Te Papa’s reputation at risk
Redundancies are seldom pleasant, but few have been botched as messily or publicly as those of the Te Papa scientists who turned out to be the best in their field. For those catching up, New Zealand’s national museum, Te Papa Tongarewa, is in the midst of a depressing human resources process that has spilled into the media. Mollusc expert Bruce Marshall and fish expert Andrew Stewart are among the casualties.
In a case of not knowing what we have until it is nearly gone, most of us learned that Marshall and Stewart are among the finest in their area only when their names appeared on Te Papa’s hit list. Thirty experts in the United States, Russia, Europe and elsewhere have signed a petition warning Te Papa its ‘‘unwise’’ restructure will lead to ‘‘unavoidable decline’’ in its world-class fish collection.
Steve O’Shea, known for his work with the colossal squid that has been Te Papa’s centrepiece attraction, was even stronger in his condemnation. He is so disturbed by Te Papa’s treatment of Marshall that he asked for his name to removed from the squid display.
The museum has buckled slightly, and offered Marshall a six-month extension to finish a book that will be both a set text in the field and his life’s work. Te Papa may think it is doing the right thing in offering this small lifeline, but the action reeks of a patronising managerial approach that risks looking more insulting than helpful.
O’Shea wrote that Te Papa should be celebrating Marshall’s research excellence and honouring his decades of work: ‘‘Making such intellectual genius redundant makes no sense, and identifies a problem with museum strategy.’’ He argued that Te Papa management is not ‘‘acting in the best interests of science in New Zealand, or . . . of its staff’’.
It is hard to argue with the general sentiment. The redundancy stoush has also been a reminder to the public that, away from the theme park-like tourist impression of the museum, valuable scholarly work continues to take place behind the scenes, albeit in increasingly difficult circumstances. A museum is not simply a collection of objects or displays that entertain, educate or briefly distract the public. It is also, or at least should be, a vehicle for world-leading research and publications.
A nagging sense of unseriousness has dogged Te Papa from its opening in 1998. Its anti-elitist presentation, akin to ‘‘a mall of chapters’’, was based on conceptual thinking that now seems dated and tired. Important work has been and continues to be done, but the third round of redundancies in only five years has clearly undermined its standing in the eyes of scientists both locally and globally.
University of Otago lecturer Nic Rawlence is one critic of Te Papa’s direction who warned of the dangers to taxonomy, ‘‘the science of naming things’’. He wrote that ‘‘as an isolated archipelago with unique flora and fauna, New Zealand needs diverse taxonomic expertise to appropriately handle biosecurity and conservation crises’’. If Te Papa and other museums ‘‘shed their taxonomic expertise like an unwanted sloughed-off snake skin’’, other institutions must pick up the slack or our already threatened biodiversity will suffer. The risks are real.
The action reeks of a patronising managerial approach.