Why do I
wear pounamu around my neck when I am a Pakeha person?
For many
Maori, pounamu (greenstone) holds a sacred, and tapu, place in tikanga Maori.
It also tells a story of who this person is, their tangata whenua, and
sometimes, of their whakapapa. It was originally used as a commodity to trade
with, establishing trade throughout Aotearoa New Zealand, and was once as
precious as gold is in European countries. I live in the very town, near Kaiapoi
pa, that was the trading center for pounamu at the end of well-trodden trails
through the Southern Alps from the West Coast. It also has a very large part in
history for many Maori throughout Aotearoa. Over time, pounamu became taonga,
the most treasured item a Maori person can have on their person. So, why do I,
as a Pakeha woman, wear one around my neck? I am not Maori. I do not even have
any Maori or part Maori ancestors to call my own. Most of my ancestors were
also some of the first to settle in Christchurch and the surrounding areas. On
land confiscated from local Maori iwi by the new New Zealand government. They
built their homes and their families and worked on that land. They thrived
better than their Maori counterparts, producing many children, and living with
the advantages that being Pakeha settlers brought to them including benefits
that came from a freshly established health department in New Zealand,
including Plunket, which sought to improve the lives of the settlers and their
offspring, and in turn, to leave the Maori to “die out”.
Shocked? You should
not be. You should know this. It should be a part of our history taught to
everybody, and a part of our awareness. But it is not, not yet for many.
Both sides
of my family have well researched and documented my ancestors’ journeys to
Aotearoa New Zealand, including a book that was published, and it is
interesting to look through them, see where I came from, who I came from. My
ancestors’ names are on plaques in the Christchurch Cathedral square. But
underneath it all, I must remember that, in the first place, what they did was
to illegally occupy land that was not theirs in the first place. They had to
live alongside Maori who looked upon them as invaders – and rightly so. I don’t
know what their views of Maori were, and I am not sure if I am able to find out
myself. But my own history is as much a part of Aotearoa, it was forced upon
into this country. It is a history that I am very aware of, and that I will not
deny nor ignore. I am a Pakeha New Zealander, 7th generation
descendant of the settlers who occupied Canterbury, the very land of the Te
Runanga o Ngai Tahu. I am the eldest of four children born to a social worker
and a primary school teacher, both of whom integrated te ao Maori into our
upbringing. Looking back, I had a very unique childhood, some of this spent in
an almost full immersion Maori environment with living in a very close knit
community who took in Maori male youths who had been court ordered to reside in
this community to learn and be a part of it, to try and give them a path into
their own futures as proud Maori. I still remember the marae, living there, the
waiata sessions with the spoons and guitars, the hangi food, the almost total
immersion into our lives. It was normal to me and it always was, I have never
thought otherwise. And it is for the very reason because of my parents. When I
think back to my own childhood, I think that my parents sought to – whether
consciously or not – raise their children to be a part of Aotearoa, veering
away in part from their European and Anglican backgrounds, and wanting to be a
part of the change that needed to happen. To essentially ensure that in one way
or other, we would be a part of that change. Whether it was our generation, or
the next. It also lends to a sense of awareness of why I felt that I really
struggled when we moved down to Christchurch, having been born and spent some
of my childhood just north of Napier. It is painfully white here in
Christchurch. Painfully so.
Over the
years, as I have got older, my own perceptions have changed immensely. Who am
I? Why? How did I come to be here? Where did I come from? One thing that I
realised was that I am a New Zealander first and foremost. I am Pakeha. I am
not a European New Zealander. It is ironic how that one single term can change
the course of our own identity. I, along with several thousand others (as cited
by Statistics NZ), self-identify as Pakeha on official forms. I am also Deaf.
That is but another thread of my own identity. Another theme that has occurred
over the years is that with my own changing perceptions of myself and the world
around me, I have met people, some of who have become good friends, those
connections meaning a lot to me for various reasons. Some other connections I
have deliberately severed, for good reasons. One of those such friends gave me
my very first taonga only a few months after we started dating. A pounamu toki
to wear. I have never been given a such gift like this before. At the time it
had a different meaning than what it does for me now. It was a taonga from
somebody who felt that I was important to him, and because he had always
perceived strength and resilience within me. It is now 18 months later, and the
meaning of my taonga has changed for me. Our connection has gone, in part due
to his own selfishness but also mine. But the taonga still remains for me. I
had a full-blown mental breakdown a year ago this month of June, which saw me
end up in hospital and then in respite care, quite ill. The one striking thing
about this period was that I had taken off my toki and left it on the bench
that evening, in anger at myself. I felt that I did not deserve to have this
precious piece of pounamu around my neck, that I was not as strong or as
resilient as it indicated. While I don’t remember much of this day or night of the
time that my brain essentially smashed itself into many pieces, I do remember
how alone, lost, and how adrift that I felt without the toki around my neck. My
mum has recalled before how upset I was without it, on the way to hospital, to where
I was placed under the wing of the mental health crisis team. I even sent text
messages to the friend who gave it to me stating that I was so angry with
myself for leaving the toki at home. The morning after, I was woken in my
hospital bed by my dad, who was holding my toki in his hand. He had come in
very early, to give it to me before he went to work. This very action helped to
center me, and it was also his way of saying… I am here. I bring to you your
most precious taonga. When I think back to that time, and the weeks following
my breakdown, it was my toki that helped to anchor me. It seems so strange that
such a supposedly inanimate object could do that, but it did. While I was in
the respite care unit for a brief period following the stay in hospital, a
volunteer who worked there, being Maori, noticed the toki and asked me about
it. All she said was “I want to hear your story.” I fumbled with this. That it
was a gift from a friend. That it was me, a part of myself. I could not
elaborate further, because I felt odd about having to explain why I had it. She
just nodded then hugged me, turned the vacuum cleaner on and continued.
Personally, because I don’t hide the fact that I wear a pounamu toki, I find
that any reaction to it between Pakeha and Maori are vastly different. Pakeha
comment on how pretty it is, how nice it is that I wear it. Maori look at it,
then look at me in the face, and then say or give me a meaningful look to tell
me; “I see you. I see your taonga.” I think you can but guess which means more to me.
Why do I
wear a toki? At first, it was a gift. But,
for reasons that I am still finding out about, it has intrinsically become a
part of me, who I am and who I want to be. Fundamentally, it has worked its way
into the very core of me and yet holds its own individual sense
of… being as well. I cannot picture myself being without it. It is my anchor. The
back of the toki is already smoothing out, from constant rubbing it with my
thumb. I will need to replace the string of it again someday all too soon. I
have it on my person 24/7. I am not Maori. I am Pakeha. However, it is not my
right to wear this toki. It never has been. I am privileged to wear it,
honoured to, and it accompanies me on the never-ending journey of finding Me,
and of my learning te ao Maori. It is more precious than anything I own or will
ever own. It is not even mine to possess either. Why? I am a part of Aotearoa,
as everybody who calls this country home is. But it is not my birthright to
learn te ao Maori, nor is it my fundamental right to do so, nor is my right to
own a Maori taonga. I learn te reo because it is our country’s language, the
true bloodline of Aotearoa New Zealand, and for me to strive towards more of an
understanding of the true tangata whenua and whakapapa of this land we reside
on and for my dear friends. The aspect of cultural appropriation is also a
concept that I am very aware of. My toki
means much more than just a gift from somebody now. I wear it with pride, knowing
the true meaning behind it.
"Ahakoa he iti he pounamu. Although it is small, it is a treasure."
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