History-making Hinewehi Mohi releases a new album of waiata anthems.
Twenty years after making history, Hinewehi Mohi is working on shaping the future, writes Siena Yates
“SO, WHERE are you from?”
It’s the first question Hinewehi Mohi asks when we sit down to chat. It is, inadvertently, a loaded question because the answer is not a simple one and speaks to a loss of cultural connection spanning generations.
Instantly, she catches on to this fact and assures me: “There will come a time where you will form that connection.” She then comes up with a list of people who could help me do so. This is what she does; she brings people together and helps to bridge a gap between cultures. It’s what she’s always done — whether she meant to or not.
Many will know Mohi from her te reo Ma¯ ori hit with Oceania,
Kotahitanga, but most will know her as the history-maker who controversially sang our national anthem in te reo Ma¯ ori at a 1999 Rugby World Cup game at Twickenham, bringing that version into the mainstream forever after.
Mohi is Nga¯ ti Kahungunu with “a little dash” of Nga¯i Tu¯hoe, and a proud heritage of fighting for the revitalisation of te reo Ma¯ ori.
That’s why this year, she’s marking Te Wiki o Te Reo Ma¯ ori with a special new project which will also mark the 20-year anniversary of that Twickenham game and another Rugby World Cup.
Waiata Anthems is a new album curated by Mohi and featuring iconic Kiwi artists like Six60, Bic Runga and Stan Walker, performing their biggest hits in te reo Ma¯ ori.
“Because it was coming up to the 20-year anniversary . . . I thought I’d like to — rather than get upset about it — use it as a platform to promote te reo Ma¯ ori,” says Mohi, who admits the “blindsiding” backlash around the Ma¯ ori anthem was — and still can be — “quite harrowing”.
“The pushback, yeah, that’s still there. And I guess what really sort of tweaks me is to think that not all New Zealanders feel that [te reo Ma¯ ori] is a part of all of us, because it is. It’s the uniqueness of the Ma¯ ori culture that ties us together and creates this very special piece of wonderfulness in the South Pacific. So, I guess I’m still sort of carrying a little bit of a wound from 20 years ago, and I really need to get over myself.”
She laughs this off but it’s clear that wound still pains her. When I ask her to talk me
through what she’s feeling, she gets quiet — even quieter than her usual soft-spokenness — and thoughtful.
“When I sang the anthem in Ma¯ ori and there was such fiery anger around that, I thought, ‘Hang on a minute. Have I been in a complete bubble?’ And I probably had been, coming from university studying Ma¯ ori and where we as a wha¯ nau really embraced it,” she says.
“There are factions, still, of those who don’t like the anthem being sung in Ma¯ ori at all. And there are still those who don’t think the language is relevant or important. But it’s just the picking and choosing. I mean surely everyone is proud when the haka’s performed before a rugby game, but maybe not [any other time], and it’s just crazy to disconnect those elements of the culture that you might deem okay or relevant.
“I feel like it’s a cornerstone of our culture which needs to be protected. And we need to put our all into it, to get anything out of it.”
That’s where Waiata Anthems comes in. With the 20th anniversary of her performance coming up, Mohi started receiving calls from media wanting to talk about the event and, because it was too much negativity to handle, she flipped it into a positive.
“I thought, music is something really important to me as well and I know how music heals . . . so I thought that would probably be the best platform and the most accessible for people to be able to be involved with the language and
have the support to sing along.”
A quick chat with Universal Music and a whole lot of wrangling later and Mohi had assembled an allstar line-up ready to give te reo Ma¯ ori a go. Well, almost ready.
“Everyone was terrified,” Mohi says. “Like Paora [Apera] from Shapeshifter. He said, ‘I’m so nervous . . . and I think I’m so nervous because it’s so important and it means so much to me.’
“And Tiki Taane was the other one who said, ‘I think this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’ And I think that makes me more proud, that they should feel the fear and do it anyway.”
By helping them to face those fears and walk them through the translations — with the help of Sir T¯ımoti Ka¯ retu and Tama Waipara — and nuances of the reo, Mohi was able to help them connect to Ma¯ ori culture — whether they were Ma¯ ori, Indian, Rarotongan or First Nation Canadian.
“It’s helped them connect to their own culture in a safe supportive kind of way, which I hope translates so that those that listen and sing along can feel the same. This is a wonderful way that we can all share [the reo], and it can start the conversation,” says Mohi.
“It feels like being able to — not ‘give a gift’, because that sounds a little bit patronising —but extend a hand of support, so that they feel comfortable in delving into something that they don’t necessarily have experience in.”
Tami Neilson was one such artist who had next to no experience in te reo Ma¯ ori, having only moved here from Canada some 15 years ago. She had to work intensively with Mohi, who coached her through a translated version of her song Cry Myself to Sleep, line by line.
While she admits she still feels “not exactly worthy” of being a part of the project, Neilson says it’s “been an absolute, overwhelming honour and privilege”.
“Singing [my song] in another language . . . is pretty mindblowing and amazing. Hearing the final result, I just started to cry. I couldn’t believe it . . . it’s really powerful.”
That’s what the Waiata Anthems project is all about; bridging the gap and representing the diversity of Aotearoa.
“I want to celebrate everyone who has worked tirelessly to revitalise the language and make it relevant to all of us — Pakeha, Ma¯ ori, people of all ethnicities, faiths and sexualities,” says Mohi.
“Maybe this can be therapeutic for me, you know, getting over myself after 20 years and still crying about it,” she says. “But also therapeutic for people to be able to heal their sadness and that disconnect, and really be an important way of reaching out and supporting and caring for each other.”