appliqué

"Tauutuutu was a form of reciprocal exchange. More fully, it was an ongoing cycle of mutually-beneficial reciprocal exchanges. Tauutuutu, in an etymological sense, is constructed of two core elements; the prefix ‘tau-’ indicates reciprocal action, whilst ‘utu’ is commonly translated as price, cost, payment, or even revenge. The repetition of utu further emphasises the reciprocal nature of exchange inherent within the phrase.

Milroy said this season of the year around Matariki is a "time of stillness" and a time to reflect./// "I think when that stillness happens, it's like the clock ticking in a quiet room," she said. "We start to hear the things that we've been carrying over the year that we might not have been paying attention to throughout that time, because we're so busy and we start attending to other things. /// "Matariki brings about that time where we can reflect back on those things that we have been carrying." /// It's also a time to recognise Taramainuku, who journeys across the sky in a celestial waka, gathering the souls of the dead in his kupenga (net), she said. /// The star Pōhutukawa, part of the Matariki cluster, in particular, is associated with the dead.

(...)

Milroy said there was something about each and every Māori ritual relating to death. /// For example, karanga, which can call to the dead and bring people back into connection with those who have passed, she said. /// Or whaikōrero, which can give voice to pain and bring humour to the memories of those who have passed by sharing stories about them. /// "I think, during the grieving process, that connection is important remembering and having rituals that brings us back to our grief, brings us back to our love. ... "It also allows us to share that and have it witnessed by others, I think it's an important thing that we have these spaces - they are tapu spaces that honour our grief."

I have been told that there are two human responses to the perception of chaos: naming and violence. When the chaos is simply the unknown, the naming can be accomplished effortlessly — a new species, star, formula, equation, prognosis. There is also mapping, geography, landscape, or population. When chaos resists, either by reforming itself or by rebelling against imposed order, violence is understood to be the most frequent response and the most rational when confronting the unknown, the catastrophic, the wild, wanton, or incorrigible. Rational responses may be censure; incarceration in holding camps; prisons; or death, singly or in war. There is, however, a third response to chaos, which I have not heard about, which is stillness. Such stillness can be passivity and dumbfoundedness; it can be paralytic fear. But it can also be art. Those writers plying their craft near to or far from the throne of raw power, of military power, of empire building and countinghouses, writers who construct meaning in the face of chaos must be nurtured, protected. And it is imperative not only to save the besieged writers but to save ourselves. The thought that leads me to contemplate with dread the erasure of other voices, of unwritten novels, poems whispered or swallowed for fear of being overwhelmed by the wrong people, outlawed languages flourishing underground, essayists’ questions challenging authority never being posed, unstaged plays, canceled films — that thought is a nightmare. As though a whole universe is being described in invisible ink. 

Certain kinds of trauma visited on peoples are so deep, so cruel, that unlike money, unlike vengeance, even unlike justice, or rights, or the goodwill of others, only writers can translate such trauma and turn sorrow into meaning, sharpening the moral imagination.

A writer’s life and work are not a gift to mankind; they are its necessity."

Mātauranga Māori tells us that shifts in the mauri of any part of an ecosystem eventually affect the whole system (see the Matariki section for the definition of mauri used in this report). The use or harvest of parts of the ecosystem such as birds and plants may cause such shifts in mauri. Any damage or contamination to the environment will therefore also cause loss of, or damage to, mauri (Harmsworth & Awatere, 2013).

Some believe that if the stars Tupuānuku and Tupuārangi shine brightly when Matariki rises in the new year, people can plan for a plentiful harvest of crops, as well as berries, fruits, and birds from the forest (Matamua, 2017). Reflecting the connection of Tupuārangi to birds, during the rising of Matariki, kererū (Hemiphaga novaeseelandiae) were harvested in large numbers and preserved for the months ahead. This is seen in the proverb ‘Ka kitea a Matariki, kua maoka te hinu’ (‘When Matariki is seen the fat of the kererū is rendered so the birds can be preserved’) (Matamua, 2017).

The connections some Māori have with Tupuārangi can be demonstrated with the kererū. Historically, Tūhoe Tuawhenua (an iwi located in the Ruatāhuna region in Te Urewera) harvested kererū only in a particular season as a food source and for special occasions. There were strict observances around who would harvest kererū, as well as the ways in which their meat and feathers would be used and prepared (Timoti et al, 2017).

Aroha Matchitt Millar

"I wonder how it feels to live in two worlds: in Te Ao Mārama, transformed into something new, and also returned to the embrace of the Earth."

With dust of labour on a summer’s day They slouched with careless stride of people come From nowhere, going nowhere, smiling, tired, And cursing with a laugh the Pākehā Veneer. For them life is a childish farce To paint in white the brown which stains their lives. Their ancient world is gone, and in the pā The death of past traditions of a once Proud race is mourned by age with mumbling gums In soft tones of despised melodious tongue. You seek your future in the white man’s joy; You sing your songs to ape his foolish tune; You change your rhythm to the jazz band’s beat; And slave and sweat for coin so easily spent; You play a losing game with loaded dice And know no rules to help you win a chance; While Pākehā stands quietly waiting with A smile, to move you at his will across The draughtboard of his policy and faith. A child went past; neglected, poorly clothed In imitation of the white man’s dress. Hard feet on hard road running in the heat To spend the white man’s money in the white Man’s store. And what is there for you, oh child Of Māori pride? Will you be swallowed in The rising tide, and mingle blood till all Your heritage is gone? This shall not be. For brown must learn from white, the rules to make Him equal partner in the game they play; And white must cease to trample underfoot These dark leaves of the Polynesian tree. When this is done, and each the other’s worth Has found, from union will spring a new