It’s a Matter of Trust: Ngāi Tahu Democratic Processes and Māori Pākehā Research Partnership

Introduction

Aotearoa/New Zealand has over 600 near-shore islands (McSaveney, 2007) with three main islands. The Ngāi Tahu have the largest membership of tribal people and are tangata whenua (Indigenous to the area) of Te Waipounamu (South Island) with whakapapa (self-identity and complex sets of relationships and knowledges) with tribes on other islands. Te Waipounamu (South Island) is shared with Te Tau Ihu o Te Waka a Maui, Rangitane, Ngāti Apa, Ngāti Koata, Ngāti Rārua, Ngāti Toa, Ngāti Tama, Waitaha and Te Ātiawa peoples (Tau, 2003).

The Treaty of Waitangi is New Zealand’s founding legal agreement between the British Crown and Māori chiefs, signed on 6 February 1840. It sought to secure sovereignty for Britain, established the legal status of the country and gave Māori the status of British subjects (Orange, 2015). Māori chiefs signed because they wanted control over the unjust sale of their land to Europeans, an end to fighting, and the ability to trade with Europe (Crocker, 2014; Orange, 2015).

The underlying treaty principles are partnership, participation, and protection. In 1975 the Waitangi Tribunal was established to consider claims by Māori against the Crown regarding breaches of those principles, and since 1985 the tribunal has considered Crown actions and omissions dating back to 1840. The settlement of all historic claims in Aotearoa/New Zealand are negotiated with the Crown through the Office of Treaty Settlements (Johnston, 2011).

From 1849, the seven Ngāi Tahu chiefs who signed the treaty were clear that the methods used to purchase their land were a breach of the treaty, and a claim was lodged with the Waitangi Tribunal in 1986 (O’Regan, Palmer and Langton 2003 in Evison, 1997; Langton, 2006; Ngai Tahu Heads of Agreement, 1996).

In 1998, after nearly 150 years, Ngāi Tahu iwi and the Crown reached agreement and were provided compensation valued at $170 million, which was much less than what the tribe was owed (Ngai Tahu Deed of Settlement, 1997). Included in this was the Right of First Refusal, which gave the Ngāi Tahu the first opportunity to acquire a range of defined Crown assets at the current market value as and when the Crown chose to sell (Langton, 2006). The settlement confirmed Ngāi Tahu ownership of pounamu (mineral rights to greenstone) in their territory through the Ngāi Tahu (Pounamu Vesting) Act 1997 (NZ). The Crown also expressed its ‘profound regret’ and apologised ‘unreservedly’ for the suffering and hardship it had caused by not honouring its Treaty obligations. In addition, the Ngāi Tahu sacred maunga (mountain), Aoraki/Mount Cook, was symbolically returned to the tribe. Later Ngāi Tahu symbolically gifted the mountain back to the nation as a sign of ‘commitment to co-manage areas of cultural, historical and conservation value with the Crown’ (Langton, 2006). The Ngāi Tahu Claim Settlement Act (1998) also recognised 88 Ngāi Tahu place names to be set alongside English names in the geographical record.

The overall claim was finally settled with the 1997 Deed of Settlement and the 1998 Ngāi Tahu Claims Settlement Act (Tipa & Nelson, 2017). However, it is important to remember that treaty settlement occurred in an era of neoliberal reform as New Zealand moved from its social democratic roots. During this time of state sector reform, tribal corporatism developed with new relationships between the government and Māori including ‘funding the contracting of health, welfare, and educational services’ (Belgrave, 2014). The changes involved were complicated and have required a great deal of attention to ensure sustainable cultural governance within changing legal and policy frameworks, alongside ongoing building trust between Treaty partners.

Some authors note that the transferal of financial resources to iwi (a Māori community or people) have enabled tribes to address some of the cumulative disadvantages of colonization policy and practice (Bryers-Brown & Trundle, 2017; Te Runanga o Ngai Tahu Annual Report, 2015). However, Reid et al. (2016) findings remind us that whilst material wellbeing has improved, the situation for cultural wellbeing may not be so clear cut.

It is from this context that this article explores Ngāi Tahu iwi (tribe) democratic processes, history, Treaty relationships, partnerships and how we may use Narrative methodology as a respectful, authentic and holistic approach to research.

Methods

Non-Indigenous researchers in Aotearoa/New Zealand are becoming more mindful that any research regarding Māori must be ‘acceptable, accountable and relevant to Māori’ (Wyeth et al., 2010, p. 304). Jones (2012) states: “Kaupapa Māori provides a set of rules defining a philosophical and methodological research space strategically formed by Māori, for Māori purposes” (Jones, 2012, p. 101). Furthermore, Kaupapa Māori research prioritises cultural knowledge and understandings in a way that is self-determining and decolonizing (Mikaere, 2011). Others argue that a Pākehā (New Zealand European), cannot engage in Kaupapa Māori research (Pihama, 2001). Jones (2012) challenges this assumption and encourages cross-cultural researchers to acknowledge and step into the ‘hyphen space’ in Māori-Pākehā research collaborations. The hyphen space is seen as that which both separates us and joins us. This was undertaken within an awareness of Kaupapa Māori research, a practice which Bishop (1996) describes as a ‘challenge to accepted norms and assumptions about knowledge and the way it is constructed’ and the requirement for findings to be ‘understood in terms of Māori worldview’.

The Hyphen Space

I would describe this space as an inner hospitality regarding everything that culturally separates and connects us, without privileging or diminishing either awareness or assumption. It is the practical inner and outer work of exploring what respectful Treaty partnership looks like in this arena. This space invites the listener to become reflexive and aware and willing to acknowledge and alter inner assumption and prejudice. It may challenge the ‘narratives of family, place and culture’ and it may deepen into an emotional intimacy of communication which is not easy or comfortable as the sharing highlights inequity, violence, and injustice. In this space the first stage is building trust and transparent relationship and process. In a colonised context this happens over a long period of time and through many forms of relationship which include personal and family visibility, actions, and community accountability.

As I step into sharing stories that I have listened to for a long time it means a continual process of reflexivity as I navigate my own assumptions, felt pain and different experiences throughout our conversation. I begin by thinking that this can be a narrative methodology whereby Hine’s ‘story’ remains intact and informs the theorising (Reissman, 2008), however the risk of ‘othering’ and becoming ‘expert’ in another culture’s knowledge renders this as potentially insensitive as a Tiriti (non-Māori) partner. I resist the urge to distance myself by using narrative methods and step gently into a paper which may have some similarities with autoethnography, in the way that the vulnerability of each author is transparent and there is no possibility of othering (Ellis, 1999). Yet Bauvier and MacDonald (2019), encourage us to view this type of exchange as a methodology which privileges spiritual and living inquiry guided by ethical relationality.

I wonder about the placement of my voice within this sharing and in the end share it as it was; a space where I witness and listen deeply. Where the feeling between us is as important as the content and the purpose. A space where I show my respect to the mana (status, authority, control, power, influence, spiritual power) of Hine by not interrupting, or theorising, or taking over the narrative. A balancing if possible, or in my own way, of a history where one culture has hurt and listened too little to the other. It is not always easy to listen deeply without interrupting, paying attention to both the outer world of content and inner world of response. It takes focus and respect. The willingness to rest quietly with the felt emotions. Hine and I have taken turns for many years over who speaks and who witnesses. As I share this conversation in full there may be times when you as the reader struggle to stay attuned, however I have found this an important part of my listening to elders, as it leads me to reflect deeply over long periods of time on meaning and integration with my own lived experience. At times it can be several years before I gain the deep integration and ‘aha’ moment. It is this that I hope to offer-both content and process of this sharing, rather than an interruption by theory and method.

Hine describes herself as the eldest Ngāi Tahu tribal woman on her marae (the complex of buildings situated at the pā or the space in front of the wharenui that formalities can take place upon) and I trust her decision to share these cultural stories. This time we sat at my house looking over tribal kaik food gathering sand flats as she shared her knowledge on and experiences with culture, community sustainability and democracy. I have had the privilege of listening to Hine’s stories for nearly two decades, usually at her whare (home). This paper evolved from one of our conversations. As I was listening, I realised that Hine’s narrative would benefit a much wider audience. I asked whether she wished to share her words as a paper and presentation. She responded with, ‘Mate, I will come to your place tomorrow’. When a tribal leader does this, it feels very natural. Perhaps this what is meant when Smith (2012) describes Kaupapa Māori as ‘really simple’. ‘It is what it was, it is what it is, and it is what it will be…’

The next day we sat outside overlooking the Ōtākou harbour, and I ask her about Democracy, sustainable culture, and community post- Tiriti o Waitangi claim settlement. Hine begins speaking and her words are recorded and later transcribed to be shared in this paper. Whilst it was ‘my place’, was it really? It is a place with deep Māori community roots, on Māori-owned whenua (land), where she was raised, to where I came when I was vulnerable and was able to lease and love.

There is no assumption that everyone in Ngāi Tahu shares Hine’s version or views or endorses my role as listener and story-sharer. In accordance with modelling respectful process between Te Tiriti o Waitangi partners, the authors’ voices are kept separate, identifiable, transparent, and accountable to the community and its people (Anderson & Hokowhitu, 2007). In accordance with modelling respectful process according to Te Tiriti o Waitangi (Treaty of Waitangi), Māori research and autoethnographic protocols, each author’s contributions are identifiable representing questions, observations, and reflective inner responses. Permission to create this paper was explicit between us:

At 20:16 20/09/2019, I wrote:

Our Conversation

Our conversation begins with me asking Hine whether she would like to share her thoughts on democracy and cultural sustainability. Hine’s speech and Janine’s are indicated. Janines process is italicised.

Democracy – Treaty Financial Compensation

Hine begins the first considering and reflection.

Hine: From a cultural perspective, democracy is a funny thing because I don’t think people have their head around the fact that we have criminal law, you know, domestic criminal law and commercial law. Commercial law is one of the most powerful ones, and they will change domestic law to promote that business side of things.

We had great difficulty in the beginning where immediately as we got out of court, we were tapped on the shoulder by every shark that was in the sea, and we got bitten badly once. Ernst & Young, Polson Higgs and another big international came and said, ‘We have a fleet of fishing boats. All you Māori are fishermen.’ I am not sure if it was Canada or the United States. We paid for all the due diligence on that—and it was a really good deal, worth so many million— and they came back and sent people over to have a look at them and everything like that. So, we agreed to it and sent our fisher-people over to bring the boats back, and most of them were at the bottom of the harbour. We had been done like a dinner, but we have a huge legal department, if you like. It’s all in the small print. We sued them, and we won.

We did things in the Tribunal process—saying we won the court case. They said, ‘what do you want?’ And we said that we want what our elders wanted when they first began the court case. That began in 1848 and was the longest continuous court process to date against a government or against a Crown. And so, when we said we wanted iwi recognition, and at the highest level, we got the Ngāi Tahu Act that recognises that we are a tribe; this is our tribal area, and this is what we look like. We are made up of 18 Marae, and everything is named.

And then we said that we still want some money. The Crown said, ‘how much money do you want?’ Ngāi Tahu said, ‘you tell us’. I am in the background hopping up and down going, ‘Don’t be stupid. My Pākehā side is going to cheat. They are not going to tell you how much.’ And the elders she said to me, ‘It wouldn’t matter how much they owe us; they will never be able to afford to pay. The money is not the most important thing, iwi recognition is. That means that if you want to do anything on this island—in our takiwā, in our area—you consult with us. That’s the law.’ So, it’s using those masters’ tools. Then they said, ‘well we can only afford to give you $170 million’. They went away, and they added up how much they owed us—and they were very frugal—and it came to billions. They said, ‘if we pay you, we will bankrupt this country into the 21^st century’. Ngāi Tahu said, ‘we don’t want that’.

So how much money can you give us and what else can you give us? We accepted the $170 million on the proviso that if you offer $1 over $170 million to any other tribe, we will be back—which has happened twice. Twice we have gone back and twice we have been given so many millions. And you don’t hear it anymore, but when it was happening at the beginning of 20^th century, end of the 20^th, beginning of the 21^st, people were saying, ‘we are giving all this taxpayer money to Māori’. But it was owed; you weren’t giving it. That $170 million came off billions owed. So, then we said, ‘well, we want other things. Then we asked for our mountain back. Don’t know how the hell they valued that, but they did. ‘We want a fishing quota.’ We wanted the first right of refusal. So, for an ethnic community or initiative, they have to be able to stand up against a system if it is not supporting them. We learnt that lesson.

Leadership/Democracy – Political Recognition

Now they don’t pull any stunts on us along with Tainui, the initiators of the iwi leaders forum. I don’t know if you’ve heard of the iwi leader’s forum. Every mandated leader from every tribe sits, and they are powerful. As each tribe goes through the Waitangi process and gets their settlement, they join in. And so now Ngāi Tahu has opened all their books, if you like, on how to manage the system. They have joint ventures with Tainui. It will take, say, another 100 years, and Māori will be powerful—politically powerful.

The fear that we will do to mainstream what has been done to us is starting to dissipate, because we have values that say, ‘you cannot do this’ and ‘you cannot do that’. We first said at the tribal table that we want our business arm to have a culturally sustainable practice. For example, we sit in all the boards like Department of Conservation and all the other policy-making things. One of the major things that the farming community said was that it cannot do what we want Ngāi Tahu to do, which is—if you’ve got a dairy farm, each paddock must have a riparian strip. It must be monitored—no access to streams and things like that. They said, ‘You can’t do it economically’. So, we purchased a huge dairy farm in Canterbury and proceeded to shrink the paddocks. All paddocks have riparian strips around them. All waterways are closed off, all wetlands, and we are making a profit off it where they said you couldn’t do that. The reason we can’t do this is—so all our paddocks have dams all over the place, just as the riparian strips of native planting have. So now they are testing all outside the farm for runoff—none. Now because it’s organic and sustainable we are getting better prices for our milk and stuff. So, we are making more profit than if we had left it the way it was.

I say, ‘So, it’s being able to now say that our values sit well with good business’. I am grateful that the earth-harming agricultural practices are being challenged locally and these Indigenous values put first.

Hine: We are becoming trustworthy, and almost overnight those barriers that were around Maatua Whangai (Māori foster care for Māori children) and its demise are dissipating. They are coming to us asking for advice on how to do things—our seafood business or whatever. But it’s taken using those masters’ tools to snap them every time they did something—and they have done some horrific things… horrific things.

One of the things was the Right of First Refusal, so nothing to do with private ownership, but any government property—if they don’t want it, no pressure— they must offer it to Ngāi Tahu first. We are not given the land; it comes off the bill. $170 million minus…As one politician said, ‘it will take hundreds of years to pay you all back’. Our comment was, ‘well, it was a couple of hundred years to take it all away, really’.

So, going back to democracy, it’s a funny word.

Our form of democracy is we come together and it’s a consensus—an agreement—and we will battle it out until we get the agreement. However, we have a right of veto within our tribe, and many northern tribes have it too. And so, the one with the right of veto is the senior person. Who lives longest, men or women? Women. So, it is the senior woman’s voice, simply because they were the longest living. So, if you’ve got a marae that’s got no senior women but has senior men, they will find a senior a woman who will be their voice, if you like.

So, whilst we have a democratic process and we have used mainstream democratic process for all our structure, at the end of the day if the senior woman of the tribe goes, ‘no’, then that’s the direction we will go in. That’s where we go.

There is a saying: ‘men fight for king and country; women fight for home and family’. That’s just the difference. We’re not interested in the alpha male bit. It’s what’s best for the next generation.

Janine: As I transcribe these words, I feel a flash of warmth within and sense of deep-hearted agreement. It resonates with what the women in my family taught me.

Hine continues: So, our whakataukī or mission statement or whatever you want to call it, is translated as, ‘for us and the children after us’. So, if we were to do something and it negatively impacted on the next generation, then we’re going in the wrong direction.

So, this idea of you know having your annual profit regardless of what you’re doing—you know, I look at these farmers and the suicide rate and all the domestic violence within that community when things go bad. They’re living without worrying about the next generation. You can do that and still have a successful business structure. It’s not incompatible.

This is not really answering for that thing that you are going for.

Janine: ‘I have no set idea of what our conversation should be’, I say. ‘I think it is in a different way’. It is clumsy attempt at saying that our conversation is as it is meant to be, even if we do not know why. I continue; ‘so, a measure of a democracy that is tika (correct) would be one that works well for mana whenua (Māori who have historic and territorial rights over the land)?’

Hine: Our ways are so different, but when you find that compatibility—which is for all the cultures in the world—we are more alike than we are different. We all want to be warm, to be fed, to be loved, to be housed—you know? All those basic things are still the same. It doesn’t matter what religion or politics you are; those are the basic things that hold you together.

Democracy – Cultural Solutions

Janine: ‘So that’s how we measure (the success of) our democracy then.’ I am seeking a higher understanding of democracy for everyone.

Hine: Yeah. What we were talking about yesterday was the history of the ethnic community—if you like, ‘First Nations community’ whatever—rising to the challenge set by the Department of Social Welfare in those days, to partner with Justice and the Department of Māoriaffairs. They had identified a pūtea [a pool of money] and were challenging us and the community to come up with a solution to the fact that the majority of children going into state care in New Zealand were Māori children.

Enough time had gone by. Enough generations had gone by to know that this was a bad trend and that the children going into the system were being abused. It wasn’t working. When they looked at the statistics from the Department of Justice and the criminal and prison system, they could track the fact that these children had been taken or in the system for a long time, so it didn’t seem to suit them. In those days New Zealand didn’t acknowledge iwi the tribe, they acknowledged Māori as a part of the overall society, but not that we had our own structures.

Janine: It seems terrible to me that our government imposed this definition onto Māori. It creates so much potential for conflict. How could I have been taught that we were an egalitarian country when this was going on around me? I wonder how hard it must be to have been legally considered a homogenous group, rather than as having democratic processes that respected cultural relationships, local practices, and autonomy. I feel deeply sober on the inside of myself.

Hine continues: This was the first time we had been given the opportunity, other than the Māori Warden system, to actually find a cultural solution that would work for us.

As I said, we had different places up and down the country—not so much in the North, but in the South. It was working really well, and in many isolated places on the North Island.

We had a reputation here of, if we were given a child, the child never went back into the system again. So, it worked really well.

A bit naively, we opened our doors to the policymakers and the powers that be to come and sit in on how we managed these families that the system couldn’t manage. In those days if a child came to notice of an authority, then the families weren’t involved because they were too hard to deal with. They wanted to know how come you can deal with these families that we can’t deal with? And so, we had them sitting in on our whānau [family] meetings.

Then in about 1987 I think it was, The Children, Young Persons, and their Families Act came here in New Zealand, and they called a meeting for us up and down the country. They called a meeting here in Dunedin and we all went along grinning like horses in a paddock full of thistles, thinking that we were going to get recognition and maybe proper funding. I’d always kept a good set of books and I had worked out that the spasmodic, random pockets of money that were given to us over a period, was less than five cents per child per day that we were being funded for. And at this meeting they just turned around and said, ‘well we’ve now incorporated what you do. We understand what you do; we’re training all our social workers and we will no longer fund you or support you. That lack of—not so much funding, but that deliberate sabotaging of our process to shut it down. It took over a year or two to shut down and, in some places, say with the Brockville whānau, they still take children.

But we were all linked, so if a family came in—and I am thinking of one case where there were five children—the senior women and men sat down and looked at who could take them without breaking the family up. Once that support was withdrawn it gave the system the green light to actively disempower us, would be the word. The social workers, police, probation and the NGOs just put barriers up and discredited us, and it was just horrible. It was actually horrible.

Janine: As I listen, I am remembering what it was like to be a new social worker, 32 years ago-23 years old and tasked with creating bicultural processes amidst a state legacy of hurting and disempowering iwi. Overwhelmed and diligent—and now (in this here and now) looking for signs of change and improvement.

Hine continues: When you look at sustainable communities, which we talked about yesterday, they cannot be sustainable in isolation.

The reason Maatua whangai (Māori foster care for Māori children) was so successful for us was the community. We had the baker, the butcher, the ladies from Wanaka, Anglican Family Care and Food Bank. We had all the community structures supporting us. Overnight they withdrew their support. And I can understand because they are being funded by the system and you don’t want to upset them, otherwise you don’t get your funding. There is the belief that Māoridom can’t look after itself, and I see that in Australia too. For me, from a cultural perspective, the challenge the system must take up is how do you support and how do you trust? Because if they don’t trust you, they don’t support you, which makes the development of a cultural service, if you like, almost impossible because any little thing you do wrong is magnified.

In New Zealand, NGOs and community initiatives start up and they might misappropriate the money, or they might not deliver the service. [The state] does not axe everything. So, if say Catholic Social Services, Anglican Family Care or the Methodist Church make mistakes then the fix what the problem is, they don’t shut everything down. Whereas here is New Zealand to date—the minute something goes wrong in Māoridom they will shut the service down. What is left is mainstream, which doesn’t work so. I am seeing now since Ngāi Tahu has come out of court—and is now the third-largest employer on this island and has built up a business reputation. When we first came out of court we couldn’t get funding, we couldn’t get finance, we couldn’t—nothing. By 1999 the ink was dry; by 2000 we really started, so we’ve been going 18 – 19 years.

Cultural Relationships - Trust

For example, my tupuna, my ancestor, Tuhawaiki, he owned the largest number ships, and they were travelling to the Californian goldfields and to Australia long before there was European businesses. Of course, when they did start and set up, they passed legislation to stop him functioning.

And they did that through the flag because if you didn’t have the right flag then they wouldn’t let you into any port. And so, he left here with his ships and went over to Botany Bay to Sydney. He had to turn around, dump the stuff and come back because they wouldn’t allow him to. It was that history throughout with Māori initiatives when there is that lack of trust.

Trust is the critical element that I look for. I’ve noticed a little change when I’m talking to people in Australia over the last few years towards Aboriginal people, so they are no longer seeing them as vermin. They are coming of age a little bit I think. I noticed that they are more visible around than they ever were. They couldn’t walk down a street; they couldn’t walk into a township properly. I lived in Canberra for, what, 11 years and never saw one, and now they are everywhere. They were everywhere because when I was driving the buses, I would see them out and about. And there were certain shops that they were allowed to go into, otherwise they couldn’t come into the main part at all. They just got picked up and taken away. So, if you were to go into, say, an Aboriginal community—as I tried to say to this woman over there—you actually have to say, ‘this money has been allocated to them’. Every community has a structure and there is always somebody who is valued within that community you engage with. You just engage with no strings attached and if they stuff it up, they stuff it up.

I think I may have told you; I was up at Mercy (Hospital) a couple of years ago and was talking to the values coordinator up there. I said ‘Ah, I’ve just come from the Methos (Methodist church).

There was this little street in South Dunedin and this little house with a corridor down the middle, a little kitchen down the back and rooms on either side. This was a community centre, and the day I arrived there they were having an ethnic mothers’ morning tea thing. They had their prams, and you couldn’t move. It was a tiny little handkerchief of a back yard. We were sitting in this room like this (squashed), you know, only four of us—knees knocking each other.

So, I’m up (at the hospital) saying that they are looking for another place and they think they might have found one. (The values coordinator) said Mercy Hospital has a charitable arm to it, so they give away money. I said, ‘oh, it’s not just the Angles and the Catholics, it’s the methos’. She said, ‘it doesn’t matter, Hine’. Long story short, they moved into the old schoolhouse out there, down Melbourne Street. (The values coordinator) went out there and visited and, long story short, they spent hundreds of thousands doing up the bathroom and kitchen for them. Now that, to me, is democracy. You know, because there are no barriers to things; it’s inclusive, which is what we think democracy should be. That would never have happened 50 years ago when I was growing up.

So, if we can change—and often we don’t recognise how much our own culture is changing, and how slowly it sometimes changes. The ship takes a long time to turn, but when it does you know we’ve got change. Ethnic communities must be allowed to do the same thing. They have to be allowed to not be picked off against each other. They have to be allowed to come together, not compete for our influence, I mean. They can compete with themselves, but not with us— not picking them off one against the other. Our communities, like Māori with our tribes, are better together than we are separately.

Now with the iwi leader’s forum we can turn around and say to Ngāpuhi, or to Ngāi Tūhoe (North Island tribes) or Kahunui or whatever tribe that you’ve got a good idea. ‘We can come in and partnership with you and work together.’

This was an attempt to stymie that. There was an attempt to legally shut down the iwi leader’s forum. I mean, New Zealand Government has spent a fortune trying to stop Māoridom from coming out under that suppression.

Janine: As I listen I notice that I am starting to feel uncomfortable. Our kōrero (conversation) and my listening has been uninterrupted as you can see from this direct transcript. I am not sure where this feeling is coming from. Is this what has been described as the powerful emotional Pākehā response to the feeling of being decentred and excluded? Jones (2012) talks about the Pākehā mindset, which has been unconsciously assumed and positioned as the centre—such that when, “Māori form Māori committees or groups, a powerful emotional response by Pākehā is to feel this action is about us—that we are excluded’ ( Jones, 2012 , p. 102). I go deeper inside myself, sifting through the energy and influences. It could be this, yet it seems more. I have heard some of these stories before without this internal reaction and I love witnessing the meaning making that we are sharing, yet I realise something in me is looking for a vision for everyone. I am worried and yes, frightened. This surprises me. Is it about the effects of neo-liberal hardship on our whole population and the risk of violence? I don’t know, but something in me is warning, ‘something bad is coming’. I try to sift through my emotions to find a correct response for this flooding of concern.

I ask Hine, ‘what do you think New Zealand Government or Pākehā people have been frightened of?’ Yet inside I am scared for our country.

Hine: I think there is just a fear, deep down inside, that Māoridom would be justified in dishing out the same treatment. I believe that would still be continuing if it wasn’t for the struggle within Māoridom and those people—and I am thinking of Doug Graham at the moment, who supported Māoridom. I think they are just frightened that they are going to be made second class citizens.

Janine: I try again to clarify my feeling. I ask Hine, ‘Do you think the fear is about their own way of seeing the world in terms of greediness, and they worry that they will be subjugated?’ And in this, I miss. I miss the opportunity to place my inner fear of future conflict between citizens of Aotearoa/New Zealand on the table for our viewing. Six months later our people in Christchurch are killed in a Mosque during worship.

Hine: Yes. I think it’s very complex, but that is definitely a part of it. As well as that benign ‘you Māori’s can be a part of our society. Look, we didn’t have slavery and restrictions like other countries, and so our halo is shining.’ But we can’t ever be a part of Māoridom unless we have whakapapa.

They have reinforced it, because when we got the $170 million compensation—and I don’t know whether they’ve done it for anyone else in New Zealand. They may have but I don’t know of it.

Janine: Later I am made aware that Tainui iwi have received $170 million in heir Deed of Settlement.

Hine continues: When you go through a system and you have been proven right, you’ve won your court case and you’ve been awarded compensation—it has been ‘you will only spend it these ways’. So, if you and I went to court because I’d pinched your car or whatever—and I know you don’t get compensation on the day, but if you were awarded compensation, you can walk out of the courtroom and go, ‘I don’t need another car; the kids have bought me one. I think I’ll go the casino and try my luck.’ You can do whatever you like with it; you can give it away. When iwi came out of court, they were told they could do three things. One, identify every registered tribal member and divvy it out equally; or two, shut up shop, go home and be good little Māoris; or three, save it, put it together and invest it—and the profit can only be spent on a registered tribal member.

So, like my brother for example—he’s not registered. He and his kids and his grandchildren can’t access any Ngāi Tahu funding at all because the government has said so.

Janine: As I listen to Hine, I recognise how deeply the seeds of ongoing conflict were embedded within the treaty settlement process. In my naivety I had hoped that after settlement we could all move into a new relationship.

Hine: Then I get people who say, ‘oh you’re making millions. How come you don’t build a prison, build a school, build a hospital?’ And I’m going, ‘I pay tax. You pay tax on the profit you get from a family business. Are you expected to build hospitals, prisons and schools? No. Why are you saying the same thing to us? On every dollar we earn, we pay tax. On our business side—on our charitable arm we don’t. I can’t speak for other iwi.

We had a process of looking at how we were going to structure this future— living in this country alongside our partner. So, through democratic processes, we have elected a representative from each of the 18 Marae, and they sit at the tribal table [TroNT] in Christchurch. They must be registered tribal members and they must be voted in by their satellite, the marae, to represent them. But if you look at our structure, we have 18 Marae, and we come down to the tribal table where there are 18 delegates. Then we have an office, and we all have businesses.

Other than the tribal table, everyone else is the ‘best person for the job’. Every road show that we went to, this type of question was at the foremost. They’re standing up on the pae (formal space to speak) saying my Moku (Mokupuna/grandchild) is like me—one shade darker than the albino, and in the Pākehā world. So, we have what is called the ‘best person for the job’.

Our CEO, all our holding corporation structure, our board, everything like that—we got the top people and paid them market rates. But the women down in Invercargill said, ‘do not put all your eggs in one basket. Diversify’. So, we’ve diversified. The second thing they said was ‘succession’.

Janine: And with these words our korero and time for talking is over.

We walk around the garden and there are old South American cultivar yams and other loved plants that we arrange to gift to our mutual friend Moana. In a few days’ time I will leave Ōtākou and relocate overseas. We hug and then Hine drives away. We will meet again a few days later. Before I go, she will gift an ancestral painting that she has completed to travel with me. For safety and protection. Later, I will feel the ancestral energy move and this painting will follow and be gifted to the Larrakia peoples on the country that I move to.

Discussion: Janine’s Reflection

What can we learn from this kōrero conversation? I expect that the reader will have their own response and learnings according to their own awareness. Perhaps we may have given a glimpse of the presencing, gifting and holistic process involved in our narrative methodology.

I consider that the capacity to receive the knowledge of others is a form of spiritual exchange and requires humility, and the capacity to be relational even during discomfort, alongside the deep inner ability to observe ones owns emotions, energy, and conditioning. This allows the heart to be fully open to one another. This deep trust is developed through cultural processes of sitting together in silence, being face-to-face, attunement with each other and by being fully present, caring for each other and being accountable to community. For researchers it develops a long-term-forever relationship with the community.

Some will ask whether we can be certain that researchers’ reflections on narratives are not their own conditioned assumptions. We cannot be certain, however we can privilege a methodology of transparency, discussion, feeling and checking in with each other to find common understanding. In this way we begin to co-create a respectful interface that allows the communication to be transformational, alive, and aware.

For me I remembered that I prefer this way of ethical relationality as we seek to build a future together and learn from each other’s spaces and cultures. It makes my heart feel happy. For me I recognised that all the wonderful stories gifted to me by Elders were for sharing so we can actively build respectful communities. I was also reminded that building respectful communities is an ongoing every day forever commitment.

I learnt that sustainable culture involved empowered women, accountable leadership, clear business structures and financial investment strategy, collaboration and partnership with government, expert knowledge, investment in education and health opportunities for members of Ngāi Tahu, future-focused vision, clear tribal governance structures, accurate data about the strengths and areas of need within community, and the maintenance of strong cultural principles of conduct.

I learnt that sustainable community involved processes of communication, celebration and coming together; long-term community vision prioritising the wellbeing of the next generation; partnership with government and inclusivity with other cultures; Indigenous-led and -owned social services, businesses, languages, health and educational structures; and willingness from civil partners to tolerate Indigenous groups making mistakes as they upskill, build, and integrate cultural and modern systems of service delivery.

I learnt the importance of processes underpinning democratic society. These included legal recognition of tribes and tribal rights; the importance of Indigenous values and processes in planning; the role of the senior women and their right of veto, which is used to ensure that community plans go in a direction which is favourable to the coming generations; the important role of Indigenous democracy based upon meeting together and forming a consensus; tribal checks and balances on the workings of mainstream democratic process; mainstream support for local initiatives like social services and health; sustainable democratic communities using the ‘tools of the master’ (commercial law, business strategy, education and health); the importance of building trust and partnership with government structures; employing experts and growing the communities’ own skill base and experts; the priority of a long-term vision for the wellbeing of the Ngāi Tahu which is inclusive with their Te Tiriti (Treaty) partners and other Māori groups; ability to maintain a seven generation legal process holding Pākehā Te Tiriti (Treaty) partners accountable; and building strategic alliances with other Indigenous and mainstream groups.

I learnt the importance of knowing, as a Pākehā, the deep lived stories. These stories are crucial in holding my own behaviour and actions accountable as Te Tiriti (Treaty) partner.

Finally, I appreciated how lucky I am to have been able to listen to Hine and share these stories. In the end, processes of building and maintaining democracy, sustainable community, and culture rest on the shoulders of all of us. As Hine says, it is a matter of trust.

He aha te mea nui o te Ao?