Colonisation and belonging

For about a week, my inbox was full of links to blog posts about Andrea Smith and whether she is or isn’t Cherokee. I’ve read all of those posts, and most of them make me really uncomfortable. I want to explore my discomfort in a series of short (for me) posts over the next few weeks. I don’t know where this will go. I don’t plan to critique anything that anyone is saying, and I won’t presume to give any solutions—I know it's not my place. But there are a number of reasons that my reaction is complicated, and I think it’s important to talk about those reasons.

First of all, I should re-introduce myself. I am from Waitaha, Kāti Mamoe and Ngāi Tahu on my birth father’s side, and European on my birth mother’s side. I was adopted at birth by a Pākehā family, back in the days of closed adoptions, and grew up in Whangārei. My parents were assured that I am completely white, and I am light-skinned enough that this is marginally believable. So I was raised in ignorance of tikanga, and without any knowledge of my Māori whakapapa. I didn’t find my father until I was in my 30s, and with that I found out my iwi. At the time, I hadn’t even visited the area that we’re from. Since then, my birth father’s family have been incredibly welcoming, and have taken the time to teach me a lot. It has taken me a long time to learn some of the things that I should already have known. There are many things I will never learn. I will always be in-between, both Pākehā and Māori, and not quite either (I will write more about this in another post).

I have been lucky. There are many parts of my story that could have been different, that could have resulted in my never discovering my whakapapa, or that could have resulted in my knowing the connections, but never able to prove them:

• I needed to find my mother
• She needed to remember my father’s name
• She needed to know that he was in another country
• I needed to find him
• He needed to acknowledge me.

It would have been easy to be caught in a situation of knowing who I belong to, but with no way of proving it. Whether I knew it or not, whether I could prove it or not, I have always been Ngāi Tahu. That is part of my whakapapa.

This sort of story, of complete disconnection, is colonisation. I was going to say it’s an important part of colonisation, but it’s more than that. Colonisation is breaking connections. Whakapapa is the ultimate threat to colonisation; it guarantees that colonisation will eventually fail. Whakapapa means we care for each other—we are responsible to each other and our ancestors. We are a force. This means that every link in whakapapa, every connection, is a threat to colonisation. It’s only by breaking indigenous connections to place, by forcing tangata whenua from their place, that colonisers can take the land and try to keep it. It’s only by breaking indigenous connections to each other, imposing their culture and values in the gaps that are created, that colonisers can feel safe and superior. As individuals, we are much more likely to succumb, to assimilate, to disappear.

For many Māori, the knowledge of whakapapa died a generation or two ago, the connections are forgotten. When that knowledge is taken, what can we do? Should we admit defeat, and say the whakapapa is gone, we are no longer Māori? Should we shut people out if they can’t prove their relationships? Or are there better solutions? What are the risks in accepting people who, for whatever reason, seem to belong? What are the opportunities? Are we more likely to realise tino rangatiratanga through strict rules of exclusion, or through flexibility and inclusion?

Clearly, I am affected by these questions. My identity as Māori, tangata whenua, Ngāi Tahu feels vulnerable. It’s hard for me to remember that this is true for lots of us. Many of us feel vulnerable, not Māori enough. Which project does that insecurity serve—colonisation or tino rangatiratanga? What are our political goals, and what actions move us towards them, or away from them? These are questions I think it is important to continue talking about.

I’ll write more soon.

Won't somebody think of the children—sexuality, marriage and adoption

This is a summary of my previous very long post “Ahunga Tikanga: Tikanga and sexual diversity”.

There’s been a bit of talk lately about tikanga and sexuality, triggered by debate over whether two men or two women should be legally able to marry or to adopt children as a couple. One side is saying things like same sex marriage and adoption are anti-tradition/ tikanga, anti-society and endangering children. The other side tells us that opposing same sex marriage and adoption is discriminatory and bigoted, and also anti-tradition/ tikanga. I can understand not wanting to be associated with either of these sides.

What is missing is discussion about whose values are at the heart of the debate. When Hone Harawira and Brendan Horan say there are more important issues than gay marriage (on Rhema and Native Affairs episode 6/17 respectively), I agree—but what I think is more important is probably very different from where they’re at.

The legal rights we give to different sorts of relationships are much less important to me than how we treat people in our communities. Too many kids never get old enough to be in a relationship. Around a third of 21 years olds with same sex attractions have already tried to kill themselves (eg, in New Zealand and other studies). The messages they hear about homosexuals are so clear and hateful that the thought of being one, or trying to live as one, is just too awful. This isn’t because these young people are weak, this is because of the bullying, stigma, and hatred they see and live through. Stopping that crap is more important to me than legalising same sex marriage, or even adoption. At the same time, legal discrimination justifies hateful behaviour.

Where does all this fear and hatred of homosexuality come from?

It certainly doesn’t come from tikanga mai rā anō—there’s no evidence of homophobia in anything that I’ve come across (such as creation traditions, whakataukī, art, pakiwaitara). There are enough people looking to justify their homophobic beliefs that I’m confident if there were homophobic traditions, we’d all know about it. There’s plenty of evidence from the period of early contact with Europeans that tangata whenua didn’t consider ‘sexual orientation’ a big deal at all (eg, Te Awekotuku, Ngahuia (2005) "He Reka Anō – same-sex lust and loving in the ancient Māori world" Outlines: Lesbian & Gay histories of Aotearoa. Edited by Alison J Laurie & Linda Evans. LAGANZ, Wellington )—whereas Europeans did (eg, Parkinson, Phil (2005) "'A most depraved young man': Henry Miles Pilley, the New Zealand missionary" Outlines: Lesbian & Gay histories of Aotearoa. Edited by Alison J Laurie & Linda Evans. LAGANZ, Wellington).

Europeans, and especially the Christian churches, introduced their fear and hatred of homosexuality to these lands. English law is strangely obsessed with who people have sex with. Until very recently, men who had consensual sex with men could be imprisoned, or even killed. Te Awekotuku talks about the church trying to have one of its own priests hanged because he liked sex with men (he survived because English racism was greater than their homophobia—the only evidence they had was from the Māori men the priest had slept with, and it wouldn’t be right to kill an Englishman based only on evidence from natives). I don’t know why they developed such violent practices to control something as joyful and fun as sex, but they brought them here.

When we look to our parents and grandparents for guidance on how to think about different sexualities, we need to remember that for generations we have lived under English law, and been educated in their schools and churches. There are very few places to avoid the awful messages of that culture—it called tikanga primitive and violent, then told us it was right to hit children, to dominate women and to hate homosexuality. Our kaumātua may genuinely believe that there is something wrong with homosexuality. After a couple of hundred years of colonisers trying to shame us into rejecting our values and adopting theirs, that’s hardly surprising. Many of us aren’t sure what is really ours and what has been forced on us (perversely, Māori who have come to accept values the colonisers taught us, like homophobia and patriarchy, are now called primitive and ignorant).

We can’t stop children being exposed to hatred, but we can fight the impact, just as we have with all the messages about Māori being less than awesome. We can stand up for sexual diversity; we can talk about our own crushes or curiosity or lovers; we can treat their crushes equally, whether it’s a boy or girl they’re obsessing over; we can speak against homophobia, silence and discrimination; we can show our children that it is safe for our whanaunga to be honest about their relationships. We can make sure they understand that it is wrong to even ask whether gay couples should be able to legally marry or adopt. It’s a ridiculous question that reflects a ridiculous but dangerous culture.

We need to be clear that homophobia (the belief that homosexuality is wrong, depraved, and dangerous) does not come from tikanga. It comes from the colonisers. Whakapapa is about inclusion—there needs to be a bloody good reason to exclude or demean someone in any way. Who they sleep with is not a good reason. Our children grow up in an environment where they will see, hear and experience hatred of different sexualities. Whoever they grow up to be, these messages are dangerous. These messages will limit how our children see themselves and who they can imagine being.

Two women or men loving each other does not endanger children, homophobia does.

A few of my favourite things (or, what I read and loved in 2011)

Summer is a time for geeking outside with some good reading (as opposed to the rest of the year when I geek inside). With that in mind, I thought I’d post a short list of things I have loved reading this year. I’d love to hear what you all have been reading too. Most of my reading has been related to work, so my list is mostly indigenous writing on decolonisation. Every writer here has stretched my thinking, but their writing is universally straightforward and uncomplicated.

“The basic population of New Zealand is still not prepared to hear and cope with the colonial history and will not be so while the general education system does not include this material for all citizens to evaluate for themselves. It is from this level of educational paucity that nursing and midwifery students, practitioners and teachers are usually drawn. For patients to be considered in terms of their political status and historical circumstances requires an understanding and knowledge of history which continues to be uncommon in New Zealand currently.” (Ramsden, p 180)

2011 reading started well. Moana Jackson lent me Irihapeti Ramsden’s 2002 PhD thesis “Cultural Safety and Nursing education in Aotearoa and Te Waipounamu”. She has been one of my favourite writers for a long time; her writing is clear and honest, so her ideas seem deceptively obvious. Yet her work has always been ground breaking, especially when it comes to nursing and cultural safety. Irihapeti’s thesis is an incredibly accessible background to that work.

Ramsden, Irihapeti (2002) Cultural Safety and Nursing education in Aotearoa and Te Waipounamu. PhD thesis, Victoria University of Wellington

Cultural Safety and Nursing education in Aotearoa and Te Waipounamu online

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“I maintain in this thesis that presenting menstruation and menstrual blood as putrid is a politically motivated act of colonial violence that specifically targets the source of our continuity as Indigenous People, the whare tangata (house of humanity – womb of women). I pose the question ‘if menstrual blood symbolises whakapapa, what does it mean to present it as ‘unclean’ and how do such representations cut across the politics of tino rangatiratanga (autonomy)?’” (Murphy, p ii)

I was blown away by Ngāhuia Murphy’s 2011 master’s thesis “Te Awa Atua, Te Awa Tapu, Te Awa Wahine”. This is exciting work that will change lives. Her analysis is strong, her writing is accessible and she pulls no punches.

Murphy, Ngāhuia (2011) Te Awa Atua, Te Awa Tapu, Te Awa Wahine: An examination of stories, ceremonies and practices regarding menstruation in the pre-colonial Māori world. Master of Arts thesis, University of Waikato

Te Awa Atua, Te Awa Tapu, Te Awa Wahine pdf

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“For people committed to transcending the imperialism of state sovereignty, the challenge is to de-think the concept of sovereignty and replace it with a notion of power that has at its root a more appropriate premise... Maintaining a political community on the premise of singularity is no more than intellectual imperialism. Justice demands a recognition of the diversity of languages and knowledge that exists among people—indigenous peoples’ ideas about relationships and power holding the same credence as those formerly constituting the singular reality of the state. Creating a legitimate postcolonial relationship involves abandoning notions of European cultural superiority and adopting a mutually respectful posture. It is no longer possible to maintain the legitimacy of the premise that there is only one right way to see and do things.” (Alfred, pp 46-47)

Taiaiake Alfred is one of those writers whose work is impossible to take notes on—every sentence he writes is gold. The above quote is from his essay “Sovereignty” in Sovereignty matters: Locations of Contestation and Possibility in Indigenous Struggles for Self Determination (2005, edited by J Barker). I highly recommend his book “Peace, Power, Righteousness”. So good.

Alfred, Taiaiake (2009) Peace, Power, Righteousness: An Indigenous Manifesto (2nd Edition). Oxford University Press

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“It is crucial that Māori continue to think and to imagine beyond the intellectual imprisonment of what our colonisers deem to be realistic. So long as we do, and so long as we do so in concert with our Indigenous sisters and brothers in our common struggle for self-determination, who can predict where the relation of forces may lead us.” (Mikaere, p 204)

Ani’s writing continues to shine, and I was stoked that her book came out this year. I reviewed it here already.

Mikaere, Ani (2011) Colonising Myths—Māori Realities: He Rukuruku Whakaaro. Huia Publishers and Te Tākupu, Te Wānanga-o-Raukawa

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“With the end of Jim Crow and with the rise of opportunities to become middle-class, the problem for people like me is not whether I'm black or not; everybody knows I'm black... What matters now is what kind of black person I am, which I must demonstrate by the brand of blackness I perform through my speech and behavior.” (Young, pp 131-132)

“Literacy is not chiefly about matching pronouns with the right antecedents or comprehending why Willie and Janet went up the hill. Literacy is first and foremost a racial performance. Take the code switching ideology I’ve discussed and that informs most speaking and writing instruction. When we ask black students to give up one set of codes in favor of another, their [Black English Vernacular] for something we call more standard, we're not asking them to make choices about language, we're asking them to choose different ways to perform their racial identities through language.” (Young, p 142)

Last year, most of my reading was about gender, masculinity in particular. I finished taking notes on Vershawn Ashanti Young’s “Your Average Nigga” this year, and he gave me heaps to think about around race, gender and literacy. Again, accessible, well-constructed arguments and examples.

Young, Vershawn Ashanti (2007) Your Average Nigga : performing race, literacy, and masculinity. Wayne State University

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I have a bunch of books I can’t wait to read this summer. If you have recommendations to add, I’d be keen to hear them.

Mana Party, tino rangatiratanga and identity politics

I see two reasons for fighting New Zealand’s current political and economic system, and the makeup of the Mana Party means they’re great for arguing both. I touched on one reason in the previous post—because the current system doesn’t work for us. It oppresses, and then exploits the oppressed, and it can only do this by playing oppressed groups off against each other. This division is fuelled by propaganda from Brash mā, spokespeople for the rich and powerful (bullshit like this). Divided by competing needs and mistrust we fall; united by the bond of our oppressions we stand. Grounded in many oppressed communities, Mana can grow relationships across those communities, allowing us to talk about the ways that we are exploited—as unemployed, as under-paid workers, as colonised, etc. And as I tried to say in my previous post on Mana (this is kind of the second part to that post), this awareness should help Māori to avoid replicating similar structures of oppression ourselves. So that’s one reason to oppose the current system, and one reason to be excited about Mana.

The other reason, which is sometimes forgotten by tauiwi social justice activists (at least in the circles that I have worked in), is that however the current system is organised, it is founded on the injustice of colonisation. Whether we have dreams of reforming capitalism with a conscience, or a revolution to anarchism or other socialism, if tangata whenua do not consent then the result will be ongoing colonial injustice. For there to be any social justice, there must be tino rangatiratanga. We need more people who understand what we mean by tino rangatiratanga, and why it must be the starting point for a just society. Grounded as it is in several activist communities, Mana is in a great position to educate in those communities.

I could leave this post here, but I want to talk a bit about the way tino rangatiratanga is sometimes dismissed as identity politics.

Tino rangatiratanga and identity politics

A while back a piece at Maui Street argued I am surprised that the Mana Party is focusing on class politics. The movement that underpins the Mana Party is firmly rooted in identity politics.... I want to talk about why it is wrong to call tino rangatiratanga struggle “identity politics”.

First, and most obviously, tino rangatiratanga is not about ethnicity or any other identity, it is about justice. Yes, in New Zealand the tangata whenua happen to be Māori and the colonisers happened to originally be Pākehā, but that doesn’t make it a matter of ethnic identity. In Wales, both the tangata whenua and the colonisers were Pākehā, and theirs was no less a struggle for tino rangatiratanga.

Second (kind of a restatement of the first, but it’s important so it gets its own point), the struggle for tino rangatiratanga is no more about identity than class struggle is—both are based on shared experiences of oppression and intergenerational injustice. I cannot understand any assertion that there is a difference (which is certainly not limited to Maui Street, I have heard similar statements from many social justice activists), and it pisses me off when we minimise/ dismiss tino rangatiratanga in this way.

Third, what frustrates me most is that (ironically, but not surprisingly) the argument usually comes down to cultural imperialism, or the perceived need for Māori to justify our reality against Western reality. It comes from an inability to recognise Western culture as cultural. I can only dismiss tino rangatiratanga as racial/ cultural, if I think Western knowledge systems and the values and ethics that stem from them aren’t racial/ cultural. Ie: Class-based struggle stems from Western philosophy, so it is not cultural/ ethnic, whereas tino rangatiratanga stems from mātauranga Māori, so it is cultural/ ethnic. And therefore it is identity based politics.

Fourth, calling it identity politics shuts tauiwi out of the tino rangatiratanga conversation. It makes it about us and them, when actually there are plenty of tauiwi who know what colonisation is, and who want justice for tangata whenua.

To review, tino rangatiratanga, is not identity politics, or at least, no more than other Western political movements. Even if we call it the struggle for recognition of Māori cultural identity, it is not identity politics. It is survival in the face of cultural genocide. It is based on a simple truth, which is not about race, ethnicity or essentialism of any kind (as I understand the term)—that tangata whenua have their own mātauranga, it is the first mātauranga of these lands, it is legitimate, it requires rangatiratanga to survive and develop. And it is about justice—through the processes of colonisation, Pākehā have tried to wipe these mātauranga from the land, along with the reo and tikanga that express them. Colonisation is illegitimate, unjust, violent, oppressive, genocidal. Tino rangatiratanga seeks to restore the balance.

I’m stoked that Te Mana provides a platform where these issues might get some deserved attention.

The rugby world cup waka pavilion

This is a short post about the controversy around the waka pavilion that Ngāti Whatua have proposed “to help promote Maori culture and business during the Rugby World Cup” (Radio NZ news). The tone of the debate around the waka is very different to that about spending the other $265 million for promoting the world cup. Our media are embarrassing and predictable. Politicians behave opportunistically and immaturely because they want attention, unfortunately we also have mainstream media who don’t care whether a story is real or a beat up. Anti-Māori reactions are so easy to stir into something resembling a story. This is frustrating enough. It is particularly disgusting when Māori politicians use these opportunities to appeal to voters’ racism. Shane Jones, are you really that desperate?

What pisses me off most is that the immature way politicians and media behave takes space away from debating the more important issues that stories like this raise. There are issues around the waka pavilion, like there were around Te Papa’s pānui on the taonga Māori collection, that do need to be debated by Māori. Instead, we spend energy fending off racist and ignorant attacks.

Despite this, I’m still giving my two cents about the waka pavilion.

Rugby marketing is all into co-opting macho warrior images of Māori. The rugby world cup will see these images everywhere, re-enforcing a limiting and unhealthy idea of what it means to be Māori. If we are putting up our own symbols, it will be good to choose images that counter the hyper-masculine, dangerous and violent mainstream narrative. In 1994, Irihapeti Ramsden was questioning the use of waka tauā (in the sesquicentennial celebrations) as a primary symbol of Māori for similar reasons.

"How was the waka taua decision arrived at? Why were the symbols of war chosen to demonstrate the state of our race relations to the world? What actually happened was the powerful reinforcement of the natives versus civilisation argument.” (p 255 “Doing it for the mokopuna” in Ihimaera, Witi: Vision Aotearoa Kaupapa New Zealand. Bridget Williams Books, Wellington)

What have we learnt? The waka pavilion could be an opportunity for moving this discussion forward.

Defining Māori



This is another rough draft which still needs a lot of work. The connections are clear in my head, but they haven't made it onto the page yet. It has come out of discussions with several friends about our identity as Māori. I have learnt a lot about myself from listening to Rouge, Zac, Sarsha, Kat, Hana and Pip. I also need to thank Leah Whiu and Moana Jackson for helping me to understand what it was I was trying to say. And Kirsty for listening to me explore these ideas, and for comments on an earlier draft.

Introduction

I feel conflicted about my identity as Māori, and I know many other people feel similarly about their Māori identity. Why is this? I’m certain it isn’t for the reasons of previous generations, when some Māori had been made to feel so much shame in their heritage that they invented other ancestries, claiming southern European or other origins. So why is it then? Why are so many of us uncertain of our standing as Māori? In this essay, I explain it as an effect of colonisation, and show how it can affect the futures we are able to imagine.

Colonisation invented a story of who Māori are: it made Māori a race, and made up a limited set of characteristics for that race. These stereotypes are not controlled by us (Māori), they limit us, and they serve the purposes of ongoing cultural imperialism. They make us uncomfortable in our own skins and on our own land. They are used to blame us for the problems created by colonisation. It is essential that we develop our own answers to the question of what it means to be Māori.

I should first explain that I have very good reasons to be uncertain about my ethnic identity. I was adopted by my Pākehā family at birth, I am often read as Pākehā, and I didn’t even know for sure that I have Māori whakapapa until I was 33 and managed to track down my birth father. Until recently, my experience of being Māori was never knowing how to answer questions about my ethnicity, and trying not to care what the answer was so I wouldn’t feel disappointed or fake if I was wrong. In a society that is so monoculturally Pākehā, this meant being Pākehā—which means I didn’t have to experience much racist crap, and I will always benefit from white privilege. I feel guilt because this means I’ve had an easy ride. At the same time, it hasn’t been a joy ride. I was asked if I am Māori regularly enough that I knew I wasn’t completely passing as Pākehā. It didn’t matter how many times my parents said they had been guaranteed I was Pākehā, other people seemed unconvinced. It was unsettling to know that I didn’t completely fit the box I was supposed to be in, and yet I couldn’t choose another one.

But my insecurity is far from unique, and my personal history doesn't explain why I still feel conflicted. What are the sources of conflict in my and others’ identity as Māori? Why do I feel almost apologetic when I say I am Māori? It isn’t because I am ashamed of what it means to be Māori; it’s the opposite. I am not Māori enough. Being culturally Pākehā, I feel like an imposter—or as Te Arawa said to Tipene O’Regan, a Pākehā with a whakapapa (cited in O’Regan, p 54). I am too pale, too urban, too schooled in Pākehātanga, too middle-class, too vegan, too kuare, too geeky, and as smart as I think I am, I cannot speak te reo. I can’t sing, I don’t play sport, I don’t eat meat or seafood, I don’t listen to music, I’ve never lived at a pā, or even within my iwi’s rohe, and until three years ago, I hadn’t set foot on the land of my tūpuna Māori.

This list of ways I don't feel authentically Māori shows what I have learnt to believe about what it means to be Māori. It is based on stereotypes, even if the experience of not fitting in is real. For example, the majority of Māori are urban and have little reo (Research New Zealand, p 5), so why do I feel too urban and ignorant of te reo? This is one of the many tragedies of colonisation—the coloniser didn’t just make up stories about Māori, it forces us to live them as our reality, and judges us as inauthentic if we don’t. We don't even get to choose these stereotypes that we are being judged against, but eventually, we end up judging ourselves against them too. We begin to ignore or forget that it is our whakapapa that makes us Māori. If anyone is to define what it means to be Māori, it should be ourselves.

The insult Te Arawa used to try to discredit O’Regan shows that many do not consider whakapapa to be the only criterion for Māori identity. Calling O'Regan a Pākehā with whakapapa, does not just dismiss his whakapapa, it insults all our whakapapa. They were saying that whakapapa is insufficient—you may have whakapapa, but you may not be Māori. They were saying that being Māori depends on something more, it depends on behaviour or culture. I want to look more at this idea that we should behave in some way if we are to be judged truly Māori.

The way that we see ourselves is constructed on more than whakapapa. There is external feedback from people reacting to us, and reading our ethnicities. This depends on their expectations of Māori, which might include behaviour, knowledge of te reo and tikanga Māori, skin colour, dress, education, profession, diet, and countless other racial or cultural signifiers. Many of us who feel as if we fail on a crucial signifier, such as skin colour, try to compensate by excelling at another. For example, Hana O’Regan has spoken about how her fluency in te reo Māori has given her security in her identity as Māori (O’Regan, 10/10/2010), which had been challenged by both Māori and Pākehā (O’Regan, pp 20-21). This has been fantastic for Kāi Tahu, but not everyone will respond in such a positive way to discomfort around their identity, and not everyone will get to the place that she has, confident in their identity.

For those of us who have lived mostly in te ao Pākehā, most of the people we interact with will be Pākehā. It makes sense that our idea of what it means to be Māori will be influenced by Pākehā expectations. But after 200 plus years of European contact, even those who live in Māori communities, who have less interaction with Pākehā people, will still likely be influenced by European ideas of who Māori are. European ideas of racial identity, or othering, will also play a huge part.

There is a tradition of Europeans racialising the peoples they encountered as they traveled, traded, and attempted to control the world. The experience of Māori fits into this tradition of Othering and Orientalism. The characteristics Europeans associated with Māori are based on imperialism. We (Māori) have little ability to define how Māori are represented, or even defined.

This has implications for imagining constitutional frameworks for our future. There is a temptation to react against ‘their’ racist depictions of Māori by constructing our own racial identity; countering their negative messages with our positive ones. But, as I hope to show in this essay, race is a crap basis for identity—it is inherently limiting and dehumanising. Whakapapa is a genuine and useful foundation for identity, but we need to explore what that means. After a couple of centuries of colonisation, it may not be immediately obvious how whakapapa differs from race. But it is different, it has very different implications, and it needs to be the starting point for thinking about our future.

Colonisation hasn’t just racialised a Māori identity, it has messed with our ideas about gender. I don’t just mean the way we relate to each other—our understanding of colonisation itself, has been gendered. This has worked its way into our language and metaphors, and potentially our visions for decolonisation. We need to ensure that our visions are in all ways free from patriarchy.

Othering

Othering has been used to explain and deconstruct representations and treatment of cultures, genders and sexualities. Johnson and Pihama review the literature about Othering and much of the following is based on their work. Othering is a term that has been given to the situation where a privileged group defines itself as normal, and compares all other groups (the Other) against this normality. Others are described as opposite to the norm. Othering highlights differences between groups, while at the same time ignoring differences within the Othered groups. “Using its own values, experiences and culture as standards, the dominant group measures the Others and finds them lacking” (Johnson and Pihama, p 77). Biases that favour the dominant group are ignored, and any differences in outcomes (such as prison statistics, success at school or economic differences) are explained as coming from the shortcomings of the Other.

Johnson and Pihama summarise the effect of Othering on Māori in New Zealand. First, “difference is applied in ways which are not complimentary or positive for Māori or their interests and aspirations” (Johnson and Pihama, p 80). This includes using stereotypes as explanations to blame Māori for situations that are actually caused by structural racism (for example, Māori do poorly at school because we are lazy, Māori end up in prison because we are violent, etc.). Second, Pākehā cultural norms are legitimised and reinforced in all institutions and aspects of New Zealand. This means that anywhere in New Zealand, Pākehā culture and English language are considered normal—so much so that many Pākehā are unaware that they even have a culture. Whereas in most situations it would be both unexpected, and even unacceptable, to behave according to tikanga Māori, or to use te reo Māori. Third, once the dominant culture has set this up, there is “a double-edged sword of either ignoring or focusing on differences” (Johnson and Pihama, p 81). Ignoring differences leads to assimilation of Māori into Pākehā culture—essentially cultural extinction. Acknowledging the differences highlights that they are associated with deprivation (for example, Māori are over-represented among the poor, imprisoned, etc.), leading to stigma. Either of these end up reinforcing the dominance of Pākehā.

Said has written about Othering in the context of the European invention of Orientalism. The Oriental is a specific type of Other, and the European understanding of Māori in New Zealand is essentially as an Oriental. It may seem odd to consider Māori as Oriental, but Europeans imagined the world divided into two hemispheres, the west (Occident) included only Europe and America; everywhere else from east of the Mediterranean was the east or Orient, from India to Japan to Mongolia to Turkey to Egypt. As Said documents, when Europeans met peoples who were different from themselves, they slotted them into the category of Oriental, and treated them almost as if they were interchangeable. This ‘interchangeableness’ is important in thinking about Māori cultural identity, because it means that stereotypes that had been forced onto the Oriental, have also been applied to Māori.

Said argues that the major component of European culture is its belief in its own superiority compared with non-European cultures (Said, p 7). Centuries and the resources of empires have gone into creating the idea of the Oriental—opposite and subordinate to Europeans:

“One ought never to assume that the structure of Orientalism is nothing more than a structure of lies and myths which, were the truth about them to be told, would simply blow away… Orientalism … is not an airy European fantasy about the Orient, but a created body of theory and practice in which, for many generations, there has been considerable material investment” (Said, p 5)

There are two reasons for this. The first is that Europeans believed that if they studied the Oriental, European management of the Orient would be easier and more profitable. The second is that the circularity of Orientalism reinforced European ideas of who Europeans are. By casting the Oriental as exotic and inferior, Orientalism confirms Europeans as normal and superior. The Oriental is always defined in opposition to Europeans, representing the opposite of how Europeans see themselves: “Orientalism… has less to do with the Orient than it does with ‘our’ [European] world” (Said, p 12). According to this logic:

“The Oriental is irrational, depraved, childlike, ‘different’; thus the European is rational, virtuous, mature, ‘normal’… the Oriental is contained and represented by the dominating frameworks.” (Said, p 40)

As Balfour pointed out, Europeans governed over the Orientals not just out of self-interest, but for the sake of the Orientals (Balfour, cited in Said, p 33). This is the white man’s burden. There is no reflection or examination of the assumptions that require European rule over the Orient—European culture is superior therefore dominant, Other culture is inferior therefore dependent. The reason Orientalists could gather and provide such knowledge about Orientals, Māori or otherwise, is because Orientals are completely knowable—Orientals have an unchanging essence that once known is always known. This is important; this changes a stereotype into a fixed racial characteristic.

Orientalism seems archaic, but Said demonstrates how it continued to affect US policy under Kissinger (Said, pp 46-48), and, in his afterword to the 1995 edition, how it continues to play out (Said, pp 329-354). Closer to home, I want to show how Orientalist thinking continues to affect the representation of Māori in New Zealand, and how this entrenches cultural identities that are not helpful to us.

Māori as an Oriental

Reading Said’s Orientalism, it is impossible not to notice the similarity in both strategies and stereotypes in the treatment of Māori by Europeans. From the very first encounters between Europeans and Māori, Europeans were examining this new people, working out where Māori fit in with races that had already been identified. Where are Māori on the hierarchy of races? Europeans provided not only the gold standard of humanity against which all races could be ranked, but were also the subjective, disinterested judges of the ranking. Whatever the motives of ethnographers like Elsdon Best or S. Percy Smith, their gathering of information about Māori is entirely within the European tradition of the Orientalist. They collected data, became the recognised authorities, so that finally their subject can be understood by those who wish to control Māori without having to meet us. There is no need to ask Māori questions about ourselves when there are Europeans who know us better, and who certainly know what is best for us. Grey, on the other hand, made explicit his reasons for studying Māori:

“I soon perceived that I could neither successfully govern, nor hope to conciliate, a numerous and turbulent people, with whose language, manners, customs, religion, and modes of thought I was quite unacquainted… Clearly, however, I could not, as Governor of the country, permit so close a veil to remain drawn between myself and the aged and influential chiefs, whom it was my duty to attach to British interests and to the British race, whose regard and confidence, as also that of their tribes, it was my desire to secure, and with whom it was necessary that I should hold the most unrestricted intercourse.” (Grey, pp v, viii)

Like his contemporaries in the Orient, Grey was gathering information so that he could better manipulate and control his native subjects.

But this is not the most striking similarity with Orientalism. The strangest similarity is not in the ways Europeans behaved towards Māori and other peoples considered Oriental, but rather the results of their attempts to know the Oriental. There are remarkable similarities between the unchanging essences that are described for Orientals, and those described for Māori. As examples, I compare the descriptions of Oriental women and men with representations of Māori women and men.

Oriental women are literally the stuff of Orientalists’ wet dreams: “[They] express unlimited sensuality, they are more or less stupid, and above all they are willing” (Said, p 207). Oriental women are described in ways that limit their roles to sexual objects, mothers and domestic servants. Like European women, they are always seen as powerless and inferior to men, but unlike European women, they are always sexually compliant. Isn’t this exactly how Māori women were described by Europeans? The dusky, unblushing, Polynesian maiden is surely an Orientalist invention.

Whereas Oriental men are always uncivilised, irrational, physical, emotional, childlike, violent, incapable of self-government, communal, closely associated with nature, in a word, feminised. Again, this sounds very much like the early representations of Māori men. It may seem strange to talk of Māori men as being represented as feminised, given the dominant current stereotype is often described as hyper-masculine. Hokowhitu touches on this:

“Early representations of Maori men portrayed them as lacking the qualities of the civilised European male. They had woman-like characteristics—they talked a lot, were animated and did women's work, while they lacked a stoic disposition because they were over emotional and whimsical.” (Hokowhitu, p 184)

European men considered all Others (whether Other genders or Other ‘races’) to be non-rational, and therefore associated with the non-human world (Forbes, p 104). Women and Orientals were understood as more primal and closer to nature (i.e., primitive, native, savage) than European men, who were instead cultured.


I want to come back to two points that may seem incompatible. As I have mentioned, Orientalism claims that the Oriental can never change—“The very possibility of development, transformation, human movement—in the deepest sense of the word—is denied the Orient and the Oriental” (Said, p 208). How does this fit with Hokowhitu’s observation that Māori men were originally represented as feminine, whereas now they are represented as hyper-masculine? In fact there is very little difference between the two representations—both rely on the idea that Māori men are physical and emotional rather than intellectual and rational. What has changed much more are the attributes associated with the European ideal man.

At the time that Europeans first started describing Māori, the ideals they brought with them were those of the English gentleman—rationality, authoritarian leadership, dispassionate, cultured, misogynous, and single-minded or stoic. Māori men were described as the opposite of these traits. However, the colonial gentleman is no longer considered the ideal man (Hokowhitu, pp 187-197). Feminism has shifted our understanding of the most useful or adaptive skills to include characters previously associated with femininity, for example, communication, emotion, and nurturing. The masculine ideal has been updated to the ‘new man’, who embraces these qualities; he is liberal and cosmopolitan, and retains masculine privilege. At the same time, the dominant stereotype of Māori men shifts from the joker (personified by Billy T James), to the hyper-masculine (personified by Jake in the film version of Once were warriors).

As Wall describes, the joker is an old stereotype that is replicated across the Orient, and fits with many early European representations of Māori (Wall, p 42). The joker is lazy, talkative, clever but not intelligent, and emasculated. He is clearly the opposite of the ideal colonial gentleman. The violent, hyper-masculine stereotype is also as old as colonisation, driven by fear of the indigenous peoples rising up against colonial rule. He is rural, works in primary industry, talks only with his fists, and beats his wife. I believe he could not become the dominant Māori stereotype while New Zealand still held to myths of its rural roots, and the good kiwi blokes who built this country. While Crumpy and Pinetree Meads were the quintessential New Zealand men, there wasn’t room for a negative Māori version—it was too close to home. The rise of the new man made room for the hyper-masculine stereotype of Māori to rise as his opposite.

Seen this way, the dominant Māori stereotype will always be opposite to the dominant (and therefore European) masculine ideal. If Pākehā ideas of themselves shift, then their representations of Māori, their ‘common sense’ stereotypes of Māori, will shift to be the opposite: “The effect is that native men become a backdrop for the staging of and representation of all that is ‘good’ in white masculinity” (Matahaere-Atariki, p 111). And there will be no acknowledgment that the stereotype has changed—Māori men have always been hyper-masculine. They must have been, because like any Oriental, they cannot change—they have a biologically determined, essential core. Only Europeans can change.

Of course there are several other stereotypes of Māori, but as Hokowhitu states, the roles that are available to Māori are limited (Hokowhitu, p 190). Racist government policies were largely successful in restricting Māori to manual education and employment, and therefore the working-class. This reality reinforces the stereotype of Māori as physical rather than intellectual.

Constitutional Issues

What has any of this got to do with constitutional issues? While I recognise the urgency in imagining how we want relationships between tangata whenua and tangata Tiriti partners to develop, an equally urgent task is acknowledging and dismantling the effects of 200 plus years of misrepresentation and Othering. I am not arguing that this should happen before we sort out our relationships with the newcomers—decolonisation is a long and on-going process—but it is a crucial component of developing our place in the future. We need an understanding of who we are as a foundation for shaping our future.

With all the time, force and experience of imperialism behind it, I think it is impossible to resist internalising at least some of the messages of the coloniser. Unfortunately, I don’t believe it is only the pale skinned, Pākehā schooled, urban Māori like me who are affected. The messages are relentless, and they are backed up with policies that make them seem real. For example, the coloniser didn’t just say that Māori aren’t as smart as Europeans and are only suited to manual labour—the Crown made it so. It demanded that schools train Māori to be farmhands and domestic servants, rather than teaching academic subjects. And when, as a result of this, Māori turn out to be under-represented in professions and over-represented in manual jobs, we all have the evidence to prove that the racist stereotype is true. There are two aspects of this relentless Othering that I consider especially relevant, and that we are in danger of continuing. The first is that Othering has racialised a Māori identity, the second is that it has gendered colonisation.

Racialising Māori

Prior to colonisation, Māori were simply groups of people living on these islands who were related by whakapapa, who shared a worldview founded on whakapapa, and who shared a common language. There was no national or racial identity—people grouped and regrouped as was appropriate or necessary, usually based on whakapapa. Following the arrival of Europeans, the word Māori began to be applied to all tangata whenua, and very quickly a whole range of Oriental stereotypes were piled onto that group. Wall explains how and why Māori were turned into a race by Europeans: “Universalised racial discourse was the key mechanism for dehumanising the Other, to negate the notion of Maori as the victim” (Wall, pp 40-41). Universalised and dehumanised, we were made all the same.

As a race, we were knowable, contained, unchanging; and as a race, we are defined by blood. From this thinking, whakapapa becomes a way, not of relating with each other and our world, but of measuring Māoriness—half-caste, quarter-caste, five-sixteenths. How much is enough to be really Māori? This question has been asked and answered by Europeans as a way of excluding people, both from being European and from being Māori. Any issue involving a Māori group is characterised as a racial issue. Colonisation and decolonisation are cast as racial issues, not justice issues. Statements such as ‘there are no full-blooded Māori left’ are used to argue against redressing the crimes of colonisation.

This has been so relentless that we are doing it to ourselves. Wall describes how Māori have developed our own stereotype of the ‘quintessential Māori’, based on an idea of a romanticised ‘traditional’ past (Wall, p 43). According to this stereotype, we are rural, spiritual and focused on family. She argues that this racialised Māori identity is based on colonial stereotypes, and holds no promise for us. Like those stereotypes, it traps Māori in a fixed identity where we are all the same (or we aren’t really Māori). Because Māori are contributing to its construction, this image has a special power. We cannot so easily blame it on our coloniser, but it is an inevitable consequence of colonisation—it is the search for the real us. But a real understanding of what it is to be Māori is not going to be found in stereotypes, or reconstructions, whether by us or our colonisers.

Pākehā may have invented the doctrine of race, but that doesn’t mean we are immune from it. When we have been racially defined for so long, we may fall into the trap of confusing race with whakapapa. It is helpful to regularly remind ourselves that it is whakapapa and not race that makes us Māori. As Moana Jackson took pains to ensure I understood, whakapapa is not race (Jackson, 13/11/2010). It does not carry racial stereotypes; it does not imply an oppositional relationship with other races.

This has implications for constitutional models. Whereas a racial identity is fixed, a whakapapa identity is not. Since Europeans started taking censuses, requiring Māori to name their hapū and iwi affiliations, they too have become fixed and unchanging. Being based on whakapapa, Māori identities are relational—sometimes we are tangata whenua, sometimes we are manuhiri, sometimes we are even tangata Tiriti. Usually I speak of the iwi that connect me with the South Island, but occasionally it may be more useful for me to stress my relationship with our northern whanaunga, like Ngāti Kahungunu. This makes constitutional models based on fixed identities challenging, and I think deserving of more attention.

Gendering colonisation

As a woman looking at the Othering or Orientalising of Māori through racial stereotypes, one of the most unsettling aspects is how invisible they make Māori women. The coloniser has focused so much on Māori men, that Māori women appear to be irrelevant as anything other than sexual playthings. Mikaere and others have done a great job of highlighting the effects of this on how we (both Māori and Pākehā) understand Māori society, and I’m not going to revisit that work. Instead I want to focus on the effect it has on our understanding of colonisation, and therefore decolonisation.

As I mentioned earlier, the Oriental male was seen as feminine; he was Othered in ways similar to European women—irrational, emotional, close to nature, etc. As Matahaere-Atariki warns, it is dangerous and misleading to see Māori within colonisation as analogous to women within patriarchy (Matahere-Atariki, p 108). It reflects the misogynous idea that colonisation is harder on Māori men. This is misogynous because overlooks the realities of women, but more dangerously, it genders colonisation—colonisation becomes emasculation.

bell hooks explores the language and imagery of racial domination and of emancipation, particularly for black liberation struggle in the US. She argues that black liberation has been sexualised “in ways that support and perpetuate sexism, phallocentrism, and male domination” (hooks, p 60). Racist domination has been equated with the loss of black manhood, so freedom means regaining that manhood:

“The discourse of black resistance has almost always equated freedom with manhood, the economic and material domination of black men with castration, emasculation. Accepting these sexual metaphors forged a bond between oppressed black men and their white male oppressors. They shared the patriarchal belief that revolutionary struggle was really about the erect phallus, the ability of men to establish political dominance that could correspond to sexual dominance.” (hooks, p 58)

It is important to continually examine our language to ensure our understanding of colonisation isn’t influenced by misogyny. Once there, it can easily creep into our futures. The use of gendered metaphors in describing the effects of colonisation is dangerous. For example, rape may seem an appropriate image for the effect of colonisation on this land, but it is unhelpful. It reinforces the idea of the coloniser as male, and by extension, of Māori as female or emasculated. It juxtaposes the active, male coloniser, against the passive, female whenua (to which Māori are linked). This is a coloniser’s fantasy.

We need to ensure that we are not confusing Māori men’s liberation with decolonisation. We have been fortunate in the number and calibre of women protesting for and theorising about decolonisation. Kuia like Eva Rickards and Whina Cooper have become iconic, and there have been and are countless more who have had less media attention. But men quickly become the focus of media when they are near the front—the images of Springbok protest, the Seabed and Foreshore Hīkoi, or the occupation of Pākaitore, for example, focus on the men. Tame Iti’s facial moko has become an emblem of Māori resistance, turning up on t-shirts and stencilled graffiti. It sometimes feels as if masculine images are the symbols of real protest.

The Crown has been quick to recognise male leadership by co-opting Māori men. I am not going to single any out, but there are countless examples of men, and groups of men, who have been rewarded in this way. We need to be careful that we do not fall into the trap of believing men are our only leaders, and succumb to the coloniser’s patriarchy. Women and men must both shape our future. The recent formation of Te Whaainga Wāhine shows that this is an ongoing problem, but more importantly, it shows that mana wahine is still powerful after more than 200 years of attempts to crush it.

Conclusion

Does any of this help me to understand where I fit in? Stereotypes have power, and that power doesn’t disappear just because we know they aren’t real. They lurk in the backs of our minds, and subtly (or not so subtly) influence how we feel in the world and how we understand our world. We cannot ignore them, because they are relentless and omnipresent. We cannot disprove them, because we don’t control them—they serve a purpose, just not ours. And we can’t simply construct a nicer racial stereotype of our own, because it will be just as limiting and essentialising. If I can be honest with myself, about who I am and where I fit into a discussion about the future, then I won’t dispel any of the stereotypes or feelings of insecurity around my identity, but I will take a lot of the power out of those thoughts and feelings.

Whakapapa provides a way forward, not just for me, but for these islands. Whakapapa provides a way of understanding who each of us are, by focusing on the relationships that we are in, and by being honest about where we came from and how those relationships came to be. As we think about our future, as individuals and as peoples in this land, Māori and tauiwi, that’s what we need. Whatever develops, it needs to be based on honesty—honestly looking at power, who has it and how they came to have it, honestly looking at the effects of colonisation, at our privileges and our oppressions. Our whakapapa.

That sounds optimistic, I don’t believe for a moment that we will get there in my lifetime. We are a long way from being able to have honest conversations about our histories. Most New Zealanders know very little about the history of these islands. Most probably prefer not to know. There is so much fear and ignorance of the reality of colonisation that needs to be driven out before most Pākehā New Zealanders can approach honesty. Truthful education about our past is the key to the future.


ORAL SOURCES
Jackson, Moana (13/11/2010) Discussion with author, Te Wānanga-o-Raukawa, Ōtaki

O’Regan, Hana (10/10/2010) Discussion on te reo Kāi Tahu, Tū Roa Kohanga Reo, Ōtaki

PUBLISHED MATERIAL
Forbes, Jack D (2001) “Nature and Culture: Problematic Concepts for Native Americans”. Indigenous Traditions and Ecology: The interbeing of cosmology and community Edited by John A. Grim. Center for the Study of World religions, Harvard Divinity School, Cambridge Massachusetts, USA

Grey, George (1995) Nga Mahi a nga Tupuna. Reprint Published by University of Waikato Library, Hamilton

Hokowhitu, Brendan (2003) “Maori masculinity, Post-structuralism, and the Emerging Self” New Zealand Sociology 18 (2)

hooks, bell (1990) Yearning: race, gender, and cultural politics. South End Press, Boston, MA, USA

Johnson, Patricia and Leonie Pihama (1995) "What counts as difference and what differences count: gender, race and the politics of difference". Toi Wāhine: the worlds of Māori women Edited by Kathie Irwin & Irihapeti Ramsden, Illustrated by Robyn Kahukiwa. Penguin Books, Auckland

Matahaere-Atariki, Donna (1999) “A context for writing masculinities” Masculinities in Aotearoa/New Zealand Edited by Robin Law, Hugh Campbell and John Dolan. Dunmore Press, Palmerston North

O'Regen, Hana (2001) Ko Tahu, Ko Au: Kāi Tahu Tribal Identity. Horomaka Publishing, Christchurch

Said, Edward W. (1995) Orientalism: Western conceptions of the Orient. Penguin Books, London

Wall, Melanie (1997) “Stereotypical constructions of the Maori ‘race’ in the media” New Zealand Geographer 53 (2)

UNPUBLISHED MATERIAL
Research New Zealand (2007) 2006 Survey of the health of the Maori language: Final report. Te Puni Kokiri/Ministry of Maori Development, Wellington

Sexuality and Tikanga Māori

This is an essay I wrote for school last year. It needs more work, and I have an interview that has to be included, but I wanted to share it. I welcome any comments you have. I need to acknowledge the support of my classmates and tutors at Te Wānanga-o-Raukawa in developing my understanding of te ao Māori. Ani Mikaere, Leah Whiu and Kiritapu Allan gave helpful comments on an earlier draft.

INTRODUCTION

"There are some citizens who go so far as to say that tikanga Māori should remain in the pre-Treaty era and stay there. To them tikanga Māori has no relevance in the lives of contemporary Māori. That body of knowledge belongs to the not so noble past of the Māori. Individuals who think this way really have no understanding of what tikanga are and the role tikanga have in our ceremonials and in our daily lives. It is true, however, that tikanga are linked to the past and that is one of the reasons why they are valued so highly by the people. They do link us to the ancestors, to their knowledge base and to their wisdom. What we have today is a rich heritage that requires nurturing, awakening sometimes, adapting to our world and developing further for the next generations." (Mead, p 21)

Our environment, like that of our tūpuna, is constantly changing. By stressing constant values rather than rules, tikanga Māori has developed to be relevant to whatever circumstance we live in. Colonisation has changed our environment, and it has also changed both our understanding of tikanga Māori, and tikanga Māori itself. We need to develop a culture of reflection, that continually examines the effects of colonisation on tikanga by reference to the values of a Māori worldview. The actions or attitudes of our tūpuna may be impossible to know, or, just as our actions often do not reflect our values, they may not be a reflection of their values. After a couple of hundred years of contact with European values and western imperialism, even when we know the actions of our tūpuna, we may misinterpret the reasons behind them. Instead of focusing on their actions, we need to look to the values our tūpuna preserved in art and oral literature. Tikanga are open to change. Irrespective of the attitudes of our tūpuna, if tikanga are to be relevant to us, they need to serve our situation today.

This essay examines tikanga relating to sexuality. There are two main arguments for how inclusive or exclusive Māori culture should be to diverse sexualities. Each is based on arguments of pre-European tikanga. We do not need to limit ourselves to an idea of pre-European authentic tikanga. We know the current reality: the existence of queer-identified Māori, a hetero-normative culture that marginalises queers, and a Western culture that marginalises Māori; we know the effect of negative constructions of identity. Using this knowledge, and an understanding of the values that underpin tikanga, we can ask how inclusive a kaupapa Māori framework would be of diverse forms of sexuality. From this we can start to imagine how this can be expressed.

TIKANGA MĀORI

The purpose of tikanga or Māori law is to maintain relationships among ourselves, and between us and our environment. These relationships are defined by whakapapa, and it is for this reason that Jackson describes tikanga as being born from whakapapa (Jackson, p 61). Maintaining relationships includes keeping us safe, as well as protecting or enhancing our standing through our actions.

Tikanga should not be seen as a set of rules, but rather as the set of values established and developed by our ancestors that underlie those “rules” or practices (Ministry of Justice, p 1). The values that were important to our tūpuna are illustrated in the oral traditions that have survived across generations—the creation stories, waiata, haka and whakataukī, which show us the attributes and behaviours that were adaptive and praised, and those that were not (Mikaere, 1994, p 4; Mahuika, p 46).

This focus on values rather than rules allows flexibility. In common with many traditional justice systems, the aim of tikanga Māori is social stability and enduring solutions to problems, rather than consistency of process or outcomes (Elechi, p 18). It is this flexibility that keeps tikanga constantly relevant. As Mead's quote suggests, tikanga provide a link to our ancestors, but they can be changed or developed to suit our needs (Mead, p 140). By reference to the kaupapa that underpin tikanga, the system is adaptable: it is possible to determine tikanga-based solutions to any issues or problems that arise, as well as to redevelop tikanga for issues where they have been lost or distorted as a result of colonisation (or any other process).

One such issue is sexuality. The introduction of Christianity has had a profound effect on Māori culture. With the well-documented, strongly-held convictions of the church on appropriate expression of sexuality, it is inconceivable that Māori attitudes and tikanga would be unaffected (Aspin, unpub., p 4). There is growing evidence from several researchers that pre-European Māori society included as much sexual diversity as contemporary Māori society. After 200 years of colonisation, the actual experiences, attitudes and tikanga of our ancestors relating to sexuality are impossible to reconstruct (for example, Hutchings and Aspin, pp 15-21, provide an excellent summary on the repression of information about sexual diversity as a result of Western colonisation). What we can know for sure is the current situation: the current diversity of sexual expression and identity among Māori, current opinions towards sexuality, and the effect of these on Māori communities. With this knowledge, we can then begin a discussion on sexuality and tikanga Māori.

SEXUALITY

Sexuality is a broad term that encompasses many aspects of our lives. It includes gender constructions and identities, relationship structures (i.e. polygamy, monogamy, polyandry, and social structures like marriage) and their role in constructions of whānau, as well as sexual preference. Any aspect of sexuality would make an interesting case for studying how tikanga Māori are linked to the past but provide a way forward. There is evidence, for example, that tikanga Māori has always had a level of flexibility in gender expectations, that men could take on 'feminine occupations' and that women could take on 'masculine occupations' (e.g. Mead, p 256). It would be interesting to look deeper into how tikanga restrictions of male and female roles have been applied to transgender people under different circumstances, and how they are applied today. There is also considerable evidence of a diversity of relationship structures, rangatira (of either sex) in particular often had many spouses (e.g. Te Awekotuku, 1996, p 32), and relationships were not necessarily permanent: "Dissatisfaction was enough to dissolve a liaison; the parties simply moved apart unless there were issues of mana, property and alliance at risk." (Te Awekotuku, 1996, p 32) Values relating to sexual expression, even within heterosexuality, have certainly changed as a result of colonisation and the introduction of Christianity. Missionaries brought with them the ideal of a life-long, monogamous, heterosexual relationship, and only celebrated sexual expression within that context. A discussion of changes to tikanga relating to relationships and sexual expression would be a worthwhile study. However, I am choosing to use the word sexuality to refer only to sexual preference, orientation or behaviour (most usually defined by the adjectives bisexual, homosexual or heterosexual), and this essay focuses only on tikanga in relation to sexual preference.

While different groups within New Zealand have different positions on sexuality, the currently dominant culture can be described as hetero-normative, meaning that heterosexuality is considered normal, while other forms of sexuality are considered as deviants from this norm. This is typical of any Western culture, and the pattern of positions, discussions and experiences is largely indistinguishable from that of, for instance, England or the US, suggesting that the attitudes of mainstream New Zealand to sexuality result from colonisation. For the purpose of this essay, I will refer to behaviour outside the hetero-normative definition of normal as 'queer'. Because this group is defined in opposition to heterosexuality, it usually includes a diversity of identities, encompassing sexuality (bisexual, homosexual), the absence of sexuality (asexual), gender identity (transgender and intersex), and more culturally defined groupings (gay, lesbian, fa'fafine, takatāpui).

By definition, a hetero-normative culture marginalises queer-identified people, just as an imperialist culture marginalises indigenous peoples. For Māori with queer identities, they are not just marginalised as Māori and as queer within mainstream culture, they may also be marginalised within the Māori community because of their sexuality, and within the queer community because of their ethnicity. According to Aspin, men who identify as takatāpui tend to maintain strong relationships with their whānau, and this means they are more immune to ostracism than those who are less connected (Aspin, 2007, p 161).

There has been a reclamation of the word 'takatāpui' since it was rediscovered by Lee Smith and Ngahuia Te Awekotuku (Hutchings & Aspin, p 15; Te Awekotuku, 1991, p 38). Williams Dictionary of the Māori Language, compiled in 1832, defined takatāpui as 'intimate companion of the same sex'. Modern use of the word is probably closer to the English word 'queer', which is usually defined in opposition to heterosexual—it encompasses bisexual and homosexual, as well as transgender and intersex. The difference between the terms queer and takatāpui is that takatāpui includes Māori cultural identity. However, as I have touched on and will discuss further, many Māori with same-sex attractions have been excluded from Māori communities, and tikanga has been cited as the reason. If the purpose of tikanga is to maintian relationships, excluding whanaunga based on sexuality cannot be tika.

Current expressions of sexuality among Māori

Despite the hetero-normativity of the dominant culture in New Zealand, there is still a diversity of sexual identities, and this is also true among Māori. Hutchings and Aspin's collection Sexuality and the Stories of Indigenous People provides an incredible resource for understanding some of this diversity. Aspin and Hutchings state that hetero-normativity is foreign to Māori society:

“Categorisation of different forms of sexual expression is… a Western construct which serves to classify Māori society according to sexual behaviour. Such a system of categorisation… fails to recognise that sexuality is fluid and flexible and that it is not necessarily constant for everybody throughout their lifespan. Nor does such a system describe adequately the cultural nuances of Māori sexuality as it was expressed in the past and as it is expressed today.” (Aspin & Hutchings, p 228)

Many Māori men and women use terms such as gay or lesbian to describe their sexuality (Aspin & Hutchings, p 231). Increasing numbers are using the word takatāpui, instead of or as well as the Western terms, to identify both their sexuality and their Māori identity (Aspin & Hutchings, p 231). A 1997 study of men who have sex with men found 31 % of Māori respondents chose takatāpui as a preferred term for their sexual identity (Aspin, Reid, Hughes & Worth). These men tended to be more urban-based and to feel more connected to the gay community than the other 69 % of Māori respondents.

Researchers on the Māori Sexuality Project report they are finding evidence that takatāpui have and do "play a key role in their whanau, hapu and iwi" (Aspin, 2005, p 5). Recent research on men found that those who identified as takatāpui indicated "a strong attachment to their Māori cultural networks" (Aspin, 2005, p 8). Some writers in Sexuality and the Stories of Indigenous People speak to this acceptance in te ao Māori, for example, Aaron Signal: "I am glad about the upbringing I had, based on kaupapa Māori. It is a kaupapa founded on strong respect for whānau values. It is a kaupapa that comes from my parents and ancestors." (Signal, p 103 ) Others had less positive experiences. Paul Reynolds had many experiences of homophobia: "It has taken me over thirty years to accept who I am, takatāpui tāne, Māori, gay and proud… it was extremely important to be able to pass as straight at an all-Māori boys' boarding school." (Reynolds, p 111 ) Geoff Rua'ine is also clear that although he grew up in a loving whānau, with the protection of his kuia, "In those tender teenage years I knew I was gay, but I also knew I had to keep quiet about it for my own safety and well-being." (Rua'ine, p 151)

Several writers spoke of responses to sexuality within tikanga Māori. For example, Carl Mika talks of the need for toning down sexuality:

“Many takatāpui are allowed back on their marae… as long as it is with an asexual visage. The thought of takatāpui taking a partner along to a function on the marae often causes visceral reactions... Some takatāpui are prevented from speaking on the marae ātea, even though tikanga dictates they can, due to some perceived equivocality over their gender.” (Mika, p 139)

Rua'ine speaks of tikanga which are clearly not accepting of diverse sexual identities:

“Often when somebody's body was sent home for burial, there was a lot of shame and guilt from the whānau and hapū. There were instances where the tangihanga was rushed, the coffin sealed tight throughout the mourning and the tūpāpaku buried well away from everyone else in the urupā. Often long-time partners were never acknowledged as such. It's a good thing the loving embrace of Papatūānuku is everywhere.” (Rua'ine, p 153)

Despite Aspin's assertion that "Māori society is generally inclusive, tolerant and accepting" (Aspin, 2007, p 161), there are some very strong messages that this is often not the case. Just as in New Zealand's dominant european hetero-normative culture, many of us who are not heterosexual have experienced silencing—we are expected to be discreet about our sexuality, moreso than our heterosexual whanaunga. Many of us have been excluded at some time because of our sexuality, and some have been physically attacked. Too many have not survived. Tikanga Māori is often used as an excuse for this violence, hatred and fear.

There is no, and probably never will be, a definitive, unequivocal answer on pre-European Māori attitudes and tikanga relating to sexuality. But we can identify current opinions on sexuality and tikanga.

Current opinions abut sexuality and tikanga Māori

Most advocates of tikanga Māori start by looking to the past for direction, and this is true in the argument over whether or not tikanga Māori should be inclusive of a range of sexualities. However, the past is being used in different ways by different sides of this issue, as I will show.

There are two main camps that are outspoken, and each of them attempts to justify their opinion on the right- or wrongness of homosexual behaviour by citing the past. The position dominated by church representatives asserts that pre-European Māori were exclusively heterosexual (Aspin, 2007, p 162 cites an article in New Zealand Herald 5/6/2004), and deviation was punished by death (Tamaki is reported to have said this in an interview with John Banks on Radio Pacific, e.g. in Aspin, 2007, p 162); I will call this the exclusive heterosexual position. The other side is dominated by takatāpui-identified academics and argues that there is considerable evidence "that pre-European Māori society celebrated sexual diversity in all its manifestations" (Aspin & Hutchings, p 227); I will call this the sexual diversity position. A third intermediate stance is expressed by Mead, that heterosexuality was the norm, marriage was the primary expression of sexuality, but homosexuality was tolerated (Mead, pp 246-7); I will call this the hetero-normative position.

Each position is informed by the specific cultural position of its proponents, and not necessarily by tikanga or kaupapa Māori. This is especially true of the exclusively heterosexual position, whose proponents do not provide reason or evidence for their statements. Their assertions rely on ignorance of the past and are easy to rebut, especially thanks to recent research on pre-European Māori sexuality. It is easy to prove that homosexuality did exist in pre-European Māori culture, because there is evidence in oral literature and whakairo (e.g. Aspin & Hutchings, pp 228-232; Te Awekotuku, 2005, pp 6-9); likewise, it is easy to prove that a tikanga of exterminating homosexuals is unlikely, because some record of it would exist. When Vercoe says that homosexuality is "unnatural", or "not morally right", and that "One day society would find homosexuality unacceptable" (Vercoe, in Masters), he is clearly stating his opinion on sexuality. Rather than the usual strategy of claiming the bible as the righteous basis for exclusion, he uses tikanga Māori. He implies that such an extreme position is not just based in Christianity, but is in fact culturally universal, based on "human accepted norms" (Vercoe, in Masters). Of course it is not just church leaders who are outspoken advocates of this position, other political figures, for example John Tamihere, have also expressed such opinions. Likewise, Herewini remembers 25 years ago, Whetu Tirikatene-Sullivan urging Rātana Church to take a political stand against Homosexual Law Reform (Herewini, p 174). The reason we have heard the opinions of these people on sexuality and tikanga Māori isn't because they are experts on either sexuality or tikanga, but rather because they have political power which is recognised by mainstream New Zealand. Their opinions, well-informed or otherwise, carry weight because they have access to mainstream media. As more Māori are looking to tikanga as an expression of an authentic Māori identity, people like Vercoe, Tamaki and Tamihere have likewise tried to claim tikanga Māori as the source of their bigotry.

The argument that Māori celebrated sexual diversity also reflects the current reality of those putting it. Proponents attempt to justify this position by providing historical records of sexual diversity in Māori oral literature, the early European record, and whakairo. This research is hugely useful in providing a historical context and link to the past for takatāpui today. It certainly refutes the argument that homosexuality was non-existent or was generally punished by death. But does it actually prove that sexual diversity was celebrated by Māori society, or that it was consistent with tikanga? Of all the references to sexuality in these historical sources, how many reference homosexuality; and, even accounting for the sanitising of some of these sources, how many references would constitute celebration, or tolerance, or aversion? (If we were ignorant of historical European culture and looked for evidence of their attitudes towards sexuality in the same way, perhaps we would find something similar. The early European record provides evidence of widespread homosexuality among priests (Parkinson), which in no way reflects church or European tikanga or attitudes to homosexuality.) This position looks like an attempt to justify our existance in a currently hostile society by looking to a pre-colonial, authentically Māori past.

Most Māori probably fall between these diametrically opposing views on sexual diversity, into something like the hetero-normative position. For example, Mead's description of pre-European tikanga is that: "same-sex pairing[s]… were not recognised as marriages. Rather, people in such relationships were regarded as close friends… Such friendships were tolerated by the community as they are today." (Mead, p 247) Whatever this means, it sounds very much like a description of dominant attitudes to sexuality in contemporary New Zealand, including among Māori. Mead appears unsurprised that there has been no change whatsoever in Māori attitudes towards homosexuality, even though he is aware of the impact of the Crown and Christianity on Māori social structures and understanding of tikanga. He gives no examples of 'same-sex pairings' being treated as friendships or otherwise. I think it is possible that his description reflects his personal opinion about homosexuality, as much as it does tikanga Māori.

Rather than any of these positions being informed by tikanga Māori, I believe that proponents of each are using tikanga Māori to justify their personally-held opinion, each also attempting to reconstruct a past that supports them. Any statement about the historical precedent, rightness, acceptability, or otherwise of a group has political and personal implications. This is especially true where one group has more power, as is the case when discussing sexual behaviour in a hetero-normative culture. Many groups who are outspoken against homosexuality claim that to do otherwise is to undermine the values of a healthy society, that demonising homosexual behaviour is important in maintaining, for example, family values. Family values are, of course, hetero-normative, good for society and all of us, irrespective of our gender or sexuality. In a hetero-normative culture, even such extreme ideas have currency. The intermediate opinion, that deviations from heterosexuality can be tolerated, represents the hetero-normative argument—tolerance marginalises anyone who does not fit the heterosexual norm. It is assumed of every child that they will grow up to be heterosexual, and they therefore do not need to be protected from messages that homosexuals are not real men/women, that we are disgusting, or that homosexuality is sick and evil, and is just like paedophilia. Tolerance provides no counter-argument. Even in this seemingly more inclusive position, there is very strong pressure to conform, and implications for those who don't.

Given that Māori had and continue to have a diversity of sexualities, what are the implications of growing up and living in a hetero-normative environment?

What are the implications for identity?

Identity means understanding our place in the world: where we each belong and where we each stand; it is fundamental to health and well-being (Aspin, 2007, p 165). Many Māori have whakapapa, with all it entails, as a first source of identity; however, as a consequence of colonisation, many do not know or care to know their whakapapa. Māori have intimate experience of structural and institutionalised racism, and the effect on identity. I will briefly summarise this experience, and its parallels and intersections with institutionalised hetero-normativity or heterosexism.

Colonisers actively dismantle indigenous society by suppressing traditional systems of education, religion, justice, and organisation (Smith, p 28), by confiscating land and by suppressing language. At the same time, the colonisers institutionalise their values, and build their wealth from confiscated lands and the labour of dispossessed indigenous people. The effect of replacing a positive cultural identity with powerlessness and the negative messages of mainstream narratives is well-documented. In common with other indigenous cultures living under colonisation, the Māori population is statistically over-represented in indicators of poverty, mental, physical and social dis-ease. The framing of high rates of domestic violence among Māori as a problem of Māori culture rather than of colonisation is a typical response to these statistics. Māori are problemitised and pathologised (Smith, p 92), reflecting colonial constructions of the indigenous 'other', and feeding back into a negative spiral of identity. Rebuilding cultural identity individually and collectively is critical for breaking this relationship of power and oppression. In the last few decades many kaupapa Māori groups and programmes have been set up to do this; Māori are able to reconnect with te reo and tikanga, to participate in marae and iwi organisations even away from their rohe, and to participate in non-whakapapa based groups.

Just as the coloniser culture treats us as if we are all white and all male, it also treats us as if we are all heterosexual. There is pressure to conform, either to actually suppress queer sexuality, or to behave according to socially acceptable ideas of queer, 'playing straight', butch or camp. Homosexuality has literally been pathologised by Western culture—until the late 20th Century homosexuality was defined and treated as a mental illness under Western medicine, and homosexual acts between men were illegal in New Zealand until 1985. While New Zealand culture is more tolerant of homosexuality now than 25 years ago, sexuality is still subject to judgement. Heterosexuality is privileged, it is treated as normal, neutral, value-free, whereas deviations are 'othered', or defined in opposition to normal, and are only allowed to be the things that heterosexuality is not (Johnson & Pihama, p 77)—only heterosexuals can be real men or women. Anti-queer messages are common. While there are usually obvious clues to ethnic identity, sexuality is less obvious. This increases the problems of developing a positive identity, because it enables us to hide or deny our sexuality under pressure to be invisible, and it increases exposure to anti-queer behaviour. The effect of negative constructions of identity on queer people is equally damaging as on Māori, including high rates of self-harm and dangerous behaviours, unplanned teenage pregnancies, alcoholism and other drug use, etc. The building of queer organisations, such as Rainbow Youth, Manawatu Lesbian and Gay Rights Association, and Gay Association of Professionals, or of informal 'sub-cultures' are responses to this. Such communities define their own needs and norms, support each other and provide a positive source of identity and belonging.

Māori and queer have both been marginalised and problematised by mainstream culture; survival means organising to build pride in our identities, and from there, fighting for recognition. Unfortunately, this does not necessarily meet the needs of queer Māori, whose identity intersect with both these areas of marginalisation. As mentioned already, it is not uncommon for queer Māori to feel excluded from Māori community because of our sexuality, and from queer community because of our ethnicity. There are whānau that are so afraid of homosexuality, they will exclude queer (or queer seeming) whanaunga from fully belonging. When leaders in groups such as the Waipareira Urban Authority or the Anglican Māori Tikanga are some of the most outspoken advocates of exclusive heterosexuality, and other Māori leaders refuse to argue against them, it is understandable that some queer Māori are unsure of their place in Māori culture. Likewise, queer culture is often as ignorant of colonisation as mainstream culture, and just as inclined to racism (Aspin, 2007, p 162 and references therein).

If Māori culture continues to condone assertions of exclusive heterosexuality or even hetero-normativity in tikanga Māori, we leave queer Māori out. In this intersection between Māori and queer, survival is even more present. For queer Māori, survival might mean choosing between queer identity or Māori identity and leaving one behind; or creating two separate identities that each suppress part of who we are, behaving 'straight' with Māori and 'white' with queers. Some of us will survive by asserting our whole identity wherever we are, or by finding other queer Māori and creating a culture around us. Others of us will simply not survive. Is this consistent with tikanga? Is any exclusion of queer whanaunga consistent with tikanga?

KAUPAPA MĀORI, TIKANGA AND SEXUALITY

As discussed previously, tikanga are flexible, and whether we like it or not, will change over time. We can allow this to happen unconsciously, or to someone else's agenda that we do not control; this is happening now, as our tikanga become colonised to reflect the values of the dominant Western culture. Or we can use a kaupapa Māori analysis, based on the principles that should determine tikanga, to make conscious choices about what is adaptive for us.

As a result of colonisation, most of us have grown up in a world dominated by Western values, so our behaviours and value systems may not reflect a Māori world-view. Even te reo Māori has been colonised; the meanings of common and important words, such as whānau, kaupapa, rangatira and aroha, are being influenced as much by Pākehā usage as by Māori. This has profound effects on our culture. For example, when whānau is translated as family, Pākehā use it to mean family; it takes on all the meanings, and is restricted to only the meanings, that are understood by family. The primary meaning of whānau becomes nuclear family, a concept that did not even exist in te ao Māori. The rights and responsibilities or obligations of whānau start to align with those of a Western understanding of relationships within a nuclear family: parents become primary caregivers, aunts and uncles lose responsibility for nieces and nephews, grandparents lose rights to parenting, etc.

Words that are especially vulnerable to colonisation are those whose meanings are intangible and relate to concepts rather than things, such as those that describe fundamental values. For example aroha, whose most common meaning is now love (especially romantic or parental), but which was once more aligned with concepts of compassion and responsibility (Henare, p 213; Metge, p 80). Likewise for rangatira as chief. All the implications of the word chief have become part of the meaning of rangatira, which now includes Western concepts of royalty, hierarchy, and ruling and working classes. Colonisation of kupu Māori means that when we list the values that tikanga Māori rest on, or that should influence our decisions and practice, our understandings of those words may not reflect the values of our tūpuna. This is particularly true for those of us whose worldviews are dominated by experience in te ao Pākehā. It is not enough to know which values should be included in a kaupapa Māori analysis, understanding a Māori worldview is critical.

A kaupapa Māori approach to sexuality

Māori cosmogonies, as well as other forms of oral literature and artworks, are an important resource for recognising and understanding the worldview of our tūpuna. The first step of a kaupapa Māori analysis of sexuality is to make explicit the values that are shown in these resources, the values that underpin the worldview of our tūpuna. These values can then be applied to sexuality. I now discuss the values that I think are most relevant to developing tikanga around sexuality.

Whakapapa

Whakapapa is the basis of all tikanga and mātauranga Māori, defining every relationship. It is closely linked to whanaungatanga, relating to whānau and identity. It is also linked to mana and to what I am calling atuatanga. Individuals are seen as part of their ongoing whakapapa: 'ko tātou ngā kanohi me ngā waha kōrero o rātou mā kua ngaro ki te pō' (whakataukī cited in Ministry of Justice, p 27). It is through whakapapa that an individual always has a place in the world; their position within whānau, hapū and iwi cannot be taken away. This includes a literal place, tūrangawaewae (Mead, pp 42-43, 60), as well as identity and the right to participate.

Stressing whakapapa as fundamental to tikanga Māori implies a responsibility to continue the whakapapa, and this can be used as an argument for compulsory heterosexuality. However, sexual identity does not determine whether or not a person will have children—many people who do not identify as heterosexual have children, and many people who do identify as heterosexual will not have children. There are also very important ways to contribute to the survival of whānau and hapū without literally giving birth to another generation—for many of us, it is not a lack of people that is threatening our whānau or hapū, but rather a lack of knowledge, whanaungatanga, and whānau identity. There is no evidence that sexuality determines contributions to these, and the participation of anyone should be valued, regardless of their sexuality. Alienating people who do not fit mainstream expectations of sexuality does nothing to ensure the continuation of whakapapa.

By the same argument, because all Māori have whakapapa, we are all connected to each other, to our tūpuna, to our whenua, to atua. My whakapapa is the basis of my belonging to my whānau, not my sexuality. It cannot be taken away. Any arguments for tikanga of exclusion are an insult to our whakapapa. We may not know who our queer whanaunga and tūpuna are, but we certainly all have them. Arguing that queer Māori should be tolerated despite our sexuality is clearly an insult to those queer whanaunga and tūpuna. Based on whakapapa, it is tika to accept all of our whanaunga, and welcome our diversity.

Whanaungatanga

Whanaungatanga stresses the importance of maintaining relationships, and working collectively. Working collectively includes: respecting the role of kaumātua for maintaining cohesion, educating and guiding; sharing responsibility for the problems or actions of all group members to maintain or enhance the mana of the group; and educating children (or those returning to te ao Māori) about appropriate behaviour and values (Ministry of Justice, pp 51-58; Mead, p 345). Practices that connect people, such as whāngai, are very important.

Whanaungatanga stresses inclusiveness—maintaining relationships, and making use of people's skills for the collective good. Greater diversity means a greater skillbase.

Rua'ine and Reynolds each mention that their kuia were more supportive of their sexuality than were other family members (Rua'ine, p 149; Reynolds, p 121). Anecdotally this seems common, but far from universal. Many of our whānau have conservative christian values. In some whānau, kaumātua strongly police sexual norms, reflecting the huge impact of the colonising culture. Whanaungatanga requires us to find ways to honour those kaumātua, just as it requires us to undo the harm of the coloniser's message of hatred of difference.

Whanaungatanga is inconsistent with exclusion or mere tolerance, and consistent with acceptance and celebration.

Mana

Mana is essentially a measure of social standing based on whakapapa and birth order, and on parents' and personal achievements and contributions (Mead, pp 29-30, 51). Any actions should acknowledge or enhance the mana of ourselves and others, and members of groups are expected to uphold the mana of their group (Ministry of Justice, p 55). There are consequences for failing to respect mana (Mead, p 30). Important skills and attributes are inherited from tūpuna and ultimately from atua through whakapapa; these include teaching, organising, resolving disputes and looking after people. People gain mana by showing such skills and using them for the collective good (Ministry of Justice, pp 51-52). Looking after people and acknowledging and respecting their mana is a very important way to enhance one's own mana (Mead, p 30), whereas mistreating, belittling or abusing people diminishes one's own mana (Mead, p 52).

Colonisation has contributed to a limited definition of mana, which has come to be associated with 'masculine' traits—the description of Māori as a 'warrior race' has become a source of pride in the face of otherwise overwhelmingly negative messages about Māori people and culture (e.g. Blank, p 107). The emphasis on staunchness as a main source of mana is inconsistent with the stereotype of gay men, but equally it is inconsistent with a healthy culture (hooks, p 77). We need a diversity of skills, including communication, nurturing, teaching, negotiating, and community building. The hypermasculine, heterosexual, patriarchal stereotype that Māori are currently being sold (Hokowhitu) is holding us back and literally killing us. We need to fight against it, actively promoting different sources of mana, and actively breaking down associations that the colonising culture has built between mana and hypermasculinity.

For many of us, our understanding of mana has been distorted by the colonising culture—especially its fear of women and homosexuality. We need to reclaim our definitions of mana so that it continues to promote healthy, functioning communities. My understanding of mana is as a force to achieve our potential. Clearly, this is consistent with encouraging diversity, and inconsistent with limiting expression of who we each are.

Rangatiratanga

Rangatiratanga is the qualities of good leadership (Mead, p 366), which include recognising and using the resources of a group to enhance the mana of that group, as well as maintaining social cohesion. Every member of a group is a resource with skills that can be used. Rangatiratanga means maximising those skills and acknowledging everyone's contributions, so that everyone feels valued and continues to participate.

Alienating people or allowing them to be alienated because of their sexuality is inconsistent with rangatiratanga. It means losing group members and their skills from the pool of resources, so the whole group suffers. Rangatiratanga includes encouraging a culture which supports all group members. This means not only accepting and supporting queer group members, but also encouraging others to be accepting, and confronting those who aren't. Encouraging a culture that supports all group members means actively fighting messages from the dominant hetero-normative culture. Rangatiratanga is inconsistent with exclusion or tolerance of sexualities, and consistent with acceptance and celebration of diversity.

Manaakitanga

Manaakitanga is the constant need to nurture relationships and care for people, to balance mana and aroha for the common good (Mead, pp 29, 346), "to respect the mana of other people no matter what their standing in society might be" (Mead, p 345). Generosity and respect are behaviours that do not only acknowledge the mana of others, they are associated with rangatira and add to the mana and reputation of the person concerned (Ministry of Justice, pp 122-123, 137; Mead, p 345).

This is a kaupapa which can only be interpreted as honouring diversity and respecting others. It is clearly inconsistent with exclusion or tolerance of sexualities,and consistent with acceptance and celebration.

Atuatanga

"He atua! He tangata!" (Pere, unpub.) We all whakapapa to atua, and because we create and shape the world around us, we continue that atuatanga. The truest expression of ourselves is our atuatanga; when we believe in ourselves and love ourselves, we are celebrating atuatanga: "This is the greatest tribute I can pay to the atua who begat me" (Pere, unpub.).

Atuatanga is consistent with accepting and celebrating who we each are. It is inconsistent with exclusion, or any message that silences part of us, including tolerance.

Discussion

The kaupapa that inform tikanga Māori are all consistent with acceptance and celebration of diverse sexualities.

The exclusively heterosexual position is clearly inconsistent with my understanding of kaupapa Māori—this position tries to limit sexual expression, and condemns and alienates those who refuse to conform. This is clearly not tika. I can find no justification in kaupapa Māori for limiting consensual sexual expression; there is nothing to suggest that non-heterosexual behaviour should be considered evil, wrong or even embarrassing. Any messages or acts that alienate or vilify people because of their sexuality are not based in tikanga Māori, and should be seen as breaches of tikanga.

The hetero-normative position also seems inconsistent with kaupapa Māori. It assumes heterosexuality as normal, and supports institutions that privilege exclusive heterosexuality. The construction of normalcy exerts a strong pressure to conform, and a position of tolerance implies disapproval of non-conforming behaviour. Sexuality is only an issue for those who do not conform, not for others. This is not consistent with kaupapa Māori, which stress whakapapa, contributions to the collective, and maintaining relationships. Sexuality is irrelevant. Any messages or acts that marginalise people, that minimise or limit their contributions, or question their position within te ao Māori because of their sexuality are not based in tikanga Māori, and should be seen as breaches of tikanga.

Sexual diversity is consistent with kaupapa Māori. This means that people should be able to explore and express their sexuality, within the limits of consent and respect, without implication or judgement.

However, we live in a hetero-normative culture, and this has influenced our tikanga and understanding of kaupapa. Of course Māori attitudes to sexuality have been affected by the pathologising of homosexuality within Western medicine, demonising within Western religion, and criminalising under colonial law. This means that in order to enable freedom of sexual identity and expression, we need to educate ourselves and develop tikanga that expose and undo the messages of heterosexism and homophobia. We need to challenge our own behaviours against the kaupapa that are important to us, and focus on expressing the values that we care about.

We need to look at our assumptions about sexuality. These assumptions are important, because they influence our behaviour, and give messages we might not intend. Some of the common assumptions are:

• everyone is heterosexual until proven otherwise
• heterosexuality is normal
• homosexuality is deviant or wrong
• deviations from heterosexuality need an explanation
• sexuality is static and needs to be labelled
• experimenting when you're young is normal, then you settle down
• no-one would choose to be gay
• homosexuality is a sign of weakness
• if someone doesn't disclose their sexuality, they're ashamed of it
• violence and discrimination are things of the past
• homosexuality is distasteful
• children need to be protected from homosexuality.

For our culture to survive and remain relevant, our tikanga need to reflect our values and kaupapa. The above assumptions come from the colonising culture, which brought its shame and fear of sexuality to these islands. We need to be giving positive messages that all sexuality is normal and fluid, and that exploring and expressing sexuality is healthy and brave when you respect other people. We need to be actively creating a culture where it is safe and it feels safe for people to be open about who they are. That is the ideal of kaupapa Māori. This means being aware of all the influences that undermine our kaupapa, and responding to them.

CONCLUSION

As Mead's quote suggests, tikanga need to serve us. They need to be flexible and relevant. Looking to the attitudes of our tūpuna may be one way of informing decisions around tikanga, and may prove useful for people who are seeking identity in history. However, it is only one approach. The question of the attitudes of our tūpuna may never be fully resolved, or the answer may not suit our needs. Irrespective of the results of such research, it is important that we use kaupapa to develop tikanga that serve us. It seems reasonable to expect that tikanga would at least include all of us.

A diversity of sexualities certainly existed prior to the arrival of Pākehā, and continues to exist. In Pākehā culture, this diversity is tolerated, but not generally accepted. This is also true of many Māori communities. It may be that individuals with strong connections, mana and value to their whānau, who are obviously secure in their sexual identity, and whose whānau is secure in its mana, are accepted within their community. The problem is that inclusion and acceptance is usually passive and silent, whereas exclusion, fear and hate are usually loud, powerful and impossible to miss. Silent, loving acceptance is not enough to combat the messages of intolerance that we regularly see or hear about. Children need to witness and hear positive messages. Within a hetero-normative culture, this means finding ways of moving queerness from the margin to the centre.

Sexuality is not visible, the future sexuality of a child cannot be known by his or her parents, but is generally assumed to be heterosexual. Would we raise our children differently if we didn't make this assumption? If we knew a child would grow up to identify as takatāpui, knowing what we do about the messages that mainstream culture will give that child, what messages would we want to give her or him? Would we consider silent, loving acceptance a sufficient response to that child after he or she saw 10 000 Destiny Church members march against same-sex civil unions? Or after hearing an uncle ridiculed for being effeminate? Or after reading that homosexuality was an affliction introduced by Pākehā and that Māori look forward to returning to a world without gays?

It seems to me that we have a responsibility to those children to work towards whānau that genuinely value and celebrate all our members. The only way to do this is to loudly confront any language or behaviour that excludes, and to behave as if any child might be takatāpui.


PUBLISHED MATERIAL
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Herewini, Te Hereiekie Haerehuka Maaka (2007) "He Pōriro – Born out of Wedlock!" Sexuality and the Stories of Indigenous People. Edited by Jessica Hutchings & Clive Aspin. Huia Publishers, Wellington

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UNPUBLISHED MATERIAL
Aspin, Clive (1-5 June 2005) "The Place of Takatāpui Identity within Māori Society: Reinterpreting Māori Sexuality within a Contemporary Context"Paper presented at Competing Diversities: Traditional Sexualities and Modern Western Sexual Identity Constructions Conference. Mexico City

Jackson, Moana (2008) “Whakapapa and the Beginning of Law” Compiled in Law 1.6: Whakapapa and the Beginning of Law: Compilation of Readings and Resources. Te Wānanga-o-Raukawa, Diploma in Māori Laws and Philosophy, Ōtaki

Pere, Rangimarie Turuki "Nga Kawai Rangatira o te Wheke Kamaatu (The eight noble tentacles of the great octopus of wisdom)" Working paper No. 17