly offensive to others.

But surely any use of te reo Māori is good?

Yes and no. On one hand, the normalisation of the language by encouraging everyday use is certainly a positive. It promotes te reo to the wider population and effectively forces people to speak a few words of te reo Māori, even if it’s poorly pronounced. 

On the other hand, the use of reo Māori names from failing government agencies is a slap in the face for many Māori. It appears as tokenistic and a band-aid on agencies failing to live up to the titles bestowed upon them. As Peters has said before, the issue can detract from addressing underlying problems these agencies are facing. More than a Māori name, many are actually after tangible changes in terms of outcome from these agencies. Waka Kotahi should fix the roads, Kāinga Ora should provide healthy homes, and Oranga Tamariki should actually ensure the wellbeing of our children.

There are also potentially negative connotations with the use of reo Māori names with certain agencies and ministries. For example, Ara Poutama, which means “pathway of excellence” is the name Corrections uses. Many of the agencies mentioned above are disproportionately failing Māori or serving as a tool used for the perpetuation of negative social outcomes for Māori.

So is it better for no reo Māori names to be used?

It’s not a question I can answer on my own. I think it should be up to the wider Māori population to decide whether or not they think reo Māori names should be bestowed upon these government agencies and ministries. It certainly shouldn’t be up to the (predominantly Pākehā) executives to decide.

There is no set process for how government agencies decide what their reo Māori names are. Many are gifted by local iwi or a language expert, but external feedback is almost never gathered and the gifting of a name to an agency purporting to represent the whole nation by one kaumātua or kuia is problematic to say the least.