‘I assumed you were brown . . .’
jody.o’callaghan@fairfaxmedia.co.nz
Blue-eyed, blonde-haired young Kiri Te Rangi – who was put in the sun to ‘‘brown up’’ as a child – says she never understood why skin colour mattered.
She was wha¯ ngai adopted, raised as Ma¯ori in east Christchurch, and was often ‘‘deeply hurt’’ when her family were abused for being brown.
Yet her Ma¯ngere wha¯nau made her feel she wasn’t really ‘‘one of us’’, and put her out to burn in the sun to ‘‘brown up’’.
Her Pa¯ keha¯ mother taught te reo at the local Te Ko¯hanga Reo, and her mum’s Ma¯ ori partner raised her as his own.
‘‘I would be expected to be in the Ma¯ ori class, be the leader in the kapa haka group but when other Ma¯ori came to visit [Mairehau High School], the question was why the white girl was a leader and in the front? She should be in the back.’’
Now known as Kiri Talbot, the 46-year-old says people were often surprised to meet a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes after hearing a woman with a Ma¯ori name speaking te reo over the phone.
She is highly qualified in the financial industry, yet recently spent a year between jobs, when she suspects her Ma¯ ori name had something to do with job applications ignored.
She was once told that had ‘‘they met me first, then I would have made the cut’’. This person admitted: ‘‘I looked at your name and assumed you were brown.’’
‘‘That’s racism – it’s in your face. That is telling me you racially-profiled my CV . . . missing out on some good talent.’’
Her former husband learned to mispronounce his Ma¯ori name – Arana – growing up in Christchurch, being declined or and it was not until later in life that he discovered more about his heritage.
Her current partner is white. ‘‘People don’t even give us a second look. We’re just two white people walking down the street.’’
Now with a Ma¯ori son and a Vietnamese daughter, from previous relationships, she is watching racism play out in their lives too.
When her ‘‘brown kids’’ yell out ‘‘Mum’’ in public, she sees people trying to work out the dynamics.
‘‘Why can’t you just have differentcoloured skin? Why does it matter?"
Talbot says her daughter Jimaya, 25, is often mistaken, and raciallyprofiled, as Ma¯ ori. She is treated badly but prefers that to the ‘‘tirades of abuse’’ she has faced for being Asian.
Her 17-year-old son Matua admits trying to be ‘‘more Pa¯ keha¯ ’’ at school, because for years he has seen ‘‘teachers expect less from Ma¯ ori students’’.
‘‘It’s harder to be comfortable with my Ma¯ ori side, rather than European.
‘‘I can see the difference between how Ma¯ ori students are treated compared to Pa¯ keha¯ students.’’
Raising his hand to answer questions in intermediate school, he recalls being told to put it back down because he was unlikely to know the answer.
At primary school in Christchurch, Matua says, groups were often split into Ma¯ ori and non-Ma¯ ori students.
‘‘I was maybe 8 at the time. As a kid, I didn’t think much of it but now I look back on it, I think it’s a bit racist.’’
He knows only a little te reo but he would have to sacrifice an academic subject in order to learn it at secondary school.
‘‘I really do wish it was compulsory in primary school, so I could have learned it then.
‘‘I love my Ma¯ ori culture but, at the same time, I can still love my Pa¯ keha¯ culture tracing back into Europe.’’
Matua has friends of different ethnicities but it is normal to hear schoolyard chatter about ‘‘white kids doing this and Asian kids doing this’’.
‘‘It’s commonplace to hear things like that at school.’’