Hana Schmidt’s Breaking Waves podcast offended many ‘afakasi Sāmoans, but did she have a point? (Screenshot)

If you’re Sāmoan, and especially if you’re ‘afakasi (the word is derived from “half-caste”, back when blood quantum was a thing, and applies only to Sāmoans-Pālagi/European), then you probably noticed the online furore that erupted last week following the comments of a young Sāmoan podcast host. Lisa Meto Fox explains.  

I’ve been disturbed by the lack of alofa and grace shown in most of the social media comments and commentary that I’ve seen about Hana Schmidt’s now infamous “hot take”, which caused an online storm among Sāmoans — especially ‘afakasi (Sāmoan-Pālagi). Hana is a young Sāmoan woman who deserves our support and guidance, not our hostility and scorn. From what I’ve read, she realises that the way she worded her comments could have been more nuanced and better articulated.

When I watched the video clip of Hana’s podcast, I saw a young woman using a platform she helped to create to comment on something that she was witnessing:

I feel that the Sāmoans in New Zealand need to be humbled. Majorly humbled. When it comes to their culture, they’re too entitled — not all, a lot. They’re too entitled about what they should be gifted from culture and how they can express themselves culturally in other spaces. Or having the need that ‘I’m Sāmoan enough because of my blood.’ I don’t agree with that.

Yes, you are Sāmoan. But what truly makes you Sāmoan is how you serve your family and how you serve your village.

If you’re not doing any of those things but you’re operating in spaces like climate change and taking up board positions and you’re not doing the basics of serving your own family in your village, that’s not right to me. . . .

No offence to ‘afakasi, but [it’s] mostly ‘afakasi in high positions that make decisions. They can get into those rooms cos they know how to code-switch, but they don’t represent the people who truly need that help. And I think it’s a big problem.

Sure, it could’ve been worded better, but I worry that the disproportionately negative response Hana has received will discourage other Pacific young women from sharing their opinions in the public arena. We need more young Pacific women — and young Pacific people in general — speaking out about issues that matter to our communities. Voicing their opinions, reflecting on their experiences, and being part of the national conversation.

Besides, the overall point that Hana made was valid.

Frankly, it’s something that I, too, worry about.

Over the years, I’ve also witnessed what I took Hana to be referring to. I’ve seen people who are only Sāmoan when applying for scholarships or funding, or when applying for roles where being Sāmoan is a “point of difference” or an advantage on a job application. But in every other setting, they are simply Pālagi.

Of course, if people wish not to emphasise their Sāmoan heritage, that’s up to them. But when they only emphasise their Sāmoan heritage to receive a benefit from the western world, that’s a different story entirely.

Part of the problem lies with Pālagi institutions that favour Pacific people who tick a “diversity box” but are still a good “cultural fit” for their monocultural institution.

There’s no doubt that our proximity to whiteness makes us ‘afakasi more palatable to the mainstream organisations that hold the resources and power in New Zealand.

So, if we’re putting ourselves forward as Pacific representatives, we have an obligation to take our people with us and to make sure that we learn about our culture if we aren’t already immersed in it.

I say this with love and from personal experience.

Lisa Meto Fox with her late father Roger and mum Tului.

I know the pain of not feeling like you belong anywhere. Being too brown for your white family and too white for your brown family. I am the only ‘afakasi in my generation, on both sides of my family, so I didn’t grow up with ‘afakasi siblings or cousins. At school, I was regularly asked which side of my family I identified with more — a question I never knew how to answer because I was loved and raised by both sides of my extended family.

I’ve found much of the commentary from ‘afakasi, in response to Hana’s comments, to be disappointing. From one ‘afakasi to another: Please remember that while there’s a distinct and deeply felt sense of isolation and loneliness that can come from not feeling you belong anywhere, there is also A LOT of privilege that comes with being ‘afakasi, on both a systemic and personal level.

When I was growing up, my Sāmoan ‘āiga always treated me differently from the rest of my cousins. I wasn’t required to do the same fe‘aus (chores), and I was allowed to eat with the adults while the rest of my cousins needed to serve them. My socialising with friends, going here, there and everywhere, wasn’t seen as “ka’a” because I was simply “being Pālagi”.

My Sāmoan mother was conscious of this and pushed against it. She never wanted me to think I was better than my Sāmoan cousins, and she didn’t want them to resent me, either. So I always had fe‘aus, and I was expected to make the tea for the adults. And when we visited our family home in Sāmoa, Mum insisted that I should be treated the same as my cousins. But it caused a few disagreements between Mum and her sisters, who would regularly question her approach, insisting that the first “Pālagi” in the family shouldn’t be doing things like picking up the fallen leaves and weeding the garden.

As a child, I genuinely thought there were different rules for me because I was the princess of my ‘āiga. It wasn’t until I read some of Albert Wendt’s work in my early 20s that I realised, to my horror, that it was because I was ‘afakasi.

Hana referred to “code-switching”. I am absolutely able to code-switch into a middle-class white person. I don’t speak English with a “Sāmoan accent” like my Sāmoan cousins, as my Pākehā grandmother put it to me once.

And my name means that, if I choose to, I can be perceived as a white person on job applications. Now I choose to honour both my grandmothers, after whom I’m named, by using “Lisa Meto Fox”. But I could (and, at times, did when I was first a law graduate) choose to simply apply as “Lisa Fox”. As research has shown, those with European names are more likely to get interviews and jobs.

And while it’s true that humans grow up being able to code-switch to better adapt and survive in a multitude of situations, not everyone can code-switch into privilege the way ‘afakasi can.

“As a child, I genuinely thought there were different rules for me because I was the princess of my ‘āiga. It wasn’t until I read some of Albert Wendt’s work in my early 20s that I realised, to my horror, that it was because I was ‘afakasi.” From left, Grandma Meto, Lisa Meto Fox (sitting on her mother Tului’s knee), Aunty Kisa (holding baby Carolyn) and late Aunty Fa’agi, and cousins Taumuli, Mark and Burnham (with his back to the camera).

“I was loved and raised by both sides of my extended family.” Pictured with ‘āiga, on her graduation from Auckland University Law School. (Supplied)

On my Pākehā father’s side, I am descended from settler-colonists, which means that, on a structural level, I’ve inherited capital that allows me to be a homeowner and to have the choices and opportunities that come with that. I feel extremely grateful to my Pākehā grandparents, but they, too, acknowledged the uneven playing field.

Although my parents were working class, my father’s Pākehā family were comfortably middle class, and this meant that I had relations who had university degrees and worked in professional occupations. They were able to help me navigate the education system and to know that being a professional was very much within my grasp. Being of English descent gives me access to social and financial capital that my Sāmoan cousins simply didn’t have. I believe that advantage comes with a responsibility to do the social and economic justice work that I do.

In his book An Indigenous Ocean, Damon Salesa talks about how some ‘afakasi were categorised as “European” to bolster the numbers of colonists, as not many overseas-born Europeans wanted to live in Sāmoa because of the climate. Beginning with the colonial German government (and carried on by the New Zealand administration), the decision about whether a Sāmoan-Pālagi person was European or Sāmoan was made by government officials. You could not be both.

If you were European, there were different standards legally, politically and socially. Europeans had elite schools and clubs and access to capital, which other Sāmoans were barred from. It’s no coincidence that many of the business owners and top government officials of Sāmoa today are ‘afakasi. It was designed that way and is an ongoing legacy of colonisation.

“I am absolutely able to code-switch into a middle-class white person.”

I think it’s also important for the Sāmoan diaspora to confront the very real colourism and anti-blackness embedded in our culture, as another legacy of colonialism. The Sāmoan standard of beauty idealises whiteness — the fairer your skin, the more beautiful you’re seen to be. Meanwhile, Sāmoan people who have ancestry from the Solomon Islands are still widely called mea uli (literally, “black thing”). In Tama Uli, Oscar Kightley talks us through the history of discrimination faced by Sāmoans of Solomon Islands descent.

Among my ‘afakasi friends, there were mixed reactions to Hana’s comments. One said she was really happy to see so many people standing up for ‘afakasi as being “real Sāmoans”, which isn’t something that would have happened even 15 years ago. She added that all the ‘afakasi people she knows who are in “high positions” do immense amounts of work to mentor, advocate for, and generally uplift our people.

Another friend, who grew up in Sāmoa, told me he’d been bullied at school and work for being ‘afakasi. And while he could see the structural privileges that come with being ‘afakasi, it also “wasn’t his fault”. Which is true, but we still benefit from those privileges, so it’s important for us to learn about and acknowledge them. (Much like Pālagi people who complain about how hard it is to be white these days.)

If you have Sāmoan gafa (whakapapa), you are Sāmoan. Period. This is the only “qualification” for being Sāmoan.

But, as Hana suggested in her podcast, if you’re putting yourself into spaces where you’re supposed to be representing Sāmoan or Pacific people, then that comes with a responsibility of tautua (service) to our communities.

I understand that many Sāmoan people, including me, are on their journey of connecting to their culture. I speak in my broken Sāmoan to my ‘āiga, and ask lots of questions about why certain cultural practices are the way they are and how to do them. I’ve also done language classes, siva classes, and spent time in Sāmoa.

There is a wide and varying spectrum of what it means to be a Sāmoan person today, and I think that’s a beautiful thing. We need all our people to feel safe and encouraged to be Sāmoan.

Our Tongan sister, ‘Anau Mesui-Henry, of Four Shells Kava Lounge in Auckland, has kindly agreed to host a talanoa on this topic. If anyone would like to sit on the fala (mat), please join us on Thursday, November 14 at 7pm, at Four Shells Kava Lounge, in the Fale Talanoa.

Lisa Meto Fox (Sāmoan-Pākehā) is a former lawyer who now works as an independent consultant focused on equity for Moana/Pacific people. She is from the Savusa ‘āiga in Faleapuna, Sāmoa, on her mother’s side. On her father’s side, she is a fifth-generation Pākehā whose English ancestors, the Jordans, settled in Kaukapakapa. She lives in Auckland.

E-Tangata, 2024