Ria Hall: If you’re Māori, you’re automatically political

Like most, maybe all, Māori artists, Ria Hall’s work has always been political. So, it’s not surprising that the 41-year-old mother of three threw her hat into the ring for the Tauranga mayoralty this year. It’s an arena that hasn’t gone out of its way to welcome Māori voices in the past — and while she didn’t win, the award-winning singer-songwriter, university student, and social entrepreneur has plenty of other outlets for her talents, as Dale finds out in this kōrero.

 

Tēnā koe, Ria. Would you take a moment, please, to reflect on your mum and dad and your whānau? Because, obviously, they’ve been in your corner forever.

I was born and raised in Tauranga Moana. I’m the youngest of four girls. I can hear everyone saying: “Your poor dad.” Yes, he had quite an arduous task raising four daughters.

Ours was a very working-class whānau with working-class values. My father left school early, but he was a champion runner. I believe he still holds a couple of records at Tauranga Boys’ College. In the steeplechase, they called it back then.

So, sport has always been a staple in my whānau. My sisters and I played sport all through school. We all went to Tauranga Girls’ College. My mum went to Tauranga Girls’ as well. So we’re all very much ingrained in the fabric of Tauranga. I was schooled at Maungatapu Primary School. My eldest son now goes to Te Kura o Maungatapu, as it’s now called. So there’s a nice intergenerational thing happening, which brings me lots of joy.

My parents split when I was around six or seven and I stayed with my dad. My siblings are a little bit older than me. My older sister, just above me, is five years older than me, and my two other siblings are nine and 11 years older than me. They had had a big hand in raising me.

We’re very self-sufficient women. We were raised that way. And so we’ve worked the majority of our lives. We’ve been very focused on ensuring that our working lives were such that the bills were always paid and food was always on the table.

That’s the kind of school that we come from because that’s how we saw our father. Our father was always working. He was a plasterer, a gib-stopper by trade. But he was a foreman for a long time. So we saw his early starts and late finishes six days a week. That was the kind of person he was. He was normally working six days, finishing at lunchtime on a Saturday and then going to rugby on Saturday afternoons.

I’ve worked since I was very young. I had a paper run at about 11. I’ve always been a very hard worker. I was always encouraged to ensure that I always had my own back. So I always had money in the bank. I’m very much self-sufficient.

And while my upbringing wasn’t glamorous, I’m grateful because I was raised in Maungatapu close to our marae, close to our sports club, and close to all my whānau. I had extended family members up and down the street.

We were never without anything, even though in modern-day society people might think: “Oh, gosh, you didn’t have much back then.” Well, we actually did, because we had each other and we had whānau everywhere.

That was cool, especially in a place like Tauranga where, by and large, Māori get relegated to their little hapū pockets. And while that’s still the case now, it’s actually a powerful thing because we are hapū people. So we’re raised within the manaakitanga of the hapū.

My father passed away when I was 25, and I’m 41 now. So that was a big loss for me and for my siblings and my wider whānau. My mum has been a saving grace for me, now that I’m a mum of three young children. She’s back here in Tauranga Moana. She’s been someone that I’ve been able to lean on to help raise my babies.

Is Ria Hall your full name? Have you got a middle Māori name?

Just Ria Hall. No, I don’t have a Māori middle name. Can you believe that? All my sisters have Māori middle names, but little Ria didn’t get a Māori middle name, and that is the bane of my existence to this day.

I was really pleased that you put your hat in the ring for the Tauranga mayoralty. People possibly don’t know this side of you, because over the years you’ve been thought of as a muso, but you’re much more than that now — almost like a creative entrepreneur. And you studied politics in Victoria. I was intrigued by that. What drew you into that space?

Pāpā Moana Jackson used to say that if you’re born Māori, you’re automatically political. It’s inherent in who we are and how we roll, irrespective of the careers or the paths that we take.

And I’ve always been socially aware and politically active, since I was a young child. I’ve been moving in those spaces through my music primarily, which is highly political. The majority of what I speak to and write to is based on colonisation, oppression, and being First Nations people. So, it’s been something that’s been cooking for a while.

Campaigning for an election kind of formalised those experiences and stories that I had garnered throughout my lifetime. There was a convergence point and I thought it was a poignant time to throw my hat in the ring. And so I did that.

And we achieved what we set out to achieve. Even though it didn’t culminate in a win for the mayoralty, it did something different here in Tauranga. And I’m really proud of what we achieved, Dale. And I say we, because it just wasn’t me. I just happened to be the face and the mouthpiece, but I had a brilliant team, wāhine Māori te katoa, all Māori women.

It was also probably the greatest experience, both good and bad, of my entire life.

What did you set out to achieve, and what were some of the gains from that effort?

I knew that going into a mayoralty race as an early-40s māmā, wahine moko kauae, tangata whenua o Tauranga Moana, I was up against multiple odds, and it was stacked against me. But we tried to position ourselves in a manner that was inclusive, and really focused on positive engagement, relationship-building, and being the bridge between tangata whenua and tangata Tiriti. We wanted to create a safe space for the people of Tauranga to move to and converge upon.

And I think we achieved that. We garnered the largest number of votes any Māori has ever garnered if they’ve thrown their hat in the ring for the mayoralty. So that really spoke to what I feel is a desire for change. It may not have come this time around, but I do feel like we could be on the verge of seeing something very different in the next few elections. It’s a starting point, and it’s an exciting one.

Are you tempted to run again or go into national politics? Does any of this loom in your potential future?

For now, I’m trying to just come back to earth and keep things simple.

I take my hat off to any politician, whether that’s local government, regional spaces or at a national level, because the experience is incredibly gruelling in every way, shape and form. Emotionally, spiritually, on your whānau, on your pocket, on your energy.

I’m really in awe of people who can do that every single election time. For me, I’m just trying to carve out my professional path further. Get my governance chops up to speed, focus on my whānau, and focus on my study.

Where are you at with your studies?

I finished my undergrad studies at the University of Waikato. I did a BA in te reo Māori and political science and now I’m embarking on my master’s through the University of Auckland specialising in regional development, and I’m going to take a specific Māori lens to that.

Some might think, bearing in mind the tone of your songwriting and the well-documented injustices in Tauranga, that you might have preferred to remain in constant opposition. I’m intrigued that you would stand for a role within what some would see as colonial structures, including the mayoralty and the council. How did you come to terms with being part of what might be seen as the establishment?

That’s a very good point, and I tussled with that for some months leading up to the official announcement of my candidacy. But I continue to come back to the point that Māori need to be at the table in all spaces — and for Māori to be at the table, Māori need to be throwing their hat in the ring.

And I wanted to use whatever platform I had amassed over my music career to try and project a Māori voice into a space that has never really welcomed the Māori voice. So I understand the dichotomy there. But I think that those are the tensions that we as Māori people grapple with. They’re part of the process of striving for the equity and the equality that we deserve as a result of all things colonial.

And yes, it’s very much a colonial structure in our council, as are all council structures and government structures across Aotearoa. But again, it’s about being at the table and the partnership that was promised to us in Te Tiriti o Waitangi, and giving effect to that.

Because, as you know, Dale, for 180-plus years, we haven’t had those opportunities. Those spaces have been closed to us. So if it means breaking down a door or two or three, so be it. I’ve never been one to step aside from a challenge.

I think you can still be Māori, you can still be yourself, and you can still stick to your values, but be open to brokering relationships between tangata whenua and Pākehā tangata Tiriti.

I’m very much on that pathway, and that was really what that stand was about, so that the Māori voice is heard and felt, and reverberates across Tauranga Moana.

You mentioned Moana Jackson. We miss Moana. He was such an inspiration and guide to so many of our generation. There are many different styles, but his was notable because of the way he was so softly spoken, sensible, logical and consistent, showing that you don’t need to bang the drum and stamp your feet to be effective.

What might you say of his influence on some of your thinking, and of others who might have contributed to the way you position yourself politically?

I’ve added to my kete over the years as I’ve navigated various settings, whether that’s in music, writing, curation, producing kaupapa, and also in academia.

But from a Tauranga Moana perspective, I think just understanding the context of where we are now and where we’ve come from, and how much further we have to go as people of this particular place.

And understanding implicitly the style of colonising that occurred here, mainly premised by raupatu, and using that as the impetus for kotahitanga. We talk about kotahitanga — but what does that actually look like, sound like, feel like at a practical level, at a grassroots level?

All these conversations are incredibly necessary at the moment. But when we come back home to our own kāinga, how do we transfer that information into something that’s tangible and workable for our people? Those are conversations that I’m really inspired by.

Pāpā Moana, as you said, was softly spoken but a giant of a man in terms of his thinking and the way that he articulated himself. Those koha that he gave us were invaluable when you think of the context of the world that we live in right now.

And like you said, you don’t need to stamp your feet all the time, but you can break down doors in a way that still keeps people’s mana intact. That’s the kind of learning that I took away from Pāpā Moana.

I’m also thinking about the writings of people like Linda and Graham Smith in terms of decolonising our thinking, and how that might apply when we’re in various colonial spaces. And also the work of Ani Mikaere and other people of that ilk who critically think about how we might transfer our tikanga into a modern-day context and how that can galvanise our people.

I’m just taking gems from everywhere, and gems from my own kaumātua here in Tauranga Moana, my koroua and nannies. They’re all people who walked certain paths, but they did it in a way much like Pāpā Moana, with mana kept intact.

I’m really heartened by that style of leadership. That’s the style that I hope to bring to the table as well, no matter which path I choose to take.

It does seem like we’ve been forced backwards with this new coalition government. What are you making of where we’re at with this government?

Our people are well aware of the coalition that we’re dealing with. We’ve been having these conversations for some time now. While we need to keep ourselves aware as to what’s going on politically, I don’t feel we should get bogged down too much in the detail.

What I would focus on, and what I am focusing on, is how to acquire and continue to speak to kotahitanga, and what that looks like on the ground.

Over the last year that this particular coalition has been in government, we have focused on the negative impacts on our people as a result of them being in power.

And while that’s necessary, I feel like, a year on, we can now start feeling and thinking a bit differently. We know exactly what we’re working with. We’ve got a very clear idea of who these people are. The question is: What do we do with it now?

Our whānau are galvanising across the country, as we saw with the hīkoi.

Changes in government don’t stop us as a people. Yes, we’re in the trenches, but what can we do while we’re in those trenches to ensure that we’re keeping safe, and to ensure that we’re keeping abreast of what’s going on?

I’m excited about this time, Dale. I think it’s a time when we really need to lean into with each other and think about the bigger picture.

Our people are carrying an air of positivity, despite a climate of negative stereotyping which the media have contributed to across time. This brings me to M9. What was your thinking when you said: “Let’s bring nine Māori voices together in a room of positivity.” What’s the story of M9?

It’s a moment for us to come together and delight in our people and their achievements and their brilliance and their excellence. And to remember always that, irrespective of the dark that may overcome or overwhelm us at times, we are brilliant humans, and we have so much to offer this country and the world. M9 is an opportunity to showcase that in a small forum, in a small way.

It’s a social enterprise based on Te Tiriti o Waitangi. It’s a partnership that speaks to kaupapa Māori, using mātauranga Māori frameworks and using amazing Māori people to tell stories, to share laughs, to share their ups and downs, to share their experiences in their particular fields of expertise.

We’ve been going for just over two years now, and we’re trucking along trying to continue to keep up with what’s going on out there in the world to stay relevant, and to show our people — and not just Māori people, but Aotearoa at large — that these stories are stories we can all lean into and be proud of as a nation.

And that’s basically the gist of M9. We just want to continue telling stories and bringing whānau together.

Our people are great storytellers and creators, artistic, musical, playwrights, filmmakers. How heartened are you when you see this new crop of bicultural talent that we’re seeing in our creative sector?

There’s nothing more exciting than to see our fresh thinkers, our new prophets, our dreamers coming through the ranks. I take incredible delight in seeing and hearing the different perspectives that our rangatahi have — which are, you know, very different to mine. And that’s amazing because it speaks to our evolution. And not only are they fluent reo speakers, but they live in multiple worlds. That equips us well for the future.

If you look at the population statistics, we Māori people are on the rise, and that’s largely due to rangatahi Māori. I’m excited about what our future looks like in the next 20, 30, 40, 50 years, because Aotearoa is going to be a very Māori space, and we’re seeing that come through the ranks now. It’s incredibly healthy. We just need to keep supporting our young ones to keep coming through and to give them the assurance that they’re on the right track.

Because the creative sector is a hard one, Dale. It’s a hard one to forge a career out of. It’s a hard one to navigate as a Māori person. But they’re creating their own pathways. It’s a beautiful thing.

Music can break through barriers, including racial barriers, and it does. It’s a very powerful tool when you think back to the work of the likes of Moana Maniapoto, Hinewehi Mohi, yourself with Rules of Engagement and Manawa Wera, and Herbs with their anti-nuclear reggae stances of yesteryear. Where do you see music as a tool for empowerment for Māori?

I still believe in my heart that music is the tool to bring Māori, Pākehā and the other whānau across Aotearoa together. Because I’ve seen it happen across my 20-something years of being in the music industry.

I just want to make mention of Jaedyn Randell, who defied the odds by becoming a finalist in The Voice Australia. People like her, who have the platform and the voice and the pizzazz and the class, are doing incredible things in the music space. And, of course, people like Jordyn with a Why, people like Tawaz, people like Mā. One of my best friends, Anna Coddington, just won the Silver Scroll with a bilingual waiata “Kātuarehe”. And that’s happened before, back in 2022 with Rob Ruha and Ka Hao and their song “35.”

That’s a clear indicator that the tide is turning in the music industry, and it’s been turning for some time. Even in the time of Moana Maniapoto and Brannigan Kaa, the tide was turning, but for some reason there’s another wave of action happening in the Māori music scene right now. And, I’m incredibly encouraged by it.

I’ve been on other journeys, particularly being a mum over these last four years. But what people are doing now is really encouraging me to get back into the studio, and I’m hoping to do that this next year.

Let’s talk about Marae DIY, which you hosted for a few years. Some people might think it’s a quirky programme, but for the people whose marae was transformed, it was a very special kaupapa, and no doubt you felt some of that wairua at times from the effort of your teams. You’d turn up with the team and paint the wharekai and re-pile the ablution block or whatever.

Another timely reminder that when we work together, we can get great things done, nē?

Oh, man. Marae DIY was another pivotal moment for me! I came on board still in my 20s back in 2013, and I hosted it for six or seven years. I was able to travel to some really remote parts of the country that I never thought I would reach.

I remember very vividly, in 2015, I think it was, heading up to Maungapōhatu, smack bang in the middle of Te Urewera. And we had to stay there longer than we normally would when we’d go to any other marae, simply because we were right in the middle of nowhere and it was better for us, weather-wise, to stay a couple of days either side of the shoot. So we did that, and it was just an amazing experience.

Being in my Tauranga Moana bubble, I sometimes forget that our people move so differently in their own settings. You know, they’re on their own patch and on their marae, and they move very differently to how we might move at my marae.

Or we go up north to Horeke, and they move incredibly differently from how they might move down in Ōhinewaiapu and Rangitukia on the coast, in Ngāti Porou country.

It was just a real eye-opener for me, and a real privilege and an honour to be welcomed the way that we were at every single kaupapa, at every single marae. We were treated brilliantly everywhere because we were bringing something to their marae that brought their people home. That was the kaupapa: bringing people back home.

It brings us to Bub and Nan Wehi, and Waka Huia. There were some top guns in Waka Huia at that time. What did you learn from these two wonderful kapa haka gurus?

I went into Te Manu Huia first. This would have been in 1999. I was about 16 at the time, and my older cousin, Tumanako Farrell, who had a hand in my singing career, was in Waka Huia at the time, and he was also helping to tutor our local kapa here at Tauranga Boys’ and Tauranga Girls’. He took me under his wing and he’d take me to Auckland in the weekends to trial for Te Manu Huia, to perform at the then Aotearoa Traditional Māori Performing Arts Festival at Tūrangawaewae marae in Ngāruawahia, in February 2000.

So I’ve been around te whānau Wehi, and a lot of my tuākana, since I was 16. I went back to competitive haka in 2006, after spending a few years in Australia singing over there and kind of sharpening my performing tools. I came back and moved to Wellington and tried out for Te Waka Huia. So I’ve known them for a good number of years.

The teachings that I acquired over those times are teachings that I will take with me for the rest of my life. Something that Koro would say was: “If you’re five minutes late, you’re out. Your attitude’s out.” That was a sharp reminder to always show up early to every kaupapa.

I’m like that with my musical kaupapa. If I’ve got something on, I’m always horrendously early because I want to make sure that my mind is in the right place and I’m able to warm up. I’ve always remembered Koro’s words, and I take them everywhere with me.

But also the ability to harness and teach all the people they’ve taught — thousands of people over generations — and still remain incredibly humble. That’s a testament to the people they are and the legacy that they’ve created in Te Waka Huia.

And there are countless people in other top kapa, who are using those same teachings and imparting their knowledge systems to new generations of kai haka, who were born out of Te Waka Huia and out of the teachings of Koro and Nan.

So I just want to again pay tribute to everyone who has contributed to my life and what those haka teachings have taught me as a māmā, as a human, as a professional, as a singer, as a business owner, and as someone who isn’t afraid to give things a go and take on challenges and to use the platform of haka as the means to stand tall. I’m very lucky to have had their teachings installed and instilled now in my DNA.

It’s also been partly responsible for some wonderful musical collaborations. I think of the work that you’ve done with so many different artists, and many of them also lovers of kapa haka. What’s most satisfying about the many different collaborations that you’ve had? It’s been a feature of your musical background now to collaborate with talented tau waiata Māori. Why so?

That’s my most favourite thing to do. Because I get to hang out with cool people who make me think differently about how I might approach my music. Or they make me perform vocally in a different way than I might have done previously.

Music is the most beautiful yet crippling space to be in at times, because it’s so personal. Giving all of yourself with your voice and your story is very personal, but also incredibly cathartic, especially when you’re in the company of like minds, people that you trust and love.

But I also like collaborating with people that I haven’t worked with before, because I like the challenge and I like to be stretched. I like to see what else I can do, how much further I can push myself.

Collaboration is actually the core of my musical being and how I prefer to work. Admittedly, I also enjoy doing things on my own, because I’m an extroverted introvert. And I think a lot of musicians and creatives can probably resonate with that kōrero. But, in a creative setting, collaboration is what keeps me going.

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

E-Tangata, 2024