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HAERE MAI ME TUHITUHI HE PUKAPUKA;
MURI IHO KA WHAWHAI AI TĀTOU:
READING TE RANGIKĀHEKE
By Arini May Loader
(Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Whakaue, Te Whānau-a-Apanui)
A thesis presented to the Victoria University of Wellington
in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of
Master of Arts in Māori Studies
Te Kawa a Māui/School of Māori Studies
Te Whare Wānanga o te Ūpoko o te Ika a Māui/
Victoria University of Wellington
December 2008
2
NGĀ MIHI
Tuatahi, ki ngā kaiwhakarite o te karahipi e kiia nei ko Tū Horomata nō
Te Tari o te Toiahurei kei Te Whare Wānanga o te Ūpoko o Te Ika a
Māui, me ngā kaiwhakarite o te karahipi e kiia nei ko Philippa rāua ko
Morvyn Williams. Ka nui aku mihi ki a koutou mō te pūtea tautoko kia
tutuki pai ai tēnei mahi.
Many thanks also to the librarians of the Special Collections Section of
Auckland Public Library, particularly Iain Sharp and Kate De Courcy,
who supplied photocopies of the manuscripts and were very friendly
and helpful. Your assistance was greatly appreciated.
Tuarua, ki taku kaiārahi a Alice Te Punga-Somerville. Nāu anō te mana, te
ihi, te wehi kia whakaputa tēnei ki te whaiao, ki te ao mārama nā reira e
te kohine o Te Āti Awa, e mihi ana, e mihi ana.
Tēnei hoki te mihi ki a koutou te tokomaha i whakapau kaha ki te
whakawhitiwhiti whakaaro, ki te tautohetohe, ki te wānanga, ā, ko
koutou tērā te hunga pūkenga, te hunga tauira hoki o taku whānau o Te
Herenga Waka.
Tuatoru, ki taku whānau tata, nā koutou hoki tēnei mahi. Ki a kōrua ōku
mātua a Hera rāua ko Mikaere, ki a koe hoki taku tino taonga a
Te Tāhiwi. Nā koutou anō tēnei mahi, nā taku tāne tata a Hēmi hoki.
Kāti, ka huri ahau ki te koroua a Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke nō Rotorua.
E koro, mīharo kē ana ahau ki te titiro i āu pukapuka i ēnei tau, i tēnei
ao rerekē. Kei te ora tonu āu pukapuka ake, ake tonu atu.
3
ABSTRACT
This thesis reads Te Rangikaheke’s texts through the editorial,
Te Arawa and biographic dimensions of the writer and the texts.
Te Rangikaheke was a prolific nineteenth century writer who produced over
800 pages of manuscript material.
1
Although he has enjoyed a moderate
amount of scholarly attention, this has tended to focus on attribution,
cataloguing and tracing publication, transcription and translating, commentary
on authenticity and literary quality and his account of history.
Specifically, the first core chapter explores issues concerning the
editing of Te Rangikaheke’s manuscripts by Governor George Grey and the
effects of Grey’s editing decisions on the texts. This chapter explores the
nature of the relationship between Grey and Te Rangikaheke, the effects of
this relationship on Te Rangikaheke’s texts, and what the dualities of
Pākehā/Māori and Governor/Native might mean in terms of the texts.
Responding to the calls of American Indian Literary Criticism for studies of
Indigenous topics to engage deeply with the contexts of iwi and place, the
second core chapter looks at Te Rangikaheke as an Arawa writer and
explores issues around identity and articulating an Arawa literary history.
Finally, a biography of Te Rangikaheke elaborated from previously known and
new biographic details combined with a close reading of his name and three of
Te Rangikaheke’s letters.
Ultimately, it is anticipated that this thesis will forge new pathways into
in the study of Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikaheke and his writing, and that these
new pathways will clear some much needed space in which a deeper analysis
of Te Rangikaheke’s writing can be articulated. Furthermore, beyond its focus
on a single writer, this thesis extends the scholarship on nineteenth century
Māori writing, Māori historical studies, and Māori intellectual history and in this
way speaks to a contemporary Indigenous intellectual agenda.
1 Curnow, Jenifer, 1983. Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikaheke: His Life and Work. Unpublished MA Thesis.
University of Auckland.
4
PREFACE
For the purposes of the ease of reading and in following current written
standards for te reo Māori, macrons have been added to all quotes taken from
Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts and letters where known. Where the
pronunciation is not known macrons have been left off.
This work contains a great deal of content in te reo Māori that has not
been translated. A glossary is not included as part of this thesis as it is felt
that a bilingual Māori-English reading is preferable over a monolingual Māori
or English one and this thesis is also not intended as a beginners guide to te
ao Māori. The following dictionaries and websites will, however, be of use to
the mono-lingual English reader or to those less familiar with Māori culture
and customs:
Moorfield, John C., 2005. Te Aka: Māori-English, English-Māori Dictionary
and Index. Auckland: Pearson Longman.
Ngata, H. M., 1993. English-Maori Dictionary. Wellington: Learning Media.
Ryan, P. M., 1997. The Reed Dictionary of Modern Māori. Auckland: Reed.
Williams, Herbert W., 1971. A Dictionary of the Maori Language.
7th Edition.Wellington: Government Printer.
http://www.reotupu.co.nz.helicon.vuw.ac.nz/wslivewakareo/default.aspx
http://www.maoridictionary.co.nz/index.cfm?dictionaryKeywords=t%C4%81tak
i&n=
http://www.learningmedia.co.nz/nd/index.htm
5
ABBREVIATIONS
Manuscripts:
GNZMA Grey Māori Letters, Auckland Public Library
GNZMMSS Grey Māori Manuscripts, Auckland Public Library
Niupepa Māori:
TeK Te Korimako
TeKM Te Karere Maori
TeWM Te Waka Maori o Niu Tirani
TeWI Te Waka o te Iwi
TeW Te Wananga
6
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Ngā Mihi 2
Abstract 3
Preface 4
Abbreviations 5
Table of Contents 6
Chapter 1 7
Muri iho, ka kamo ōku kanohi
Dreams/Visions/Matakite
Chapter 2 35
Kotahi anō te tupuna o te tangata Māori
Editing Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts; Editing People
Chapter 3 58
Kātahi ka tuaina a Te Arawa
Te Arawa Literary Nationalism
Chapter 4 75
Tā Te Rangikāheke ko Wiremu Maihi
Revisioning Te Rangikāheke – A Biographical Treatment
Chapter 5 98
Mā ngā uri ki muri nei
Conclusion
References 100
7
Muri iho, ka kamo ōku kanohi
Dreams/Visions/Matakite
Takoto rawa iho ki te pō e huihui mai ō tātou wairua, kia piri, kia tata mai ki
taku kiri...
The words of mōteatea often begin with the originator composing
themselves for sleep, drawing close to their ancestors, and mingling with them
while moving into an altered state of consciousness. In this state dreams,
visions, and passions flow freely to merge with the physical realm which is
realised in the creation of the song. I posit that the act of writing an academic
thesis is similarly an act that necessitates a process of initial mental and
physical preparation, connection with tupuna, and movement to a different
space. Before I start work I allow myself the space to dream, to think, to
mingle.
On the 27
th
of August 1850, Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke
(Ngāti Rangiwewehi, Ngāti Kererū) lay on his bed thinking about the things
which he would be visiting the Governor to discuss. After a while his eyes
closed. He saw a group of people whom he could not clearly distinguish as
being either Māori or Pākehā walking with a dog. Whichever the case,
whether the people walking are Māori or Pākehā, the people tell him that they
want to do battle with him. Te Rangikāheke suggests that they discuss the
matter first and fight later, but these people instead suggest that a document
be written and that they should then fight. The document was written, they do
battle, and Te Rangikāheke wins killing both the people and the dog.
The dream continues with Te Rangikāheke coming to the edge of the
ocean where some people are on a bridge and others are below it. He sees
tables standing there with paper, pens, and inkwells and one of the people
tells him to go to a table and write his views on the battle that has just finished
and the battle that is about to begin. Te Rangikāheke asks what the cause of
this next battle is to which the person replies
8
Mō ērā kua mate i a koe me te kurī hoki, nā reira ka whakatika hoki ōna
whanaunga kia patua rawatia koe hei utu mō ērā atu (GNZMMSS 93:2).
It will be fought over those whom you have killed, together with the dog. The
relatives of those people will arise to destroy you, in revenge for their death
(1968:10) (Translation by Orbell).
Te Rangikāheke accepts the person’s reply and writes his version of the battle
while they write theirs. He then asks how many of them will be fighting him to
which they reply that if he kills four of them, they will let loose another dog to
attack him. They then urge him again to write after which they fight. The
dream ends with Te Rangikāheke having killed the first two people of this
second group of people in his dream.
After recording his dream thus, Te Rangikāheke continues writing,
describing his dream as a vision of the future from the spirit world. He notably
remarks on the killing of the dog and on those whom he now refers to as the
Pākehā in the first battle
He kurī te mea i patua ai, ā, ko te whakahauhau tēnei o taua kurī i te patunga
ai e ahau. Ko ngā Pākehā i patua i te tuatahi, kāore he whakahauhau i ērā; i
patua huhua-koretia ērā e au (GNZMMSS 93:3).
Te Rangikāheke explains that he killed the first dog as it had been
commanded to attack him but that the people were killed unnecessarily as
they had not been commanded to attack him. He then includes the following
matakite which directly addresses the Governor
E te Kāwana e,
Ehara i ahau.
Nā tāua tahi
I kawe ki waenga te tahora
Ki reira kukume mai ai
Kii ki-i-a-a! (GNZMMSS 93:3).
9
Although the language of the Te Rangikāheke’s matakite above is both
metaphorical and cryptic the underlying message is one of shared
accountability, responsibility, and blame. The crux of the matter is that they
are both at fault, or dually accountable for something that has happened, or
will happen. Additionally, Te Rangikāheke might here be understood to
represent the wider Māori community and the Governor transversely the wider
Pākehā community in which case the overarching theme is one of racial
conflict and the shared accountability to this conflict of both parties.
The importance of writing about these conflicts is a central theme that
runs through the dream. Te Rangikāheke relates that the first group of people
he does battle with tell him to write before they fight, and the second group of
people tell him to write his views on the preceding battle that has just finished
as well as the battle that is about to begin. Te Rangikāheke’s writing of the
battles within his dream is accorded as equal importance as the battles
themselves. This relationship between writing and conflict in
Te Rangikāheke’s dream brings to the fore issues around writing and conflict,
and the recording of history.
This emphasis on the writers of history was touched on by Dr. Aroha
Harris in her address at He Rau Tumu Kōrero: Māori Historians Symposium
2008 held at Waikato University, where she demonstrated the importance of
who tells the story with an Igbo whakataukī:
Until lions have their own historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the
hunter.
Where Indigenous voices have often been historically silenced by the grand
colonial machine, this whakataukī speaks to the importance of oppressed
peoples having their own storytellers to tell their stories. Acts of Indigenous
storytelling by Indigenous storytellers are crucial in restoring some semblance
of counter-balance to the colonial narratives that are fraudulently constructed
and perpetuated by those who would wrestle mana from Indigenous Peoples.
Orbell notes that Te Rangikāheke ‘...was far-sighted enough to fear for the
future’ (1968:8) which, combined with his recording of his dream, suggests
that Te Rangikāheke realised the potential importance of his writing in terms
10
of the grand survival narrative of the Māori. This is particularly significant
considering that Te Rangikāheke wrote this letter in 1850 before the balances
of power and demographics shifted from Māori to Pākehā, though not
altogether surprising given the fact that one estimate has the European
population increasing over tenfold from about 2,050 at the beginning of 1840
to 22,108 in 1850 (McLintock 1966:821). Te Rangikāheke’s dream suggests
that he was aware of the Pākehā population explosion and the resulting power
imbalances unfolding on the tangata whenua of Niu Tireni.
1
Te Rangikāheke’s dream also reframes the act of writing. This is
illustrated in Te Rangikāheke’s dream when he is told to write his views on the
battle that has just finished and the other battle that is about to begin.
Te Rangikāheke is instructed in his present within the dream to write about the
past and the future, of his past battle as well as the one yet to come. Through
Te Rangikāheke’s adhering to these instructions, the act of writing is shown to
transcend time and therefore exist out of time as opposed to physical events
that exist in real time. In a slightly surreal way, the very act of my writing this
thesis about Te Rangikāheke and his writing is living proof that
Te Rangikāheke’s writing does indeed transcend time. As his writing at this
point in his dream provides an intermediary link between the past and future,
so too does Te Rangikāheke’s entire known body of written work provide a
link between his life and times, and researchers and writers today.
Moreover, even as the central concern of this thesis is reading
Te Rangikāheke, I argue that Te Rangikāheke does this work himself in the
manuscript mentioned above, in his recording of a dream. He explores his
deeper consciousness while simultaneously writing about writing, and writing
about conflict within writing about conflict. I posit that through his writing of his
dream, Te Rangikāheke produced one reading of himself, one reading of a
possible infinity of which this thesis is another.
1
Interestingly, Te Rangikāheke uses Niu Tireni, a transliteration for New Zealand taken from the English
language, four times in GNZMA 723 to refer to this land as a country. It was popularly used in the
nineteenth century. The name Aotearoa more commonly used to denote this land as a country in the
present day appears to be a more modern construction. Further study on the use of the name Aotearoa lies
beyond the scope of this thesis and is an area into which more research is required.
11
Background
Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke was born in about 1815, when Māori
was the predominant language of New Zealand, and died in 1896 (Curnow
1983). He was somewhat of a controversial figure in the early social and
political landscape of Niu Tireni whom D.M. Stafford describes as, ‘one of the
more turbulent characters of Te Arawa...’ (1967). He supported the
Government in the land wars, was opposed to the Māori Kīngitanga
movement, and stood for election in a European constituency where he polled
10 votes of the 616 cast. He was also a skilled Māori orator and leader is now
generally acknowledged to have had a profound knowledge of Māori lore and
tradition (Stafford 1967).
Another facet of Te Rangikāheke’s life, and the one for which he is
remembered most today, is writing. He was literate in the Māori language and
was probably taught by Thomas Chapman, who set up the Church of England
Mission Station in Rotorua in 1835, and/or his assistants Mr Philley and
Mr Morgan (Curnow 1983:13). Curnow attributes 21 entire manuscripts to
Te Rangikāheke and a further 17 to which he contributed. She also notes 10
letters and addresses totalling together over 800 pages (1983:37) hence he is
now understood as being a prolific writer of his time. These manuscripts
encompass such varying aspects of Māori culture as te reo, whakapapa,
pakiwaitara, traditional stories and history, political commentary, tikanga,
mōteatea/waiata and whakataukī, and letters and addresses (Kerr 2006:79).
It should be noted, however, that he was by no means the only Māori writer of
his time. Indeed, Māori were not slow to embrace the new Pākehā technology
of writing, to subdue it, and master it to meet their needs and requirements.
2
The bulk of Te Rangikāheke’s impressive writing portfolio emerged against
this swelling collective body of nineteenth century Māori writing that was both
socially and politically driven. Māori scribes such as Te Whatahoro Jury
(Ngāti Kahungunu) recorded Māori traditions as dictated to him by
Te Matorohanga (Ngāti Kahungunu) (Parsons 1990:214), and other Māori
such as Mātene Te Whiwhi (Ngāti Toarangatira, Ngāti Raukawa)
(Kerr 2006:80), Piri Kawau (Te Āti Awa) (Kerr 2006:76), and Hohepa Paraone
2
For more on Indigenous Peoples’ subversion of the written word see van Toorn 2006.
12
(Te Arawa) (Simmons 1966:365) wrote down traditional stories in manuscript
form.
Another one of the important early Māori literary phenomenon’s was
the Niupepa Māori, the ‘Māori newspapers’ that were published during the
second half of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth
century. Some 35 periodicals were published by government agencies, the
Churches, and Māori who were opposed to government policies and sought to
unite the different iwi for political and social reasons (Orbell 2002:9). These
niupepa gave Māori the opportunity to publish obituaries, to post public
notices such as invitations to hui, to participate in national and international
discussion forums, and to generally share and disseminate kōrero.
3
Letters to
the editor, to friends, relatives, the government, the Queen and others were
also being written by Māori many of which are currently held at various
libraries around Aotearoa/New Zealand and the world and in private
ownership.
Te Rangikāheke was an active participant in this wider literary scene in
nineteenth century Aotearoa/New Zealand who, although the bulk of his
writing is on Māori traditions, customs, and history, also wrote letters to the
Queen, the Governor, other friends and associates, and the niupepa Māori.
As well as writing letters across a diverse group of intended recipients, a brief
survey of his letters to the niupepa Māori illustrates the diverse matters in
which he was interested. These range from securing a shoemaker for Arawa
iwi (TeKM 1862), to the opening of a new whare (TeW 1875a), Aotearoa/
New Zealand politics (TeW 1875b), and a contemporary land dispute between
iwi of Te Arawa and Ngā Puhi (TeWI 1857).
The context from which Te Rangikāheke’s writing emerged is thus
notable for the great volume of Māori writing that was being produced at the
time. Not only were interested people from other, mainly European cultures
writing about Māori, Māori were writing about Māori, Pākehā, and other local
and international topics of interest and most of this was written and published
in their Indigenous language, te reo Māori. This context in which
Te Rangikāheke produced his writing contrasts markedly to today when Māori
3
For more commentary on the niupepa Māori see Curnow et.al 2002; Orbell 2002; Paterson 2004; and
Curnow et.al 2006.
13
writers are few and even fewer write in te reo, and telecommunications have
superseded many formerly written forms of communication and information
dissemination.
An extensive collection of Te Rangikāheke’s written work was variously
acquired by Sir George Grey, a somewhat larger than life historical figure who
shared a professional life with Te Rangikāheke for four years.
4
Grey, most
popularly remembered as an autocratic colonial administrator and Governor-
in-Chief of South Australia, New Zealand, and the Cape Colony (South Africa),
took it upon himself to learn te reo Māori and about Māori customs and culture
out of a sense of duty to the Indigenous Māori people of Aotearoa/New
Zealand (Grey 1855:iii-iv). He enlisted the help of various Māori and Pākehā
around Niu Tireni to write about all facets of Māori culture and send these to
him. Grey studied the manuscripts he was sent or given to learn te reo Māori
and about Māori culture and beliefs. It was in this capacity of assisting Grey
that Te Rangikāheke produced the greater part of his writing, in the years
1849-1854 (Curnow 1983:16).
Te Rangikāheke recorded Māori whakataukī, waiata, traditions, beliefs,
and customs for Grey and enjoyed an amicable relationship with him through
at least the last four years of his first governorship of Niu Tireni. When Grey
took leave of Niu Tireni to take up the governorship of the Cape Colony,
Te Rangikāheke was chosen to deliver Ngāti Whakaue’s farewell address on
15 December 1853 (Davis 1955:1, cited in Curnow 1983:21).
After Grey left, Te Rangikāheke’s life took other more overtly political
and public turns. He was in government employ for nearly 20 years variously
holding the positions of Clerk of Works, Clerk at Maketū, Clerk of the Circuit
Court and Land Purchase Agent in Rotorua and Maketū (Curnow 1983:24-25).
He also figured highly in Arawa politics although his views, particularly his
support of government road-making were not always popular
(Curnow 1983).
After leading a very public and highly mobile life Te Rangikāheke
retired to Mokoia where he lived from 1890 to 1895 and there, according to his
4
Belich notes that of all the colonial governors New Zealand has had, Grey looms by far the largest in both
history and myth (1996:190).
14
grandson, became insane (Curnow 1983:31).
5
In 1895 he was taken to
Awahou where he died during the night of 2 February 1896.
The Scope of the Thesis
Of the academic work that pays attention to Te Rangikāheke and his
work, none figures more highly than that of Jenifer Curnow. Curnow wrote her
1983 Master of Arts thesis in Māori Studies (University of Auckland) on
Te Rangikāheke and his work, and includes in her dissertation a biography,
description and attribution of his manuscripts, a discussion of his account of
history, and a descriptive inventory of his manuscripts (1983). Two years later
Curnow also published a revised and abridged version of her Māori Studies
MA Thesis in the Journal of the Polynesian Society (1985) and in 1990 wrote
the entry for Te Rangikāheke in The Dictionary of New Zealand Biography
(New Zealand Department of Internal Affairs 1990). The majority of the
following summary of the work done thus far on Te Rangikāheke and his
manuscripts is taken from Curnow’s 1983 thesis.
When Grey departed New Zealand in 1853 to take up his appointment
of Governor of the Cape Colony he took the manuscripts he had collected
during his first governorship of New Zealand with him and there worked on
them with W.H.I. Bleek (Curnow 1983:1). Bleek published a catalogue of
Grey’s collection in 1858 and attributes ten manuscripts to Te Rangikāheke by
name, adding on occasion the description ‘a chief of the Rotorua district’ or ‘a
New Zealand chief’ (Curnow 1983 1-2). Grey subsequently presented all his
library to the South African Public Library at Cape Town and all the
New Zealand books and manuscripts were sent there in 1861 (Curnow
1983:2).
After visiting the Cape Town Library in 1906 and proceeding to
investigate Grey’s Māori manuscript material, H.W. Williams published an
article in The Journal of the Polynesian Society that describes the contents of
Bleek’s catalogue (Williams 1906:176-80). As noted by Curnow, Williams
5
Te Rangikāheke moved between Rotorua, Auckland, Whāngārei, Mangawhai, Tauranga, and Maketū and
possibly visited Wellington, and Waikato before ‘retiring’ to Mokoia and finally Awahou (Curnow 1983).
15
draws attention to the ‘striking’ manuscripts of Te Rangikaheke with their clear
writing and admirable punctuation; he pointed out that the prose matter in the
appendix to Nga Moteatea was mainly derived from Te Rangikaheke and was
sparingly edited, although the same material in Nga Mahinga a nga Tupuna
Maori had been ‘freely handled’ by Grey (Curnow 1983:2). All the
New Zealand matter from Grey’s library was returned to New Zealand in 1922-
23 and it has since been accessible to the general public.
In her thesis Curnow notes that three kinds of work have been
conducted on Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts. She lists these as being
attribution, cataloguing and tracing publication, transcription and translation,
and commentary on authenticity and literary quality (1983:2). These are each
in turn further described below.
Simmons examined the manuscripts to discover the sources of Grey’s
Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna (1928 edition). He pointed out the contributions of
Te Rangikāheke to sections of the published work and concluded that
Te Rangikāheke was the author of at least a third of the 198 pages (Curnow
1983:3). Simmons’s Catalogue of the Grey Maori Manuscript Collection in the
Auckland Public Library (1976:413-420) attributes three manuscripts in
addition to those already attributed by Bleek (Curnow 1983:3). McRae’s Grey
Maori Manuscripts, Descriptive Catalogue (1981) attributes a further nine
manuscripts to Te Rangikāheke (Curnow 1983:3).
Curnow notes that a number of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts have
been transcribed and translated and that Biggs transcribed two entire
manuscripts, Tiki-Tawhito-Ariki and Mode of Obtaining a Wife (1952:183-191;
1970:85-97), most of Nga Tama a Rangi (1964:43; 1966:449-50; 1970:1-4;
1980:66-73) and part of Commentary on Nga Moteatea; The Legend of
Hinemoa in collaboration with Hohepa, Mead, Land, and Cullen (1967:62-73;
1980:43-46) (1983:3). Curnow (1983:3) notes that Biggs also transcribed
Waiata Haka Oriori from this last manuscript as well (1953:67-7). Orbell
transcribed two short but entire manuscripts, A Dream and A Letter
(1968:8-12).
Curnow notes that the authenticity of Te Rangikāheke’s account of the
origin of the universe and of man was confirmed by Biggs who, in discussing
Te Rangikāheke’s Nga Tama a Rangi concluded that, ‘All early accounts from
16
whatever area or tribe confirm the general validity of the Rangikāheke version’
(1966:448, cited in Curnow 1983:3). Although the authenticity of
Te Rangikāheke’s writing for Grey had been questioned by Smith (1899:257)
who claimed that as Te Rangikāheke had never been educated as a priest
many Arawa elders considered his work pokanoa or unauthorised, leaving out
much detail (Curnow 1983:4). Curnow also notes that Tākanui Tarakawa
commented similarly when pointing out the omission of a detail of tribal history
(1909:44, cited in Curnow 1983:4). Stafford, however attributes this comment
of Tarawaka’s to jealousy and he also points to the large amount of evidence
Te Rangikāheke gave in the Māori Land Court which showed his ‘superior
knowledge of things Māori’ (1967:362).
As again noted by Curnow (1983:4), in addition to Williams’s comments
(cited above) some brief commentary has been made on the quality of
Te Rangikāheke’s writing by Cooper (1851:128) who noted that the
manuscript was ‘well-written and interesting’, Biggs (1952 179-80) who wrote
that he ‘deserves to be remembered for the quality and quantity of the
manuscripts on Maori matters...’, and Orbell (1968: 8-9) who, commenting on
his literary style, describes him as ‘a talented and gifted writer whose work
was ‘a unique blend of the old and new’ (Curnow 1983:4).
Curnow notes that there has been less attention paid to
Te Rangikāheke’s life but that two of his contemporaries in addition to Cooper
refer to him (1983:5). Davis describes him as the speaker chosen to give the
farewell address from Te Arawa to Governor Grey (1855:1) and
Lady Martin records meeting him in Auckland in 1842-3 (1884:19) and again
at the end of 1858 (1884:49).
Curnow also notes that other biographical information is added by
Simmons (1966:179) who tells us Te Rangikāheke’s iwi and gives a date for
his death, 1893 (Curnow 1983:5). Stafford, in his comprehensive history of
Te Arawa gives a description of Te Rangikāheke as being a controversial
figure, a skilled orator, and a man with a profound knowledge of Māori lore
and tradition (1967:361). He also makes a number of references to
Te Rangikāheke in his account of Arawa history in the 1860s and 1870s, and
refers to a letter which says that Te Rangikāheke was in the Native Office in
Auckland (1967:520, cited in Curnow 1983:5).
17
In the twenty-five years since Curnow’s MA research about
Te Rangikāheke’s life and work first appeared, no other work on his
manuscripts or substantial study on his writing has appeared. This thesis
draws on and extends Curnow’s ground breaking and substantial work but
departs from it in the following ways; firstly, this thesis is presented as a
holistic work wherein the major themes of the work are woven throughout the
entire work, that is, rather than presenting sections that are notable for their
differences in tone, methodology, and aims, this thesis makes the
relationships between each of the chapters overtly. This concern with
relationship is underpinned by the Māori methodology of whakapapa that is
employed in this work. Secondly, this thesis anchors itself in the disciplines of
Literary Studies and Māori Studies and so is informed by and speaks to
current theory and debates in both of these respective disciplines. This multi-
disciplinary work is made possible through using whakapapa as a
methodology and therefore is also able to move fluidly between the two
disciplinary fields of enquiry. Finally, this study is guided by contemporary
Indigenous concerns in its method as much as its resulting findings.
What is the significance of this project?
In introducing his eulogy on William Apess (Osage), the Native
American literary scholar Robert Warrior lays the foundations of his approach
...through a consideration of his work and the emergent picture of the context
in which he did that work, I hope not only to illuminate the life and career of
this significant nineteenth-century Native voice, but to show how his life and
work speak to a contemporary Native intellectual agenda (2005:2).
This thesis similarly seeks to not only explore who Te Rangikāheke was but to
also articulate a relationship between who he was and what he did, and
current Māori intellectual aspirations. This is as much a response to calls from
kaupapa Māori research methodology theorists for Māori research to be
relevant and have value for Māori communities, as it is from wider
18
Māori/Indigenous theorists such as Linda Tuhiwai-Smith (1999) who calls for
all Indigenous research to be relevant and have real value for Indigenous
communities. Although Te Rangikāheke’s texts were written over one
hundred years ago, via close reading and critical exploration of these texts this
thesis seeks to illuminate and forge connections between some of the ideas
that our ancestors took the time to think up and develop that can help our
sovereign Indigenous nations move into the future millennia with confidence.
To be clear, this thesis is not a historical work as such – it is part of a larger
work in progress in which Indigenous communities seek futures for
themselves and their descendents through finding ways of overcoming their
respective experiences of colonisation, and reconfiguring existing foundations
for future development.
This method of looking to our past to help us through our contemporary
issues is nothing new to te ao Māori. As Te Ahukaramū Charles Royal
(Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Tama-te-ra, Ngā Puhi) states
Contrary to what some critics may say about the rejuvenation of traditional
knowledge (‘going backwards’), the revitalisation of traditional knowledge is as
much about understanding our future as it is about our past (2005:4).
Royal points out that some critics of Indigenous Peoples’ insistence on
seeking their traditional knowledge’s see this as focussing too much on the
past rather than on their more pressing and immediate presents and futures.
Indigenous Peoples rather see their traditional knowledge’s as being
imperative in helping them and their communities in seeking healthy,
sustainable futures. This notion is grounded in the confidence that comes
from knowing where you come from, the greater legacy of which you are part,
and what creative contributions your ancestors made to their communities that
might inspire you. Similarly, through this study I hope to draw more critical
attention to Te Rangikāheke and his singularly impressive body of work while
simultaneously moving to expressly elucidate connections between
Te Rangikāheke’s work and contemporary Māori concerns.
19
Whakapapa as a methodological framework
The traditional Māori structure of whakapapa is a framework through
which relationships between all known phenomena are able to be articulated.
In modern times it is most commonly used to discover and articulate kinship
relationships between people. Being bound by relationships allows for
diversity within certain logical restraints, and growth within particular socially
defined limitations. It is also important to note that whakapapa is not only a
tool that tracks origins as it allows both vertical and horizontal movements,
through past and present generations and also across them. Metaphorically
speaking, whakapapa might therefore be understood as a koru that, from its
self-defined centre, progresses circularly outwards running both vertically up
and down generations and horizontally across generations. The chapters in
this thesis share whakapapa that similarly transcends multifarious
generational boundaries and enables discussion to move fluidly between
Te Rangikāheke and his work from the nineteenth century on the one hand,
and contemporary Indigenous concerns on the other. This mobility inherent in
whakapapa, that allows it to move temporally between generations and
spatially across generations, is critical to one of the ultimate aims of this study,
that is, to speak to a contemporary Indigenous agenda.
In 1998, Charles Royal, delivered his keynote address to
Te Oru Rangahau Māori Research and Development Conference at Massey
University which introduced a theory that posits whakapapa as a research
methodology as developed thus far by the faculty of Te Wānanga-o-Raukawa.
Royal offers a synopsis of Te Wānanga o Raukawa’s thinking in regards to
whakapapa as a research methodology thus far beginning with the notion that
Whakapapa is an analytical tool traditionally employed by Māori to understand
the following (not an exhaustive list):
• the nature of phenomena
• the origin of phenomena
• the connections and relationships to other phenomena
• describing trends in phenomena
• locating phenomena
• extrapolating and predicting future phenomena (1998:80-81)
20
This thesis draws on and extends Royal’s work and incorporates the notion of
‘whakapapa as a methodology’ as the underlying methodological framework
upon which the fairly diverse chapters are interrelated to each other and
inform each other. The respective natures of Te Rangikāheke and his writing,
their origins, relationships to other phenomena, the trends or themes in each,
the locating and positioning of each and imagining future possibilities are all
explored through the framework of whakapapa.
Royal adds that the central idea of whakapapa is that two phenomena
come together to give birth to a third phenomenon or that all phenomena arise
from two antecedent, parental phenomena (1998:80). This idea enables me
to think about whakapapa as possessing the dual properties of logic and,
seemingly paradoxically, creativity. Whereas the process of one phenomenon
coming together with another phenomenon to create a new phenomenon is
logical, the new phenomenon created does not equal the sum parts of its
parental phenomena but is a new creation in and of itself. The chapters of this
thesis are similarly organised whereby the antecedent chapter lends multiple
strands of DNA to the chapter in question thus laying skeletal foundations
from which it can develop in its own independent way. The chapters thereby
stretch outwards from their common origin picking up particular strands from
the previous chapter/s and developing them further. Their relationships to
each other are immutable via their common origin, but they have the freedom
to grow and develop the one from the other with the notion that ‘...all
phenomenon come from an organic source and come to be through an
organic process’ (Royal 1998:80) being foremost; the subsequent chapter is
lent strands of understanding by the preceding chapter, but is crucially a new
creation in and of itself.
In addition, the notion of whakapapa as a methodological framework is
useful in considering the relationships between the chapters in that
whakapapa has scope but there are also certain limits to that scope. One of
these limitations is that the further removed someone is positioned from a
given ancestor or relative, the more tenuous their whakapapa link to that same
ancestor or relative. In other words, there exists a continuum from prominent
to less prominent lines of whakapapa depending on which line is privileged,
and the requisites of the relationship being articulated. The line that this
21
thesis privileges that follows through the editing of Te Rangikāheke’s
manuscripts, to Te Rangikāheke’s Arawatanga in his manuscripts, to
Te Rangikāheke the person enables exploration and discussion of
Te Rangikāheke and his work with its wider accompanying requisites. These
requisites in this thesis are writing in te reo Māori, in the nineteenth century, in
Niu Tireni, by Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke. Many other possible
relationships have the potential to be brought to the fore and explored but
there is not the space to articulate these within the confines of this thesis.
As again with whakapapa, certain lines are privileged as they are
motivated by a particular issue which in turn has its own accompanying
implications. Some past instances of possible motivations for privileging
whakapapa have been claims of mana whenua, mana tupuna, and mana
motuhake, with their accompanying implications for other whānau members in
the whakapapa. This privileging of particular lines over others allows for
multiple ‘tellings’ to be heard and multiple stories to be told and explored, and
given different weight and emphasis as the given, often temporally defined,
circumstances require.
Accordingly, the focus on editing in chapter 2 takes its impetus from
current debates in Māori Studies concerning the quality of Māori language
resources and those texts which are held up as exemplars of te reo Māori. As
te reo Māori is a critically endangered language, its future survival is heavily
dependent on a large quantity of good quality Māori language resources.
Historical texts figure largely in current revitalisation attempts as they have
been in the past and continue to be held up as examples towards which te reo
learning should aim.
Similarly, the focus on iwi literary theory in chapter 3 is motivated by
arguments for Māori history to exist exclusively within the tribal conceptual
framework coupled with the calls of Native American Literary theorists for
studies of Indigenous topics to engage deeply with the contexts of iwi and
place (Womack 1999; Justice 2006; Weaver et.al 2006; Womack et.al 2008).
6
This discussion is timely in the current globalisation environment where strong
pushes for amalgamation from the worlds’ ‘superpowers’ are felt the world
6
See Keenan 2008.
22
over. It is unclear where Indigenous Peoples’ are positioned on the world
stage. What is clear is that many if not all Indigenous Peoples have the
voices and the capacity to engage in these larger conversations and to
articulate and push for recognition of their tino rangatiratanga.
The fourth chapter privileges the essential yet often perhaps
understated whakapapa of a human being, a physical person fixed in time and
space without which none of the current, past, or future scholarship on their
work would be possible. In a wider overview the line privileged throughout the
entire thesis is broadly defined as ‘reading Te Rangikāheke’, that is, reading
Te Rangikāheke’s texts, but also reading his life. It is important to remember
that the three lines of whakapapa being privileged as chapters in this thesis
are not the only possible combinations through which interesting and critical
discussions about Te Rangikāheke and his work might be had. They have,
however, been privileged in this work with the underlying motivation in mind of
how this work might best speak to contemporary Māori concerns of physical,
mental, and spiritual tino rangatiratanga. Thus, the final core chapter of this
thesis looks to the future. It also reminds us that individual futures are
important too; they are important as individual futures combine to make
community futures. The lines privileged in whakapapa are never as simple as
they may seem and it is equally as important to remember who is not
mentioned as who is.
My own concern about the relationships between the chapters arises
directly from their diversity: they may present themselves as three randomly
selected portions of the Te Rangikāheke pie. The socio-political issues raised
in the first chapter around editing as a metaphor for colonisation, for example,
constitute a notably different conversation to the second chapter which takes
its lead from current literary criticism. The third biographical chapter is
different again with Te Rangikāheke the person being the central focus.
However, these three chapters do specific work and are integral to this thesis
as a whole; they are not interchangeable nor are they replaceable.
Whakapapa allows for diversity and moreover expects it; as with the birth of a
child produced by their mother and father, the new life is again, not the sum
parts of its parents, but is a new creation in and of itself. This creativity
inherent in whakapapa, rather than somehow making the idea of whakapapa
23
less robust and sound as a framework, is essential to its wide ranging
potential for expansion and inclusion and invites imagination. The chapters of
this thesis share whakapapa, each offering their own individual personalities
with their own intelligence, charm, and originality.
Language Issues
Te reo Māori lies at the heart of this thesis; all of Te Rangikāheke’s
manuscripts read and sighted for this work are written in te reo and there is
currently no information available to suggest that Te Rangikāheke ever wrote
in English. I nonetheless choose to write this thesis in English. The reasons
for my doing so are many and varied and range from the personal, to the
critical, to the political. The following is a brief discussion of the language
issues that underpin this thesis which is not intended to be a pre-prepared foil
to critics of the language choices made in this study, but rather to foreground
the language landscape in which this study is located, lending full weight to its
many complexities and nuances.
To begin on a personal level, I consider myself to be a competent
reader of te reo Māori texts, listener of te reo Māori in its myriad forms, and
survival conversationalist, that is, someone who can hold basic conversations
in te reo. My journey began as a baby in kapa haka, after which I floundered
in high school, to swing full circle at university and study te reo feverishly. But
when it came to this thesis I chose to write in English. Where te reo is my
Native language, English is my first language; at my current stage of te reo
reclamation, I can not write an explorative, critical, theoretical thesis in te reo
Māori. Where my knowledge of te reo Māori enables me to critically engage
with Te Rangikāheke’s texts, my knowledge of English enables me to discuss
it. Which is not to say that te reo Māori as a language does not possess the
lexical or grammatical tools to do this work, but rather that I am not satisfied
that I currently possess the required tools in order to do the work well. Rather
than risk this study on Te Rangikāheke and his work being presented in a
‘dumbed down’ form because my language abilities in te reo do not work in
24
harmony with my thought processes, the decision was made to write in
English.
It is also useful to draw on theory from the discipline of Comparative
Literature when discussing the language interface between English and Māori
in this thesis that works with Te Rangikāheke’s texts in their original language,
but uses another language to do the critical work on them. The discipline of
Comparative Literature shows us that it is not necessary to work in translation
when working with texts across languages and that rather than labouring
under translation one language must necessarily be used to write “across” the
languages of the texts being studied (Bernheimer 1995, Saussy 2006).
Furthermore, both the language of the texts being studied and the language
employed in the critical work of this thesis intercept and interact at multiple
junctions in often surprising ways that facilitate a complementary relationship.
The ultimate result of this language interplay is that readers who have good
knowledge of both te reo Māori and te reo Pākehā will enjoy a richer and more
nuanced reading of this work than those whose expertise is limited to either
one or the other.
This thesis uses a multi-disciplinary approach in order to address some
of the current gaps in the biographical and literary study of Wiremu Maihi
Te Rangikāheke which draws on both my undergraduate training in English
Literature and my post-graduate training in the study of te reo Māori. Being
based in Māori Studies, where academics, many of whom have trained in
different disciplines converge and collaborate with the culture of a People
guiding their shared, assumed philosophies, has allowed me to combine my
research interests in te reo Māori and literature and do critical work with Māori
text in its original language, te reo Māori. Charles Royal similarly explores
what he calls ‘...the weaving of knowledge and experience across domains of
knowledge and the boundaries articulated for disciplines’ as one of the three
key themes in his paper ‘Exploring Indigenous Knowledge’
(2005 1-20). Royal argues that this ‘knowledge weaving’
...arises from the notion that indigenous knowledge is ‘holistic’ in the sense
that knowledge is interconnected and relational in the same way that all life is
interconnected and relational (2005:4).
25
Royal posits that where all life is connected through relationships with
whakapapa, so too is knowledge. The multi-disciplinary approach taken in
this thesis is therefore consistent with the underlying methodology of this
study, whakapapa, in that whereas the academic disciplines of Māori Studies
and English Literature are distinct disciplines in their own right, they also have
relationship potential. The potential of this particular aforementioned
relationship is one of the disciplinary relationships that is realised in the
creation of this thesis.
There are also many politically motivated issues that surround the
choice of writing in te reo Māori or English that present themselves differently
in accordance with varying spatial and temporal historical contexts. The most
central of these concerns to Māori scholars writing in 2008 are the
revitalisation efforts currently being expended on te reo Māori. While not
demanding that all writers with a good command of te reo Māori write in Māori,
the late Dr. Hirini Melbourne advocated that writers with good te reo Māori
skills do so in order to increase the chances of survival for the Māori language
(1991:130). This issue is more pertinent than ever in 2008 when the
continuing survival of te reo Māori as a living language hangs in the balance.
My intention is not to disparage the many and varied current te reo Māori
revitalisation efforts occurring around Aotearoa/New Zealand and beyond in
my writing of this thesis in English, nor is it to create a counter-argument to
serve and defend this same choice. I do, however, assert that the issues are
complex and that there are more interesting ways to talk about why we write in
English that need not be reduced to a straightforward choice depending on
whether or not one supports te reo Māori revitalisation.
Firstly, it is important to note that Te Rangikāheke himself is central to
the question of whether to write in Māori or English. In one letter he writes
with vigour of the trappings of a Pākehā feast (GNZMMSS 723) and in
another, he marvels at the generosity of the Governor in giving him four
shillings, three figs of tobacco, a Jew’s harp, and a pipe (GNZMMSS 45:939).
Te Rangikāheke’s enthusiasm for things Pākehā is palpable in his writing and
furthermore provides a springboard for the discussions presented in this thesis
by way of including some shared English language contextual windows into a
specifically English cultural frame of reference. This context is invited by the
26
writer himself in his writing about things Pākehā in te reo Māori. The English
language used in this thesis to discuss the Māori language material being
studied overlaps with the text at specific entry points of context as offered by
the writer. The English language is therefore employed as an extension of Te
Rangikāheke’s writing in te reo Māori that advances richer readings of the reo
Māori texts.
Another consideration that begs discussion in terms of the decision to
write this thesis in English is that of readership. Whereas there are many
Māori and some Pākehā scholars who are able to read te reo Māori, many
can not, and access to this thesis would therefore be restricted to those
scholars who can read te reo Māori if this thesis was written entirely in te reo.
This in turn raises another point in regards to the complexity of readerships in
that having a good command of te reo Māori does not necessarily equate to
having the skills required to read a reo Māori thesis. Thus, if this work was
written in te reo Māori its readership would be further restricted to scholars
who can read te reo, as opposed to all te reo readers.
To expand this concern with readerships even further, I am conscious
that as an Indigenous scholar working in Aotearoa/New Zealand in 2008, I am
part of a global community of Indigenous scholars whose work both informs
and extends my own. One of the realities of working in this global context is
the need for a shared idiom and mutual intelligibility. The English language
currently serves as this lingua franca of Indigenous literary scholarship
between Māori scholars and other members of the global Anglophone
Indigenous community and beyond thereby facilitating intellectual
conversations across oceans and cultures. This use of English at the
expense our myriad Indigenous languages has enable me to draw on the work
of such notable Native American literary critics as Robert Warrior (Osage) and
Craig Womack (Muskogee Creek, Cherokee) amongst a host of other
intellectuals from beyond America. In defence of using colonial languages in
our work, Simon J. Ortiz (Acoma Pueblo) another prominent Native American
literary critic asserts:
27
While there is valid concern about the gradual loss and diminishment of
Indigenous languages throughout the Indigenous hemisphere, there is, on the
other hand, the opportunity to make use of English, Spanish, and French
languages – and other colonial languages that have been used against us...
(Weaver et.al 2006:xiii).
While acknowledging the fears of many Indigenous communities in regards to
the ongoing health and vitality of their respective languages, Ortiz argues for
Indigenous Peoples to mobilize the colonial languages used against them by
the colonisers to meet their own needs and aspirations. Similarly to
Te Rangikāheke’s tendency to subvert the Pākehā technology of writing to
serve his own needs, agenda, or desires, we might today see our use of the
English language as being subverted to serve our current Indigenous
agendas. This is not to suggest that Te Rangikāheke was the first Indigenous
person to do this, nor is it to diminish the very real and alarming states many
of our Indigenous languages are currently in and what their loss might mean in
terms of cultural integrity and identity. It is however, to acknowledge that
Indigenous scholars are part of a global community and have much to learn
from each other in our often over-lapping experiences of colonisation and its
associated oppression, and to acknowledge that the language we use to
express ourselves to each other is often and unapologetically, the colonisers’
language.
This further brings me to another very practical point about the use of
the English language in this thesis. My supervisor who so helpfully pointed
me in the direction of American Indian Literary Criticism, is not functionally bi-
literate (her own words) in te reo Māori and English. In the same way that we
both read American Indian Literary Criticism in English, so too were our
meetings conducted in English. But rather than bemoaning our current lack of
high functioning te reo skills, we use English with each other and in wider,
globally Indigenous and generally academic forums to our advantage. The
English language in this way facilitates a mobility of ideas and conversations
between diverse people and Peoples both locally and internationally. This is
again not to promote the English language above te reo Māori or any other
Indigenous language as being a language inherently capable of expressing
28
higher, more complex ideas. It is however, to say that at the present time, the
English language currently serves as an important medium through which
much work can be conceived, worked through, shared, and produced in a
local and global context.
Finally, this thesis marks an important departure from a good deal of work
that has already been done on nineteenth century Māori writing by such
scholars as the late Professor Bruce Biggs and the late Dr Margaret Orbell,
which has tended to focus on transcription and translation (Biggs 1952:183-
191; 1960:85-97; 1964:43; 1966:449-50; 1970:1-4; 1980:66-73; Orbell 1968:8-
12) and instead turns to a critical literary exploration of Te Rangikāheke the
man, the writer, and his work.
Drawing on current debates in such diverse disciplines as Māori
Studies, Pacific Studies, Indigenous/Native Studies, History and Literature
Studies enables me to engage with the texts at a more critical level which
means that this thesis therefore could, to borrow from Saussy’s Comparative
Literature in an Age of Globalization (2006), alternatively be (sub-) titled
‘Nineteenth Century Māori Writing in an Age of Globalization’. I contend that
where the act of translation can be a one-way street that assists non-
reader/speakers in grasping the source material, critical exploration and
analysis is the two way street whereby those already proficient in the source
text language and those who are not are afforded the opportunity to engage
with the texts at a critical level. This specifically applies to the current
language situation in Aotearoa/New Zealand where it is safe to assume that
the majority if not all Māori reader/speakers have a good understanding of
English, but the reverse cannot be assumed to be true.
This work is intended for an academic audience or for those interested
in critical discussion of nineteenth century Māori writing and so it is stylistically
written with this audience in mind. The English language was again chosen to
be the language of this thesis in order that this work might be accessible to its
widest intended audience. It is, however, key to note that the many
references to tikanga Māori, whakaaro Māori, and other Māori cultural
specificities included in this thesis are not explained in detail; this work is in no
way intended as a guide book to Māori culture, customs, or people. Rather, it
means to build upon and extend current understandings of things Māori from
29
an essentially Māori viewpoint which takes te ao Māori as its frame of
reference and starting point. This is not done with the intention of confusing
those less versed in things Māori, but rather of allowing this work to shake
loose from the confines of explaining itself where those explanations can be
found elsewhere via wānanga and study. Footnotes are provided to ease the
search for other such resources to assist the reader who is relatively new to te
ao Māori and its accompanying philosophies and beliefs.
The Influence of American Indian Literary Theory
In the same way that whakapapa spirals outward in an ever expanding
koru, so too the whakapapa of this thesis finds more whanaunga far across
the expanse of Te Moananui-a-Kiwa. Penny van Toorn’s Writing Never
Arrives Naked about Aboriginal non-fiction writing in the nineteenth century
(2006) has greatly extended my thinking and theorising in this thesis as has
Robert Nicole’s The Word, the Pen, and the Pistol: Literature and Power in
Tahiti (2001). Circling further out across Te Moananui-a-Kiwa is Chadwick
Allen’s Blood Narrative: Indigenous Identity in American Indian and Maori
Literary and Activist Texts (2002), a ground-breaking comparative literary and
cultural study of post-World War II texts by Māori and Native American writers
and activists. This leads me to the work of such American Indian literary
critics as Robert Warrior (Osage) (1995; 2005), Craig Womack (Muskogee
Creek, Cherokee) (1999; et.al 2008), and Daniel Heath Justice (Cherokee)
(2006), which has deeply challenged my thinking in such profoundly and
critical ways as to warrant special mention here. Living and working in
Aotearoa/New Zealand, it has not been my good fortune as an Indigenous
scholar in this country to work in a nation that currently has more than one
other Indigenous scholar who works in the field of literary criticism. Needing
by necessity to look further a field, my supervisor (the one other university-
based Indigenous scholar who works critically with Māori texts) pointed me
directly toward the work of Indigenous American literary scholars. This
overwhelmingly large body of work (in comparison to what is available in
Aotearoa/New Zealand), has affected my work in this thesis in ways which,
30
though not perhaps apparent in the relatively small amount of citations used in
the body of text, runs the length and breadth of this work.
Specifically, one thread of American Indian Literary Theory has been
followed, drawn on, and interwoven into the foundations of this thesis, that
which calls for literary nationalism in studies of Indigenous texts (Womack
1999; Weaver et.al 2006; Womack et.al 2008). Accordingly, the chapter in
this thesis that benefits mostly from this critical ‘conversation’ and is indeed
styled in tandem with the core arguments of this group of Native American
theorists, is the chapter on Arawa literary nationalism. In arguing for
recognition of the specificities of Indigenous nations, the proponents of Native
American literary nationalism advance the calls by wider Indigenous research
theorists for more research about Indigenous people to be done by Indigenous
people, with the concerns of Indigenous people guiding the research
methodologies. This call speaks to the ultimate struggle of many Indigenous
peoples for sovereignty, or in the case of literature, more precisely as Robert
Warrior coined the term, ‘Intellectual sovereignty’ (1995:122). As Craig
Womack asserts in his ground-breaking work Red on Red: Native American
Literary Separatism
Native literature, and Native literary criticism, written by Native authors, is part
of sovereignty: Indian people exercising the right to present images of
themselves and to discuss those images (1999:14).
As Te Rangikāheke, an Indigenous Māori man living in Niu Tireni in the
nineteenth century, wrote Indigenous Māori texts, so too do I, an Indigenous
Māori scholar in Aotearoa/New Zealand in 2008 undertake to write Indigenous
Māori literary criticism of his texts in this thesis. I recognise this work as an
act of sovereignty in that I exercise my right to discuss the images of
ourselves that Te Rangikāheke presents in his writing. But to be absolutely
clear, I do not profess to know the meaning of the word sovereignty; although
often employed in Indigenous conversations, it is a word that remains elusive
but exciting for the potential it contains. I rather follow the lead of Warrior who
states:
31
If sovereignty is anything, it is a way of life...It is a decision – a decision we
make in our minds, in our hearts, in our bodies – to be sovereign and to find
out what that means in the process (1995:123).
This thesis in its entirety was written in accordance with the decision I made at
the outset to be sovereign, whatsoever that may mean. Being a methodical
and creative process has enabled me to push the boundaries against the
massive legacy of scholarship that has in the past and often continues to
ignore, deny, or argue against Indigenous sovereignty. This process has also
created a safe space in which I myself have been free to explore what
sovereignty might mean.
The order of the chapters
The order of these chapters poses an opportunity to reconfigure what
may be a more conventional Euro-Western approach to a thesis that explores
the life and work of a writer, where a biography section appears initially in the
thesis as a means of foregrounding later discussions of the writer’s work. The
biographic exploration offered in this thesis is not intended to provide
additional context to the central, more critical work of rehearsing close
readings of Te Rangikāheke’s texts but is rather one of the three critical
readings given in this thesis that explores Te Rangikāheke and his work.
Being a study on an Indigenous writer whose work emerged in a period
of rapid and drastic colonial change, I chose to begin the core chapters of this
thesis with a chapter that deals mostly with the writer’s interactions with the
coloniser, the chapter on editing as a metaphor for colonisation (Kotahi anō te
tupuna o te tangata Māori...Editing Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts; Editing
People). While it was initially tempting for this Māori researcher to simply
ignore the issues around colonial encounters rather than draw even more
attention to them than has already been given, the decision was made to deal
with them in an up-front manner in order to move more thoughtfully on to other
equally interesting discussions. To simply not engage in conversations about
the coloniser in relation to Indigenous Peoples will not make these
32
conversations or their legacies disappear, but by engaging thoughtfully with
them, Indigenous Peoples might enrich our shared colonial histories by adding
our voices to the historically ‘heard’ ones of the coloniser.
Additionally, whereas we, the tangata whenua of Aotearoa well know
that our histories began a long time before colonisation, I suggest that our
colonial history must be appropriately dealt with on our terms, by us, if we are
to be able to move confidently through our present and into the future. As
evidenced by the current social and political challenges we collectively face,
we continue to suffer as a People as a result of our colonial history. The
decision to begin this thesis with a chapter that examines the effects of
George Grey’s editing on Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts represents a small
metaphoric step toward dealing with our colonial history with the advantage of
retrospect, and the privilege of wānanga.
In moving to shift the focus away from Indigenous Peoples as defined
by their relationship with the colonial ‘Other’, the chapter that explores
Te Rangikāheke’s writing in an iwi context follows the first core chapter
discussed above (Kātahi Ka Tuaina a Te Arawa...Te Arawa Literary
Nationalism). Te Rangikāheke’s Arawatanga in his writing, though certainly
with added nuances due to his many and varied colonial encounters, are
expressions that are born from an Indigenous centre rather than a colonial
one. The movement of the chapters toward this Indigenous centred work has
the effect of shifting the focus of this study to lie more on the concerns of
Indigenous Peoples in Indigenous paradigms. In this way, this thesis as a
whole moves toward privileging Indigenous Peoples’ understandings of
themselves and their histories, a privileging that is long overdue against the
already overloaded masses of scholarship worldwide that privileges the
coloniser’s voice. Colonial stories are not the only stories Indigenous
communities tell – colonial stories are part of our histories and futures but
should also be told in context alongside our other shared stories, narratives,
histories, and aspirations.
Following on from the chapter that explores Te Rangikāheke’s iwi
anchored writing, is a chapter that imagines Te Rangikāheke the person (Tā
Te Rangikāheke, ko Wiremu Maihi...Revisioning Te Rangikāheke –
A Biographical Treatment). Whereas the previous two chapters use
33
Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts on Māori traditions and history as the main
primary source material, this final chapter looks firstly at his name and then at
three draft letters he wrote. The use of this different source material marks an
important departure in the thesis whereby imaginative and creative energies
are loosed and new understandings of who Te Rangikāheke was are
envisaged; Te Rangikāheke is imagined through his name and his letters.
This chapter completes the through line from the opening core chapter
that looks in a wider sense at one aspect of the relationship between the
coloniser and the colonised, to the second core chapter that focuses more
narrowly on issues of iwi nationalism, to a final chapter that zeros in on the
individual. I argue that not only does this order narrow a wider social
perspective, it more importantly re-focuses attention on matters of more
central concern to contemporary Indigenous communities. The chapter on re-
visioning is placed in the final position in order to remind readers of the power
and potential of creativity. Through the work of imagining our pasts in
Te Rangikāheke, we might find new ways to imagine our futures that benefit
contemporary Indigenous communities in their respective struggles and
aspirations for recognition, rights, and tino rangatiratanga. The final chapter is
thus intended as a spring board from which Indigenous communities might
take advantage of their collective imaginations and creativity thereby
advancing their communities beyond conversations centered around the
colonial experience.
Additionally, on another more holistic level, the origin of this thesis itself
was a forgotten book amongst a box of forgotten books that I accidentally or
fatefully happened upon in my parents’ garage. This forgotten book, a copy of
Sir George Grey’s Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna (1928) led to my own personal
discovery and study of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts which in turn sowed the
seeds of the chapters that follow. The process of my reading the manuscripts
and subsequent development of this thesis was organic; the chapters of this
thesis were cultivated from the one garden of manuscripts, that is, three
chapters were developed from reading the one set of manuscripts, written by
the one author, all intimately connected through whakapapa but with their own
individual kinks and personalities. One of the results of this organic
development of the work was that, as the individual chapters grew
34
independently of each other from my reading of the manuscripts, an obvious
order of the chapters did not immediately present itself and it was therefore
possible to order the chapters in a number of ways that would spark critical
kōrero and debate. The order of the chapters to follow has therefore been
fixed in a way that I believe offers the most to Indigenous communities in
terms of our on-going struggles and vitality thus re-positioning the Indigenous
at the centre of the concerns of this thesis in line with Kaupapa Māori research
methodologies and Indigenous research methodologies (Tuhiwai-Smith 1999).
One foundation of the work of this thesis is located firmly in the
discipline of Māori Studies and another foundation is located in my traditionally
based methodological framework of whakapapa. These are the two joint
foundations that give me the confidence to dream and also the space to
dream in without which this work would not have been possible. As I move
into the core work of this thesis, I compose myself in anticipation of a
movement into another space in which my own individual explorations of
sovereignty might be articulated.
35
Kotahi anō te tupuna o te tangata Māori
Editing Te Rangikāheke’s Manuscripts; Editing People
The whakapapa of this chapter predominantly privileges the horizontal,
contemporary relationships that underpin the editing and publishing of
Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts. In this way, the line that the whakapapa of
this chapter privileges is a horizontal one that moves across
Te Rangikāheke’s generation rather than through it. The contemporary
relationships discussed in the bulk of this chapter are therefore more spatially
than temporally shaped; time is less of an issue in these relationships than
interactions in a common space. The majority of the discussion that follows is
therefore anchored firmly in Te Rangikāheke’s lifetime; a lifetime that
incidentally spanned the greater part of the nineteenth century.
Te Rangikāheke’s relationship with George Grey is first explored
through a survey of the prefaces Grey included in his Māori publications.
What emerges is a picture of a man who, though changed over time, was also
a product of his time in his imperialist/colonialist attitudes in which he
appeared to unwaveringly believe. This is followed by an examination of the
tuakana/teina dynamic of their relationship, of their whakapapa to each other
as articulated in their Māori terms for each other in their writing. In keeping
with anchoring the discussion in their contemporary generation, the nineteenth
century is then more widely explored in terms of colonial ‘naming and
claiming’, a notion important in discussing nineteenth century colonisation
ideas and justifications. The final section of this chapter then shifts, and looks
beyond its own close generations to its future descendents; to the effects that
Grey’s editing had on Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts that we are left with
today.
Ultimately, I will argue that Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke exercised
his tino rangatiratanga – his right to self-determination – in his writing of his
stories. Accordingly I will argue that Sir George Grey then extended his
powers of sovereignty and dominion over the original Māori writing in the act
of editing.
This analysis affords us a new perspective from which to review
36
the early published writing of Indigenous Māori in which parallels can be
drawn between writer and editor, Māori and Pākehā, colonised and coloniser.
In this context, the relationship between writer and editor serves as a rich
metaphor for colonisation.
Sir George Grey is primarily remembered as a colonial administrator in
New Zealand, South Australia, and the Cape Colony and for his long and
controversial political life (Kerr 2006:13). The following synopsis of his life
provides some background to the complex and multi-sided person Grey was
so as to enable a more balanced exploration of his relationship with
Te Rangikāheke articulated later in this chapter.
Born in Lisbon in 1812, George Grey was named after his father,
Lieutenant Colonel George Grey, who died in battle at the Spanish fortress
town of Badajoz a day or two before his birth (Bohan 1998:16). The younger
George was raised by his mother Elizabeth Vignoles Grey and then also by
whom Bohan calls ‘...a conscientiously affectionate stepfather...’, (1998:16)
the baronet Sir John Godfrey Thomas of Wenvoe, Vicar of Wartling and
Bodiam, Sussex (Bohan 1998:16).
Grey’s interest in marginalised peoples began while he was in military
service with postings in Glasgow and subsequently Ireland where he was
appalled by the poverty of the Irish people and misery inflicted on them by
their English landlords (Sinclair 1990:160). He subsequently led two
expeditions in Western Australia in 1837-39 in the hope of finding a major river
giving access to lands suitable for settlement, both of which were ill-planned
and badly executed (Sinclair 1990:160). Grey himself was injured by a spear
to his hip when his party met a group of Aborigines on their first expedition
and had to be brought back to their camp on a pony (Bohan 1998:27-28).
Sinclair notes that it was at this time that Grey became interested in the
cultures and government of Indigenous peoples. In 1840 he wrote a report for
Lord John Russell, the new secretary of state for the colonies, showing how
the amalgamation of two races could be speedily effected (1990:160). Grey
was then promoted to captain and appointed resident magistrate at King
George Sound (Sinclair 1990:160). He married Eliza Lucy Spencer, the
daughter of his predecessor in that office and their one child, a son, was born
in 1841 but lived for only five months (Sinclair 1990:160). After returning to
37
England, Grey was offered and accepted the governorship of South Australia
(Sinclair 1990:160) which was a relative success as far as the Australian
economy was concerned, but which fell short in his native policy (Sinclair
1990:160-161). The settlers often clashed with the Aborigines and, as Sinclair
notes there was much conflict, murder, and theft of stock on both sides
(1990:161).
In 1845 Grey was appointed governor of New Zealand where he faced
even greater difficulties than in South Australia (Sinclair 1990:161). Grey
arrived in New Zealand to find it technically bankrupt (Bohan 1998:68) and the
settlers and Māori engaged in violent disputes over land claims (Sinclair
1990:161). It was in this unstable environment that Grey took it upon himself
to learn the Māori language. He felt it was his duty to learn the Māori
language and about Māori traditions, customs, and culture in order that he
might better fulfil his position as Governor-in-Chief of New Zealand (Grey
1855).
To this end Grey owned Grammar and Vocabulary of the Language of
New Zealand (1820) by Lee and Kendall with input by Hongi Hika and
Waikato, A Grammar of the New Zealand Language (1842) by the Reverend
Robert Maunsell, A Dictionary of the New Zealand Language, and a Concise
Grammar; to which is added a Selection of Colloquial Sentences (1844) by
William Williams, three of the four publications that were available by 1845
that were either in or about te reo Māori and although he did not own the
fourth, A Korao no New Zealand (1815) by Thomas Kendall, he possessed a
work that contained the word list that was originally compiled by the author of
that same publication (Kerr 2006:75-76).
As was popular with Pākehā interested in Māori customs, culture, and
language at the time, Grey enlisted the assistance of Māori around
Aotearoa/New Zealand such as Tamihana Te Rauparaha (Ngāti Toa) and
Himiona Te Wehi, to assist him in his studies; Grey had them write in te reo
Māori about Māori culture in order for him to build a collection of written
materials on which to base his study of Māori language.
1
Grey also received
manuscripts from other Pākehā collectors of Māori material such as the
1
Te Wehi’s iwi has not been included as it is currently unknown.
38
German missionary J. H. F. Wohlers, the Presbyterian missionary James
Duncan, and the Reverend Robert Maunsell (Kerr 2006:78). However,
Te Rangikāheke is generally acknowledged as being Grey’s most important
source of Māori manuscript material.
Although Grey did not record much about their relationship,
Te Rangikāheke was more forthcoming (Curnow 1983:21).
2
He wrote the
following in a draft letter to Queen Victoria:
He nui anō tana mahi atawhai ki ahau e noho tahi ana hoki au me ia me tōna
hoa wahine i roto i tō rāua nei whare. E kai tahi ana hoki mātou i ngā rā katoa
o te wiki e kōrero tahi ana, e tākaro tahi ana, e hari tahi ana (GNZMA 723,
Part 2:279).
Te Rangikāheke tells the Queen that Grey was very kind to him and that he
lived with Grey and his wife in their house. He writes that they ate together
everyday of the week, they talked together, enjoyed their time together, and
were happy together.
3
Te Rangikāheke evidently took pleasure in his work
and lifestyle with Grey and his wife and found it satisfying and fulfilling.
Grey provided a house for Te Rangikāheke and his family next to his
own family house in Auckland, along with bags of flour, rice and sugar when
they arrived, and payment of two shillings and sixpence for a day, fifteen
shillings for a week, and three pounds for a month (Curnow 1983:17). As
again noted by Curnow (1983:17), in another letter dated 27 August 1850,
Te Rangikāheke marvelled at the generosity of the Governor in giving him so
many possessions whilst he was in his writing place; four shillings, three figs
of tobacco, a Jew’s harp, and a pipe
Otirā, i ngā rā noho ai au i roto i tōku whare tuhituhi ka hōmai e ia e whā ngā
hereni, e toru tūpeka, kotahi te rōria, kotahi te paipa; ā mīharo ana ahau ki
tōna atawhai ki te hōmai noa mai i āna mea māku (GNZMMSS 45, cited in
Orbell 1968:12).
2
Curnow notes that Grey’s diary, which covers the years 1845-83, is a very sketchy document and makes
no mention of Te Rangikāheke (1983:21)
3
Curnow translates e tākaro tahi ana literally as we played together (1983:17)
39
Te Rangikāheke’s use of the word ‘mīharo’ conveys a sense of wonderment
and amazement at the care that Grey showed towards him. Grey is painted in
a very favourable light in terms of his relationship with Te Rangikāheke when
Te Rangikāheke uses of the word ‘atawhai’, conveying a sense of caring that
extends beyond simple civility and professionalism.
Not surprisingly perhaps, given their evidently warm relationship,
Te Rangikāheke not only wrote for Grey, but also taught him in a collaborative
manner (Curnow 1983:17). To this end, Curnow notes that Grey wrote
comments on Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts which suggests that he was
writing notes during or after discussion with Te Rangikāheke.
In one such note ([GNZMMSS] 81:56) Grey wrote above a line, ‘“Otiraa he
take pai” said by the writer of this they thought this a just cause’ (Curnow
1983:18).
Through ready access to the writer, Grey was able to more thoroughly study
the manuscripts he was supplied by Te Rangikāheke than was the case with
the majority of his Māori collection. Kerr takes the idea of Te Rangikāheke
and Grey working together a step further and imagines what this working
relationship might have looked like
The collaboration was close and the image of these two men, antipodal
representatives with their own culture and customs, sitting down in
Government House, talking together, writing passages of Maori, discussing
them, emending them and adding interlinear notes is a powerful one
(2006:76).
As indeed the image is powerful, it is also a poignant example of what might
be possible when people from different cultures meet and understand each
other enough to be able to work amicably, side by side. Te Rangikāheke
made great contributions not only to Grey’s learning of te reo Māori me ōna
tikanga, but also to Grey’s Māori publications which have over successive
generations proved themselves to be invaluable resources in the study of
40
Māori language and culture.
4
Te Rangikāheke ultimately taught Grey about
things Māori in a close, collaborative way that greatly advanced his knowledge
and proficiency of and in Māori language, traditions, and people.
Te Rangikāheke’s and Grey’s writing collaboration was, however,
relatively short lasting; it only lasted four years between 1849 and 1853 after
which Grey left Niu Tireni to take up his Governorship posting in the Cape
Colony taking all the Māori manuscripts with him. Grey worked on his
extensive manuscript collection with Dr Wilhelm Bleek, a librarian at Cape
Town Library, publishing three Māori books during his term at Cape Town;
Polynesian Mythology (1855), Ko nga Whakapepeha me nga Whakaahuareka
a nga Tipuna o Aotearoa (1857), and Ko nga Waiata Maori (1857) as well as a
catalogue of Grey’s material in te reo Māori in 1858.
5
In 1860 Grey returned
to Niu Tireni to take up his second appointment as Governor of New Zealand.
Grey subsequently presented his entire library to the South African Public
Library at Cape town, and the valuable New Zealand books and manuscripts
were sent there in 1861 where they lay virtually undisturbed for over 40 years
(Curnow 1983:2, Williams 1906:175-6).
In 1906 the Reverend H. W. Williams spent time in Cape town, ‘re-
discovered’ the manuscripts, and published an article in the Journal of the
Polynesian Society entitled Maori Matter at the Cape of Good Hope: Some
Notes on the Grey Collection in the Capetown Library (1906:175-80). In this
article, Williams gives brief background details on the history of Grey’s
collection, a résumé of his month’s work on the collection, and other brief
notes on what remained to be done with the collection. Special mention is
made of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts that Williams noted were ‘...the most
striking...’ (1906:179) of those he examined and ‘...whose writing is clear, and
punctuation admirable’ (1906:179). Almost all the manuscripts were finally
returned to Aotearoa/New Zealand in 1922-23 after what Biggs referred to as
‘protracted negotiations’ (Biggs 1952:177), with the three outstanding items
4
Williams (1928) and Ngata (1928) both note that by 1928 Māori was included in the subjects for the BA
degree and also that the Academic Board prescribed Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna as a text book for the
examination.
5
Grey’s first Māori publication Ko nga Moteatea me nga Hakirara o nga Maori (1853) was published in
Wellington, and his second, Ko nga Mahinga a nga Tupuna Maori (1854) was published in London
41
being returned in 1999 (Kerr 2006:83).
6
The collection is currently held in the
Special Collections Section at Auckland Public Library and is accessible by
the general public.
Reading Grey
The Māori books Grey published with their significant contributions by
Te Rangikāheke form one collection of material that might be analysed
comparatively beside Grey’s collection of Te Rangikāheke manuscripts.
Though they differ in many often wide ways, they share whakapapa that is
both rich and diverse. The following analyses of the prefaces Grey included in
his Māori publications are explored as much for their lack of acknowledgement
to Te Rangikāheke and the many other Māori contributors, as for what other
information and insights into Grey they do contain. Inasmuch as Te
Rangikāheke can be read through his manuscripts in the Grey collection, so
too can Grey be read through his prefaces, and perhaps both of the men in
the main text of some of these books. This ‘reading between the lines’
therefore takes dually into account what is present and what is not, and
explores the spaces in between the two.
(i) Nga Moteatea (1853)
Before Grey presented his library at Cape Town, four of
Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts were published in 1853 in Wellington as
appendices in Grey’s Ko Nga Moteatea Me Nga Hakirara Maori. But rather
than acknowledge any of his Māori sources, Grey fills the greater part of his
preface in Nga Moteatea with extolling the virtues of the ‘fertile in labors, rich
in love, apostolic in character’ missionaries (1853:i), and explaining why and
how he collected what he calls the ‘poems’ contained in the main body of the
6
Interestingly, Grey mentions his desire for this exchange to one day take place in the preface to the 2
nd
edition of Polynesian Mythology (1885); this was not an oversight on his behalf due to the pressing
demands of office as Williams (1906:176) points out.
42
text. The preface concludes with some unpublished remarks about Māori
poetry by Maunsell whom Grey describes to as ‘one of our most learned Maori
scholars’ (1853:xiii). Maunsell proceeds to belittle Maori poetry deeming it
amongst other things ‘abrupt and elliptical to an excess not allowed in English
poetry’ (Grey 1853:xiii) while also conceding that ‘these irregularities help
much to invest Maori poetry with that shade which none can penetrate without
close study of each particular piece’ (Grey 1853:xiii). Maunsell’s
overwhelmingly negative view of Maori poetry is illustrated in the final
paragraph of the preface that systematically lists the ‘peculiarities’ that
Maunsell felt obliged to note as the following
...omissions of the articles ‘ko’ and ‘te’, omissions of ‘ai’, of the pronouns, of
such particles as ‘nei’, and of other complementary words, omissions of the
nominative case, of the objective, often of the verb, and verbal particles,
omissions of the prepositions, changes of one preposition into another,
unusual words introduced, and words sometimes inverted – exceedingly wild
and abrupt metaphors, and transitions unexpected and rapid’ (Grey 1853:xiv)
Such a list begs the question as to how any native speaker of Māori, let alone
a student of the language, was ever able to make any sense at all of Māori
poetical forms, but also more importantly highlights Maunsell’s grammatically
based frame of reference with which he approached poetry, or more
specifically, Māori poetry. Maunsell bases the majority of this part of his
assessment of Māori poetry firmly on the rules of grammar, the rules of Māori
grammar in which he must have considered himself an expert. Indeed,
whether or not Maunsell’s understanding of the grammar of te reo Māori was
good is beside the point; the main point is that poetry in many if not all
languages often breaks the grammatical rules of that language with no dire
consequences to speak of. As the above quote shows, Maunsell approaches
Māori poetry from a Pākehā-centric corner that sees him rely on a European
based understanding of grammar. This moreover sees him defeated at the
end where he resorts to calling the metaphors ‘wild’ and the transitions
‘unexpected and rapid’.
43
Grey avoids acknowledging the original writers of the Māori waiata and
prose material contained in this publication in the preface and anywhere else
in the book in preference to the righteousness of missionaries, his methods of
collection, and Maunsell’s unusual assessment of Māori poetry. Rather than
being presented as a celebration of Māori waiata, this preface focuses
squarely on Pākehā concerns rather than the Māori content contained in the
book.
(ii) Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna (1854)
Grey’s second Māori publication Ko nga Mahinga a nga Tupuna Maori,
which Simmons notes contains material at least a quarter of which is derived
from four Te Rangikāheke manuscripts (1966:364), similarly offers no
acknowledgement of its Māori sources other than mentioning in the preface
that
These traditions were all either written down from the dictation of their
principal Chiefs and High Priests, or have been compiled from manuscripts
written by Chiefs (Grey 1928:ix)
When Grey recasts the Māori sources in general terms as ‘Chiefs and High
Priests’ he contributes to the effect of de-personalising the texts, removing
authorial agency from the Māori writers, and solidifying the texts in the
colonially acceptable genre of ‘mythology’. Grey’s decision regarding
authorial acknowledgment satisfied the colonial requirement that Indigenous
people’s individual identities not exist. Grey’s decision, whether intentionally
politically motivated or otherwise is inherently political in that Grey exercised
his colonial powers over Te Rangikāheke’s Indigenous texts thereby negating
Te Rangikāheke’s tino rangatiratanga. In this act of not acknowledging his
sources, Grey effectively edited his sources out of their own texts.
44
(iii) Polynesian Mythology (1855)
Polynesian Mythology (1855), Grey’s third Māori publication, is his
English translation of Nga Mahinga a nga Tupuna Maori (1854). In the
substantial preface to this work, Grey explains amongst other things why and
how he set about learning te reo Māori, and how he came to publish some of
the material he collected in this and the previous Māori books. He writes:
I soon perceived that I could neither successfully govern, nor hope to
conciliate, a numerous and turbulent people, with whose language, manners,
customs, religion, and modes of thought I was quite unacquainted (Grey
1855:iii).
In Grey’s own words, he deemed it necessary to learn the Māori language and
to learn about Māori culture in order to be better equipped in his role as the
Governor-in-Chief of New Zealand, governing over both Indigenous Māori and
predominantly European settlers. Grey goes on to talk about the problems
with enlisting translators noting that information relayed via the medium of a
translator is not as personal as the more standard mode of using one
language to communicate, that it is ‘...cumbrous and slow...’ (Grey 1855:v),
that, being done hurriedly and in as few words as possible was not ideal, and
finally that the Natives did not like talking through an interpreter (Grey 1855:v).
Having dispensed with the usefulness of translators, Grey reminds us again of
what he tells us was his ‘duty’:
...to make myself acquainted, with the least possible delay, with the language
of the New Zealanders, as also with their manners, customs, and prejudices
(Grey 1855:v).
From here, Grey describes the difficulties he faced in learning a
language that he thought ‘a very difficult one to understand thoroughly’ (Grey
1855:vi) as it ‘varied altogether in form from any of the ancient or modern
languages’ (Grey 1855:vi) which he knew. He mentions that there was then
‘no dictionary of it published...there were no books published in the language
45
which would enable me to study its construction’ (Grey 1855:vi) and that, as
he was occupied with the governance of the country, he was left with little time
to devote to these matters. In writing about why he felt compelled to learn te
reo me ōna tikanga followed by the ensuing difficulties through which he
struggled, Grey writes himself into this preface at the expense of the Māori
stories contained in the book – it’s all about him. This egocentric through line
continues throughout the preface.
Furthermore, whereas Grey gives much detail about why he collected
Māori manuscript material, he is notably vague about exactly how he collected
this material. He writes:
I worked at this duty in my spare moments in every part of the country I
traversed, and during my many voyages from portion to portion of the Islands.
I was also always accompanied by natives, and still at every possible interval
pursued my inquiries into these subjects (Grey 1855:viii).
Grey does not disclose his methods of acquiring the source material much
less who his sources actually were. His focus remains squarely on himself
and his work in obtaining the source material as per the above quote where
Grey writes that he was ‘accompanied’ by some Māori. Grey marginalises
Māori firstly by referring to them in general terms as ‘native’ and secondly by
suggesting that these same ‘natives’ did not work either with or for him in his
use of the word ‘accompanied’. Grey avoids mentioning that Māori were
largely the actual writers of the manuscripts as well as a much larger body of
other Māori writing and in this avoidance he effectively erases their literary
achievements which he subsequently published under his own name. Grey
further marginalises the Māori sources from whom he obtained his material by
not acknowledging any of them by name and instead referring to them as the
‘aged and influential chiefs’ (Grey 1855:viii) and ‘priests’ (Grey 1855:viii) who
aided him in his collecting.
Grey then discusses his reasons for publishing some of the Māori
manuscript material stating that he did not want his hard work to go to waste
and not benefit others ‘...whose duty it may be hereafter to deal with the
natives of New Zealand’ (1855:ix). Rather than his work being of any benefit
46
to Māori, Grey intended his work to benefit colonial masters with whom would
lay the burden of ‘deal[ing] with’ the Indigenous people of Aotearoa/New
Zealand. This is furthermore underlined by Grey’s emphatic statement that he
now presents ‘...to the European reader a translation of the principle portions
of their [ie Māori] ancient mythology, and some of their most interesting
legends’ (1855:x). Although it might be conceded that it was not
unreasonable for Grey to intend this publication, being a translation into
English, for an English audience, this view assumes that Māori were not
literate in the English language and would therefore gain nothing from this
publication. It furthermore assumes that Māori, even if they were literate in
English, would have no interest in a publication in English concerned with their
own traditions. This view is untenable given the expediency and voracity with
which Māori took up writing in the nineteenth century.
(iv) Polynesian Mythology. 2
nd
Edition. (1885)
The second edition of Polynesian Mythology, which appeared thirty
years after the first, is markedly different to the first edition. The older Grey
writes much less with a sense of purpose and more with a sense of reflection
if not nostalgia. Grey begins by lamenting the deaths of his ‘fellow-labourers
and assistants in collecting the materials for the original work, so long ago as
the year 1845’ (1885:xiii). Interestingly, he also laments the deaths of his
Māori friends many of whom he notes were much respected and admired
(Grey 1885:xiii). Grey further contends that the feeling between the Māori and
Pākehā after the cessation of the land wars of the 1850s and 60s finished has
mellowed to a point whereby:
...the Europeans thoroughly appreciated all instances of truely noble courage
in the natives who were opposed to them, and loudly expressed their
admiration for the men who thus distinguished themselves (1885:xiii).
While Grey implies that Europeans did not recognise any noble courage in
Māori before they were engaged in war with them, he goes on to justify this
47
assumption by proclaiming that they corrected themselves by expressing
admiration for some of the Māori. This discourse perpetuates the “noble
savage” discourse as expounded by the influential French philosopher
Rousseau that was popularly employed by colonising powers in the nineteenth
century as a justification for the horrors of colonisation. The general tone that
is threaded through this preface follows this “noble savage” line to its
inevitable foregone conclusion that the Māori, like many of Grey’s old Pākehā
and Māori ‘friends’, will die – the Māori as an anthropological relic.
In keeping with the dire and sad tone of this preface, Grey, no longer
the young, idealistic, energetic man he once was, tells us:
Many of the manuscripts were written by natives from the dictation of the most
celebrated old chiefs, such as Rangihaeata, Te Rauparaha, Potatau,
Te Heuheu, Patuone, Te Taniwha, etc (1885:xiv).
Unusually though, despite being generally acknowledged now as the author of
at least 50 of the 198 pages in Nga Mahinga a nga Tupuna Maori (Simmons
1966:364), as well as sharing an evidently warm relationship with Grey
(Curnow 1983:17), Te Rangikāheke’s name does not figure in this list. I posit
that rather than acknowledging the primary Māori sources of the book, this list
is included to inflate the importance of the book as the most comprehensive
and authoritative book ever published on Māori traditional narratives. This
theory is supported by the fact that the names Grey mentions are the names
of some of the most prominent rangatira of their time. Where Simmons
asserts that ‘Te Wherowhero of Ngāti Mahuta gave Grey Te Kitenga a
Te Kanawa i te Patupaiarahe’ (1966:367) which most likely refers to Pōtatau
Te Wherowhero, the first Māori king, or Pōtatau as given in the list above,
there is some doubt as to whether the other rangatira listed above dictated the
manuscripts that subsequently found their way into Grey’s possession.
Simmons, in his article “The Sources of Sir George Grey’s Nga Mahi a
Nga Tupuna”, found that together with material from Te Rangikāheke’s
manuscripts, Grey also used material from manuscripts written by Mātene
Te Whiwhi. Mātene, or Te Whiwhi as he was more commonly known, was the
son of Rangitopeora, a prominent rangatira of Ngāti Raukawa and a nephew
48
of two prominent Ngāti Toarangatira rangatira, Te Rangihaeata and
Te Rauparaha. Simmons is unclear as to whether Te Whiwhi dictated
traditions from his uncles, or wrote what he was taught by them and others, or
simply wrote what he knew of the traditions as he knew them. As for
Te Heuheu, Patuone, and Te Taniwha, whereas Te Taniwha may have
contributed to written accounts of traditions, these rangatira are not
remembered for their writing but for their political and social prominence.
Grey may not have wanted his published work to be associated with
such an evidently mobile Māori as Te Rangikāheke was as this might
compromise the venerability of the traditions that Grey appears at pains to
describe as being ‘ancient’. It is improbable that Grey simply forgot to include
Te Rangikāheke due both to their close relationship and Grey’s fine attention
to detail and dedication to hard work. Grey may, however, have been simply
overstating the case in naming these particular rangatira as some of his
sources but this is difficult to substantiate at this time. This is an area of
possible future inquiry that lies beyond the scope of this thesis.
Te Rangikāheke’s teina dynamic with Grey
In the draft letter to Queen Victoria previously mentioned
Te Rangikāheke writes of his relationship with Grey;
E rite ana tōna atawhai ki au i te atawhai ki tana tamaiti ake, teina ake,
whanaunga ake (GNZMA 723, Part 2:279).
He writes of the kindness that Grey shows toward him being the same as that
which one would show to their own child, to their younger sibling, or to their
close relative.
7
Te Rangikāheke specifically writes ‘teina’ meaning ‘younger
sibling of the same sex’ which is clearly distinguished in Māori from ‘tuakana’
meaning ‘older sibling of the same sex’.
8
From a Māori point of view, the
7
Translated by Curnow as ‘His kindness to me was like his kindness to his own child, his younger brother,
or relation’ (1983:17).
8
The word ‘sibling’ includes cousins in te ao Māori, not just one’s immediate siblings
49
implications of this word choice are specific; whakapapa is one of the
foundational concepts upon which Māori social structure is built and iwi, hapū
and whānau are ordered according to tuakana/teina relationships. The
tuakana belongs to an older and more senior line of whakapapa and the teina
belongs to a younger and more junior line of whakapapa (Mead 2003b:220).
Relatives, family or other kinship groups are defined in this tuakana/teina
binary. Te Rangikāheke, in this case, claims the younger ‘teina’ position for
himself and in doing so lowers his social status in deference to Grey.
In another manuscript (GNZMMSS 87) Te Rangikāheke writes that
Grey addresses him as ‘tama’ which literally translates as ‘boy’ or ‘son’. In
Te Rangikāheke’s written words, the relationship he shared with Grey is
mutually defined in Māori kinship terms whereby Grey occupied the tuakana
or senior position and Te Rangikāheke occupied the teina or younger position.
A parallel metaphor can be drawn from the dynamics of their relationship as
articulated by Te Rangikāheke that sees Grey occupying the high-status
position of Governor-in-Chief of New Zealand to Te Rangikāheke being a
lowly native, and so the binary, interdependent status order between tuakana
and teina, coloniser and colonised, oppressor and oppressed is reinforced in
their relationship. Te Rangikāheke appears to have agreed to these terms of
engagement with Grey and indeed, worked within his teina role to achieve his
political and personal objectives.
There is though another way of reading the Māori terminology used to
articulate Te Rangikāheke and Grey’s relationship which sees the two men
locked into a close, familial relationship bound by responsibilities and
accountabilities that defy the restraints of time and place; Te Rangikāheke and
Grey take whakapapa and extend it beyond birth right to include politically
motivated ‘foster’ relations. Hence when Grey calls Te Rangikāheke ‘tama’ he
assumes some responsibility for him that extends beyond a professional/work
based relationship into a whanaungatanga/kinship based relationship. Rather
than being simply friends or acquaintances, this kinship dynamic radically
altered the terms of their relationship and adds a whole new layer of
complexity to it. Where the motivations for constructing and maintaining the
dynamics of this relationship were different for each, it seems that both men
were ultimately politically driven as was their relationship. This is seen in
50
Te Rangikāheke’s reasons for teaching Grey (Curnow 1983), as well as
Grey’s reasons for learning te reo Māori and about Māori culture and customs
(Grey 1855). Another pertinent example of the enduring whakapapa
relationship that transcends time and space, is the fact that Te Rangikāheke
wrote to Grey from Mokoia in 1893, some 40 years after first writing for him,
asking for his intercession with the government to get him a house at
Ōhinemutu (Curnow 1983:31). From Te Rangikāheke’s point of view, at least,
the tuakana/teina relationship he shared with Grey lasted a long, if not
indefinite, time.
It is, however, difficult to tell whether their terms of address for each
other can be taken to be a true reflection of the nature of their relationship,
especially when one considers that the roles Grey and Te Rangikāheke
played were inverted in terms of the aims of their collaboration. Grey wanted
to learn the Māori language and customs (Grey 1855:vi, viii;) and
Te Rangikāheke wrote and taught him (GNZMA 723, Part 2:277); that is, Grey
was the student, and Te Rangikāheke the teacher. The relative status of both
Te Rangikāheke and Grey was inverted in terms of Grey’s desire to learn
Māori language and customs with Te Rangikāheke occupying the elder,
tuakana position of teacher and Grey occupying the younger, teina position of
student. This can be seen as a subversion of the binary colonial positions of
coloniser and colonised whereby the coloniser concedes status without having
to openly confess to it, and without perhaps even realising it. Given that Grey
himself believed that Indigenous Peoples ‘must be freed into civilisation’ from
their primitive and savage cultures rather than treated as inferiors (Bohan
1998:42), this subversion of roles whereby the native teaches the coloniser
runs contrary to his own personal ethos of colonisation. Accordingly, editing
Te Rangikāheke out of his texts by not acknowledging him achieved the
means by which Grey’s intellectual and political dominance and by implication,
his assumption of colonial dominance, would be unquestionable.
51
Colonial discovery and ‘naming and claiming’ ethos
Grey’s editing out of Te Rangikāheke as the original author also has
the effect of solidifying the texts’ place on the mantelpiece of European
‘discovery’. Grey takes full credit for the Māori narratives because he was
popularly known as the author of the book. Grey lays claim to the ‘discovery’
of the narratives in much the same way as Cook lays claim to the ‘discovery’
of New Zealand even though Polynesian peoples discovered these islands
hundreds of years before they did. In this way, the Māori text is validated
because Grey ‘discovered’ it rather than because a Māori wrote it.
This view is clearly supported by H. D. Skinner who, in his review of
Katherine Luomala’s book Maui-of-a-thousand-tricks: His Oceanic and
European Biographers calls Grey ‘...the greatest of Maui’s biographers...’
(1950:93-95) even though the Maui story referred to is Te Rangikāheke’s story
that was edited and published by Grey. In the same review, Skinner tells us
that in her book
Dr. Luomala discusses in detail Grey’s Arawa version of the Maui cycle
(1950:93).
Te Rangikāheke’s version of the Maui story is credited to Grey and is worse
still referred to as ‘...Grey’s Arawa version...’ as if Grey himself was either of
Arawa descent or had some kind of existential claim to Arawa traditions. Te
Rangikāheke’s Maui story is attributed to Grey in interesting twists of language
such as the ones above that I argue give more credit than is due Grey in
terms of the Māori stories he published. Although Grey edited and published
a Maui story, he took his source material, in this case his source narrative,
directly from one of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts.
Additionally, one of the more curious aspects of Skinner’s review is that
Te Rangikāheke is mentioned in the second half of the second paragraph
after Grey has been loudly praised for his “masterpiece of primitive literature”
(Skinner 1950:93). Although Skinner notes that Te Rangikāheke supplied the
Maui narrative, a substantial quote from Percy Smith (1899:257) immediately
follows that asserts that Te Rangikāheke’s work is incorrect as other Arawa
52
elders will attest to (1950:93). Skinner answers Smith’s criticism by conceding
that
...even though the priestly experts are able to correct some minor details,
Wiremu’s [ie Te Rangikāheke’s] story remains an achievement unparalleled in
Polynesian literature (Skinner 1950:93).
While acknowledging Te Rangikāheke as the source of Grey’s published Maui
story, and furthermore praising him for his literary talent and skill, Skinner
paradoxically credits Grey for his story and for preserving the story. I argue
that the authorship of Te Rangikāheke’s account is unnecessarily complicated
by Skinner who seems to mention Te Rangikāheke’s involvement in the
production of his own text more as an afterthought than being central to the
issue. Although both Te Rangikāheke and Grey are mentioned in relation to
the Maui narrative under discussion, the greater emphasis is placed on Grey
who is given prominence by way of the language used in relation to this Maui
narrative, and also the order in which each man figures in the structure of the
paragraph.
Although Te Rangikāheke is acknowledged as being the original author
of the Maui account as edited and published by Grey, it is Grey who is given
the kudos. In this way, Native writers are effectively side-lined and their
contributions to the literary landscape of Aotearoa/New Zealand are not fully
realised. Whereas this thesis resists showing Grey more attention than is
reasonably warranted by focusing on Te Rangikāheke the writer and exploring
Te Rangikāheke using Indigenous methodologies such as whakapapa and
Native American Literary Theory, the effects of this historical side-lining are
still felt today whereby George Grey is inextricably tied up with Te
Rangikāheke’s writing. That is, it is very difficult to hold a conversation about
Te Rangikāheke or his writing without having to also mention Grey. The
coloniser Grey, whether by accident or design, continues to appropriate a
Native writing space as his own. Ironically, the necessarily close
tuakana/teina dynamic of their collaborative teaching relationship is played out
for a potential infinity in the legacy of the resulting publications. Until such
time as due acknowledgement is given to Te Rangikāheke for his writing,
53
Grey will continue to feature prominently in discussions of Te Rangikāheke’s
work. This Indigenous writer eagerly anticipates the day when Te
Rangikāheke’s work is central to the discussion and Grey’s dominance is no
longer felt as acutely as is currently remains.
In discussing Grey’s treatment of the prose material mainly derived
from Te Rangikāheke that initially appeared as appendices in Nga Moteatea
me nga Hakirara o nga Maori, Williams points out that although sparingly
edited in this publication, ‘...the same material was very freely handled when
transferred to “Nga Mahinga”...’ (1906:179). He continues
...a comparison of the latter [ie Nga Mahinga a Nga Tupuna Maori] with the
original mss. makes it apparent that the editor allowed himself still further
freedom, dislocating his narratives, inserting particles, altering the diction, and
in places weaving his narratives in such a way as to necessitate wholesale
alterations in proper names (1906:179).
Biggs similarly noted that Grey ‘...took a great many liberties with the original
texts’ and furthermore identified three categories in which Grey’s editing was
found wanting (1952:180). Firstly, Biggs found that Grey rearranged and
combined material from several sources to ‘fill out’ the stories and failed to
indicate where this had been done (1952:180). He argues that while some of
this rearranging may have been necessary, Te Rangikāheke’s long narrative
concerning Maui, for example, was quite clear before Grey rearranged the
episodes in a more strictly chronological order (1952:181).
Secondly, Biggs asserts that Grey indulged freely in the alteration of
the construction of sentences which often made for awkwardness and
sometimes obscured the sense (1952:181). Biggs highlights Grey’s use of “e
tika ana ano ena kupu” to replace the ‘crisper’ original “he tika ena kupu”
which changes the grammatical construction from being more nominal to
being more verbal.
9
As the basic content of the two constructions is the same
in each, Grey’s substitution comes down to a matter of style rather than better
9
For more linguistic analysis of te reo Māori see Bauer, Winifred, 2003. The Reed Reference Grammar of Māori.
Auckland: Reed.
54
grammar. Grey evidently made this change to suit what he considered to be a
better pace in the narrative.
Biggs also notes that Grey substitutes “Ko te kauae o tona tupuna, o
Muri-ranga-whenua, kua riro mai koa i mua atu” for the original, more flowing
“Kua riro mai koa i mua atu te kauae o tona tupuna, o Muri-ranga-whenua”
(Biggs 1952:181-2). Although both sentences are grammatically correct
sentences in te reo Māori, the emphasis shifts from being centered on the
verb in Te Rangikāheke’s original, to being focused on the subject in Grey’s
edited version. In the context of the greater narrative from which these
examples are taken, Te Rangikāheke’s original version progresses the
narrative as opposed to Grey’s version that enters more haltingly into it.
Finally, Biggs groups together Grey’s ‘..omission of passages which
revealed that the authors were familiar with European culture, and of
passages which were evidently considered to be too strong for our cultivated
tastes’ (1952:181). In terms of the first criticism, Te Rangikāheke begins his
manuscript entitled Tama a Rangi:
E hoa mā, whakarongo mai. Kotahi anō te tupuna o te tangata Māori; Ko
Ranginui e tū nei, ko Papatūānuku e takoto nei ki ēnei kōrero (GNZMMSS 43:
893).
Te Rangikāheke categorically states his point that, as far as he is concerned,
Māori trace their ancestry back to these two beings and to no one or nothing
else. As these two ‘primeval’ parents are always considered a binary pair as
the respective father and mother of creation, Te Rangikāheke does not write
that there are ‘only two’ ancestors of the Māori as this confuses the issue, or
at least confuses it in the Māori language. The inference is that this pairing of
Ranginui and Papatūānuku are together considered the ‘one’ ancient ancestor
of the Māori.
Te Rangikāheke’s manuscript continues:
Ki tā te Pākehā, ki tōna tikanga, nā te Atua anake te tangata me Rangi me
Papa me ngā mea katoa i hanga. Ki ngā tāngata Māori, nā Rangi rāua ko
Papa ngā take o mua (GNZMMSS 43: 893).
55
Te Rangikāheke begins his manuscript by contrasting Māori and Pākehā
beliefs regarding the origin of creation. This contrast is emphatically made
through the juxtaposition of the adverbial phrases ‘Ki tā te Pākehā...’ and ‘Ki tā
ngā tāngata Māori...’. Biggs notes that Grey edited out this and other
comments which illustrated Te Rangikāheke’s observations of the culture
contact situation that was the social and political reality of nineteenth century
Aotearoa/New Zealand (Biggs 1952).
One of the effects of this editorial decision is the removal of the
narratives from a definitive location in time and the reassignment of them to
existence in the vague mists of the distant past. In regards to this, Biggs
notes that ‘The editor appears to have wished to give the impression that the
informants were quite unfamiliar with Europeans and their ways and beliefs’
(1952: 179). In this way, Grey edited the manuscripts to align them with
colonial discourses that allowed Māori to exist as long as they existed without
individuality, ‘out of time’, and without the native writers possessing self-
reflective or critical faculties. Via the process of editing, Grey shaped these
texts to fit the established mould of acceptable Indigenous colonial discourse
thus rendering the Indigenous author’s voice effectively absent while
simultaneously fostering ‘The Invention of Tradition’ in New Zealand, the
Pacific, and the globe.
10
In this chapter I have shown that Te Rangikāheke’s tino rangatiratanga
was violated by Grey via the process of editing and that Te Rangikāheke’s
texts were edited in accordance with Western colonial ideals. The end result
of this colonial editing process is a text that is removed from time and space
that was then, and is still now, popularly categorised as mythology. As the
Māori author of the texts was not acknowledged, so too are Māori frequently
unacknowledged. As the text became the property of the publishing company,
so too did other Māori intellectual property become the property of New
Zealand. As the Māori were ‘alienated’ from their texts, so too were they
alienated from their lands. It is in this way that the process of editing can be
seen as a metaphor for the process of colonisation.
10
See Obeyesekere (1992) and Sahlins (1995)
56
This being the case, it is hoped that future editions of Grey’s Māori
books might be metaphorically returned to their original writers, and published
under their own names, whānau, hapū, iwi as the case may be. In terms of
accessibility to resources this generation of treaty settlements has it within
their reach to publish Te Rangikāheke’s and other older Māori writing without
need of overbearing colonial interference. With such a dream bearing close
on the horizon, it is important to remember that such publications would ideally
not presume to harken back and represent ‘the Māori in his most pure form’
before Western-European influences corrupted us, but would rather present
writing as inherently subjective as it is.
Conclusion
Exploring the internal horizontal whakapapa of this chapter, of Te
Rangikāheke’s writing and George Grey’s subsequent editing of it, enables us
to think about the relationships between Te Rangikāheke and the world he
inhabited in his lifetime. Through his manuscripts, to Grey’s Māori books, the
generation of colonisation from which both emerged was itself a period of
Indigenous and colonial contact, interactions and relationships between the
Māori and Pākehā, which ultimately led to war. The dream Te Rangikāheke
recorded in 1850 foretold conflict between Māori and Pākehā that is mirrored
in the process of him writing and subsequently having his work
unacknowledged, his words changed, and his grammar corrected by Grey. Te
Rangikāheke’s matakite, beginning ‘Oh, Governor, it was not just me – It was
both of us’ (GNZMMSS93:3) (my translation) is a sobering reminder of the
complicity of both Te Rangikāheke and Grey in the resulting work they
produced. It also reminds us that Indigeneity is triggered by colonisation and
that without the one, there is no need for the other; the two are interdependent
and inseparable and emerge in a context of initial contact, interaction, and
subsequent conflict.
It is also interesting to think of how the history of Aotearoa/New
Zealand might have played out if the conflict part of the equation had never
eventuated. What would Māori look like? What would Pākehā look like? and
57
What would we look like together? I suggest that rather than advancing these
questions as mere triflings of an idle mind, these questions might be vitally
important in helping us, as Indigenous Peoples, imagine our futures. I
furthermore suggest that we have only gains to be made if we allow free
expression to our creativity in searching out better sovereign futures for our
people.
58
Kātahi, ka tuaina a Te Arawa
Te Arawa Literary Nationalism
Whereas the structure of the previous chapter privileged the horizontal
view of whakapapa bound firmly in a nineteenth century colonial context, the
whakapapa of this chapter owes its mobility to a vertical plane. Discussions
based in an iwi paradigm recall ancestors and origins, which may be one and
the same, and descendency as their primary markers of membership. This
vertical movement up in time to tupuna and down in time to descendents is
temporally shaped rather than being spatially shaped as the horizontal view of
whakapapa. The whanaunga one has the opportunity to meet and know in
their lifetime may be restricted today to one, or in exceptional cases five or six
generations either upwards or downwards on the scale; older or younger. It is
not, however, temporally restricted in the sense that whether one lives to know
them or not in person, the vertical scale of whakapapa transcends all time.
After locating myself in this thesis in Aotearoa/New Zealand in 2008,
this chapter moves vertically up the whakapapa to Te Rangikāheke in his texts
between 1849 and 1853. Te Rangikāheke’s assertions of his Arawatanga are
explored in his writing after which the beginnings of arguing for Arawa Literary
theory are expounded. Moving even further up through the vertical, temporal
scale of whakapapa, beyond Te Rangikāheke himself, Te Rangikāheke’s
concern with origins is explored. Within the iwi paradigm posited in this
chapter, whakapapa is used as framework that transcends time to explore the
iwi dynamic and ultimately, origins.
In terms of current Indigenous scholarship, this chapter also responds
to the calls of American Indian Literary Criticism for studies of Indigenous
topics to engage deeply with the contexts of iwi and place. As part of a
greater Indigenous project, reclaiming our specificities as iwi, as sovereign
nations, as Peoples, is high on the agendas of Indigenous Peoples seeking
tino rangatiratanga or sovereignty. Indigenous Peoples have for a long time
been calling for national if not global recognition of their sovereign rights, and
the call for iwi to be recognised for the entities they are as according to their
59
Indigenous members is one way in which the struggle continues. As with the
first core chapter, the whakapapa of this chapter ultimately finds its
overarching point in contemporary Indigenous concerns. Regardless of
whether the mobility through the whakapapa framework is one that is vertically
or horizontally based, the starting point must by necessity begin with the self
and with the present time and ultimately rest again with the self in the present;
we have to live with ourselves. This Indigenous centered approach enables
this thesis to speak to contemporary Indigenous concerns and thereby link in
a very real way to our Indigenous communities.
Whakapapa
It is useful to remember that Māori society is organised according to
whānau, hapū, and iwi relationships. These relationships today roughly
equate to whānau as including those in the immediate and extended family,
hapū as comprising of whānau who share a common eponymous ancestor
from which descent is claimed, and iwi being groupings of hapū who also
claim descent from an eponymous ancestor. Contrary to Mead’s assertion
that ‘The traditional system of whānau, hapū and iwi has not kept pace with
the changing situation.’ (2003b:209), I argue that this fundamental Māori
societal structure is not static in form, but rather exists in an ever-shifting state
of adaptation and is therefore very much in pace with the ever-changing
contemporary situation. That is, both the use and relative importance of each
grouping has shifted and has the potential to continue to do so.
1
Accordingly
being Arawa today is much different to what Te Rangikāheke would have
understood as being Arawa in his day. The structure of whānau, hapū, and
iwi remains but is mutable enough to suit the needs of its people in different
eras, living in different circumstances.
Atop the scale of whānau, hapū, and iwi, Māori identify and relate
through traditional migratory waka. According to the surviving traditions,
Māori ancestors arrived in Aotearoa/New Zealand from Eastern Polynesia
1
For an interesting discussion of Māori tribal organisation see Belich 1996:81-99.
60
some 1100-1200 years ago on ocean voyaging waka (Walker 2004:28).
Various traditions state that there were People/s already living here and also
that there was a period of voyaging between Aotearoa/New Zealand and
Polynesia. This period of voyaging to and fro eventually ceased and Māori
adapted and evolved into an independent culture, similar to yet distinctive
from their Polynesian ancestors (Walker 2004). Present day iwi claim links to
other iwi through shared waka traditions. And so, whānau, hapū, iwi, and
waka relationships form a complex, interlaced framework dependent on
whakapapa through which Māori identify themselves and their place in the
world.
Ko Keita Koa Meaha, tāna ko Kīngi; tā Kīngi ko Te Kahurangi tāna ko Hera; tā
Hera, ko Arini; tā Arini ko Tāhiwi.
Tēnei ahau e tū mārō ana.
The above text relates my ancestry from my kuia to my son. It is one line of
descent, one strand of my whakapapa that contributes to my understanding of
how I came to be and my place in the world I inhabit. Keita Koa identified as
Ngāti Whakaue, under Te Arawa waka and on this basis I claim kinship
through her to the subject of this study, Te Rangikāheke.
Positioning the researcher in the research
But what does it mean to whakapapa, to have kinship ties to the subject
of the study in question? In contrast to what Davidson and Ross call ‘the
clinically reductionist Western approach to knowledge, where the concern is
with the objective and rational’ (2003:2), I posit that the Māori approach to
knowledge is holistic and therefore concerned with relationships. In relating
my whakapapa to Te Rangikāheke, I reveal my personal connection to this
work. This personal connection comes inextricably loaded with the dual
responsibility of upholding the mana of my whānau, and also the mana of the
subject of this study, Te Rangikāheke. In relating my whakapapa, I lay bare
61
the accountability to which I am bound in this work to all people with whom I
claim whakapapa and in particular, to all people with whom I share
whakapapa with Te Rangikāheke; I am accountable to those nearest and
dearest to me, my hapū, my iwi, my tupuna, my uri. Such is the complex,
trans-temporal nature of whakapapa. In this way my whakapapa to Te
Rangikāheke affords this study greater credibility than might otherwise be
given it and simultaneously greater accountability. This approach to
scholarship is one which positions te ao Māori at its centre and this, in turn,
allows new ways of both viewing and challenging the historically dominant
Western paradigms and norms of what we understand today to be
‘scholarship’.
And so, I locate myself in my research as a Māori scholar with
whakapapa to Te Rangikāheke which comes ready-loaded with cultural
accountability: cultural checks and balances. In taking this approach to my
research, those who whakapapa to me are positioned to critique my work in
specific ways and moreover, it is their responsibility to do so. As the
researcher, I am both motivated and encouraged to produce the best work I
can bearing always in mind the members of my whānau whose prerogative it
is to critique this work. In this way, both the researcher and the ‘family critics’
work to uphold the mana of our shared whakapapa, our shared ancestry, our
future generations. Ultimately I argue that my whakapapa to the subject of
this study works to affirm, renew, and strengthen my relationship to the work
rather than to detract or damage its credibility.
Another positive outcome that results from the researcher possessing
kinship connections to the subject of the research and stating these
connections overtly is that the findings in the research can be viewed by the
reader in terms of the researcher’s personal position in relation to the subject
of the research. This approach allows the reader to factor in the researcher’s
personal position when considering the findings of the research which prods
the reader into considering for themselves if and how the relationship between
the researcher and the subject of the research affects not only the findings,
but also the tone and direction of the research. A more involved reading of
the research is called for whereby the reader is directed toward considering
62
the much wider context surrounding the research, specifically the relationship
of the researcher to the research itself.
Te Rangikāheke in his texts
Another layer to be considered here is Te Rangikāheke’s locating of
himself as the author within his texts. One of the ways he does this in his
manuscript entitled Tupuna (GNZMMSS 44) is by including himself, his wife,
and his son in two of some 35 lines of intersecting whakapapa. This
whakapapa shows Arawa lines of descent from six of the most illustrious
Arawa ancestors, Tama-te-Kapua, Rangitihi, Pikiao, Whakaue-Kaipapa,
Tuhourangi, and Rangiwewehi (Curnow 1983:87). Te Rangikāheke shows his
line of descent from Rangiwewehi which supports his position as a rangatira of
rank within Te Arawa:
Ko Rangiwewehi, tāna ko Kererū; tā Kererū ko Pupuru, tāna ko Pake; tā Pake
ko Manuwaerorua; tā Manu ko Kahutia, tāna ko Te Rangikāheke ; tā Te
Rangikāheke ko Wiremu Maihi; tā Wiremu Maihi ko Hataraka Wiremu
(GNZMMSS 44:929).
2
Te Rangikāheke also shows the whakapapa of his wife Mere Pinepire Maihi
from Pikiao, another highly ranked rangatira of Te Arawa:
Ko Pikiao anō, tāna ko Hinekura; tā Hine ko Pikiaowera, tāna ko Te Ariha; tā
Te Ariha ko Toroaapukai; tāna ko Puwhakaoho, tā Puwhakaoho ko
Tamaiharoa; tāna Mere Pinepire Maihi; tā Mere ko Hataraka Wiremu
(GNZMMSS 44:928).
These examples have the effect of positioning Te Rangikāheke and his
wife Mere as rangatira of Te Arawa which is furthermore consolidated by the
inclusion of their son Hataraka Wiremu. The inclusion of Hataraka serves the
2
Te Rangikāheke refers to himself as Wiremu Maihi, and his father and namesake as Te Rangikāheke
(GNZMMSS 44:929).
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dual purpose of marking Te Rangikāheke’s intimate relationship with Mere,
and more importantly of entrenching both Te Rangikāheke and Mere firmly
within the framework of Te Arawa tradition. The inclusion of Hataraka shows
that they have issue with the underlying assumption being that their
genealogical line will continue. This aspect of continuation is central to
whakapapa as a living, mutable, positioning framework concerned with
relationships. Te Rangikāheke therefore positions himself within the
whakapapa of Te Arawa and supports his claim to this position by the
inclusion of his wife Mere and, perhaps more crucially, his son Hataraka.
It is important to remember here that even and although Te
Rangikāheke includes his whakapapa in his Tupuna manuscript, the ‘Death of
the Author’ concept in English Literary Theory as expounded by Roland
Barthes (1967), provides another angle on my modern day reading of Te
Rangikāheke’s work. In the case of the whakapapa discussed above, while
Te Rangikāheke writes his person into his texts via his whakapapa, the
‘author’ Te Rangikāheke remains absent and is moreover further distanced by
his referring to himself in the third person. To be clear, I am not suggesting
that it is possible to know the author, or more precisely whose voice is
speaking in the writing, through the whakapapa as recorded in the manuscript.
The whakapapa Te Rangikāheke recorded does, however, firmly anchor his
writing within a specifically Arawa frame.
The Arawa Writer
With whakapapa occupying one of the most central conceptual
positions in te ao Māori, the significance of Te Rangikāheke using it to show
his Arawatanga should not be underestimated. It is not, however, the only
way in which Te Rangikāheke expresses his specifically Arawa viewpoint in
his writing. A close reading of two of Te Rangikāheke’s migration narratives
also illustrates Te Rangikāheke’s distinct Arawatanga. The main body of his
manuscript entitled Tupuna (GNZMMSS 44) begins with the relatively well-
known story of the famed Arawa ancestor, Tamatekapua, who steals the
breadfruit of Uenuku. This leads to an account of the building and subsequent
64
sailing of the Arawa from the ancient homeland Hawaiki, to Aotearoa/New
Zealand. Some of the trials and tribulations of the Arawa migration are
recounted including how Tamatekapua tricked Ngatoroirangi from the Tainui
waka into travelling on board the Arawa
Ka mahara a Tamatekapua, ‘Kāore he tangata mātau mō runga anō i tōku
waka, engari pea, nāku te tinihanga ki a Ngatoroirangi, ki te rangatira o runga
Tainui.’ (GNZMMSS 44:922).
and the narrow escape from Te Korokoro o Te Parata
Heke nei, heke nei te waka rā, ā, ka ngaro te ihu, ka taea te taingawai o te
ihu, tango atu ki te taingawai o waenga (GNZMMSS 44:925).
Ka puta ake taua māia [a Ngatoroirangi] ki runga, whakaanga ai i te rangi,
whakamārie ai. Ka mutu ērā, ka whakahua i te unu mō tāna waka, arā i te
hiki ake (GNZMMSS 44:925).
Ehara, tere ana a Te Arawa i runga, māunu ai. Otirā, māunu rawa ake ki
runga, kua poto atu ngā utanga ki te wai, he ouou nei i toe iho ki te waka
(GNZMMSS 44:926).
These are two specifically Arawa events concerning the migration of the
Arawa waka to Aotearoa/New Zealand (Stafford 1967:1-19). The names
Tamatekapua and Ngatoroirangi are Arawa ancestors and the Tainui waka is
generally acknowledged above other waka as sharing a close relationship with
the Arawa.
Te Rangikāheke further asserts Arawa pre-eminence when he tells us
that Te Arawa was the first canoe to be built (1983:90). In his manuscript
entitled Maori Religious Ideas and Observances he writes:
Kātahi ka tuaina a Te Arawa. Ka hinga i a Parata, i a Wahieroa, i a Ngahue;
ko te tokomaha o ngā kaihau. Ka oti, ka rongo mai ētahi, ka haere mai ki te
tiki mai i ana tohunga hanga waka. Ka tae atu, ka tuaina, ka oti ko Tainui, ko
Mātaatua, ko Matawhaorua, ko Kurahaupo, ko Tokomaru (GNZMMSS 81:59).
65
Te Rangikāheke writes that Te Arawa was felled and completed and when
other people heard about this they came to fetch their canoe building tohunga
which led to the construction of the Tainui, Mātaatua, Matawhaorua,
Kurahaupo and Tokomaru waka. He tells us that Te Arawa was the first waka
to be built which suggests that Te Arawa led the way in terms of the decision
to migrate from Hawaiki to Aotearoa.
Te Arawa primacy is further supported by Te Rangikāheke’s assertion
that Te Arawa was the first waka to make landfall at Whangaparāoa
Tēnā, ko ngā tāngata o runga i a Te Arawa i tae tuatahi mai anō ki
Whangaparāoa... (GNZMMSS 44:934).
and also that Te Arawa was the only waka strong enough to return to Hawaiki
to seek revenge for the expulsion by the descendents of Uenuku,
Toitehuatahi, Tamateaariki, and Māuipōtiki
Ko Te Arawa anake te waka i whaikaha ki te hoki atu ki Hawaiki, whawhai ai
ki te rapu utu mō te pananga mai e ngā uri o Uenuku [rāua] (rātou) ko
Toitehuatahi, ko Tamateakaiariki, ko Māuipōtiki. Tēnā ko te mano waka nei.
Nōhea i whaikaha ki te hoki atu ki te rapu utu ki Hawaiki mō te pananga mai?
GNZMMSS 44:934).
Te Rangikāheke extols Te Arawa bravery in the face of the other waka who
migrated to Aotearoa/New Zealand from Hawaiki. This sense of Arawa pride
is also evident in other parts of Te Rangikāheke’s writing such as in the
following where he claims that the descendents who came on Te Arawa were
the source from which all other iwi sprang
Muri iho ka toro haere ki ngā whenua puta noa ki runga, puta noa ki raro. Ko
te take o ngā tūpuna i tupu ai ki ngā iwi katoa nō runga i a Te Arawa ko Ngā
Puhi nō Te Arawa...ko Ngāti Whātua nō reira anō, ko Ngāti Maru, Ngāti Pāoa
nō Te Arawa anō; ko Waikato nō Te Arawa; ko Taranaki nō Te Arawa; ko
Ngātu Raukawa nō Te Arawa; Ko Ngāti Kahungunu nō Te Arawa; ko Ngāi
Tahu-ki-te-Moana-Pounamu nō Te Arawa anō (GNZMMSS 44:927)
66
This claim is significant as it privileges Te Arawa as being the font of te ao
Māori from which all other iwi descended. Other iwi migration traditions do not
support this view, which is not to suggest that contradictions between various
accounts mean any one of them is simply untrue. On the face of it, however,
Te Rangikāheke inflates the mana of Te Arawa beyond such bounds as would
ordinarily be accepted by other iwi.
This leads me to Curnow’s final observation in support of Te
Rangikāheke’s particularly Arawa view of history which concerns his
description of land occupation (Curnow 1983:87). Curnow notes that ‘The
boundaries of Arawa land are defined in Tupuna – from Maketū to
Whangaparāoa (1983:91).
Ka mate iho a Tamatekapua i reira [i Moehau]. Ko te rohe atu tērā o te wāhi
whenua i hōhia e ngā tāngata o runga i a Te Arawa. Kei Whangapāroa te
mutunga mai ki runga (GNZMMSS 44:935).
In Te Rangikāheke’s manuscript Maori Religious Ideas (GNZMMSS 81),
narratives concerning Arawa ancestors’ naming and claiming land and
retaining land through occupation are also told (Curnow 1983:92-93). Te
Rangikāheke thus defines the Arawa space and in doing so, claims an Arawa
landscape. This is, of course, not to say that Te Arawa was or ever could be
somehow restricted to this space, but rather that Te Arawa exists as a nation
in a geographical space, as claimed by its members. Furthermore, I argue
that via the naming, claiming, and occupying land narratives Te Rangikāheke
recorded, he claims a relationship between Te Arawa and their lands. It is
important to remember that according to Māori epistemology, all things have
whakapapa; all things, including land, are interconnected in a kinship
relationship.
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Toward an Arawa Literary Theory
It can be seen in the above examples that via his Arawa-privileging
whakapapa, his recording of Arawa narratives, Arawa ancestors, and Arawa
events, his assertions of Arawa bravery and status, and his descriptions of
Arawa land occupation, Te Rangikāheke firmly positions the narratives
contained in GNZMMSS 44 and GNZMMSS 81 in te ao Arawa. This
positioning invites specific Arawa accountabilities which I posit invites
specifically Arawa criticisms. Following the lead of Native American Literary
scholar Craig Womack (Muskogee Creek, Cherokee), while not proposing that
Arawa people are the only people who can critically engage with Arawa texts
in a meaningful way, I argue that ‘...Native literatures deserve to be judged by
their own criteria, in their own terms, not merely in agreements with, or
reaction against, European literature and theory’ (1999:242). In writing Arawa
whakapapa and narratives, Te Rangikāheke establishes grounds for an Arawa
reading of his Arawa texts in order that they might be judged by their own
merits as opposed to being judged against other iwi literatures, European
literatures, and beyond. Again, I do not support an essentialist view that
claims Arawa readings as the only way to read Arawa work, but rather, that
Arawa readings offer a more intimate exploration of the texts which can be
added to conversations of other readings. Although outside the scope of this
thesis this approach suggests the opportunity to read Te Rangikāheke
alongside other Arawa scholars and writers.
Furthermore, Te Rangikāheke’s Arawa writing acknowledges its own
geographic and cultural specificity which, rather than limiting his writing,
provides important points of reference for the reader wherever they may come
from and whatever they might bring to their respective readings. Without such
specific detail, Indigenous tribe and space is erased the result of which sees
the Native removed from their national landscape. Divorcing ‘tribe’ from tribal
people advances assimilation and works only to extend colonial powers in
their imperial aspirations. Reading Te Rangikāheke’s work with emphasis
accorded its Arawa centre returns Te Rangikāheke’s writing to its landscape
of origin as expressed in the writing itself, to its Arawa community to which the
narratives belong. This is to say that the narratives themselves, do not belong
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to Te Rangikāheke, but to his Arawa community in what American Indian
Literary scholar N. Scott Momaday (Kiowa) has termed “racial memory” that
Womack describes as being about ‘the way narrative shapes communal
consciousness: through imagination and storytelling, people in oral cultures
reexperience history’ (1999:26). Womack continues:
This concept of ancestral memory relates to nationalism in that sovereignty is
an intersection of the political, imaginary, and literary. To exist as a nation,
the community needs a perception of nationhood, that is, stories (like the
migration account) that help them imagine who they are as a people, how
they came to be, and what cultural values they wish to preserve (Womack
1999:26).
Although Te Rangikāheke wrote the whakapapa and narratives discussed in
this thesis in a specific time and place, they are communally held stories that
bind Arawa people through time and space and speak to an Arawa worldview
in an Arawa nation in which the sovereignty of Te Arawa is assumed.
In arguing for Cherokee Literary History, Daniel Heath Justice
(Cherokee) further advances the call for studies of Indigenous literatures to
engage deeply with iwi and place. He writes:
To focus on Cherokee social history through Cherokee literature, on
Cherokee terms, returns the focus to where I believe it belongs: on those
ideas and concerns that matter to Cherokees (2006:30).
The notion of Indigenous peoples re-claiming their literary traditions through a
new mode of criticism that privileges iwi also clears some much needed space
in terms of future iwi directions; the questions might now be asked ‘What are
the ideas and concerns that matter to Te Arawa?’ and the ensuing ‘What
might contemporary Arawa traditions look like?’ This freeing-up of iwi
traditions from being locked in time and space must be sought if Indigenous
nations are to thrive as the dynamic and creative nations we know them to be.
As Native American scholar Robert Allen Warrior (Osage) notes in his work
Tribal Secrets: Recovering American Indian Intellectual Traditions,
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To understand what the “real meaning” of traditional revitalization is, then,
American Indians must realize that the power of those traditions is not in their
formal superiority but in their adaptability to new challenges (1995:93).
Warrior therefore advocates for the value of flexibility rather than a fixed
understanding of tradition. Seen in this light, notions of Arawa traditions might
be extended from thinking about what they might have been, to include a
focus on what they could be. This view frees the writing from being locked
into the binary of being classed as one of either traditional or contemporary.
There is a real danger of Indigenous Peoples being psychologically and
spiritually separated from their traditions by this simple exclusionary binary
that seeks to define tradition thereby establishing its boundaries and end
points. Taken to its inevitable conclusion, Indigenous Peoples would become
so greatly separated from their cultural specificities that they would cease to
exist as a community, culturally distinct from other communities. As Native
American Literary scholar Tol Foster asserts in his essay Of One Blood: An
Argument for Relations and Regionality in Native American Studies,
If, as [Daniel Heath] Justice notes in his essay, “[e]mpires can’t survive by
acknowledging complexity,” neither can tribal or regional communities, even –
especially – in resisting those empires. Anywhere the story is simple, we can
be assured that it is incomplete and that some crucial member of the
community has been silenced (2008:272).
Indigenous communities are internally complex and also exist in complex
relationships to other Indigenous communities, to nation states, and the
greater global community. Where simplification of these complexities assists
the empire’s rationalisation of itself and its designs, due acknowledgment of
iwi complexities, as well as being empowering expressions of self-
determination, more importantly aid Indigenous survival.
In expounding what he calls his “regional frame” for tribally specific
criticism, Foster further argues that
70
...it carries with it the radical notion that tribally specific work is necessarily
incomplete if it does not have multiple perspectives and voices within it and is
even incomplete if it does not acknowledge voices without as well (2008:272).
This notion of “multiple perspectives and voices” is particularly attractive in
terms of Te Rangikāheke’s writing as it relieves his writing of the burden of
being understood as ‘the’ Arawa version of the migration tradition, or worse
still, ‘the’ Māori version of the migration traditions. While much more research
is needed on Arawa literature, much more Arawa literature itself is also
needed, both in order to give more nuanced readings of Arawa literature via
multiple perspectives. Similarly to how Luomala states in her work on the
Polynesian ancestor Maui that ‘there is no single “true” account of the events
in Maui’s career’ (1949:11), there exists multiple accounts, or more specifically
stories, each with their ensuing specificities and potential criticisms. Just as
multiple Arawa migration narratives might be celebrated as much for their
diversity as for their sameness, so too are multiple criticisms invited both from
within the sphere of te ao Arawa, and ‘without’, from the dominant Euro-
Western world and beyond. A respectful relationship between these ‘internal’
and ‘external’ criticisms must be sought in order to advance the respective
criticisms beyond picking out each others real or perceived defects at the
expense of new and exciting theorizing.
Te Rangikāheke’s concern with origins
Te Rangikāheke begins his three manuscripts entitled Nga Tama a
Rangi (GNZMMSS 43), Tupuna (GNZMMSS 44), and Maori Religious Ideas
and Observances (GNZMMSS 81), with narratives that use three different
approaches to describe the origins of the world. Nga Tama a Rangi begins
E hoa mā, whakarongo mai! Kotahi anō te tupuna o te tangata Māori, ko
Ranginui e tū nei, ko Papatūānuku e takoto nei ki ēnei kōrero (GNZMMSS
43:893).
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Te Rangikāheke states that according to the beliefs recorded in this
manuscript, there is but one ancestor of the Māori; Ranginui who stands
above, and Papatūānuku who lies below. Tupuna begins with what Curnow
describes as ‘...a description of the evolution of the universe expressed in a
genealogical chant.’ (1983:225)
Ko te pō, ko te pō, ko te pō tuatahi, ko te pō tuarua, ko te pō tuatoru, ko te pō
tuawhā, tuarima, tuaono, tuawhitu, tuawaru, tuaiwa, tuangahuru, tuarau,
tuamano, tuatini (GNZMMSS 44:915).
The endless darkness and nights which precede The Nothingness and The
Searching until the heavens and finally the world takes form are expressed as
the very beginnings of the evolution (or creation) of the world. This brings us
to Maori Religious Ideas and Observances which, after 52 pages containing
karakia and whakapapa, begins the third major section on accounts of the
ancestors with
Nā, tēnei anō te take o te whakatupuranga o te tangata... GNZMMSS 81:53).
Te Rangikāheke writes that what follows is an account of the origin of the
human generation. Each of the three aforementioned manuscripts is then, at
very the outset, concerned with origins, and in particular the origins of Māori.
3
This same concern with origins is seen in Te Rangikāheke’s use of
whakapapa as mentioned earlier in this chapter, in which Te Rangikāheke
shows descent lines from six Arawa ancestors. It can be seen here that the
concept of whakapapa, the notion of a systematic framework that expresses
multiple relationships and relationship positions, extends beyond ancestors
and descendents to encompass the entire universe. The underlying theme
here is that origins must be expressed in order for a framework to be
established in which a person, or indeed, anything else in the universe, can
claim a position in; without this position, the person or thing is disconnected
from all other matter in this or their own particular world which positions them
3
The origins of Māori was a topic of hot debate in the nineteenth century as discussions by such well-
known Niupepa Māori writers as Reweti Kohere attests.
72
as being somewhere outside the same systems that support and compose
their world.
On another, more functional level this ‘narrative of origins’ prompts
other iwi to stake their claims and either support these statements or disagree
with them. Accordingly, the establishment of an Arawa centre simultaneously
establishes an ‘outer’ in which other traditions, stories, and texts are
positioned. In this way, Te Rangikāheke’s assertions of Arawa centrality act
as potential catalysts in drawing out other iwi perspectives and knowledge
while asserting firm statements regarding their own legitimacy. The well-
known whakataukī ‘Tā te rangatira tāna kai he kōrero, tā te ware he muhukai’
(Mead and Grove 2003a:362) illustrates that discussion, stories, conversation,
and debate are held in the highest esteem in Māori society. I suggest that Te
Rangikāheke’s Arawa-centric writing is one way of instigating on-going
discussion at an iwi-to-iwi level. One of the effects of Te Rangikāheke’s
strong Arawa claims is that they inspire strong responses in the form of
counter-narratives from other iwi which in turn contribute to the wider
collective discussion. As shown in the whakataukī above, it is the discussion
itself that is valued and, as I argue that Te Rangikāheke’s Arawa-centric
writing might contribute to this discussion in multiple and complex ways.
When considered in this way, it can be seen that Te Rangikāheke’s
account of history does not necessarily privilege Arawa knowledge but rather
offers a starting point and a potential framework for discussion which does not
seek to mask its own inherent subjectivity. This neatly illustrates the
fundamental difference between Euro-Western and Māori value systems
concerning knowledge where the former takes a mechanistic view of the
natural universe and assumes that it can be understood and described
scientifically, and the later that takes a holistic view whereby everything in the
universe is inextricably related (Marsden 1992:3). While it is possible to read
Te Rangikāheke’s strong assertions of Arawatanga as being just that, I argue
that this does not take into account the holistic Māori worldview and the
position of the text within this uniquely Arawa, and on a different level, Māori
world.
Another concept that it is helpful to consider here is the previously
mentioned cultural accountability. Similarly to the notion of the researcher
73
being held accountable to the research through whakapapa to the subject (of
the research), in including himself, his wife, and his son in his recited
whakapapa, Te Rangikāheke offers himself as accountable to his ancestors,
his immediate family, and his descendents. His claims of Arawa supremacy
are held somewhat in check on account of him ‘signing his whakapapa’ to
these same claims. This induces the reader to pause for thought and reflect
upon the possibility that Te Rangikāheke’s assertion
...ko ngā tāngata anake o runga i a Te Arawa ngā kānano i ruia ai ki te
whenua, ā, toro ana ngā kīwei me ngā pekenga o aua kāwai ki runga, ki
raro... (GNZMMSS 44:932)
may be true, that only the people aboard Te Arawa stretched forth over the
land and therefore that other iwi, hapū, and whānau claims of superior or at
least equal status are unfounded. It is important here to state that this study
does not seek to assess Te Rangikāheke’s recording of traditions in terms of
any real or perceived truth-value. This stance is taken in accordance with the
view that the ‘truth-value’ of the narrative is less important than the potential
discussion that the narrative can spark. I argue here that writing which serves
to clear an intellectual space in which potentially complex discussion can
occur is of more concern than writing whose historical truth-value can be
satisfactorily established as the former provides a continuation of discussion.
It follows that relationships such as those between the writer and their writing,
the writer and their audience, and the writing and the audience are a central
concern in ascertaining the terms of engagement in the aforementioned
‘conversations’ and moreover that these relationships themselves constitute a
‘truth-value’ in the form of cultural and social accountability.
If we are to accept Te Rangikāheke’s account of history as being an
accurate representation of communally held Arawa traditions, we must also
accept that his account is well-founded. I argue here that traditions are
internally validated by the community who possesses them and are therefore
incomparable to those held in other communities, that is, Arawa tradition
exists independently of other iwi tradition though parts may be fluidly shared
as traditions are internally shared by a particular community, Te
74
Rangikāheke’s assertions of Arawa ascendancy must be seen as valid insofar
as the Arawa community chooses to perpetuate them. Te Rangikāheke’s
assertions thus work discursively to entrench Arawa ascendancy.
It is also important to remember that similarly to cultures, traditions do
not remain static but change in often dynamic ways both with the communities
who perpetuate them, and as these communities direct. As ‘The Invention of
Tradition’ (Obeyesekere 1992; Sahlins 1995) debate in Pacific Studies shows
us, ‘tradition’ only becomes static when it is defined as such, and usually
initially at least, by outside influences. This is not to say, however, that
Indigenous people themselves are entirely free from the restrictive and often
disabling idea of tradition as being fixed in time. But it is to take a stance on
the reclamation of the what is understood by the word ‘tradition’; who defines
it, and to what purposes?
Conclusion
This chapter looks at Te Rangikāheke on his own terms and thereby
acknowledges and explores his inherent tino rangatiratanga. From his Arawa
whakapapa that he privileges, to the content of his traditional narratives, the
iwi claims he makes within these narratives, and the concern with origins in
his traditional narratives, what becomes quickly apparent is that one of the
ways he specifically understood and articulated himself was Arawa. Rather
than this understanding being applied externally by researchers, historians, or
governmental agents, it is invited from within by Te Rangikāheke himself. I
argue that this is an apposite expression of his ‘Intellectual Sovereignty’.
Ultimately, this chapter privileges iwi as it supports the calls by Native
American Literary theorists for readings of Indigenous writing to engage with
iwi and place, with their specificities. Compellingly, it is not contradictory that
an iwi-centric approach would also draw such close attention to the individual.
It is Te Rangikāheke’s negotiation between the iwi and the individual which
provides an opportunity to move into a biographical treatment in the next
chapter.
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Tā Te Rangikāheke ko Wiremu Maihi
Revisioning Te Rangikāheke – A Biographical Treatment
After basing the first core chapter in this thesis on the notion of
whakapapa as enabling horizontal mobility then following with the second core
chapter on the notion of whakapapa as enabling vertical mobility, this final
chapter uses another productive take on the whakapapa framework. This
chapter is positioned at the point at which the horizontal and vertical lines
cross; it centres itself on the individual but looks outwards both horizontally
and vertically, and imaginatively like the metaphor of the koru. Beginning with
an exploration on perhaps the most basic starting point of the individual, a
person’s name, the following discussion moves to the vertical plane of
whakapapa. The tupuna from whom Te Rangikāheke descends are noted as
is his son, the ultimate expression of the continuance of whakapapa, of legacy
through generations and time. A close reading of draft letters Te Rangikāheke
wrote to Queen Victoria follows, again centralising the individual Te
Rangikāheke as the letter writer. Horizontal mobility is again apparent as Te
Rangikāheke writes across his generation to his contemporary, the Queen.
The letters themselves, however, take on their own creative and imaginative
possibilities thus facilitating the individual’s private but simultaneously public
thoughts.
In her MA Thesis, Curnow constructs what she calls a brief biography
of Te Rangikāheke that is ‘...presented in chronological order, relaxed where
necessary for a coherent account of some particular aspect of his life’
(1983:6). Curnow’s valuable work maps out Te Rangikāheke’s life as events
in time based closely within the confines of the time of his birth to the time of
his death. The biography presented here is not intended as an expanded or
revised version of Curnow’s work but rather as a new way of articulating ideas
of who Te Rangikāheke was via an exploration of his name and a file
containing a selection of draft letters written by him which is held in the
Auckland Public Library.
76
This chapter follows the lead of Native American scholar Rayna Green
(Cherokee) whom her fellow Native American scholar Robert Warrior notes
produced ‘...an insightful reading of a Frank Matsura photograph of two young
Native women on a fainting couch that provides an important example of how
to read not only for what can be documented but for what the viewer/reader
might see as possible in considering a Native subject’ (2005:xv). Green
writes,
In this world he [Frank Matsura] shows us, Indians aren’t weird, heartbroken
exiles, or zoo animals for the expositions, endangered species preserved
forever in photographic gelatin. Like those girls on the couch, they are
changed, but in control (1992:52).
I posit that Te Rangikāheke was likewise in control of his life, in as much as
anyone in their time is in control of their life, and furthermore that suggestions
that Indigenous peoples were and/or are unable to exercise control over their
lives are mythological constructs that assist the colonising power in wresting
tino rangatiratanga from the minds of Indigenous Peoples. Again, following
Green’s example, this is not to suppose that Te Rangikāheke was able to
simply dictate the terms of his own destiny; he was, after all, an Indigenous
Māori man living for the greater part of his life under the power and authority
of the British Crown in a burgeoning, colonial environment. The ways that Te
Rangikāheke reaches through his writing to express his agency, however,
demonstrate that Māori survival, much like Indian survival, ‘...was more
complex and diverse than most pictures of it would have us imagine (Green
1992:53). Close readings of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts suggest that he
moved fluidly across many social and political settings which shows that he
clearly inhabited his contemporary world and its conditions and did not yearn
for a distant, idyllic yesteryear.
Through the two close readings that follow, firstly of Te Rangikāheke’s
name and secondly of three draft letters he wrote, I hope to demonstrate and
undertake a different kind of biographical project that finds its foundations in
the individual, their whakapapa, and their writing. Via this creative process
new articulations of who Te Rangikāheke was are explored upon a foundation
77
that bases itself at the convergence point of te ao Māori and te ao Pākehā
which Te Rangikāheke himself inhabited.
What’s in a name?
The title of this chapter, ‘...tā Te Rangikāheke ko Wiremu
Maihi...’(GNZMMSS 44: 929) is but a small sample taken from a much larger
and detailed whakapapa that Te Rangikāheke himself recorded in manuscript
form. The man referred to in this thesis as Te Rangikāheke is named in his
own recording of his whakapapa as Wiremu Maihi in contrast to his father who
is named Te Rangikāheke. It is important to pay attention to names in terms
of biography, or rather Māori biography, as names complete the framework of
whakapapa; without names for the items between which it illustrates
relationships, it ceases to function as whakapapa.
Curnow notes that Te Rangikāheke was, however, known by three
variations of his name to three respective groups of people in that ‘He was
known as Te Rangikāheke to scholars, as Wiremu or Wi Maihi in tribal
concerns, and as William Marsh to Pakehas who shared his official and
political life’ (1983:1) though it is not clear to whom Curnow gives the title
‘scholar’ here nor exactly what she considers to be ‘tribal concerns’.
Moreover, in addition to these variations on essentially the same three names,
a brief scan of the nineteenth century monolingual Māori and bi-lingual Māori-
English newspapers reveals even more variation in what he was known as
including Wi Maihi Te Rangikāheke (TeWM 1875), Wiremu Maihi Te
Rangikāheke (TeK 1883), William Marsh Te Rangikāheke (TeW 1875b),
Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke Te Umakau (TeKM 1862), and interestingly,
though more likely an editorial oversight than an alias, William Marsh the
Rangikāheke (TeW 1875a).
While it is clear many of these names are either variations or deviations
of Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke , with ‘Wiremu’ and ‘Maihi’ correspondingly
being the te reo Māori transliterations of the English ‘William’ and ‘Marsh’,
what remains unclear is where, when, and how Te Rangikāheke received his
names Wiremu and Maihi. Both the Māori and English forms of these names
78
were in common use in nineteenth century Aotearoa/New Zealand, which is a
particularly apt example of the culture-contact situation in terms of language.
Evidence of this language-contact situation is also illustrated in Te
Rangikāheke’s whakapapa where transliterated names from English do not
appear before Te Rangikāheke’s generation (GNZMMSS 44:927-932). This
also suggests that Wiremu and Maihi are not ancestral names that were
passed down to him, although a more thorough search of his whakapapa
would be required in order to substantiate this claim.
In her biography of Te Rangikāheke on the Dictionary of New Zealand
Biography (DNZB) website, Jenifer Curnow states that Wiremu Maihi (William
Marsh) was Te Rangikāheke’s baptismal name (2007). Interestingly,
according to the Anglicans in Waiapu website (2008), a rangatira from
Waikato named Ngakuku also took the name William Marsh upon his baptism
in 1839 which suggests that there was an influential William Marsh either in,
around, or known to the diocese of Waiapu in the early nineteenth century.
However, at the time of this thesis being written, the Anglican church in
Aotearoa, New Zealand, and Polynesia (Te Hāhi Mihinare ki Aotearoa, ki Niu
Tireni, ki Ngā Moutere o Te Moana Nui a Kiwa) had not responded to requests
for confirmation that Te Rangikāheke was baptised or a baptismal record or
certificate. Though it seems likely that Te Rangikāheke did convert to the
Anglican faith and take a baptismal name, it can presently be neither
confirmed nor denied which adds another twist to the mystery, whether real or
imagined, of his names.
It is also possible that Te Rangikāheke had other names in his youth
that came to be replaced by the names that are retained today. It is common
practice for Māori to change and/or add names to existing ones in
commemoration of notable or major life-events of which baptismal names
would, incidentally, figure. ‘Pet names’ and other such ‘unofficial’ names
flourish and ‘official’ names are often only known to a certain group of people
who shared that person’s life experience at a certain stage in their life. The
appearance in one nineteenth-century newspaper of the name Te Umakau
(TeKM 1862) supports this argument for the fluidity of Māori names in that it is
not found in any other newspaper entry by or about Te Rangikāheke and has
not been sighted in any of his manuscripts examined thus far. The name does
79
not appear in Te Rangikāheke’s whakapapa, is not a place name that is
commonly known today and has no entry in any current Māori dictionaries. It
seems to have appeared out of nowhere and disappeared with equal
anonymity.
I posit that this uncertainty around some of Te Rangikāheke’s names
speaks equally to both the agency of the person in question and their capacity
to adapt to their immediate environs. Where so often personal identity is
dictated to by external influences such as the community or society in which
one lives, the certain freedom one has to dictate the terms of one’s name is
one of the few vestiges through which an individual person is able to express
agency. The individual in question might therefore be afforded more space to
adapt and reinvent themselves if the specific details of their name are not
known.
An important issue when considering names and naming as a
researcher in Aotearoa/New Zealand in 2008 is surnames. These ‘last
names’ or ‘family names’ are a Euro-Western construct that were imposed on
Māori when the registration of Māori births and deaths became compulsory in
1913. Māori often chose the name of a close relative to meet this requirement
for a surname and these names became quickly embedded as surnames.
Although Te Rangikāheke was born well before the registration of Māori births
was compulsory, Te Rangikāheke would have been understood by some
people to be his surname which is a very personal marker of what happens
when two cultures connect.
1
The same complexity or choice remains today
whereby he is often referred to as Te Rangikāheke, but his name Wiremu
Maihi Te Rangikāheke is also well-known.
Regardless of what other people knew him as, Te Rangikāheke names
himself in his whakapapa as Wiremu Maihi who ‘belongs’ to Te Rangikāheke .
This sense of belonging is crucial as it has the effect of reinforcing Te
Rangikāheke’s claim to his position within the greater scheme of his
whakapapa. There are also certain responsibilities that accompany assertions
1
The registration of Māori births and deaths did not become compulsory until 1913. Some pre-1913 births
were recorded and a few were made in the European system. Registration could not effectively be enforced
in the early stages which resulted in a great many births and deaths of Māori people not being registered.
The registration of European births and deaths was first required by legislation from 1848 and marriage
records from 1854. There are earlier records from 1840, but these are very limited (Gillian Tito, personal
communication, 24 June 2008).
80
of belonging to someone within the framework of whakapapa, upholding the
mana of your tupuna to whom you belong comes foremost to mind with
whanaunatanga coming a close second. Sitting somewhat paradoxically
alongside these aforementioned value systems remains the power and
autonomy of the individual as illustrated by the names of the individuals that
appear in the whakapapa. It is important to remember here that this reading
of whakapapa centres on the Māori language used as in the title of this
chapter which would be lost if it was translated into the English language. The
sense of ‘belonging’ discussed here is expressed in the particle tā which has
no English language equivalent but which marks possession. The fuller
whakapapa that Te Rangikāheke gives in GNZMMSS 44 might therefore be
understood as expressing
Kererū who belongs to Rangiwewehi, Pupuru who belongs to Kererū, Pake
who belongs to Pupuru, Manu-wae-rorua who belongs to Pake, Kahutia who
belongs to Manu, Te Rangikāheke who belongs to Kahutia, Wiremu Maihi
who belongs to Te Rangikāheke, and Hataraka Wiremu who belongs to
Wiremu Maihi (my translation).
Those listed in the whakapapa belong by right of birth to each other and,
although the line reads vertically through generations rather than horizontally
across generations, the people named are directly and intimately connected.
All those named are accountable to each other while simultaneously
maintaining the integrity of their line of descendency.
In summary, Te Rangikāheke was known and understood in varying
and sometimes overlapping and competing contexts which is illustrated in the
multiple names he was known by. I posit that rather than Te Rangikāheke’s
multiple and sometimes illusive names confusing our understanding of who he
was and what he did, they provide a model for understanding the complex
relationships he forged and the roles he undertook in terms of his world as he
knew and inhabited it. This notion of multiple names is therefore a useful
metaphor when exploring the effects of colonial encounters on Indigenous
peoples and in particular notions of Indigenous agency. Te Rangikāheke’s
various names would have assisted him in maintaining discrete psychological
81
or spiritual boundaries between his sometimes competing identities as an
Arawa, a Māori, a writer, and a public servant, as well as assisting him in
moving fluidly between his roles through the slippery political and social
landscape of colonial Aotearoa/New Zealand.
There are more ‘unseens’ than ‘seens’ when it comes to Te
Rangikāheke’s names which is not to say that an exhaustive search has been
made or that it is even possible to make such a search. The illusive nature of
Te Rangikāheke’s names reinforces the importance of reading Te
Rangikāheke’s writing in order to sketch out an outline of who Te
Rangikāheke was and how he perceived the world.
Revisioning
The following biographic re-vision(-ing) is drawn from a reading of what
I have ascertained to be three excerpts of three draft letters written by Te
Rangikāheke to Queen Victoria. Interestingly, although these excerpts were
archived together in one file, closer inspection reveals three discrete variations
in handwriting, and three distinct subjects corresponding to the changes in
handwriting style. The same three excerpts fit relatively neatly into a
beginning section complete with opening salutation, a mid section, and an
ending complete with obligatory signature line which may have something to
do with why they were filed together as one document.
Whichever the case, it is my view that the archiving together of these
three excerpts affords us a fortuitous opportunity to read Te Rangikāheke
across three of the many contexts in which he lived his life. I also contend
that these excerpts invite us to consider the physical journeys Te
Rangikāheke’s writing sometimes took and how these can be seen as a useful
metaphor in terms of his life. In his article ‘Race and the webs of empire:
Aryanism from India to the Pacific’, Tony Ballantyne argues that, ‘...where
Sinha has highlighted the interdependence and mutually constitutive nature of
metropolitan and colonial histories, we must also pay close attention to the
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‘horizontal’ connections that linked colonies directly together (2001).
2
Crucial
to his argument is ‘...the strength of the networks that integrated the British
empire and the inherent mobility of colonial knowledge’ (2001). Where
George Grey is a particularly precocious example in that he took four
respective Governorships in three separate British colonies, the notion of
‘horizontal mobility’ is also useful in considering both genre, and the physical
mobility of Te Rangikāheke’s letters.
Firstly in terms of genre, Te Rangikāheke’s letters call for our reading to
take into account multiple and overlapping conventions. English writing
conventions, nineteenth century Māori writing conventions, and Māori oral
forms collide, overlap, and fuse in the letters which encourages a similar
‘mobility’ be employed in our reading of them. Where a reading that takes its
lead from notions of ‘vertical’ mobility would necessarily privilege either the
Māori or the English conventions as the ‘metropole’, horizontal mobility
promotes reading across and through genres without the need for privileging
one at the expense of the other.
Secondly, the physical mobility of the letter, destined to bridge
distances and people, is an apposite metaphor for Te Rangikāheke’s social
mobility which is itself illustrated by these letters. The fact that Te
Rangikāheke was writing letters to Queen Victoria at all let alone the familial
tone with which Te Rangikāheke writes these letters suggests that he had a
relationship or some kind of connective ties with her. This cordial relationship
Te Rangikāheke fostered with the British Crown and its New Zealand
representatives may well have come at the cost of maintaining good
relationships with many of his own Arawa kin but which again afforded him the
social mobility he evidently desired.
Whereas the mobility to which Te Rangikāheke aspired in his day was
perhaps more socially than spatially defined, Māori people in 2008 have more
access than ever before to convenient and speedy travel. This is not to
suggest, however, that all Māori currently share equal opportunities in terms of
social mobility. It is important to recognise the positions of privilege that Māori
scholars occupy in stark contrast to the majority of the Indigenous population
2
Sinha, Mrinalini, 1998. Britain and the Empire: Toward a New Agenda for Imperial History. Radical
History Review, 72.
83
of Aotearoa/New Zealand. Notwithstanding this, the relative ease and
logistics of modern modes of travel enabled me to go to Auckland, view Te
Rangikāheke’s original manuscripts, photocopy them, and treat them in a
particular way. In the particular case of this thesis, my modern day Māori
mobility facilitated my reading of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts and my own
study of them.
The Letters
The first section is relatively small consisting of one and a third pages
of handwritten script that ends abruptly leaving a large gap on the second
page. The pagination begins 261 and ends 262. The second letter is the
largest of the three and consists of 12 manuscript pages numbered 263
through 274, and the third letter is approximately the same size as the first
and consists of 2 manuscript pages numbered 275 through 276.
A note appears in the top left hand corner of the manuscript.
Te Rangi-ka-heke
Drafts of two letters
written to Queen Victoria
May 18 1850
Bleek v.2 14.4 p.72
The manuscript catalogue number GNZMA 723 appears in the top right hand
corner, and the final ‘stamp of authority’ appears on the bottom of the
photocopied page and reads
This copy is supplied on the understanding that it is to be used only for private
study or research purposes, and that no part may be reproduced in any form
without prior written permission of the Auckland Public Library.
These official stamps of archival material belie the vibrant, descriptive
language that fills this body of writing, and furthermore raise some vexing
84
questions as to whose possession these letters currently are in, and to whom
they might go in the future. In the case of these particular manuscripts, as an
Indigenous Māori scholar living and working in Aotearoa/New Zealand in
2008, my tupuna’s letters that were addressed to the Queen are accessible to
me via a library that was established by some colonial forefathers and
consequently run by an agent, that is, Auckland City Council, of the same yet
different Crown to whom these letters are addressed. These same letters
have been archived, photocopied, dated, and stamped by this library to whom
I have to ask permission to quote my tupuna’s writing in this thesis.
Perhaps the most ironic part of this intricate official dance is that the
letters from the Native written in their Indigenous language that never reached
the ‘coloniser’ are being held in the coloniser’s archives far from where most
Native eyes will ever espy them in the same colony in which they were written;
these letters eventually reached England, their country of destination, from
whence they travelled to the Cape Colony in Africa, to arrive back at their
country of origin. They currently rest far from where most people who can
read them will ever find them. Having been educated at a Western-style
University, it has been my privilege to be able to access, read, and study Te
Rangikāheke’s letters; my Western-based education has allowed me access
beyond the official stamps and regulations. This is but one example of how
the elitism that education in Aotearoa/New Zealand further disadvantages the
Indigenous Māori of this country and additionally contributes to internal
cultural splintering and dysfunction.
Scholars in historical and literary studies have written extensively on
how to work with correspondence. One of the more productive lines of inquiry
is found in the discussion of a short story by Poe in the book The Purloined
Poe. Although a full discussion of this theoretical angle lies outside the scope
of this thesis, it is worth drawing attention to Lacan’s argument which is
contained in the book; ‘a letter always arrives at its destination’ (Muller
1988:53). Critical discussions in the book argue that letters exist in a
‘tri-‘ rather than ‘bi-‘ situation whereby there is the author, the intended
recipient, and some other party who wants to get in between and intercept the
letter for their own reasons. This theoretical perspective on reading
correspondence intended for someone else is clearly pertinent in a
85
consideration of how to read letters written by Te Rangikāheke and intended
for Queen Victoria.
To return to Te Rangikāheke’s physical letters, we are reminded that,
regardless of the intended recipient of these letters, they came to be part of
Grey’s library which was transported to South Africa in 1861 where they lay
virtually undisturbed until 1922-23 (Biggs 1952:177). The physical journey of
Te Rangikāheke’s texts from Aotearoa/New Zealand to South Africa only to
return to Aotearoa/New Zealand some sixty years after they first left can be
seen as a homecoming of somewhat peculiar sorts; these letters, or parts of
draft versions of letters that were originally intended for the Queen, were
instead sent with the rest of Grey’s personal library to Capetown Public
Library, after which they eventually returned home to lie in Auckland Public
Library where they lay hidden until relatively recently.
A final note concerning all three letters is that Te Rangikāheke writes
from a specifically Māori perspective by presenting the two sides under
discussion as falling respectively under the terms of either ‘Māori’ or ‘Pākehā’.
He includes no other social or ethnic grouping in his discussion and clearly
demarcates them as being two discrete groups positioned in a binary
relationship. Furthermore, rather than complicating the notions of iwi identity
proposed in the chapter on Arawa literary theory in this thesis, this serves to
underscore the complexity of Te Rangikāheke’s identity politics that allows for
multiple strands, layering, and understandings to co-exist in the one person
and to be called forward into a position of privilege as the given circumstances
may require. This again underlines the agency Te Rangikāheke exercised as
he negotiated his colonial world.
Letter 1
In the first letter, Te Rangikāheke recalls an impressive celebration, a
hākari, held in honour of the Queen. He writes of the plentiful and good food
that was served and mentions in particular the many loaves, cows, plums, and
potatoes that were served
86
E nui ana ngā rohi i pau, e nui ana ngā kau, e nui ana ngā paramu me ngā
taewa i taua hākari (GNZMA 723, Part 1:261).
He then describes the women’s beautiful dancing and their well suited clothes,
and the sparkling metallic colours on the officers’ and the Governor’s attire:
Koia anō ehara ka turua te mahi o te wahine, te taonga nei a te kākahu hei
whakapaipai me te mahi kanikani....Tirohia atu tōna kākahu nei, te kahu
āpiha. Ehara uira kau ana te mahi a te paraihe, a te kōura. Haunga anō ia o
te Kāwana kākahu te mahi a te hiriwā (GNZMA 723, Part 1:261).
Te Rangikāheke then writes again about the amazing spread laid out before
them:
Ka kite mātou i te tini o ngā kai e puranga ana i runga i te tiperoa. Koia anō
ehara ka mā, ka pango, ka whero, ka aha, ka aha e! (GNZMA 723, Part
1:262)
I would like to firstly draw attention to the fact that this relatively small section
of a draft letter, offers us a vivid, dynamic window into Te Rangikāheke’s life
that gives full voice to his experience from his unique perspective. Te
Rangikāheke’s obvious delight and awe with both the food and the dancing
are tacit reminders of his Māori cultural determiners which are themselves
reminders of the specifically Māori view point of the event being described.
Kai and haka in their numerous forms feature strongly in traditional narratives,
cultural practices, and day-to-day life as they are central in te ao Māori, in a
Māori space, in a Māori existence. Traditional narratives tell of Tānerore, the
son of Tamanui-te-rā and Hine-raumati, whose shimmer is reflected in the
wiriwiri of modern day haka exponents, and of the womenfolk of Tinirau who
performed a haka in the homeland of Hawaiki to elicit a smile from the
deceitful Kae. Others tell of the meek brothers Haumia-tiketike and
Rongomātāne whom Tāne dug up, made common, and ate. Whakataukī such
as ‘Nā tō rourou, nā taku rourou, ka ora ai te iwi’ are commonly heard at many
a Māori gathering where the sharing of food or sustenance features
87
prominently, as are traditional foods still prepared by the hau kāinga for
manuhiri to enjoy. Te Rangikāheke’s dual focus on the food and the dancing
at the feast he describes in this letter therefore correspond to Māori social
preoccupations that are still very much recognised and enjoyed by Māori
today.
Another feature of this excerpt that reoccurs throughout much of Te
Rangikāheke’s writing is the bold line he expressly draws between Māori and
Pākehā. He begins by writing of the benevolent hospitality directed
specifically toward the Māori who attended the celebration and the large
quantity of food that was prepared for them:
Kua kite mātou i tana tino atawhai ki ngā Māori he nui anō tana kai i hōmai ki
ngā Māori mō te hākari...(GNZMA 723, Part 1:261)
and also clearly states that this occasion exemplified a Pākehā hākari
Ā muri iho, ko te hākari a te Pākehā (GNZMA 723, Part 1:261).
He goes on to comment on what he must have thought of as being a peculiar
aspect of Pākehā women’s physicality:
Kei whea rā a te Pākehā kai e takoto ana inā te āhua o tōna uma te iti rawa,
ahakoa nunui te wahine, inā tonu te iti o te uma (GNZMA 723, Part 1:261).
before drawing a comparison between material possessions of the Māori and
Pākehā
Whakamai tēnā hanga te tangata Māori ki ō hanga, ki ō te Pākehā rawa
(GNZMA 723, Part 1:261).
He then ends this letter with his appreciation of the Pākehā foods served and
the hospitality demonstrated:
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Ko wai hei kōrerorero i ngā kai rau a te Pākehā, he Pākehā, he Pākehā anō
kua ai āu tini mahi (GNZMA 723, Part 1:262).
The above excerpts demonstrate that Te Rangikāheke was as aware
and as curious of Pākehātanga as amateur ethnologists like George Grey,
Elsdon Best, and others were of Māoritanga and moreover that he and other
Māori were well prepared to engage in these new experiences, reflect upon
them, and draw their own conclusions about them in terms of their own lived
realities. Whereas colonial discourses tend to emphasize the novelty of the
Native, this letter emphasizes the novelty of the coloniser and shows that
Māori were just as interested in the social and material cultures of their
colonial counterparts.
Additionally, in the case of Te Rangikāheke and the majority of
nineteenth century Māori writers, the greater part of access to their versions of
cultural encounters is granted via te reo Māori. This highlights a way in which
the loss of te reo Māori adversely affects not only Māori society, but greater
Aotearoa/New Zealand society. Te Rangikāheke’s letters have much to
contribute to the stories that constitute the history of this Pacific country, but
are lost on those who do not speak te reo. Bi-lingualism in English and Māori
is required in order that the two sides of the partnership on which
Aotearoa/New Zealand is founded might be heard.
It is also interesting to consider the relative ease with which Te
Rangikāheke is able to compare things Pākehā and things Māori. We are
reminded that the boundary between each group was then more pronounced
and that theirs was a relationship in its infancy. This letter was written a
decade after the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, a decade before the land
wars that tore apart Waikato and Taranaki began, and I suggest that it offers a
glimpse into Te Rangikāheke’s generally positive, buoyant outlook on the
world in which he lived and his future yet to come. This letter provides us with
a snapshot, a brief glance not only into Te Rangikāheke’s life, but into the path
our greater Māori – Pākehā relationship may have taken if it had been
carefully nurtured and mutually sought.
89
Letter 2
In contrast to the first letter where the focus is a social occasion, this
second letter is primarily concerned with politics and Māori and Pākehā
relations (Curnow 1983:49). Te Rangikāheke articulates many of the
problems facing Māori at the time, and furthermore offers advice to the Queen
(and the Governor) on how the ‘new nation’ might be run more effectively and
fairly that both Māori and Pākehā might live in peace and harmony.
Another difference between the first letter and this second one is that
the second begins abruptly in mid-sentence and also appears with numbering
that does not align with the other pages’ overlying numbering. The number
seven is written at the top of the first page in brackets which aligns with the
number ten found on the third page following this first one. Although these are
the only two numbers like this found in the manuscript, they do appear to be in
Te Rangikāheke’s handwriting. The abrupt beginning and alternate pagination
suggests that the first six pages are missing from this letter which, rather than
being cause for regret, provides us with another way in which to consider this
manuscript, to imagine what happened to these letters as Te Rangikāheke
was writing them and after, and why. I argue that it is as important to pay
attention to what is present as what is not and therefore has to be imagined. It
is through this creative work that we allow ourselves the myriad possibilities
that accompany the freedom of imagination, of re-visioning to bear fruit. It is
through this work that we allow a part of the full and whole person that is Te
Rangikāheke to speak to us in a different way to that which is made possible
via archive, record, and historical ‘fact’.
A notable feature in terms of the internal structure of this letter in
comparison to the first is Te Rangikāheke’s use of lists. I contend that Te
Rangikāheke used these lists to not only convey information clearly, but to
also present his over-arching argument/s in an ordered, coherent manner. Te
Rangikāheke includes five lists in this letter the contents of which can be
summarised as follows:
1. the various names of the Governor/positions the Governor is
seen as occupying/occupies [9 items]
90
2. the reasons why the Governor is loved by Māori [12 items]
3. the few laws that both Māori and Pākehā must obey under
British Law [4 items]
4. things that raise discontent in Māori [13 items]
5. things the Queen should not send to New Zealand [10 items],
one that should exercise caution, and one that is fine to send
Te Rangikāheke presents these lists in an astute way that firstly
acknowledges the Governor and the respect the Māori have for him before
moving into the more critical issues of civil law and order that Te Rangikāheke
wants to engage the Governor and the Queen in. He constructs his argument
in a methodical way that appeals to the existing sympathies of and/or
perceived role of the Governor as the Queen’s representative in New Zealand.
In this way, Te Rangikāheke first clears and claims a space for engaging with
the Queen, then informs her of things Māori that he must have assumed her to
either not know or not be sufficiently knowledgeable of, before finally asserting
his opinion on what the Queen should and should not give to Māori and/or
send to New Zealand.
3
Te Rangikāheke corrects the Queen with the central
point here being that Te Rangikāheke’s ‘argument’ proves difficult to argue
with. The simple fact bears mentioning that Te Rangikāheke’s writing exhibits
both the debating skills of a successful politician and the social awareness of
the most decorous of nineteenth century social and political butterflies.
4
Furthermore, I hypothesise that the underlying sub-text of Te
Rangikāheke’s argument as illustrated in these combined lists is his belief in
the potential for a thriving bi-cultural society to be forged in nineteenth century
New Zealand. Te Rangikāheke evidently envisioned Māori and Pākehā living
together in New Zealand as true partners bound under the auspices of Te Tiriti
o Waitangi as demonstrated by the following excerpt from this letter.
Subsequent to his second list of the reasons why the Governor is loved by
Māori he writes:
3
This is dependent on whether Te Rangikāheke’s use of the Māori pronoun mātou referred specifically to
Māori, to another somewhat arbitrary group of people, or collectively to everyone living in Aotearoa/New
Zealand at the time.
4
For more on Indigenous subversion of the technology of writing see van Toorn 2006.
91
…me whakanui ngātahi ēnei mea kino e te ture [ngā mea kino ki tā te ngākau
Māori me ngā mea kino i whakaritea e te Kāwanatanga o Ingarangi]…me tuku
ēnei mea ki roto o te ture kia āta whakawākia kia pai ai, kia tino kotahi ai te
Pākehā, te Māori (GNZMA 723, Part 1:264).
Te Rangikāheke then reasons that Māori notions of unacceptable behaviour
should be given equal weight as those prepared by the English Government to
form the laws of this land in order that both Pākehā and Māori be treated
equally and therefore be united under the law. He was of the opinion that
most of the issues that gave rise to dispute were beyond Pākehā
comprehension but remained strong amongst Māori:
Erangi ko te nuinga o aua tikanga kino nei i tupu ai tēnei mea te pakanga kua
ngaro. Otirā ngaro kau ēnā ki te aroaro o ngā Pākehā. Tēnā ki ngā wāhi
kāinga o te Māori e noho whakangete tonu ana ki ā rātou whakamāori mō aua
ritenga e huna nei e te Pākehā (GNZMA 723, Part 1:265).
and that if Māori were left to independently retain their old customs and
beliefs, the result would be fighting and war to which the Pākehā would
ignorantly lie prone
Kei waiho ki ngā Māori anō ā rātou ritenga o mua pupuri ai ka tupu anō aua
mea hei pakanga mā te Māori. Anā ko reira koutou ngā Pākehā ka horihori
tāpapa kau ki runga i aua whawhai nei (GNZMA 723, Part 1:265).
Te Rangikāheke urges the Governor to pass his words on to the Queen and
reiterates his earlier point that they should be entered into the judicial system
of New Zealand. He adds that these things do, after all, result from the
arrogant, conceited side of humankind which I posit appeals to the notion of all
humankind being united on a fundamental level:
He whāki atu tēnei nāku ki a koe e Te Kāwana, kia tukua atu ki a Te Kuini
ēnei kupu, ā māu e Te Kāwana, mā Te Kuini hoki e tuku ēnei mea ki roto i te
whakawākanga o Niu Tireni. Tā te mea hoki ko te take katoa o ēnei mea kua
92
whākina, i iho nā e au he whānako katoa, arā, he tikanga whakahīhī nā te
ngākau o te tangata (GNZMA 723, Part 1:266).
Te Rangikāheke then emphasises the importance of these concepts to Māori
by spelling out in plain Māori the severity of the consequences suffered by
those who transgressed these:
He ūpoko tangata katoa e motu mō ēnei mea…he kakī tangata te utu, he
whenua rānei me tango (GNZMA 723, Part 1:266).
After this, Te Rangikāheke lays out his fifth and final list in this letter
which contains items the majority of which he believes the Queen should not
send to New Zealand:
Ko ngā pū, paura, matā; ko ngā waipiro; ko ngā Pākehā tohua, tāhae rānei
nei; ko ngā kaipuka whawhai, tāhae rānei; ko ngā Pākehā pōrangi, e haurangi
nei, arā, ko ngā mea whakatūtūā tāngata, whakamate hoki; ko ngā kararehe
kai tangata; ko ngā ngārara neke nei hoki; ko ngā mea e kai nei hoki i ngā kai;
ko ngā tarutaru whakapākihi whenua (GNZMA 723:270).
This list includes guns, powder, and bullets, alcohol, man-eating animals, and
Pākehā who are not in their right minds and who make slaves of people or kill
them. He also warns that those that come to New Zealand upon ships should
exercise caution but goes on to write that trading ships and Pākehā traders
are fine to send.
Ko ēnā o āu e āta ako atu ki ngā kaipuke e rere mai ana ki tēnei motu kia
tūpato rātou, e rere mai ki Niu Tireni nei. Erangi ko ngā kaipuke me ngā
Pākehā e tuku mai ana ko ngā kaipuke utauta taonga mai, ko ngā Pākehā
hokohoko taonga hoki; ko ā mātou tēnā e pai atu nei kia tukua mai e koe
(GNZMA 723:270).
93
He finishes this section by asking the Queen not to send destitute Pākehā to
New Zealand as they frustrated them because they were living quite well here
in Aotearoa/New Zealand.
5
Tēnā ko te tini o ngā Pākehā tūtūā rawakore nei kaua ēnā e tukua mai ki tēnei
motu whakapokaikaha i a mātou tā te mea kua noho pai noa iho mātou
(GNZMA 723, Part 1:270).
To conclude, the first and second letter are similar in many ways yet also
markedly different in others. Both letters are written to Queen Victoria by Te
Rangikāheke and both letters separate Māori and Pākehā into two opposite
groups whereby the one gives rise to the other in an oppositional relationship.
The main difference between the two is in the content and genre where the
first letter describes a social occasion but the second letter outlines the
imbalanced political relationship as Te Rangikāheke understood it, between
Māori and Pākehā in Niu Tireni in 1850.
Letter 3
In contrast to the previous two letters, the central focus of this letter is
commerce and/or commercial enterprise in which Te Rangikāheke was plainly
very interested as other correspondence and actions such as his work as a
land court assessor attest. Te Rangikāheke writes to the Queen requesting
that she send him some goods that he might establish himself as a trader to
the Māori.
Te Rangikāheke begins by asking the Queen to agree to him ‘lowering
himself’ to be ‘her servant’ or to work for her even and although he is a
rangatira:
5
Again, this is dependent on whether Te Rangikāheke’s use of the Māori pronoun mātou referred
specifically to Māori, to another somewhat arbitrary group of people, or collectively to everyone living in
Aotearoa/New Zealand at the time.
94
He mea atu tēnei nāku ki a koe, kia whakaae mai koe ki ahau hei pononga
māu. Ahakoa he rangatira ahau, me whakapononga atu ahau ki a koe
(GNZMA 723, Part 1:275).
He follows this with his specific request for her to send him goods that he
might trade these to the Māori, to the indigenous people of this land:
He tono atu nāku ki a koe ki ētahi o āu rawa kia hōmai ki ahau māku anō e
tiaki i konei. Ko ahau anō hei kaihoko ki ngā Māori o tēnei motu (GNZMA
723, Part 1:275).
It is important to remember that Te Rangikāheke was likely to have been
writing to Queen Victoria on equal terms as one partner to another in
accordance with Te Tiriti o Waitangi. Although he respectfully addresses her
at the beginning of the first letter discussed in this chapter as “kui”, he also
registers his rangatira status as mentioned above. It is also important to note
that although he seeks to lower himself in deference to the Queen, he gives
no indication that his status as rangatira in regards to anyone else either has,
will, or might change. It appears that Te Rangikāheke considered himself to
be of equal status to Queen Victoria which is further supported by the finer
details of his request for goods as outlined below.
Te Rangikāheke asks the Queen to buy or sell him some blankets,
packages of fruit, calico, hats/shirts (woolen?/oil skin?), axes as well as things
that are inexpensive where she resides, but cost more here in Aotearoa/New
Zealand:
Ki te whakaae mai koe, hokona mai ētahi tarengarenga paraikete kia rua
rānei, kia kotahi rānei, me ētahi pihi kaone, kareko kiepo, hate puru, toki, hei
ngā mea utu ngāwari i kōnā kia tae rawa mai ki konei ka whakanuia ake te utu
(GNZMA 723:275).
6
He then expressly writes that he is not asking her to pay for these goods:
6
Hoko is difficult to translate into English as it can mean ‘buy’, ‘sell’, ‘trade’, and ‘exchange’
95
Ehara au i tuhituhi utu ai (GNZMA 723:275).
Te Rangikāheke goes on to describe finer details of Pākehā trading he had
witnessed at one particular place where he stayed for a month and where he
writes that he would like to go and live and trade. He recounts the details
concerning prices that certain goods such as pigs might fetch, the Pākehā he
had observed trading in this place, and the profits they might make when
dealing in the trade and exchange of such goods:
...kite ana au i ngā Pākehā hoko e tae atu ana ki taua wāhi, e utua ana hoki
ngā iāri e waru mō te poaka kotahi, e hokoa ana hoki taua poaka ki te pāuna
moni kotahi me ngā hereni e toru i reira rānei inā tae ki te tāone ka tekau mā
rua iāri e utua ana ki te poaka kotahi, e riro mai ngā pāuna e rua inā utua atu.
Mō te paraike kotahi, kotahi poaka e whitu ko te rīwai te utu mai, mō te hāte
kotahi tarautete kotahi rānei, kotahi poaka te utu ngā utu ki te Pākehā, kotahi
tekau hereni mā rima mā ono rānei mō te pihi horoi, arā, hopi, kotahi poaka
utua atu e waru hereni e toru rānei tāra (GNZMA 723, Part 1:275).
After outlining his supporting information, Te Rangikāheke arrives at the crux
of this letter; he proposes that the Queen should send him goods to trade, that
he will pay her back for these goods from the profits he makes, and that she
should also arrange payment for him for on-selling her goods, and clothing:
...nō konei au i mea atu ai ki a koe kia hōmai he taonga ki ahau hei hoko, ā,
me whakahoki utu e ahau ngā mea utu o aua taonga ki a koe i roto i ngā tau
katoa, ā, māu anō e whakarite mai he utu ki ahau mō taku mahi hoko i āu
mea i roto i ngā tau katoa me ētahi kahu hei mahanatanga ki a mātou
(GNZMA 723, Part 1:276).
Te Rangikāheke first lowers himself under the Queen, before describing how
profits are being made from trade goods. He then asks the Queen to send
him goods for trade, payment for his work as a trader, and clothing. He also
adds that he will pay her back for the goods she sends. He expresses his
desire to enter into this specific arena of commercial enterprise with his point
of difference being that he will trade to Māori. He formulates a scheme in
96
order to procure the goods needed for trade and makes use of what he must
have considered to be an established relationship with the Queen. He
reminds her that he taught her ‘brother’, the Governor, and that he is writing to
her with this request because his prior work with the Governor has now
finished:
Tā te mea kāore he mahi māku e ka oti taku mahi ako i tōu tungāne, i a Te
Kāwana, koia au i tuhituhi atu ai kia whakaritea mai e koe he taonga hoko
māku ki taua whenua nei (GNZMA 723, Part 1:276).
The content of this letter suggests that Te Rangikāheke had somewhat of an
entrepreneurial personality as in it he puts forward his request, supports it with
facts and figures, and links in his previous work with the Governor as extra
supporting information and perhaps to remind her of their prior, mutually
productive working relationships. We are shown another facet of Te
Rangikāheke’s understanding of his relationship with the Queen, of his work,
and of his future prospects as he saw them, or as he wanted the Queen for
whatever reason to see them. This enriches our understanding of him looking
as Māori scholars in 2008 toward older articulations of our past.
Conclusion
We are limited in how much we can argue that the subaltern has the
capacity to speak across time and space and that we are not interpreting their
work via our contemporary assumptions and prejudices. Much like a scientific
experiment, we can however build controls into our work as a way of
supporting our argument. One of the controls employed in this analysis was
paying attention to one text in exploring Te Rangikāheke’s life rather than his
complete works. Although close examination suggests they are in fact three
letters, they were all written to Queen Victoria by Te Rangikāheke, the
handwriting suggests that they were all written around the same time, and
they were all filed together.
97
Reading these excerpts from one manuscript file of letters written by Te
Rangikāheke alongside each other facilitates an entry into the world of Te
Rangikāheke the man, the Māori, the person. These letters being but one
possible entry point, it is important to remember the limitations of this
approach while also considering the new understandings made possible by it.
One of the dangers in examining letters is that one could be tempted to think
that what the writer wrote in their personal correspondence was what they
themselves believed to be true. This view, however, is too simplistic and does
not lend full weight to the intelligence of the writer. As Penny van Toorn
shows in her work on Aboriginal writing in the nineteenth century (2006),
Indigenous peoples suffering under colonial rule learnt to subvert the
coloniser’s technology of writing and encode messages through their writing.
Te Rangikāheke and many other Indigenous people the world over similarly
subverted the Euro-Western technology of writing frequently using it to serve
their own needs, which were known to them, but which we might only guess
at, hence one of the uses of imagining.
98
Mā ngā uri ki muri nei
Conclusion
In this thesis I have explored Te Rangikāheke and his work through the
traditional framework of whakapapa. Articulating whakapapa between
Indigenous Māori and other Indigenous Peoples is one way in which
whakapapa has been employed due to its central concern with relationships.
This use of whakapapa has enabled me to draw on the work of American
Indian Literary theorists in this study, specifically those concerned with Literary
Nationalism. Where whakapapa has enabled me to elucidate relationships
between the three core chapters of this contemporary work, it has also been
explored within each chapter in other ways; in terms of the tuakana/teina
dynamic of Te Rangikāheke and Grey’s relationship, Te Rangikāheke’s Arawa
whakapapa as recorded by him, and finally in the whakapapa of his name.
In chapter two (the introduction being chapter one) I argued that
George Grey’s editing of Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts is an apposite
metaphor for the process of colonisation. Grey was read through the many
and varied prefaces he included in his Māori publications and Te Rangikāheke
was read through his manuscripts that formed much of the basis for Grey’s
aforementioned publications. Te Rangikāheke and Grey’s shared whakapapa
was discussed as was the effects of Grey’s editing decisions on Te
Rangikāheke’s texts.
Chapter three argues for Arawa Literary Nationalism. Te
Rangikāheke’s whakapapa as recorded by himself in his manuscripts
launches the discussion which moves to how Te Rangikāheke positions
himself in his texts. The many instances of Arawatanga in Te Rangikāheke’s
texts are examined as is Te Rangikāheke’s concern with origins.
In chapter four re-visionings of who Te Rangikāheke was were sought
through firstly exploring the whakapapa of his name and secondly through
close readings of three draft letters he wrote to Queen Victoria. Rather than
using documentation as the basis for biography, Te Rangikāheke is imagined
as he wrote these three very different letters to the Queen.
99
This imagining returns this thesis to its own beginning, to the
exploration and celebration of dreams and potential. Prominent Māori lawyer,
writer, researcher, and koro Moana Jackson talked about the relationship
between research and dreams in his keynote address to Te Oru Rangahau
Māori Research and Development Conference held at Massey University in
1998. He articulated a dream for the contemporary Māori scholar that
respects our whakapapa, our dreams, and our spirituality;
That we be brave enough not just to do research which will have a practical
application in the world as it is, but rather that we are visionary enough to
undertake research that will help our people in a world as it may be. That we
be not afraid to dream, and that we accept that if we are spiritual people, and I
believe we are, then we understand that the spirit is the base of our dreams.
For if we conduct research in a dreamless world then we do not create a
vision of hope for our mokopuna (1998:77).
This thesis has not been conducted in a dreamless world. I hope that this
study of Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikāheke will contribute not only to our bodies
of knowledge, but will also have some “practical application” both in terms of
an Indigenous intellectual agenda and the continued elaboration and practice
of sovereignty.
100
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