Moko: ko wai au – who am I ?
The relationship between moko, identity, and Māori health and wellbeing
27-6-2014
University of Amsterdam
Akeo Veerman, 6049990
Master Medical Anthropology and Sociology
Supervisor: Dr. Jenna Grant
2
Index:
Introduction ...3
Background ...4
Main Question and sub-questions ...6
Outline ...7
Chapter 1: Research methods and reflection ...9
1.1 The informants ...9
1.2 Methodologies ... 10
1.3 Challenges and how I addressed them ... 11
1.4 Analyses of the data ... 12
1.5 Ethics and values ... 12
1.6 Reflection ... 13
Chapter 2: Health and wellbeing of Māori ... 15
2.1 Māori health and wellbeing in Aotearoa/New Zealand: a colonial history ... 15
2.2 A Māori Framework of health and wellbeing: Te Whare Tapa Wha, holistic health, and the importance of the whānau ... 18
2.3 The relationship between identities, health and wellbeing ... 21
Chapter 3: The expression and shaping of whānau and Māori identities through the process of moko 24 3.1 Theoretical background: The social skin ... 24
3.2 Moko and the construction and expression of different identities ... 27
Chapter 4: The process of Moko, identity, and Māori health and wellbeing ... 33
4.1 Envisioning the ‘triangle: the process of moko, identities, and health and wellbeing ... 33
4.2 The process of attaining moko ... 35
4.3 Connecting the past, present and future ... 43
4.4 Can moko influence a person’s health and wellbeing? ... 46
Conclusion... 48
Annotated bibliography... 51
Glossary ... 54
3
Introduction
During my fieldwork in Aotearoa/New Zealand, on the 31st of March 2014 an article called
Māori tattoo seen as a therapy was posted (RadioNZ: 3rd
of June 2014). The article states that on the Toitu Hauora Māori Summit, psychiatrist Dr. Diana Rangihuna spoke about the practice of tā moko. She argued that the art of applying moko to the skin can be therapeutic, and she spoke about how moko could be applied to remember a person, or as a form of protection from harm. Dr. Rangihuna continued by saying that some individuals visit a moko artist as a form of suicide prevention. Is, as Dr. Rangihuna argues, the practice of Māori tattooing, the practice of moko, something that can be therapeutic, healing, or connected to health and wellbeing? This question is the topic of this thesis.
I study moko as a medium between the self and the other, between the individual and his or her whānau (family), between the past, present and future. People bring their body into play to create connections between the self and community, it conveys messages, tells stories and can be a part of political action. The practice of moko is an entry into all of these topics. Moko also centres around the creation and shaping of different identities, and how the body becomes a part of this process. Furthermore, moko, has the potential to address power relations and challenge dominant ideologies.
How do people such as the indigenous Māori, who have faced colonization and repression politics (Anderson et al. 2006), hold on to their own cultural art forms, and how does this influence their health and wellbeing? What does it mean when the indigenous practice of moko is acknowledged as connected to health and wellbeing? Could such acknowledgement have the potential of broadening our understanding of what health and wellbeing means, and the different ways a person can care for the self? In this thesis, I argue that there is a connection between the process of attaining and wearing moko, different forms of identity, and Māori health and wellbeing. Through studying the importance of family and identity in relation to health and wellbeing, and connecting these to the practice of moko, I will create a conceptual ‘triangle’ that links the concepts of moko, identity and health and wellbeing to each other. The concept of whānau (family) is central in this triangle, being the most important factor that combines the three corners.
While other studies have focused on the relationship between identity and (indigenous peoples’) health, or the connections between identity and moko, I will bring these three together, thereby presenting the third ‘side’ of this conceptual triangle. I extend the existing
4
work on moko through focussing on the importance of the whānau for all three concepts; health and wellbeing, identity, and moko. Furthermore, I take a new position, away from seeing moko or tattoo as something fixed or as an object, by studying moko as a long-lasting process.
Background
Moko, the traditional practise of tattooing among the indigenous Māori in Aotearoa/New Zealand, is a living practice with many layers of meaning. Now Aotearoa/New Zealand is a so-called settler state, which means that the major part of the population is made up of the settler population and that it is their institutions that dominate (Anderson et al. 2006: 1775). However, before the English colonized the indigenous Māori in Aotearoa/New Zealand in the 19th century, the tattooed face or body was a part of everyday Māori life (Nikora et al. 2007). The moko were placed on different places on the body, possibly best known on the face; the whole face for the men (pukanohi) and for the women mainly the chin and lips (moko kauae). Also the legs and buttocks (puhoro) or an arm band (tuhono) were (and are) popular places (Nikora et al. 2007: 482). The designs consisted of lines, spirals, curls and other ‘organic’ shapes, which could symbolize a certain family line1,
iwi (tribe), profession, or accomplishment (Simmons 1986). For women the moko was taken around the time of the first menstruation (Te Awekotuku 1997: 111) and Gell argues that both male and female tattooing probably started around the time of the beginning of sexual life (1996: 266). To wear moko was an honour, but not only confined to high ranking families; according to Simmons, it could
1 This is highly contested though, and the notion of specific designs for a family or iwi might be a part of the contemporary tradition. Tā moko artists used to travel great distances and might have developed their own style, which was sometimes the reason they were invited. The idea of family and iwi related patterns is therefore not a sure fact ( Te Awekotuku & Nikora 2011: 70).
5
also be earned by warriors (Ibid.: 127). Moko had different functions and effects: they were designed to be admired, to arouse sexual interest, to terrify, to inspire fear; they were also a remembering, honouring, immortalising; it was about extending the skin and the soul itself (Te Awekotuku 1997 & 2002: 123). Then, and now still, moko was a way of transforming the self, to become ‘layered with meaning’ (Nikora et al. 2007: 478).
Although the English Crown and many Māori chiefs had signed Te Tiriti/the Treaty of Waitāngi in 1840, soon after problems arose concerning land rights and the right to sovereignty. Te Awekotuku states that during this time moko became a sign of resistance and Māori unification, a role it still fulfils in Aotearoa/New Zealand today (Nikora et al. 2007: 479). During this time moko was seen less and less, and the last traditional male full-face operation took place in 1865 (Te Awekotuku 1997: 112). The practice of female moko kauae, the tattooed chin and lips, persisted until the 1950s, and never fully disappeared (Ibid.). The reasons for the disappearing of moko are contested, but it seems clear that the wars over land and the Christian missionaries were highly influential in the process by actively discouraging the practice (Simmons 1986; Te Awekotuku & Nikora 2011).
Since the 1980s moko and other cultural practices have re-emerged powerfully in Māori communities, and partly centre around a self-determination movement (Te Awekotuku 2002: 125). Therefore moko is strongly connected to the process of decolonization, political resistance and the empowerment of the Māori as minority group in their own country (Nikora et al. 2005 & 2007; Penehira 2011; Te awekotuku 2002; Te Awekotuku & Nikora 2011).
The moko of today is about whakapapa (genealogy), it is about whānau (family), it is about identity, it is about being Māori (Penehira 2011; Te Awekotuku & Nikora 2011). By wearing moko the ancestors are honoured in the presence and carried into the future (Penehira 2011: 69). As my research shows, moko expresses different identities, some connected to the more small-scale whānau, hāpu and marae communities, others to the larger iwi and Māori categories. Some wearers fear the rapid increase in the practice of moko, and the possible loss of certain responsibilities and values that come with it. Others support new ways in which moko takes shape, and believe it can be empowering for Māori as an ethnic group. Either way, moko has different meanings, gives rise to different identities, and focuses attention to its place in the future.
6
Main Question and sub-questions
In my study I focus on Māori health, understood as part of holistic wellbeing. I have used both the concepts of health and wellbeing during my interviews and in the writing process to make sure that health is understood as holistic, and to make sure that the different informants as well as readers include notions such as family, spiritual, and emotional wellbeing; feeling secure, proud, happy, accepted or connected. I examine how moko contributes to individual as well as group identities, and in what ways (ethnic) identity is part of Māori wellbeing and health. I also study the importance of family when understanding moko, and how this too can be a constitutive part of health and wellbeing. This led me to my central question: how do different moko wearers experience the relationship between their moko, health and wellbeing, and what are the important aspects of this relationship?
When I started my fieldwork I conceptually split the concepts of ethnic identity and family identity. This was only partially applicable, since for most informants these two concepts were deeply intertwined. If anything, ethnic identity seemed to be defined by family identity. I further examined how my informants saw the relationship between their identities and their health and wellbeing. This question was deemed highly relevant by all of my informants. My focus on the importance of family took shape in considering how family and social networks played a role in the process of attaining moko. This led to questioning how the opinion or support of family, friends and colleagues was itself a crucial factor in what the moko “did” later on in its wearer’s life and how this influenced someone’s wellbeing.
My central question, “how do different moko wearers experience the relationship between their moko and their health and wellbeing, and what are the important aspects of this relationship”, led to several sub questions and the choice to focus on moko as a process that extends from the initial imagining to the carrying of moko through life. As Wright states, ‘tattoos are processual, not just marking a point in time but forming a part of ongoing, lived relationships’ (2003: 156). By looking at moko as a process, compared to viewing tattoo as an object on skin, I show the fluidity of thoughts, meaning-giving and power the practice of tattooing can have. Moko and its meanings, like the human body, change through life.
To understand how moko is connected to Māori health and wellbeing, it is first necessary to establish what is meant when speaking about health and wellbeing. What is the current health situation for Māori in Aotearoa/New Zealand? What factors have led to this
7
current situation and keep influencing it now? What are important aspects when trying to situate moko in a health and wellbeing framework? A second question centres on the relationship between the practice of moko and different identities. In what ways is moko constitutive of family and ethnic identities and how is this relationship shaped, according to my informants? By answering these questions it will become possible to ask the last question; how are moko, identity, health and wellbeing connected to each other?
It is important to find answers to these questions because they focus on an indigenous practice, a Māori practice, as a way to care for the self. Many indigenous communities around the world are living in political, economical, and social conditions that lead to poverty, poor access to education, and ill health (Smith 2012: 4). Various Māori communities face these issues, (although definitely not all of them, or in the same manner) which makes it necessary to try and find new ways to address these problems. Exploring the indigenous practice of moko can contribute to the literature that focuses on Māori ways of caring for the self and addressing health concerns, and serve as an entry into exploring important aspects of health and wellbeing. As Penehira (2011) argues, this return to indigenous health solutions is central to Māori wellbeing, and ‘the use of cultural frameworks and practices have potentially restorative, therapeutic and healing values that are not yet researched or understood by the health field’ (Ibid.: 2). Furthermore, acknowledging the potential of moko as connected to health and wellbeing is a step towards relocating the source of knowledge concerned with health and wellbeing. As Reinfeld and Pihama argue, in the context a colonized country, exploring indigenous practices can be the means through which the source of knowledge on health and wellbeing is shifted, ‘it locates the source of our power “within” ourselves’(in Penehira 2011: 50).
Outline
The first chapter of this thesis outlines the research methodology; I describe my informants, methodologies in the field, the challenges I encountered, and the final analysis of my data. I also describe the ethical guidelines along which I worked, and a reflexion of my posit ion and role in the field.
This thesis focuses on two different theoretical foundations in chapter two and three, which are brought together in the fourth chapter. The second chapter focuses on Māori health and wellbeing, and what is understood by this. It outlines the current health situation of Māori
8
in Aotearoa/New Zealand, and the role colonization plays in this. The health and wellbeing framework of Durie (1985) is presented here: Te Whare Tapa Wha, and with this some of the important aspects to understand Māori health and wellbeing. Finally, following Penehira (2011) I argue that identity is strongly connected to Māori health and wellbeing. This chapter lays the groundwork for understanding how the practice of moko can be connected to Māori health and wellbeing by introducing the importance of family and identity.
The third chapter centres on the notion of identity, and its relation to the practice of moko. I start with an outline of previous work concerned with theorizing the skin and tattoo as a medium between the individual and his or her social world, and how the connection between moko and identity is situated in the context of colonialism. Following the work of Nikora and colleagues (2005; 2007), Penehira (2011), Te Awekotuku (1997; 2002) and Te Awekotuku & Nikora (2011), I go on to describe the central aspects of different identities that moko supports; Māori identity and family identity, and how these takes shape.
The fourth chapter brings together the concepts of health and wellbeing, identity and moko. First the question is asked: is moko connected to health and wellbeing? Through the narratives of my informants it becomes clear that there is indeed a link between someone’s moko and health and wellbeing. By describing the process in which the moko is attained and carried onwards, I show how these different steps and actions have the potential to connect the wearer to his or her culture, history and family or iwi. Through this process of (re)connecting both the aspect of family and identity are addressed, both of which are important aspects of Māori health. I further argue that moko has the power to connect the past, present and future of Māori people. This can be the entrance to think about how Māori want the future to take shape and in what ways this can be done, by building on the practices and traditions of their ancestors to move into the future.
I finish this thesis with a discussion and conclusion around the central question asked. I argue that Māori health and wellbeing are strongly connected to Māori and family identity. Furthermore, because moko centres around the expression and building of family identity and Māori identity, it becomes valid to view the practice of moko as potentially healing and connected to Māori health and wellbeing more broadly. Still, moko itself is not inherently healthy, and needs to be understood in light of the person wearing it and his or her social context.
9
Chapter 1: Research methods and reflection
1.1 The informants
My fieldwork took place in Aotearoa/ New Zealand and was mainly focused in Auckland, the biggest city of the country with about 1.42 million inhabitants (Statistics New Zealand: 14th of June 2014). The research took place over a period of 11 weeks, from the start of February until the end of April 2014. During this time I was living and working in Auckland, with some trips to other places on the North Island if necessary.
First and foremost, I am highly grateful to the James Henare Māori Research Centre (JHMRC) at the University of Auckland for their help by introducing me to (potential) informants and giving me a place to work. The JHMRC focuses on providing research to empower Māori groups living within the northern tribal district of Tai Tokerau (the northern area above Auckland), and aims to research the social, cultural and economic wellbeing and advancement of Māori in this area. Through the help of different members of the team at the Centre I was able to be introduced to family members, contacts and friends. Without a good introduction by someone my informant knew and trusted, I would have had little access. I used a “snowballing technique” to meet informants with expertise or experience with moko through already existing contacts and the JHMRC.
My thirteen main informants (seven women, six men) came from different backgrounds, had different levels of education and belonged or grew up in different socio-economic classes. They ranged in age between early twenties to late fifties, and this led to a varied range of experiences when it concerned their moko story, ideas on health, or reflections on Māori politics. I met most of my informants in Auckland, where they lived or worked. Others came from various places on the North Island. They belonged to a range of different iwi, although half of my informants connected themselves to Ngāti Whatua, (one of) the most dominant iwi in Auckland Region. This means my study was mostly urban based, which might have influenced the results of this research. The exact ways in which an urban based study might differ from a rural one is beyond my ability to predict though. To note is that four of the female informants and three of the male informants were working in different positions in the health sector. Their direct involvement with (Māori) health and wellbeing has probably given them a more in-depth opinion or experiences on the topic of Māori health and wellbeing and how different identities and moko can play a role in this. This limits my research in the sense that another group of informants might not make the link between their health and the
10
importance of identity (this clearly), and therefore this particular characteristic of the informant group should be kept in mind when reading this thesis.
The informants for this research were not chosen to represent some average or standard, but in their variety form an example of the different views and experiences moko wearers might have.
1.2 Methodologies
To answer my research questions I conducted participant observation and interviews in order to see and experience all that comes with the practice of moko. I tried to soak up as much as possible by the classical anthropological technique of “hanging out”. One key informant, moko artist Graham, was especially helpful in including me in his life. When he gave a training weekend, I spent one weekend on the marae (courtyard and meeting house, the central point of a kin group community), watching the kapahaka training (form of cultural performance involving dance, song, haka) of a nearby boy’s school. He invited me to be present in some of his moko sessions to see what that process entailed, and once I even got to help with the tattooing process. He put an effort in making me understand the importance of all the family and friends networks he was involved in by taking me along, and how these strong family and marae connections worked in daily life. Through being a part of the kapahaka training weekend I got to see how other cultural practices were highly similar and connected to the practice of moko and how they supported each other. I also had dinner or even stayed the night at some of my informants, and I spend 4 days with another moko artist and his family. Last, I was invited by the JHMRC to attend their anniversary celebration day, which gave me the possibility to speak and interview different people, as well as that I again spend some nights in another marae up north.
Second, I focused on conducting several in-depth interviews. At the start of my fieldwork I was hoping to conduct between 7 or 10 interviews. In the end, this became 15 interviews with 13 informants. I obtained written consent from my informants with the exception of one, who agreed to be interviewed but would only agree to participate after he had seen the thesis (finally he has indeed agreed to participate). Most of the interviews took place in informants homes. I gave the informants the choice to be interviewed where they felt comfortable and always tried to adapt my schedule and plans to theirs. The interviews I conducted were semi-structured. In the interviews I always tried to focus on the relationship
11
between moko and identity; moko and health and wellbeing; and identity and health and wellbeing, thereby creating a sort of triangle of concepts. I asked if moko was connected to health and wellbeing, if moko could be healthy, or maybe also unhealthy, and in what ways. Finally, I also asked (if informants did not already focus on that themselves) about the individual, personal experience and their ideas on the role of moko in society or in Māori politics. Some informants focused on one or the other, others brought these together.
Last, during my fieldwork I got tattooed by a moko artist, and this experience gave me a personal insight into the processes of discussing meanings, design and life story with the artist, as well as the range of physical and emotional experiences such as pain, trust, pride, and connectedness to family. My experience differs in very crucial aspects from a Māori individual taking on the moko, but there are some overlaps which helped me to understand certain experiences better.
1.3 Challenges and how I addressed them
One obstacle I encountered was the use of photography. While I do have some photographs, it was not always possible or feasible to take a photo of someone’s moko. In some cases the placement on the body was reason to leave it out: if a woman carries a moko kauae on her chin, I cannot include a photograph if she wants to stay anonymous. Finally this resulted in some images in which the informant is unrecognizable, and others in which the informant agreed to be possibly recognized. An extra note to this is that many people see their moko as something that identifies them, and many of the moko are unique. Therefore, complete anonymity is simply not possible when photographs are used.
A second and related problem was the protection of informants anonymity. Except for one case, all informants were introduced to me through someone else, and many knew each other through being related or through other connections. Furthermore, most informants preferred that I use their first name and not give them a pseudonym. I do want to respect their choice, but it also adds to the problematic of protecting informants privacy. I believe that this partial anonymity is an unsolvable part of the way my research took shape. I could not have had the level of access if it were not for the personal introductions, and after consultation with my supervisor and an advisor from JHMRC, I do feel that I should respect people’s wishes to be named with their own first name.
12
1.4 Analyses of the data
I transcribed almost all interviews fully, after which I coded them by discourse analysis and close reading. My coding scheme derived from several themes of interest in the existing literature, as well as from my data. These schemes included health and wellbeing, colonialism, different identities in relation to moko, the importance of family, the notion of worthiness, responsibility and finally the relation between moko, identity and health and wellbeing. In these main codes I created sub-codes when a certain topic was referred to many times or when I thought it to be of special interest. I also focused on indigenous phrasing such as the use of the words whānau (family), whakapapa (genealogy), moko (Māori tattoo),
wairua (spirit or the spiritual) and te reo (Māori language). If several informants indicated that
something was important or key I also paid specific attention to this. Being guided by certain main authors such as Durie (1985), Gell (1996), Mark & Lyons (2010), Nikora and colleagues (2007; 2007), Penehira (2011), Te Awekotuku (1997; 2002) and Te Awekotuku & Nikora (2011) has shaped my research in the setting up of the questions and focus of the research, as well as the analyses. The work of these scholars has formed the basis from which I examined my questions and by bringing their different arguments together I was able to construct the argument that moko, identity, health and wellbeing are interconnected. This background will have influenced the responses to my questions, although I do believe that my questions were not overly steering and my informants touched on many topics without me referring to them.
1.5 Ethics and values
During the whole process of this research I strongly valued certain ways of working, in which Smith’s (2012) Decolonizing Methodologies has been my main point of departure. I see myself as a student: not just a master student of the University of Amsterdam, but a student of a new cultural practice and world. Therefore I am the one learning and absorbing, my informants are my teachers and the experts, and I expressed this to my informants2. Respect and being humble were and are core values in the way I choose to work with people. This takes shape in always meeting in a place which was comfortable for the informants. It means
2
As I discussed with one informant and my advisor at JHMRC, the term “informant” is a bit outdated in Māori research, and other terms used are “co-producer of knowledge”, or there is an emphasis on the two-way discussion that takes place between researcher and informant. This is for instance indicated with the term korero instead of interview. Here I do use the words informant and interview, but I would like to stress that an interview is indeed a two-way discussion, and that the ideas discussed and written down are not mine alone.
13
that I shared the transcripts and sometimes field notes with my informants. It means that I worked hard to be able to send my thesis to my informants before I officially handed it in so that they got a chance to comment on it, as a way of ‘giving back’ and receiving feedback (Ibid.: 16). I acknowledge my outsider status and I asked every informant to help me and guide me because I am aware of my lack of understanding of many things. I also know that there have been negative experiences, such as misrepresentation, racist attitudes, ethnocentric assumptions and exploitation (Ibid.: 10) by different iwi and by being as open and honest as I can be, I make it a priority to not repeat any of these mistakes.
1.6 Reflection
I am not Māori, not even a New Zealander, and this means that there are many things I do not know, understand, or think of. My solution to this was to acknowledge this to all my informants. I started every interview with explaining what attracted me to my research topic, from what angle I understood it. I
explained them that if I expected them to share with me, I would share with them. After interviewing I would finish with asking the informant if I missed an important question or line of thought. Through sharing personal experiences that related to theirs I tried to establish trust and understanding. I also asked advice from several Māori scholars on how to respectfully behave or interview. Without a doubt though, the fact that I am a young, white, female student from a European country will have influenced the focus of certain informants’ answers or might have led them to leave certain details out of their stories.
My status as an outsider has also given me certain advantages. I have not been raised in the political struggles over land rights and other conflicts between Pakeha (people from
14
English/British descent) and Māori, and am less aware of certain stereotypes or judgements than a researcher from New Zealand could be. There are less expectations of my background knowledge, and therefore I felt very free to ask about any small detail, since it would have been expected that I cannot know all. Some things that a Māori or Pakeha student might have taken for granted seemed new or interesting to me and my curiosity was easily awakened.
Overall, I believe that I have benefited and lost some through my specific background, but I have always tried to be open about my shortcomings and have tried to shape them into something productive.
15
Chapter 2: Health and wellbeing of Māori
... these symptoms are the traces of an interrupted, broken identity, events that are the marks of interrupted personal or shared history.
Pandolfi 1991: 63
This chapter engages with the current health situation for Māori people in Aotearoa/New Zealand, how this is connected to the historical and current processes of colonization, and how my informants themselves reflect on Māori health and wellbeing. Following this, the health and wellbeing framework of Mason Durie is presented, Te Whare Tapa Wha, and some key aspects related to a Māori understanding of health. Through an understanding of the current health and wellbeing situation of the Māori and through presenting these different key aspects of Durie’s model, it will become possible to frame moko as a practice that influences the health and wellbeing of its wearer and possibly also a broader community. This is the first step in exploring the triangle connecting health and wellbeing, identity, and the process of moko, by gaining a better insight into one of the triangle’s sides: the relation between health, wellbeing, and identity. Also, one of the key factors for Māori health and wellbeing is discussed: the whānau.
2.1 Māori health and wellbeing in Aotearoa/New Zealand: a colonial history
When I discussed Māori health with my informants, it was described to me as ‘pretty bad’, or with ‘it makes me sad’, and ‘we have considerable systematic inequity in health outcomes’. The feeling of inequality was strongly present, especially when Māori health and wellbeing was compared to, as Maraea stated in an interview, ‘the other people occupying our land now’.
Throughout history, colonial processes the world over have strongly influenced the health and wellbeing of different indigenous peoples, and many indigenous communities continue to live in circumstances of poverty, ill health, and a political climate in which their access to education is poor (Anderson et al. 2006; Kral et al. 2011; Smith 2012).
In Aotearoa/New Zealand this is in many respects the situation for the Māori, the original inhabitants of this land. As Ellison-Loschmann & Pearce argue (2006), a history of colonial rule meant that new diseases were introduced and land was taken away; all disrupting
16
the supply of food and social networks. Furthermore, regulation of Māori rights and the ban on Māori language in schools all affected Māori health (Ibid.: 612). Māori now make up 14.9% of the total Aotearoa/New Zealand population (Statistics New Zealand 2013), and although this number is growing, they are clearly the minority in their own country. The effects of this situation of “post”-colonialism is the continuing repression (although sometimes in more covert forms) of Māori practises and language, unequal access to education, over-representation in the lower socio-economic class (Durie 2004), and poorer health status compared to the New Zealand benchmarks (Anderson 2006; Harris et al. 2006; New Zealand Ministry of Health 2002; Penehira 2011). For instance, Māori have a significantly lower life expectancy than non-Māori (Harris et al. 2006); Māori are overrepresented in almost every disease category and in hospitalisation (Durie 2004); since the mid-1970s mental health has become a major health problem for Māori (Ibid.). Furthermore, racial discrimination continues to exist, possibly resulting in major health risks (Harris et al. 2006: 1435). Te Tiritiri/The Treaty of Waitāngi, an agreement signed between Māori and settler, guarantees that the Crown (or now the country’s government) is responsible for protecting all citizens’ health and wellbeing, but the growing health inequalities between Māori and settler population in the 1970s pointed to a failing of this goal (Ellison-Loschmann & Pearce 2006).
Since the beginning of the 20th century, Māori communities’ health promotion and disease control have been a focus of Māori leadership throughout the country (Ibid.: 615). Both on the national and local level initiatives emerged outside of the mainstream health services, and after the 1991 health reforms the number of Māori health providers grew rapidly (from 13 in 1993 to 240 in 2004), although still facing funding vulnerability, a lack of good primary health data, and a small Māori health workforce (Ibid.: 615). Since the 1990s two important Māori led initiatives focused on the increase of Māori health care provider services, as well as on the development of cultural safety education (Ibid.: 614). Still, the Māori Health Chart Book states that in 2008/2009 only 2% of all health and disability funding is flowing to Māori health providers, a number that dropped from 3% in 2006 (Penehira 2011: 180).
The government is trying to reduce the gap in morbidity and mortality by developing health policy specifically focused on the needs of Māori people (Mark & Lyons 2010). Two examples are He Korowai Oranga: the Māori Health Strategy and Whakatataka Tuarua: Māori health Action Plan 2006-2011. In these policy documents the focus lies on whānau health, the importance of taking into account peoples social context, the importance of a cross-sector approach, and the inclusion and development of Māori health care providers
17
(Ministry of Health 2002 and 2006), pointing to a more holistic approach of healthcare (Penehira 2011: 185). Furthermore, the government now recognizes certain traditional healing practises as part of the health care system (Ibid.: 818).
Different anthropologists have studied the ways in which bodies are shaped through social relations; how colonial, neo-colonial, and other relations of power are embodied by the different actors involved. Describing the ways in which life becomes embodied among a group of Italian women, Pandolfi argues that the body becomes ‘a sort of memorial’ of both the individual as well as the group’s history (1991: 63). For the Māori, their history as well as their present is shared with Pakeha while positioned as a minority group which has been subjected to discrimination and displacement. Many ethnomedical systems include social relations as a key contributor to health and illness (Scheper-Hughes & Lock 1987), and the displacement or disrupted social relations following colonization have serious effects on the health and wellbeing of the original inhabitants of these places (Gaur & Patnaik 2011; Kral et al. 2011). For the Māori, the social relations on the level of the whānau, hāpu (clan) and iwi, have been heavily damaged by their history and present colonization, and these social disruptions have been indicated by Māori themselves as one of the reasons for their ill-health (Cram et al. 2003: 3).
The processes of colonization have been presented as strong reasons for Māori having the poorest health of all ethnic groups in Aotearoa/New Zealand (Mark & Lyons 2010: 1762). Maraea, herself a physician, told me in an interview that Māori should have much better health since this is their own land, and that this is a result of the breaching of their health rights. She believed that to improve Māori health it was needed to ‘repair the historical breaches of trust and theft’ with the colonizers. Katarina, a young mother and social worker, commented on the current urban life-style of many Māori, ‘it is not the way we could naturally live (...) a lot of Māori do not know how to adjust and how to overcome what happened in the past (...) they feel just from their colour’. When I asked her to explain ‘feeling from their colour’ a bit more she explained how there is still subtle racism, and that some people feel underprivileged simply because they have been categorized as a ‘group of unhealthy, overweight and abusive’ people, whether they actually are or not. Tipene, who worked for a Māori health provider in Auckland, also expressed his worries about the racism and judgement of Māori people, but placed the responsibility partly with Māori individuals themselves: ‘People watch, and Māori get harshly judged anyway, but they don’t need to feed that by making unwise choices’. This remark points to the heightened awareness of Māori as a group, and is an example of how racism and discrimination can put extra importance on being
18
an upstanding person in public in “post”-colonial Aotearoa/New Zealand. As moko artist Graham explains, when a Māori (with moko) goes out and gets drunk, he is not just a drunk man, but a Māori drunk. This stereotyping can then become a part of what it means to be Māori in Aotearoa/New Zealand.
To understand how the practise of moko can be connected to Māori health and wellbeing, it is necessary to explore one of the best known Māori health and wellbeing frameworks: Te Whare Tapa Wha, and the importance of whānau and identity when it comes to Māori health and wellbeing.
2.2 A Māori Framework of health and wellbeing: Te Whare Tapa Wha, holistic
health, and the importance of the whānau
There is not one Māori understanding of health, just as there is not one way of practising biomedicine3. When I write about Māori understandings of health and wellbeing I refer to the well-known framework by Mason Durie, called Te Whare Tapa Wha, or The Four-Sided House (Durie 1985)4. According to this model, Māori health and wellbeing should be understood as an interconnection between a spiritual (taha wairua), mental (taha hinengaro), physical (taha tinana) and family (taha whānau) element. Like a house with four walls cannot be whole with one wall missing, a person cannot be well if any of these four elements has not been taken good care of (Ibid.). It has been included into different health planning structures, is used in the construction of monitoring tools, and is also used as a guide on how to deliver health care services (Durie 2004: 818). Many of my informants were aware of this health model and referred to it themselves. By looking at key aspects of Māori health and wellbeing in Durie’s model, it becomes possible to situate moko in a health and wellbeing framework.
One of the key aspects of Māori understandings of health is that health and wellbeing are understood holistically (Cram et al. 2003; Durie 1985; Mark & Lyons 2010). Holistic health is usually defined in more subjective, experiential terms, and includes the domains of the physical, spiritual, mental, interpersonal and environmental (Mark & lyons 2010: 1757).
3
It is not possible to discuss all the different important aspects of Māori health here, such as the tohunga’s (healers), rongoa (medicine based on plant product), or karakia (chant or prayer) because of limited space (Durie 2004).
4 Other health models that have been developed my Māori scholars include Mana Kaitiakitanga (Penehira 2011) and Te Whetu (Mark & Lyons 2010), but for this research I have chosen to use the model of Durie. This choice is based on the practical and accessible and nature of Durie’s model (Penehira 2011: 72) and its use in different health care strategies and articles that I refer to.
19
Health seen as holistic acknowledges the interdependence of all these different components of life, and also sees health in the broad term of wellbeing (Ibid). Healing is often not something that only occurs when someone is sick, but is ‘part of a bigger picture that is really concerned with humanity, life and lifestyle’ (Penehira 2011: 65). Concepts such as tapu (sacred, under religious restriction) and noa (normal, neutral), karakia (chant or prayer), and processes around food or exercise have been indicated as core of this holistic understanding (Cram et al. 2003: 1). This holistic outlook on health and wellbeing is also seen in Durie’s model of Te Whare Tapa Wha, in which all elements have to be properly cared for to keep the person healthy and well (Durie 1985).
Another key aspect of Māori understandings of health is the whānau, or (extended) family (Cram et al. 2003; Durie 1985; Mark & Lyons 2010; New Zealand Ministry of Health 2002; Penehira 2011). The word whānau is much broader than the nuclear family, and I have decided for this reason to use this concept throughout the thesis. The policy document on Māori health, He Korowai Oranga (New Zealand Ministry of Health), takes the whānau as subject (instead of the individual). In the study of Cram and colleagues (2003) the whānau was seen by participants as the basic support structure for Māori and their health and wellbeing, as well as that input from older men and women was seen as an important contributor to whānau health. In their study on Māori healers’ perceptions of health, Mark & Lyons (2010) also describe how it was believed that a healer could not deliver the needed care when there was no information on the rest of the whānau, and Durie notes that ‘family (...) has many implications for health’(1985: 484). The strong connection between family and health is also described in the study by Kral and colleagues (2011) on the indigenous Inuit’s wellbeing, in which family and kinship were noted as the most important theme when informants were asked about wellbeing, happiness and health.
Health also implies a good relationship between the person and his or her environment, or a sense of belonging and identity (Cram et al. 2003: 1; Mark & Lyons 2010: 1760). Because of colonization most iwi lost their land, and without access to tribal land many
tohunga (specialist in certain domain, like medicine) or elders would diagnose a person with
ill-health (Durie 1985: 483). Without any land the economic base of resources is also lost, leading to other forms of deprivation and poverty which negatively impact on health outcomes (Cram et al. 2003: 6; Gaur & Patnaik 2011).
I argue later on that the importance of family, and looking at health in a holistic and broad way when it comes to health and wellbeing, is the key to understand how moko is connected to Māori health and wellbeing.
20
Through the interviews with my informants different ideas regarding health and wellbeing were discussed, although all described health as something encompassing several aspects such as the physical, emotional, mental or spiritual. Moko artist Graham, who also worked in a healthcare institution during the time of my research, refers directly to the framework of Te Whare Tapa Wha. He believed that to be healthy meant to tick off all of the four elements, and that all four are connected to each other. He argued that from this state, a person would make choices and act in a way that would lead to health and wellbeing. He explained further how a Māori approach to health care would not just focus on a person’s illness but on the underlying structures that support that illness. Through working on a certain mindset or obstacles, the patient would then himself decide to make ‘healthy’ choices. Tipene, also working in the health care sector at the time of my research, referred back to the Te Whare Tapa Wha framework when I asked him what health and wellbeing meant to him. He also explained how taking care of himself was also directly taking care of others, since family and others depended on him.
Another interesting point that was raised was the need to be non-dependent, to have sovereignty or control over all of your decisions. This refers back to the desire or aim to seek and obtain recognition of tino raNgātiratanga; the right of Māori to exercise customary authority and control over human, material and non material realms. Other informants gave shape to the same argument by expressing that health and wellbeing also come with having your own garden and being able to produce your own food. Through these narratives the need to rely on your own produce is presented. To have the land to live off is complicated since this has, to a very large extent, been taken away.
Other elements connected to health and wellbeing were related to the sort of food that was available (or not), exercising and physical strength, one’s housing situation, the type of work and its influence on feelings of self-worth, income, joy and happiness, the feeling of freedom when getting out of the city, and the balance between the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.
An important point that was raised was the definition of Māori health. When health and wellbeing are measured by looking at the education level, income, house ownership, life expectancy or hospitalisation rate, the overall picture for Māori might look grim. These indicators, as important as they are, are not necessarily the only ones or right ones to measure
Māori health (Durie 2006). As moko artist Graham argued, if a man of Māori descent is
21
man is healthy. If you take a man of Māori descent that does not have all these things, but who does know how to speak te reo, how to navigate the marae and its social rules, and is able to speak on behalf of the iwi, then this man is possibly more healthy as a Māori than the other. While I do not say that one man is healthier than the other, I would argue indeed that a narrow understanding of health can be very limiting in assessing experiential health and wellbeing, and, as Scotney argues, ‘a full appreciation of health requires an understanding of a particular culture rather than an assumption that health principles are equally relevant to all situations’ (Durie 1985: 483).
2.3 The relationship between identities, health and wellbeing
One way of addressing the current health situation is by starting to look at the disrupting effects of colonization on cultural identity and social relations. As Mason Durie states:
‘It is now accepted that good health depends on many factors, but among Indigenous peoples the world over, cultural identity is considered to be a critical prerequisite; deculturation has been associated with poor health whereas acculturation has been linked to good health. A health promotional goal must therefore be to promote security of identity’ (Penehira 2011: 47).
The importance of the whānau is clearly indicated in Durie’s model (1985) but becomes even more important when looking at the role of whānau in the construction of different identities and the role identity plays in health and wellbeing. In her PhD thesis, Penehira (2001) argues that ‘identity, part of which is a secure home basis, is the cornerstone of Māori resistance, Māori resilience, and Māori wellbeing’(2011: 3). According to Penehira, one cannot separate Māori wellbeing from Māori identity (Ibid.: 12). The study of Mark & Lyons (2010) on Māori healers’ views on wellbeing also pointed to the importance of cultural connections and bloodlines, the re-establishment of whakapapa, the restoring of identity and the development of a sense of belonging when it came to Māori health and healing (2010: 1757).
The results of my research support the connections described by Durie (1985), Penehira (2001) and Mark & Lyons (2010): whānau or whakapapa, identity, health and wellbeing are strongly connected and supportive of each other. AJ, working in the health care sector during the time of my research, described how some of their clients were disconnected from their iwi or culture: ‘they don’t know their whakapapa and they don’t identify... they
22
can’t identify themselves and where they came from’. When I asked her if this is connected to their mental health problems she answered clearly:
‘Yeah definitely! We offer programmes where they work alongside people who know how to reconnect people, and help them to find their roots. And how that transforms them! Once they got a sense of, you know, where they are from, who they are.. that gives them some pride (...) I think that is an important part, of what being Māori is about’.
Tipene, also working in the health care sector, explained how his sense of pride and acceptance of who he was increased when he started to learn te reo and to read about his ancestors, how this made him understand himself better: ‘it made such a profound impact on my health and wellbeing’. Hinerangi also stated how she believed that identity and wellbeing were ‘so interlinked and so essential’. On the other hand, Maraea speaks to the complexity of minority identity in postcolonial contexts, stating that a strong developed identity does not necessarily equals health and wellbeing. The context in which identity is expressed can react both welcoming as rejecting towards it, therefore complicating the relationships between identity, health and wellbeing. I extend this argument by also noting that a strong developed identity as, for instance, a gang leader, criminal or deprived person, does not mean this person’s health and wellbeing are improved. The opposite could even be true when an individual’s identity is one that centres on insecurity, low self-worth or negative stereotyping. It would indeed be too simple to believe that a strongly developed sense of self will always benefit a person.
In this chapter I have argued that Māori health and wellbeing take shape within longstanding relations of inequality, an argument that is supported by the narratives of my informants. I have presented the model of Durie (1985), Te Whare Tapa Wha, and I have highlighted the aspects of whānau, holistic health, and the importance of identity as a solid basis to understand Māori health and wellbeing (Durie 1985; Mark & Lyons 2010; Penehira 2011). My research builds on the work of these authors which lays the groundwork for my argument: moko, and the process in which it is attained and carried through life, is connected to Māori health and wellbeing. By both shaping whānau and Māori identities, as well as by (re)connecting the wearer to whānau, hāpu, iwi and culture, moko has the potential to influence the wearer’s health and wellbeing.
23
Before I examine this ‘triangle’ connection of health and wellbeing, identity and the process of moko, it is necessary to discuss another topic: the social body or skin, the role of tattoo in mediating between the individual and the social environment, and specifically how the practice of moko and the construction of different identities are connected.
24
Chapter 3: The expression and shaping of whānau and Māori identities
through the process of moko
Moko has many meanings to those who carry it. Moko is about identity; about being Māori in a Māori place, being Māori in a foreign place, being Māori in one’s own land and times, Being Māori on Māori terms. It is about survival and resilience. It reflects Māori relationships with others; how they see Māori, and more importantly, how Māori want to be seen.
Te Awekotuku & Nikora 2011: 208-209
In this chapter I deal with the different kinds of identities moko evokes, and how these take shape in the context in which they are formed. Following different authors such as King (2008), Nikora and colleagues (2005; 2007), Te Awekotuku (1997; 2002) and Te Awekotuku & Nikora (2011), I argue that identity is directly supported and shaped by the practice of moko, thereby describing the second side of the triangle; the relationship between different identities and the process of moko. The practice of moko communicates these identities both towards the self and the social world. The work of the authors mentioned here focuses on cultural, or ethnic identity, and the more political expressions and challenges moko evokes. I extend these arguments by showing the importance of whānau in the construction of (ethnic Māori) identity, and thereby show how moko is an interpersonal practice that extends beyond the individual wearer.
3.1 Theoretical background: The social skin
The body has always been an important symbolic site in the struggle over the representation of cultural identity.
Margo DeMello 2007: 134
Through our bodies we perceive the world, and interact with our environment. Our body is social, as well as political, and is always shaped by the particular historical moment in which it exists (Scheper-Hughes & Lock 1987). By looking at the bodies of people, and the way they adorn and change them, it is possible to see more than their clothes, body paintings, piercings or tattoos. Through the ways in which people ‘use’ their bodies it is possible to gain a better
25
understanding of their norms and values, their beliefs about the sacred and profane, and about the social relations among them (Gell 1996; Turner 2012; Wright 2003).
Several authors have explored the role the body, and especially the skin, plays in the interaction between the individual and society. According to Schildkrout, the body is where one’s culture is printed, the place where a person is defined and included into the community (2004: 338). Gell argues that when a person expresses his or her life story on the body or skin through different forms of body modification and adornment, the skin becomes an ‘external biographical memory’ (1996: 36). Schildkrout argues that inscribed skin raises questions that have been central to anthropology, questions concerning the relationship and boundary between the individual and society (Ibid.: 322). Similarly, Turner’s (2012) work on the South American indigenous Kayapo points towards the ‘Social Skin’ as a symbolic and concrete boundary between the individual and its community. According to Turner, the skin is the ‘symbolic stage upon which the drama of socialisation is enacted, and bodily adornment (...) becomes the language through which it is expressed’ (2012: 486).
While there are many forms of shaping and adorning the body, here the focus will be the permanent inscription of the skin: tattoo practises. If the skin is the boundary between the self and society, then tattoo is a visible ‘bridge’ which communicates between an individual body and the world in which that body exists. I argue that this mediating role is central in how the individual sees him or herself, as well as how this person is seen by the outer world, thereby having an important role in the creation of identities. According to Gell (1996), tattoo is unique in that the ink is inserted under the skin, but stays visible from the outside. He further argues that the process of tattooing, which involves pain and the shedding of blood, supports the idea that the tattooed skin is reinforced, ‘the locus of harm-deflecting powers’(Ibid.: 33). Moko can also be linked to the empowerment of the tattooed person: as I argue in chapter four, the experience of pain in the process of attaining moko has a certain value for many wearers.
Gell (ibid.) describes the tattoo as an object, something that ‘does’ something by itself through its fixed properties. I, on the other hand, argue that moko should be understood as a process, encompassing the initial imagining, preparation, attainment and living with moko.
Understanding moko and identity in a context of “post”-colonialism
To understand tattoo or the practice of moko, it is always important to understand it in the context in which it exists, since the context gives the tattoo its meaning (Gell 1996: 37). As
26
outlined earlier, the practice of moko has undergone some major changes through the ages, many of which are linked directly to the process of colonization and the following new move towards decolonization. Moko survived intense colonial and missionary attempts to erase the practice (Te Awekotuku 2011: 85). The special status and functions of tattoo in society might be exactly why missionaries tried to eradicate the practice (Wright 2003: 155), and the Māori tattooed face became a ‘powerful symbol of resistance’ (Te Awekotuku 2002: 124). Writing on the process of colonization in Mozambique, Gengenbach (2003) also shows how tattooing can be a form of resistance. In her research, the women resisted the colonizers idea of beauty, and kept on using their bodies to define their own identities. Through their ‘inscribed memories’ these women sustained their defiant practices on their bodies when faced with colonial pressure to obey the colonizers’ wishes and standards (Ibid.: 135).
The practice of moko can open up discussions that go beyond this body practice; it can be the start of an interest in the wider Māori world and other issues that connect to this (Te Awekotuku 2011: 206). As Bernie stated in our interview, herself carrying her moko kauae since the 1990s: ‘because it is breaking the shackles of colonization, but in a positive way’. She explained to me how she now saw that moko was freely accepted, and so much better understood:
‘I think it helps people to understand and celebrate, to some degree, our differences. And so I think it has done a lot for the health and wellbeing, for Māori people to gain greater acceptance of being Māori, you know?’
Now moko has become a symbol of survival and resilience (Te Awekotuku & Nikora 2011: 151). The moko, specifically the facial one, ‘takes on a symbolic power that questions hegemony by presenting alternative ways of viewing and being’ (Nikora et al. 2007: 481). One famous wearer of the facial moko, political activist Tame Wairere Iti, states strongly what moko can mean for Māori as a people (Te Awekotuku 2002: 125):
‘The thing for me is to let the image of moko speak for itself... the revival of moko for many of us is really exercising our raNgātiratanga – our fundamental right to exist’.
Moko is about identity, and the different individual’s interpretation and presentation of the practice. This can be about responding to historical circumstances of oppression and
27
colonialism, just as it can be about asserting one’s connection to whānau, culture, or one’s life journey.
3.2 Moko and the construction and expression of different identities
Moko centres around identity, about who you are, where you come from, and which group you are a part of. Moko circles around the most basic question: ‘ko wai au – who am I?’ (Te Awekotuku 2011: 170). Someone’s identity is multi-faceted, but here I focus on family and ethnic identity. While I name them as separate concepts, in many cases the two merge in a way in which one cannot be understood without the other. In this chapter the focus will be on the way moko is connected to a person’s identities, and in what ways this connection takes shape.
In 1972 Michael King wrote the now famous book on kuia (elder women) with moko kauae; older Māori women with the classic woman chin tattoo. He states that at the most fundamental level, moko is an expression of identity (2008: 83). Through different times the relationship between moko and identity changed, but the link has always remained. When the English Crown and Māori chiefs signed Te Tiritiri/the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840, some of the Māori chiefs used a detail of their moko instead of a signature (King 2008: 83; Te Awekotuku 2002: 124). In the 1900s the moko kauae stood out as a mark of old world feminine identity. When the grandchildren of these women took on the practice of tattooing, they integrated it with gang culture to create new ways to resist colonial oppression and to create new identities when the old social structures had become damaged (Nikora et. al. 2007: 479). In contemporary times, the moko has become a symbol of minority group identity and a source of strength (King 2008: 88).
The literature of King (2008), Nikora et. al. (2005; 2007), Te Awekotuku (1997; 2002), and Te Awekotuku & Nikora (2011) seems to point to this specific relationship between moko and the creation and expression of different identities. Nikora and colleagues (2007) describe how the process of attaining moko transforms a person, even creating a new personhood. They also stress that moko creates a politicized body, and through that the person’s cultural identity is also put in a new bright light. Moko artist Te Rangitu explained how, when he started doing moko in the 80’s, he saw it as ‘a vehicle to help them [Māori clients] understand who they were. Because even though we were here, we were quite lost, about who we were, where we belonged’. For him, applying the moko and helping a person
28
go through the whole process of considering, preparing and finally getting moko, was a way to make the person aware of him or herself and the person’s background and culture. The whole process of moko can therefore be a source for shaping and building a person’s different (cultural and ethnic) identities.
Throughout my research, it was clear that all of my informants agreed on the important link between their moko and their identity. A couple of informants spoke about the moko as a direct representation of themselves. AJ, for instance, stated ‘it represents me’, and when I asked Martin to explain his moko, he answered ‘It is my story, it is my narrative, I own that’. Other informants’ ideas about the connection between their moko and identity circled around different interrelated aspects, such as family or whakapapa, special moments in their life stories, their relationship to God, specific themes that were important in their lives, or special symbolism that was connected to their iwi or birth place. As Gell (1996) described, the skin can then become the place where ones biographical memory is on display. Here I focus on two of the most important aspects of moko and identity: moko as being Māori and moko and its relationship to family, genealogy and the ancestors.
Moko and being Māori
An important aspect of the relationship between an informant’s moko and his or her identity was how moko validated, confirmed or emphasised their identification as being Māori, both towards themselves as to others. In that sense, moko is a sign of ‘Māoriness’ that is communicated to both the individual self and to his or her social environment. Mahaki explained in our interview that ‘it gave me a sense of pride, of being Māori (...) It gave me that next chapter of .. Oooh I am a real Māori’. On the other hand, he also argued in the same interview that he did not need his moko to show that he was Māori. This contradiction points to the way in which the meanings of moko can also change through a person’s lifetime, and is not a static object but remains something that is in process, for the rest of the wearer’s life. Moko artist Te Rangitu believed that moko was ‘reaffirming who they are, who they are as a Māori’.
Moko also identifies the wearer as Māori within his or her social context (this identification might differ depending on the region or ability to read the style by the observer of course). Graham, a moko artist, pointed out how for him moko contributed to two different forms of identity: on the one hand the moko connects him to his own stories and ancestors, on the other hand the moko on his arms identified him as Māori without the need of any spoken
29
language to the observer. This relates back to looking at tattoo as a bridge between the individual and society, and how nonverbal communication takes place. Also Tipene explained how people immediately perceived him to be Māori by looking at him, ‘they just go, ah yeah he is Māori’. Some informants felt that their moko was strongly about carrying their Māori identity outwards, others felt that their moko was a personal thing and was not meant to carry out their ethnicity in any way (even though it might still project that identity).
One of the interesting developments around identity and moko centres on the specific way in which a person associates with his or her moko. Paora, working on different Māori research topics himself, pointed out the relatively new move towards what he called ethnic identification. With this he referred to a person identifying him or herself as Māori or connected to an iwi on a generic level, but not experiencing the care and responsibilities that come with a lived connection to the hāpu or marae. Paora explained how in the 80’s urbanisation had shown its influence in the emerging ethnic identity, and also with the Māori gangs as a manifestation of Māori identity. ‘This’, he says, ‘was different from the marae and kin identity’. He sees contemporary moko as having risen out of the difference between Māori and Pakeha, as an expression of both ethnic difference and belonging in a bicultural nation state. He argued that being tribal and wearing these marks has become a choice in contemporary times, and therefore (in many cases) the meaning of moko has moved away from being the marks of duty and responsibility to the hāpu or marae community. Martin also refers to this diversity, and links the new Māori identification as connected to the process of urbanisation, through which many younger generations lost their living connection to their iwi or marae.
Moko and the connection to whānau and whakapapa
As Gell states, the social skin can be the way to express a person’s social relations (1996: 24). The social relations that are explicitly expressed through the designs and meanings of moko are those to whānau, whakapapa and one’s iwi or identification as Māori. Wearing moko does not just unveil existing relationships, it also actively changes or creates them. Individuals that might not have connected might greet each other on the street when recognizing each others’ moko, or family members might change their stance towards each other when the decision to take on moko is made.
Te Awekotuku & Nikora argue that ‘whakapapa, for Māori, is the fulcrum of identity. Connections tell the world who we are, and moko manifests those connections’(2011: 172).
