The Pacific profiles series shines a light on Pacific people in Aotearoa doing interesting and important work in their communities, as nominated by members of the public. Today, Mauatua Fa’ara-Reynolds.
All photos by Geoffery Matautia.
Mauatua Fa’ara-Reynolds
Mauatua Fa’ara-Reynolds (Tahitian, Norfolk Islands) is a final-year Pacific studies student, artist, writer, poet, and cat mum. From their cosy Newtown flat, we discussed their family’s tapa practice, FESTPAC 2024, why they love Pacific studies, and dispelling colonial myths about Tahitian vahine.
Tell us about your family and where you grew up.
I was born in Ra’iatea, moved to Norfolk Island when I was four, and then we moved to Australia when I was 10. I’m from a single-parent household. I was lucky to spend the first part of my childhood in the lands I’m indigenous to. Moving to Australia was unbelievably difficult. It was just my mum, my brother and I in this country that I’d never lived in before. We were in a small rural town with like 1,000 people. There was one Fijian girl and one Aboriginal girl at our school. That was tough but we’re a strong family unit. My mum, Pauline, still lives with my brother on Norfolk Island and she works in museums. Her work is largely centred around re-framing the story of our tupuna through tapa.
And what is the story of your tupuna?
It’s the story of the bounty. You know, the literal “mutiny on the bounty”. We descend from English mutineers and Tahitian women. Some of them were kidnapped, some went willingly, but the women have always been sexualised and the whole story has been sensationalised. My mum’s artistic practice has been to re-frame our history from an indigenous female perspective through tapa. Tapa has been a really big part of her life and now my life. I’ve been able to go into these museum collections and see the tapa my ancestors made. I grew up making tapa. I was lucky enough to have the knowledge of what goes into tapa: the work that goes into it, and the mana that goes into it as well. I think my mum’s focus on highlighting indigenous women and stripping away dominant colonial stories is something I want to do, too. She’s also a poet, so she got me into poetry as well.
What prompted the move to Pōneke?
I got really sick of Australia! I wanted to pursue Pacific studies and I wanted to be around more Pacific people because I’d spent so long in a very white space. I just longed for that connection. To be around people of the Moana is such a blessing and I missed it. My mum is good friends with the Pacific curator at the British Museum, Dr Alice Christophe. I asked where she’d recommend studying Pacific studies and anthropology, and she said that Te Herenga Waka has the best Pacific studies programme. They showed me so much love before I even applied. I thought “this is what I need” and I moved in 2022.
Is there a specific area of interest for you within the Pacific studies degree?
What I end up coming back to is the sexualisation of Pasifika women and nuclear testing in the Pacific. There was one reading I had by the late Teresia Teaiwa “bikinis and other s/pacific n/oceans” that totally shaped everything for me. My grand-père (grand-father) was conscripted by the French government to help with the testings in the Tuamotu Archipelago. He had exposure to radioactive waste and its long-term health effects, and ultimately his passing. If I were to do something important with my life, it’d be something about those two things.
I first came across your work through your writing in Salient. I remember your article about Pacific studies in the ‘Love’ issue. What drives your storytelling?
I did a course at the beginning of the year with American slam poet Steven Willis and he was absolutely incredible. It was such a formative experience because it helped me realise exactly what drives me; the damaging stories that are projected onto our people and, especially, our women. His feedback to me was, “Don’t translate your culture because the colonisers never left footnotes. Give your people a meal, and everyone else crumbs.” It’s always my priority to give it to our people so they’re the ones that are nourished, and everyone else can… well, they can learn a little bit.
In my first year, I read Salient and noticed such an absence of Māori and Pacific stories. When I did put in something to write, it’d go right at the back in the Pacific Student Council section, even though I wasn’t part of that. I applied for the staff writer role: I didn’t think I’d get it but I did and the first piece I wrote was about Pacific Studies. I wanted to do it for soooo long. It was tough because in the course you learn about the trauma you descend from. It’s this room full of brown kids connecting their ancestors to what they’re learning about and it’s so tough. But April Henderson (Programme Director of Va’aomanū Pasifika) is so unbelievably caring and has so much love to give to Pacific peoples. She took such good care of us, and I wanted to give her her flowers and share with the wider student body just how incredible this course is. A lot of people think Pacific Studies is a “filler” course, but it’s so much more than that. Especially here [at Te Herenga Waka], it’s one of those courses where it’s not just for the points, it’s enriching for you. I found it transformative. The piece had such a positive response. I went to April’s office and she had it printed on her door. I was so happy. I write what I wish I had when I was in my first year. I’m interested in framing, and how to give space to the stories of my ancestors and connect them to mine.
Tell us about the Festival of Pacific Arts and Culture? How was it? It felt like everyone was there. I was so jealous.
My heart has been so full! Looking at it from a tapa perspective, the connections made between the islands were just incredible and it really reminded me of the act of making tapa. You beat the individual piece, and you beat it into another, and that becomes the collective, you beat another and that becomes the region. Each part bleeds into a fabric of something so special. We so often get caught in the bubble of our own nations. To learn from their practices and to take those on, and for them to take on yours, it was beautiful cross-cultural contamination. And to see all the different ways we use tapa is amazing and the stories that come with making tapa, too. I also finally met Teatuahere Teiti-Gierlach, a ma’ohi Tahitian writer and poet. They’re incredible. We’re definitely cousins somewhere along the line. It’s always interesting meeting others in the Tahitian diaspora because they’re less influenced by the French colonial way of thinking.
The formal part was disappointing sometimes because the US military funds Festpac, so there wasn’t a lot of talk about the military presence of Guåhan or Hawaii, and I didn’t see anything about nuclear testing. It felt held back in a lot of different ways. In the closing ceremony, someone yelled “Decolonise Hawaii” and they got shut down. It feels like a step back in some ways, that inhibition to share stories and to share the struggle.
The informal parts are always the best bits of those conferences. There are so many exciting things happening in your world. What’s next for you?
I work in two-year plans. I’m going to apply for the poetry course in the IIML Masters programme. Touch wood! I’d also love to deepen my understanding of museum practices and writing. I haven’t figured out how those two things will meet, but those are the things I’d love to pursue.
And, finally, what do you see as your role within your communities?
That’s tough (laughs). I do everything for my tupuna. I want to do my namesake, Mauatua proud – she was on the bounty. She was the object of desire for so many of the films you see with Marlon Brando, and colonial literature and portraiture. If I could re-frame how she’s been portrayed and contribute, even a little, then I’d be happy. If that gives hope to another little girl in Tahiti, I’d love that.
This is Public Interest Journalism funded by NZ On Air.