Amplifying the influence of Māori knowledge in environmental management

The local indigenous system

The local indigenous system is derived from an understanding of the environment as a physical manifestation of Papatūānuku. According to this worldview, atua exist within the natural environment as poutiriao – guardians who were placed in the world and tasked with looking after specific domains or bounded territory. For example, Tane is considered guardian of the forest and has authority over birds and insects that reside in that domain. Tangaroa and Hinemoana are guardians of the sea exercising authority over all life that resides in the sea and all activities that occur in this space such as seafaring navigation, fishing through to the collection of shellfish. There are numerous narratives that explain the activities and interactions of poutiriao providing a blueprint for understanding appropriate actions by setting expectations, standards and behaviours. A key role therefore of poutiriao is to maintain order and balance; their role is protective and regulatory.

This blueprint has guided our ancestors in their interactions with the tribal territory. It permeates all aspects of communal life establishing a set of obligations and responsibilities to protect the life sustaining capacity of the environment to enable communities to flourish. This is achieved by upholding the authority or mana of the atua, the environment and communities.

Actions that acknowledge and enhance mana are highly valued in te ao Māori. This is reflected by the term mana-enhancing practices that promote empowering and constructive interactions (Munford and Sanders, 2011; Ruwhiu, 2008). Mana-enhancing practices have significant implications for operating at the interface by establishing norms of conduct that encourage thinking and acting in ways that generate strong mutually beneficial relations and respect autonomy.

Colonising the landscape

Encounters with those beyond the Pacific at first introduced substantive trade opportunities. The visitors from afar needed food and supplies including access to resources such as timber to repair ships or support whaling or sealing activities (see for example, Jackson, 1975; Owens, 1992; Sorrenson, 1992). Māori actively engaged with visitors to advance their own political and economic goals accessing new knowledge (i.e. literacy) and agricultural technology, and establishing new markets (i.e. flax industry) to enhance the well-being and prosperity of our communities (Jackson, 1975; Orange, 2020; Owens, 1992; Petrie, 2006); relations were largely cordial and mutually beneficial. Contact unfortunately disclosed the enormous potential of Aotearoa for European settlement as indicated in these remarks from English botanist Joseph Banks (1770), ‘the immense quantity of woodland which was yet uncleared but promised great returns to the people who would take the trouble of clearing it . . . the properest place we have yet seen for establishing a colony’.

Eventually, the settlement agenda and reportedly growing tensions between Māori and visitors led to a formalised relationship between Māori and British Crown embodied within Te Tiriti o Waitangi (the Treaty of Waitangi) (Orange, 2020). While this treaty is the subject of much controversy and there is divergence in relation to its meaning and provisions (see, for example, Independent Panel, 2012; Tawhai and Gray-Sharp, 2011), it is generally accepted that it provided for a form of British governance in Aotearoa while also recognising indigenous sovereignty (Orange, 2020). By the 1850s, a British colony was being established and British colonisation changed the physical, social, economic and intellectual landspace of Aotearoa. Regarding environmental management, colonisation accelerated a substantive shift in land tenure and what counts as appropriate land use (Williams, 1999) pushing aside and invalidating the local and reducing indigenous sovereignty over the landscape.

Our knowledge of Papatūānuku sustained through Māori lifestyles – living and walking the land, growing, harvesting and hunting, and as encapsulated within our oral histories and narratives, artworks and songs – were rendered invisible and reduced to lines on a map. The technology of mapping reimagined the landscape according to British understandings and agenda (i.e. Crown sovereignty and British settlement). Māori placenames, relationships with atua, knowledge and tribal boundaries were erased from the public archive (Smith, 1999). Mapmaking facilitated colonialism and Crown sovereignty by ‘establishing various claims to truth and authority’ (Cosgrove, 2008: 9) and determining what is valued and disregarded to enable government through management and control of territory towards certain outcomes – namely British settlement and agricultural development. These priorities were supported by colonial policy that individualised land ownership to facilitate sale of the tribal territory (Williams, 1999) and amalgamation, assimilation and integration policies to disrupt the influence of Maori communities (Williams, 2001a, 2001b); the intent – to eliminate Māori sovereignty and tikanga (appropriate custom) as a basis for governance (Williams, 2001a) and facilitate British settlement and agricultural investment and infrastructure (i.e. drainage). Agriculture became the economic backbone of this country and with it the need to create the conditions that secured the health and vitality of introduced species – grass, cows, sheep, crops and so on at the expense of the endemic. Environmental degradation, loss of biodiversity (Pawson and Brooking, 2011, 2013; Young, 2004), indigenous dispossession, intergenerational poverty (Walker, 1978) and more recently climate change were just a few of the unintended consequences of this development pathway.

The agricultural economy was supported by the science sector fixated on profit through extraction and increased productivity of our natural capital (see, for example, Waitangi Tribunal, 2011). Our knowledge of Papatūānuku was reduced further to land classification systems, knowledge of natural processes, geospatial data and taxonomy. These knowledge forms are mostly devoid of or include simplistic appropriated expressions of indigenous knowledge, ways of knowing and associated practices, and advocate a way of thinking that lends itself to conceptualising the environment as a commodity that can be owned, exploited and extinguished. This approach is considered today to be unjust, discriminatory and unsustainable requiring a reimagining of environment management to realise a more productive, sustainable and inclusive economy and what has been visualised as a ‘transition to clean, green and carbon-neutral New Zealand’ (MBIE, 2019: 6).

Māori communities have a long legacy of resisting this colonial agenda and seeking ways to disrupt the status quo although these efforts had little influence until the 1970s (see, for example, Harris, 2004; Taonui, 2012; Walker, 1978). More substantive gains began to emerge as Māori leveraged Te Tiriti o Waitangi and a rights-based agenda to demand social justice and a greater recognition of indigenous sovereignty. Māori were particularly vocal about the poor health and vitality of waterways and coastal areas and demanded a shift from the development pathway to one that reflected the customary practice of kaitiakitanga (see, for example, Waitangi Tribunal, 1983, 1984, 1985, 1987).

Regarding environmental policy, a substantive shift can be attributed to the legislative recognition of kaitiakitanga initially alluded to in the Town and Planning Act 1977 (Section 3(1)g) and more explicitly in the Resource Management Act 1991. These changes were linked to a restructure of the country’s environmental policy towards greater recognition of sustainable management; a new emergent international trend at the time (McClean and Smith, 2001). Kaitiakitanga in a policy context acknowledges Māori interests in environmental management and obligates state agencies with environmental responsibilities to provide for these interests in resource management processes. For Māori, a key concern is the ability to continue to practice kaitiakitanga – to look after and interact with Papatūānuku and natural resources in the local tribal territory according to custom. The presence of these legislative provisions has increased Māori involvement in both resource management governance (as Iwi/Hapū representatives) and operations (i.e. through Iwi/Hapū Management Plans) raising some visibility of a Māori voice. However, participation in resource management is variable across the country and constrained by issues of power-sharing, resourcing and knowledge contests (see, for example, Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment, 1998; Te Puni Kōkiri, 2006). Māori frequently report issues engaging with the Crown and government agencies and are critical and disappointed in the lack of timely and adequate environmental outcomes (see, for example, Nuttall and Ritchie, 1995). Māori seek more equitable and effective opportunities and argue that initiating change is reliant on Māori control (Te Puni Kōkiri, 2006), including the power within resource management processes to visualise the environment through a Māori lens and Māori knowledge. The Māori knowledge-science interface therefore becomes a critical site of resistance where knowledge boundaries and contests can be moderated and redirected towards achieving greater outcomes for Māori. Critical to this transformation is decolonising encounters and centering of Māori knowledge and Māori politics in environmental management.

Relating at the interface

The interface is a space where worlds collide, where ideally a common world is formed to tackle joint concerns. Professor Sir Mason Durie (Rauika Māngai, 2020: 23) described the Māori knowledge-science interface as a space with ‘lots of problems, but lots of opportunities’; it is a dynamic and fragile space. In the context of environmental management, encounters at the interface occur between Māori and Māori, Māori and the Crown, Māori and government agencies, Māori and environmental entities, Māori and scientists and, Māori knowledge and science. Navigating the multitude of priorities and interactions is complex.

Many of the problems at the interface stem from knowledge contests. Currently, the interface is an uneven playing field where the rules of engagement have been established and fiercely defended by one side. Scientific knowledge is positioned as valid, authoritative and is therefore highly valued as evident by considerable state support and investment in scientific enterprise (NZ Treasury, 2022 [2021]). In contrast, the value of Māori knowledge has only recently been recognised by the science sector and primarily due to a state directive in the form of the Vision Mātauranga policy (VM). This policy was created to provide strategic direction in research investment. It promotes research that ‘unlock[s] the innovative potential of Māori knowledge, resources and people to assist New Zealanders to create a better future’ (Ministry of Research Science Technology (MoRST), 2007: 2) by contributing to economic growth and sustainable environmental outcomes. The impact of this policy is unclear. It is a challenging policy to enact for several reasons which will now be explored.

To co-function, worlds must be able to cohere. This requires a high degree of relationship building (i.e. respect) and cross-cultural communication. This is a skill set that is not prevalent in scientific training or scientific research practice (see, for example, Hardy and Patterson, 2012). From a Māori perspective, ātea is a critical element for building this capacity and establishing best practice. A genealogical sequence for ātea has been provided earlier. Ātea is often translated as space. It can also mean ‘to clear’ or ‘to free from obstruction’. This alludes to an important function of space. In relation to encounters for example, space is a way to mediate ‘relationships and establish boundaries’ (Durie, 2012: 75). This is commonly seen in pōwhiri or Māori welcoming rituals as the host and visitors are deliberately kept apart until the terms of engagement are disclosed and shared agenda or joint concerns revealed (Durie, 2012). The space between (i.e. the marae ātea) is a place of negotiation mediated by the regulating presence of atua. Three key atua are present at the marae ātea – Papatūānuku, Tūmatauenga and Rongomatāne. Papatūānuku is closely connected to the core values of aroha (love) and manaaki (generosity and caring for others). These values motivate and shape interactions at the ātea strongly advocating for mana-enhancing practices that optimise the health, well-being, and vitality of others. Tūmatauenga and Rongomatāne are balancing forces for moderating risk, the former representing contests and tensions and the latter consensus and peace. These energies interact to create a continuum of valid engagement responses that can occur at the ātea spanning from conflict to dispute resolution (i.e. compromise) to harmony. Relations at the ātea are a useful blueprint for cementing co-functioning at the interface.

Another critical limitation at the interface is the Māori knowledge system itself. It is fragmented, underdeveloped and underresourced (Kukutai et al., 2021; Rauika Māngai, 2020) as a direct consequence of colonisation (see, for example, Waitangi Tribunal, 2011). Yet the VM policy does not invest in this area. It must be supported (i.e. investment) to reach its full potential if it is to influence activities at the interface. This includes being able to contribute to setting agenda, decision-making and regulation of practice. It is difficult to engage in issues of joint concern if your voice and aspirations are invisible. Such influence is only possible if the world in which Māori knowledge is created, developed and nourished is robust and autonomous. This does not mean that Māori have not been able to capitalise on the VM policy. There are a few exemplars of strong, effective and productive Māori knowledge-science collaborations (see, for example, Clapcott et al., 2018; Hardy and Patterson, 2012; Mercier and Jackson, 2019). However, significant resourcing and capacity and capability issues prevent substantive innovation and gains. One response to this dilemma is a rights-based argument that prioritises te Tiriti o Waitangi and indigenous rights particularly those associated with indigenous data sovereignty as the foundation of thought and action (Kukutai and Taylor, 2016; Kukutai et al., 2021; Rauika Māngai, 2020; Te Mana Raraunga, 2018). The approach reframes the problem as a social justice and equity issue to be disrupted and transformed to provide greater opportunities for indigenous enterprise. In practice, this means ensuring the voice and interests of both parties to te Tiriti o Waitangi are reflected equally in environmental management by reimagining current governance arrangements and operational activities including knowledge production processes. Regarding knowledge production, the autonomy of each partner is critical as it determines what counts as reliable and relevant information, provides a measure of control over data interpretation and application and prioritises kaitiakitanga of Māori knowledge. Māori setting expectations (i.e. establishing standards and guides for best practice) is key to realising these goals as it will produce greater expressions of bicultural spatial governance through more equitable and effective participation.

Transforming the interface therefore can be visualised through the following genealogical sequence (Figure 1). Knowledge contests can be offset by self-determination when it leads to indigenous control over data sovereignty.

OPEN IN VIEWER

Figure 1.

Whakapapa sequence to explain encounters at the Māori knowledge-science interface.

This genealogical sequence acknowledges that initial interactions between Māori knowledge and science have been predominantly unproductive suppressing the use and development of Māori knowledge. A long legacy demanding Māori self-determination over our lives and culture has eventuated, albeit very slowly, in some recognition and limited application of Māori knowledge in environmental management. Further gains can be achieved by decolonising encounters at the interface and privileging Māori knowledge and politics to augment engagement. The adoption of a rights-based approach and more recently indigenous data sovereignty ideals has the potential to amplify the influence of Māori knowledge and accelerate gains for Māori.

In summary, for Māori the VM focus is too narrow as it does not focus on building the capability and capacity of Maori knowledge systems or Maori communities. Rather it invests in research at the interface without little consideration for conditions required for meaningful interactions between knowledge systems. There is also a more fundamental problem associated with a government agency defining and determining use of Māori knowledge. Definitions can be simple, generic and inaccurate. For example, a government agency cannot be a kaitiaki. It can be a steward but a kaitiaki must have whakapapa links and be recognised by the tribe. Māori knowledge is first and foremost a taonga tuku iho, a gift passed down from the ancestors and atua. Māori as kaitiaki of this taonga have obligations and responsibilities to care and protect and ensure its appropriate use. This is difficult to perform when Māori knowledge is removed and relocated into spaces outside Māori control. It is very difficult therefore to co-function in this environment as only a narrow set of outcomes are permissible. To transform the interface, there is a pressing need to dismantling systems that exclude, marginalise and silence. This can be achieved through adoption of a rights-based approach and indigenous data sovereignty ideals and through the centring of ātea as a strategy to mitigate knowledge boundaries and contests at the interface.