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(Image: Getty, additional design: Alice Webb-Liddall)
(Image: Getty, additional design: Alice Webb-Liddall)

PartnersSeptember 12, 2023

Three people on the online events that changed their lives

(Image: Getty, additional design: Alice Webb-Liddall)
(Image: Getty, additional design: Alice Webb-Liddall)

Not so long ago the only way to enjoy milestone events was to be there in person. But the last few years have shown us the wonders of tech can help us stay connected. Here, three people talk about the major life events they experienced over screens.

Whenever we take a moment to look back on our lives, we often tend to do so in the form of milestone events. Many are joyous celebrations, like birthdays, graduations, weddings, and anniversaries, while others are more solemn occasions, like funerals and wakes. The ceremonies and rituals that often accompany these moments have changed a lot over time and can vary between cultures, but the one thing that ultimately unites them is people: friends, families, colleagues, and neighbours, all coming together for a single purpose. It’s why even in our busy, seemingly hyperconnected lives, ceremonies remain as important as ever, reminding us of our deeper connections to those we love the most. 

But when Covid-19 hit, these ceremonies we knew and loved suddenly came to an unexpected halt. Gone were the halls packed with wedding guests, or restaurants brimming with birthday diners; the threat of Covid-19 meant we had to stay apart and keep within our close-knit bubbles. One NZ reports that broadband and fibre usage in their customers’ “busy hour”, where they see peak usage, has doubled in the last four years. This peak usage has grown from 600 gigabits per second in 2019 to 1,200 in 2023, as more people move aspects of their lives online due to lockdowns and growth in technology.

While overall growth in internet usage was steady, One NZ saw rapid peaks each time the country headed into another lockdown and people settled in to more time at home. But it wasn’t just our regular daily lives that were upturned by the pandemic – some of our rarest, once-in-a-lifetime occasions took an abrupt blow too. 

In much the same way we adapted to things like work and school in the pandemic era, so too did our capacity for commemorating life’s major events. At the centre of this was technology and the internet, which enabled us to connect in completely new and uncharted ways. And while this modern form of connecting didn’t always make up for the absence of gathering physically, they provided us with an invaluable tether to our loved ones afar, even in the most trying times. 

A wedding

Three years ago, Jess Jackson was preparing for one of the biggest days of her life. Wedding guests had been invited, a venue had been booked, as well as all the other ceremonial flourishes that would normally go along with walking down the aisle. But when Covid-19 emerged, everything changed. Hoping the situation would improve in the next year or so, the decision was made to postpone the wedding. But as a lot of people in similar circumstances soon found out, things weren’t looking up anytime soon.

“We’d hoped for this big wedding, initially with 80-90 guests, and every Monday we’d be waiting for the updates to see if we could make it happen, and every week it was just devastation. I was definitely very emotional at the time at not being able to really plan anything.”

By late 2021, Jackson and her partner were reluctant to postpone the wedding any further. At the time, Auckland was in alert level three which allowed just 10 people to attend. When restrictions began to slightly ease from October, it meant she was able to invite a small handful of extra guests, including a friend to act as videographer.

“Initially we had no plans for a livestream because we kept holding out hope we’d be out of lockdown. Then a week before the wedding, we realised it wasn’t going to happen and that we needed to find a way to make things work. So we ended up organising one of our friends to come down on the day and video the wedding live for everyone to see, which really was the best decision we made.”

“In the end, it was a beautiful day and I got to spend it feeling loved with everyone sending videos and photos of them all dressed up in their backyards drinking champagne. Our friends and family were still able to be part of the day, even those who weren’t initially invited and wouldn’t have been able to see the wedding if we didn’t livestream it.”

Although it was gutting to miss out on the full wedding experience, Jackson says she appreciates she was able to still connect with her loved ones remotely. And with the livestream being recorded, it’s also given the couple a valuable memento allowing them to rewatch and relive the day.

“It was wild but it was still so special. Everyone wanted to make sure that we knew they were watching and that they were there, even if they couldn’t be there in person.”

A career beginning

Being admitted to the bar is a significant event in the life of every intending lawyer. Not only is it a court proceeding which you need to go through in order to be able to practise, but it’s also a celebration – a ceremony marking the end of years of formal study and the start of a new chapter in your professional career. 

Normally, an admission takes place at the high court along with your “moving counsel” (a practising lawyer who will “move” that you be admitted) which is presided over by a judge and a handful of family members in the audience. Often there are oaths, speeches and signings involved, but for Auckland-based lawyer Anna Humphries – who was admitted to the bar in November 2021 – Covid-19 restrictions meant her experience was a little different than usual.

“Because the courts weren’t open yet, the admission took place over Zoom,” she says. “The judge was sitting in the high court, and we were sent a link to join the meeting, as was our moving counsel. There was also another link we could circulate to friends and family so they could watch.”

“I went over to my mum’s house to do it as I thought it was good to be with family. So I sat upstairs in my brother’s room in full wig and gown while my family sat downstairs watching on the TV. Afterwards I went downstairs and had a glass of bubbles and I took pictures, but at my mum’s house instead of outside the high court.”

Humphries admits that although the virtual ceremony was somewhat disappointing, especially after more than five years of hard work and study, she says one silver lining was that more people were able to watch the ceremony than usual, including both her parents as well as colleagues at her firm. 

“I know someone who ended up flying down to Wellington, which opened up a lot sooner than Auckland did, so they could get an in-person admission. But for me, getting all my family down there just wasn’t practical. It was important my family to be with me for that moment, which is why I decided to do it online.”

A funeral

 

While losing a loved one is always difficult, losing a loved one during Covid proved to be especially hard. Sherry Zhang experienced that heightened grief first hand when her maternal grandmother passed away in 2021. As her grandmother was based in China, which enforced some of the toughest pandemic restrictions anywhere in the world, travelling to the funeral simply wasn’t an option – a reality which devastated her mother the most. 

“It was really important for my mum to be there, and I think as the youngest daughter she felt a lot of guilt and shame she couldn’t make it,” she says. 

While her parents held out some hope that restrictions might be lifted by the end of the mourning period (which, in Chinese culture, generally lasts around 49 days), eventually there was no choice but to hold the funeral virtually. As it’s important for the deceased’s loved ones to express their grief, namely in the form of performing the rituals and prayers associated with Chinese funerals, Zhang’s mother also performed these back in New Zealand which was filmed for other family members to witness as well. 

“We basically had to do a ritual in the backyard with my dad live streaming my mum doing the prayers back to family in China so they could also see the processes we were doing. So there was a bit of back and forth involved. We could see them offering bows, prayers, and incense from that side, while they could see us doing the same on our side.”

While this virtual alternative didn’t make the loss any easier, Zhang says being able to connect with the funeral virtually was still important as part of her family’s grieving process. Earlier this year, her mother was finally able to travel to China, something which she believes helped her mother get a sense of closure. 

“The whole experience was definitely bizarre, but it was the best we could do at the time given the circumstances,” she says. “I think it would’ve been even harder [had we not had that streaming element]. We couldn’t go back physically but at least there was this. At least it was some way of showing up.”

Keep going!
Linda Te Aho at Lake Karāpiro (Photography: Erica Sinclair)
Linda Te Aho at Lake Karāpiro (Photography: Erica Sinclair)

ĀteaSeptember 11, 2023

A more balanced record: restoring mana whenua perspectives to our history

Linda Te Aho at Lake Karāpiro (Photography: Erica Sinclair)
Linda Te Aho at Lake Karāpiro (Photography: Erica Sinclair)

Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga senior researcher and University of Waikato associate professor of law Linda Te Aho (Ngāti Koroki Kahukura, Waikato-Tainui) is passionate about the importance of Indigenous scholars writing their own histories. Here, she writes about the importance of this mahi.

The battle of Taumatawīwī that took place in the area that is now known as Lake Karāpiro is one of the last inter-iwi battles for mana whenua. European exploratory expeditions to New Zealand from the early nineteenth century traded muskets with tribal groups, initially in the Far North. With this new weapon, tribal settlement patterns in the North Island were to change irrevocably.  

When war parties arrived in Hauraki from the Far North with muskets, Ngāti Maru moved inland to Maungatautari. After a time, the refugees began to plunder friendly neighbouring villages. Skirmishes became too frequent and Ngāti Koroki and Ngati Hauā, under the leadership of great warrior chief Te Waharoa and supported by the Ngāi Te Rangi people of Tauranga, forced Ngāti Maru back to their own homelands. Just before the Karāpiro rapids, near the mouth of the Hauoira Stream a huge rock stood proud above everything else in the vicinity. This rock marks the place where, in 1830 at the Battle of Taumatawīwī, Te Waharoa instructed that the bodies of fallen warriors be burned so they would not fall into enemy hands.  

The waharoa at Pōhara Marae (Photography: Erica Sinclair)

Described as the “Waterloo of the Waikato”, details of the battle itself are well-documented. Perhaps less well-known is that it is from the resulting stench that the now picturesque Lake Karāpiro, and surrounding area, derives their name: karā (the type of rock where the bodies were burned) and piro (smell). The battle site and the remnants of the rock remain significant sites for Ngāti Koroki Kahukura and Ngāti Hauā. The smoke-filled winds from the pyre carried a considerable distance northwards from the site, past where the township of Cambridge is now situated, giving the name Hautapu (Sacred Winds) to the area. 

Reflecting on the recent Matariki public holiday, we are witnessing the rise in the widespread popularity of te reo Māori and increasing recognition of tikanga Māori in Aotearoa. The winds of change are all around us. 

There is a growth in the number of Indigenous scholars bringing ancestral knowledge to document our histories – like that of Dr Rangi Mātāmua, whose research helped to pave the way for this new Māori public holiday. But the real importance of these projects is often undersold.

Reiata, Te Aho’s niece at Te Manu Kōrero (Image: Supplied)

Recently, my 16-year-old niece delivered a winning speech in the prestigious Manu Kōrero competitions.  Drawing on our rich history, she shared her journey towards becoming “unapologetically Māori”. Reiata stood tall, speaking proudly of our heritage, descending from wayfinding leaders such as Hoturoa who navigated the Pacific Ocean using traditional knowledge to arrive in Aotearoa thousands of years ago. She shared her admiration for Ngāti Koroki Kahukura chief, Tīoriori, who sacrificed his freedom when imprisoned without trial at Rangiriri for fighting to protect our mana and our whenua in the 1860s land wars, during the maelstrom of colonisation.  

Growing up, my immediate whānau was fortunate to have been part of a series of wānanga established by our kaumātua to ensure that our language and marae protocols would survive.  We grew up in and around te reo Māori, and today we are enjoying the fruits of that upbringing – but many of our tribal members were not so fortunate and are eager to learn. Our rangatahi are being raised in kaupapa Māori schools and are seeking to deepen their knowledge. Our wānanga of the 1980s canvassed historical events, but the learnings from those wānanga are not easily accessible in written form. To aid the new generation of wānanga teaching and learning, our whānau has published two collections of our oral tradition, with a focus on karakia, karanga, whaikōrero, and waiata. Through this project I want to add to that body of work by giving a voice to our iwi and hapū to share our stories and knowledge, to explain the politics of why we assumed the name Ngāti Koroki Kahukura, and to highlight the triumphs and heroic deeds of our ancestors as a force to strengthen our communities and enlighten and inspire our youth.  

The view of Maungatautari from Pōhara Marae (Photography: Erica Sinclair)

Sharing our perspectives of history can shed light on concepts such as mana and the importance of whenua and kaitiakitanga and can also highlight the humanity of our ancestors, often hidden behind stereotypes, myths, and prejudices.

We are proud and grateful that our ancestors fought for our right to maintain our mana whenua, some sacrificing their lives. But history has a way of amplifying warfare at the expense of longer periods of peaceful settlement. Once peace was restored following the battle of Taumatawīwī, Te Waharoa entrusted Ngāti Koroki as guardians of the Maungatautari and Karāpiro areas – where we continue to live today – and where we have a long history of being prolific gardeners and traders. Yet our ancestors have been characterised as ‘bloodthirsty’ and ‘savages’, whilst leaders of colonial troops are described as ‘determined’ and ‘courageous’.  To us, Te Waharoa is a hero. Our whanaungatanga relationships with Ngāti Hauā and Ngāi Te Rangi, who fought in solidarity with us, are cherished and memorialised at Karāpiro with a carved waharoa. 

Whilst some places such as Hautapu, Maungatautari, and Karāpiro have retained their original names, the conflict over a desire to restore or introduce Māori place names that reflect the history of areas has been ongoing for decades. More recently, signs of welcome to the township of Cambridge have been changed to include the Māori name, Te Oko Horoi. This name translates as a ‘washbowl of sorrow’ because it was the location of the Native Land Court in the 1870 and 1880s, a major source of land loss.   

With mature oak trees, a town square, and colonial buildings, the town’s quaint English appearance belies its discordant history. Following Te Riri Pākehā, the Māori Land Wars, King Tāwhiao had been exiled from his homelands near Ngāruawāhia. Iwi who participated in the wars were labelled ‘rebels’ and the settler government confiscated 1.2 million acres of fertile lands across the Waikato to punish them, and to reward loyalists (including some Māori, who fought alongside the Crown). The large-scale confiscation that we call raupatu spanned from Mangatāwhiri (Mercer) southwards and incorporates the land upon which the town of Cambridge now sits. 

Te Aho under the waharoa at Pōhara Marae (Photography: Erica Sinclair)

In the wake of raupatu, Māori were required to come to town to take part in hearings which would determine whether they would keep their land or lose it. Many camped near the lake now known as Te Kōutu while waiting for hearings. They ran up debts to buy supplies for weeks on end. Even if they were fortunate enough to be named as owners on the title, some would then have to sell that land to pay those debts, or the costs of surveyors. Te kōutuutu (from which the lake gets its name) means to scoop up and splash your face with water. Washing with water from the lake in this way was a method for cleansing and regenerating spiritual health. It was, therefore,Te Oko Horoi, the washbowl of sorrow, for Tāwhiao and local mana whenua. Not only does this ingoa tell us an important history about the land and our people, it tells us of the pristine nature of the water during that time and its ability to heal – an incentive to restore what is now a degraded life force. 

Being displaced from our lands through raupatu and the operations of the Native Land Court compromised our ability to grow our own food. The sculpture of a timo, or hand tool for gardening, now located along the Cambridge bypass near Tamahere is named Māra Kai (food garden).  A nearby bridge, Te Kōpū Mānia, takes its name from the lament of King Tāwhiao, “Te Kōpū Mānia o Kirikiriroa me ōna Māra Kai, (The Smooth Womb of Kirikiriroa and her Food Gardens).” Names that we are proposing for parks and reserves reveal more of the brilliance of our ancestors. One example is Te Korakora, the Māori word for charcoal.  The first step in preparing the land for growing kūmara was to clear the whenua. Mānuka and bracken fern were burnt to make charcoal to enrich the soil. Restoring ingoa Māori helps to keep knowledge like this alive.

The presence of our ancestors is still visible in our names, and in the borrow pits, the soils, and pā sites on our landscapes. For this visibility to not only continue, but strengthen, it is important for mana whenua to tell our own stories. Our stories reflect natural, cultural, and historic heritage. They inspire us all to take notice of the past, take care of the present and prepare for a more vibrant, shared future.

(Photography: Erica Sinclair)

Te Aho’s current project – E rua ngā marae, kotahi te Iwi – Stories of Ngāti Koroki Kahukura aims to fill a gap in literature about iwi and hapū identity in the South Waikato region. Te Aho’s project is funded by Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga New Zealand’s Māori Centre of Research Excellence and the Judith Binney Trust.