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NGĀ PAE O TE
MĀRAMATANGA
JOURNAL
A NEW ZEALAND JOURNAL
OF INDIGENOUS SCHOLARSHIP
MAI
VOLUME 12 • ISSUE 1 • 2023
MAI JOURNAL
EDITORS
Associate Professor Te Kawehau Hoskins Ngāpuhi
University of Auckland
Dr Vini Olsen-Reeder Tauranga Moana, Te Arawa
Victoria University of Wellington
EDITORIAL BOARD
Professor Peter Adds Te Ātiawa
Victoria University of Wellington
Dr Amanda Black Tūhoe, Whakatōhea, Te Whānau ā-Apanui
Lincoln University
Dr Jade Le Grice Ngai Tupoto – Te Rarawa, NgātiKorokoro,
Te Pouka, Ngāti Wharara, Te Mahurehure – Ngāpuhi
University of Auckland
Associate Professor Meegan Hall Ngāti Ranginui,
Ngāti Tūwharetoa
Victoria University of Wellington
Professor Anne-Marie Jackson Ngāti Whatua,
Te Roroa, Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Wai, Ngāti Kahu o Whangaroa
University of Otago
Associate Professor Carwyn Jones Ngāti Kahungunu
Te Wānanga o Raukawa
Associate Professor Te Taka Keegan Waikato – Maniapoto,
Ngāti Porou, Ngāti Whakaaue
University of Waikato
Professor Tracey McIntosh Tūhoe
University of Auckland
Dr Hiria McRae Te Arawa, Tūhoe, Ngāti Kahungunu
Victoria University of Wellington
Dr Dean Mahuta Ngāti Mahuta, Waikato
Auckland University of Technology
Dr Farah Palmer Ngāti Maniapoto, Waikato
Massey University
Dr John Pirker Ngāi Tahu, Te Ātiawa, Ngāti Porou
University of Canterbury
Dr Arama Rata Ngāti Maniapoto, Taranaki, Ngāruahine
University of Waikato
Professor Poia Rewi Ngāti Manawa, Te Arawa
Te Mātāwai
Professor Jacinta Ruru Raukawa, Ngāti Ranginui,
Ngāti Maniapoto
University of Otago
Dr Hinekura Smith Te Rarawa, Ngāpuhi, Te Ati Awa
UNITEC
Professor Michelle Thompson-Fawcett Ngāti Whātua,
Ngāti Te Ata
University of Otago
Emeritus Professor Michael Walker Whakatōhea
University of Auckland
PUBLICATIONS MANAGER
Marie-Chanel Berghan Te Rarawa, Ngāti Wai, NgātiManiapoto,
Te Arawa
JOURNAL CO-ORDINATOR
Cheryle Willoughby Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Wai, Ngāti Kahu ki
Whangaroa, Ngāti Kuta
ISSN (Online): 2230-6862
Published by Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga © 2023
New Zealand’s Māori Centre of Research Excellence
The University of Auckland, New Zealand
Typeset by Katrina Duncan
Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga holds copyright for this Journal while individual authors hold copyright
for their own articles. This publication cannot be reproduced and sold for profit by others.
MAI Journal is a member of the following organisations:
SPECIAL EDITION EDITORS
Professor Anne-Marie Jackson Ngāti Whātua, Ngāti Kahu
o Whangaroa, Ngā Puhi, Ngāti Wai
Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago
Coastal People: Southern Skies
Ms Chelsea Cunningham Ngāti Kahungunu Ngāti Tūwharetoa,
Kāi Tahu
Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago,
Toi Tāngata
Mr Danny Poa Ngāi Tūhoe, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāpuhi,
NgātiPorou
Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago,
Coastal People: Southern Skies
Dr Chanel Phillips Ngāti Hine, Ngāpuhi
Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago
Dr Jeremy Hapeta Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Huia
Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago
CONTENTS
Tēnei au Te Koronga: Growing Māori postgraduate research excellence 5
Chelsea Cunningham, Ngahuia Mita, Terina Raureti, Ben Hanara,
Tasha Burton, Rawiri Ratahi, Te Kahurangi Skelton, Nick Parata
Walking our pepeha: The influence of whakapapa on health and well-being 15
Chelsea Cunningham, Anne-Marie Jackson, Hauiti Hakopa
Tracing the intersections of wāhine Māori, whakapapa and mana in the Native Land Court,
19th century Aotearoa 25
Inano Taripo-Walter
Whakawhiti te rā: A whakapapa approach to protecting haka as a taonga within sport
settings in Aotearoa 36
Nicole Penetito-Hemar, Anne-Marie Jackson, Chelsea Cunningham
Towards a Kaupapa Māori fitness gym: a Bourdieusian analysis 47
Darcy Karaka, Anne-Marie Jackson, Hauiti Hakopa
Mukukai: Kaitiaki o Te Ao Kauhoe: The influence of swimming on
whānau engagement with the water 60
Terina Raureti, Anne-Marie Jackson, Chelsea Cunningham
Hauteruruku ki Puketeraki: Connecting to te ao Takaroa 71
Ngahuia Mita, Anne-Marie Jackson, Brendan Flack, Suzi Flack,
Victoria Bryant, Hauiti Hakopa
Te Āheinga pū reretahi: A foundational Māori perspective of the wairoro 82
Benjamin Hanara, Anne-Marie Jackson, Hauiti Hakopa
Reflections and lessons of a non-Māori student working in a Kaupapa Māori research space 93
Lisa van Halderen
Tēnei Tātou Te Koronga Māori Research Excellence
Tēnei au te koronga
He hiringa nōu e Ruatau
ki ēnei tauira, ki ēnei pia
Tō ake nei au i te tatau o taku whare
Ko Te Rangikaupapa, tatau o Tāwhirirangi
i te pūmotomoto o te kauwhanga o te Toi o ngā rangi
E Pawa, tutakina i tauru nui, i tauru atamai o wharekura
Kapikapi tō aro, kapi te ngātata, te ngātoro, te piere, te tatau o tēnei whare
E tū iho nei
Nā tō aro, nā tō pia
E Rehua, mā Ruatau e
The year 2023 marks the 10th anniversary of the Te Koronga Māori research and teaching excellence
kaupapa. Professor Anne-Marie Jackson, Dr Hauiti Hakopa, Dr Samantha Jackson and Mr Brendan
Flack established Te Koronga in 2013 at the University of Otago with the support of the late Hiria
Mei Cessy Parore. Koronga refers to a yearning for esoteric knowledge and practice. The kaupapa of
Te Koronga is Māori research and teaching excellence that aims to uplift the hopes and aspirations of
Māori communities in the context of mauri ora.
To represent our 10th anniversary, this Special Issue shares journal articles of tauira of Te Koronga
from their master’s research. Our tauira are the heartbeat and the engine room of Te Koronga. Inthese
papers the students describe their research, experience, passions and love for Māori research. This
Special Issue showcases their cultivated range of skills and experiences as kaupapa researchers, in their
development in becoming intentional kaupapa scholars, and how they intend to contribute to their
communities.
We thank Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga and acknowledge our long-standing relationship with NgāPae o
Māramatanga since its inception. The successes of Te Koronga are very much within the wider korowai
provided from Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga in our shared goals of transformational research for our
whānau, hapū, iwi and marae communities.
We thank all of the tauira, our staff, our whānau and the supporters of Te Koronga. Finally,
weacknowledge our whānau who have passed over the 10 years of our kaupapa and guided our
collective journey. Rātou te hunga wairua ki a rātou. Tātou te hunga ora ki a tātou.
Tēnei tātou Te Koronga
TĒNEI AU TE KORONGA
Growing Māori postgraduate research excellence
Chelsea Cunningham*
Ngahuia Mita†
Terina Raureti‡
Ben Hanara§
Tasha Burton||
Rawiri Ratahi¶
Te Kahurangi Skelton**
Nick Parata††
Abstract
Te Koronga is a Māori research excellence rōpū that Professor Anne-Marie Jackson and Dr Hauiti
Hakopa founded at the University of Otago. The year 2023 marks the 10th anniversary of Te Koronga.
Over the past 10 years, Te Koronga has been successfully supporting and producing excellent Māori
researchers. A collective of current Te Koronga tauira, many of whom have contributed to other articles
in this issue, have written this article of the Te Koronga MAI Special Issue. We are unapologetically
proud to be Te Koronga. Why? Because in the academy, where we were reminded often that our way
of thinking did not matter, our knowledge did not matter, our whakapapa did not matter and our
research did not matter, we found a place where it did, a place where our whakapapa, whānau and
mātauranga are the very foundation. As tauira of Te Koronga, we wanted to share some of that story.
* Ngāti Kahungunu Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Kāi Tahu. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin,
NewZealand. Email: chelsea.cunningham@otago.ac.nz
† Te Aitanga a Mahaki, Ngāti Porou, Ngāti Hako. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin,
NewZealand.
‡ Ngāti Raukawa. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, NewZealand.
§ Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Rangi. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, NewZealand.
|| Ngāti Pākehā, Kerikeri. MSc Graduate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, NewZealand.
¶ Taranaki, Te Atiawa, Ngāti Maru. MSc Candidate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, NewZealand.
** Te Atiawa, Taranaki, Ngāti Maru, Ngāti Raukawa ki te Tonga. MSc Candidate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of
Otago, Dunedin, NewZealand.
†† Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Toa Rangatira, Te Atiawa. BSc(Hons) Graduate, Te Koronga, Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago,
Dunedin, NewZealand.
DOI: 10.20507/MAIJournal.2023.12.1.1
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.6
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Keywords
kaupapa, Māori research excellence, Te Koronga, whānau
Introduction
It’s 2013. I’m walking through the Otago campus,
dressed in a puer jacket and trackpants watching
the condensation in every exhale of breath while
also trying to maintain my balance to avoid the icy
tiles of the path. I begin to think to myself, What
I am going to say today? What mahi did I even
complete? Or even attempt? My writing is terrible.
They’re going to tell me to do it again. I finally
get to the infamous red door at Union Court. My
heart starts to race a little faster as I slowly climb
the narrow stairs to the first floor. I get to the top
of the stairs, take a deep breath and knock on the
slightly opened oce door. “Come in.” I enter the
oce. Anne-Marie Jackson is sitting at her desk
facing towards the door, while Hauiti Hakopa has
to turn around because his desk is facing towards
the window. It’s crazy what a nervous wreck I
would be before the hui, yet as soon as you’re in
their presence that all goes away and you’re hav-
ing a kōrero about the most random things for the
first 10 minutes before you even get into the mahi-
related talk. Maybe that was on purpose, to settle
our nerves. But that was them. That was how they
engaged. They genuinely wanted to know how
you had been and what you had been up to. So
simple, right? Yet unheard of in the academic realm
we students were so used to. We talked goals,
kaupapa, aspirations. What is it that you want to
do? What are you passionate about? The dream
team of Anne-Marie Jackson and Hauiti Hakopa
had this ability to somehow make you figure out
your potential without telling you themselves. It’s
one of their superpowers, like precognition. They
know what you’re capable of before you know it.
They know your infamous “golden thread” before
you even begin to write your thesis. It wasn’t long
after those individual one-on-one hui that we all
saw that foundation that both Anne-Marie and
Hauiti set would soon become something so much
bigger—something much more impactful for the
future of Māori academia and Māori research
within and outside the institution.
From my perspective, as a tauira of Te Koronga,
I can only imagine the kōrero and wānanga that
went on between Anne-Marie Jackson, Hauiti
Hakopa, Dr Samantha Jackson and Brendan Flack
that eventually led to the conception of such a
groundbreaking kaupapa. There is no doubt in
my mind that what began in Room 118 of the
now demolished Union Court at the University of
Otago every Monday morning 9–11am in 2013
was well planned, intentional and nothing short of
what was to become of Te Koronga, as a Centre of
Indigenous Science, in 2023. This article sets out to
share some of that story from the tauira perspec-
tive. We reflect on our postgraduate journey and
how Te Koronga has been the whānau, the support
system and the kaupapa we needed to thrive as
Māori researchers.
Methods
The methods used for this research included hold-
ing a thought space wānanga where eight tauira
shared kōrero about our journey in Te Koronga
and our aspirations for Te Koronga as we become
a Centre of Indigenous Science in 2023. As tauira
of Te Koronga, we have all experienced our own
unique journey as a Māori postgraduate researcher,
or a non-Māori tauira advancing Māori aspira-
tions, within the institution. This article aims to
share insights and lived experiences from present
tauira of Te Koronga ranging from the honours
level to doctorate, including our journey to Te
Koronga and why Te Koronga is so important to
our postgraduate research journey.
The eight tauira involved in the thought space
wānanga were:
• Honours tauira Nick Parata, He Hauora te
Taonga—Exploring Kī o Rahi as a Tool to
Assess Components of Fitness
• Master’s tauira Tasha Burton, Kī o Rahi he
Taonga Tuku Iho—Kī o Rahi Is a Cherished
Treasure
• Master’s tauira Rawiri Ratahi, Te Whai
Wawewawe a Māui Tikitiki a Taranga
• Master’s tauira Te Kahurangi Skelton,
Taranaki Tua Tinitini—Exploring Climate
Change in Taranaki
• Doctoral tauira Ben Hanara, Ruku Kai Piki
Mai
• Doctoral tauira Terina Raureti, Kauora—A
Theory and Praxis of Swimming for Māori
• Doctoral tauira Ngahuia Mita, Tairāwhiti
Waka, Tairāwhiti Tāngata—Examining
Tairāwhiti Voyaging Philosophies
• Doctoral tauira Chelsea Cunningham, Toko
Mauri—Understanding Whānau Well-being
through Connection to Whakapapa.
This article is structured through our Te Koronga
karakia, which is written below. We have chosen
to use our karakia because, as described in the
TĒNEI AU TE KORONGA 7
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
introduction, this is one of the foundations for
Te Koronga as a kaupapa and is therefore where
we draw many of our inspirations from as tauira.
Tēnei au Te Koronga
Tēnei au te koronga
He hiringa nōu e Ruatau
ki ēnei tauira, ki ēnei pia
Tō ake nei au i te tatau o taku whare
Ko Te Rangikaupapa, tatau o Tāwhirirangi
i te pūmotomoto o te kauwhanga o Te Toi o ngā
Rangi
E Pawa Tutakina i tauru nui, i tauru atamai o
wharekura
Kapikapi tō aro, kapi te ngātata, te ngātoro, te
piere, te tatau o tēnei whare
E tū iho nei
Nā tō aro, nā tō pia
E Rehua, mā Ruatau ē
Here I am with an ardent desire, a perseverance
equal to thine, O Rehua!
Give to these pupils, to these acolytes [all
knowledge]
I close the door of my house, like Te
Rangikaupapa, door of the Tawhirirangi
That opens up through the plane of Te Toi o ngā
Rangi
O Pawa! Shut close Tauru nui [main entrance],
and Tauru atamai of wharekura
Cover, cover up thy way, cover the cracks, The
apertures, the tiny cracks, with the door of this
house
By thy ardent learner, by thy acolyte, O Rehua!
And Ruatau!
The origins of Te Koronga are found in the above
karakia. This is the first verse of the karakia from
the teachings of Te Matorohanga and Nepia
Pohuhu, priests of Te Rawheoro whare wānanga
on the East Coast that was written and translated
by Whatahoro (Whatahoro & Smith,1913). The
name Te Koronga is found and recited in the first
line. The word koronga refers to a purpose, inten-
tion or aspiration. Te Koronga is about us as tauira,
disciples of higher knowledge, the purpose, inten-
tion and aspiration of our tīpuna. Our purpose
in Te Koronga as Māori researchers is to uplift
mauri ora within our respective communities by
working and researching alongside whānau, hapū
and iwi across Aotearoa New Zealand (Jackson
et al., 2015).
We spent much time learning and reciting
this verse of the karakia in the beginnings of Te
Koronga. Hauiti preferred we learn by ear first,
and it was not until we could recite it ourselves that
we could then write it down. Many of us would
have a recording of Hauiti replaying through our
headphones so we could practise outside of Te
Koronga Mondays or our Karakia Tuesday time
slot. As time has progressed, we have learned
more of the karakia, extending our knowledge.
Tuākana of Te Koronga also contribute to leading
and teaching the karakia to our tēina, and we have
kept the same practice as Hauiti—we recite line
by line and tauira repeat it. Our karakia is the
true ngako of Te Koronga. We think about our
first Te Koronga room, named “Tēnei au”, every
Monday at 9am. We begin with “Tēnei au Te
Koronga…”. When we hand in our dissertations
and theses all the way to our graduation speeches,
we recite “Tēnei au…”. The strength of this kara-
kia is almost impossible to put into words because
it is something you experience. We now have tauira
who live and study across the motu or who have
returned home to undertake and complete their
research—a much dierent space and environment
from our Te Koronga space in Dunedin. This is
why the karakia is our ngako—because no matter
where we are, we can all recite this karakia and
still carry the essence of the kaupapa that is Te
Koronga.
One of our tuākana, Ngahuia Mita, talks about
how you never forget the first time you recite
this first verse of the Te Koronga karakia from
memory. It is more of a feeling. At first, you might
surprise yourself and then you realise “this is
where I am supposed to be”. This karakia aligns
with the kaupapa of Te Koronga perfectly, which
is why we hold it so close and with so much value
as tauira.
He hiringa—The inspiration
The second line of the first verse recites “he hiringa
nōu e Ruatau”, urging persistence like Ruatau’s is
required despite the diculty in attaining knowl-
edge. Phillips et al. (2022) also explain that “He
Hiringa reflects both the body of higher knowledge
as well as the class of student who absorbs and is
given that knowledge” (p. 3). To be like Ruatau
is the inspiration; therefore, this section discusses
what inspired tauira of Te Koronga to pursue
higher knowledge in postgraduate research.
For some of us in Te Koronga, postgraduate
study was not something we thought was possible.
However, in reality, looking back and then going
through this experience as one of the first tauira of
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.8
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Te Koronga, seeing Te Koronga grow rapidly over
the past 10 years, one of the issues was the lack of
representation. “You can’t be what you can’t see.”
Te Koronga began within the School of Physical
Education, Sport and Exercise Sciences at the
University of Otago, where Professor Anne-Marie
Jackson was an academic sta member. She carried
on the legacy of many other great Indigenous
scholars before her, such as Dr Nālani Wilson
Hokowhitu, Dr Ihirangi Heke, Emeritus Professor
Les Williams, Professor Brendan Hokowhitu and
Professor Dame Farah Palmer. As physical educa-
tion students at the time, we were not exposed
to Māori students pursuing postgraduate study.
We were also not seeing postgraduate research
as something we were interested in or passionate
about. Māori representation is extremely impor-
tant, not just by tauira but by sta as well.
This is where all of the tauira of Te Koronga
agree on how pivotal Māori academic sta have
been in all of our journeys at the University of
Otago. At the time Te Koronga was established
in 2013, Anne-Marie Jackson was the only Māori
staff member within the department, and one
of a small number in the Division of Sciences.
This underrepresentation of Māori sta does not
only exist within the University of Otago but
throughout Aotearoa. Māori constitute only 4.8%
of academics across the eight universities in the
country (McAllister et al., 2019; Naepi, 2019).
The same disparities and representation issues
exist for Māori students pursuing postgraduate
research, as you can see in data from the 2018
census shown in Table 1.
Although Table 1 shows that Māori postgradu-
ate student numbers are low, it should be noted
that Māori make up 13% of all domestic university
students and that 26% of those are studying at
postgraduate level (Te Pōkai Tara, 2022). Another
highlight is that we have seen a 53% increase in
Māori doctoral students since 2012 (Te Pōkai
Tara, 2022), which is positive. It is important
to highlight our success within Te Koronga in
postgraduate degree completions as well. As of
FIGURE 1 Te Koronga
celebrating our fth
birthday in 2019
TABLE 1 Percentage of Māori students enrolled in degree levels in 2006, 2013 and 2018
Degree 2006 (%) 2013 (%) 2018(%)
Bachelor’s/Level 7 5.5 7.5 8.4
Postgraduate/Honours 0.8 1.3 2.4
Master’s 0.7 1.0 1.3
Doctorate 0.1 0.2 0.2
Source: Adapted from Stats NZ (2020).
TĒNEI AU TE KORONGA 9
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
December 2022, Te Koronga has had 45 sum-
mer internships (7 currently ongoing), 7 honours
completions, 1 graduate diploma completion, 10
postgraduate diploma completions, 11 master’s
completions (1 currently ongoing) and 2 PhD
completions (2 recently submitted, 5 ongoing).
These kinds of accomplishments have a starting
point, and as mentioned earlier, this article is writ-
ten from the perspective of the tauira; therefore,
this is a story of our beginnings. This article began
with an account of what a typical weekly supervi-
sion hui was like before Te Koronga Mondays,
where we now come together as a collective to
start our week from 9 until 11am. However, to
understand how many of us even got to the point
of attending these, we reflect on the inspiration
that occurred before that.
How did we get here? Many of the tuākana
instantly mentioned undergraduate Māori papers
that Professor Anne-Marie Jackson, Dr Hauiti
Hakopa and, more recently, Dr Chanel Phillips
and Dr Jeremy Hapeta have taught within the
existing degrees in the Division of Science.
These papers are, in most cases, our first expe-
rience and exposure to things Māori within our
degrees. The Māori physical education and health
paper was the first experience of being lectured by
Anne-Marie Jackson. Her way of teaching, her
ability to build a strong rapport with students and,
of course, the kaupapa of her paper and her pas-
sion changed many of our pathways and exposed
us to what we really wanted to do and what we
wanted to explore. For example, Terina explains:
I think that paper was the first time I did an assign-
ment and really cared about it. Even my friends
were like, “Whoa, you’ve been working on this all
semester. This is really cool. Go you.”
Although we loved our degree and we loved what
we were doing, many of us were yet to achieve
excellence in what we thought was our purpose—
that was, until our Māori physical education and
health papers. As Chelsea explains:
I got my first A in Māori PE and health. Meeting
Anne-Marie and realising that my passion was very
whānau centred, I really wanted to do stu with
my whānau and also for myself.
Ben had a similar experience:
I was battling through the standard PE papers and
then it was Anne-Marie’s paper. I got my first A, and
then any other assignment from there that I could
relate to te ao Māori I did and my assignments
were getting better and better, because I was writing
about things I knew about and already had in me.
Ngahuia shared that she attended the Māori
physical education and health noho marae before
she became a student in the class the following
FIGURE 2 PHSE 104 Marae Noho at Arai te Uru, 2019
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.10
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
year. That experience alone made her want to
not only take the paper the following year but
undertake an independent research study paper
focusing on the Horouta waka. She reflects on
that paper:
I did an essay about the Horouta waka. I remem-
ber sitting in Te Tumu [Māori studies department]
and tracing my whakapapa back to Paoa, who is
the captain of the waka, and just that for me was
massive and really just set up the rest of the mahi
that I’ve done and full circle back to right now and
then up to going to get a captain’s ticket to be like
Paoa embodied—you know that’s full circle.
Te Koronga did not just grow in tauira or
in Māori postgraduate excellence, we grew in
Māori representation. When you add this to what
Anne-Marie and Hauiti were already doing to an
exceptionally high standard, the tauira capacity
grew even more quickly. Nick reflects on this well:
My first introduction was a Māori PE and health
paper, back in 2019. That was my first introduction
into a Māori space and that I remember having
Anne-Marie and then the tuākana came along to
the noho [marae] and I remember after that I was
like, “Oh, my god. This is a space I really want to
connect more with.”
Te Kahurangi also shares her thoughts on the
importance of the presence and representation of
tuākana:
I came [into Te Koronga] because I did the Māori
PE and health paper, I was in awe, fan girling hard.
I never saw myself reflected in the academy, you
guys [the Te Koronga tuākana] at noho, beautiful,
loving it. You just see yourself reflected back at you
from your tuākana. You see them excelling, doing
excellent mahi, but then they’ve got similar stories
and makes it all approachable and easier.
Representation is so important, and it has
always been an underlying kaupapa of Te Koronga.
As Anne-Marie states “this kaupapa is aspirational
for our communities and taiohi. There might be
a student, kid, or whānau member who sees us,
and they can see themselves standing right where
we are, to normalise excellence” (University of
Otago, 2022).
Although it sounds simple, these papers that
people like us teach provides us with a spark
to want to continue postgraduate studies with
like-minded tauira who are just as driven and
passionate as us. Reflecting back on “he hiringa
nōu e Ruatau”, we must not only want to pursue
higher knowledge, but also understand the expec-
tations and persistence required to attain said
knowledge. This is something we are all capable
of and have the potential to acquire, yet some-
times we need an example, such as the leaders and
tuākana in front of us.
Te kauwhanga o Te Toi o ngā Rangi
Te kauwhanga refers to the sacred passageway
Tāne had to go through to reach the uppermost
heaven, Te Toi o ngā Rangi. By understanding
Tāne’s feat of ascending the heavens to acquire
the kete wānanga, by entering each pūmotomoto
of the heavens, one after the other. It is important
to note the support Tāne had on his quest, such
as his brother Tawhirimātea and the Titi whānau,
or wind whānau, while facing challenges from the
likes of his other brother, Whiro te Tipua, and Te
Tini o Poto, a whānau of various insects. Just as
Tāne needed his whānau to get to and through
te kauwhanga, we too need a whānau—a strong
system as we strive for academic excellence. This is
where Danny Poa’s role as the Kaitiaki Kaupapa in
Te Koronga was critical to our success, by ensuring
that our community connections and the whānau
kaupapa were always at the forefront. Whānau has
always been the foundational layer of Te Koronga
and a key factor in our success both individually
and as a whānau. Whānau sits at the forefront of
our mahi and research. From our communities
we have had the pleasure to work alongside our
kaumātua and kuia, our aunties and uncles of Te
Koronga, and our immediate whānau. As the older
tuākana of Te Koronga, we always acknowledge
Cessy, who passed in 2019. She was our Nani
of Te Koronga and kept everything running very
smoothly behind the scenes.
Community
Community connections and relationships have
been a strong focus for Te Koronga since the
beginning. Undertaking research and writing a
dissertation or thesis is one thing, but building a
strong relationship with those who are a part of
that, which for us is whānau or Māori communi-
ties, is an absolute must. For us as students, this
understanding and learning came from being a
part of leading and supporting our noho marae
within the undergraduate and postgraduate teach-
ing, as well as supporting community noho marae.
As researchers undertaking Māori research, having
these kinds of opportunities to gain this experience
was an important part of the academic aspect of
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MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
postgraduate studies. Chelsea explains further by
reflecting on her whānau wānanga for her PhD:
Anne-Marie allowing that opportunity for me to
lead out on the organisation of the noho was huge.
There’s no way I would have had the confidence
I had to do my whānau wānanga without that
experience. It’s not just organisation—it’s health
and safety, preparing for every possibility, knowing
how to cater for kai, how to transport, how to book
things so everything runs smoothly and safely—the
things you never learn in a classroom.
Terina also spoke on the importance of the Te
Koronga direction when it came to community
engagement:
All the mahi Te Koronga does gives us that [expe-
rience & skill], even that grounding in Karitāne,
making us work in the communities, all that stu
that isn’t just writing, is what gives us that juice to
be better people for our people.
There are so many aspects of being a researcher,
especially a Māori researcher working with Māori
communities, that require much more than being
able to produce a body of work in written form.
We still acknowledge the importance of the writ-
ing and our academic work, such as this Special
Issue. For us, without our whānau, without our
communities, the research does not have the same
value; therefore, their contribution, their needs
and their mana have to always be met.
Tuākana–tēina
As already mentioned, the tuākana-tēina relation-
ship has been important for tauira who are coming
through Te Koronga. Tuākana are present at many
of the noho marae, often leading kaupapa through-
out the weekend, so tauira can see people like them
and whakawhanaunga with them. The Physical
Education Māori Association (PEMA) has also
been influential. PEMA is a student-led kaupapa
for Māori students enrolled in physical education.
Many tauira of Te Koronga both past and present
have been representatives on PEMA throughout
the years, opening more opportunities to share
our journeys with other tauira. As Rawiri explains:
When I first got into PEMA this guy [Ben—a cur-
rent Te Koronga PhD student] was tumuaki tuarua.
That’s where it started. I had no academic ambi-
tions whatsoever, but as the years progressed and
I stayed on PEMA, we helped out at noho marae.
That was where I got my first experience of you all,
what you all get up to, how you operate, and I was
like whoa. That’s where I felt most comfortable, in
that environment with you all.
FIGURE 3 End of year Whānau Fit celebrations, 2016
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MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
We have also had other kaupapa, such as Whānau
Fit, which was led by Terina, a weekly fitness
session that incorporated te ao Māori and te reo
Māori into exercise. Tash shares her experience:
I think Whānau Fit was a really big thing for me.
I really tied that to Te Koronga. It was a way to,
because I was pretty shy and didn’t talk much, but
I could go play and that was a way of interacting.
Te Whānau o Te Koronga
As Te Koronga has grown, so too has our kaupapa,
goals and aspirations. Because of this, many of us
have returned home, physically leaving what was
once our safe research environment, where we
could go and see sta of Te Koronga. Although
it was an anxious time for many of us returning
home, those of us who have gone home now know
that we have the ability, skillset and purpose to
do so. Moreover, we have found ways to stay con-
nected and continue to support one another from
wherever we may be.
Those of us off-campus connect via Zoom
every Monday 9–11am. We have still been on
hand for the other students who are on the road
to submission, simply because we know how
important it is, not only for us, but for the kau-
papa of Te Koronga, to continue to be whānau
driven in the pursuit of academic excellence. Ben,
who is currently halfway through his PhD, along
with Terina, who completed her PhD this year,
returned to Ōtaki, where they now both live with
their son, Taiaroa, shares how Te Koronga:
It’s a place, it’s a people, we follow wherever the
kaupapa goes, but at the same time we take our
own branches to our own corners of the world.
We take it to Ōtaki, to Taranaki, to Kahungunu.
It’s a people, not a place, not screens and desks
and oces. The times I’ve been here we’ve had
an oce, we haven’t had an oce, we’ve been on
Zoom now we’ve got an oce, so it doesn’t really
matter. We’re a collective, and as long as there are
students, Te Koronga is going to exist.
Ngahuia, who began and completed her PhD in Te
Tairāwhiti, expands on Ben’s kōrero explaining:
This idea of Te Whare o Te Koronga, you can
understand that as a physical whare, but as we all
know, it isn’t actually ... it’s that karakia, Tēnei au,
that’s Te Whare o Te Koronga and it’s the unseen
and that invisible thread, without end that links us
all together. “Tēnei au Te Koronga” is the ngako,
it’s that embodied knowing, opening up to your
tīpuna and knowing that you’re both capable and
worthy of excellence because that’s what your
tīpuna are.
FIGURE 4 Te Koronga Monday via Zoom
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MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Whānau and the way we support one another
simply by showing up is a big reason why Te
Koronga has been so successful in producing
young Māori researchers. Further to this, the
aspirations that surround our understanding of
whānau are applied to our own research. We take
this fundamental aspect with us into our communi-
ties we work alongside. Our relationships with our
communities do not end with the research; rather,
they are the start of a forever whānau.
Conclusion
As we reflect on the past 10 years, replaying
memorable moments, we feel like spectators who
have had the best seats in the house. It is now
the start of 2023, Te Koronga will become part
of the Centre of Indigenous Science and we have
our first Te Koronga professor. In the months
ahead, we will witness Anne-Marie Jackson’s
inaugural professorial lecture, Ngahuia Mita and
Terina Raureti will be graduating with doctor-
ates, Tash Burton with her master’s and Nick
Parata his honours. Importantly, Tash and Nick
will be the first students supervised by Dr Chanel
Phillips to graduate (and Chanel was the very
first Te Koronga PhD graduate)! Among all the
chaos that comes with postgraduate studies, these
are the moments that we are reminded of how
incredibly privileged we are to be a part of such
a great kaupapa and whānau. Over the past 10
years, we have moved from Anne-Marie’s oce
to Room 118 in Union Court, to the small library,
to the “Tēnei au” room in the School of Physical
Education, to Zoom, separated from the School
of Physical Education, Sport and Exercise Science
because of systemic racism, moved to the College
of Education as a safe haven, to now having our
own whare that we will soon open. At the 2022
Te Koronga research symposium, Professor Linda
Smith said, “Excellence requires the growth of
others, the reciprocation”—the very epitome of
a kaupapa that has been instilled in us from day
one. Te Koronga has never been just about out
personal academic journey. We all have taken
on the responsibility to continue to reciprocate
this whether that be with tauira, our whānau or
our communities. That is the very essence of Te
Koronga and is key to the ongoing kaupapa of
Māori research excellence within the academy.
From beginning to end: Tēnei au Te Koronga.
Glossary
hapū subtribe
hui meeting
iwi tribe
kai food
kaitiaki guardian
karakia prayer
kaumātua elders
kaupapa purpose, subject,
programme
kauwhanga sacred passageway
kete wānanga knowledge basket
kōrero to speak, discussion
kuia female elders
mahi work
mana honour, respect
mātauranga Māori knowledge
mauri ora knowing who we are
motu country
ngako essence
noho marae overnight stay at ancestral
meeting house
rōpū group
pūmotomoto passageway
taiohi youth
tauira student/s
te ao Māori Māori worldview
te reo Māori the Māori language
teina/tēina younger sibling/s
tīpuna ancestors
tuakana/tuākana older sibling/s
tumuaki tuarua deputy principal
waka canoe
wānanga to meet, discuss
whakapapa lineage
whakawhanaunga have a relationship, get to
know one another,
whānau family, extended family
whare wānanga place of higher learning
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.14
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
References
Jackson, A.-M., Hakopa, H., Jackson, S., Phillips, C.,
Karaka, D., Stevenson, K., Pohatu, L., McDowell,
G., Cunningham, C., Mita, N., Pocklington, H.,
& Barsdell, H. (2015). Te Koronga. Pathways of
Māori postgraduate research excellence: Part 1. In
International Indigenous Development Research
Conference 2014 Proceedings (pp. 93–100). Ngā
Pae o te Māramatanga.
McAllister, T. G., Kidman, J., Rowley, O., & Theodore,
R. F. (2019). Why isn’t my professor Māori? A snap-
shot of the academic workforce in New Zealand
universities. MAI Journal=, 8(2), 235–249. https://
doi.org/ggh5h4
Naepi, S. (2019). Why isn’t my professor Pasifika?
A snapshot of the academic workforce in New
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Phillips, C., Berghan, J., Clifford, A., Doyle, H., &
Totoro, V. (2022). Mauriora and the environment:
A Kaupapa Māori exploration of adventure therapy
in Aotearoa, New Zealand. Journal of the Royal
Society of New Zealand, 52(Suppl. 1), 144–159.
https://doi.org/j3bt
Stats NZ. (2020, June 15). Education outcomes improv-
ing for Māori and Pacific peoples [Press release].
https://www.stats.govt.nz/news/education-out-
comes-improving-for-maori-and-pacific-peoples
Te Pōkai Tara. (2022). Building Māori success. https://
www.universitiesnz.ac.nz/sector-research-issues-
facts-and-stats/building-māori-and-pacific-success/
building-māori-success
University of Otago. (2022, June 23). Matariki heralds
launch of new Centre of Indigenous Science [Press
release]. https://www.otago.ac.nz/communications-
oce/news/otago841829.html
Whatahoro, H. T., & S. P. Smith. (1913). The lore of the
Whare-wananga, Volume 1: Te kauwae-runga, or
‘things celestial’; or teachings of the Māori College
on religion, cosmogony, and history. Polynesian
Society.
WALKING OUR PEPEHA
The inuence of whakapapa on health and well-being
Chelsea Cunningham*
Anne-Marie Jackson†
Hauiti Hakopa‡
Abstract
Whakapapa is the essence of health and well-being. Whakapapa is a tool, created by our tūpuna to
frame our existence as Māori. By identifying the names of places and people, we create a timeline of
locators of who we are, where we come from and where we exist today. The opportunity to “walk
our pepeha” enables us to not only identify these places but also to engage with them, making the
connection stronger. It is through whakapapa that we can identify who and where we come from; this
is vital to identity and therefore to health and well-being. In this article we examine the experiences of
rangatahi engaging with and learning about their whakapapa. Interviews with kaumātua contributed to
developing a culturally safe and engaging case study titled “Walking Our Pepeha”. The article discusses
two key emerging themes from this case study—whakapapa and identity—and explores why these
two concepts are pivotal for Māori health and well-being. The lead author then explains how this case
study influenced her future and how this research continues to be applied today.
Keywords
health and well-being, identity, Ngāti Kahungunu, pepeha, rangatahi, whakapapa, whānau
Introduction
Ko Kahuranaki, Te Mata o Rongokako ngā maunga
Ko Ngaruroro te awa
Ko Takitimu te waka
Ko Ngāti Hori te hapū
Ko Kohupātiki te marae
Nō Ngāti Kahungunu ahau
* Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Kāi Tahu. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin,
New Zealand. Email: chelsea.cunningham@otago.ac.nz
† Ngāti Whātua, Ngāti Kahu o Whangaroa, Ngā Puhi, Te Roroa, Ngāti Wai. Associate Professor, Māori Physical Education and Health,
TeKoronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.
‡ Ngāti Tūwharetoa. Co-founder, Te Koronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.
DOI: 10.20507/MAIJournal.2023.12.1.2
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.16
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Kahuranaki and Te Mata o Rongokako are the mountains
Ngaruroro is the river
Takitimu is the waka
Ngāti Hori is the subtribe
Kohupātiki is the meeting house
I am from Ngāti Kahungunu
The above pepeha outlines the whakapapa of the
lead author and all participants of this research
in relation to the maunga, awa, waka, iwi, hapū,
marae and tūpuna we connect to as descendants
of Ngāti Kahungunu. By identifying the names of
places and people, we create a timeline of locators
of who we are, where we come from and how we
exist today. According to Hakopa (2011), “Māori
position themselves geographically and culturally
in the world using a variety of methods such as
whakapapa and pepeha” (p. 3). The whakapapa
that defines our geographical and cultural cen-
tre is captured concisely in the pepeha above; it
describes how we position ourselves within this
world as a Ngāti Kahungunu descendant.
The aim of this article is to show how recon-
necting rangatahi to their ancestral landscapes
reaffirms identity and whakapapa by uplifting
their voices. Kaupapa Māori theory underpinned
this research, informed the methods used for this
research and provided the lens for understanding
the critical insights derived from the rangatahi
interviews.
This research was driven by our whānau,
for our whānau. At the time this research was
undertaken I (the lead author) was a 24-year-
old rangatahi Māori. Rangatahi in our whānau,
including myself, have faced diculties and chal-
lenges in understanding our identity and our
culture. After completing a Postgraduate Diploma
in Physical Education in 2014 and reflecting on
the key findings from that research, I wanted to
explore further how important identity is to health
and well-being (Cunningham, 2014). Following
that insight, I began to consider how I could apply
whakapapa as a means to explore cultural identity.
Exploring cultural identity consisted of mak-
ing the conscious eort to visit places expressed
in the pepeha above that are foundational to my
whakapapa, such as my marae, Kohupātiki, my
maunga, Kahuranaki and Te Mata o Rongokako,
and my awa, Ngaruroro. I also began thinking
about how we were connected to these places
and why they are so influential to our lives. With
a growing desire to learn more, a passion for
whakapapa emerged.
As the oldest mokopuna, I have always been
protective of my younger cousins, and I am proud
to say that I had a hand in raising them. I have
seen them really struggle as they grow into young
men and women. Alongside the uncertainties of
identity, their struggles were partly driven by the
loss of our cousin 16 years ago to suicide. As I
and my cousins grew and came to grips with the
reality of what happened, I think we all found it
dicult to accept. Although it took 10 or 11 years,
it was reconnecting to my ancestral landscapes that
helped me through the healing process of the loss
of my cousin. It was here that I found my master’s
topic: the influence of whakapapa on health and
well-being.
This article is structured as follows. First, I
explain the methods used and provide some insight
into the rangatahi participants. I then discuss two
key themes that emerged from the data collected:
whakapapa and identity. The focus then turns to
the case study, titled “Walking Our Pepeha”. This
section explains what the average day during the
case study looked like and how the data collected
prior to the case study helped structure our days.
The day we focus on in this article is the day of
our hīkoi up the maunga Te Mata o Rongokako.
Methods
For this research, six kaumātua and pakeke inter-
views were conducted for the purpose of acquiring
knowledge from those who were experts in the
field of whakapapa, identity, Ngāti Kahungunu
and physical activity. The kōrero and knowledge
from the kaumātua and pakeke interviews assisted
to then develop and conduct a case study of recon-
necting rangatahi to significant places within Ngāti
Kahungnunu. The significant places included Te
Mata o Rongokako, te maunga o Kahuranaki, te
awa o Ngaruroro, Kohupātiki Marae and Ōtatara
Pā.
The rangatahi involved in this case study are
first cousins to the lead author. To protect the
identity of the rangatahi, they will be referred to as
Rangatahi 1, 2, 3 or 4. This case study was under-
taken in 2016; therefore, the following profiles
describe the four rangatahi at the time of the case
study and also include where they all are now at
the time of writing.
Rangatahi 1 is of Ngāti Kahungunu descent.
She was 18 years old at the time of interview, had
WALKING OUR PEPEHA 17
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
recently finished high school and was entering
her first year of nursing at the Eastern Institute of
Technology. Rangatahi 1 now works at Lower Hutt
Hospital as a full-time surgical nurse. Rangatahi 2
is of Ngāti Kahungunu descent. She was 16 years
of age at the time of interview and was attend-
ing Karamu High School. After completing high
school Rangatahi 2 attended the University of
Otago to study accounting. She now works for Te
Tumu Paeroa as trust co-ordinator. Rangatahi 3
is of Ngāti Kahungunu descent. She was 15 years
old at the time of interview. Rangatahi 3 was then
enrolled with Te Kura Pounamu, a correspond-
ence school. Rangatahi 3 now has a 2-year-old
son and is a full-time māmā. Rangatahi 4 is of
Ngāti Kahungunu descent. He was 14 years old at
the time of interview and was attending Hastings
Boys’ High School. Rangatahi 4 is now in his
second year of a plumbing apprenticeship with
Cape Plumbing.
Semi-structured interviews were conducted with
the rangatahi post-reconnection with all significant
sites, first as a whole group then one on one. The
reason for this was that some rangatahi preferred
the group kōrero while others preferred the one-
on-one kōrero. The same questions were asked in
both processes: however, the format was flexible
to permit rangatahi to explain their thoughts and
discuss ideas further. University of Otago Ethics
approval was granted (F15/008). Analysis of the
interview data highlighted key emerging themes.
The first key theme that will be discussed in this
article is whakapapa, followed by identity.
Whakapapa
Rangatahi are an important part of our society.
For Māori, it is our rangatahi who are our connec-
tions to the future and are the continuation of our
whakapapa, both literally and in terms of knowl-
edge of whakapapa. This whakapapa connection
is more vital than ever, with data from the 2018
Te Kupenga Survey of Māori Well-being showing
that 55.5% of rangatahi aged 15–24 years know
their ancestral maunga, and 28.4% know all their
pepeha, which includes iwi, hapū, maunga, awa,
waka and tūpuna (Stats NZ, 2020). In order for
whakapapa to be expressed positively, rangatahi
need explicit and intimate knowledge of who
they are as Māori (whakapapa identity) linked to
knowledge of where they come from (geographic
and cultural centre). This research proposed to
make these links to knowledge of whakapapa
and identity for rangatahi through reconnection
to ancestral landscapes. Specifically, this research
was about our rangatahi identity, about being
Ngāti Kahungunu located within the rohe of Ngāti
Kahungunu and about being connected intimately
with significant sites within our tribal region.
Whakapapa is widely thought of in general
terms as genealogy; yet it is more complex than
tracing and reciting genealogy. Barlow (1991)
describes whakapapa as “the genealogical descent
of all living things from the gods to the present
time; [and as the] basis for the organisation of
knowledge in respect of the creation and devel-
opment of all things” (p. 173). Hakopa (2011)
concludes that whakapapa “is also the instrument
whereby Māori derived their intimate connections
to the land and how they articulate their sense of
belonging to their sacred places, stretching back
hundreds of years” (p. 4). Clearly, it is through
whakapapa that we are able to identify who and
where we come from, which forms the background
to identity.
Identity is a central component in the Māori
world; it is an intimate connection to who we are
and where we are from. Hakopa (2011) notes
that whakapapa is “the source of [Māori] rights
to tūrangawaewae, their place to stand in the
world, and their personal mana and tapu” (p. 4).
Te Rito (2007), meanwhile, explains that whaka-
papa plays a significant role “in the resilience of
Māori and the ability [for Māori] to spring back
up” (p. 4). The relationship Māori have to the
land is critical. We as Māori have grown from
the land—from Papatūānuku—and having the
knowledge of whakapapa keeps us grounded to
the Earth (Te Rito, 2007).
Knowledge of whakapapa is where Māori
derive our sense of identity. Hakopa (2011) notes
that whakapapa is a central component to the
Māori world because it “encompasses Māori
notions of identity” (p. 4). Te Rito (2007) high-
lights that the act of depositing the afterbirth into
a tree, which then grows out of the land, “is all
part of maintaining our roots and our identity as
ospring of our forebears” (p. 1). Furthermore,
whakapapa “determines the cosmological con-
nections to the heavens, the Earth and all the
living things within the environment” (Hakopa,
2011, p. 4).
Following their engagement at each site, I
observed that the rangatahi participants gained a
strong understanding of what whakapapa means
to them. The following are some of their reflections.
Rangatahi 2 reflected on what whakapapa
means to her: “Whakapapa to me is my ances-
tors and family before me that have done certain
things with their lives and made many decisions
that have eventually led to me being on this Earth.”
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MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Rangatahi 4 talked about the importance of con-
nection to our past: “Whakapapa is important to
me because it links us to our past and it is impor-
tant because we need to know where we came
from and what our family history is.” Rangatahi
1, meanwhile, reflected back to her pepeha to help
her understand whakapapa: “If I were to define it
in my own words I would say that whakapapa is
my family tree which connects me to my marae,
my mountain and my river.” Lastly, Rangatahi 3
reflected on what she believed whakapapa to be:
“Whakapapa] lets you know who your relations
are and how families are joined together.”
The quotes from the four rangatahi show
that they all have an understanding of their own
whakapapa connection to place and people. It is
whakapapa that allows us to understand who we
are, and where we come from (Graham, 2009).
This connection and engagement give rangatahi a
sense of identity and establish those whakapapa
connections we have to people, land and atua
(George, 2010). It is our history and stories that
allow us to understand whakapapa and these con-
nections. Understanding the depth and breadth
of whakapapa was a fundamental learning for
the case study. The rangatahi participants had
some semblance of whakapapa knowledge prior
to the case study, but this was bolstered once
we engaged with all of the sites. The learning of
this whakapapa knowledge also contributed to a
deeper understanding of their identity, the second
key theme that emerged from the case study.
Identity
Identity is defined by Baumeister (1986) as “an
interpretation of the self” (p. 4). From a Māori
perspective, Mason Durie (1985) explains that
identity “derives much from family characteris-
tics” (p. 485). He adds that the searching question
of “What do you do?” in terms of occupation is
less heard in Māori society; rather it is “Where are
you from?” or “Who are your people?” (M. Durie,
1985, p. 485). This idea of identity being formed
from family characteristics, as a group rather than
as an individual, is a stark contrast to the Western
idea that an independent lifestyle is associated with
good health (M. Durie, 1985).
Knowledge of identity is important to Māori
and comprises a complex balance of language,
knowledge systems and principles (Hakopa,
2011). However, within this complex mix, the
explicit link between identity and a measure of
wellness is imperative to the drive of this research.
Te Rito (2007) explains that “knowledge of a
sense of identity [is] very important to Māori”
(p. 4) and that a loss of such identity has been a
key factor in the over-representation of Māori in
health measures of contemporary society (Te Puni
Kōkiri, 2011). The eects of this loss are high-
lighted in the many negative health, educational,
crime and violence statistics (Ministry of Health,
2009; Ministry of Youth Development, 2008; Te
Puni Kōkiri, 2006, 2012).
Reconnection to whakapapa and identity
An understanding of whakapapa is an important
consideration in determining identity and the con-
nection to overall health and well-being. As noted
above, Baumeister (1986) describes identity as “an
interpretation of the self” (p. 4). To this, Quince
(2007) adds that a secure and healthy Māori cul-
tural identity thrives when people are able to access
knowledge of the reo and “cultural norms and
practices which are in turn, valued, promoted and
enforced in our larger society and legal systems”
(p. 3). Te Rito (2007) agrees that the importance
of identity and also strong whakapapa connec-
tions is vital to health, stating that “the ‘loss’ of
such identity and whakapapa connection by urban
Māori has been a contributing factor to Māori
being over-represented with regards to the ills of
present society” (p. 4). Further to this, an under-
standing of one’s cultural background may enable
an increase of identification within one’s cultural
group, leading to enhanced well-being. However,
Māori face numerous challenges in maintaining
a sense of identity. For example, Māori live in a
dominantly Westernised Pākehā society, which
has inherently aected Māori cultural identity (Te
Puni Kōkiri, 2011).
Māori identity has many factors of influence for
collective and individual well-being, which include
“ancestral connections through whakapapa or
genealogy, combined with access to ancestral land
as tūrangawaewae, bound together by ancestral
language, [and] te reo Māori” (A. Durie, 1997,
p. 142). Brougham and Harr (2013) discuss this
further, stating that cultural knowledge, such as
an understanding of ancestral links to a mountain,
river, iwi, hapū and marae, as well as having te reo
Māori and being able to recite this cultural knowl-
edge in te reo Māori, is linked to an enhanced
understanding of self-identity. Therefore, it is our
understanding that Māori identity can only be
enhanced by ancestry because “without kin, pre-
sent and past we are literally nothing” (Patterson,
1992, p. 153).
WALKING OUR PEPEHA 19
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
“Walking Your Pepeha”
To address the disconnection of rangatahi from
who they are and their sites of significance, we used
Kaupapa Māori theory and reconnected whānau
to their sites through a case study approach.
Kaupapa Māori theory is firmly grounded in mak-
ing positive outcomes for the collective of the
whānau, hapū and iwi (Mane, 2009). We utilised
a whakapapa approach that we developed through
whenua, which is reflected in the case study and
pūrākau, which in turn are used as a transmis-
sion tool of whakapapa while engaging with the
whenua.
The case study involved taking four ranga-
tahi to ancestral landscapes within the Ngāti
Kahungunu region that we connect to through
whakapapa. As previously mentioned, the aim of
this case study was to engage with each site, share
knowledge of the site, and explain the significance
and how it relates to our whakapapa and identity.
We visited and engaged (e.g., walked, ran or swam)
in particular environments that are important and
significant to all of us as Ngāti Kahungunu (see
Figure 1). For example, many of the places we
visited are those that the lead author and ranga-
tahi participants all identify with when we stand
and recite our pepeha (e.g., “Ko Kahuranaki
te maunga”, “Ko Ngaruroro te awa” and “Ko
Kohupātiki te marae”). At each site, pūrākau
was shared; whether it was the knowledge that I
knew, knowledge the kaumātua and pakeke knew,
knowledge the rangatahi knew or knowledge that
was at the site on information boards. Some of the
sites we had been to before, some of the sites we
visited more than once and for some sites it was
our first time.
As previously mentioned, pepeha outlines our
connection to the maunga, awa, waka, hapū, iwi,
marae, tūpuna and whānau. A pepeha arms our
identity in terms connecting us to our ancestral
landscapes and allowing us to understand who
we are and where we have come from. “Walking
Our Pepeha” enables rangatahi to reconnect to
our ancestral landscapes. When we stand, recite
our pepeha and introduce ourselves, it means so
much to us because we have physically been there
and experienced these places, their mana and
their wairua firsthand. One participant explained
further:
Knowing your maunga, knowing your awa, know-
ing your roto or your landmarks, your tohu whenua
and having the opportunity to walk your pepeha, if
you can walk it’s certainly a lot more meaningful
then sort of writing and saying it not necessarily
knowing where these places are. (Pakeke 1)
Having the chance, as the participant explains,
“to walk your pepeha” opens up opportunities
to “obtain [the] mātauranga” (Heke, 2013, p. 4)
of those who personify that environment. This
would give more meaning to your pepeha if you
have this mātauranga and experience. Another
pakeke participant spoke about how influential
and powerful knowledge can be:
For me I draw strength, strength from the knowl-
edge I get, I mean what’s in a name? It’s the
character of the person that gives you the strength
and it gives you the ihi to admire the genes from
which you came. (Pakeke 2)
FIGURE 1 Left: Whānau on a hīkoi up Te Mata o Rongokako; right: Whānau on a hīkoi at
Tangoio Falls.
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.20
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
This quote expresses how important knowledge
of whakapapa can be. One of the functions of
whakapapa “is to funnel the relation between past,
present and future and tie it together” (Metge,
1995, p. 90). Pakeke 2 adds to Metge’s (1995)
quote by stating that “our history will tell us how
strong we were and we can be strong once again,
if we know the knowledge of the past that gives
us the confidence”, further magnifying the impor-
tance of knowledge of whakapapa.
Pūrākau: Te Mata o Rongokako
In the following sections we would like to bring
forward the voices of the rangatahi Māori of this
research who shared their experience of engaging
with one of the sites, which was the maunga Te
Mata o Rongokako. In doing so, we will describe
a typical day of the case study.
I call each rangatahi the night before to let them
know we will be heading up Te Mata o Rongokako
at 9:00 am. As I am picking each one up the next
morning, we are able to see Rongokako from a
distance, embedded in the land as a maunga, as
seen in Figure 2. Once we get to the car park, we
enter the realm of Rongokako.
Firstly, an explanation of the whakapapa of
Rongokako and our connection to him as Ngāti
Kahungunu is given by the lead author, which had
been recited to her by kaumātua in interviews.
Rongokako was the son of Toto and Tamatea
Arikinui, who was the captain of the Takitimu
waka, which makes Rongokako the grandfather
of Kahungunu, as shown in Figure 3.
The first question we ask the rangatahi is if any-
one knows anything about Rongokako or pūrākau
about how Te Mata came to be. Instantly they
FIGURE 2 Te Mata o Rongokako
FIGURE 3 Whakapapa of Kahungunu
Feet
Stomach
Head
Parikarangaranga
Toto Tamatea Arikinui
Rongokako Muriwhenua
Tamatea Ure-haea Iwipupu
Kahungunu
WALKING OUR PEPEHA 21
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
reply with the well-known story of “the sleeping
giant”. The rangatahi explain to me that a giant
fell in love and was forced to eat his way through
the maunga to prove his love, but he choked and
died: this maunga was his final resting place. We
then ask if they know the name of the giant or the
name of his love interest. One of the rangatahi
replies “Rongokako”, but they are unable to recall
the name of his love, Hine Rākau. It is here that
we begin to tell the story of Rongokako, as it was
told by one of the pakeke participants:
Rongokako was from Waimārama and from the
peak, where it sits today, he guarded the western
boundary. As a guardian he often caused conflict
among other hapū and iwi. The hapū from Pakipaki
(a local township in Ngāti Kahungunu) sent one
of their daughters, Hine Rākau, to divert him to
pursue love rather than aggression. Rongokako
fell in love with Hine Rākau, turning his thoughts
from war to peace, but she too had fallen in love.
Hine Rākau’s hapū therefore gave Rongokako
impossible tasks to prove his love for Hine Rākau,
the last task being to bite his way through the
hills—Rongokako choked and fell to his death.
[The bite can still be seen today and is referred to
as Parikarangaranga; see Figure 2.] His body now
forms the peak known as Te Mata o Rongokako
(the face of Rongokako). Hine Rākau, once she
covered Rongokako’s body with a cloak, leapt to
her own death. Hine Rākau forms the gully base
of the peak, on the Waimārama side. She too has a
maunga named after her, Kohine Rākau (Mt Erin),
which is slightly north from Rongokako.
It is pūrākau such as this one that can be used
as a whakapapa transmission tool for rangatahi.
These stories can provide motivation for positive
change in our rangatahi as they learn about our
past, our tūpuna and our whakapapa. This mode
of learning proved to be beneficial, as Rangatahi
1 commented:
I enjoyed the stories you shared with us because
they were about our whakapapa [and it] made it
more interesting, especially when we were at the
place of the story being told. It’s an easier form
of learning whakapapa and also Māori culture
because it’s more intriguing than just reading a
book, also making it easier to understand the
stories being told.
This quote places emphasis on the strength
of pūrākau as a pedagogical tool (Lee, 2003).
Rangatahi 1 identified that being “at the place of
the story being told” made it more interesting as
it allowed the pūrākau to come to life, as if we
entered the pūrākau itself by being at the place.
Lee (2003) supports this as she describes how
pūrākau were shaped in a way that appealed to
the audiences’ aural, visual and emotive senses.
Pūrākau can also “arouse the imagination, inform
and inspire, warn and persuade, maintain relation-
ships, protocols, rituals and rules” (Lee, 2003, p.
33), further showing that it is an ideal pedagogy
to learn whakapapa.
As we near the highest point of Rongokako,
the rangatahi begin to ask more questions along
the lines of “If Hine Rākau was his [Rongokako’s]
love and he died, how did Kahungunu come from
him?” We turn to the pūrākau about Rongokako
attending the whare wānanga in the Wairarapa
and share it with the rangatahi:
Although Rongokako was intelligent and well
built, he was still seen as a failure to many of the
tohunga at the whare wānanga because of his older
age. For this reason, when it came to the final tests,
he did not partake. At the very last test however,
he begged to join. The test was to collect a piece
of rimu-rapa (kelp), which grew on the rocks of an
island o the coast, without getting wet. With con-
stant begging to join in on this last test, the tohunga
decided to grant him the opportunity. To all of
their amazement he succeeded. With learning com-
plete, Rongokako now had to look for a love, the
maiden of his choice, Muri-Whenua, who was from
Hauraki. However, many of the students had their
eye on her; his biggest rival would be Paoa, who
was also from Hauraki. Paoa oered Rongokako
a seat in his waka, but he declined and preferred
to travel by land. Rongokako purposefully gave
Paoa a good head start and when he knew Paoa
would be in a specific place he then took his giant
strides so he reached that place just before Paoa
did. Rongokako’s footprints can be seen today, his
second footstep is near Cape Kidnappers, his next
near Whangawehi on the Mahia Peninsula, then
in Whangarā beyond Gisborne. It was here that
Paoa realised Rongokako was playing with him
and if he were to succeed in getting Muri-Whenua
he would have to trap Rongokako somehow to
stop him. This place where Paoa made the trap is
known as Tawhiti-a-Paoa (Trap of Paoa). However,
Rongokako strode far over this trap and was first
to the maiden’s home and secured Muri-Whenua
as his bride. They went on to have a son, Tamatea
Ure-haea, who then married Iwipupu and had a son
named Kahungunu, thus explaining the connection
between Rongokako and Kahungunu.
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.22
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Although there is a pūrākau of Te Mata o
Rongokako, it was still important to share other
pūrākau of Rongokako because of his feats and
achievements. One of the positive elements of
pūrākau is that they demonstrate the strength,
intelligence, determination, hard work and pur-
pose Māori have rather than modern-day negative
Māori stereotypes. A. Durie (1997) expands this
thinking, explaining that “for these connections
to continue to flourish family members must seek
to retain the essence of narrative and storying for
the benefit of our future generations” (p. 161).
Rangatahi 4 shared his thoughts on the use of
pūrākau:
I think the stories were a good way of learning
about our whakapapa as they kept us tuned in
and interested in what was being said unlike if
we were learning from a book or being told like a
history lesson.
This rangatahi raises the idea of the pedagogical
approach used by comparing it to “learning from a
book” or a “history lesson”, stating that engaging
in pūrākau kept him “tuned in and interested”.
There are varied ways to present pūrākau, and
presentation is highly dependent on the narra-
tor and the context and purpose (Lee, 2008).
Therefore, based on the rangatahi quote above,
you could assume that the narrator did well to
engage the rangatahi and that being within the
actual environment of the pūrākau being told
not only helped to fire their imagination but also
achieved the general function of pūrākau, which is
“predetermined by the need to pass on knowledge
in an orally based culture” (Lee, 2008 p. 64).
Both rangatahi quotes above link to the
Kaupapa Māori theory principle of ako Māori.
Smith (2003) defines ako Māori as “teaching
and learning settings and practices that can be
closely and effectively connected with the cultural
backgrounds and life circumstances of Māori
communities” (p. 9). The core issue is that Māori
students are culturally dierent from non-Māori,
and thus have dierent learning and assessments
needs that need to be met in a way that is cul-
turally appropriate (Bishop & Glynn, 1999; M.
Durie, 2001; Mahuika et al., 2011). If ako Māori
helps Māori learn more efficiently, then it must be
utilised. Being “culturally appropriate” could also
influence rangatahi cultural identity. An example
of this was given by Rangatahi 1:
The stories we heard taught me a lot about
my mountain and river. It taught me how I am
connected to each place as well as further allowing
me to see how I am connected to my whakapapa in
more ways than one. I do like the fact these stories
have taught me more about my Māori culture in
relation to my self-identity.
A secure identity is vital to health and well-being
(M. Durie, 2001). This shows that reconnection
to ancestral sites and sharing pūrākau positively
impact more than just the incidental physical aspect
of health and well-being; they also influence the
wairua, hinengaro and whānau aspects of health.
Utilising pūrākau as a whakapapa transmission
tool proved to be constructive for rangatahi to
learn not only because of the storytelling method
but because they could understand how they were
connected to each place and understand the influ-
ence of whakapapa. Furthermore, being physically
present within the environment that the pūrākau
were about amplified this connection; this con-
nection and understanding, as well as the physical
engagement, enhanced the health and well-being
of the rangatahi.
Conclusion
This article has put the voices of rangatahi at
the forefront and demonstrated that reconnect-
ing to ancestral landscapes has the ability to
rearm identity and knowledge of whakapapa.
The “Walking Our Pepeha” case study validates
an initiative that can expose rangatahi to whaka-
papa, mātauranga, te reo Māori and enhanced
cultural identity, which then leads to enhanced
health and well-being as a result. Because this
research involves collaboration with whānau,
it has the potential to enhance whānau health
and well-being and whānau identity. At the hapū
level (Ngāti Hori), it also contributes to extended
whānau pursuit of whakapapa knowledge, and
reconnection to ancestral sites. Further to this, at
an iwi level, it can support enhanced iwi health and
well-being and also iwi environmental sustainabil-
ity and awareness as more Māori begin to engage
with and reconnect to ancestral sites. Outcomes
of this research can also contribute more gener-
ally to rangatahi Māori across the country from
all iwi by using the same application within their
own whānau, hapū and iwi.
This research was highly motivated by whānau
experiences; seeing the positive eects from the
case study has continued my motivation to pur-
sue more knowledge and understanding because
we know that there are many other whānau who
are living with the same challenges. The journey
of understanding whakapapa is no easy task.
WALKING OUR PEPEHA 23
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
What we have come to learn is that the journey
of discovering whakapapa is not about finding
something that is “lost”; whakapapa is something
that is within you, that needs to be rediscovered,
experienced and lived. The purpose of this research
journey was to deepen whakapapa connections
and reinforce health and well-being for whānau.
With the success of this research, after the com-
pletion of my master’s thesis I decided to continue
with this growing passion of mine by advancing on
this very kaupapa of reconnection to whakapapa
by enrolling in a PhD.
My PhD is very much an extension of the
research outlined in this article. I am currently in
the last year of my PhD, and the title of my thesis
is A Kōrero with the Maunga, which derives from
the whakapapa not only of my research journey
but also of my personal journey of self-discovery,
identity and well-being. Whakapapa for me started
with a visit to my maunga, and ever since then
I haven’t stopped. I’ve been able to share those
moments with my loved ones and also taken that
love across to my awa and pā. This PhD kau-
papa involves everything I love and am passionate
about: my whānau, whakapapa, well-being and
physical education. Moreover, I’ve been able to
witness the influence it has had on the growth of
my whānau and our pursuit to understand our
collective whānau identity. My love and addic-
tion to connection and whakapapa, particularly
with maunga, has transformed and challenged
my thinking, and allowed me to grow in a way in
which I can express my thinking through writing. I
have high expectations for myself and my whānau
for the future, but for now I am invested in pro-
ducing a thesis that is embedded in and guided by
my whakapapa and our whānau stories of recon-
nection and resilience, one that my whānau, past,
present and future, will be proud of.
Mauri ora.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, to my whānau, not only for your contri-
bution and time given towards this kaupapa, but
also for your continued aroha and support. This
research could have never been done without
you. Thank you to my supervisors, Anne-Marie
Jackson and Hauiti Hakopa, for guiding me and
trusting me throughout this journey. Thank you
to my Te Koronga whānau for all of your tautoko.
Finally, thank you to the University of Otago; an
Otago Māori scholarship funded this research and
provided financial support that I am extremely
grateful for.
Glossary
ako Māori Māori pedagogies
aroha kindness, aection, love,
compassion
atua deity
awa river
hapū subtribe
hīkoi walk
hinengaro consciousness, mind, thought
ihi essential force
iwi tribe
kaumātua elders
kaupapa purpose
kōrero talk, discussion
māmā mother
mana prestige, status, authority,
influence, integrity; honour,
respect
marae courtyard
mātauranga Māori knowledge
maunga mountain
mokopuna grandchild
pā home; fortified village
Pākehā New Zealander of European
descent
pakeke adult
Papatūānuku earth mother
pepeha tribal saying
pūrākau traditional stories
rangatahi youth
rohe tribal region
roto lake
tapu sacred
te reo Māori the Māori language
tautoko support
tohu whenua landmarks
tohunga expert
tūpuna ancestors
tūrangawaewae place of belonging
waka canoe
wairua spiritual soul, essence
whakapapa genealogy
whare wānanga university, place of higher
learning; traditionally, places
where tohunga taught the
sons of rangatira their people’s
knowledge of history, genealogy
and religious practice
whānau family
whenua land; placenta
C. CUNNINGHAM ET AL.24
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
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This article was developed from lead author
Chelsea Cunningham’s Master of Physical
Education thesis, with support from her supervi-
sors, Associate Professor Anne-Marie Jackson
and Dr Hauiti Hakopa. Chelsea completed
her master’s thesis, titled Nō Wai, Ko Wai?
The Influence of Whakapapa on Health and
Well-being, in 2016. This article is a dissemi-
nation of some of the key findings from that
research. Chelsea is currently in her final year
of her PhD studies, and her doctoral thesis is
titled A Kōrero with the Maunga: Exploring the
Significance of Whakapapa on Whānau Well-
being. Chelsea is also an Assistant Research
Fellow for TeKoronga.
TRACING THE INTERSECTIONS OF
WĀHINE MĀORI, WHAKAPAPA AND
MANA IN THE NATIVE LAND COURT,
19TH CENTURY AOTEAROA
Inano Taripo-Walter*
Abstract
Connection to land through whakapapa is premised on mana inherited at birth from the atua. These
fundamental principles have supported land claims in the Native Land Court since 1865 and were
of importance to Ngāti Kahungunu women in the late 19th century. Yet, exactly how whakapapa
and mana informed cases for wāhine Māori has been dicult to examine, due to the omnipresent
patriarchal workings of the Native Land Court and its comprehension of customary principles. This
article highlights the interconnected relationship between whakapapa and mana, wāhine Māori and the
Native Land Court in Hawke’s Bay and adds to a more balanced gendered scholarship of the Native
Land Court. I argue that the power of whakapapa and mana transcended into a Western infrastructure
of land legislation and management—one of the first times these two systems of law had to intersect.
Furthermore, for a small period in New Zealand’s nation-building histories, the Native Land Court
respected these principles and also provided a platform for Māori women to become equal players
in the management and distribution of tribal lands within a European legal framework. Yet, wāhine
Māori involvement in tribal land aairs was not uncommon in Māori society because of whakapapa
and mana. Centring wāhine Māori is vital to tribal narratives and history more broadly, but also in
tracing the intersections of gendered roles in traditional Māori society, and European society, which
was dependent on colonial patriarchal operations upheld by the Native Land Court.
Keywords
colonialism, mana, Mana Wāhine, Native Land Court, whakapapa, women
Ko Inano tōku ingoa
Nō roto mai ‘au i te ‘ōire Arorangi Vaka Puaikura te tapere ō Tumu-te-varovaro
Ko Ikurangi te maunga
Ko Apai-pai-moana te vaka
Ko Ngāti Makea te ngāti
Ko Taripo tōku ingoa kōpū tangata
* Cook Islands Māori, Tahitian. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.
Email: inano.walter@otago.ac.nz
DOI: 10.20507/MAIJournal.2023.12.1.3
I. TARIPO-WALTER26
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Nō Tumu-te-varovaro e Akatokamanāva mai ‘au
Inano is my name
I am from the district Arorangi that is in the Puaikura subdistrict of Rarotonga
Ikurangi is my mountain
Apai-pai-moana is my canoe
Ngāti Makea is my tribe
I descend from the Taripo family
I am from Rarotonga and Mauke
My ‘akapapa connects me to Tumu-te-Varovaro
(Rarotonga) through my tupuna tane and
Akatokamanāva (Mauke) through my tupuna
va‘ine in the Southern Cook Islands. I have papa‘ā
heritage through my father and I was raised
and have lived my whole life in Aotearoa New
Zealand. I was born into a network of strong
va‘ine Māori and they are the drivers of social
change in our kōpū. Thus, as a history scholar I
am interested in Polynesian women’s influences
during key moments of critical change. The find-
ings from this article are based on my master’s
thesis written in 2017, and the impetus for this
project was driven by my children’s Māori heritage
(Ngāti Kahungunu), to foreground the inspiring
mana wāhine they descend from and who were key
drivers of social change in 19th century Aotearoa.
Introduction
Airini Donnelly, Arihi Te Nahu and Hera Te
Upokoiri were all prominent women from Ngāti
Kahungunu exercising their mana through the
Native Land Court. Kenehuru, meanwhile, was
from Ngāti Mahuta. Although not from the Ngāti
Kahungunu region, her case provides valuable
insight into the overlap of customary marriage
practices and Western marriage. In this article, I
use these four women to make the point that they
were active participants educated and well-versed
in the operations of the Native Land Court who
held the whakapapa and mana to be able to do
so. The Native Land Court remains a central site
for investigating the injustices faced by Māori
during the 19th century, yet few studies have
analysed the Native Land Court within a gender-
specific framework (Walter, 2017). Scholars to
date have not focused directly on Māori women’s
experiences of the Native Land Court. As Williams
and Hohepa (1996) state, it was a “patriarchal
institution in the way it was organised and, in its
operations” (p.27). Thus, I start by outlining the
framework for this project developed from Mana
Wāhine theory and historical methods to reveal
wāhine Māori narratives. Next, an overview of
whakapapa and mana and connection to land for
women sets the scene. I am not so concerned with
asserting the workings and legal infrastructure and
language of the Native Land Court here as this
has been thoroughly examined already. Rather,
I aim to shed light on the fluidity and power of
whakapapa and mana, and to privilege the voices
of wāhine Māori through four case studies. Mana
Wāhine theory is utilised to foreground the murki-
ness and colonisation tactics of the Native Land
Court. I argue here that this murkiness stemmed
from the Native Land Court’s inability to wholly
understand customary practices, rather than an
initial “goodwill and intent” by the Native Land
Court judges and administrators for fair legal land
processes.
Prior to European arrival, Māori land was
owned collectively, based on Māori customary
practices that were upheld by a kinship structure of
whānau, hapū and iwi documented extensively by
the likes of Biggs and Jones (1995), Ballara (1998)
and more recently Stevens and Brown (2022). The
context in New Zealand in the 1860s was that
customary law was still paramount in areas where
there was a dense Māori population, but there was
an expectation by colonists that customary laws
would eventually become obsolete (Boast, 2013).
Formation of the Native Land Court along with
its associated legislation represented a turning
point in the struggle for land control in colonial
New Zealand. To achieve its prime directive—of
transferring native communal land to individual
title—the Native Land Court had to grapple with
the principles of customary practice (or not) and
understand how these could be reconciled with
European legal systems (Boast, 2013). Each case
that went before the Native Land Court involved
lengthy debates about the historical and cultural
settings of the land and its claimants. They also
included a recognition of tribal variations in tenure
practices (Williams, 1999). Such discussions were
central components of customary decision making
around land and should have assured representa-
tive and equitable outcomes for Māori.
From 1865 onwards, the overarching goal for
policymakers was to bring customary lore and
European law under a united jurisdiction and early
TRACING THE INTERSECTIONS OF WĀHINE MĀORI 27
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
policymakers had to proceed in a way that would
not immediately disrupt relationships between
Māori and Pākehā (Ward, 1974). British colonies
achieved global expansion by forcibly removing
Indigenous peoples o their land through mas-
sacre and introduced diseases, such as in the case
of Indigenous Australians (Jalata, 2013). To avoid
the same level of scrutiny, politicians and leaders
were initially cautious in their approach to secure
land throughout New Zealand (Moon, 2012). A
“resourceful” system of land exchange in New
Zealand was then created as a response to imperial
domination and was the beginning of major land
loss for Māori (Walter, 2017).
Mana Wāhine theory
The injustices of the Native Land Court’s land
grabbing have predominately been revealed
through the lens of Māori men (Boast, 1999,
2013; Williams, 1999). The Pākehā-controlled
specialised Native Land Court allowed tradi-
tional communal landholdings to be transferred
to individual title, making it easier for Pākehā to
purchase land. Commonly cited as a “land grab-
bing engine”, the Native Land Court has been
harshly critiqued by historians and law experts
(Williams, 1999)—and rightly so as ongoing
eects of land loss and colonisation continue for
Māori today. Kawharu (1977) contests that the
law and the Native Land Court were a “veritable
engine of destruction for any tribe’s ambition for
long term and secure land tenure” (p. 15). Yet a key
area of analysis by scholars that remains nascent
is the narratives of Māori women in the Native
Land Court. Boast (2008) proposes that “the role
played by women in the Native Land Court and
Crown granting process is not well understood and
could do with more research” (p. 83). Being both
Māori and female in the 19th century meant being
entangled with multiple oppressions arising from
sexism, racism and colonisation. Mana wāhine
knowledge systems faced spiritual questioning,
and those very same institutions that were crucial
to Māori society were expected to adapt and adopt
Pākehā norms (Simmonds, 2011). This included
the Native Land Court, a system that was meant
to protect Māori land, not facilitate land loss, and
which pitted wāhine Māori against one another.
Mana Wāhine theory extends beyond Kaupapa
Māori theory by exploring the nuances of being
Māori and female and the ways this can be
analysed. Making visible the narratives and experi-
ences, in all their diversity, of Māori women sits
at the core of Mana Wāhine theory (Johnston &
Pihama, 1995). Mana Wāhine can be thought of
as “on our own terms and in our own way, (re)
defin[ing] and (re)present[ing] the multifarious
stories and experiences of what it means both
currently and, in the past, to be a Māori woman
in Aotearoa New Zealand” (Simmonds, 2011, p.
12). Central to Mana Wāhine is the concept and
practice of mana, which is interconnected and
relational and can be diminished or increased
depending on those interactions (Pihama, 2020).
It is through whakapapa that Māori arm these
relationships and whakapapa and mana are there-
fore central concepts for understanding the way in
which wāhine Māori had connection to people and
land. Adopting facets of Mana Wāhine theory in
this article provides a starting point for historians
to consider and include the narratives of wāhine
Māori through a framework that not only makes
sense to wāhine Māori but also sits alongside his-
torical methods—the very methodological tools
created by Western scholars to demonstrate the
way colonial and patriarchal ideologies entrenched
in legislation and settler policy have posited Māori
women as inferior (Pihama, 2001).
Methods
My children whakapapa to the rohe of Ngāti
Kahungunu and descend from, amongst other
strong wāhine Kahungunu, Arihi Te Nahu, who
was one of those very women subjugated to the
turmoil of the Native Land Court. Understanding
the narratives of my children’s tūpuna further adds
to the layering and understanding of their own
whakapapa and mana and my responsibility as their
mother to ensure this is protected and enhanced.
Just over a million acres of land had been purchased
by the British Crown from Ngāti Kahungunu six
years before the Native Land Court’s inception,
which accounts for increased land involvement
in the Native Land Court, particularly by wāhine
once the court was established. With this in mind,
the Napier Minute Books are rich, with prominent
women from the Ngāti Kahungunu rohe appear-
ing in the land records multiple times. It is clear
that the organising and management of land for
many Māori in Ngāti Kahungunu was of serious
concern. The fact that there is no cohesive com-
pilation of wāhine Māori ki Ngāti Kahungunu to
date demonstrates the ongoing eects of patriar-
chal understandings of a Western court system.
To trace these narratives, I localised my research
to the Ngāti Kahungunu region and collated the
women that appeared numerous times in dierent
land proceedings. These women could be identified
in colonial newspapers under the search phrase
“wahine, native land court”, but more eectively
I. TARIPO-WALTER28
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
through the Napier Minute Books. In analysing
these historical documents, a broad understanding
of these women’s experiences can be revealed. The
Native Land Court Minute Books show case by
case how these negotiations played out.Legal his-
torian Paerau Warbrick (2015) clarifies that these
Minute Books total over 3,000 pages, providing a
wealth of information, including whakapapa and
relations attached to the land.
The narratives of Airini Donnelly, Arihi Te
Nahu, Hera Te Upokoiri and Kenehuru are par-
ticularly compelling and have been chosen to be
highlighted in this article. Their narratives involve
contestations for land, Crown grants, petitions,
and contesting of wills, suggesting they had exten-
sive legal expertise on the Native Land Court. They
also indicate their mana through their connection
to their whenua and their tenacity to protect their
rights as wāhine Māori, as land proceedings could
be prolonged and expensive. I use other examples
of whakapapa and mana in practice as counter-
arguments to highlight the Native Land Court’s
lack of comprehension of customary practice but
also the gaps in the system which allowed Māori
women to be exploited.
These wāhine Māori’s experiences were during
a period of rapid land loss in late 19th century
when whakapapa and mana was of crucial impor-
tance to retain hapū and iwi land. In most cases,
the complexity of the negotiations was focused
on interpretations of whakapapa and mana. They
also highlight the ways in which customary prac-
tices empowered women while also opening the
doors to subsequent land loss. I acknowledge that
there are most likely records held in possession by
whānau regarding important land claims that are
not freely accessible. The aim of this article is to
explore how four Māori women conceptualised
their role and how they exercised it in the Native
Land Court whilst utilising mana and whakapapa.
This is done through an analysis of the Native
Land Court minutes to prioritise their experiences
while recognising the colonialism, prejudices and
sexism faced by these wāhine.
Whakapapa and mana
Whakapapa refers to the family or tribal lineage
and is the central organising principle of Māori
society. Although many customs and practices
have changed, whakapapa has remained a centre
point of Māori social life (Marsden, 2003). As well
as connecting people across time, whakapapa con-
nects kin groups to place or whenua through the
agency of key ancestors in the whakapapa, whose
names are written into the landscape (Tapsell,
1997). Like whakapapa, mana is acknowledged
as a principle with several dimensions. The Rev.
Māori Marsden (1992) considers mana to be the
“lawful permission delegated by the gods to their
human agents and accompanied by the endow-
ment of spiritual power to act on their behalf and
in accordance with their revealed will” (p.4).
Therefore, an individual who could whakapapa
most directly to an atua retained more mana and
would be ushered into leadership roles in society.
But mana was also contingent upon the ability
to act eectively in the world—it was not simply
hereditary status (Goldman, 1970).
Within the context of the Native Land Court,
between the 1840s and the 1870s a wahine
Māori from Heretaunga, commonly referred to
as “Queen Hineipaketia” in colonial newspapers,
had such mana that she did not even need to be
present in court to have influence over land pro-
ceedings, as “land sales relied on her endorsement”
(Brookes, 2016, p. 78). Pākehā described her as
a “queen” in so much as their understanding of
the role and authority of a queen rested on their
knowledge and understanding of their own mon-
arch, Queen Victoria, traits they saw replicated
in Hineipaketia. She was of high rank through
both her father and her mother, and the eldest
child whose whakapapa was from a line of eldest
sons going back to Tama-i-awhitia, Te rangi-ko-
i-a-anake and Te Whatu-i-apiti, all prominent
Māori chiefs during the 19th century (Ballara,
1998). Despite Hineipaketia’s hereditary status,
she still needed to make informed land decisions
that benefited her hapū, such as the negotiations
involving government agent Donald McClean for
a considerable block of land, with the final decision
resting with Hineipaketia.
Whakapapa as “genealogy”
Sir Apirana Ngata, a prominent East Coast elder,
explained that whakapapa can be likened to the
process of “laying one thing upon another”, and
oers an extensive list of the dierent types of
whakapapa (Ngata, 1972, p. 6). Whakapapa is
understood in this article in two ways: to support
land claims by demonstrating fluency in genealogi-
cal connection and descent to land, whānau, hapū
and iwi; and to highlight the process of “laying one
thing upon another” not just through a te ao Māori
framework but also through a European frame-
work to bridge the gap between the two spaces.
Powell (2021) describes the use of ‘akapapa‘anga
ara tangata in the Cook Islands as a technique that
can help Cook Island Māori locate themselves and
their relations that are “constantly moving and
TRACING THE INTERSECTIONS OF WĀHINE MĀORI 29
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
growing those practices”, and to make sense of a
relational network (p. 48). In a sense, this is what
these prominent wāhine Māori were doing in the
19th century; they were traversing and making
sense of these newly found spaces mainly through
the Native Land Court, despite the many ongoing
challenges they experienced.
Mana as “mythic”
Mitchell and Olsen-Reeder (2021) state that early
ethnographers described Māoridom as steeped
in “whim and fancy”, and some Native Land
Court records are less helpful than others (p.85).
Although the Minute Books are detailed, they
were produced solely by European court ocials,
leaving an authentic wāhine Māori worldview
overlooked in favour of the lens of European
males. The intimate connection between mana,
whakapapa, land and wāhine Māori can be clearly
articulated though the creation myth of Ranginui
and Papatūānuku. In the beginning, there was
nothing, or Te Kore, a period of darkness. From
here Ranginui and Papatūānuku formed and were
connected with all their children born between
them. This epoch is commonly called Te Pō, or
“the long night”. The children of Ranginui and
Papatūānuku wanted to separate their parents
to allow light to enter the world. Once the chil-
dren separated their parents, they entered the
epoch known as Te Ao, or “the light” (Ihimaera &
Hereaka, 2019). There are tribal variations in this
story, but the most common theme that arises from
this creation narrative is the interaction between
each state—Te Kore, Te Pō and Te Ao—that takes
the form of a literary device to recite whakapapa.
Like a descent line, one is born from another, and
this ordering helps make sense of the world as we
know it today.
This creation narrative centres woman as earth
mother; she is personified as nurturer, protec-
tor and life giver and is connected directly to
the whenua, whereas the sky father looks after
the domain above: the sky, heavens and clouds.
Papatūānuku made the ultimate sacrifice to sepa-
rate from her beloved husband so that her children
could fashion the world and take care of dierent
domains (e.g., Tāne Mahuta, Tangaroa, Hine-nui-
te-po). This sacrifice of love as well as the ability
to create life and bear pain for the human race
through childbirth meant Papatūānuku, an atua,
symbolised great mana, retaining respect and
prestige for all women who descend from her. As
well as the above points, examining whakapapa,
mana and wāhine Māori through a creation myth
prompts us to consider gender roles in traditional
Māori society. The equal balance between wāhine
and tāne in these roles rearms that women were
central to Māori society, and it was not uncom-
mon for them to be involved in tribal political
decision making—unusual perhaps in a Western
legal system but not in te ao Māori. Due to the
patriarchal workings of the Native Land Court,
the stories and narratives of wāhine Māori have
remained hidden.
Mana and whakapapa were so crucial to Māori
worldview and society that they could be trans-
ferred to a framework of European land law and
inheritance. I argue here that whakapapa and
mana not only supported Māori women’s land
claims in the Native Court but were also legible
within a European jurisprudence. Further to this
argument, Māori wāhine were not just using
whakapapa and mana to support court cases; they
were in fact using their whakapapa to justify their
positioning within a legislative setting (Walter,
2017). Māori women were engaging with a new
legal framework in which they were empowered to
establish their customary rights. This engagement
did not always run smoothly, and it was not easy
for the Native Land Court to really understand
the notion of “customary practice” (Boast, 2013).
For a small period, some Māori women partici-
pating in the judicial process proved to be very
successful. I use the example of the Ngapeke case
of Katerina Te Kaaho (Mrs D. Asher) of Ngāti
Pukenga, who applied to have her relatives and her
own interests recognised by the Native Land Court
in 1869 (“The Ngapeke Case”, 1897). This case
not only highlights the intricacies of whakapapa
in that when one’s ancestry was undeniable—the
Native Land Court had no choice but to recognise
and uphold customary practices—it also shows
the power of whakapapa used in practice within
a specialised European court. To claim right of
possession, Katerina demonstrated her proficiency
tracing her ancestry back to Toroa through her
whakapapa. Toroa was one of the first ancestors
to come from Hawaiki 15 generations earlier, the
commander of the Mataatua waka. Judge Wilson
awarded Katerina the block of land in question
based on her ability to claim kinship rights upheld
through the recitation of her whakapapa (“The
Ngapeke Case”, 1897). To recite whakapapa
not only demonstrated the mana you embodied;
italso exhibited an impressive ability to wholly
understand the Native Land Court’s legislation
and procedures, even if this relationship was not
always reciprocal and the Native Land Court did
not necessarily understand customary practices.
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MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Meurant vs Grey: Customary and European
marriage
The Meurant vs Grey case reveals the relation-
ship between customary lore and European law
that aected wāhine Māori land ownership when
marriages were formalised under European law.
In 1835, Kenehuru, daughter of the Ngāti Mahuta
chief Te Tuhi-o-te-Rangi, married Pākehā man
Edward Meurant and was gifted 30 acres of land
as a customary marriage gift by three chiefly rela-
tives. Meurant’s familiarity with land deeds and his
role as a native interpreter prompted Kenehuru to
formalise her land ownership through the Native
Land Court (“The Meurant Case”, 1878). On
behalf of Kenehuru, Meurant applied for a Crown
grant through the Native Land Court but only
received a Crown grant for 10 acres, and the
remaining 20 acres were confiscated. Appointed
governor of New Zealand in 1845, George Grey,
alongside his lieutenant, Donald McLean, negoti-
ated the purchase of large areas of fertile land. As
a result of these purchases, European settlement
grew rapidly during the 1870s, which included
illegitimate land confiscations. It was Governor
Grey who appointed 10 acres of the wife’s land to
the husband, claiming he had put the rest of the
land into a trust when he had sold the other 20.
Members of Parliament were unclear if this was a
normal practice—that is, when a European man
marries a Māori woman her land would be seized
(“Case of Widow Meurant”, 1854). One politician
of the time, Henry Sewell, clarified that even under
the law of England husbands did not have such
power upon marriage (“Case of Widow Meurant”,
1854). Another said that “had the woman lived
in concubinage with Meurant, and not in mar-
riage, the Government would never have dared
to touch the land” (“Case of Widow Meurant”,
1854, p. 220). A commonly held assumption was
once Māori women married under colonial law,
the management of their land would also fall
into this category, which was governed through
the Native Land Court (Biggs, 1970). Historian
Angela Wanhalla (2009) adds that Meurant vs
Grey highlighted the failings of the “racial amal-
gamation policy” and the Crown’s scramble over
land purchases which fell under the category of
pre-emption. Meurant vs Grey was more than
a land case—it prompted legislative reforms to
protect the rights of Māori women that mar-
ried outside of their race, including their land
rights (Wanhalla, 2009). Eventually, in 1875 Judge
Fenton ruled in Kenehuru’s favour, stating that
she had been poorly treated and that the land was
rightfully hers (Luttrell, 2020).
The equivocal role of marriage under the
Native Land Act 1865 was recognised by the
Crown and a new Native Land Act was passed in
1869 that would allow Māori women to continue
owning property after marriage, which gave them
the legal capacity of a feme sole under clause
22 of the new Act. This clause was important
because it protected Māori women’s rights, and
eectively supported land tenure arrangements
associated with customary marriage practices.
These amendments, however, did not stop some
husbands trying to challenge their wife’s privileges
given by the Native Land Court, as when William
Cannon attempted to access and control his wife’s
customary land (Appendix to the Journals of the
House of Representatives, 1873). It is clear from
this case study that the Native Land Court did not
understand customary marriage, and with more
mixed-race relationships forming throughout the
colony, this opened up debates in Parliament about
who sanctified and governed women’s property.
Beyond these discussions in the political chambers,
Meurant vs Grey is a clear example of the power
of whakapapa and mana that could directly inform
legislative change and protect women’s property
under feme sole.
The Donnellys: Colonial marriage
At face value, the case of George and Airini
Donnelly suggests that some wāhine Māori
adjusted and operated quite well under the admin-
istration of colonial marriage. Airini Karauria
and Irishman George Prior Donnelly married on
6 December 1877 at the Anglican Church of St
John the Evangelist in Napier (Binney, 2006).
Donnelly’s arrival in New Zealand in 1862 led
to a marriage with a high-ranking woman who
used her positioning under colonial marriage to
attain and protect tribal land. Their marriage
was the beginning of years of land claim negotia-
tions, and Donnelly assisted Airini in numerous
land cases, persuading Airini’s relatives to obtain
Crown grants. Airini had substantial knowledge
in tribal lore and whakapapa that contributed to
her overall success in pursuing certificates of title
to large tracts of land throughout Hawke’s Bay
(Binney, 2006).
In 1909, Airini died and her land was bequeathed
to her husband, which he sold by auction in 1911
(Binney, 2006). If Donnelly and Airini had mar-
ried under customary law, the land would have
reverted to the whānau or been inherited by their
children, but because there was no issue, Airini
could distribute her lands as she wished. This
included the jurisdiction of common law as her
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MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
land had been received as a Crown grant, which
overrode customary practices. Historian and gen-
der scholar Bettina Bradbury (1995) states that
until 1860, the only wives who avoided their
property going into the hands of their husbands
fell into three categories: Māori women marrying
Māori men who dealt with Māori land outside of
European courts; women who had conducted a
marriage settlement (similar to a prenup) before
marriage; and women who had an arrangement
that if the marriage should end they could keep
their share of the property or income. Once Māori
land passed through the Native Land Court and
received a Crown grant, dealings from that point
on fell under the governance of European law,
which included the right for husbands to control
it during marriage and after death.
The literature surrounding Airini Donnelly
celebrates her as a generous and knowledgeable
woman, particularly in litigation aairs (Grant,
1993). She was at the forefront of opposing lease
or sale to Pākehā; on the other hand, she worked to
obtain land for herself and her husband sometimes
under varying circumstances. Customary Māori
marriage practices were always performed with
whakapapa as the underlying principle. It was
vital that you knew whom you were marrying,
sometimes under taumau or betrothal during your
childhood, to protect tribal lands and to avoid
incest. In a way, Airini choosing to marry Irishman
George Donnelly was a way of safeguarding her
land interests. Not only would being married to
a white man support her land claims, but it gave
her respectability in both worlds: te ao Māori and
the Western world. This case shows that there was
sucient flexibility in the Native Land Court to
allow women to acquire title to land and otherwise
influence land outcomes, but that European mar-
riage laws eectively counteracted that advantage
by passing the rights on to the husband. For this
reason, some Māori women chose not to marry
under European rules to protect their tribal lands.
In those cases, of course, they were unable to
acquire a certificate of title, which meant that the
land could not be considered a financial asset for
husband or wife. The point I really want to make
using this case study is that whakapapa and mana
worked in a myriad of ways. Rather than focusing
on Airini’s genealogical connections she had to
the land, the tutelage she received under her great
grand uncle, Renata Kawepo, a prominent chief of
Ngāti Kahungunu, was of more influence since he
showed her the sophisticated nature and fluidity
of whakapapa that could be re-enacted and used
in the Native Land Court, which saw her rise as
an advocate for her people as a teenager. I argue
that it was these practices of whakapapa history,
oratory performance and connection to place that
led to her success in the Native Land Court; this
very tutelage would be used against Renata, as we
see in the next case study.
The Arihi Te Nahu and Airini Donnelly will
cases
One of the most influential cases was regarding
two Māori women that manipulated the Native
Land Court and inheritance systems to achieve
outcomes that reflect their sensitivity to colonial
attitudes to race. Arihi Te Nahu visited her uncle,
Haurangi, and asked him to make his will in her
favour before he passed, but he responded that he
wanted his assets to go to his mokopuna instead.
When the will was presented in court, Arihi pro-
duced a second will in her favour, supposedly
drawn up by Arihi’s husband, Hamiora. According
to Arihi, she “guided Haurangi’s hand while he
made his cross to his name, which was signed by
Hamiora” (“Another Māori Will Case”, 1889, p.
5). This case shares similarities with a case Airini
Donnelly was involved in which was against her
uncle, Wiremu Broughton, and demonstrates the
way women were increasing their authority within
the Native Land Court (Walter, 2017). The case
between Donnelly and Broughton became known
as the infamous Omahu case and gained national
and international coverage for involving the Privy
Council in London. It was centred around the
death of a wealthy man, the above-mentioned
Renata, in 1888. Under his will, he bequeathed
all his tribal interests and property to Wiremu
Broughton. The probate was granted to Wiremu,
but several months after the probate was granted,
Airini produced a second will in her favour. On
the day of Renata’s death, Airini testified that she
went to his house, in which his two wives were
sleeping. The Omahu Block was a large tract of
land situated between Napier and Hastings, and
was of significance to Ngāti Kahungunu. The
block had not been investigated until 1890 and
Boast (2015) suggests earlier attempts to gain a
certificate of title had been fruitless. By the time
the block was investigated, the principal hapū
were Ngāti Hinemaru and Ngāi Te Upokoiri.
On the day Renata died, Airini had gone to his
home, produced a pen and paper, and Renata
had put a cross to mark his signature (“Renata
Kawepo’s Strange Will Case”, 1888). Airini stated
that Renata had changed his will and wanted to
leave his assets and tribal interests to her. The jury
were suspicious of her motives as she had kept the
I. TARIPO-WALTER32
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
will a secret for a long time. Airini had opposed
Wiremu’s application for probate, and the Native
Land Court investigation of title into Omahu had
become entwined in the litigation of the will in the
ordinary courts.
In both cases, Airini and Arihi produced second
wills and assent was attained in a similar manner
using “a cross” as a form of signature. Despite
Arini being unsuccessful in this instance, this case
sheds light on the extent to which some women
were going to gain access to land. It also reveals
the growing suspicion about the operations of the
Native Land Court, which was becoming more
and more embroiled with illegal land confiscation.
As New Zealand was becoming a settler colony,
there was an urgent need for land for the new
settlers, so the ways in which land was governed
were increasingly undercut by inconsistencies in
the Native Land Court, creating more and more
murkiness.
Hera Te Upokoiri and the Ohiti Block
The last case considered here suggests the law
favoured Māori women who had recognition and
familiarity with the Native Land Court proceed-
ings. Rather than the women working together
to claim tribal lands, they were in fact in direct
contestation with each other and used the court
system to their advantage, which sometimes meant
dismissing whakapapa and mana to get the desired
outcome. Hera Te Upokoiri had a rich whakapapa,
as her father and mother were both people of high
standing in their respective communities. Hera
returned to Ngatarawa and Ohiti to claim her
mother’s tribal lands, a claim that was challenged
by Arihi Te Nahu. Under customary marriage
laws, immediate descendants could return to take
up occupation even if they had never physically
spent time or lived on the land in question. If three
generations had passed without any descendants
returning to the land, however, the rights of that
particular family line then became null. The judge
in this case stated:
As for the claim of Hoana Pakapaka and Hera Te
Upokoiri, we reject that of the latter on the grounds
that she has never occupied Ohiti. It is true that
she returned to Heretaunga in 1860, but we doubt
whether her parents or grandparents ever occupied
this block. Certainly, her brothers and sisters never
returned to this district. (“Native Land Court”,
1897, p. 4)
The judge rejected Hera’s claim to the Ohiti
Block because the land had not been occupied by
her whānau for three generations. The primary
hapū for the Omahu Block and its kaitiaki was
Ngāi Te Upokoiri, which was also Hera’s primary
hapū. With regard to Ohiti, she was claiming
from her mother’s bloodlines, and the courts jus-
tified their rejection of her claim through a lack
of occupation. It is actually more likely that her
claim was rejected on the basis of its boundaries
aligning with the Omahu Block, a large piece of
land that Airini Donnelly and her brother Wiremu
were contesting, as described above. The fact
that the courts dismissed Hera’s primary relation-
ship with land through whakapapa signalled the
beginning of an assimilation agenda which chose
to ignore customary principles that were once
pivotal to the outcome of land cases.Historian
Judith Binney (1990) agrees, describing the court
as an extension of the tools of war and “an act
of war” itself (p.143). All scholars agree that the
Native Land Court was a central institution in
Māori life and touched the lives of every whānau
and hapū through its investigations into title, as
well as its partition and succession orders, for
all land in Māori hands came under the court’s
purview. This makes the Native Land Court a per-
tinent site for tracing the way wāhine Māori fared
in a colonial jurisdiction, and for revealing the
social histories, oppression and patriarchal preju-
dices these wāhine faced. Māoriwomen appear
to have freely participated in court proceedings,
and the case studies in this article demonstrate
that whakapapa and mana were not just funda-
mental principles of 19th century Māori society:
they were also pivotal to the way land tenure was
decided at the time. We have seen that Arihi Te
Nahu had three court cases well documented in
the newspapers: the contestation of her uncle’s
will by producing a second document; another
case involving Wiremu Broughton which resulted
from a family member’s death; and the contesta-
tion of a piece of land Hera Te Upokoiri was trying
to inherit through her mother’s whakapapa. All
these cases took place in the Hawke’s Bay region.
Inaddition to appearing in well-known court
cases, Arihi was petitioning the government on
various issues concerning wāhine Māori, like the
Native Marriage Validation Marriage Bill 1877.
Hera Te Upokoiri’s case reveals the way in which
the court was starting to override the importance
of whakapapa towards the end of the century.
Obtaining Māori land was at the heart of settler
colonialism, but assimilation also encompassed the
eradication of customary practices, such as cus-
tomary marriage and whakapapa. Even though the
courts recognised and respected customary Māori
TRACING THE INTERSECTIONS OF WĀHINE MĀORI 33
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
marriage at the Native Land Court’s inception,
women’s experiences with the Native Land Court
increasingly led to land alienation and thus assimi-
lation. This was the case for Airini Donnelly, who
despite having individual title to land was married
under European law, which meant her tribal lands
eventually became the property of her husband.
Mana Wāhine theory at its core is about tracing
the intersections of being Māori and being female.
This is one aspect of mana wāhine within the wider
social and political fabric of New Zealand. Mana
Wāhine theory allows us to critique the impact of
colonisation on Māori women using the concepts
of mana and whakapapa.
Conclusion
The Native Land Court, perhaps surprisingly, gave
opportunities for Māori women to assert their
rights in property transactions under European
law. This article builds on previous scholarship
on the Native Land Court and highlights that the
activating principles of whakapapa and mana
supported land settlement outcomes for wāhine
Māori. This enabled them to be equal players in
the management of hapū and iwi land through
the Native Land Court. This was one of the first
times in New Zealand’s history when both Māori
lore and European law had to deal and interact
with one another. These interactions were timely,
methodical, and well documented, but not always
favourable to Māori. Though this “murkiness”
can be attributed to a lack of understanding of
customary practices by the Crown, in the end it
led to assimilation processes that facilitated land
loss and colonisation.
Women used whakapapa and mana in dier-
ing ways, sometimes to advance the aspirations of
whānau and hapū and at other times for individual
goals. The four case studies in this article enhance
our collective knowledge by looking at the inter-
face of colonisation between wāhine Māori and a
colonial judicial system. Scholars concur that the
Native Land Court was a patriarchal institution
that sustained and upheld land law over wāhine
Māori. The voices of Māori women involved with
the court have traditionally been silenced, and
until the present research, it has not been analysed
using a Kaupapa Māori framework, specifically
Mana Wāhine theory. I have used Mana Wāhine
theory as a way to interpret these women’s experi-
ences. This research invites further conversations
to explore whether Māori women’s participation
in the Native Land Court influenced the political
lobbying by Pākehā women in the latter part of the
19th century, which led to surage in 1893. What
were Pākehā women doing while Māori women
were going through the Native Land Court? Were
they allies or supporters? What sort of political
rallying were they doing alongside these activi-
ties? The focus of this article has been on wāhine
Māori and their power of activating whakapapa
and mana to have their court cases validated, but
there is definitely scope to research the overlap of
Māori feminism and Pākehā feminism.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, to my children this article remains a con-
tribution to your whakapapa. Thank you to my
whānau for your time, support and love, par-
ticularly my father, Richard Walter, who oered
valuable guidance in the shaping and creating of
this article. I would like to acknowledge my super-
visor Angela Wanhalla, who provided important
input during the preliminary stages of developing
this article. Although parts of this article have
changed over the years, the essence of our discus-
sions remain influential to this day, and I am proud
of what has been created. I would also like to
acknowledge Anne-Marie Jackson for encourag-
ing me to share this important body of work and to
take it from behind the curtains out into the world.
Thanks also to all at Te Koronga for all your sus-
tained chat, support and general empowering and
uplifting perspectives. Mauri ora!
Glossary
Cook Islands Māori
‘akapapa genealogy
‘akapapa‘anga ara
tangata
genealogical practices
Akatokamanāva original name of the island
Mauke in the Cook Islands
Arorangi district in Rarotonga
kōpū relation
kōpū tangata descend from a common
ancestor
papa‘ā European
Tumu-te-varovaro ancient name of Rarotonga
tupuna tane grandad
tupuna va‘ine grandma
va‘ine woman
Māori
atua gods
hapū subtribe
I. TARIPO-WALTER34
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Hawaiki ancient homeland—the
places from which Māori
migrated to New Zealand
Hine-nui-te-pō goddess of the
underworld
iwi tribe
Kaupapa Māori research methodologies
that are “by Māori, for
Māori”
mana prestige
mokopuna grandchildren
Ngāi Te Upokoiri subtribe within Ngāti
Kahungunu
Ngāti Kahungunu tribe located along the
eastern coast of the North
Island of New Zealand
Ngāti Mahuta tribe that is part of
the WaikatoTainui
confederation of tribes in
the North Islandof New
Zealand
Pākehā European
Papatūānuku earth mother
Ranginui sky father
rohe district
tāne male(s)
Tāne Mahuta god of the forest
Tangaroa god of the ocean
taumau betrothal
Te Ao the light
te ao Māori Māori worldview
Te Kore the potential
Te Pō the darkness
tūpuna ancestors
wahine woman
wāhine women
waka canoe
whakapapa genealogy
whānau family
whenua land; placenta
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DOI: 10.20507/MAIJournal.2023.12.1.4
WHAKAWHITI TE RĀ
A whakapapa approach to protecting haka as a
taonga within sport settings in Aotearoa
Nicole Penetito-Hemara*
Anne-Marie Jackson†
Chelsea Cunningham‡
Abstract
Haka is a taonga that is steeped in whakapapa and has its origins in the creation of the universe,
generating an abundance of meaning and value for Māori. On a national stage, haka is by far the most
visible Indigenous ritual within the fabric of Aotearoa New Zealand’s national identity and continues
to have a lasting legacy within the realm of sport. However, a major source of contention is the
impact of globalisation on haka in sport, which has seen increasing issues of misuse, commodification,
appropriation and tokenism. Despite the cultural significance of haka to Māori and arguably to the
nation as an expression of our national sporting identity, there continues to be a general lack of
understanding about the importance of whakapapa in the customary practice of haka. This paper
argues the need to protect the taonga that is haka by ensuring that whakapapa is upheld and better
understood. A Kaupapa Māori research framework was adopted in order to privilege Māori knowledge
and voices. Research methods included the use of haka pūrākau, which were thematically examined
and used to frame the data, as well as semi-structured interviews with nine Māori participants. Three
key themes emerged from the research, which formed Whakawhiti te rā—an approach that advocates
for more concerted eorts to understand the notion of whakapapa as a protective mechanism when
using Māori rituals and taonga such as haka in sporting contexts.
Keywords
haka, kaitiakitanga, pūrākau, sport, whakapapa
Positionality statement
Genealogical connections play a significant role
in Te Ao Māori, both in the ways Māori iden-
tify themselves and the ways they relate to each
other (Mahuika, 2019). I position myself as a
wahine Māori researcher of Ngāti Kahungunu,
Ngāti Ranginui, Te Whakatōhea and Ngāti Porou
descent. Furthermore, my anity to haka has come
* Ngāti Ranginui, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Porou, Te Whakatōhea. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga,
Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Email: nicole.timu@gmail.com
† Ngāti Whātua, Ngāti Kahu o Whangaroa, Ngā Puhi, Te Roroa, Ngāti Wai. Associate Professor, Māori Physical Education and Health,
TeKoronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.
‡ Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Kāi Tahu. PhD Candidate, Te Koronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago,
Dunedin, New Zealand.
WHAKAWHITI TE RĀ 37
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
from my love for kapa haka, and my involvement
with haka in sport, in particular Māori netball
(netball played by Māori, for Māori). Haka ren-
ders diering and often opposing views. This paper
is based on my master’s thesis Ngā Tapuwae o
te Haka—Māori Perspectives on Haka in Sport,
which sought to provide a distinct Māori view on
the contentious topic of haka (Timu, 2019). To
strengthen my whakapapa connection with you
the reader, I begin this paper by providing back-
ground into who I am and the journey I embarked
on with my research.
In choosing an appropriate name for my mas-
ter’s thesis, I explored Indigenous stories that can
be traced back to my Ngāti Kahungunu whaka-
papa. The title of my thesis Ngā Tapuwae o te
Haka recognises the seemingly impossible feat
of my tupuna Rongokako during his time in the
Whare Wānanga, a sacred institution of learn-
ing reserved for the preservation of ancient lore,
histories, incantations, rituals and genealogies
(Mitiria, 1972). Stories of Rongokako speak of his
tremendous athletic prowess, which was demon-
strated in his final test as a student of the Whare
Wānanga, where he mastered the act of taking
giant strides that mimicked flying. This action and
these movements are now known as “ngā tapuwae
o Rongokako” (the footprints of Rongokako)
and are visible on the East Coast of the North
Island in Aotearoa New Zealand. The title of my
master’s thesis therefore draws strength from and
connects to this pūrākau. I share this story with
you not only because it illustrates an amazing
display of physical skill (befitting a paper such as
this), but it also aligns with the central theme of
whakapapa. Whakapapa is imbued in haka in both
a physical and a spiritual sense (Pihama, 2010). It
deeply permeates haka performances on the sports
field, to ultimately give meaning to the words and
sentiments being expressed.
Introduction
Time has settled since the submission of my the-
sis in 2019, and haka in sport remains a feature
in media headlines globally (Egan, 2020; Foote,
2022; Hayden, 2018; Hepburn, 2021; Ramsay
& Thomas, 2019; Sutherland, 2021). It persists
in wielding audiences of “lovers” and “haters”
when teams choose to express their pride nation-
ally, and it continues to be a benchmark for the
integration of other Indigenous rituals within
sport globally (Pihama et al., 2014). Academics
continue to report on the many benefits of haka
in sport, as well as the risks associated with its
use in these settings (Erueti, 2016; Hapeta et al.,
2018; Timu, 2019). While the incorporation of
Indigenous rituals in sport continues to rise, we
must also recognise that Indigenous cultures are
becoming increasingly threatened by burgeoning
globalisation challenges (Harmsworth, 2002).
Major misconceptions around the role and rel-
evance of haka in sport continue to exist (Jackson
& Hokowhitu, 2002; Palmer, 2016), and there
is a struggle to identify ways to maintain tradi-
tional knowledge systems and practices outside of
Indigenous-led institutions (Harmsworth, 2002).
This was the impetus for the resurrection of key
findings from my master’s research (Timu, 2019).
This paper advocates for a whakapapa
approach towards protecting haka as an impor-
tant taonga to Māori, especially within the context
of sport. Participants as part of this study identi-
fied several tensions surrounding the use of haka
in sport, which raised questions around how to
safeguard, care for and protect haka in these
settings (Timu, 2019). I will first introduce key
concepts related to this research, including haka,
whakapapa and kaitiakitanga, before outlining
the Indigenous methods used in the research pro-
cess. A Kaupapa Māori research framework was
employed, and research methods included the use
of haka pūrākau and semi-structured interviews
with nine participants. I will then discuss three
key themes that emerged from the research and
urge us to consider using a whakapapa approach
in the active protection of haka as a taonga within
sport settings. You will notice that I weave litera-
ture with pūrākau and pūkōrero throughout the
analysis of the key findings to provide a unique
and renewed relevance on the topic of haka in con-
temporary times. Essentially, the idea centres on
the importance of whakapapa in tracking origins
of haka from atua and tūpuna, down to its intro-
duction on the sports field, its evolution across
sporting codes both nationally and internationally,
right through to its continued application today.
Haka in sport
So what is haka? Karetu (1993) describes haka as
complex, multidimensional and dynamic. Simply
put, there are multiple definitions and views of
what constitutes haka. Haka is used in ceremony,
as a ritual, a challenge, a celebration, a means
of physical activity, a symbol of honour, a form
of entertainment, a tool to teach discipline and
an expression of team unity (Armstrong, 2005;
Gardiner, 2007; Karetu, 1993). Furthermore,
Armstrong (2005) offers a robust definition
explaining that “haka is a composition played by
many instruments. Hands, feet, legs, body, voice,
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tongue and eyes, all play their part in blending
together to convey in their fullness the challenge,
welcome, exultation, defiance or contempt of the
words” (p. 119).
Haka has survived and evolved, and is an inte-
gral expression of Aotearoa nationalism, especially
in sport (Karetu, 1993; Palenski, 2007; Pihama et
al., 2014). It has adapted to contemporary times,
while continuing to draw on and maintain tradi-
tional roots. Performances of haka in sport enable
a unique way to express who we are as Māori,
connecting whānau, hapū and iwi to their tribal
lineage (Haami, 2013). Haka is a well-known
ritual within the sport landscape, especially within
rugby. For context, the All Blacks haka is usually
performed immediately following the respective
national anthems and is usually led by a senior
Māori player in the team, although this has now
evolved over time. It is important to note regarding
the intersection of haka with sport that the philoso-
phy behind haka in a traditional context (as related
to Tūmatauenga, battle and warfare) has been
transferred into this sport setting, and considered
relevant to the game of rugby. It is believed that
the similarities between rugby and warfare perhaps
formed the site whereby haka solidified a perma-
nent place within the sport landscape. However,
it has also been scrutinised for enabling an unfair
psychological advantage (Gardiner, 2007). Palmer
(2007) argues that Aotearoa’s identity as a sporting
nation has been influenced significantly by Māori
people and Māori culture, and this will be explored
further as a key theme from the findings.
An expression of whakapapa through
haka
Integral to a Māori worldview is whakapapa;
therefore, the ontological and epistemological
orientations of this research reflect the nature of
a Māori worldview and whakapapa. According
to Heke et al. (2018), “This knowledge and these
connections go beyond connections to people,
and include connections to places, to events, to a
particular time or era and, most importantly, to
ideas” (p. 2). Therefore, for Māori, the “nature of
being” is determined by and through whakapapa,
whereby the “nature of our human existence” is
firmly connected to the environment. The “nature
of knowing” is also informed by whakapapa and
is perhaps more aptly explained using pūrākau. In
applying the notion of whakapapa to haka, one
explanation for the origin of knowledge pertain-
ing to haka stems from Tama-nui-te-rā (Karetu,
1993). Tama-nui-te-rā had two wives, Hine-
takurua and Hine-raumati. From this union with
Hine-raumati, a son, Tāne-rore, was born (Best,
2005). It is believed that Tama-nui-te-rā personi-
fies his love for these maidens in the rising and the
setting of the sun (Best, 2005). When Hine-raumati
holds the favour of Tama-nui-te-rā, the physi-
cal manifestation is seen in the shimmering heat
haze that rises from the ground on hot summer
days—otherwise known as te haka a Tāne-rore
(the dance of Tāne-rore) (Ka‘ai-Mahuta, 2010).
Furthermore, during the execution of haka, the
wiri is said to be a physical representation of the
shimmering heat referred to in the proverb “Kua
tū te haka a Tāne-rore” (the dancing of Tāne-rore
has commenced). Pūrākau such as this that refer-
ence atua and tūpuna are particularly important
to a Māori worldview because they help to explain
our connection to the environment, justifying our
belief system and epistemology. Among these nar-
ratives are valuable lessons used to guide whānau,
which are all influenced by the oral traditions
passed down through generations. This indicates
that to better understand haka we must explore its
whakapapa, delve deep into Māori origin stories
and look to the past for knowledge and insight.
The impact of globalisation on haka and
kaitiakitanga as a cultural practice
While haka is a vehicle for positive influence within
sport domains, it also renders several risks for
Māori whereby a tension exists between the use of
traditional Māori rituals in contemporary contexts
(Palmer, 2007). For example, haka in a traditional
context does not symbolise any real connection to
or belonging within the landscape of sport, raising
questions related to its role and relevance in these
settings. Misconceptions of haka as a war dance
continue to challenge definitions of haka today
(Gardiner, 2007). Esteemed Māori exponent Karetu
(1993) argues that “Ka Mate” has become one of
the “most abused haka of all time” (p. 65), urging
that strategies be implemented to protect haka
as a taonga within Te Ao Māori. A major source
of tension surrounds the impact of globalisation.
Participants in this study identified issues such as
misuse, commodification, appropriation, owner-
ship, tokenism and a general lack of understanding
about haka as a customary practice that all had an
impact on Māori and warranted further discussion.
Sharing Māori culture with the world comes
hand in hand with kaitiaki responsibilities and
obligations for Māori. Haka has in the past pro-
vided and continues in the present to provide an
economic return for both Māori and non-Māori,
for example, opportunities for employment, com-
mercial gain and overseas travel. However, issues
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are elevated when “borrowing from a culture”
becomes exploitative (Kim Ho, 2017), robbing
Māori of the recognition they deserve. Managing
the consequences of increased access to our cul-
tural practices and knowledge systems becomes
important, especially when they are considered
a commodity worldwide (Hapeta et al., 2018;
Scherer & Jackson, 2013; Torgovnick, 1990). It
has become commonplace to misuse haka and
share it globally with the world (Hapeta et al.,
2018; Karetu, 1993). This has surfaced tensions
around non-Māori use of haka, which has raised
questions surrounding safeguarding, protection
and control. Therefore, this paper aims to shed
light on the contested nature of the use of haka in
sport, advocating for a whakapapa approach to
protecting haka as a taonga.
Research methodology
This study adopted a Kaupapa Māori research
framework whereby the research was conducted
in culturally appropriate ways by Māori to give
voice to Māori. Kaupapa Māori appealed as a
research framework given it is not only about
Māori philosophy but also about the practice of
being Māori (Smith, 1997). This is particularly
important when considering the physical nature of
haka as an expression of whakapapa on the sports
field. As explained by Waiti (2007), Kaupapa
Māori draws on a variety of Māori aspects, such as
mātauranga Māori, Māori pedagogy, te reo Māori
and tikanga Māori to help frame and develop the
research process. Therefore, while this research is
strongly influenced by cultural concepts and tools
such as whakapapa and pūrākau, Kaupapa Māori
theory remains the overarching framework used
to privilege Māori knowledge and amplify Māori
voices and perspectives on the topic. Furthermore,
the research question that is the focus of this paper
is: What protective mechanisms can we put in
place to mitigate any risks associated with the use
of haka in sport?
Research methods
Research methods included the use of haka
pūrākau, which were thematically examined and
used to frame the data, as well as semi-structured
interviews with nine Māori participants.
Pūrākau
Tribal stories related to haka in the form of
pūrākau played a key role in the analysis of the
research data. Lee (2009) asserts that pūrākau are
“a traditional form of Māori narrative, containing
philosophical thought, epistemological constructs,
cultural codes, and worldviews that are funda-
mental to our identity as Māori” (p. 1). A variety
of pūrākau relevant to haka were examined for
key themes as a way to foster critical thinking
and creative expression, and draw knowledge
and understanding from the past into the present.
According to Kopua and Kopua (2022), pūrākau
“fosters … the ability to reconnect whakapapa
while deep diving into a new way of being”.
The themes and messages from the pūrākau pro-
vided key lessons that were subsequently used to
frame the data in a whakapapa approach titled
“Whakawhiti te rā”, which is an excerpt from
the famous haka “Ka Mate”, composed by Ngāti
Toa Rangatira chief Te Rauparaha. “Ka Mate”
is regularly performed by the All Blacks before a
rugby test match and tells a story that celebrates
the triumph of life over death. The approach will
be explained in further detail later in the paper.
Pūrākau as a research method was therefore used
in this study as a way to sustain and protect Māori
knowledge pertaining to the whakapapa of haka.
Interviews
Qualitative research methods were also employed
to collect and collate the research data because
the research agenda warranted a data collection
strategy that provided the ability to gather rich,
descriptive data (Bryman & Bell, 2011). Data were
collected through a process of semi-structured
interviews conducted with nine participants. Small
interview sizes enabled participants to share freely
and allowed me, the researcher, to elicit deeper
understandings from the perspectives provided.
The interviews centred on the overarching research
question for the study, which explored Māori
perspectives of the use of haka in sport with a
particular focus on “risks” associated with its use.
Key themes emerged from the data and participant
vignettes are used in this paper aligned to the
research frame.
Research participants
Participant selection was done through purposive
sampling (Bryman & Bell, 2011) initially, fol-
lowed by snowball sampling (Silverman, 2001).
Several authors refer to snowball sampling as an
Indigenous method of sampling that has been lik-
ened to whanaungatanga in Te Ao Māori (Gillies
& Barnett, 2012; Pihama et al., 2014). To gain
multiple views and accurately cover a range of
Māori perspectives on the risks associated with
haka in sport, three key target groups were iden-
tified to provide deep insights into this research
question. These target groups included:
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1. Haka experts—Māori in a variety of roles
pertaining to haka, including national and
international kapa haka exponents, tutors,
producers, performers, judges, organisers and
advisors on the topic of haka.
2. Sport experts—Māori in a variety of roles per-
taining to sport, including national athletes,
coaches, key leaders, media professionals, busi-
ness owners, administrators and academics.
3. Mātauranga Māori experts—Māori inform-
ants in relation to Māori concepts (i.e.
kaumātua and kuia).
It is worthwhile mentioning that no one partici-
pant fell into a single key target group, and in
some cases, participants were in fact experts in
all three categories (i.e. national athlete, Matatini
performer and proficient in te reo Māori me ona
tikanga). To identify the participant data, pseu-
donyms are used throughout this paper to protect
anonymity. The pseudonyms are described as
pūkōrero and are listed in chronological order
of when the data were collected, from Pūkōrero
1 (first interview) to Pūkōrero 9 (last interview).
Results and discussion
The purpose of the research was to understand
what protective measures should be put in place
to mitigate any risks associated with the use of
haka in sport. After data were analysed, three
key themes emerged to form Whakawhiti te rā—a
whakapapa approach to protecting haka as a
taonga within sport settings in Aotearoa. This
section provides further context surrounding the
approach and its alignment to the pūrākau that
led to Te Rauparaha composing “Ka Mate”. This
section also unpacks the key themes, which are
supported by participants’ raw quotes.
Whakawhiti te rā
The name of the proposed whakapapa approach
comes from a line in the popular haka “Ka Mate”
mentioned earlier, which tells a simple story of pur-
suit and escape, fear of capture and exhilaration
of ultimate survival (Gardiner, 2007). Upon the
departure of his pursuers, Te Rauparaha shouts:
Ka Ora, Ka Ora! Tēnei te tangata pūhuruhuru nāna
nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā!
I live, I live! For it was indeed the power of a hairy
person that fetched the sun and caused it to shine
again!
Upon analysis of the key themes that came from
the participant data, the following key consid-
erations emerged that provide a starting point
for raising levels of knowledge, awareness and
understanding of haka, its relevance and its appli-
cation within sport contexts. It uses a whakapapa
approach to guide practice and demonstrate ways
one can optimise one’s potential to perform haka,
safeguard haka as a cultural practice and enable
it to shine as the haka above suggests. It encour-
ages the performer to harness the collective energy
of ngā atua Māori and make decisions on the
appropriateness of haka before engaging in it. To
reap the full benefits haka has to oer the research
proposed a three-stepped approach.
Ira atua: The intangible presence
The theme of ira atua encourages deepened levels
of knowledge into the whakapapa of haka. When
we follow the path of te ira atua we ask questions
such as: What are the origins of haka? What are
the lessons that are embedded in pūrākau?
Ira tangata: The tangible presence
The theme of ira tangata advocates for strength-
ened levels of understanding surrounding the
whakapapa of the haka being performed. When
we follow the path of te ira tangata we ask ques-
tions such as: What are the kupu to the haka?
Where do they come from? Who composed it?
What message is the haka portraying? Are there
any metaphorical meanings associated? Which
atua/tūpuna am I channelling? What are these
atua/tūpuna characteristics and traits?
Haka as an expression of identity in sport
The theme of haka as an expression of identity in
sport urges an increased awareness of our own
whakapapa and appreciation of our individual
journey. When we follow this path, we ask ques-
tions such as: What lands do my people come from?
What environments are significant to me? What
are the characteristics and traits of my tūpuna?
How might those characteristics and traits play
out in my own haka performance?
A whakapapa approach allows us to under-
stand the connection we have as Māori to our
ancestors, which provides a compelling argument
to study the environment, and learn from the natu-
ral world and from the characteristics and traits
of ngā atua and ngā tūpuna. Equally, knowledge
of the whakapapa of the haka being performed
allows deeper levels of understanding of haka as
a customary practice and the purpose and message
behind the words and actions. Finally, understand-
ing their own journey by unlocking deeper levels
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of knowledge of their own whakapapa, whether it
is Māori or non-Māori, further enables perform-
ers to relate, contextualise meaning and grasp the
potential of haka in various contexts, including
sport. This paper argues that the following three
key findings will enable us to better exercise our
obligations as kaitiaki and protectors of haka as
a taonga within the landscape of sport, and this
will now be discussed, accompanied by participant
insights and quotes in the section to follow.
Theme 1: Te ira atua: The intangible
presence
Haka has a rich history and there are many versions
of the whakapapa of haka. Some stories can be
traced back to atua and tūpuna through pūrākau.
Examples include narratives that reference ngā
atua Māori, such as Tāwhirimātea, Tama-nui-
te-rā (as previously mentioned), Rūaumoko and
Tūmatauenga, as well as various tūpuna, such
as Tinirau rāua ko Kae, Tamatekapua rāua ko
Whakatūria, Ponga rāua ko Puhihuia, te haka a
Wairangi, Te Rauparaha and many more (Karetu,
1993; Paenga, 2008). It is clear in these origin
stories that haka has existed since the creation of
the universe and that various haka have strong
connections to ngā atua Māori and those ancestors
no longer with us. These pūrākau help frame the
relationship between ira atua and their contribu-
tion to haka. They emphasise ways we can tap into
ancient knowledge to inform our actions in con-
temporary times. Underlying each of the pūrākau
mentioned above is a rhetoric that reinforces the
message that through whakapapa, atua have a
natural connection to the way we identify with,
execute and represent haka.
These stories and whakapapa connections were
regularly referenced by participants in the study.
For example, the significance of whakapapa and
its relationship with haka was aptly described by
Pūkōrero 7, who stated:
It is our responsibility when doing haka to chan-
nel generation upon generation of haka performed
before us. We start from atua first, we roll that
down to see the experiences and examples from
tūpuna, and then it comes to us. Ninety-nine per
cent of Māori think that it is me doing the haka
and I’m connecting with atua, so they’re working
from the bottom up. Whereas we are following the
whakapapa line from the origin down to us because
we are the most insignificant part of it; we are the
last in the chain. You are representing a whole lot
more. Consider if we go back to the sun, you are
representing all those people that the sun touches.
This description starting with atua, making links
to tūpuna and then ending with the living is often
heard when whakapapa is recited through pep-
eha. According to Hakopa (2011), pepeha are
the foundation for a Māori cultural paradigm.
They begin with reference to ancestral landscapes
and sites of significance before ending with one’s
name. They also acknowledge the lives and deaths
of tūpuna in this process which creates a connec-
tion between the physical and spiritual realms
(Townsend, 2014). Haka can therefore create a
channel for performers to draw energy and col-
lective strength from atua and tūpuna. In eect,
this act enhances the performer’s sense of identity
and reinforces their overall purpose during haka
performances (Heke et al., 2018). This sentiment
is often taken for granted when haka in sport is
viewed merely for entertainment purposes.
While the participants who were performers of
haka in sport found it hard to articulate in words
the feeling they experienced post haka, many
attributed this feeling to a metaphysical connection
to their whakapapa. Whakapapa in this context
refers to one’s experience in harnessing energies
not only from within the physical realm but also
from the spiritual realm. What this tells us is that
knowledge, awareness and understanding of the
whakapapa of haka, the pūrākau, the role of ngā
atua Māori and the stories of our tūpuna enable
both the performer and the recipient to achieve
dierent levels of connection. The deeper con-
nection allows performers to traverse realms and
essentially optimise the potential for their haka to
have the intended outcome. That outcome is often
varied: it could be to voice a collective opinion,
confront various issues in the world, demonstrate
support for a kaupapa, celebrate success, challenge
the status quo or demonstrate a sense of unity, as
is often the case for sports teams. Undoubtedly,
knowledge of the origins of haka gives performers
the power to portray their message in a powerful,
passionate and Māori way.
Theme 2: Te ira tangata—The tangible
presence
As an expression of cultural identity, haka is argu-
ably an essential component of any sporting event
(Jackson & Hokowhitu, 2002), and our identity
as a sporting nation has been significantly influ-
enced by Māori people and culture (Palmer, 2007).
Many participants spoke of the haka being an
“essential component of the game” and reiterated
that it is “a big part of the team’s identity and
culture”. Aotearoa has made significant progress
towards acceptance of Māori cultural heritage
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over the years, especially in the public domain.
Haka performances in sport often reach large and
diverse audiences and, in some instances, they are
televised, which significantly contributes towards
the visibility of Māori culture on the global stage
(Murray, 2000). However, the performances we
see today are not necessarily reflective of those
performed when the haka was first introduced on
the rugby field by the New Zealand Native team
that toured Britain in 1888–1889 (Gardiner, 2007;
Palenski, 2007; Ryan, 1993). It would be fair to
say that haka performances have been somewhat
variable over the course of 100 years. In 1987
under the leadership of Sir Buck Shelford, more
concerted eorts to restore and retain the mana
of “Ka Mate” were prioritised and led to a shift
in the way Māori culture was integrated into
sport settings (Gardiner, 2007). The use of haka
in sport as a national identifier raises tensions that
surround questions of authenticity, access, protec-
tion, misuse, misappropriation, stereotyping and
recognition of Māori cultural knowledge and
practice, which has a profound impact on identity.
Throughout the study, participants made constant
reference to these tensions of haka performances.
For example, Pūkōrero 8 emphasised that:
Others think haka is something we do to warm up
or get going, but there is a whole deeper realm to
it. Haka is more than a screaming match to build
up adrenaline. It does do that, but in my opinion,
without knowing the true origins of that haka, you
can’t fully harness what that haka can do for you.
And Pūkōrero 6 explained:
It’s real what we do. There is a purpose. We are not
just doing it to freak people out and we don’t have
guns and spears ready to throw. There is a reason
why we do it. It’s about culture. It’s around tradi-
tion. We have been doing this for a long time now.
Additionally, Pūkōrero 4, referred to the impor-
tance of whakapapa when performing haka and
said:
Haka in general has whakapapa, has history, so
not only are we yelling and screaming words and
physicalising it with actions, but there is deep
meaning to it.
The comments above suggest that there is still
much work to do to increase knowledge awareness
and understanding of haka, especially in sport. It
gives context to how our understandings of haka
and its use in various areas have evolved over time
and ended up in the present. While participants
seemed somewhat unphased and unsurprised by
the appropriation of haka in the public realm, most
were more concerned with the lack of understand-
ing of haka, which reflected negatively on them
as Māori. It is apparent that there is a danger
in exploiting Māori culture through a lack of
awareness, understanding, ignorance and respect.
So where do haka performers begin to become
educated or even to educate others? There are a
number of strategies, including the increased intro-
duction of cultural ambassadors such as kaumātua
into sports teams to lift cultural competency and
mitigate any risks, and involving the team in the
design and composition of team haka so that they
are personalised and speak to places, messages and
topics of relevance to that team. While these are
great strategies, this research suggests that a simple
place to start is by learning the whakapapa of the
haka being performed. The All Blacks’ review of
the use of “Ka Mate” provides a good example.
Understanding the words, knowing the events
leading up to Te Rauparaha composing that haka
and visiting the sacred site of relevance all con-
tribute to a greater understanding and connection
to the whakapapa of the haka being performed.
Therefore, perspectives on the impacts of haka on
Māori identity are paramount and a vital discus-
sion to this research and paper.
Theme 3: Haka as an expression of
identity in sport
The haka is paramount in contributing to the legacy
of Indigenous cultural knowledge and solidifying a
distinct national, sporting and Indigenous identity
both here and overseas (Armstrong, 2005). Being
“Māori” has been made accessible through haka,
which in turn has provided a connection back to
tribal lineage for many and is an expression of
identity locally, nationally and internationally.
Pūkōrero 1 reinforced this view, stating:
Haka is an expression of who we are not just as
New Zealanders, but as Māori.
Similarly, Pūkōrero 4 stated:
Haka is just sitting inside me and so if it’s on, it’s
on, and if it’s not, it’s still on pretty much. So, it’s
that little burning fire in me.
Cultural rituals such as haka have been proven
to create a sense of home for many Māori living
overseas. The comments above reinforce the idea
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that whakapapa is identity for Māori, and that
sometimes rituals such as haka provide a deeper
sense of connection to one’s identity. The above
comments allude to an intangible connection,
rhythm or feeling that is further strengthened when
performing haka. Much of that you can feel, but
you cannot always see it. Te Rito (2007) calls this
“whakapapa firmly embedded in Māori psyche”
(p. 4). Whakapapa in this context is not bound
by time, but rather exists as a deep connection
that gives life to identities. Haka performances
are therefore an example of this expression of
whakapapa and Māori identity.
Throughout the study, I heard a constant refer-
ence made to haka being about something “greater
than them” and something “distinctly dierent
for Māori”. Again, they repeatedly spoke about
an intangible feeling that was not bound by time,
but rather breathed life into an inherent sense
of who they were. The importance of the meta-
physical–spiritual realm as previously mentioned
reinforced the notion that haka has the power
to provide a deeper sense of connection that you
can feel, but you cannot always see. For example,
Pūkōrero 9 stated:
To me the haka electrifies the atmosphere. It charges
the atmosphere. It extends out from your wairua,
from your spiritual being and sending it out into
the cosmos.
And Pūkōrero 8 emphasised that:
Some non-Māori can’t ever comprehend. They
don’t understand that innate, that deep… it’s
embedded in our DNA. The connections that we
have to the words that we say and the actions that
we are portraying.
In addition, Pūkōrero 3 claimed:
When you’re a Māori performing haka, that sense
of ihi that you will get from it as a Māori perform-
ing for that team will probably be dierent to a
Pākehā or any other nationality.
The above pūkōrero referred to a deep con-
nection and deep meaning that is embedded in
the DNA of Māori performing haka. According
to Heke (2013), these connections are examples
of how Māori identify with environmental cues
and esoteric knowledge. This highlights that the
genealogical descent of all living things from atua
to the present allows us to better understand the
connection we have with haka—to transmit their
knowledge of self orally, physically, spiritually
from one generation to the next. Fortunately,
haka serves as a vehicle for Māori to portray their
expression of whakapapa to the world. It is par-
ticularly important at this point to note that this
authentic Māori perspective on haka is not widely
articulated across mainstream media in the same
way that the physical performance itself is repre-
sented. So, while the power of haka is undeniable
across Māori and non-Māori audiences, perhaps
depth in understanding it from a distinct Māori
worldview is lacking.
The above comments suggest that haka is in
fact a meaningful cultural display of identity,
unity and passion and that performances are
improved when there is a greater understanding
of and connection to the whakapapa of the haka
being performed (Palmer, 2007). It pays, first,
to have knowledge of the whakapapa of haka
and, second, to know that the words, what they
mean and where they come from form part of the
preparation phase of a performance. Then, finally,
exploring one’s own whakapapa connections to
the haka being performed is key in understanding
one’s place, one’s purpose and one’s connection to
the haka being performed. Performers should ask
themselves: Where do I whakapapa to? How did
my family and I get here to Aotearoa? How was I
aorded this opportunity to haka? What whaka-
papa connections do I have to this haka? What
roles have my own whānau played when it comes
to haka? These are key questions haka performers
could ask to increase their knowledge, awareness
and understanding of their role. If questions like
these are not asked, uncertainty is likely to creep
in. For example, a common misunderstanding as
identified by the participants is the role of women
in haka; another was understanding when it was
and was not appropriate to perform “Ka Mate”
(especially within the geographical boundaries
of Ngāi Tahu). Not only will this knowledge
empower performers and enable a deeper con-
nection and purpose on field, it is likely to mitigate
misunderstandings, which in turn will render more
optimal performances.
Conclusion
The aim of this paper was to advocate for the impor-
tance and significance of a whakapapa approach
as a kaitiaki mechanism for haka in sport. This
research highlights the contested nature of haka
and brings attention to the challenges Māori face
in sustaining Māori cultural values and practices in
contemporary times (Karetu, 1993; Palmer, 2007).
The key theme throughout is whakapapa, which
N. PENETITO-HEMARA44
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
encouraged a deeper understanding of the past
and present to inform the future. We know that
our ancestors created the formula to allow haka
to flourish, and this dates back to the creation of
the universe (Marsden, 2003); however, with the
rise of technology and globalisation, traditional
kaitiakitanga models have been tested. The new
face of kaitiakitanga must now acknowledge our
rich history (e.g. te taiao, ngā tūpuna, ngā atua),
yet embrace the changing times we live in (e.g.
the rise of YouTube and other media platforms).
This paper introduces Whakawhiti te rā, a
whakapapa approach to protecting haka as taonga
within sport settings across Aotearoa. It identifies
three key findings, which have been translated
into three steps for raising levels of knowledge,
awareness and understanding of haka in sport.
Whakawhiti te rā emphasises that increased knowl-
edge of whakapapa can be an anchor from which
performers draw support in times of confusion or
crisis about appropriateness of performing haka.
This paper celebrates that haka can be a vehicle
for encouraging our children to seek to know their
heritage, their culture and their identity. This is the
legacy of haka and the reason why it will continue
to be relevant across settings, including sport,
into the future. While we recognise that using a
whakapapa approach such as Whakawhiti te rā is
one strategy, we acknowledge that further strate-
gies will need to be put in place to safeguard the
use of haka within the realm of sport. Finally, this
paper acts as a way of shining a spotlight on the
extraordinary but taken for granted power of haka
as a vehicle for the transmission of knowledge, of
the stories of our ancestors and of whakapapa.
Acknowledgements
He mihi nui ki taku whānau i tautoko i ahau i
roto i tēnei haerenga — ka nui taku aroha ki a
koutou! Thank you also to my supervisors for
their guidance and to all the participants, it was
a privilege to learn from, with and alongside you
throughout this mahi.
I wish to acknowledge Te Rauparaha, chief of
Ngāti Toa Rangatira as the original composer of
“Ka Mate”, as well as Te Rūnanga o Toa Rangatira
Incorporated, who have certainly set a benchmark
in providing a pathway for meaningful recognition
of the significance of “Ka Mate”, from recognition
of whakapapa connections to its cultural and his-
torical importance to Ngāti Toa Rangatira. Ngāti
Toa Rangatira, as legacies of Te Rauparaha, have
demonstrated how to be strong kaitiaki of their
taonga in the establishment of the Haka Ka Mate
Attribution Act 2014, and so I thank them for
their guidance and for the privilege to draw on
the kura huna within “Ka Mate” for educational
purposes—he tino taonga ēnā.
Glossary
Aotearoa New Zealand
atua deity
haka ceremonial dance
hapū subtribal group
hauora holistic wellbeing
Hine-raumati Summer maiden
Hine-takurua Winter maiden
ihi essential force, excitement,
thrill, power, charm, personal
magnetism—psychic force as
opposed to spiritual power
ira atua intangible presence
ira tangata tangible presence
iwi tribal group
kaitiaki guardian, minder
kaitikaitanga guardianship, stewardship,
protection
Ka Mate haka composed by Te
Rauparaha from Ngāti Toa
Rangatira tribe
kapa haka a row/team/group performing
haka/waiata/poi
kaumātua elderly person of status within
the family
kaupapa purpose, topic
Kaupapa Māori by Māori, for Māori research
kuia female elder
kupu words
kura huna hidden meaning
mahi work
Matatini national kapa haka festival
mātauranga Māori Māori knowledge
Ngāi Tahu tribal group of much of the
South Island
Pākehā European New Zealander
pepeha tribal saying
poi a light ball on a string of
varying length that is swung or
twirled rhythmically to sung
accompaniment
pūkōrero a well-informed spokesperson,
orator
pūrākau traditional narratives,
Indigenous creation stories
rangatahi youth
Rongokako founding ancestor of the Ngāti
Kahungunu tribe
WHAKAWHITI TE RĀ 45
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Rūaumoko deity of volcanos
taiao natural environment
tākaro sport, game, play, recreational
activity
Tama-nui-te-rā sun
Tāne-rore son of Tama-nui-te-rā and
Hine-raumati
taonga cherished treasure
tapuwae footprints
Tāwhirimātea deity of the weather and winds
Te Ao Māori Māori worldview
te haka a Tāne-rore the dance of Tāne-rore
Te Rauparaha composer of the haka
“KaMate”
te reo Māori Māori language
tikanga Māori Māori customs, practices, lores
Tūmatauenga Deity of war and people
tupuna ancestor
tūpuna ancestors
wahine woman
waiata sing, song, chant
wairua spirit, soul
whakapapa lineage, genealogy
whānau family
whanaungatanga building relationships
Whare Wānanga sacred institution of higher
learning
wiri trembling, slight quivering of
the hand
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This article is based on the lead author’s master’s
research. Nikki completed her master’s thesis titled
Ngā Tapuwae o te Haka—Māori Perspectives on
Haka in Sport in 2019. This paper is a dissemination
of some of the key findings. Nikki is currently in her
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programmes on hauora outcomes for tamariki in
mainstream schools.
TOWARDS A KAUPAPA MĀORI FITNESS GYM
A Bourdieusian analysis
Darcy Karaka*
Anne-Marie Jackson†
Hauiti Hakopa‡
Abstract
The fitness gym is an avenue where people pursue their health and well-being aspirations. In Aotearoa
New Zealand, Māori have similar rates of physical activity to non-Māori; however, it is unclear how
many Māori access the fitness gym. At the time of undertaking the research reported in this article, the
lead author was a health advisor at a fitness gym within a Māori health provider whilst completing
his Master of Physical Education. He was interested in examining whether a Kaupapa Māori gym
was possible. This gave rise to a research project framed by a Kaupapa Māori theory that utilised
Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory of capital to examine the relationship between Māori health, capital
accumulation and the fitness gym. There is little known about the value of fitness gyms for Māori, and
whether Māori values and principles can be integrated within the fitness gym. The research methods
utilised were individual interviews, an individualised personal training session and a questionnaire.
There were 23 Māori participants, who were recruited within Dunedin during August 2015. The main
finding of this part of the research was that capital accumulation through all Bourdieu’s types of capital
(economic, social, symbolic, bodily and cultural) was identified and enhanced through interpreting
the participants’ feedback and experiences, with Kaupapa Māori theory providing the foundational
methodological support for enhancing Māori voices and aspirations for individual and collective hauora
throughout the research process.
Keywords
capital accumulation, exercise, fitness gym, Māori health
* Ngāti Porou, Ngāi Tahu. Engagement Advisor and Researcher, Sustainable Seas National Science Challenge, Wellington, New Zealand.
Email: karakadarcy@gmail.com
† Ngāti Whātua, Ngāti Kahu o Whangaroa, Ngā Puhi, Te Roroa, Ngāti Wai. Associate Professor, Māori Physical Education and Health,
TeKoronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.
‡ Ngāti Tūwharetoa. Co-founder, Te Koronga | Centre of Indigenous Science, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.
DOI: 10.20507/MAIJournal.2023.12.1.5
D. KARAKA ET AL.48
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
Introduction
Ko Horouta, ko Takitimu ngā waka kaha e kawe
ana
Ko Hikurangi, ko Aoraki ngā maunga teitei e tu
ana
Ko Awatere, ko Waitaki ngā awa whakapai e
rere ana
Ko Porourangi, ko Tahu Potiki ngā tupuna e mihi
ana
Ko Ngāti Porou, Ko Ngāi Tahu ngā iwi e noho ana
Ko Awatere, Ko Arowhenua ngā marae manaaki
e tu ana
Ko Darcy Karaka ahau
E ngā rau rangatira—tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou,
tēnā koutou katoa.
The fitness gym is a known and normal construct
in modern society. The rise in popularity of these
establishments has led to a proliferation of gyms
around the world. With the globalisation of the fit-
ness gym, use of these establishments has become
widespread among many countries and cultures.
The fitness gym is a specific place where exercise
and physical activity are vehicles for pursuing and
achieving positive health outcomes. In the context
of Aotearoa New Zealand, there are approxi-
mately 861 fitness gyms operating (IBISWorld,
2023).
There are many variables and reasons to con-
sider when it comes to how and why people choose
to use fitness gyms. The margins between Māori
health statistics and non-Māori health statistics
point to significant inequities relating to incidence
and severity of negative health outcomes and all-
cause mortality for Māori (Ministry of Health,
2021). Furthermore, Māori tend to have more
unmet healthcare needs than non-Māori and have
higher rates of health conditions such as diabetes,
asthma, cardiovascular disease, and obesity. These
aspects are explored further in the lead author’s
master’s thesis, A Kaupapa Māori Approach to
the Fitness Gym (Karaka, 2015); however, for the
purposes of this article we have chosen to explore
Māori use of fitness gyms as interpreted through
the thematic analysis of Kaupapa Māori theory
and Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory of capital.
At the time of this research, the lead author
was a Master of Physical Education student at the
University of Otago and the Health Advisor Team
Leader at Arai Te Uru Whare Hauora, a Dunedin-
based Māori health provider. As a health advisor,
his work complemented the research and in turn
provided an opportunity to put the research into
practice. At the time, he was fortunate to lead
and operate a service that delivered exercise and
nutrition advice predominantly for Māori, but
which was available to all. Working at a Māori
health provider allowed him to work holistically
and address health from a collaborative approach.
This journey and experience led to him exploring
the development of a Kaupapa Māori gym.
A Kaupapa Māori gym
In this article we situate the kaupapa of a Kaupapa
Māori gym within the broad field of Māori physi-
cal education and health. We focus upon Durie’s
(1985) Māori perspective of health as Te Whare
Tapa Whā—a four-sided conceptualisation that
represents the four basic tenets of health. These
are te taha whānau—the family aspect; te taha
wairua— the spiritual aspect; te taha hinen-
garo—the mental aspect; and te taha tinana—the
physical aspect. Each tenet is independent yet
interdependent as each relies on the others to
form a comprehensive model (Durie, 1985). In
relation to each tenet there are several values and
customs, such as tikanga Māori, kaupapa Māori
and mātauranga Māori. Te Whare Tapa Whā
also underpins the Health and Physical Education
Curriculum in New Zealand secondary schools
and is one means for understanding the context
of a Kaupapa Māori gym. While physical activity
is commonly associated with the tenet of te taha
tinana, in te ao Māori it is applicable to all tenets
(Burrows, 2004).
In New Zealand, 55.7% of all Māori adults
surveyed in 2020/21 reported being physically
active (Ministry of Health, 2021). The Ministry
of Health (2021) suggests that there is not a sta-
tistically significant dierence between physical
activity rates of Māori and those of non-Māori.
However, Māori are overrepresented in diseases
that can be prevented by physical activity, such as
obesity (50.8%) and diabetes (6.7%) (Ministry of
Health, 2021). While we know there is a causal
relationship between physical activity and health,
there are also wider issues, such as the impacts of
colonisation, that explain why Māori have poorer
health outcomes despite similar rates of physical
activity. While we know that Māori have similar
rates of physical activity to non-Māori, and that
Māori engage in sport as well, there is little infor-
mation about Māori participation in the fitness
gym. It is known, however, that certain barri-
ers prevent and deter people from participating
in physical activity (Moschny et al., 2011). The
barriers include accessibility, aordability and
approachability. For Māori, these barriers can
be strong inhibitors for physical activity and the
fitness gym (Karaka, 2015).
TOWARDS A KAUPAPA MĀORI FITNESS GYM 49
MAI JOURNAL VOLUME 12, ISSUE 1, 2023
The health and fitness industry is a global phe-
nomenon, with fitness gyms and private health
clubs making up a significant portion of the indus-
try. In 2012, fitness gyms generated an estimated
US$75.7 billion in revenue globally, serving over
131.7 million members in more than 153,000
fitness gyms worldwide (International Health
Racquet & Sports Club Association, 2013). Here
in New Zealand, the health and fitness industry
generates approximately NZ$160 million annu-
ally and it is estimated that approximately 400,000
New Zealanders hold gym memberships at any
one time (New Zealand Institute of Health and
Fitness, 2009). The fitness gym is a popular service
and has become a normalised part of contempo-
rary society. Andreasson and Johansson (2014)
see globalisation as a leading cause for the “fitness
revolution”.
Globalisation refers to the expansion and influ-
ence a government or organisation has beyond
its own borders (Berry, 2008). Today products
and services are designed, assembled and deliv-
ered simultaneously in many places around the
world, such as the United States, Europe and
Asia. In regard to the fitness industry, and more
specifically the fitness gym, globalisation has had
a profound impact. Commercialisation has meant
that “fitness” has become a global phenomenon.
The fitness gym and the ideologies that surround
it are manifestations of the fitness revolution.
These ideologies include body ideals, gym culture,
body projects and fitness pedagogy (Andreasson
& Johansson, 2014).
The “one-size-fits-all” approach to fitness and
exercise employed via homogenisation and stand-
ardisation, while popular among many cohorts,
fails to consider the personal needs and preferences
of individuals. This poses a problem for those who
perhaps seek a relevant and specific standard of
health and fitness. Cultural considerations are
apparent here. For example, the isolation of the
body from other health aspects conflicts with the
Māori perspective of health and well-being (Durie,
1985). Rather, a holistic approach that encom-
passes multiple tenets of health, such as those of
the Whare Tapa Whā model, is a more suitable
approach for Māori. Within such an approach,
the narrow focus on physical appearance does
not warrant the same significance it is accorded
in mainstream fitness gyms. According to Durie
(1985), “The individual whose first thoughts are
for himself, his personal ambitions or his own
body is considered unhealthy, even though his
body may be the epitome of fitness” (p. 484). It is
vital to recognise, therefore, that the body ideals
that are prevalent among mainstream fitness gyms
may not necessarily apply when promoting the
fitness gym to Māori.
There are a number of interesting elements in
the context of a fitness gym. The fitness gym is
theorised in this article through the utilisation of
Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory of capital alongside
a Kaupapa Māori methodological approach. This
methodological consideration has been used to
showcase that capital accumulation in fitness gyms
is not limited to economic capital in the form of
profit-based values and priorities. While profits
and margins are significant aspects of business
and fitness gyms and should not be overlooked,
the value and capital that exists as a result of the
embodiment of values derived from a culturally
relevant framework allows the exploration of the
notion of capital accumulation in the fitness gym
from a Kaupapa Māori perspective. Thus, the
aim of this article is to examine the relationships
among the accumulation of capital in accordance
with Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory of capital,
Māori health, exercise and the fitness gym. The
analysis of Bourdieu’s theory of capital in conjunc-
tion with Kaupapa Māori theory (Smith, 1997)
within a fitness gym context is uncharted territory.
Evidently, this will create a new research space
and could inform industry and populace consid-
erations for how and why the use of fitness gyms
corresponds with the perceived notion of capital
accumulation from a Kaupapa Māori perspective.
We have specifically chosen Bourdieu’s theory of
capital as it provides an additional means to see
how a Kaupapa Māori gym can provide for the
accumulation of capital for Māori for flourishing
wellness, beyond just physical benefits.
Bourdieu’s concept of capital
Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory of capital was used
to interpret the information gathered during the
interviews and questionnaires. Bourdieu explains
that capital is able to be accumulated and is repro-
ducible, and, therefore, capital is a commodifiable
asset that should be considered to comprise five
categories: economic capital, social capital, sym-
bolic capital, bodily capital and cultural capital.
Each of these forms of capital provides a lens
for a systematic analysis of the accumulation of
capital via exercise in a fitness gym. The intersec-
tions between the fitness gym, Kaupapa Māori
theory and Bourdieu’s theory of capital provide an
insightful analytical framework for the interpreta-
tion of participant feedback.
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Kaupapa Māori
The research described in this article used Kaupapa
Māori theory. Kaupapa Māori theory is a trans-
formative praxis that engages with the dominant
cultural system in order to make space for the
sustainable existence of Māori ways of know-
ing, being, thinking, acting, living and speaking
(Smith, 1997). Kaupapa Māori challenges the
“ordinary” or notion of normal that has been
constructed by the dominant culture, and seeks
to identify and uphold Māori views, solutions and
ways of knowing. There are eight key principles
of Kaupapa Māori theory that have been used to
inform the methodological considerations for this
research: tino rangatiratanga—the principle of
self-determination; taonga tuku iho—the principle
of cultural aspiration; ako Māori—the principle
of culturally preferred pedagogy; kaupapa—the
principle of collective philosophy; whānau—the
principle of kinship; kia piki ake i ngā raruraru o
te kāinga—the principle of socioeconomic media-
tion; Te Tiriti o Waitangi—The Treaty of Waitangi;
and āta—the principle of growing respectful rela-
tionships (Smith, 1997).
For the purposes of this article, Kaupapa
Māori theory and Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory
of capital have been used to interpret the informa-
tion provided by participants. This means that the
data retrieved from the participants has been col-
lated and analysed using Kaupapa Māori theory
and then categorised in relation to Bourdieu’s five
dierent forms of capital. Situating Indigenous
methodologies and ideologies within or alongside
Western ones is not a new concept, especially
in relation to academia. Take, for example, He
Awa Whiria—the braided rivers framework
(Macfarlane et al., 2015). This framework uses
the metaphor of braided rivers to highlight the
intersecting nature of a series of streams and rivers
that are representative of the various worldviews,
values and principles of Western ideologies and te
ao Māori respectively (Macfarlane et al., 2015).
Indigenous scholar Marlene Brant Castellano
(2014) explains that it is the responsibility of all
people to meet the challenge of catering for and
implementing Indigenous research. Furthermore,
“indigenous people must suspend distrust and
non-Indigenous people must suspend disbelief”
(Kovach, 2021, p. 255). For the purposes of this
research, this is a useful guideline to consider
because it provides a context for Kaupapa Māori
theory as an Indigenous methodology to exist
alongside mainstream health methodologies.
Methods
As noted in the Introduction, at the time of under-
taking this research, the lead author was the Health
Advisor Team Leader at a Māori health provider
in Dunedin. Part of the role was to oversee and
manage a small fitness gym. This particular fitness
gym incorporates kaupapa Māori principles such
as tikanga Māori and mātauranga Māori alongside
exercise prescription to improve Māori health for
the gym users. The gym users are primarily Māori,
but there is an “open door” policy whereby the
gym is open to the general public. The gym is free,
and gym users can also access the health advisors.
This gym is an interesting intersection of Māori and
Western understandings of health, exercise prescrip-
tion and disease prevention. In thinking about the
complexities of this particular context, we utilised
Bourdieu’s (1986/2011) theory of capital to explore
the benefits of a “Kaupapa Māori gym”.
The data collection methods utilised were
individual interviews, an individualised personal
training session and a questionnaire. The methods
were aligned with a Kaupapa Māori methodol-
ogy and the Te Ara Tika Guidelines for Māori
Research Ethics, according to the procedure of
best practice endorsed by Hudson et al. (2010).
Ethical clearance from the University of Otago
Ethics Committee (Category A) and the University
of Otago Ngāi Tahu Research Consultation
Committee was granted for this research. There
were 23 Māori participants in this research—nine
males and 14 females—with ages ranging from
17 to 55. The participants were from a range of
dierent iwi.
Individual interviews
In terms of Kaupapa Māori methodology,
interviews provide the essential kanohi ki te
kanohi aspect, which is important for building
whanaungatanga to ensure that the participants
know, understand and trust the research and the
researcher. A semi-structured and open-ended
questioning technique was chosen because it
allowed for a more free-flowing discussion. This
was important as a structured interview during
an initial meeting can create a gap between the
researcher and the participant. Rather, the lead
author wanted the participants to feel comfortable
with and trust in the research, the environment
and him, to allow for better information collection
from, and empowerment of, the participants. The
interviews were recorded via a Dictaphone and
then later transcribed.
At each interview, the lead author explained
the research in terms of what it entailed, how he
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planned to implement it, why it was important
and the importance of their participation. The
participants and the lead author then discussed
their goals, motives and preferences for exercise
(see the Appendix for questions used to guide the
interviews). This also provided an opportunity
to assess any contraindications for exercise that
participants might have had (Crossley, 2013). The
lead author asked the participants to discuss their
goals and aspirations in relation to the TeWhare
Tapa Whā health model (Durie, 1985). The physi-
cal benefits of gyms and exercise are obvious;
however, Te Whare Tapa Whā allows participants
to see their health holistically and establish goals
and outcomes across multiple tenets of health.
Part of the policies and procedures at Arai Te
Uru Whare Hauora is to gain participant con-
sent. This is also a requirement of the University
of Otago Ethics Committee. Informed written
consent was obtained from the participants prior
to the interviews. Any further questions of the
participants were discussed, and an appointment
was made for them to receive their personal train-
ing session. Each interview was recorded and
transcribed during data analysis.
Training sessions
A personal training session was the second data
collection method used in this research. These
sessions allowed for further development of the
whanaungatanga established through the inter-
view. These sessions diered from mainstream
training sessions as they took place at Arai Te
Uru Whare Hauora and each training session
was conducted with just the participant and the
lead author present. Although the importance of
whānau participation has been discussed, at this
stage it was important to develop a connection
with each participant on an individual level to gain
trust and rapport. Furthermore, the participants
were able to encourage and recruit their whānau
and friends based on these methods and the
employment of best practice as informed by TeAra
Tika. The personal training sessions employed
tuakana-teina through the lead author’s prescrip-
tion and delivery of exercise for the participant and
through their feedback. Personal training sessions
also gave him the opportunity to inspire, motivate
and encourage the participants to be physically
active and use the gym facilities at Arai Te Uru
Whare Hauora independently (Crossley, 2013).
The lead author wanted to build a foundation
of tino rangatiratanga for exercise in the fitness
gym for participants; he was the only person who
delivered these training sessions.
Each session began with a brief kōrero to
explain what the training programme consisted
of and to answer any questions that participants
may have had, after which the delivery of the
training session commenced. Each session ranged
between 30 and 60 minutes in duration (depend-
ing on participant fitness levels), and the mode of
training was specific to their goals and require-
ments. The training modalities prescribed during
each session varied between resistance training
and aerobic training. A training session was used
so as to validate the service oered by Arai Te Uru
Whare Hauora in terms of using the fitness gym
and promoting exercise and physical activity. Also,
this allowed for participants to use a fitness gym
and elaborate on their experiences.
Questionnaire
At the conclusion of their training session, the
participants were asked to complete an online
questionnaire (reproduced in the Appendix).
Aquestionnaire is a tool “for the elaboration of
information structure” from a typological perspec-
tive and for “the collection of natural linguistic
data, both spoken and written” (Skopeteas et al.,
2006, p. 1). The design of the questionnaire was
based on the research questions and aims of the
research. For this research, the questionnaire was
used to capture any information that participants
may have forgotten to discuss during the interview.
For this reason, very little information from the
questionnaires was used as it was often a repro-
duction of what had already been captured during
interviews.
Results
In this section, we will discuss Bourdieu’s (1986/
2011) five forms of capital, drawing on the par-
ticipants’ kōrero and Kaupapa Māori theory. This
multifaceted approach provides a unique perspec-
tive on health, capital accumulation and the fitness
gym. Each of the five subsections corresponds
to one form of capital. Excerpts of participants’
kōrero are added as examples of Māori interpreta-
tions of health and wellness.
Cultural capital
Cultural capital is the knowledge, skills and behav-
iours that people portray and acquire in relation
to others within a sociocultural context (Bourdieu,
1986/2011). Cultural capital is often associated
with formal education due to academia being
viewed as a market for the distribution of cultural
capital (Claussen & Osborne, 2013).
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Six of the participants highlighted the impor-
tance of education within the gym as a factor for
determining health outcomes, gym attendance
and exercise adherence. The participants were
not referring to academia here; rather, “educa-
tion” referred to the transferral of knowledge in
a culturally appropriate manner. This is evident
in the following quotes. Participant One said:
“Education around nutrition and physical well-
being. Again, working as a family and getting the
family involved.” Participant Two commented:
Educating people a lot more, educating Māori
more. A lot more on who they are and what they
want to achieve, putting in goals, making sure those
goals are seen through, giving tricks of the trade so
to say and little tips on how to improve.
Cultural capital is therefore an applicable form
of capital for the fitness gym. The participants
deemed the teaching and transferral of knowl-
edge that is relevant to Māori to be important
in the context of the fitness gym. Participant
One explained that the involvement of family in
education around nutrition and physical activ-
ity is important. According to Participant Two,
education and advice for Māori is also a critical
component for maintenance of exercise goals
and motives. She felt that information pertaining
to a guided process for goal accomplishment is
necessary.
The gym as a sociocultural context presents the
opportunity for cultural capital to be exchanged.
Education around exercise techniques and formats
is one example of how this can be implemented.
The practitioner should be able to deliver sound
information about exercise prescription as well as
understanding the significance of cultural sensitiv-
ity (Sukala et al., 2012). Cultural capital, therefore,
is not simply a teacher-to-learner phenomenon in
this case. Rather, it is a mutual transaction between
people that should not at any stage diminish the
mana of either party and can be linked to the
Kaupapa Māori theory principle of āta (Smith,
1997). There are some suggestions and advice for
working with Māori that practitioners can employ
to eectively engage with Māori (Sukala et al.,
2012). The participants highlighted some of these
steps. According to Participant Three,
Once again just having that kanohi ki te kanohi,
so always having someone Māori taking those
sessions. That helps break down that barrier and
a little bit of empathy and tautoko goes a long
way. A like-minded person, not to be judgemental
of our people, their health and how it’s got to be
where it is.
Cultural capital and the relevance that it has
within the fitness gym can also be analysed along-
side Kaupapa Māori theory. The statements above
can be linked to the Kaupapa Māori theory prin-
ciple of ako Māori (Smith, 1997). In coaching
or training a Māori individual or group through
exercise, it is important that the practitioner has
a reasonable understanding of te ao Māori and
tikanga Māori (Henwood, 2007; Sukala et al.,
2012). Tikanga is particularly important. Tikanga
is a diverse concept that refers to Māori practices
and procedures in dealing with groups or indi-
viduals (Mead, 2003). Tikanga is a template that
governs behaviour and provides tools for thought
and understanding (Mead, 2003). Currently, many
fitness gyms and related exercise facilities do not
acknowledge or observe tikanga. For Māori, this
cultural insensitivity could be potentially harmful,
and this may be partially responsible for the low
rates of gym participation among them (Sukala et
al., 2012). The inclusion of basic tikanga in the fit-
ness gym would go a long way towards making the
gym a more attractive exercise option for Māori.
Social capital
According to Bourdieu (1986/2011), social capital
is the accumulation of networks and institution-
alised relationships of mutual acquaintance and
recognition. Social capital acknowledges one’s
acceptance in a group (Bourdieu, 1986/2011).
Eleven of the participants agreed that the gym
presented an opportunity to harness social capital.
The participants explained that group-based exer-
cise was more appealing because it allowed for
social interaction and relationship building. This
brief quote from Participant Four during the inter-
view supports this: “I guess it’s kind of a social
thing too.” The fitness gym as a social sphere
is nothing new. According to Andreasson and
Johansson (2014), the fitness gym is a socially
constructed environment that is upheld by ideals
and values. In research by Stewart et al. (2013),
social interaction was among the benefits that peo-
ple highlighted gaining from using a fitness gym.
One form of social capital that can be acquired
in a fitness gym is social support. According to
Pridgeon and Grogan (2012), social support is a
positive enforcer for exercise adherence in a fitness
gym. In terms of cultural specificity, Sukala et al.
(2012) suggest that social support in a fitness gym
can be oered through a competent practitioner
who knows and understands the requirements of
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Polynesian people. Additionally, oering a service
that encompasses all whānau members can assist
in creating a comfortable environment that pro-
vides social support (Sukala et al., 2012).
When asked what factors would attract Māori
to a fitness gym, Participant Five responded: “A
Māori way of delivering it, face-to-face, meeting
people, inviting them in and then an event where
they can invite other people from their whānau.”
In terms of social capital, the Māori gym users
would receive more social support through the
involvement of their whānau and through the
respect of the practitioner to engage with people
kanohi ki te kanohi, which supports Sukala et al.’s
(2012) findings.
In contrast, three participants explained that
they were not interested in using the gym environ-
ment as a social catalyst. In fact, some participants
explained that they preferred not to be disturbed
during their exercise training. Participant Six’s
quote is an example: “I want to just go there and
do my thing without being interrupted or having to
talk to someone.” Therefore, there are individual
dierences in how one chooses to use the fitness
gym (Sassatelli, 2010)—some appreciate the social
aspects and opportunities, while others prefer a
more individual and even solitary experience.
However, the accumulation of social capital
through exercising at the gym is not restricted to
experiences within the fitness gym itself. Often,
using exercise to pursue health and fitness has
positive eects on the social experiences people
have outside the gym too (Stewart et al., 2013).
This was noted by five of the participants, who
explained that being healthy and fit could improve
their relationships with people and specifically
whānau through increased physical capability and
confidence. The link between whānau and social
capital is significant because it provides insight
into some important variables of social capital for
Māori. This was exemplified in the previous quote
from Participant Five: “A Māori way of deliver-
ing it, face-to-face, meeting people, inviting them
in and then an event where they can invite other
people from their whānau.”
From a Kaupapa Māori perspective, there is
a link between social capital and the Kaupapa
Māori theory principle of whānau (Smith, 1997).
It has been mentioned that exercise can elicit
improved social experiences with extended kin
groups. Exercise endorses whanaungatanga, and
the fitness gym encapsulates people within a col-
lective social circle that creates a relationship
among people, place (the fitness gym) and practice
(exercise). Often this creates a sense of community
among members and users—so much so that this
community can have powerful effects on how
someone or a group might identify themselves
within and among this community.
Bodily capital
The gym is an environment that many use to
improve their body. The previously mentioned
term “body project” links people’s use of the gym
with the idea of constructing their body as a project
(Stewart et al., 2013). In Bourdieu’s (1986/2011)
model of capital, the notion of body projects spans
several domains of capital, but it most obviously
resides in the concept of bodily capital. This form
of capital relates to that which enhances one’s
capacity to look good and perform well (Stewart
et al., 2013).
For the participants in this study, there was an
obvious association between their goals for exer-
cise and bodily capital. Approximately 15 of the
participants disclosed goals for exercise relevant
to physiological and metabolic improvements to
their body, validating the fitness gym as a useful
environment to achieve such goals. Furthermore,
bodily capital was indirectly identified through the
goals and motives provided by the participants in
reference to exercise, appearance and performance
(Stewart et al., 2013). Participant Seven discussed
specific target areas that she wanted to focus on:
“Working on my hips, thighs and stomach. I’m
down weight and I’ve done all that. It’s just ton-
ing up now pretty much. I don’t want to lose any
more weight, I just want to tone.”
There are two main categories of body pro-
jects in a fitness gym: appearance enhancement
and performance enhancement (Stewart et al.,
2013). In Participant Seven’s quote above the
term “tone” relates to appearance through the
definition of muscle tone, which suggests that
Participant Seven’s body project is informed by
appearance enhancement (Stewart et al., 2013). In
contrast, Participant Five’s body project focused
on sporting performance as a motive for exercise at
a fitness gym: “My main goal would be to remain
match fit over the o-season so that pre-season
isn’t that hard for rugby.”
Sport-specific training is a common training
regime within fitness gyms. Many sports have
physiological and metabolic requirements of
athletes. Participant Five’s goal was specific to
rugby, therefore it would make sense for him to
engage in exercise that is relevant to the physical
requirements of rugby (Crossley, 2013). In terms
of bodily capital accumulation, the physiological
and metabolic benefits of sport-specific exercise
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will assist in his performance and provide him with
the physical attributes necessary for his sporting
performance.
While bodily capital was a common motivator
for participants, it was also highlighted as a major
deterrent. Bodily capital has a close association
with symbolic capital. For example, five of the
participants mentioned that what often deterred
them from going to the gym was other people
who they perhaps felt exhibited a bodily capital
that was beyond their own. This is evident in the
following quote from Participant Eight:
Whereas, mainstream appears to me to be very, oh
I don’t like to use this term, show-ponyish. And it’s
about looking good. To me it appears to be looking
good, not so much feeling good as a whole.
Bodily capital acquired through gym work has
been described as a deterrent for exercise adher-
ence in a fitness gym. Specifically, Participant
Eight mentioned the priority of looking good over
feeling good. In this case, it can be postulated that
physical appearance is not necessarily a positive
driver of capital acquisition for Māori.
Therefore, bodily capital has both positive and
negative eects on people’s attendance at a gym.
While acquisition of their own bodily capital is a
primary motive for people’s gym use, the display
of others’ bodily capital and a possible imbalance
in people’s bodily capital status can become a
deterrent. In other words, some people use the
fitness gym to endorse and acquire bodily capital
and others see it as a platform for the comparison
of bodily capital among the users. For the latter,
this has become a major issue for attendance and
exercise adherence at the fitness gym.
Symbolic capital
Symbolic capital relates to the status one acquires
through one’s achievements and also relates to
one’s material possessions (Bourdieu, 1986/2011).
According to Stewart et al. (2013), when people
accumulate status, it is often specific to a location
or origin. In terms of the fitness gym, a variety
of symbolic capital is evident. Symbolic capital
portrayed in a gym environment can be related to
gender dierences (Stewart et al., 2013).
The reasons for using the gym tend to dier
between men and women. For example, body-
building was traditionally a male-dominated
pursuit whereas aerobics was dominated by
females (Andreasson & Johansson, 2014). These
trends are related to the values enshrined in sym-
bolic capital and gender. During the 1960s and
1970s, bodybuilding and improving one’s physical
strength were predominantly male preoccupations
and had close ties with warfare, violence and status
accomplishment. Thus, bodybuilding is related to
a masculine stereotype (Andreasson & Johansson,
2014).
A dierent mode of gym exercise, the “work-
out”, was popularised during the 1980s. This
was typically characterised by gymnastics and
pre-choreographed movements to music. The
workout or “working out” carried strong conno-
tations of femininity (Connell & Messerschmidt,
2005), as gymnastics and dance were more usu-
ally considered female pursuits. The variations
between male and female identities in the gym
therefore rendered certain exercise modalities
and philosophies more appealing than others for
male and female users. Today we are witnessing
an increasing collaboration of exercise modalities
and philosophies. For example, there are many
female bodybuilders and many male gym members
involved in aerobics and other pre-choreographed
exercise modalities (Andreasson & Johansson,
2014).
In terms of symbolic capital, the perceived
value of achieving a certain look is important to
many. These body projects are personified through
neoliberal imperatives of gender performance,
self-improvement and impression management
(Stewart et al., 2013). In other words, the goal is
to look young, fit and sexy. As a project, the body
is crafted and moulded in the public sphere of a
gym to showcase and secure identity through the
portrayal of who one is and who one wants to be
(Orbach, 2009, as cited in Stewart et al., 2013).
However, of the participants in this research, only
one directly related exercise to accumulation of
symbolic capital. Participant Nine stated:
For me it’s just about getting fit and body wise and
I guess it’s just about pumping up my spirit really. If
I don’t do anything about that then my whole body
breaks down. That’s why I think it’s important to
have some kind of look.
The almost complete lack of consideration among
the participants of symbolic capital in a fitness
gym suggests that this may be a major dierence
between the motivations for Māori to use a fitness
gym and those of other gym users. This can be
attributed to dierences between Māori and main-
stream approaches to health in general. According
to Cram et al. (2003), “Descriptions of a Māori
view of health are invariably holistic and centred
on whānau health and well-being rather than the
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health of the individual” (p. 1). Therefore, the
notion of symbolic capital gained in a fitness gym
through individual pursuits would be considered
less relevant from a Māori perspective.
However, in relation to the general population,
some participants did note that symbolic capital
was a factor in people using the gym, as in the
following quote from Participant Four: “I guess
the main reason why most people go to the gym is
to look attractive. I don’t go to the gym because it
is full of fit people.” This is an interesting quote.
Participant Four explains that while some peo-
ple use the fitness gym to attain symbolic capital
through looking fit, this same symbol of health
and fitness was a deterrent for her. Participant Ten
felt similarly, stating: “I would say that would be
a deterrent, if I was quite big and I saw heaps of
skinny people in there, I probably wouldn’t want
to go in.” As an incentive to exercise in a fitness
gym, symbolic capital is rendered insignificant due
to the deterrent it presents for many. While sym-
bolic capital is synonymous with status acquisition
and social standing, the opportunity to partake
in this process is inhibited due to the symbolic
portrayal of health and fitness from other people
in a fitness gym (Stewart et al., 2013).
A related issue that four of the participants
highlighted in relation to symbolic capital in a
fitness gym was the branded clothing that people
wore. In the interviews, five participants were very
explicit in their discussion of clothing brands as
a factor in attendance at a gym. The symbolism
associated with certain sport/exercise clothing is
often comparable with economic capital (Stewart
et al., 2013). As material possessions are often seen
as a direct representation of economic capital, the
pressure to wear branded labels was highlighted
as a deterrent to gym attendance. Certain brands
of clothing are more expensive than other brands.
Therefore, in the context of a fitness gym there is
a relationship between symbolic capital and eco-
nomic capital as far as attire is concerned (Stewart
et al., 2013). These, however, were not factors that
attracted the participants to the gym. Rather, the
participants explained that these factors would
need to be subdued to attract more Māori to the
gym. The following quote from Participant Eleven
supports this: “Not deterring people from the gym
is having a place where you can go in with workout
gear that’s not labelled.”
Symbolic capital as it relates to clothing is dif-
ficult to negate as people are free to wear what
they please and often certain brands are associated
with sport and exercise. Therefore, the people
who are not able to financially aord this type of
clothing might feel that they would acquire nega-
tive symbolic capital, especiall