Latest news with #Māoritanga
Otago Daily Times
18-06-2025
- General
- Otago Daily Times
Origin of forgotten carvings uncovered
A Gore woman's search for the origins of two workplace carvings aligned with her reconnection with her whakapapa. Ministry of Social Development work broker Aroha Sell (Te Āti Haunui-a-Pāpārangi) said she was just starting to re-engage with her culture when she became determined to track down the two taonga whakairo (carvings). Originally installed in 1998, the wood carvings were put into storage in about 2010 due to renovations, and faded from workplace memory. "I instantly felt a responsibility to uphold the mana of our He Taonga Whakairo and ensure that tikanga was followed," she said. "I was in my early beginnings in reconnecting back to my own Māoritanga and honestly had no idea where to start, but the fire in my belly had started." Ms Sell, alongside her co-workers Chloe Beckett and Hannah Cornish, formed Te Manatū Whakahiato Ora O Māruawai Rōpu (the MSD Gore Group) and set a goal to uncover the whakapapa of the artworks. During the 18-month journey to uncover the carvings' origins, Ms Sell asked around the organisation, located old copies of WINZ World magazine and looked through The Ensign archives. Despite this, the artist remained unknown, until she was connected with the Hokonui Rūnanga, and someone there identified the carver as Moana McRoberts. Mr McRoberts, now based in the North Island, was commissioned to create the carvings while working at Mataura Marae as part of the Training Opportunities Programme training scheme. He was "very humbled" Ms Sell had taken the time to locate him and find out the story behind the artworks. He recalled the carvings represented the seasons, and with that in mind, the taonga was unveiled to coincide with Matariki celebrations. The second unveiling was held early yesterday on a frosty Gore morning, led with a karakia from rūnanga cultural adviser Matu Coleman-Clarke, and Ms Sell gave a speech. Capability developer Ann Meffan also spoke, as she was at the original 1998 unveiling as was client service delivery manager Judith McLellan. Ms McLellan organised the original commissioning of the works, as part the Te Punga bicultural push and funding initiative of the 1990s. Incorporating te ao Māori (the Māori world-view) into the ministry was fairly new back then and the carvings were probably the first of their kind in the South Island. "It was sort of a lead-in for us," she said. Ms Sell became emotional when describing the recent reconnection with her culture coinciding with the mission of understanding the taonga. "I felt like these carvings had come to me for a reason."
The Spinoff
06-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
Our reviews from week one of the Kia Mau festival
From musical tales of communal island life to class consciousness in a Crown Lynn workroom, these are the shows we enjoyed at the Kia Mau festival this week. Waenga The strength of Waenga is that its story of police brutality ('humility? futility?'), mana motuhake and self-discovery is one shared by rangathi across the motu. Leads Hariata and Tamati Moriarty (children of highly regarded actor Jim Moriarty and playwright Helen Pearse Otene) wrote this play after working extensively with high schoolers, asking them 'what do your ancestors want from you? What stops you from reaching your potential?' – and what they discovered is stories of young Māori continually facing systemic violence and racism and, despite it all, still having an unwavering desire to live wholeheartedly in their Māoritanga. The result is a just-under-an-hour long show with so much bite it leaves you breathless, coupled with enough comedic relief to soften the pain, and remind you that as Māori, we're pretty damn funny in the face of oppression. Connie (Hariata) finds herself in a police station after an alleged bust-up with the coppers, and doesn't trust her 'kūpapa' defence lawyer Grayson (Tamati) to see her side of the story. But as the two spend more time together, they realise their experiences might not be so far apart, whether you're trying to change a racist system from the inside or outside. /Lyric Waiwiri-Smith He Ingoa Nau mai te pō, te ao, te awatea. Awatea mai te pū, te more, te weu, te aka, te ingoa taketake. Maiangi te tapu, te wehi, te kuru pounamu: he aha tēnei mea te ingoa? Otirā, me pēhea tātou e whakamana i ngā ingoa o a tātou anō. 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet' – the iconic line from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet is flipped on its head. Where Juliet talks about the insignificance of a name – a thing is still a thing regardless of what we call it – He Ingoa emphasises the mana within a name. From the depths of te kore, a name blossoms and is brought into te whei ao, into te ao mārama. A name is given, a name is chosen, and a name is reclaimed. He Ingoa itself is a reclamation. Not only of our own names, but of our stories and our whakapapa. The cast packed a powerful performance and were incredibly well controlled with the intensity in every song, delivering full force right through to the climax at the end. The band and crew's work exceptionally embellished and elevated the show. He Ingoa certainly has carved its name into the stage. /Taipari Taua Ka Mua Ka Muri, Atamira Dance Company A fusion of lighting, sound, stage, choreography, six magnificent dance artists and spoken word. Ka Mua Ka Muri explores whakapapa through a mix of poetic visual and sound constructions and an undulating tone. The show opened with comedy and moved from there to anguish, poignancy, timidity, ferocity, hopes and reflections.I found the design of the show magnificent: all of the elements worked seamlessly together. The high production values made sure this gentle exploration of what it is to be Māori – to exist within the maunga of whakapapa – had impact. The spoken word elements wove throughout the show, like vignettes of internal thought, sometimes quite childlike which spoke to the sense of the eternal spiral of time. At times I wanted the voices to be amplified: The Opera House is a big space and the rest of the production had a sense of scale and awe so at times the lack of microphones for the dance artists was noticeable. The text was also very literal and I wondered if it could be pared back, simply to let the rich imagery of the choreography, sound, projection, stage and lighting do most of the work. The moments of song were magical. Many images will linger in my mind: an arrangement of dancers into various maunga, kupu sliding over them in ascent; bodies running to try and break an invisible barrier and being pinged back; the drift and sway of the veil. The two halves of the show (the first choreographed by Bianca Hyslop; the second by Eddie Elliott) referenced each other so there was a continuous motif of comedy (among other threads) – a self-awareness that worked. / Claire Mabey A Master of None: Brown Fala Lila Crichton's interpretation of the classic myth of Sina and the eel is dark and violent, with the eel – a king in disguise who is desperate to woo Sina despite her objections – sweeping her under waves of despair. It's a well-known Samoan tale, used to explain the existence of the coconut tree (in the original, Sina cuts off the eel's head, plants it and from it grows the palm) but in Crichton's world, it's a warning for the ways in which we undermine the autonomy of our sisters. The myth is the heart of this play, but so is fala, the Samoan art of weaving, and music, the universal language. The vocal abilities of the ensemble cast are breathtaking, whether they're singing traditional song, jazz or rhythm and blues, while Sina and the eel, both living in shame, disappear themselves under woven mats as they grapple with their relationship. By the play's end, Sina and her whānau are able to hold court with the eel, serving him kava as a clip plays in the background, acknowledging the almost nine in 10 Samoan women who will experience physical or emotional violence by a family member. Walking out to a standing ovation at the end, Crichton's only request for the crowd for us to 'just talk to each other'. /LWS WINHANGANHA, Jazz Money + National Film and Sound Archive of Australia I make no secret among my peers of my adoration for poet Jazz Money. WINHANGANHA is Money's film that brings together archival footage, an original score and her phenomenal poetry as an act of remembering ancestors, whānau and the history of First Nations and Torres Strait peoples. It took us on a journey across multiple chapters segmented by Money's poetry and I could feel the energy in the theatre as we all responded physically and emotionally to the film. After the film there was a question and answer session with Money, which was perfect. Hearing from her about her own film and its creation was inspiring and gave me much to think about. I will carry WINHANGANHAwith me for a long time to come. / Melissa Oliver The Handlers There are so many dynamics to enjoy in The Handlers, a slice of life look into a Crown Lynn workroom of the 70s, where Māori women shape mug handles and try to make sure the production line never halts, lest they feel the Pākehā wrath of their boss, Mr John. Tongan worker Salote isn't actually Māori, of course, but it's easier just going along with whatever John thinks, and she's already found a home in her colleagues: aunty Whero, Kiri and Hine. Sister duo Kiri and Hine can't stand being on the same production line, while making Crown Lynn crockery has been Whero's entire life for the past 20 years. There's a reason why all the characters are to keep their connections secret – Salote's issues with Immigration are causing her strife at home, while a tragedy in the family sees Kiri, Hine and Whero struggle with how much to divulge, and whether it's mahi or whānau that should come first in a post-colonial New Zealand. The Handlers is a beautiful piece of theatre, made strong by its ensemble cast and faithfulness to the New Zealand of the time – half of it desperately trying to assimilate into Pākehā culture, and the other half, trying desperately to hold onto indigenous mana. But it's not all serious and sad – The Handlers is funny! It's refreshing! It's hopeful! And at the end of it all, on opening night in Circa theatre, the show received a hearty standing ovation. /LWS
The Spinoff
25-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
Kīngi Tūheitia Portraiture Award winner Jazmin Paget-Knebel is reframing the Māori image
The young East Coast photographer is turning her lens toward whakapapa, whenua and the future of Māori portraiture. When 22-year-old photographer Jazmin Tainui Mihi Paget-Knebel got the call to say she had won the 2025 Kīngi Tuheitia Portraiture Award, she was on campus, preparing her assignments for submission. 'It was hand-in week,' she laughs. 'I thought they were just calling to ask me to do media or something.' But behind the call were the judges themselves – and they had unanimously chosen her image, Taniwha Chasers, as the winner of the prestigious $20,000 prize. Shot on a beach in Ōpōtiki, the photograph is a striking black-and-white portrait of a rangatahi on horseback, galloping across the sand, tino rangatiratanga flag raised, hooves pounding. It's cinematic, but real. Bold, yet unpretentious. 'I didn't stage anything,' she explains. 'I just put the word out to my cousins, asked whoever was keen to bring their horses to the beach, and gave them the freedom to ride how they wanted. The flag was something I had with me – one of the boys chucked it on a stick and took off.' For Paget-Knebel, Taniwha Chasers is more than a portrait. It's a reclamation. 'Horses were brought here as tools of colonisation – but in our town, they've become a source of pride. They're part of us now.' The judges agreed, calling the work 'uplifting, joyful… full of hope and youthful energy' and praising its powerful message about the ongoing reclamation of whakapapa and whenua. Born and raised in the coastal township of Ōmaio, Paget-Knebel has whakapapa back to Te Whānau-ā-Apanui, Whakatōhea, Ngāpuhi and Ngāti Hine. She was homeschooled by her mum and took up photography at age 12 as a way of exploring her environment. 'Growing up surrounded by te taiao, by the moana – I had this instinct to document it. It was an outlet.' At 16, she attended a National Geographic photo camp in Murupara. 'That changed everything. I realised photography could be a way to explore and express my Māoritanga, not just aesthetics.' Since then, her focus has been unapologetically kaupapa Māori – reframing the camera as a tool for re-indigenising perspective. 'Photography has long been a colonial weapon,' she says. 'I'm here to shift that. We deserve to see ourselves in our own light.' Now in the final year of a photography honours degree at Massey University, Paget-Knebel is already thinking ahead. Next year, she hopes to enrol in a full-immersion te reo Māori course. 'I want to ground myself in our language before anything else,' she says. 'This win kind of flipped my plans – but in a good way. The future is bright. I just want to keep making meaningful work.' Her influences range from icons like Lisa Reihana and Fiona Pardington to the toi Māori on her own marae. 'There's inspiration everywhere. Even our activists – people like Hana-Rawhiti [Maipi-Clarke, Te Pāti Māori MP] – push me to think about how our art fits into our wider struggle for sovereignty.' Asked what she'd most love to photograph next, Paget-Knebel shares a powerful vision. 'Right now, I'm working on a project about our atua – trying to depict them through a photographic lens that honours their complexity. Not humanising them the way we've been taught to. Just showing them as they are, in our stories.' She also dreams of connecting with other indigenous communities around the world. 'It's not just about Māori,' she says. 'I want to document the beauty in how our people relate across oceans – how we hold each other up.' Despite the sudden wave of attention – media interviews, high-profile messages, hundreds of social media notifications – Paget-Knebel remains grounded. 'I've been overwhelmed by the love. But at the end of the day, I'm just a girl from Ōmaio, trying to tell the stories that matter.' At the awards ceremony at Pipitea Marae in Te Whanganui-a-Tara, Jazmin stepped on stage in a pair of red bands – the unofficial footwear of the East Coast. 'We're born in them,' she jokes. 'I wanted to carry home with me.' And with Taniwha Chasers, she did just that – capturing not only the spirit of her whānau, but a future where Māori see ourselves not through someone else's gaze, but through our own.
NZ Herald
30-04-2025
- Politics
- NZ Herald
Puhirake Ihaka: A life dedicated to iwi, honoured by a nation
'I was pretty much entrenched in the mainstream way of life,' he says. There, Ihaka completed a postgraduate degree in engineering, later working for several prominent firms before launching his own consultancy. 'I thought, well, I've given 45 plus years to the mainstream Pākehā side of me, maybe it's time I did something for my Māori side. So I took my steps and returned home [and] went back to my tūrangawaewae.' He hoki anō ki tōna ūkaipō Nā wai rā, ka hoki a Ihaka ki tana ūkaipō, ki Tauranga Moana, ki ngā rekereke o ana pakeke, ki te mātotorutanga o tana ao Māori. I ngā wā o mua, i mōhiotia whānuitia a Ihaka ki tōna ingoa Pākehā, ki a Albert. Nō tana hūnukutanga ki te kaenga, ka hoki anō ia ki tana ingoa Māori ki a Puhirake, hei whakamana i tana tipuna i a Rawiri Puhirake o Ngāi Te Rangi. He kanohi kitea i roto i te iwi, i te hapori anō hoki Ihaka has spent decades serving his iwi and community, holding leadership roles across key iwi trusts and governance boards. He represented Ngāti Tapu on Te Rūnanga o Ngāi Te Rangi for 24 years, led Treaty research and negotiations, and helped establish Tauranga City Council's Tangata Whenua Collective and Māori ward. He has chaired the Otamataha Trust, served on multiple iwi and education trusts, and remains a respected kaumātua and advocate for Māori representation. Ihaka says securing a seat at the council table and being part of local government decision-making has been one of the biggest challenges for Māori. 'It's evolved, yes. I would say [30] years ago, I would give it a one or two - now I would say it's about a five or six. [We're] there and it's getting better and we can only improve.' But the 76-year-old's greatest achievement remains rooted in his cultural identity. 'To connect with my taha Māori, with my Māoritanga on whānau, hapū [and] iwi basis all the way through, I learnt as much as I could. [Hopefully] I can carry that on.'
