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Te Pou Taurahere graduate Boston Rangi-Whaikawa-Henry is embraced by  his proud nanny, Aileen Rangi-Whaikawa-Mills (Photo: Supplied)
Te Pou Taurahere graduate Boston Rangi-Whaikawa-Henry is embraced by his proud nanny, Aileen Rangi-Whaikawa-Mills (Photo: Supplied)

ĀteaJanuary 21, 2020

‘When I was carving my whakapapa, I could feel my ancestors helping me’

Te Pou Taurahere graduate Boston Rangi-Whaikawa-Henry is embraced by  his proud nanny, Aileen Rangi-Whaikawa-Mills (Photo: Supplied)
Te Pou Taurahere graduate Boston Rangi-Whaikawa-Henry is embraced by his proud nanny, Aileen Rangi-Whaikawa-Mills (Photo: Supplied)

A new programme replacing woodwork at two Hamilton intermediate schools is helping young Māori connect through the art of whakairo.

Outside the wharenui bearing his carvings, Matua Rei Mihaere drives his closed fist through the air.

Thirteen pairs of eyes look up at him as he asks, “If you see this at home or anywhere, what do you do? You come tell me or someone else because there is always another way.”

The carving expert and chairman of Kirikiriroa Marae is speaking to Te Pou Taurahere carving programme’s newest graduates. Dressed in their Hamilton Junior High School and Melville Intermediate uniforms, the 13-strong contingent are today receiving certificates and taonga they carved. The graduation ceremony, held at the end of the 2019 school year at Kirikiriroa Marae, marks an important six months for Te Pou Taurahere.

Set up as a Whānau Ora initiative through Te Kōhao Health, a specialist Māori health, education and social service provider, the programme focuses on teaching students the skills and traditions of whakairo. Run in conjunction with Hamilton Junior High School and Melville Intermediate, it lets students learn carving instead of woodwork under Matua Rei and his assistant Hakopa Parker.

Carving teacher and Whānau Ora cultural navigator Matua Rei Mihaere outside the Kirikiriroa Marae wharenui in Waikato (Photo: Supplied)

For Matua Rei, who was one of the carvers for the late Queen, Te Arikinui Dame Te Atairangikaahu, the programme is an important way of reaching disconnected youth and reversing some of the negative statistics prevalent among Māori men in Waikato. Looking at his proud young pupils, he describes Te Pou Taurahere as a programme designed by Māori for Māori. It is mana motuhake in action.

“The thinking was about how we can create and secure a contract for our whānau who are disconnected from their heritage,” he says of the programme’s origins.

“When we say that, it’s that they’re [students] uncertain about their iwi. Right from the start, they don’t know a karakia, those basic things that were entrenched in us in our earlier days as Māori. It’s retracing that and trying to bring them through with some of those key values that are important to us as Māori.

“That’s what those kids get to learn.”

Matua Rei believes the development of the boys over two terms, and the impact of that on whānau members (some of whom are present at today’s graduation), shows how valuable initiatives rooted in this kaupapa are. Changes among the programme’s first group of boys are particularly special, he says.

“The previous groups were the naughty kids: the ones that need a lot of support. When I say that, there’s stuff behind them that’s holding them back, that’s stopping or minimising their progress.

“That’s why I encourage them to get their whānau to come to their graduation. Because a lot of those whānau, all they see is a kid who needs lots of support. So, when a kid gets up and produces a taonga and hands it over, they think: ‘Wow, what happened? That’s not like him’.

“It’s like something’s changed, something’s happened to turn that kid’s thinking around to initiate a different purpose in life. It’s giving them the opportunities to grow, to develop and to be creative in a Māori world.”

The students receive a certificate and the taonga they carved at a graduation ceremony at the end of the six-month programme (Photo: Supplied)

That opportunity, and the knowledge accompanying it, is fundamental for these students, their families, and all Māori, Matua Rei says. To illustrate its importance, he draws on his work with high-needs whānau over the years, discussing the mamae and problems that stem from individuals being disconnected from their wider whānau and tūrangawaewae.

Rattling off names of various mainstream social services he has been part of, such as the Ministry of Social Development’s Strengthening Families, Matua Rei describes why he believes the most effective support services for Māori address disconnection in addition to other needs.

“Often, even when they [whānau] were getting access to those services, they weren’t getting the right support,” Matua Rei says. “I came from a Māori lens and brought kaupapa Māori through [in services and programmes]. I was able to identify lots of Māori out there who were uncertain of their iwi, their maunga, their waka, and see a lot of them now – it’s the third generation coming through.”

A Te Pou Taurahere student proudly displays his carved mere (Photo: Supplied)

Working with those families, and the kids involved, takes time, he says carefully. It is often not straightforward, and programmes like Te Pou Taurahere assist in connecting to whānau who need support.

Boston Rangi-Whaikawa-Henry is one of today’s 13 graduates. At the ceremony, the 13-year-old Melville Intermediate student presented his grandmother Aileen Rangi-Whaikawa-Mills with mere he carved.

He grins when I ask how he discovered carving.

“Movies: I saw it in movies,” Boston says.

“At first, I thought it was kind of fake, but once I got into the programme, I could feel the wairua of it. And when I was carving my whakapapa, I could feel my ancestors helping me, my tūpuna.”

Importantly, it became a way to learn about whakapapa.

“So, one side of my mere, I’ve represented all my family, and the people inside it. On the other side, it had my whakapapa from up north on it. It’s connecting to both [sides].”

Now, he holds knowledge such as “my iwi, my awa and where I’m from”.

“Matua Rei, he taught me how to draw the different designs and I got the hang of it,” Boston says. “He started to help me and then I learnt how to do it myself.

“It’s really good that he taught us part of his knowledge – what he was taught from someone else. I’ve never had that experience before,” Boston says.

Respect for the craft, and “the rules”, was another learning point, he says. He recites one of the more challenging rules.

“We had to do push-ups if we didn’t abide by them. One of the rules was no blowing on sand dust, otherwise you’ll lose your mana. All the little wood chips that we carve off, they represent our tūpuna. Blowing on them is like blowing away that [ancestors], and that’s not good. But it’s hard, because blowing on the sand dust seems natural.

Aileen, who is listening to Boston talk about carving, says she was “surprised” to hear her second-eldest mokopuna was part of a carving programme.

“I was nicely surprised because I didn’t know he was interested in it.”

Boston’s first carving, also a mere, was a special bonding point for the pair. Unlike the one presented today, the whakapapa design on it was Tainui.

Aileen says: “I saw it at their house… and when he explained it to me, I was like ‘wow’.

“Of all my grandchildren, he’s the one, and I just thought, that’s great,” she says. “And when we go up home for tangis and things like that, he sees all the photos and he starts identifying why he belongs there and through who.”

Matua Rei, who identifies Boston as one of his keenest students, says his experience shows how Te Pou Taurahere sets an important foundation for young Māori boys.

“Ideally, we’d have it at every school, so everyone can have the opportunity to learn.”

David Cooke, principal at Melville Intermediate, echoes the sentiment. He sees how his students benefitted from Te Pou Taurahere’s unique approach. Working with Matua Rei, who approached him as well as Hamilton Junior High School with the programme concept, has been critical to that, he says.

“So often in the past, schools that have led partnerships – while they’ve consulted, they have not collaborated,” David says. “Consultation is not enough. There must be a willingness to listen and to walk the journey together. In a collaboration you collectively decide the end point; where you’d like your students to be. There are far more benefits to a collaborative way.”

This content was created in paid partnership with the National Urban Māori Authority. Learn more about our partnerships here

Keep going!
Papuan students during a rally in Jakarta, Indonesia, on August 28, 2019 (Photo: Andrew Gal/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
Papuan students during a rally in Jakarta, Indonesia, on August 28, 2019 (Photo: Andrew Gal/NurPhoto via Getty Images)

ĀteaJanuary 20, 2020

Boycott Bali? Why the atrocities in West Papua demand your attention

Papuan students during a rally in Jakarta, Indonesia, on August 28, 2019 (Photo: Andrew Gal/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
Papuan students during a rally in Jakarta, Indonesia, on August 28, 2019 (Photo: Andrew Gal/NurPhoto via Getty Images)

It’s estimated that as many as half a million Papuans have been killed at the hands of Indonesian security forces over the past 50 years. Not holidaying in Indonesia is an easy way to say you’re not OK with that, writes Morgan Godfery.

Would you have gone on holiday in apartheid South Africa?

I suspect for everyone other than Don Brash and his fellow Pledgers, the answer is a lightning-quick “no”. It’s a little hard to enjoy the Durban boardwalk knowing that the Black and Indian people who live only a couple of kilometres from the beachfront have probably never sunk their feet into the golden sands, for no other reason than the colour of their skin. Holidays and beaches were only for white people, and only a know-nothing or a white power apologist would book that morally corrupt trip.

I think about this every time a mate posts about his Bali trip. I mean, the trips always seem like a delight: the rice terraces, the cocktails, the tropical sweat-ups. One bloke I know seems to travel to the island every few years for nothing more than the cheap thrill of bartering down some of the poorest people in the world. I’m not sure I get it. One thing I do get, though, are “South Africa 1960” vibes. Do the New Zealanders who book trips there know that a few islands east, the Indonesian government is forcibly occupying the Melanesian island of West Papua and killing its indigenous people?

Last month four students from Jayapura, the West Papuan capital, were taken into police custody after unfolding the Morning Star flag, the symbol of indigenous independence, at Catholic mass. Possessing or displaying the Morning Star’s red, white and blue could land an activist in prison for up to 20 years. This is a possible future for the four students, caught by a plainclothes cop in the back pews. In West Papua the Indonesian government’s occupying forces (police, security services and military) reach into every corner of the country’s public and private life.

Churches, as one of the few places where solace can be found, are almost always at the heart of resistance struggles. The African National Congress did much of its organising under the protection of local churches. But in West Papua the walls are closing in. The Indonesian government is “opening” larger and larger chunks of the Papuan highlands. In earlier times the highlands and their people were more or less left to their live their own lives in their own way, just as they’d done for thousands of years, before the Indonesian military dictatorship ran a sham referendum in 1969 to justify taking the island. The so-called “act of free choice” saw a little over 1000 West Papuans – less than 0.25% of the population – bullied and coerced into signing over their sovereignty to the government in Jakarta.

An act of forced choice.

But what would the Indonesian government want from West Papua, a province that at first glance seems exceptionally poor, more so than even Bali. There are only a handful of universities, and travel is a negotiation between the road and its potholes. Yet the island is home to fantastically rich gold and copper deposits. The American company that operates the Grasberg mine, a vast mineral pit in the central highlands, is Indonesia’s largest single taxpayer. In Grasberg alone reserves worth more than $100 billion are still left to haul from the earth. Other parts of the highlands hide untold billions too.

This, then, is the chief reason Indonesia is tightening its grip on the Melanesian country: Jakarta’s elites understand that West Papua will finance their nation’s industrialisation.

So how far will those elites go to keep West Papua in the fold? Well, in the past half century, as many as half a million West Papuans met their end at hands of the Indonesian security forces. In the Asian Human Rights Commission’s report The Neglected Genocide, survivors from the massacres in 1977 and 1978 describe their run-ins with the Indonesian torture squads and their escape from the killing fields. “Violence wasn’t just something that happened in West Papua, it was a form of government.” Even today activists and ordinary West Papuans still go “missing”. Last year over 2000 West Papuan university students on Java made the trip home after racist harassment on Indonesia’s main island.

Knowing that history, it’s almost impossible to remain optimistic about West Papuan independence. And yet people continue to struggle. Young people, mostly, and increasingly Indonesians alongside West Papuans. Last year six Indonesian activists were taken to the cells for unfurling the Morning Star in Jakarta. Surya Anta, a spokesperson for the Indonesian Peoples Front for West Papua, is facing treason charges for his part in the demonstration. It’s an important reminder that the Indonesian people are separate from the Indonesian government, and not necessarily complicit in the latter’s crimes.

Many are ready and willing to risk more than we, as comfortable Westerners, can possibly imagine.

The same principle holds in Bali – the Balinese aren’t responsible for the actions of elites in Jakarta, and even less so the actions of the 20th century’s Indonesian dictatorship. Regardless, before setting foot on any Indonesian soil you should perform a moral and ethical calculus. Is my Indonesian getaway undermining solidarity for West Papuans? Is it lending international legitimacy to a government that doesn’t deserve it? There are no clean answers. But two truths are inescapable: one, West Papuans are ethnically Melanesian, and so for us as Māori and Polynesians they are our brothers and sisters; and two, the country is geographically a part of Oceania, and so for us as New Zealanders they are our neighbours in need.

But wait there's more!