from the president, new zealand college of midwives, nicole pihema (Ngāpuhi, Te Rarawa)

Let my neck be washed by the waters of my own land.

Recent weather events have reminded us all of who’s really in charge, and our unmet responsibilities. As midwives, we are in constant relationship with whenua and acknowledge its significance; throughout a pregnancy, we value knowing the position of the whenua and whether its blood supply is sufficient or restricted. As we all know, if a whenua is compromised, the growth and wellbeing of pēpi are compromised, and māmā can also be at risk. After its birth, we inspect the whenua, assessing what condition it’s in and handling it carefully, following tikanga and treating it, rightfully, as tapu.

Reflecting on the word whenua in its other context, as land, I can’t help thinking that if we treated the land with the same reverence as we do each individual placenta; acknowledging it as our collective placenta - through which we are all sustained and nourished - our planet would look and feel entirely different.

The unfortunate reality is, we haven’t done this, and now we are being reminded of our accountabilities and responsibilities as kaitiaki. We have been - and continue to be - takers from the land, but collectively, we have given back very little. Through a te ao Māori lens, what we are experiencing now is not ‘revenge’ from Papatūānuku. Rather, it is a natural consequence of a lack of care and respect.

Te taiao, or the natural environment and the elements at play, have a fascinating way of teaching us. After reading a Stuff article recently, written by Karanama Ruru,

I discovered the true irony of Auckland’s recent battering by an ‘atmospheric river’. As it turns out, below the concrete jungle of Queen St runs an ancient awa (river/stream) called Waihorotiu. This awa, a significant food and water source pre-colonisation for Ngāti Whatua, was respected as the domain of a taniwha called Horotiu. Considered kaitiaki (guardians), taniwha were revered and the relationship worked something like this: we respected taniwha, and taniwha protected the natural environments they inhabited, therefore ensuring our ability to survive. In 1860, however, the Waihorotiu was covered over, to create a sewer.

Without minimising the very real trauma experienced by whānau in Tāmaki Makaurau and other hard-hit rohe, there are lessons to be gleaned from this. As midwives, we have collectively agreed to revere the whenua (placenta), but it’s high time we reassessed our role as kaitiaki of whenua in all its forms.

In November, my presidency comes to an end, so the responsibility of leading our profession to remember how we honour whenua as whānau within our revised scope of practice, will lie with your future president. What attributes will this person need to possess? For those of you considering throwing your hat in the ring, think about what initiatives you can get involved in between now and then. Familiarise yourself with governance processes; get involved in local groups or community organisations, make yourself visible, and start thinking about whenua as whānau - deserving of our attention and care. square