Book of the Week: Good non-Māori, fragile non-Māori

Avril Bell makes the purpose of her book Becoming Tangata Tiriti: Working with Māori, Honouring the Treaty clear from the outset. She hopes that the “voices in this work harmonise with the voices of Māori, adding to the range and volume of the decolonising/indigenising call.” For the 12 non-Māori people interviewed, becoming allies to Māori is an article of faith. “We are all implicated and entangled in the structures and systems of our society, and to the degree that they continue colonial dynamics, they implicate us in colonialism.” To become “unimplicated” requires non-Māori to both understand and engage better with Māori and, critically, to accept current interpretations of Te Tiriti o Waitangi and become tangata tiriti in partnership with tangata whenua. Decolonisation has to be Māori-led and everyone else has “their own work to do transforming the colonial systems and views that get in the way.” No matter where one stands on this issue, this presents as a massive task.
Bell does not land on hard and fast rules or solutions. Even the meaning of “tangata tiriti” remains open for discussion. Rather, she draws from the experiences of her 12 interviewees to offer ways of approaching te ao Māori and working towards the decolonisation ideal. Their identity is not entirely clear because they were given the option of being named or not, so that most are referred to by their first names. Only two become obvious: Meng Foon, former mayor of Gisborne and Race Relations Conciliator from 2019 to 2023; and Andrew Judd, former mayor of New Plymouth, a “recovering racist” whose mission is to encourage non-Māori New Zealanders to move away from ignorance and fear towards accepting their place as tangata tiriti. There appears to be one Samoan interviewee and the rest are from diverse European origins, some of whom have experienced “racism and discrimination” from “white/Pākehā New Zealand.” All were included because they have “sought and worked” at their relationships with Māori and the Māori world.
This can be surprisingly arduous. There is the problem of “Pākehā paraylsis” caused by ignorance of the Māori world; anxiety that any approach to it will be rejected for saying or asking for the wrong thing; for bringing Pākehā methods and assumptions to engagement with Māori; and fear, prompted by the frequent in-your-face challenges, such as hikoi, for Pākehā to get their act together. Then there is the simple reality that for many non-Māori, especially in the south of the country, opportunities to engage with Māori, and the actual practical need to, are  infrequent.
An example of the wrong approach can be drawn from the time I was researching for my biography of the Wakefield family nearly 30 years ago. An exhibition in the National Library foyer included a splendid mere pounamu in a glass case, labelled “Te Heketua. The mere used to kill Arthur Wakefield at the Wairau, 1843.” I was taken aback at the display of a weapon of execution and naively asked a Māori staff member if it was indeed the mere used to kill Arthur Wakefield. He looked at me with some scorn and  told me that each hapū of Ngāti Toa had its own Te Heketua, a chiefly symbol of the mana of the iwi. I was being a pernickety Pākehā trying to pin down the prosaic truth of that splendid object, because myth and symbolism are as important as objective fact, as material evidence, in understanding te ao Māori. 
This was a key insight for me into the different Māori approaches to history, compared to traditional “fact-based” European methods. At the same time, I learned that for all the damning criticism of William Wakefield’s naming of prominent features of Wellington Harbour after members of the New Zealand Company, or his family, iwi who invaded and took over the rohe of another did much the same, unless there was a chiefly settlement on existing names. Some things different, some the same.
Another description of the inability to engage adequately with te ao Māori is “white fragility” on the part of Pākehā, defensiveness in the face of discussions about racism. The issue is that those who “occupy the cultural norm or centre within any society are the least accustomed to being challenged about their ways and views.”  Andrew Judd: “New Zealand has been designed by [people like] me, for [people like] me. Everything I think, see and do is for me.” This is a simplistic explanation because, directly or indirectly, Māori have had a distinct influence on the way New Zealand society has developed, to the highest levels of national governance. But Pākehā need to be humble and honest enough to admit that systems of governance, law and education owe their roots to European, especially British, societies. Therefore, Pākehā are “privileged” by living and working within the familiarity of the dominant system, and should accept that it was not designed for Māori. European systems are designed with individual rights at centre, Māori for whanau, hapū, iwi.
How should non-Māori approach and engage with the Māori world? The messages from this book are several: to be respectful; to ask yourself why you are making an approach; to proceed carefully, not with questions demanding answers; to be guided always by the responses received; not to be over-earnest, because goodwill humour will often ease the way. Above all, listen before making comments or statements. An example given of this involved a three-day meeting for wahine on the subject of cervical cancer. A Pākehā medical expert was told by her wahine friend organising the meeting that she must not say a word. “For three days!?” she asked. “Yes, for the whole three days, but then you can speak at the concluding session.”
Listening hard enables a deeper understanding and appreciation of tikanga, how this and mātaraunga can contribute to New Zealand’s wider society. It will also reveal how far  non-Māori are able to enter the Māori world, for they will always remain an outsider without whakapapa. An understanding of te reo, if not fluency, is essential to this process; but there are varying views on how fluent non-Māori should become. Before launching into te reo immersion, they should ask themselves why they are doing it and what they want to achieve. Again, they should listen hard first.
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The first half of the book’s sub-title: “Working with Māori,” relates to the valuable insights, advice and recommendations it offers. The second half, “Honouring the Treaty,” confirms that it is also  a work of propaganda, based on a range of received truths that, in the current political climate especially, are open to question. Principally, these are issues related to decolonisation and Māori sovereignty based on the Māori version of the Treaty. It is taken as read that continuing “colonial structures” are bad for Māori and dismantling them, led by Māori, will lead to a kind, equal and sharing society. Ideal if wishful thinking.
In focusing only on a “Māori” view of what happened at Waitangi in 1840 (when there are many Māori views), what the other signatories thought was happening is ignored in a wilful dislocation of thinking. For all their good intentions towards the indigenes at Waitangi, the British were establishing a Crown Colony with all the contemporary paraphernalia of governance and law this entailed. It would take time for the full effects of this to land because the British were parsimonious with money and personnel. In some respects, the Treaty was helpful in maintaining a holding pattern until full sovereign governance, with local self-government, was put in place. Although the indigenous versions and interpretations of such treaties take primacy in international law, the political realities of the time must be seen clearly. The kind of sovereignty that the British allowed Māori was continued ownership of their lands and possessions and rangatira governance of their people. Rather like the position of British aristocracy and their estates at that time.
Andrew Judd believes in the “generosity of Māori towards our [Pākehā] ancestors in signing the treaty and agreeing to share their land – with the hope that it would be for the benefit of all.” Altruism, then, rather than self-interest or advantage? Avril Bell writes, “In simple terms, without that document having been signed, none of us [non-Māori] would be here.” One of the shibboleths in this book is that Pākehā have to learn and accept our history, including the many injuries inflicted upon Māori, in the 19th century in particular. In agreeing with this view, I suggest that its proponents need to read our history more carefully. “In simple terms” British immigrants were coming, ready or not. The first New Zealand Company settlers had arrived in Wellington before the Treaty was signed and more were on their way, Treaty or not. One of the key drivers for the Treaty was the British government’s desire to control this settlement and its consequent demands for freehold land from Māori. The idea that no non-Māori would be here today but for the Treaty ignores the massive worldwide diaspora of European peoples that took place after the Napoleonic Wars. It was unstoppable.
Given this, the notion of non-Māori gratefully accepting the moniker of tangata tiriti is based on an idealistic sentiment, on a presentist version of history that has been conjured up in recent years. There is much more that could be written on the issues of decolonisation and sovereignty on which much of the rationale of this book is based. Our current political world is alive with them. But that begins to go beyond the scope of this review.
Avril Bell’s book is valuable in helping and urging non-Māori to get to grips with the Māori world, but its philosophical underpinnings are questionable. Keep listening hard ( and discussing). But in this especially fraught time, are the members of our current government able and willing to?
Becoming Tangata Tiriti: Working with Māori, Honouring the Treaty by Avril Bell (Auckland University Press, $29.99) is available in bookstores nationwide and through BookHub, the fast and easy way to buy NZ books.