spinofflive
Hana Te Hemara (Design by Archi Banal)
Hana Te Hemara (Design by Archi Banal)

ĀteaAugust 29, 2022

Remembering Hana Te Hemara’s Māori language petition, 50 years on

Hana Te Hemara (Design by Archi Banal)
Hana Te Hemara (Design by Archi Banal)

She was the driving force behind the Māori language petition that led to the revitalisation of te reo in Aotearoa, and a tireless campaigner for indigenous rights for decades after. Now a series of events to honour Hana Te Hemara are being held near her Taranaki birthplace.

Fifty years ago, in wet and bitterly cold weather, Hana Te Hemara and an army of elders and activists marched on parliament to deliver the Māori language petition. The date was September 14, later to become Māori language day and subsequently the centrepiece of te wiki o te reo Māori.

The 1972 petition, spearheaded by Te Hemara and signed by 33,000 Māori and Pākehā, called for the introduction of Māori language and culture curriculum in schools nationwide. It read:

“We the undersigned, do humbly pray that courses in Māori language and aspects of Māori culture be offered in all those schools with large Māori rolls and that these same courses be offered as a gift to the Pākehā from the Māori in all other New Zealand schools as a positive effort to promote a more meaningful concept of integration.”

Ngā Tamatoa and supporters protest at St Kevin’s Arcade, Auckland, 1972 (Photo: John Miller)

The petition came at a time when a changing economic landscape had swept Māori into the cities and the world was aflame with protests about civil rights, women’s rights and the Vietnam war. It was also a time when, disconnected from their tribal territories, more and more whānau were unable or unwilling to pass te reo Māori down to the young. Some had had the language literally beaten out of them, while others, witnessing this cruelty, believed their whānau would be safer without it.

It was out of these conditions that Ngā Tamatoa was born. The name itself, “the young warriors”, was gifted to the group by the late Ranginui Walker after meeting with a number of members and discussing their inspirations and passions. These were as varied as the members themselves. Some were keen on violent revolution, while others more philosophically passive. Ideologically diverse though the group was, there was at least one shared belief:  Tama tū tama ora; tama noho tama mate – Tamatoa! (To stand is to live, to sit down is to die.)

It is unsurprising, then, that the dynamic leaders who emerged were a pair who could sympathise with these many beliefs and at the same time had the mana to command members’ respect. These leaders were Syd Jackson and his wife, Hana Te Hemara.

Hana with her family, mid 1970s (from left) Ramari Jackson-Paniora, Syd Jackson and Pura Jackson (Photo: Supplied / Te Hemara whānau)

Born in 1940 in Puketapu, Te Hemara was initially raised with te reo, before the Catholic colonial school system took away her native tongue. She is remembered by those who worked alongside her as a star, a person of great passion, an extraordinary orator and someone who could stir an audience. Much of this was true of Te Hemara even as a child, when she gained a reputation among her 11 siblings as a bossy boots and a goodie two shoes. Her natural leadership at home continued well into adulthood, when she would return home from Auckland and share with her mother and siblings what she had learned about New Zealand history and how she planned to fix all that had gone wrong.

So that’s exactly what she did. She spent years in the spotlight, collecting praise from her peers and criticism from mainstream media for her efforts to revitalise the Māori language, Māori culture and te ao Māori more generally. Te Hemara went house to house up and down Aotearoa collecting signatures for the Māori language petition. But she wasn’t averse to more confrontational action too. She rushed the Treaty grounds dressed in black kākahu in 1971, marking the first modern-day protest at Waitangi, and then returned the following year, daring those who opposed her to carry through on their threats to wring her neck. Four years later she was a key member of the Takaparawhā Bastion Point occupation.

Left: Rawiri Paratene, Joe Torito, Hana Te Hemara and Taitimu Maipi in Waitangi in 1971. Right: At the Waitangi Treaty Grounds in 1972. Standing from left: Donna Awatere (black dress), Wairere Tame Iti, Taura Eruera, Hana Te Hemara and Taitimu Maipi. Seated with black jumper is Roimata Kirikiri. (Photos: John Miller)

Not only did Te Hemara protest and petition, she built too. She was a tireless champion for Māori business and creativity, forming the first Māori business association, organising Te Kopu Designers’ Award for Māori designers, working alongside Hone Tuwhare to set up the first Māori artists and writers conference, and driving the establishment of Te Kōhanga Reo. There are now more than 450 Kōhanga Reo around Aotearoa, and over 50,000 pre-schoolers have been taught te reo Māori me ngā tikanga since the first kura was established in 1982.

Te Hemara passed in 1999. Her teina, Rāmari Maipi, was later asked what she believed her sister’s legacy would be. “That’s simple, it was her fight for the language. Just the fact that she stood up and fought… Besides that, [her] grandkids speak the language – that’s its own legacy.”

And so it was that Hana Te Hemara, who did not possess the language herself, became one of its greatest champions and the mother of te wiki o te reo Māori.

In celebration of Hana Te Hemara’s life, the work of Ngā Tamatoa, and the 50th anniversary of their petition to parliament, a series of events are being held in Ngāmotu throughout September. More information can be found at iamhana.nz.


Airana Ngarewa is a Māori political affairs reporter, creating public interest journalism funded through NZ On Air.


Follow our te ao Māori podcast Nē? on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or your favourite podcast provider. 

Keep going!
What makes me plastic? (Image: Supplied)
What makes me plastic? (Image: Supplied)

ĀteaAugust 18, 2022

What does it mean to be ‘plastic’?

What makes me plastic? (Image: Supplied)
What makes me plastic? (Image: Supplied)

The feeling of being unworthy in one’s culture is prevalent among young Māori and Pasifika. Sela Jane Hopgood meets a group of design students whose work explores the reasons why.

When Jordan Tane was a year 10 high school student, her teacher gave out a worksheet titled “Who are you?” It had a list of questions, including “What’s your culture?” 

Tane wrote down Pākehā/Māori. “My teacher came up to me and said, ‘You’re not Māori’ and crossed it out,” she remembers. “I have pale skin and am currently learning more about my whakapapa, but at the time of this incident, I was too timid to speak up.”

Gloria Falaniko describes her high school self as quiet and not as out there with her Sāmoan culture, despite being raised by her grandparents and living in an intergenerational household where she was well immersed in her culture. “When I got my malu [traditional tattoo for females] done, a lot of students and even some teachers made comments that I’m a plastic Sāmoan. They assumed I didn’t know the language because they had never heard me speak it and they assumed I wasn’t passionate about my culture because I wasn’t in the Sāmoan language class,” Falaniko says. 

When her experience of getting her malu was shared on social media, many comments surfaced saying they had never heard Falaniko speak Sāmoan. “Those comments immediately categorised me into a group without getting to know me and my background.” 

(L-R) Gloria Falaniko, Jordan Tane, Kyani Utia, Sisi Panikoula. (Photo: Supplied)

Tane and Falaniko, along with their peers Kyani Utia and Sisi Panikoula, are in their third and final year of the Bachelor of Design in Communication Design programme at AUT School of Art and Design and part of their coursework was to create a project using the theme “Design for Change”. The team’s campaign “What makes me plastic” was inspired by the shared experience of feeling unworthy of their own cultures. 

“The negative term ‘plastic’ has come about mostly from young Māori and Pasifika who don’t feel worthy, therefore, making them reluctant to identify with their culture,” the students explained in the blurb of the project.

What the four students didn’t see coming was a huge response to a Google survey they put out to their peers regarding being plastic. The survey had questions such as “Have you heard of the term plastic?”, “Do you consider yourself plastic?”, “What do you think of the word plastic?” The students sent it to their peers and received over 200 responses as the survey was shared online. It included detailed answers from the public about their lived experiences. “The results showed that around 70% of Māori and Pasifika consider themselves to be plastic and it confirmed for us that this was an issue worth delving into,” Tane says.

The work was inspired by the finding, in a survey of around 200 people, that almost 70% of young Māori and Pasifika in their circles consider themselves to be ‘plastic’ in some way. (Photo: Supplied)

“We were shocked by the amount of responses and in some ways we weren’t mentally prepared for the stories we received because there were so many layers to it and it was sad to read,” Panikoula says. “But it motivated us to create a unique project where we can change attitudes and empower our community to not feel isolated in this journey. This is why I love design, because we can raise awareness about a cultural issue and use our voice through a creative lens.”

Panikoula shares that she wasn’t brought up the traditional Tongan way and that she would use the term plastic to protect her from getting slammed for not knowing the culture. 

For Utia (Cook Island and Sāmoan), her parents didn’t force their cultures on her and she says she feels plastic because she avoids partaking in cultural activities. In doing this project, Utia has been motivated to learn more about her cultures.

The four students invited some respondents to visually describe how they saw themselves within their culture, by literally writing over photographic portrait of themselves, creating a series of confronting images that sit at heart of this campaign. (Photo: Supplied)

The responses from the public were similar to Utia and her teammates, which varied from not speaking the reo and not understanding tikanga to not knowing song and dance from their culture. “There were a lot of people saying the term was degrading especially when they were trying to learn the culture and speak the language,” Tane says. “There were also a lot of people using the line ‘sorry I’m plastic’ apologetically to excuse themselves from answering a cultural question or when someone would ask what a certain word means in their language,” Utia adds.

The students generated a second questionnaire going into depth about peoples experience with the term plastic, but found that the participants struggled to put into words how they identified with their culture. This then led to the idea that instead of Tane, Falaniko, Utia and Panikoula writing up the stories of others and filtering down their messages, they wanted to get the actual target audience to do it themselves. 

It was difficult for the students to articulate the project in a way where others were able to understand it. The lack of understanding was a pivotal part of the development of their project, which fundamentally led them to change from an educational tool to a confronting campaign. “What makes me plastic” is bold and self-reflective. “It acts as both a question and a statement,” the students say.

One of the respondents partaking in the visual campaign. (Photo: Supplied)

The students organised a photographic portrait to be taken of themselves and the participants and then using an iPad, wrote down words and phrases on the portraits, describing what they saw when they viewed themselves, creating a series of confronting images that sit at the heart of the visual campaign, which was recently named a finalist at the New Zealand Designers Institute Best Awards in the student toitanga category.

There was no right or wrong answer. No one had the opportunity to view other peoples’ work to avoid having their descriptions influenced by others. 

“It was such an amazing experience to see what people wrote on their photos,” Utia says. “We hope the campaign will let other people who are going through this know they’re not alone.” On the other hand, Utia was saddened by some of the words that were written, whether it was about their culture, their experiences feeling plastic or how the word plastic made them feel. “After this activity we had many people come up to us and share their stories and it was great to connect with each other on a shared experience. By sharing, they felt less intimidated for not knowing the culture fully,” Falaniko says.

“Being plastic is a colonised term,” Tane adds. “And so we hope people who see this work of ours and relate to it know that having Māori or Tokelau or Indian blood, that that’s enough to be from that culture and everyone is at a different stage of their cultural journey. We’re reclaiming our narrative and giving us back our power to be like, hey, we are enough.” 

This is Public Interest Journalism funded through NZ On Air.