(ethereal music)
- By 1890, 90% of Ngāi Tahu were landless.
In that same period, my Pākehā ancestor
could win lands in a running race.
As Pākehā, we don't have the tools to understand
the now, because we don't understand our history.
I identify as Pākehā.
What that means is, people of white European descent,
particularly coloniser descent.
So, it's a conflicted identity in that sense.
Some of the stories of our ancestors carry that conflict,
that we sit with as Pākehā New Zealanders,
that conflict of wanting it to be a different history
than it actually is.
It was really interesting to me when mum told me
about my ancestors, Joseph and Bessy Doyle,
who had this positive relationship with
Hori Kerei and Tini Kerei Taiaroa.
Hori Kerei Taiaroa was an MP for southern Māori
and was travelling a lot and so my ancestors used to
look after their property.
My great-great-grandfather was known as an outspoken
supporter of Māori representation in parliament
in the late 1800s and I think it came,
obviously, from that friendship.
So, there were people who were supporters
and one of my ancestors was a supporter
of Māori representation and Māori rights
and that seemed like a positive, honourable thing.
It was then really interesting for me,
digging deeper and finding my great-great-grandfather's
obituary and in that, it said that he was a good runner,
and that one of the more memorable prizes
that he won for winning a running race
were two parcels of land on the Canterbury Plains.
That was Ngāi Tahu lands, and this was in the late 1800s.
By 1890, 90% of Ngāi Tahu were landless.
They either didn't have any land,
or didn't have enough land for economic survival.
And the very lands that his friend, Hori Kerei Taiaroa,
is fighting for justice in relation to.
That challenged me to think about what I was needing
or wanting my ancestors to be,
and what narrative I was wanting to create.
Whatever I find out about my ancestor,
the thing for me is about what am I doing about all of this?
It was actually in a place of privilege,
in a fourth year paper at Canterbury University,
that I first learned about Te Tiriti o Waitangi.
I was pissed off that I hadn't learned that stuff.
We can't understand Te Tiriti itself
if we don't understand this context of hundreds
of years of settlement of tangata whenua
and that they had all the systems in place
of law, education, health, and then understanding
the process that followed, which was a complete disregard
of Te Tiriti and the process of colonisation.
I just felt so critical to have that understanding
and so then I went into adult education,
where there was a need to communicate
that understanding to a broader audience.
So when we tune to thinking about honouring Te Tiriti,
it's about the restoration of balance.
It's always been really clear that my responsibility
is to be speaking to my own people,
'cause some of the big blocks to a healthy society
are Pākehā blocking Māori being able to pursue
their own health and well-being.
Obviously, I do stuff because I want to shift
our understanding as Pākehā,
and our work to honour Te Tiriti.
But within that, I don't step out of my Pākehā privilege.
(water bubbling)
This is Drain Road, where I grew up in Doyleston.
My great-great-grandfather arrived in 1864.
He was a 21-year-old Scottish farm labourer.
Not long after that, he purchased land
on the Canterbury Plains.
Land that tangata whenua had relationships with
for hundreds of years before.
That area that he purchased was named Doyleston,
after him, by him, for him.
There wasn't the conversation around,
well, did this place already have a name?
I don't know what happened with those lands.
We don't own it.
It says in his obituary he didn't give them back.
Whether he did any restoration around that, I don't know.
I got to grow up on these lands, actually having
no idea about any of the history.
(waves crashing) (relaxing music)
There's material privilege that comes
from growing up on stolen lands.
There's the privilege of the kids in the school books
having the same colour skin as me, the same types of names
In the media, my people, Pākehā, being positively portrayed,
and that's the privilege that you become the normal.
There's a whole loss of understanding
Māori ways of being in this place.
Hundreds of years of ways of doing things
that I grew up with no knowledge of
but the fact that I can succeed in a society
without that knowledge, that's how privilege works.
We all have a responsibility in terms
of restoring balance in Aotearoa, to do what we can.
Things like learning about where your people came from,
how they got to be here.
Thinking about, where do I have influence?
What can I do amongst my family, amongst my community?
It is about challenging your own patterns
of thinking and understanding.
And that's never something that you tick off.
I can't change the story of my ancestors,
but I can try to build a different future.
(soothing music)
(waves crashing)