Opportunity in our language
‘‘Everyone together now: Tahi, rua, toru, wha ...’’
Once we counted up to tekau, we put our hands on our hips and let out an emphatic ‘‘he!’’, much to everyone’s delight.
We practised our numbers in te reo each morning, for perhaps a few weeks, and then moved on to something else.
I was 6 years old and it was 1981. It was the sum extent of my te reo Ma¯ ori education at primary school. And rua or toru was the likely number of Ma¯ ori children at my school.
Into the 1990s, on the last day of term at high school, we were rushed into the gym for Ma¯ ori stick games, followed by an hour with a teacher of te reo. Even to a teen with little concern for the lesson in front of him, it felt like a box being ticked off.
‘‘Tahi, rua, toru, wha ...’’ still accounted for most of the te reo that could roll off my tongue with ease as an adult.
It hadn’t been important to my educators or elders, so why should it concern me? Te reo was a dying language, it was irrelevant in my upbringing, and seemed irrelevant in the lives of many Ma¯ ori. It would serve me no use overseas.
Similar rhetoric is asserted with defensive gusto each time Te Wiki o te Reo Ma¯ ori rolls around, or the teaching of te reo in our schools is discussed.
The Greens stoked the fire this week by calling for compulsory te reo Ma¯ ori in schools by 2025, despite a dearth of teachers equipped to teach it.
Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern knows better than to utter the word ‘‘compulsory’’, which always takes the debate down one narrow, negative path. She wants 1 million Kiwis speaking and understanding basic te reo by 2040, and this aspiration has also been subject to ample scorn.
Much of the antagonism seems rooted in cultural insecurity and selfishness. Insecurity in that the celebration and promotion of te reo is construed by some as a threat to Pa¯ keha¯ and their identity as New Zealanders. And the selfishness of failing to consider te reo from anything but a
Pa¯ keha¯ perspective.
An open mind is as good as an open hand. Consider what it means to Ma¯ ori to hear te reo spoken, even in shaky attempts from self-conscious Pa¯ keha¯ , and to see it written and printed. It evokes pride, and represents respect and acceptance. All are qualities that should be felt for more than a week each year.
For Pa¯ keha¯ , it is an opportunity to be part of a perpetual conversation, speaking each other’s language, shaping a future New Zealand.
And we only have to look at our children, jumping around the dinner table with a new waiata in their heads, to see the speed and enthusiasm with which the young take to the language.
And if you don’t want a bar of it, so be it. But don’t speak too soon for your children and grandchildren – they may come to regret it.
Consider what it means to Ma¯ori to hear te reo spoken, even in shaky attempts from self-conscious Pa¯keha¯, and to see it written and printed.