Kiwis also need a crash course in Ma¯ori culture
The world didn’t end. But somewhere, a Pa¯ keha¯ sitting in his chair straightened and shuddered; hair prickled along the back of his neck like a row of turnips, and he whispered the special sentences to ward off the Bad Things. ‘‘It’s a dead language,’’ he hissed. ‘‘Why don’t you learn something useful like Spanish or Mandarin?’’
Last week, another Ma¯ ori and I spoke to each other in te reo at the bank, about banking matters. For me it was a sign of the fundamental, seismic changes in my life that have happened in the space of a year. I was utterly delighted. I don’t know what it was like for the other Ma¯ ori, a staffer, but she had been able to converse with a customer in te reo exactly twice before in her banking career. On some other occasions she was ridiculed by customers for using a few basic greetings.
After learning te reo in full immersion this year, one of the biggest things I have discovered is I now crave opportunities to use my skills in a meaningful way. The language lives when it is used. Here, in everyday life, it was living and breathing (even when spoken badly, like it was by me).
The right for Ma¯ ori people to speak their language in everyday life relies on having other speakers around to make it happen. That requires education. I know teaching and learning te reo actively rankles some Pa¯ keha¯ , who see it as a kind of treason. Others are simply indifferent. Either way, we need teachers who are committed to learning in, and supporting, te ao Ma¯ ori.
This support was on show in a Stuff story I read last week, revealing principals’ concerns about foreign staff recruited to fill the teacher shortage. With about 550 overseas teachers screened and ready to hire, concerns were raised about the ‘‘cultural responsiveness’’ of these people – from the likes of Canada and the UK – to Ma¯ ori and Pasifika students. There was talk of a two-week cultural responsiveness course for newcomers.
It was a valid concern, but is it too late to start screening actual New Zealanders?
The problem isn’t newcomers. It was always us.
When was the last time most New Zealanders used a word of te reo Ma¯ ori that wasn’t a place name? Obviously two weeks isn’t long enough to even begin to gain an understanding of things Ma¯ ori. It is a joke. But any approach to learning in te ao Ma¯ ori that has an end date is a joke. It is not measured in semesters, but in lifetimes. It should not end till you do. How many people, let alone teachers, have made that moral commitment?
So the problem is not one of local knowledge. It is one of character. Again, truthfully, how many teachers, and everyday people, born in places like O¯ torohanga, Auckland, Ashburton, Palmerston (North) – not Toronto or London – can say they visited a marae in the past 12 months? Attended a po¯ whiri at a marae? Listened to a kaikaranga, or a kaiko¯ rero at the paepae? Do they even know who those people are and what they do?
Te ao Ma¯ ori is the fundamental mystery of most New Zealanders’ lives. It was here before their ancestors arrived, and it survives after centuries of crushing burden. That it persists is one of the greatest achievements in this country. Mountains were climbed, atoms were split, but an entire people fought against complete erasure from a world made of atoms and mountains.
I know that the vast majority of principals and teachers in New Zealand want to support and grow things Ma¯ ori.
But as well as their concern about newcomers, we need more of them to take up the genuine challenge of doing it right – and we need the Government’s support in this.
Searching for an authentic experience in te ao Ma¯ ori on a part-time basis is, in my opinion, impossible. The legitimate, real experience of the Ma¯ ori world is a difficult one to find for Ma¯ ori themselves these days – living in cities, isolated, buried in the day-to-day fight to make ends meet.
This year in my full immersion course there have been several Pa¯ keha¯ and Ma¯ ori teachers who left their own classrooms and worked hard to start their reo journey properly. They had to put their work as teachers on hold to show their love and respect for things Ma¯ ori, and by extension their respect for students. What wonderful people they are to take up this challenge. I think it’s a good start to their lifelong journey.
So, yes, principals and teachers, keep the pressure on, to make sure newcomers understand the truth about our unique history. But some introspection helps too. It is the difference between a few sacred ruins in the remnants of our bush, and people speaking te reo in a bank, under fluorescents, about interest rates or some such boring thing. Dull, humdrum and utterly beautiful.
The problem isn’t newcomers. It was always us. When was the last time most New Zealanders used a word of te reo Ma¯ ori that wasn’t a place name?