Te Ao Mārama ~ Mana Wāhine
Back in 1982, Witi Ihimaera and D.S. Long edited 'Into the World of Light – an anthology of Māori literature written in English'. Up till then, not many Māori writers had been published in reo Pākehā. It was not because there were too few kaituhi Māori writing in English. There were many. It was more due to the racist gate-keeping of the New Zealand literary canon.
This sort of bias particularly affected wāhine Māori. Mana wāhine were creating revolutionary and critical works yet these works were not acknowledged in the pākehā world. Vernice Wineera was the first Wāhine Māori poet to publish a poetry collection in English in 1978. Her collection 'Mahanga: Pacific Poems' was published by The Institute for Polynesian Studies, Brigham Young University, Hawaii.
A rainbow of Indigenous creative works exists at Auckland Libraries but lots of this is hidden. The kaupapa of Te Ao Mārama ~ Mana Wāhine is to showcase these radiant works. Darcy Nicholas’s stunning work from the covers of this anthology turns the Atea into a beautiful space where we feel warmly welcomed. There’s many great voices of resistance featured in Te Ao Mārama anthology. Mana wāhine showcased in this exhibit are just a drop in the moana, but the pop-up library in this space celebrates even more indigenous cutting-edge thinkers and creatives from Moana Nui a Kiwa.
Indigenous writers create to exist. We want our existence acknowledged, we want to be seen. We want our communities in all their shapeshifting ways to be represented, celebrated. Indigenous literature is not just a genre, it’s a cultural identity.
Us librarians love to select. We love to see our communities represented. But who decides who our communities are? Who decides what’s selected? We are happy to celebrate top summertime reads and New York Times picks, but this sort of bias means that critical and creative voices from indigenous and marginal communities get left out, particularly mana wāhine Māori.
Mana Wāhine embody the land and our communities. Relationships are woven into moana, whenua, gatherings and kai. We’re nans, mothers, daughters, aunties, BFFs, lovers, sisters, tupuna and more. We lead, legislate, advocate, resist and create. We make awesome pavs. And fry bread! We pass our stories along to be woven into new ones.
Stories are made from stories, layer apon layer. Roots and routes run deep into the earth. Extending and connecting. If you drink these stories they’d taste earthy like kava. Like papatūānuku. Some might be more euphoric or wired, while others might be more sedating. We’re not all the same, and neither are our experiences. We all connect creatively and kōrero about our worlds, circling the cosmos of the maramataka. Not everyone is seen though.
While mainstream media were ignoring these beautiful moments of resistance with a back drop of socio-political/cultural and historical events such as Bastion Point, mana wāhine were busy documenting it. Bob Marley and the Wailers playing at Western Springs was documented by Trixie Te Arama Menzies, ko Ngāti Hei, ko Ngāti Whanaunga ngā hapū, ko Ngāti Maru ki Tainui te iwi. Her poem Easter 1979 is so trippingly hallucinogenic, it’s kinda like being there.
jet-powered rainbow,
You dig our earth, the pot of gold runneth over
Shuffle and shamble sisters, cross the floor! Exodus!”
In her poem 'My Decree', Saana Waitai-Murray of Ngati Kuri, writes about her campaign to retain traditional lands of Ngati Kuri. These struggles are documented in her writings. As a co-lead of Wai 262, she successfully advocated for the rights of her peoples to protect their own taonga and environment from exploitation and appropriation. Her whānau still continue this vital kaupapa.
“I climb your steps today
Guarded by the Lion Symbol of past decades
Wide gaping mouths that devoured Treaty Vows
At your cold grey feet
I read our Youth’s plea
You’ve stolen our Lands
You cannot legislate our souls”
Whānau don’t dilute. Whānau don’t misrepresent. Whānau don’t sanitize or miseducate. They teach us the stories which shapeshift through place, time and the spaces in between. Whānau, as Merata Mita says, shake the tree!
Whānau we connected with through Te Ao Mārama were generous, kind and gracious with their time and knowledge. They helped us kaimahi understand the kaupapa and tikanga needed to connect with taonga. This helped us mostly avoid a colonial gaze that might sanitize the narrative, especially in colonial institutions such as libraries.
Arapera Hineira Kaa Blank often wrote about sex. I’m embarrassed tbh that we didn’t showcase any of her erotic works. Back when we were still realizing Te Ao Mārama, I had no idea. Nor did I look in the right places. Her daughter, a poet, remembers these wildly sensual poems of Arapera Blank’s work, and later tells us about it. Whanau know. They’re our guides. libraries learn when we look to whānau and listen. Te Ao Mārama is as much about relationships with whānau as it is about taonga. Like taonga, whanaungatanga continues beyond our events.
“When you caress
your woman
You are like
The War God, The Creator
who fashioned
his woman
from earth”
We’re grateful for the kōrero, mātauranga and aroha that whānau shared with Te Ao Mārama. We’re looking forward to a continuing relationship with hapū beyond this kaupapa ātaahua. Whanaungatanga provides a depth of understanding beyond what we could ever imagine. It’s vital for libraries storing taonga to actively acknowledge whānau as rightful kaitiaki. Repatriating taonga, connecting with whānau and listening is a good start.
We’re not silos. We’re not islands. We’re the moana, infinite and fluid. I wish we could always feel the same depth of connection whenever we facilitated events. Darcy knew my dad back when they was younger playing rugby in Wellington. I was warmed by his stories about dad who had died at Matariki rising. I never knew he’d known Darcy. It was really special for me to connect with Darcy in this way after our loss.
It’d be cool if Pākehā institutions recognised the time and care needed to weave these relationships together. Whanaungatanga is about connection. It continues to breathe way after displays are removed, flowing through the relational and continual spaces of te Ao Māori and te Ao Pākehā.
Perhaps Te Ao Mārama ~ Mana Wāhine will mean different things to different people. Whatever your story is, we really hope that you can connect in your own way to the ground-breaking indigenous poetry we’re celebrating.
Mauri ora!
This sort of bias particularly affected wāhine Māori. Mana wāhine were creating revolutionary and critical works yet these works were not acknowledged in the pākehā world. Vernice Wineera was the first Wāhine Māori poet to publish a poetry collection in English in 1978. Her collection 'Mahanga: Pacific Poems' was published by The Institute for Polynesian Studies, Brigham Young University, Hawaii.
 |
| Image: Cover of Te Ao Mārama, vol. 4. |
Indigenous writers create to exist. We want our existence acknowledged, we want to be seen. We want our communities in all their shapeshifting ways to be represented, celebrated. Indigenous literature is not just a genre, it’s a cultural identity.
Us librarians love to select. We love to see our communities represented. But who decides who our communities are? Who decides what’s selected? We are happy to celebrate top summertime reads and New York Times picks, but this sort of bias means that critical and creative voices from indigenous and marginal communities get left out, particularly mana wāhine Māori.
Mana Wāhine embody the land and our communities. Relationships are woven into moana, whenua, gatherings and kai. We’re nans, mothers, daughters, aunties, BFFs, lovers, sisters, tupuna and more. We lead, legislate, advocate, resist and create. We make awesome pavs. And fry bread! We pass our stories along to be woven into new ones.
Stories are made from stories, layer apon layer. Roots and routes run deep into the earth. Extending and connecting. If you drink these stories they’d taste earthy like kava. Like papatūānuku. Some might be more euphoric or wired, while others might be more sedating. We’re not all the same, and neither are our experiences. We all connect creatively and kōrero about our worlds, circling the cosmos of the maramataka. Not everyone is seen though.
 |
| Image: Cover of 'Uenuku' by Trixie Te Arama Menzies. |
While mainstream media were ignoring these beautiful moments of resistance with a back drop of socio-political/cultural and historical events such as Bastion Point, mana wāhine were busy documenting it. Bob Marley and the Wailers playing at Western Springs was documented by Trixie Te Arama Menzies, ko Ngāti Hei, ko Ngāti Whanaunga ngā hapū, ko Ngāti Maru ki Tainui te iwi. Her poem Easter 1979 is so trippingly hallucinogenic, it’s kinda like being there.
“You came a long way to see us, you travelled the
jet-powered rainbow,
You dig our earth, the pot of gold runneth over
Shuffle and shamble sisters, cross the floor! Exodus!”
In her poem 'My Decree', Saana Waitai-Murray of Ngati Kuri, writes about her campaign to retain traditional lands of Ngati Kuri. These struggles are documented in her writings. As a co-lead of Wai 262, she successfully advocated for the rights of her peoples to protect their own taonga and environment from exploitation and appropriation. Her whānau still continue this vital kaupapa.
“I climb your steps today
Guarded by the Lion Symbol of past decades
Wide gaping mouths that devoured Treaty Vows
At your cold grey feet
I read our Youth’s plea
You’ve stolen our Lands
You cannot legislate our souls”
 |
| Image: The cover of 'Ko Aotearoa tēnei. Te taumata tuarua: a report into claims concerning New Zealand law and policy affecting Māori culture and identity'. |
Whānau don’t dilute. Whānau don’t misrepresent. Whānau don’t sanitize or miseducate. They teach us the stories which shapeshift through place, time and the spaces in between. Whānau, as Merata Mita says, shake the tree!
Whānau we connected with through Te Ao Mārama were generous, kind and gracious with their time and knowledge. They helped us kaimahi understand the kaupapa and tikanga needed to connect with taonga. This helped us mostly avoid a colonial gaze that might sanitize the narrative, especially in colonial institutions such as libraries.
Arapera Hineira Kaa Blank often wrote about sex. I’m embarrassed tbh that we didn’t showcase any of her erotic works. Back when we were still realizing Te Ao Mārama, I had no idea. Nor did I look in the right places. Her daughter, a poet, remembers these wildly sensual poems of Arapera Blank’s work, and later tells us about it. Whanau know. They’re our guides. libraries learn when we look to whānau and listen. Te Ao Mārama is as much about relationships with whānau as it is about taonga. Like taonga, whanaungatanga continues beyond our events.
“When you caress
your woman
You are like
The War God, The Creator
who fashioned
his woman
from earth”
We’re grateful for the kōrero, mātauranga and aroha that whānau shared with Te Ao Mārama. We’re looking forward to a continuing relationship with hapū beyond this kaupapa ātaahua. Whanaungatanga provides a depth of understanding beyond what we could ever imagine. It’s vital for libraries storing taonga to actively acknowledge whānau as rightful kaitiaki. Repatriating taonga, connecting with whānau and listening is a good start.
We’re not silos. We’re not islands. We’re the moana, infinite and fluid. I wish we could always feel the same depth of connection whenever we facilitated events. Darcy knew my dad back when they was younger playing rugby in Wellington. I was warmed by his stories about dad who had died at Matariki rising. I never knew he’d known Darcy. It was really special for me to connect with Darcy in this way after our loss.
It’d be cool if Pākehā institutions recognised the time and care needed to weave these relationships together. Whanaungatanga is about connection. It continues to breathe way after displays are removed, flowing through the relational and continual spaces of te Ao Māori and te Ao Pākehā.
Perhaps Te Ao Mārama ~ Mana Wāhine will mean different things to different people. Whatever your story is, we really hope that you can connect in your own way to the ground-breaking indigenous poetry we’re celebrating.
Mauri ora!
Author: Rin Smeaton, Research Central
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