It’s about whānau—oppression, sexuality and mana

(my talk from the Kei Tua o te Pae conference 2012)

Introduction

I need to start by talking about who I am, and why this is important to me.

I was adopted at birth by my Pākehā parents, who were guaranteed by the social worker that I was a Pākehā baby, so I grew up entirely in te ao Pākehā. People often asked if I’m Māori, and all I could say was, I don’t know. When I was 20, I got my original birth certificate with my mother’s name on it, and I tracked her down and met her. She is Pākehā, her and my birth father were kids and didn’t know each other for long, and he was gone by the time I was born. She gave me his name and a decade old address in Australia for him. It took me another 10 or so years before I committed to finding him, because I wanted to have children, and I want my children to know their whakapapa, whatever it may turn out to be. I eventually found him, and on his side, I’m from Ngāi Tahu.

I’d already been a bit involved in rōpū Māori when I was at uni, but I’d been uncommitted, because I couldn’t know for sure whether I had whakapapa Māori. Finding out that I do meant an obligation to find out more, to find my place, if any future children of mine were going to be comfortable. I committed to meet my father’s whānau, and find out as much as I could about us and Ngāi Tahu, and where I fit in. That went well, but some other stuff was going on that I couldn’t ignore.

At the time I was doing Te Ataarangi, and it was obvious that my girlfriend and I made a couple of people uncomfortable just by being in class. Student whakaari were at times openly mocking of gay or camp behaviour. When I came to Te Wānanga o Raukawa a year later, again, I saw what I would say was open hostility to sexualities other than heterosexual. For whatever reason, some people must have assumed I was heterosexual, and talked to me about how disgusting homosexuality is, and a kaiako talked in class about homosexuality as if it was worse than incest. It was only a minority of people, but it got my attention.

I’m not suggesting homophobia is unique to Māori. My Pākehā parents were openly homophobic until a year or so after I came out to them. Walking down the street I’ve been abused, had eggs thrown at me, and been chased by cars for holding hands with my girlfriend. At university it wasn’t uncommon to read fantasies about killing gays or lesbians in the letters to the editor of the student newspaper. Homophobia was not a new experience to me, but it got me wondering—I’d had years to find a place for myself in te ao Pākehā, would there be a place for me in te ao Māori? Would that be somewhere I could feel comfortable—as someone who was raised Pākehā, for whom mātauranga Māori is really new, and who is queer. Is it worth trying to find a place here? In the same way that many of us have to act Pākehā to fit into the colonising culture, am I going to have to act straight to fit into te ao Māori? Will there be somewhere that can accept all of me?

This was a question in the back of my mind when I was a student in Ahunga Tikanga classes, listening to Ani Mikaere, Moana Jackson and Leah Whiu talking lovely stuff about whakapapa, ngā kaupapa, inclusion and balance. Everything they said made sense and sounded great, but at the same time I was getting other messages from other places, about excluding people who are different, about disgust and fear of sexual difference in particular, which sounded pretty similar to my experience in Pākehā culture. What was pono? Is there space for me in te ao Māori?

That is where the question started for me, and answering it has taken me in a few different directions. My understanding of this hui is that it is about making sure our tikanga are true to ngā kaupapa mai rā anō, keeping them relevant and adaptive. Hopefully, by the end of this talk, you’ll have some ideas about sexuality and tikanga that adequately reflect our kaupapa.

Before I go on, I want to define two words that I will use in this talk.

Queer (not kuia): a label for those of us who don’t think well-defined boxes are a helpful way to think about gender or sexuality. My partner pointed out to me that it’s hard to hear the difference between queer and kuia. In this talk, I might describe myself as queer, I am not claiming to be a kuia.

Homophobia: the belief that heterosexuality is normal and healthy, and that anything else is wrong, depraved, unhealthy or dangerous.

Colonisation = oppression = trauma

“Oppression is trauma. Every form of inequity has a traumatic impact on the psychology, emotionality and spirituality of the oppressed.” (Akili, 2012)

When Yolo Akili says oppression is trauma, he is not saying anything we don’t already know about the effect of oppression on our wairua, but I thought this was a good place to start, because we can agree on it.

We can agree on it, because we live with the ongoing effects of colonisation. We know that colonisation is oppression, and we know the trauma of that oppression in our communities and in our lives. Part of the oppression is the acts of the colonisers—taking our land, spreading diseases, imprisoning us, outlawing our ways of being. The oppression is also the messages that they say about us to justify and minimise their crimes against us.

Many of us internalised the messages we heard, and we know many of our young people will internalise the messages they hear—that Māori are physical and emotional, meaning we aren’t smart enough to look after ourselves or our whenua; that we aren’t moral like the colonisers; that we are violent and overly sexual. Politicians and the media go out of their way to find stories of Māori failure, especially those that show us as naive, immoral and out of control.

We know the effects of this oppression: there is massive pressure to conform to the dominant, colonising values. Some of us do eventually conform, while others can’t or won’t. For all of us, whether we conform or not, oppression tears at our wairua, the sense of self that should make us strong.

Like all indigenous peoples who are living through colonisation, Māori now have high rates of suicide as well as high-risk and anti-social behaviours. This is the effect of the trauma caused by the oppression of colonisation, it is an attack on our wairua. It leads to a whole bunch of outcomes that we all know and I’m not going to go into—I think we can accept that colonisation is oppression, which is trauma. And just as colonisation is very clearly oppression so too is the repression of sexual diversity.

Sexual repression = oppression = trauma

What I’m calling sexual repression are the acts and messages that say that sexual diversity is wrong—that anyone who isn’t heterosexual is abnormal, or deviant or immoral, and is somehow a threat to society, or tikanga or family values, whatever those are. Clearly, that is about oppressing people, and it must therefore be an attack on their wairua.

When I was a child, we used words like faggot and lesbian before we had a clue what they meant other than they were something really bad. I don’t know where we got these words from, but I don’t remember anyone ever being told off for using them. Boys were mocked for being girly by adults and by other kids—there are so many words for boys who aren’t appropriately masculine. Sexual or gender difference, being gay or camp, is still the punchline of so many jokes. And most of us will internalise those messages. Whoever we grow up to be, these are really damaging and limiting messages. The effect is similar to colonial oppression—there is massive pressure on all of us to conform to the dominant heterosexual standard. Most of us try to, and for those of us who can’t, if we internalise these messages, we will learn to hate ourselves.

I’m going to talk about shame, because I think it’s important to understand what it’s like to grow up in a culture that is terrified of sexual difference, and I want you to think about a response to that culture which expresses our kaupapa. Should we buy into homophobia, should we allow ourselves to be silenced and timid, or should we protect our tamariki mokopuna?

When I think of my experience as a child, I don’t remember any particular homophobic incidents, but just growing up in Pākehā culture in the 1970s and 80s was like soaking in homophobia. Everything told me that heterosexuality was normal and healthy, and anything else was sick. I remember when homosexual law reform was going through parliament, there was lots of talk about how homosexuals are paedophiles and law reform was opening the door to bestiality. There was all sorts of hateful fear mongering. My parents were saying this stuff too. I knew that homosexuality terrified people because something about it was so sick and disgusting.

Exactly the same hate came out 20 years later when parliament started talking about the Civil Unions bill, and we’re seeing it again now with the Marriage Equality bill. Almost exactly the same words. Whenever anyone tries to remove some anti-homosexual discrimination, we all get a massive dose of hate speech, which is particularly dangerous for children.

I heard all that in the mid 1980s when I was 11 or so, well before I was thinking about what sexuality meant to me. I already knew that something about me was different from other girls. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew there was something wrong with the way I was with my friends and with boys. I was 14 when I started going out with girls, and then everything became much clearer, but also worse, because I knew what people thought of people like me. No-one could know, so I became secretive. I became physically self-conscious and reserved. I didn’t touch anyone, especially not other girls, unless I absolutely had to. I wouldn’t go near children. I had this facade of who I was, and it was completely unrelated to me and what I was feeling. For years, everything about me was fake and was about hiding this awful secret. I still carry some of that self-hatred, that expectation that people will be disgusted or scared to let me be around their children. A lot of people I’ve talked to who aren’t heterosexual relate to this, and some wrote about it in Sexuality and the stories of indigenous people (Hutchings & Aspin, 2007).

I know for most children, first crushes are both exciting and terrifying, and coming into your sexuality is also exciting and terrifying. Ideally, children can talk to their friends about it, or better still their parents. People are excited when children start showing those signs. For lots of young queer people, it is just terrifying. It feels life threatening, and it actually is.

By the age of 21, about a third of young people who are attracted to their own gender will have tried to kill themselves (Suicide Prevention Resource Centre, 2008; in New Zealand, Fergusson, Horwood & Beautrais, 1999). 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.

Why am I talking about this? My point isn’t to bring you down—my point is that how we talk about sexuality or respond to homophobia isn’t abstract or an academic interest. This isn’t a philosophical debate about rights or political views. This is about the survival of our children, just like fighting the racist environments in some of our schools is about survival. To bring it back to the kaupapa of this hui, our tikanga should be helping us to survive as Māori, not killing us.

We give children messages about sexuality and gender in many ways. Teaching them to be ashamed, controlling how we behave as girls and boys, talking about heterosexuality as if it is the only normal option as opposed to just a common way of being, laughing at people who are different—none of this will make us heterosexual. All it does is make us scared of who we might be. It makes us all police our own behaviour. For those of us who can’t be straight, it may teach us to hate ourselves, and make us scared to show ourselves to you. We may become secretive and isolated. It is an attack on our mana, and our wairua. At best, it makes it harder for each of us to reach our potential, at worst, it is so effective that it kills us.

These messages are a form of cultural imperialism, just like colonisation. Those with more power are using it to suppress those with less. Those who are heterosexual are trying to impose their way of being over everyone else, sometimes with the power of the state, sometimes with the authority given to them by a religious text, sometimes with nothing more than numerical dominance and the same self-righteousness that the colonisers wear. It’s all the same.

When I was putting this together, I kept being reminded of Whatarangi Winiata’s paper Treaty of Waitangi: towards 2000, and his analysis of why Māori do poorly now compared to Pākehā: It is difficult to find a field of human endeavour and development where policies of the Crown have not been prejudicial to Māori. It is probably the single most important factor explaining Māori experience in the last century and a half. (Winiata, unpublished, p 6). He talks about all the ways that the Crown have on the one hand supported Pākehā ways of being, and on the other hand suppressed Māori ways of being, and the effect that this has had on the success, or otherwise, of Pākehā and Māori. He discusses the effects on how we each see each other, how we see ourselves, and the futures we are able to imagine for ourselves.

The racist practices that Whatarangi describes privilege a Pākehā way of being as normal and right, while pathologising Māori ways of being, and lead to the horrible statistics and health outcomes we all know. To me, this seems parallel to how heterosexual ways of being have been privileged by the Crown, by churches and eventually by our communities and whānau, while at the same time, other ways of being have been suppressed. This has meant that many young queer people struggle with who they will be and what their future will look like, for exactly the same reasons that young Māori often struggle with these questions (and it is likely that this is particularly true of young people who are both queer and Māori). Because almost everywhere we turn, it is being drummed into us that we are different, and lesser, and wrong—and we are then blamed for the inevitable outcomes.

As I’ve said, this is all true of Pākehā culture, but from my limited experience, and from talking to and reading about the experiences of other Māori, I think there are the same destructive attitudes and behaviours in many Māori communities. I would argue, there is a lack of leadership and willingness to talk about why. I’ll talk about our leaders in a moment, but first I want to talk about our children.

Homophobia at school

There are at least two places where our children should expect to feel safe—at home and at school. There is very little research that has been done on sexuality and health, and of the studies looking at youth, they almost all focus on school.

In a survey of New Zealand high school students, compared to students who identified as exclusively heterosexual, twice as many same-sex attracted students were afraid that someone would hurt or bother them at school, three times as many had stayed away from school because they were afraid someone would hurt or bother them, three times as many were bullied weekly at school, and 54% had been physically assaulted in the last 12 months (compared with 42% of exclusively heterosexual students); of the same-sex attracted students who were bullied, one third were bullied because they were perceived to be gay (Rossen, Lucassen, Denny & Robinson, 2009, p 26). A US study suggests that not only is homophobic violence commonly experienced, a surprising number of people are perpetrating it—one in ten university students admit physical violence or threats against people they suspect of being homosexual, and one in four admit verbally abusing them (Franklin, 2000).

It is common for students to see their schools as poor at responding to any form of bullying (Carroll-Lind, 2009, pp 41-47, 77; Painter, 2009, p 11). Many schools aren’t proactive about dealing with homophobic abuse, they don’t talk positively about sexual diversity, they don’t challenge ideas that heterosexuality is normal and everything else is deviant and wrong, or that people who are different deserve abuse and ridicule (Carroll-Lind, 2009, p 61; Painter, 2009, pp 22, 25). Often when homophobic abuse is happening, schools still won’t address the real problem (Carroll-Lind, 2009, pp 46-47). Schools might deal with the physical violence, but not the underlying attitude; they might deal with the perpetrator, but not the culture that allows bullying (Carroll-Lind, 2009, pp 134-135). It’s not uncommon for victims of homophobic abuse to be blamed for provoking the abuse by being homosexual (Painter, 2009, p 12). Even in the face of ongoing physical violence to children because they are perceived to be homosexual, some schools will continue to claim that they provide a safe environment for their students (Kendall & Sidebotham, 2004, pp 71-72). Some principals and boards refuse to see homophobic attitudes as something they should be addressing in school (Painter, 2009, pp 12, 20-21).

Whether we’re talking about race or perceived sexuality or gender, when schools fail to challenge hatred of any sort, they give a clear message that it is okay, and that there is something wrong with the victims. Studies consistently show that these messages are associated with the physical, emotional and social harm that I’ve been talking about, the self hatred, the isolation and the suicide (eg, Suicide Prevention Resource Centre, 2008, pp 19-28 and references therein; Ryan, Huebner, Diaz & Sanchez, 2009, pp 346, 350-351, and references therein).

I hope we can all agree that this is something we should be protecting our children from.

Homophobia at home

Much less is known about the effect of attitudes at home. The first study came out in 2009 (Ryan, Huebner, Diaz & Sanchez, 2009), and it gives clear indications of how whānau rejection, even in relatively subtle forms, can have a huge impact on the health of queer youth. The researchers interviewed a bunch of young adults who had come out to at least one of their parents as an adolescent. From those interviews, they made a list of 51 rejecting behaviours—things like, if their parents ever blamed them for anti-gay mistreatment, if they were ever excluded from whānau activity because of sexuality, if family members ever made disparaging comments about queer people in front of them, or verbally or physically abused them because of their sexuality.

Participants were assigned to groups based on whether they experienced few (0-11), some (more than 11 and up to half), or more than half of these behaviours. These groups turned out to be a good predictor of negative health outcomes, particularly for attempted suicide, where over two thirds of those in the group who had experienced more than half the rejecting behaviours had attempted suicide, compared to one in five in the group with the least rejection.

This study only included young people who had come out to a parent during adolescence—you’d expect participants to come from less homophobic homes than those of us who waited until we’d left home to tell our parents. So these results may be underestimating the effect of homophobic experiences at home. Reading this study really drove home to me how dangerous homophobic attitudes and behaviour can be.

I know I’ve been saying all through this talk how marginalising sexual or gender differences is similar to the way we are marginalised as Māori, but in the home there is a really big distinction. Most Māori children are raised by at least one Māori parent, and the family knows that their children are Māori. Māori parents know what it’s like to be raised in a racist society, and may have some idea of how to protect their children from the stuff they will encounter. Most Māori children probably feel pretty safe talking to their parents about racism that they see or hear, and asking for help understanding or dealing with it. Whereas almost all queer children are born to heterosexual parents, who have no idea what it’s like to grow up queer in a homophobic society, and who don’t know that their children will be queer. The parents of queer children may have no idea how to protect them from the messages they will get, or even that they need to. The parents may themselves be homophobic.

Many of our whānau are not safe places for queer children, and I’d argue that if they aren’t safe for queer children, they aren’t safe for any children. Not just because we can’t know who our children will grow up to be, but also because hatred isn’t safe for children—white children are endangered by growing up with racists, boys are endangered by growing up with misogynists, and heterosexual children are endangered by growing up with homophobes.

Is repression of sexual diversity tika?

I want to start with the question of whether or not sexual diversity is traditional. This is an impossible question, because the answer will depend on how far back we go, and who we ask. One of the themes through this hui has been the ways that our tikanga may become distorted or co-opted, so some of us get the idea that something is traditional when it is clearly a relatively new development. The more useful question is whether or not something is consistent with what we know to be tika—based on kaupapa mai rā anō (or ngā matapono).

In class recently, Moana Jackson was talking to Ahunga Tikanga students about relationships of any sort, whether a parent child relationship, a relationship between workmates, or between institutions, or sexual partners, and how you know whether those relationships are tika. It seems obvious that the gender or sexuality of the people in those relationships is pretty much irrelevant to that question. If the relationships are based on mutual respect, manaakitanga, aroha, then they are tika, irrespective of anything else.

The question of whether heterosexuality is more tika than other ways of loving or relating or having sex with each other seems ridiculous to me. I can’t imagine a kaupapa-based argument that justifies marginalising people based on who they are attracted to. I can’t think of anything resembling kaupapa that would judge me as more or less depending on the gender of the people I love. Any attempt to reduce my mana based on who I sleep with is an insult to my whānau, my whakapapa and all my tūpuna. I cannot accept that as kaupapa or tika.

One of the comparisons that is often made between western culture and most indigenous cultures is that indigenous peoples know we are all different, and that those differences are not just valid, but potentially valuable. We don’t need to feel better about ourselves by trying to dictate anyone else’s tikanga—we just have to get our own stuff right for us. I think this is relevant to how we think about other people’s relationships.

I expect we all know when our wairua is healthy. We feel good, grounded, sure in who we are, safe. When I start focusing on what other people are doing wrong, I know I need to sort myself out. So I don’t see how it can be tika to insult and demean people in healthy relationships because the set up of those relationships is different from what I would choose. If I’m judging other people like that, it’s a pretty good sign that there’s something going on with my own wairua that I need to address.

So if policing people’s sexualities in this way isn’t tikanga, where did it come from?

Colonisation and sexual repression

We know the West is a seriously unhealthy culture. It forces itself on everyone else. It tries to stamp out difference. I don’t know why it is so obsessed with who sleeps with whom, but it is, to a really bizarre extent.

When Europeans arrived here, they brought with them their fear and hatred of homosexuality. In English law at that time, homosexuality could be punished by hard labour or even death. It’s only been 25 years since the New Zealand state got rid of the law that could imprison men for consensual sex with other men.

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 that strange legal system. Our parents and grandparents, and their grandparents, have been educated in schools and churches based on western values. There are very few places to avoid the awful messages of that culture—remember that it called our tikanga primitive and violent, then told us that we needed to beat our children, our men needed to dominate women and we all needed to hate homosexuality.

Our parents or kaumātua may genuinely believe that there is something wrong with homosexuality. They may genuinely believe that it is traditional to stifle some people’s ways of being. After a couple of hundred years of colonisers trying to shame us into rejecting our values and adopting theirs, that’s hardly surprising. That’s the reason it is so important that we have hui like these to talk about tikanga and kaupapa.

African American activist and academic Angela Davis is clear about where she thinks homophobia comes from: The roots of sexism and homophobia are found in the same economic and political institutions that serve as the foundation of racism in this country. (Davis, 1989, p 12). She is talking about the US, but it’s equally true here—it’s the desire to force what makes sense to me onto everyone else. As I said earlier, whether we are talking about homophobia, sexism, or racism, it’s all about cultural imperialism.

Heteropatriarchy and homophobia

I want to talk specifically about how we’ve come to buy into this western preoccupation about how and with whom we have sex. I know we’re all familiar with the way patriarchy has been creeping into interpretations of tikanga and kōrero tawhito, but I think it’s helpful to think about the way that patriarchy privileges certain men more than others, and the effect of that.

For example, at the time the English decided they wanted to colonise these motu, their ideal man was the Victorian gentleman. The men that England sent to control us were pretty much in that mould. They weren’t aristocracy, and they hadn’t gone to the flash schools, they were earning their place as gentlemen through their occupations—the military, the church, and the government. Like all social climbers, they brought with them an unwavering belief in that society’s rules. They taught us what it was to be a leader, and how to get those attributes—through private schools, manly sports and Christianity. I don’t think it is too much of a stretch to say some of us are leaning this way now. If we add business people to the list of career pathways, and replace aristocracy with whakapapa, we are starting to describe a path that many of us would see as ideal for developing our young men into iwi leaders.

One of the things that is interesting about this, is that in general, men, people educated in private schools, people who play dominant sports (in this country, rugby, soccer, cricket and softball), and people with Christian beliefs have each been shown to be associated with more homophobic attitudes (Osborne & Wagner, 2007, pp 599, 601, 607-609, and references therein). If we do follow this pattern for developing leadership, we are pretty much guaranteeing that we will develop sexual repression, and that our children will be subjected to that sexual repression, which will limit the development and potential of most of them, and will endanger the lives of some of them.

What can we do?

Re-broaden our concept of leadership

One thing that I think would make a big difference is if our leadership (whatever we mean by that) reflected the diversity of our communities. I’m not knocking any of the contributions anyone has made, but I think we should be asking why the people who make up groups like the Iwi Chairs forum or the Māori Council seem so similar. What messages does it give our young people if they can’t see anyone like them being recognised as having mana?

Make our schools safer

We need to make sure our schools are safe for all our children. This means being proactive. Schools need to talk to children about sexual and gender diversity in a safe and accepting way. This must happen before the negative messages sink in—starting when children are 10 or 11, not leaving it until they’re already sexually active, or avoiding it altogether. It means tackling any homophobic attitudes or behaviour that the children bring to school with them. Staff need to be educated and trained so they don’t bring damaging attitudes with them. Schools need to be a safe place for staff to be open about their sexuality and gender. Finally, it means educating parents so that they are onboard.

Make our whānau safer

Most importantly, we have to decide whether it is more important to us that our children meet our expectations, or that they are safe to be whoever they may be. Is it more important that we shame our children into acting like we want? That we pretend they’re someone who they’re not? Or that we have a real relationship with them? What is more tika? What is most in line with our kaupapa?

If we want our children to be safe and happy and meet their potential, then we have to be prepared to accept them, and love them whoever they turn out to be. We have to make sure they know that.

The Continuum of Awesomeness

I like to think of our goal in terms of an awesome continuum, on which I’d like to see us all pushing ourselves towards the more awesome end of the spectrum.

In the top left, intolerance is anything that tells our children it’s not acceptable to be different—abuse or statements like there’s no gayness in tikanga Māori, or anything that condones abuse or mocking of difference. Treating gay men as if they’re women, which reveals disrespect for both women and gay men. Anything like that is intolerant, and we want to avoid it.

Tolerance is a bit better than intolerance, it means not actively excluding or insulting people that we know to be different from ourselves, but at the same time, it assumes that heterosexuality is so normal and healthy, that we can ignore the reality that not everyone is heterosexual. For example, I might assume that every child, and everyone I know is heterosexual unless they tell me otherwise, which means I don’t have to be careful about what I or anyone else does that would insult people who aren’t heterosexual. It’s much like the Crown acts around ethnicity, it treats us as if we are all white. Māori are not actually excluded from Pākehā society, we’re just expected to change to fit in. Because we assume that every child will grow up to be heterosexual, we don’t bother to protect them from hate or carelessness. We let them see sexual and gender diversity being mocked, or compared to paedophilia, or hear their queer whanaunga described as disgusting, as if this has no effect. Tolerance actually allows intolerance to flourish.

Acceptance is just that, anything that lets our children know that they are awesome and loved whoever they are. It is their whakapapa that gives them a place in their whānau, and everything else is just detail. It also means challenging any homophobic behaviour to protect them from those messages.

Celebration means going out of our way to give positive messages about otherwise marginalised genders or sexualities, as a way of fighting the messages that our children will get outside of our control. For example, loving acceptance probably isn’t a sufficient response if a child has just heard that a prominent Māori leader dreams of a world without gays, or one of their friends has been beaten up for looking queer, or they’re being called faggot or dyke. If a child tells us that they are queer, we should be stoked that they trust us, that they are sharing themselves with us, and we should show them that. If a child is brave enough to express themselves in a way that others are reading as queer, we should celebrate their uniqueness and bravery. Celebration might mean talking to our children about all the different crushes we’ve had, or acknowledging all the crushes they have had, not acting like there is something different about their friendships depending on the gender of their friend. Celebration is anything that lets our children know that whoever they are will be awesome.

If tikanga are the behaviours that express our values, I thought I could use Whatarangi Winiata’s kaupapa matrix model to work backwards (Winiata, 2012). If we think of each of the points on the continuum as a set of behaviours, if they are tika, we should be able to say which kaupapa they are expressing.

Starting with intolerance, which kaupapa am I expressing if I am excluding or attacking my whanaunga based on who they sleep with? It might be a reflection of how little I know, but I couldn’t think of any. Looking at tolerance, which kaupapa am I expressing when I am polite to my whanaunga, while judging them as inferior? Or including them, but expecting them to hide who they are? Again, I couldn’t think of any kaupapa that fit this tikanga. The kaupapa become apparent when we look at the behaviours that show acceptance. Acceptance is an expression of a whole bunch of kaupapa—whanaungatanga, aroha, manaakitanga, rangatiratanga, whakapapa. Finally, looking at celebration, it expresses many of the same kaupapa as acceptance.

Some people will feel that celebration is a step too far—that acceptance is enough. In an ideal world, I would say acceptance is the most tika behaviour. But we live with a dominant culture that condones homophobia. To come back to the analogy with Pākehā culture oppressing tikanga, one response to a culture that makes it hard to live as Māori, is that we celebrate what it means to be Māori, we positively promote Māori ways of being. Many Pākehā are resistant to this, they see affirmative action and celebrations of our ‘Māoriness’ as reverse racism. We know they are wrong, and we can extend that analysis to repression of sexual diversity, even if it initially makes us a bit uncomfortable.

The point of this continuum isn’t to judge where we each are as parents or friends. We will probably all struggle to overcome the culture that we have been raised in, I certainly do. This is where we need to think about whose kaupapa we are expressing. Western culture has been all about controlling and limiting us, tikanga should be about all of us reaching our potential. My challenge to you, is to make sure you are reflecting the values you want to. Be more awesome, so those around you can feel safe enough to be who they are meant to be. Be brave enough to be uncomfortable. Be brave enough to fight for sexual and gender diversity education in your children’s and grandchildren’s schools. Be brave enough to love your whole child, and your whole self. We know we aren’t going to fully realise tino rangatiratanga unless Pākehā get a bit uncomfortable and give up some power. It’s the same with sexual diversity.

Like I said earlier, no amount of hatred, bullying or abuse is going to make anyone heterosexual, it will only make people hide themselves from you. Don’t be that person. If you don’t know anyone who isn’t heterosexual, if you think everyone in your whānau is heterosexual, then that is a reflection on the impression you have made. You can change that impression.

We need to be clear that homophobia does not come from tikanga. It comes from the colonisers. Whakapapa is about inclusion—there needs to be a really 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.

At the moment, we have so much unhelpful hatred and intolerance passing as debate about marriage and adoption equality, and if there’s one thing I want you to get from this talk, it’s that we need to change that conversation. Our children don’t need to be protected from homosexuality, they need to be protected from hate. People loving each other will never endanger children, homophobia will.

REFERENCES
Akili, Yolo ‘The immediate need for emotional justice’ http://crunkfeministcollective.wordpress.com/2011/11/16/the-immediate-need-for-emotional-justice/ (accessed 12/09/2012)
Carroll-Lind, J 2009 School Safety: An Inquiry into the Safety of Students at School (Office of the Children’s Commissioner, Wellington)
Davis, A 1989 Women, Culture, & Politics (Random House, New York)
Fergusson, D, L Horwood and A Beautrais 1999 ‘Is sexual orientation related to mental health problems and suicidality in young people?’ Archives of General Psychiatry 56: 876-880
Franklin, K 2000 ‘Antigay Behaviors Among Young Adults: Prevalence, Patterns and Motivators in a Noncriminal Population’ Journal of Interpersonal Violence 15: 339-362
Hutchings, J and C Aspin (eds) 2007 Sexuality and the Stories of Indigenous (Huia Publishers, Wellington)
Kendall, C and N Sidebotham 2004 ‘Homophobic Bullying in Schools: Is there a Duty of Care?’ Australia & New Zealand Journal of Law and Education 9, pp 71-72
Osborne, D and W Wagner 2007 ‘Exploring the Relationship Between Homophobia and Participation in Core Sports among High School Students’ Sociological Perspectives 50: 597-613
Painter, H 2009 How Safe? How Safe and Inclusive are Otago Secondary Schools (OUSA, Dunedin)
Rossen, F, M Lucassen, S Denny and E Robinson 2009 Youth ’07 The Health and Wellbeing of Secondary School Students in New Zealand: Results for Young People Attracted to the Same or Both Sexes (Auckland University, Auckland)
Ryan, C, D Huebner, R Diaz and J Sanchez 2009 ‘Family Rejection as a Predictor of Negative Health Outcomes in White and Latino Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Young Adults’ Pediatrics 123: 346-352
Suicide Prevention Resource Centre 2008 Suicide Risk and Prevention for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Youth (Education Development Center, Newton MA, USA)
Winiata, W ‘Building Māori futures on kaupapa tuku iho’ Paper given at Kei Tua o te Pae conference, 4-5 September, 2012
Winiata, W ‘Treaty of Waitangi: Towards 2000: Economic Progression and the Interconnection between Maori and Tauiwi Development’ (unpublished paper, 28 June 1995)

Kei Tua o te Pae hui update

More information about the hui has gone up on their website, including video of a couple of the organisers talking about the hui, a programme, and information about all of the speakers. Registrations close this Friday (24 August), so spread the word if you know anyone who might be interested in exploring the challenges of kaupapa Māori in te ao hurihuri . Also, there’s a number of student places at a reduced price of $250 (includes all food and accommodation at Te Wānanga o Raukawa).

The programme includes:

• Whatarangi Winiata—Building Māori futures on kaupapa tuku iho
• Ngāhuia Murphy—Te Awa Atua: The river of life: menstruation in the precolonial Māori world
• Mereana Pitman—Violence and the distortion of tikanga
• Leonie Pihama—Te Ao Hurihuri
• Kim McBreen—It’s about whānau: oppression, sexuality and mana
• Meihana Durie—He Kawa Oranga: Enhancing Māori achievement in the 21st century through the application of tikanga and kawa
• Moana Jackson—hui reflections
• Panel discussions:
  • Hemi Toia, Ani Mikaere, and Jessica Hutchings on Changing worlds, changing tikanga
  • Naomi Simmonds, Caleb Royal, and Mera Penehira on Tikanga as liberation

There's also workshop time, so we can all talk with each other. I'm really excited by the conversations that will happen.

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.

Ahunga Tikanga: Tikanga and sexual diversity

(Note: This is a significant rewrite of a previous post on sexuality, and will be published shortly in the journal Ahunga Tikanga. Many thanks to Leah Whiu, Kiritapu Allan, Kirsty Robertson and Ani Mikaere for their advice.)

Introduction

Discussion of tikanga and Māori sexual diversity in the last decade has mostly focused on trying to reconstruct the behaviour and attitudes of our pre-European tūpuna. This reconstruction has involved both imagining and searching for historical evidence. However, we do not need to limit ourselves to trying to recreate pre-European authentic tikanga. We know the current reality: the existence of queer-identified Māori and a dominant Western culture that marginalises Māori and any sign of homosexuality. We also know the effect of negative constructions of identity. This paper argues that focusing on the principles that underpin tikanga Māori is a more accessible and appropriate method to determine a tikanga Māori approach to sexual diversity. This approach is more accessible because colonisation has left us without full knowledge of the actions of our tūpuna. It is more appropriate because, even when we know how our tūpuna behaved, their motivations are more difficult to interpret. Moreover, their actions may not have reflected their values, just as ours often do not. This method is also appropriate because it allows for the massive change in culture that has occurred since colonisation—what was tika pre-colonisation may be inadequate in a society dominated by hetero-normativity (I explain this term later). It allows us to ask what is the best way for us to behave now, that holds to what it means to be Māori, and that keeps us safe. How inclusive should we be of sexual diversity?

As Hirini Mead says, tikanga 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, 2003, p 21). Ani Mikaere describes tikanga as law, the practical expression of the philosophical framework that has enabled us to endure and to thrive (Mikaere, 1994), with whakapapa as central. Ani’s article in this journal describes Ahunga Tikanga as understanding tikanga as the first law of these lands, based on Māori conceptions of reality. These conceptions of reality are reflected in our creation traditions, and in the values that emerge from them—ngā kaupapa i ahu mai i ō tātou tūpuna.

We can use these kaupapa as guides to recover our understanding of what is tika. This is necessary because we now live in an environment dominated by values and a legal system that are very different from tikanga Māori, an environment that continues to threaten our survival as Māori. From the start, the colonisers have tried to stop Māori from practising our law—they have attempted to supplant our morality with theirs through religion, education, and Crown law. After a couple of hundred years of western imperialism, our values are inevitably conflicted. Many of us want to return to tikanga as a source of strength, but in many cases, tikanga has come to mean nothing more than cultural habits—we pōwhiri, we take our shoes off indoors, we don’t put hats on the table. Observing these customs has become more important than understanding why we do them. In other cases, we are still developing tikanga for new situations (such as biotechnology—genetic modification of organisms and organ transplants). In still other cases, colonisation has been so effective that the tikanga have been forgotten; or even when we know what our tūpuna would do in a situation, we may misinterpret the reasons behind their actions.

Our environment, like that of our tūpuna, is constantly changing. By stressing kaupapa, constant values rather than fixed rules or actions, tikanga Māori develops to be relevant to whatever circumstance we live in. To do this, we need to develop a culture of reflection, a culture that continually checks itself against kaupapa Māori, and that counters the effects of colonisation by re-examining the values of our tūpuna, rather than concentrating exclusively on their actions.

I want to reiterate that tikanga has always been, and continues to be, about survival (Durie, unpub, p 9). It is about our cultural survival: surviving as Māori means living according to inherited kaupapa (Winiata, Luke & Cook, 2008, p 852). And it is about our physical survival—our health, mortality and social harm statistics. This is especially true when we are talking about sexuality in a western culture that traditionally hates sexual diversity, where queer Māori are abused for not being white and for not being heterosexual.

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 Moana Jackson describes tikanga as being born from whakapapa (Jackson, unpub, 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, 2001, 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, 1993, 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, 2006, p 18). It is this flexibility that keeps tikanga constantly relevant—they can be changed or developed to suit our needs (Durie, unpub, p 8). 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 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 have been unaffected (Aspin, 2005, p 4). There is growing evidence 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 & Aspin (2007, 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.

Sexual Diversity

For the purpose of this article, I am using the term sexuality to mean sexual behaviour (most usually defined by the adjectives bisexual, homosexual or heterosexual) between consenting adults. I am using the term sexual diversity to mean the range of expressions of sexuality. I contrast this against hetero-normative, meaning only heterosexuality is considered normal, while other sexualities are considered deviant. New Zealand’s currently dominant culture can be described as hetero-normative. This is typical of Western culture, and suggests that the attitude results from colonisation (because the way New Zealanders discusses sexuality is almost identical to the way British or Americans discuss sexuality).

By definition, a hetero-normative culture marginalises anyone who is not heterosexual, just as an imperialist culture marginalises indigenous peoples. Māori who are not heterosexual will be marginalised both as Māori and as sexually deviant within dominant culture. Unlike other Māori, they may not be able to rely on their Māori community for support, they may be marginalised there because of their sexuality. Likewise, they may not be able to rely on the queer community for support, they may be marginalised (or exoticised) because they are Māori. For many Māori who are not heterosexual, there will be nowhere that they are able to be accepted as themselves, in their entirety.

There has been a reclamation of the word 'takatāpui' since it was rediscovered by Lee Smith and Ngahuia Te Awekotuku (Hutchings & Aspin, 2007, 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', which may be a true definition, or it may reflect Williams’ Christian prudishness towards sexuality. Modern use of the word is close to the English word 'queer', which is usually defined in opposition to heterosexual—takatāpui can encompass bisexual and homosexual, as well as transgender and intersex, but it also references Māori cultural identity. According to Aspin (2007, p 161), 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. 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.

Opinions about Sexuality 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, 2006, p 228)

This is consistent with Paula Moyle’s experience of going home to her Ngāti Porou whānau:

“I had become so Pākehāfied in my growing up years, my fear of being out . . . that I had transferred that fear onto my own family, my own people . . . and what they saw was just Paula. A family member who has come from the city home, home with her kid, and she belongs to Meria, and Meria is connected to so and so . . . And the more that I looked the more that I saw that I had a tonne of cousins who were gay, gay men, gay women, and it was very prevalent and that was completely different than being out in the city . . . It didn’t seem to be an issue.” (Moyle, 3/3/2010)

Despite this, many Māori men and women use terms such as gay or lesbian to describe their sexuality (Aspin & Hutchings, 2006, 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, 2006, 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, 1997). 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 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 (2007, p 103): 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. Others had less positive experiences. Paul Reynolds (2007, p 111) 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. Geoff Rua'ine (2007, p 151) 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.

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, 2007, p 139)

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

“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, 2007, p 153)

Despite Aspin's (2007, p 161) assertion that Māori society is generally inclusive, tolerant and accepting, 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, while our heterosexual whanaunga are not. 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.

Opinions about Tikanga and Sexual Diversity

Most advocates of tikanga Māori start by looking to the past for direction. Several commentators have been outspoken on Māori sexual diversity, and each attempts to justify their opinion by citing the past. However, the past is being used in different ways by different sides of this issue, as I will show.

There are a range of opinions on sexual diversity, which I have summarised into four camps:

Intolerance: 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 even that deviation was punished by death (Brian Tamaki is reported to have said this in an interview with John Banks on Radio Pacific, eg, in Aspin, 2007, p 162).

Celebration: The position dominated by takatāpui-identified academics argues that there is considerable evidence that pre-European Māori society celebrated sexual diversity in all its manifestations (Aspin & Hutchings, 2007, p 227).

Tolerance: A third stance is expressed by Mead (2003, pp 246-247): heterosexuality was the norm, marriage was the primary expression of sexuality, but homosexuality was tolerated. This could also be called the hetero-normative position.

Acceptance: The fourth position is that described by Paula Moyle, sexuality is not an issue. People are accepted irrespective of who they love.

I will look briefly at the evidence given for each of these positions.

Intolerance: 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 (eg, Aspin & Hutchings, 2006, 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, cited in Masters, 2004), he is clearly stating his opinion on sexuality. Rather than the western strategy of claiming the bible as a righteous basis for hatred, he uses tikanga Māori. He implies that such an extreme position is not just based in Christianity, but is culturally universal, based on human accepted norms (Vercoe, cited in Masters, 2004).

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. Herewini remembers 25 years ago Whetu Tirikatene-Sullivan urging Rātana Church to take a political stand against Homosexual Law Reform (Herewini, 2007, p 174). The Māori Party has not spoken against homosexuality, but in 2005 (when Tariana Turia was their only MP), they voted against the Civil Union Act, which removed some discrimination and allows same sex civil unions. In 2011, Mana, Māori, Labour and National parties all sent Māori MPs to speak at Destiny Church, an organisation vocally opposed to sexual diversity; none of these representatives spoke against such intolerance. The importance of these people’s opinions on sexual diversity and tikanga Māori isn't because they are experts on either sexuality or tikanga, but is rather because they have political power in 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.

Celebration: The argument that Māori celebrated sexual diversity also reflects the opinions of those putting it, rather than historical evidence. Proponents attempt to justify this position by providing 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 diverse sexuality. It 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 are to homosexuality? 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, 2005), which in no way reflects church or European tikanga or attitudes to homosexuality.) This position looks like an attempt to justify our existence in a currently hostile society by looking to a pre-colonial, authentically Māori past.

Tolerance: Historical support for a tolerant position comes from Mead, but again, I believe it reflects his personal opinion about homosexuality, more than tikanga Māori. His 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, 2003, 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.

Acceptance: Whakapapa is the justification given for accepting people and their partners (Moyle, 3/3/2010).

Acceptance is the only argument I have seen that seems truly based in tikanga Māori. Rather than the other positions being guided by historical knowledge of tikanga Māori (as they claim they are), I believe that proponents of each are using tikanga to justify their personally-held opinion, and reconstructing a past that supports them.

The tolerant position represents the hetero-normative argument—tolerance marginalises anyone who does not fit the heterosexual norm. It assumes that every child will grow up to be heterosexual, and they therefore do not need to be protected from messages that homosexuals are not real men or women, that we are disgusting, that homosexuality is sick and evil, or that it is practically paedophilia. Tolerance provides no defence or counter-argument. Even in this seemingly more inclusive position, there is very strong pressure to conform, and implications for those who don't.

Many groups who speak against homosexuality claim that demonising homosexual behaviour is important in maintaining family values and a healthy society. Family values are, of course, hetero-normative and good for all of us, regardless of our gender or sexuality. In a (tolerant) hetero-normative culture, even such intolerant ideas have currency.

Given that Māori 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 as their 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 institutional hetero-normativity.

Colonisers actively dismantle indigenous society by suppressing traditional systems of education, religion, justice, and organisation (Smith, 1999, 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 dominant narratives is well-documented. In common with other indigenous cultures living under colonisation, Māori are 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 problematised and pathologised (Smith, 1999, 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 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, it also is hetero-normative: it treats us as if we are all heterosexual. There is pressure to conform, either to actually suppress our non-conforming sexuality, or to behave according to socially acceptable ideas of homosexuality, 'playing straight', butch or camp. Homosexuality has literally been pathologised by the West—until 1974 homosexuality was considered a mental illness by Western medicine, and homosexual acts between men were illegal in New Zealand until 1985. While New Zealand culture is more tolerant of sexual diversity now than 25 years ago, there is still judgement and violence. 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, 1995, p 77)—only heterosexuals can be real men or women. Anti-gay 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 we can hide or deny our sexuality under pressure to be invisible, and because it increases our exposure to hateful messages. Rejecting and stigmatising people who are not heterosexual is as equally damaging as stigmatising Māori; effects include high rates of suicide and other self-harm, dangerous behaviours, unplanned teenage pregnancies, alcoholism and other drug use (eg, Ryan, Huebner, Diaz & Sanchez, 2009, p 346 and references therein). Organisations that support sexual diversity, such as Rainbow Youth, Manawatu Lesbian and Gay Rights Association, and Gay Auckland Business Association, or 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.

Both Māori and people who are not heterosexual have been marginalised and problematised by New Zealand’s dominant 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 non-heterosexual Māori, whose identities intersect with both these areas of marginalisation. As mentioned already, it is not uncommon for Māori who are not heterosexual to feel excluded from Māori communities because of our sexuality, and from queer communities because of our ethnicity. To fit in anywhere, we must stifle an important part of who we are. There are whānau who are so afraid of homosexuality, they will exclude non-conforming 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 intolerance, and other Māori leaders refuse to argue against them, it is understandable that some of us are unsure of our place in Māori culture. Likewise, queer culture is often as ignorant of colonisation as mainstream culture, and just as inclined to racism and exoticisation of non-white ethnicities (Aspin, 2007, p 162 and references therein). Many do not find this a safe community in which to be Māori.

If Māori culture continues to condone intolerant heterosexuality or hetero-normativity in tikanga Māori, we leave a group of Māori out. In this intersection between being Māori and not being heterosexual, survival is even harder. For Māori who are not heterosexual, survival might mean choosing between their sexual 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 queer friends. Some of us will survive by asserting our whole identity wherever we are, or by finding others like us, and creating our own culture. Others of us will simply not survive. Is this consistent with tikanga? Is any exclusion of whanaunga consistent with tikanga? I think the best way to answer this question is to look to kaupapa Māori.

Kaupapa, 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 (for example, many Māori believe that physical discipline of children is both tika and traditional, despite evidence that it developed in response to imposed European values (eg, Jenkins, Harte & Te Kahui Mana Ririki, Traditional Maori Parenting: An Historical Review of Literature of Traditional Maori Child Rearing Practices in Pre-European Times); Taihakurei Durie (Custom Law, p 25) and Annette Sykes (Bruce Jesson lecture 2010, Politics of the Brown Table) both discuss how modern understanding of rangatiratanga is influenced by European ideas of leadership; and Ani Mikaere (The Balance Destroyed: The consequences for Māori women of the colonisation of tikanga Māori) discusses how European patriarchy has distorted our understanding of the roles of men and women). Or we can use a kaupapa analysis, based on the principles that should determine tikanga, to make conscious choices about what is adaptive for us.

A Kaupapa Approach to Sexuality

The first step of a kaupapa analysis of sexuality is to make explicit the values of a Māori understanding of reality. These values can then be applied to sexual diversity.

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'. 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, 2003, 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 are not heterosexual will have children, and many people who are 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 most 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 everyone should be valued, regardless of sexuality. Pushing people away does not strengthen whānau. Intolerance 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 against acceptance of those of us whose sexuality does not conform to hetero-normativity is clearly an insult to those 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, 2001, pp 51-58; Mead, 2003, 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, 2007, p 149; Reynolds, 2007, 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 colonisers’ message of hatred of difference.

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

Mana

Mana is essentially a measure of social standing based both on whakapapa and on personal achievements and contributions (Durie, unpub, p 6). 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, 2001, p 55). There are consequences for failing to respect mana (Mead, 2003, 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, 2001, pp 51-52). Durie lists “honesty, integrity, reliability, keeping one’s word, generosity, bravery, fearlessness, humility, respect, caring for others, community commitment and oratory” as traits that enhance mana (Durie, unpub, p 6), whereas mistreating, belittling or abusing people diminishes one's own mana (Mead, 2003, 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 (eg, Blank, 2007, 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, 1990, 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 (eg, Hokowhitu, 2003, pp 179-201) is holding us back and literally killing us. We need to fight against it, actively promoting different sources of mana, and 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 accepting and celebrating diversity, and inconsistent with limiting expression of who we each are.

Rangatiratanga

Rangatiratanga is the qualities of good leadership (Mead, 2003, 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 all group members, but also encouraging others to be accepting, and confronting those who aren't. This requires actively fighting messages from the dominant hetero-normative culture. Rangatiratanga is inconsistent with intolerance or mere tolerance of sexual diversity; it is most consistent with 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, 2003, pp 29, 346), to respect the mana of other people no matter what their standing in society might be (Mead, 2003, 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, 2001, pp 122-123, 137; Mead, 2003, p 345).

This is a kaupapa which can only be interpreted as honouring diversity and respecting others. It is clearly inconsistent with intolerance or mere tolerance of sexual diversity, and is 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.

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

I want to return briefly to the four camps I identified earlier: intolerance, tolerance, acceptance and celebration.

The intolerant heterosexual camp is clearly inconsistent with my understanding of kaupapa—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 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, and should be seen as breaches of tikanga.

The tolerant stance is also inconsistent with our kaupapa. It assumes heterosexuality as normal, as opposed to common, and supports institutions that privilege exclusive heterosexuality. The idea of heterosexuality as normal creates pressure to conform, and a position of tolerance implies disapproval of non-conforming behaviour. Accordingly, sexuality becomes an issue only for those who do not conform, not for others. This is about power and control. Tolerance of sexual diversity by a dominant heterosexual “mainstream” culture can be compared to tolerance of tikanga Māori by a dominant colonising “mainstream” culture. How far that tolerance goes, what behaviours are considered to be tolerable and at which times, is determined by the dominant culture. Tolerance is used to try to define and shape sexual diversity, to contain and control it, just as it is used to try to limit and control tikanga Māori. Those with power are determining the extent to which others should be allowed to exist. This is not consistent with kaupapa Māori, which stress whakapapa, contributions to the collective, and maintaining relationships. According to kaupapa, 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, and should be seen as breaches of tikanga.

Acceptance of sexual diversity is consistent with kaupapa. This means that people should be able to explore and express their sexuality, within the limits of consent and respect, without implication or judgement. Recreating a culture that accepts all of us without reference to who we sleep with is a reasonable goal.

However, we currently 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. The effect is obvious when tikanga is used to try to exclude non-conforming whanaunga, but it may also have subtle effects, in the language we use, and the behaviours we allow. 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, using the kaupapa that are important to us, and focus on expressing the values that we care about. For this reason, I consider celebration of sexual diversity to be the most tika of the four camps.

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 can be labelled
• experimenting when you're young is normal, but 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 is a thing of the past
• homosexuality is distasteful
• children need to be protected from homosexuality
• homophobia is safe for children
• tolerance is generous and loving
• tolerance is a neutral position
• common behaviour is better than less common behaviour.

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 sexualities are 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 our kaupapa. It means being aware of all the influences that undermine our kaupapa, and responding to them.

Conclusion

Tikanga need to serve us, they need to be flexible and relevant. Looking to the actions of our tūpuna may be one way of informing decisions around tikanga, and may be useful for people who are seeking identity in history. However, it is only one approach. We may never really know some attitudes of our tūpuna, or the answer may not suit our needs. Whatever 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 diversity 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. Children need to witness and hear positive messages. Within a hetero-normative culture, this means finding ways of moving sexual diversity from the margin to the centre, celebrating the diversity, unlearning the shame.

Sexuality is not visible, the future sexuality of a child cannot be known by his or her parents. Would we raise our children differently if we didn't assume they were heterosexual? If we knew a child would not grow up to be heterosexual, 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, indeed to all 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 grow up to be anyone they want.


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