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I want Māori to feel at home in society, as I do

Max Rashbrooke Senior associate at the Institute for Governance and Policy Studies, Victoria University of Wellington-Te Herenga Waka

At a recent funeral, I was reflecting on traditional mourning practices, as I have experienced them – the wearing of black, the playing of sombre music – and how well they fit my sense of the way things should be done.

That prompted a further thought, about how easy life (even in death) seems to me, because I live in a society set up largely according to my values. When members of my extended family are born, we perform rituals practised for generations. When they die, they are buried in ways I find familiar.

At all times I can freely speak my native language. My schooling was organised by values largely identical to those of my own family.

The health system provides treatment based on cultural assumptions and practices that I broadly like. Even in my minimal encounters with the legal and welfare systems, I have known what to expect: treatment based (at least in theory) on classic Western notions of individual responsibility, distributive justice, community care and procedural equality.

All this is true partly because I’m Pā kehā . I live in a society, and interact with a state, founded on values inherited predominantly from Europe.

And why does that matter? Because it allows me to be whole. I live in a culture in which I am largely at home. Most days I am swimming with the current. I can, at key moments, be myself.

But that isn’t true for people from other cultures – notably for Mā ori, as their leaders have long argued. Recently I enjoyed reading Taranaki educator Keri Opai’s new book

Tikanga, which describes its subject as ‘‘a Mā ori way of doing things: the customary system of practices and values that are expressed in every social context’’.

And those practices differ systematically from Pā kehā ones (while sharing some underlying values, of course).

Though iwi protocol varies, as

Progress for Mā ori within Pā kehā structures is always likely to be partial.

Opai outlines, for most Mā ori people meetings and events start with greater formality, and a stronger focus on introductions, than is true for Pā kehā . At tangihanga, meanwhile, the ceremonials last several days, koha (donations) are brought, and the deceased person is often in an open casket. Such practices are required to give effect to the values Opai identifies, such as whakapapa (roughly, familial connections) and manaakitanga (hospitality).

Colonisation eroded Mā ori people’s ability to carry out those practices.

Now, in response to long-running activism, our country is becoming more accommodating of them: witness the growing use of pō whiri and te reo in the public sector.

But progress for Mā ori within Pā kehā structures is always likely to be partial. As iwi leaders have long argued, an organisation dedicated to serving a particular culture is best run by people from that culture.

Hence the creation of kō hanga reo and kura kaupapa, run by Mā ori and allowing Mā ori to learn according to a worldview that makes sense to them.

Hence, too, the proposed creation of a Mā ori Health Authority, which might ultimately ensure wider use of rongoā , a distinctively Mā ori approach to holistic health.

Some Mā ori have also called for welfare budgets to be devolved to iwi, and for justice systems in which they could resolve disputes among themselves using concepts such as utu and mana.

If the principle of people making decisions for themselves holds, though, such steps might only be precursors to fuller political autonomy for Mā ori. One report from which I’ve learnt much, and which I’d encourage fellow Pā kehā to read, is 2015’s Matike Mai, in which Moana Jackson and Margaret Mutu argue that Te Tiriti o Waitangi guarantees three ‘‘spheres’’ of authority: a tino rangatiratanga sphere in which Mā ori govern their own affairs, a kā wanatanga sphere in which Pā kehā do likewise, and a ‘‘relational’’ sphere in which joint decisions are made. For the first sphere, Matike Mai suggests an ‘‘iwi/ hapū assembly’’ but also several other models.

This kind of reform would raise complex questions, especially in delineating the boundaries between different bodies. I don’t have all the answers, nor would I try to dictate what they look like. I just think there are solutions to be found, and I support those seeking them.

The inevitable response from some will be to cry separatism. But to me it’s no such thing. Mā ori and Pā kehā will always come together in all the venues of everyday life. Their cultural practices will continue to influence each other.

The point, as I see it, is for Mā ori to enjoy what I enjoy, the ability to live in a society run in a way that makes sense to me and which allows me to express myself. Opai says people should be able to ‘‘bring their whole selves’’ to a given situation. That’s essentially what Te Tiriti guarantees. It also strikes me as, quite simply, an ability that everyone should have.

Opinion

en-nz

2022-01-28T08:00:00.0000000Z

2022-01-28T08:00:00.0000000Z

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