Cultural Evolution in New Zealand: Maori vs. Pakeha: An Amateur Ethnography

The Maori people, Maori being a pan-tribal term (as those who are Maori may refer to themselves by their particular tribe), are thought to have established themselves in New Zealand sometime between 1000 and 1500 CE. A steady flow of migration occurred until this time, when the general Pacific region seemed to settle in place. These people originate from a larger Polynesian migration, and are considered Polynesian in origin (as this region stretches from Hawaii in the north to New Zealand in the south, and Easter Islands to the east. The ancestral and genetic origins of these Polynesians at large is considered Indian or Indonesian. This is still studied and disputed. It is also disputed that there may have been a group of native people inhabiting New Zealand before the Maori's arrival... The Moaori (spelling not accurate). These people, to whatever extent they existed, were oppressed and cannibalized by the Maori, who established themselves as the dominant culture. (And hey, if they were cannibalized, it would make sense why evidence is hard to come by... no bodies buried!)

The arrival of the first Maori's to Aotearoa (New Zealand, Land of the Long White Cloud) is an honored event in the culture's rich mythology. This first ancestor is held in deity status, and the method of his arrival, the Waka, or canoe, is an important detail. As an aside, the waka is considered a very sacred object. This is presumably due to its legendary status and pivitol purpose both in the mythology of the Maori and also in their daily life. Making and using the waka is a ritual process because of the spiritual power, or Mana, it possess. Mana is an essential word conveying a sense of great power, force, and transcendent nature. Though Mana is a neutral force, its power can mean great danger for humans who possess or encounter Mana. Therefore, Tapu is established around objects and people with mana as a form of ritualized protection. Tapu is ritual restriction neccessary to ensure the safety- both physical and spiritual- of the individual and community. A helpful way to understand the concept of "tapu" is to think of the common English word "taboo". Our English word taboo has it's origins in the Polynesian word and concept of "tapu", sometimes spelled "tabu".

Now, Back to cultural evolution! The 16th Century marks the commencement of European exploration, which grew through time into colonization, and imperialism. In the 1700 and 1800's, the British stretched their sea-legs quite a bit, extending their limbs across the globe, eventually landing themselves in Aotearoa in the late 18th Century. The first notable contact is attributed to a man with an immortal name, Captain James Cook. The collision of two wholly separate cultures is rarely smooth, particularly given the British track record on exploration... This scenario is a familiar one, in which "white man" finds not only new land, but a new version of the human race. Whether the first to the island or not, in this case, the Maori are considered New Zealand's indigenous people. These others invading were referred to by the Maori as "Pakeha" (or white man, other, basically non-Maori). The Pakeha, the British, brought with them disease and weapons, causing a state of unrest between peoples, and general culture clash, as one could imagine.

I do feel, however, that because this occurred in a relatively later period (the 1800's) in comparison to, say, the British colonization of the US (1600's), time was and is on the Maori's side in terms of preserving culture, as a native peoples. To me, it could have been worse (like the oppression and, what you might cringe calling slow ethnic genocide, of the Native Americans). For example, the 1830's was a time of immense migration of Europeans to New Zealand, and this was perhaps the height of the cultural clash. On February 6th, 1840, the Treaty of Waitangi was signed by both the British government and over 40 Maori chiefs. This treaty, in brief essence, gave the British official sovereinty of the land (allowing them to buy and sell it as they like), and political control, but also provided the Maori with rights as British subjects. It is still considered part of the common law here. The Maori were, in a sense, politically announcing a general assimilation to the Crown, and allowing the English a place of political (and cultural) dominance. This is a very safe and blood-free alternative to what tragedy may have ensued without the treaty.

While the English culture remains dominant (the Maori minority represent 20% of Kiwis, and is generally in the lowest economic class) there has recently been a conscious investment (with government cooperation) in restoring and raising awareness of native traditions, roots, language, and general Maori-ness. For example, there is a public television station, "Maori Television", all in Maori language providing cultural programs, language lessons, and minority-centric entertainment. Museums certainly display treasures, artifacts, and interactive information on Maori culture, but this can also be observed as a living entity. One can visit the villages in which tribes still live. Recently, a new Marae, or meeting house, was built near the Taupo region, as well as a newly built drum of historical design. The fact that new meeting houses are continually being established exemplifies that the Maori practice a living tradition, extending through centuries and generations.

As an aside, the Marae is an important part of the community. It is the meeting house where tribes meet to formally discuss issues, make decisions, and perform rituals. The buildings themselves are considered very sacred places. Each one follows the same architectural format, because the form of the structures is very symbolic, as well as the decor and carvings within. I can discuss this in more detail in a later post.

Language is another important part of the survival and vitality of the Maori culture. Many public signs are written in both English and Maori, children are raised bi-lingual, and many words are assimilated directly into the English dialect here in New Zealand. For example, most place names are of Maori origin, such as "whitianga", "taupo", or "rotorua". Plants and animals possess maori names, like the "pahutakawa" and "punga" trees, or the "pukekoe" bird. There are also a portion of words all Kiwis use and understand in place of English ones, such as "whenau" (family), "Kia Ora" (welcome-- used each night on the evening news), "Pakeha" is a term still used without taboo, and the name "Aotearoa" itself. The survival of native languages is very important to the survival of a culture itself. Because of the assimilatiom of Maori into English, I feel Maori language has a great chance of survival in the upcoming century, when it is predicted that 90% of all native languages will die out! (given the advent of technology and fast, global communication). There is something important and sacred about preserving a language, as it carries so much of the pulse and life-force of a culture itself. Much of the rich symbolism and meaning in a culture is given life through language.

And that, my friends, are my words so far on Cultural Evolution in New Zealand, concerning the Maori and Pakeha!

Join me next time as I explore topics such as cannibalism, death rituals, deity heirarchy, architecture, artifacts, and so much more!

PS: DID YOU KNOW!?!?!?!
Did you know that BATS are the only endemic mammal to New Zealand!?!?! No wonder they practiced cannibalism... probably got tired of all that fish! hehehe. Bats!

Billboard

A loud humming sound, grinding like the din of a steroid ridden hummingbird amplified on a loudspeaker by my window, roused me from REM's quixotic narrative. My fingers fondled the windowsill above, a daily blind search for glasses. Comprehension grew as I peered out onto the parking lot below. I was surprised to find the source of noise in a big, black, cherry-picker machine, stretching its neck to the billboard adjacent the window. A red-faced sweaty man strained to pull the advertisement tight around it's corners, though the wind whipped the plastic, slapping the mans arms. Neck veins bulging, he quickly stabs the advert into place, and retracts to admire his work. I look down to the supporting vehicle reading "Skin Tight Signs".

In this post-industrial age, Every job to be performed, each duty begging completion, is the purpose of an entire company. A corporate effort complete with logos on trucks and cold calls and sales pitches. Until now I might have surmised a tiny fairy changed the billboards. I further see, though, that there is a business for everything, and a man for every job (though no job for every man).

The expired advertisment lay on the asphault, tired and wrinkled. The grueling task of securing a large new sign skin tight on a windy morning proceeded corner by corner. There was an efficiency in the man's work showing his movements were directed by memory, engrained in his joints and muscles. I heard the cherry picker grinding again, this time for the last time, with a new billboard complete. Next a delicate folding process began. The worker attempted to tame the limp ad on the pavement, subject to wind's whim, into a neat, thick square. A few piles of these sat on the truck. For what painfully felt like an hour this man negotiated with the old rectangular sheet, folded, then undone, by the wind. Now his cursing pierced the constant hum of the truck. I was impressed with his perfectionism and dedication to the job. His tenacity showed that on some level, beyond bubbling frustration, he cared-- a pride in his work. The billboard man... here to tell us which phone company has a new plan, and which movie will premier next (FYI, it's "Valentines Day", Feb. 11th). Once the old plastic sheet was folded away, the laborer took a moment to inspect the job, and photographed his work.

Unemployed in New Zealand, in search for professional purpose and meaning, awaiting the voice of a vocation, I take notice in what actions, events, and duties fill the days of everyone else. What tasks need to be completed that are worth a buck? I re-realize the intuitive; behind each man-made object and system is at least one man (or woman), most likely a group, orchestrating and connecting their efforts to the surrounding economy, involving themselves, as a group, in the webbed social constructions of society. A society where a machine with film, invented, built, and sold by a group, records movement. Producers pay advertisers to create public knowledge of said film, and advertisers pay Skin Tight Signs to post an ad so we, with money from our own jobs, will pay to go see it projected. Experiences like movie-going are essentially treated as goods, commodities, attached with financial value. The worker is a laboring cog in the machine of the Skin Tight Sign business, which is itself a cog in social machinery.

Material Eternities: Plums

By eating one fruit, one finds the path to another.

In each fruit comes the seed to a new one.

In the consumption and, therefore, destruction of each fruit, one finds, encapsulated, regeneration.

A next life formed a life before it.

Rising and falling in rooting, reaching, rounding, rotting,

Rooting. Cyclical Eternities.

Material Limitations: Flesh

Destroyed in rain,
I swear at the sight
of suede shoes.

Frustrated and helpless at the ruins
of what covered my feet, contorted,
by the unbiased fury of an element.


In my soul my own
mortality of the flesh
manifesting in the grief.

This world is
all that I know, but not
all that is.

To what form human skin reincarnates?
To what places my being
divides and goes?

Last Day of the Year

I spent the last hours of 2009 traveling from the green bushy mounds of the Coromandel (beach and back country)to the sulpherous expulsions of earth's hot, wet, gassy geothermal belly in Rotorua. Here I saw a slice of what remains of the Maori culture... The geothermal village these people live in (Whakerewarewa) is now a tourist tramping ground for those seeking one of the worlds natural wonders... hot geyesers, hot springs, and boiling mud. The smell was enough to make me nauseous at its memory for the next 24 hours, despite the healing qualities of the steam. The tribe living there put on a performance of one of the Maori's famous expression of identity: the Haka, an ancient war dance involving an intense bugging of the eyes and flicking of the tongue. Incredible. Unsettling, though, was the array of village children, swimming in the lake near village exit screaming for Paheka (white man) to throw down change as they dive for it. It resembled the koi fish and ducks at the Missouri Botanical Gardens, conditioned to gather below the bridge for food pellets during the summer season... Pocket change is fun for a kid, but it seemed a sad existence to make a living by begging. Back in the 12 passenger "Van of Serenity", we pass open fields that dry into a somber dessert frontier, guarded by a giant volcanoe mountain crater. We stop in the valley lake to gather pummus stones for a future foot massage, as the lava nature of our earth's core intended! Stacks of cooled lava line the road... cliffs on which life has struck again! These are the NZ army training areas... with a lone one lane road flowing down the middle. As we drive, so quickly the scenes change. A brilliant lush greenery, evocative of what I've seen as "prehistoric", is soon to appear again. We master windy roads atop brooks and creeks, to the liking of a romantic's poem or Anne of Green Gables. The din of a bickering, tired car load phases away on the peaks of mountain pastures. Looming on our horizon I see growth of windmills arming a wall of great hills. We wind around the cliffside of a great gorge, waterfalls exploding from holes in the rock, feeding the river that carves it. Out of the gorge-eous depths we emerge staring at the back of the tall, white, wind farm circling its face to the plains. This is the landscape of the North Island's main highway heading south... highway one, and its off shoots. We take it to Wellington. A multitude of sheep and cows dot the view in place of billboards. The small town-strips paint a memory of what the 1950's seems like in my mind in America. Baches (a popular ram-shackle interpretation of housing) line neighborhoods and ice cream trucks keep to thier routes through them. Despite it's major growing cities, there are many more barefoot kiwis jumping out of old VW vans fashioned into psycadelic mobile homes than shoe-shined feet clicking alongside matching briefcases. I eat a meat pie and sip and L&P along the way.