Just be Māori — with Stacy Gregg

Before he passed last year, Kīngi Tuheitia left some simple advice for taking back power in a year of political attack on Māori progress and ambition.

He said: “Just be Māori. Māori all day, every day.”

In honour of that whakaaro, this is an occasional series in which we talk to Māori about what “just being Māori” looks like for them.

Today, award-winning author Stacy Gregg shares her kōrero.

(If you’d like to take part, you can fill out our questionnaire here.)

 

Nō hea koe: Nō Ngāruawāhia ahau. Nō Ngāti Mahuta, Ngāti Pukeko, Ngāti Maru Hauraki.

Name, age, pronouns: Stacy Gregg, 56, she/her.

Currently living in: Te Rimu Tahi (Ponsonby).

Mahi: Kaituhi. I write fiction for tamariki, inarā 8- to 12-year-olds. My novel about growing up in Ngāruawāhia, Nine Girls, won the Supreme Margaret Mahy Award at the Children’s Book Awards in August. I also write TV shows, including My Life Is Murder.

My passions include: In the past, horses. I was a rider and so was my daughter. These days, the horse is retired and if I have any time outside work, I’m studying te reo. I graduated Level 6 Aupikitanga at Te Wānanga o Aotearoa last year and this year I’m consolidating, with the aim of making it to the lofty heights of Pīnakitanga (Level 7) next year.

My favourite thing about being Māori is: Having a voice at the table and hopefully being able to speak some truth and support a better future for our tamariki.

One thing I wish more tauiwi (non-Māori) knew about Māori is: As Waikato Tainui, I wish more tauiwi knew the history of what was taken from us through venal confiscation of our land. We were thriving until Governor Grey came up with a totally untrue provocation to start a war because the property speculators wanted what we had.

That land became the basis of wealth for Pākehā, and we were thrown back the scraps off the table. The downstream effects of that play out now in health and wellbeing outcomes for Māori. So when people talk about Māori demanding preferential treatment, I think back to what was unjustly taken from us.

One thing from te ao Māori I wish I could do but haven’t yet is: Reconnecting with my marae.

My most embarrassing moment in te ao Māori was: At last year’s New Zealand Book Awards. I had been determined that if my book Nine Girls won my category (junior fiction) I would give my speech in reo Māori only — and I actually managed to choke down the nerves and do it.

Afterwards, though, I realised Pania Papa was in the audience! I would never have been so brave if I’d realised that one of the ātua of the reo was in the room. Luckily, I won the overall award too, so I got to go up again and tell her that. My kaiako cringed when I told him. But, tūwhitia te hopo (face your fears), nē?

My proudest moment was: The same moment! Being able to mihi to the kaiwhakawā, my tūpuna, my whanaunga and the people who got me up there on the ātamira was very special for me.

A particularly memorable time I got told off was: At my very first noho marae, I tried to karakia, blew it and got sung over by a kuia. It was such a deeply shaming thing, but the lesson was learnt. It also made me aware of the power of women on the marae, to shut down a kōrero — as they did to David Seymour at Waitangi last year. That’s not disrespectful. That’s tikanga.

But a memorable time I got a pat on the back was: From my fellow tauira at Aupikitanga last year. It’s a tough haerenga learning the reo when you didn’t grow up with it. But my fellow tauira are my best allies, and in every class I’ve ever been in, I’ve felt supported. In that class, I definitely felt like I was in the very bottom percentile, but I know that being around people who can speak the reo better than I can is good for me — probably less good for them sometimes, though! It must’ve been very frustrating watching me struggle to get the words out.

My role models in te ao Māori are: Language proponents like Pania Papa, Timoti Kāretu, Stacey and Scotty Morrison, Hemi Kelly, and outspoken voices like Annette Sykes, Tina Ngata and Anne Salmond who is doing such an incredible job with her essays defining exactly what is wrong with this government’s thinking and the Treaty principles bill.

In the past month . . .

I have tried to embody or nurture my Māoritanga by: Going to Waitangi to be there on the day with my cousins for the first time. Trying to live more Māori in the day-to-day — whether that’s something simple like washing the tea towels separately from the sheets or saying a karakia before I travel or swim. Every day, I try to raise the level of my reo and think about how to use my voice to empower tamariki.

One thing I saw in the news or online that brought me joy or hope was: Watching the live feed of the select committee hui for the Principles of the Treaty of Waitangi Bill and seeing just how brilliantly te ao Māori laid out the truth on the table.

Something I bought, found or received was: A hue (gourd). My classmate Irihāpeti grew it, hand-painted it and gifted it to me after I won at the book awards.

Something new I learned was: Taupiri Maunga is a wahine. I’m working on writing the animated feature film adaptation of Nine Girls with Dana Leaming, the amazing Pōneke-based writer/creator behind the TV series Not Even. We were arguing about what gender Taupiri is, and she was right. As the story goes, she used to live by the side of her brother Tongariro, but she left to get married.

Something I watched, read or listened to was: I am a total Te Karere addict. And the Taringa podcast.

A time I practised tikanga Māori in a Pākehā space was: At every school visit. I try to always incorporate reo, karakia and waiata. I did a session in Wellington recently where I did the karakia and the kids did the most awesome waiata tautoko. If you give them the opportunity, kids are totally brilliant.

Connection, wairua, and hope . . .

Growing up, my connection to ao Māori was: Broken after my mum died. She was only 42. She went for an angiogram at Waikato Hospital and never came home.

My connection over time has: Grown weaker when I moved away from Ngāruawāhia. It took a long time for me to have the inner strength to reclaim my whakapapa.

When politicians or others attack Māori, my reaction is: Anger at their distortion of facts to suit their agenda and disappointment when people fall for it.

I protect and nourish my wairua by: Connecting with others who value our reo and te ao Māori.

The form of resistance that gives me the most hope is: The voice of Te Pāti Māori and right now, in terms of the Treaty principles bill, I value the political support from present and previous politicians from all sides of the house (Willie Jackson, Chloe Swarbrick, Geoffrey Palmer, Jenny Shipley, Chris Finlayson) who all see the neoliberal venal manipulation of terms like “equality and freedom” for the very dangerous game that it is. We can and should march in the streets for what is right, but at the end of the day, our representatives must do their job and represent.

In my lifetime, I hope my mokopuna: Speak te reo Māori as fluently as they do English, know who they are, and assert themselves without fear.

A whakataukī or piece of advice I’d give to other Māori on this journey is: Kua tawhiti kē tō haerenga mai kia kore e haere tonu. He nui rawa ō mahi kia kore koe e mahi tonu.

It’s a whakataukī by Sir James Henare. It means: “You have come too far not to go further. You have done too much not to do more.”

 

If you’d like to take part, please fill out the questionnaire, and feel free to share the form with others too!

This piece was made possible by NZ On Air through the Public Interest Journalism Fund.

E-Tangata, 2024