Our father died in 2012. He’d been living in Australia for about 42 years and had only rarely returned to his birthplace (Waihopo) and our ancestral tūrangawaewae in Ahipara. My five siblings and I, as children of the post-war urban migrations, were all raised in different landscapes, with different air and different light, but we have all, in our own ways, returned and kept returning to that place, forming and reforming ourselves.
So when Dad died, we came together to hui, to decide what we’d do. Would we bring him home to New Zealand? (That was a possibility he’d sometimes spoken of with wistfulness.) Or would we bury him in Australia?
We tried not to let cost drive our decision and, in the end, we decided to bury him in Wamberal cemetery near Gosford, where whānau could be near him more often. It was the right call. We all felt it, and so we held a tangihanga for him at his Terrigal home.
To do that we had to, as best we could, observe tikanga, with the separation of tapu and noa, the use of ritual, karakia, and manaakitanga. And we followed the direction of our oldest brother Tainui in what best to do. There was no obviously ritually bounded marae-ātea space outside the house, but visitors were called over the threshold and honoured with whaikōrero and hosted with kai, stories and laughter.
At that event, the nature of the house was irrelevant. Our tikanga could weave around and through it, because we, the people, carried it, leaving no marks, no indentations in the soil.
I was reminded of those sad days recently when I heard that the dream to build a marae complex in Greystanes, western Sydney, had been dashed.
And I’m not sure I’m sorry about it. (More on that later.)
The dream was one cherished by three organisations, Ngā Uri o Rāhiri Inc, Te Aranganui and the Sydney Marae Appeal. It was to establish a marae on leased land at the Hyland Road Reserve in Greystanes.
From what I can tell, this dream took a lot of time, energy and fundraising — and, at the last hurdle, the local authority, the Cumberland Council rejected the proposal. In the sometimes cruel and bloodless language of power that erases years of hard work, it was:
Moved and declared carried by the Administrator that Council:
1. Abandon the current process relating to the proposed leasing of the subject land
The grounds for rejecting the proposal? Well, you can burrow through this 500-plus page report on the council proceedings, or just take my word for it. The main reasons given were (broadly speaking):
- lack of sufficient cultural connection between the immediate area and the local Māori population;
- issues of due diligence;
- questions about the amalgamated groups’ ability to fund the project.
Those backing the project disagreed, of course, but for now at least, that dream sleeps.
But this was not the only marae project in Australia. There’s one in Melbourne, with a flash website here, one in Western Australia, and probably others in the pipeline too.
It’s hardly surprising, in a way, that such plans are afoot. As Paul Hamer tells us, from 2006 to 2011 the Māori (ancestry) population recorded by the Australian census grew 38.2 per cent, from 92,912 to 128,434. In fact, Paul reckons, Māori in Australia are now at least 18 per cent of all Māori. As my Dad would say: “Crikey!”
Ah, wake up, says Tā Mason Durie. This kind of development was bound to happen. As he points out, there are already overseas marae. I presume he is referring to places like the highly successful Aotearoa village at the Polynesian Cultural Centre on Oahu in Hawai‘i. This overseas spread is just the next step in what Tā Mason calls “sustaining the Māori Estate”.
Marae have been constructed in overseas countries where significant Māori communities now reside and, as global travel increases, it is likely that overseas marae will be part of a world-wide network of marae, some based around hapū, others around communities of interest, and others still around global travellers who seek to retain a cultural anchor in an otherwise assimilating environment.
And certainly Māori have had a couple of centuries of deep connection with Parramatta in New South Wales, which was celebrated in 2014. In 1811 Ruatara had established a small farm near the banks of the Parramatta River (originally the territory of the Burramattagal clan of the Darug people) while staying with Rev Samuel Marsden. And Marsden, having purchased the land, had used the area to set up a Māori Seminary, supported by other Northern Māori rangatira such as Kāwiti Tiitua and Hongi Hika.
This area is known still as Rangihou. There are tūpuna buried there and, if there was to be a place with a strong claim for a marae, quite possibly, that was it. And those trying to establish the marae at Greystanes tried to show connection between that project and those historical roots at Rangihou, a mere eight kilometres away.
So setting up a marae complex in overseas soil can make sense, right?
Maybe.
Except …
It doesn’t quite feel right.
Marae complexes, as built creations, are not just cultural centres. They are our cultural lifeboats; and they reach deep into the land on which they sit. As Te Rangihīroa put it, in 1930, in written conversation with his mate Apirana Ngata, while living in Hawai‘i:
Kia mau ki te pupuri i nga Marae o koutou kainga. Ko tena te mauri hei paihere i to koutou Māoritanga kei ngaro ki te kore. Ko o koutou whanaunga o ngā Moutere e noho mai nei ahau, kua kore ngā marae, a kua noho tautangata i roto i ngā Iwi nunui o te Ao.
Hold steadfast on to the Marae of your homes. That is the essence to which you bind your Māoritanga that nothing may be lost. Your kinsfolk in the Islands where I have lived have now no marae, and have become assimilated into the dominant nations of the world.
Te Toa Takitini, 1st April 1930, p. 2029 (translation by Te Mātāhauariki)
The marae complex, including the whare nui and marae ātea certainly embody sacred space for Māori today. The complex provides us with an earth-connected foundation point in the world for whānau, hapū and iwi.
And I wonder about the cost to the indigenous peoples when Māori create such permanent foundation points in Australia.
Let me illustrate my concern.
In May 2014, Ngāti Toa, the Porirua City Council, the Blacktown City Council and the local Blacktown community celebrated the erection of two pou in the New Zealand South Pacific Garden in the Nurragingy Reserve. The reserve is in Blacktown, west of Sydney (roughly 25 kilometres from Rangihou), and also part of the Darug people’s land. The pou were erected to commemorate the 30-year sister-city relationship between Blacktown and Porirua.
The lead-up to this event was a little fraught. The original plan was to have these pou erected at the gateway to the reserve. A well-known Darug elder Aunty Sandra Lee left us in no doubt as to her opinion on the original proposal:
“Would the Maoris like me to go over to New Zealand and hang ring-tail possums all over the place? Or kangaroos? No, they wouldn’t. I know they wouldn’t. So why are they doing it to us?” she said.
Ms Lee said situating the poles at the front gate would diminish the Aboriginal symbolism of Nurragingy and continue the ongoing genocide of her people.
“I’ll stand there and I’ll burn them down if I have to,” she said. “They can put them anywhere inside, no worries — but not at the gate.”
The stoush was settled, insofar as the pou were eventually erected at the entrance to the New Zealand garden only (not at the entrance to the whole reserve), and there they stand today. Māori wardens rose to the fore and helped ensure that Darug people took part in the opening and unveiling of the pou.
The opening ceremony was impressive. It included a wero, karanga, an ope of dignitaries that moved to what looked like a designated marae-ātea space, a smoking ceremony fire, a Welcome to Country from a Darug Elder Aunty Edna Watson, karakia, whaikōrero, waiata, hongi and harirū. If most of those elements largely seem like the usual running of a pōwhiri to you, that’s pretty much what it looked like.
Now, there’s no doubt that this event was supposed to affirm Māori identity as manuhiri, not at all as tangata whenua. But watch the ceremony and see for yourself. The overall impression (rightly or wrongly) is one whereby Māori hold the reins, control the narrative, and create space for the Darug people to participate. Skip to 49′ 40″ on the video and you will see the council dignitaries, and a couple of the Darug representatives (Auntry Edna and her daughter) progressing along the hongi line and being greeted as if they were the manuhiri.
Tears started into my eyes at that point and I felt anger. I know huge effort went into this ceremony, and I know there was aroha present and the best of intentions and, as a viewer, my information was limited. But when should it ever be tika (correct) that any Darug elders — upon whose shoulders Māori legitimacy of place lies — have ever been expected to assume the status of visitors in this visual narrative?
The answer is never.
This is the risk we run, as Māori, when we dig into Australian soil to create places or points of belonging, no matter how well we think we have consulted with indigenous peoples. That soil is not ours and will never be ours.
That doesn’t mean to say we can’t be Māori on that soil. How can we not be? We should guard and protect and develop our cultural expressions — but why not have cultural clubs and centres?
We should protect our language, our rituals, our mourning and our celebrating, even in little ways as our whānau did for our Dad in 2012 when we laid him to rest in Australia.
And there he lies, ever, ever, the manuhiri.
But we must be wary of transplanting our notions of being tangata whenua to the whenua of others, and risk wreaking yet another layer of colonisation upon those home peoples.
We must never forget who we are. And we must never forget who we are not.
Thank you for reading E-Tangata. If you like our focus on Māori and Pasifika stories, interviews, and commentary, we need your help. Our content takes skill, long hours and hard work. But we're a small team and not-for-profit, so we need the support of our readers to keep going.
If you support our kaupapa and want to see us continue, please consider making a one-off donation or contributing $5 or $10 a month.
what a sobering but
what a sobering but thoughtful insight into the concept of maori tikanga in a foreign land, our customs and beliefs have impacted unconsciously on an indigenous people reasserting a colonialist pattern of behavior which is unacceptable in today’s environment, i agree maori in this case have unwittingly used colonialist methods to dis empower the indigenous people of australia, the durug elder Aunty Sandra Lee said it all, maori should show humility and re – think what the aspirations are for maori living in australia, and a good start would be to enlist the wisdom of the Aboriginal elders who could advise them how it would look like from an indigenous perspective, Aborigine are in essence the korowai guiding us and protecting us spiritually with in their lands.
As a two year old in 1968
As a two year old in 1968 with a brother born in Australia I grew up knowing my culture without having a marae to go to. We still learnt our tikanga from parents who cared enough to keep some of it in our upbringing. Yes it doesn’t seem fair to some that we can’t build our own marae many places other than Aotearoa but I totally support the indigenous elders comment that they wouldn’t come here and expect to put up their Pou at a gateway etc. My Aunty who obviously knows her stuff took charge with the Blacktown Porirua ceremony in consulting the tangata whenua and respecting their whenua. If we have a large population of any other culture than our own living in our area. And we do. We still don’t expect to be ignored or unconsulted and once again allow that feeling of entitlement from other cultures to overpower our identity traditions language and whenua. There is a way to live harmoniously in Australia. Nothing wrong with building community centres that are used for all the same reasons without being a marae. Marae tikanga is not a religion it is a culture you can take anywhere with you in the world without needing to plant it on the soil of others land. A proposed marae in Salt lake has never gotten off the ground even after years of effort and backing. A cultural centre would do the job I feel. I support this original article 100 percent.
Aue, so the debate continues
Aue, so the debate continues with the same rationale for why we cannot build a Marae and everyone striving for political correctness. Not a strong consideration for me. Never forget we are manuhiri. Always acknowledge and show respect for the tangata whenua. However, we do have many Maori/aboriginal tamariki now who should have access to both cultures. Our historical links date back to trading in the 1800’s. We can have a marae and it will be built and it does not show disrespect for the tanga te whenua. It will be validation for all the Maori past and present who have had to show courage and commitment to build it. The people will come. Mauri ora.
Kia ora Māmari! As an
Kia ora Māmari! As an outsider who spoke to so many people across Australia on the subject I see a really unmet need for communal cultural space. Yes, there is a serious danger of trampling on the mana of the tāngata whenua, but I wonder if this concern should prevent Māori from achieving any kind of community facility. The question has largely been academic anyway, as it is inherently hard – or even impossible – to make any venture happen without significant governmental or institutional support, and none of that has yet been forthcoming. Anyway, while this is a long-running issue your kōrero seems very timely, as we await the imminent release of the 2016 Australian census results. It will be intriguing to see just what has happened to the Māori population in Australia, in these recent years of ever greater marginalisation for post-2001 migrants.
Tena koe e Mamari this is a
Tena koe e Mamari this is a very important, and eloquent, piece. I would probably get too angry trying to say the same thing. I’ve many times cringed at our own tendency to colonise other indigenous spaces. Conferences, openings, ceremonies all over the world – I’d go so far as to say we are the worst culprits of lateral colonisation. I actually had someone (attached to the marae project) try to convince me that the name Parramatta stemmed from Paremata. Te mutunga mai o te whakahihi ko tena.
Tena koe Tina,
Tena koe Tina,
Ka pai te korero. We are ignorant at times. My Koori husband and Maori Koori son came back from WIPCE in Cusco Peru mortified that a Maori contingent jumped up and demanded a karakia after the kai had been blessed…on Peruvian land!
Paremata was actually named for Parramatta – barramattugal.!
“When in Rome, do as the
“When in Rome, do as the romans do”..I totally get this whakatauki especially when we are in foreign land or situations. I express this tikanga when in a powhiri process on other marae not of our kawa. Therefore we must show the same respect for tangata whenua of other countries. Kia Ora e hoa for sharing your views on this very complex issue our whanau are currently facing in Australia..
A wonderful commentary thank
A wonderful commentary thank you.
Currently there are well over 300 mosques in Australia, stamped then built with minimal requirement standards of authorisations, don’t know if there were any consultations with any of the Tangatawhenua of respective locations, but recently there has been dire public and internal opposition against any further approvals for reasons that are varied and publicly now well known, main questions being asked, the real purpose of their existence apart from religious factors.
In view of the above this has annoyed me that we as Maori have been deprived and knocked back with proposals and applications properly submitted for the purpose of establishing Marae here in Australia. We are no threat to anyone and I for one, as I’m sure the majority of us domiciled here, am very respectful and appreciative of the opportunities Australia has afforded me.
Go figure.
No reira, he aha te mea nui o te ao, maaku e ki ake..He Tangata, He Tangata, He Tangata..Tu Tono..Mauri ora.
One question “how come other
One question “how come other cultures ie: Muslim, Seik have there own community gathering places?”
A willingness to believe they
A willingness to believe they have the right to have their mosques and temples and no consultation or acknowledgement of the tangata whenua. We are not like that.
I wondered the same about
I wondered the same about Muslim and Sheikh. At the same time I completely get your point
Ngā mihi ki a kie Māmari
Ngā mihi ki a kie Māmari
I love reading your posts which brings light to my understanding ka kaa te rama. As Ngāti Toa tūturu I saw the photos and post from the blessing of the pou pou, my whaea was one of the kaumātua fortunate to have attended. I remember some of the raru that took place in the lead up to that event. It was driven by the City Councils and not by Iwi or Mana Whenua. When it came to light that Mana Whenua had nothing to do with the planning, ceremony, programme or even gave permission, the Ngāti Toa kaumātua withdrew and told them that they wonʻt have anything to do with it unless mana whenua gave permission to allow the ceremony to take place. It was assumed that that was an automatic “given” but not so in Australia. It was an eye opener for our whānau to see the treatment even when they were inserted into the process. My whaea had a korero with some of their leaders and suprisingly they expressed their gratitude that we were willing to withdraw our support, attendance and pou pou if the mana whenua ope was not welcoming manuhiri. For them it was ground breaking, for us it heart breaking. It was a first for them to be included by the Blacktown Council in a ceremony of this scale. The eye opener for our whānau was to see how the aboriginal people are treated or ignored as kore instead of carriers if the Mana of the whenua.
As a young dad having 5 daughters born in Australia I knew we were strangers living on someone elses whenua so left to go home to my whenua to plant them back into soul that was more likely to nourish them.
I came to Sydney with my
I came to Sydney with my parents in 1967. My father is buried at our urupa in Rookwood. He died in 1992 and asked to stay here rather than be returned to Mitimiti. We also observed all the protocols of tangihanga.However, the idea of Marae here is complicated. My parents were on the first komiti to get a marae and worked tirelessly for a number of years. I am now married to a Koori man and my children are Koori and Maori and I now see things differently. Yes, we are in need of a place, a papkainga where we can hold tangihanga, celebrations etc. A space of our own a cultural centre. But not a Marae in the strict sense. When the tangata whenua do not have their own land, we should repect where we are and who we are.
If you would like to read more about our history in Sydney/Parramatta, here is the link to my research for Parramatta City Council. You may be surprised to learn that Rangihou Reserve is mainly symbolic. It is just one site that we were at and the mythologising around that whenua came from my father, Matiu Campbell and two of my Uncles trying to place where the seminary was situated. They were unaware of the significance of the other sites.
http://arc.parracity.nsw.gov.au/blog/2016/07/04/history-of-maori-in-parramatta/
Kia ora e hoa! What a
Kia ora e hoa! What a wonderful bit of work you did there, thank you for sharing it!!
wonderfully put together
wonderfully put together article. Well linked to existing information. he urunga tu in action.
Kia ora, nga mihinui kia koe.
Kia ora, nga mihinui kia koe. Having lived on and off in Australia I really welcome this korero. In my experience it’s an ongoing problem trying to figure out acknowledging your place as manuhiri. It shouldn’t be, but it’s so easy to place yourself in the role of a migrant within mainstream society – the same society where the tangata whenua there are likely to be marginalised. Certainly it’s how some of my Australian whanau behave (myself included at times). We’re constantly having to be reminded of those dynamics and the fact we’re manuhiri.
Nice one e hoa.
Nice one e hoa.
When I moved to London my uncle and tohunga told me to take my tupuna with me but don’t take my tikanga. What he meant by this is to take the principles and wisdom of our ancestors with us where ever we go around the world but never let our tikanga dictate how things should happen in foreign soil. Sadly as Maori we do this too much and especially at events like WIPCE and everyone feels good when actually it just reeks of arrogance and or ignorance…
tēnā rawa atu koe, e hoa! We
tēnā rawa atu koe, e hoa! We are not blank slates overseas, so I guess we will do things in a Māori way cos it makes sense to, but that’s different to asserting superiority, even unconsciously!
A complex issue, thank you
A complex issue, thank you for your wise thoughts on it.
Sure is complex! Thank you
Sure is complex! Thank you for your comment.