Discrimination runs deep in this nation

Where are you from? It’s a simple question which can be asked in good faith, with an intent of getting to know a person. The people on the receiving end report that it can make them feel excluded, as if they can’t belong here, as if they aren’t part of Aotearoa New Zealand. It’s because they see that some types of people are asked this question and others aren’t.

Sometimes it’s the little things that build up to create that feeling of not being part of the team of five million. For others, it is deeply traumatic incidents. And a whole range of people who fall in between.

I used to think I knew a lot about being excluded. I have my own lived experience of being the first Muslim family moving to Hamilton, growing up as an outof-place little girl in the space between Pa¯ keha¯ and Ma¯ ori. Dealing with the aftermath of international events that had nothing to do with life here, but caused a backlash.

I also had the experience of being active in the community and online, hearing or taking part in discussions and debates.

So I thought I had a good understanding of life in Aotearoa. How wrong I was.

Last year, I had the privilege to travel across the country, visiting 46 towns and cities and navigating around lockdown. We had the opportunity to talk to people from a wide range of backgrounds. We thought about diversity broadly, including different levels of income, rural and urban, different cultures and faiths, disabilities and genderdiverse. We wanted to get a full picture, so we talked to men’s groups, youth, elders, anyone who was prepared to spend time with us.

We know that people hold multiple identities, they are rarely one thing or another. They can belong in some spaces and not belong in others. We heard some lovely stories about the things that helped bring people together, which confirmed to us what an amazing country we live in.

But we also heard the difficult stories. People were generous in telling us about the experiences that had caused hurt or harm.

For me personally, this was a process that made me aware of things I hadn’t considered.

The person who talked about not being able to do their weekly grocery shop when the shelves had been changed around, because her brain wasn’t capable of processing information well. The person who had been escorted out of the building when she turned up for a job interview, because it wasn’t apparent she was Ma¯ ori from her name and application.

The people navigating the space between gender diversity and being an ethnic minority, or between disability and faith. People having to hide parts of themselves to fit in, from speaking quietly to restricting clothing choices to not being able to fully express their culture.

The most common response to the question ‘‘when do you feel like you belong?’’ was ‘‘when I can just be myself’’. And the most common response to what they wanted to see changed was ‘‘I just want people to know about and understand me’’. They wanted the opportunity to explain about the things that made them different, to have that understood and appreciated.

The conversations we had were sometimes fraught with emotion, but almost everyone appreciated the opportunity to speak to someone who was sympathetic. People left our conversations feeling hopeful. They were grateful that someone was doing this work.

Inclusive Aotearoa Collective Ta¯ hono was created to work towards a country where everyone has a place to belong. We know that many Kiwis struggle in different ways, and that the best way to solve discrimination is by working together across different communities and life experiences.

In the coming months, we will be working to build networks to start the process of resolving some of these issues together, and to build on the amazing work so many are already doing.

As we do that, we want to honour the taonga (treasures) we were given, in the shape of these stories from the lives of everyday New Zealanders. Our sincere thanks to Stuff who were willing to partner with us in getting a series of these stories to you, and to the people who have been willing to come forward publicly. Our hope is that these stories will be part of wider and ongoing conversations about our country and the people who live within it.

We heard some lovely stories, which confirmed to us what an amazing country we live in. But we also heard the difficult stories.