Wan Solwara DIGGING FOR ROOTS
21 Manuia lou aso fanau
Vol. 83
Issue 16
03 August 2020 1
Contents EDITORIAL.......................................................................................................................................................................................... 03 NEWS Boycott: Demilitarise our Neighbouring Islands - Hawaii 2020................................................................................................. Tauira Pasifika - Untapped Potential of Our Voice........................................................................................................................ COVID-19 Highlights Racial Inequalities........................................................................................................................................ History of Pasifika in Aotearoa......................................................................................................................................................... Nesian411............................................................................................................................................................................................ #PasificVotesCount...........................................................................................................................................................................
04 05 06 06 08 09
FEATURES Reconnection after Rupture.............................................................................................................................................................. 10 Intro to the 267..................................................................................................................................................................................... 16 The Labour of Love............................................................................................................................................................................. 18 CENTREFOLD
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Litara's Photography.......................................................................................................................................................................... Hyena Loud Mouth............................................................................................................................................................................ Pasi Jams............................................................................................................................................................................................ Barely Above Water........................................................................................................................................................................... Tara....................................................................................................................................................................................................... Ode to our Rainbow Community...................................................................................................................................................... Digging for Roots............................................................................................................................................................................... Your Water........................................................................................................................................................................................... Genesis................................................................................................................................................................................................
Salient is funded by VUWSA, partly through the Student Services Levy. Salient is kinda, sorta editorially independent from VUWSA. It’s a long story. Salient is a member of the Aotearoa Student Press Association (ASPA). The perspectives and opinions in any issue of Salient do not necessarily reflect those of the Editors.
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Complaints regarding the material published in Salient should first be brought to the Editors. If displeased with the Editors’ response, the complaint should then be brought to the Media Council. Complaints should be directed to info@ mediacouncil.org.nz.
Editorial
(L-R) Rosina, Kaitlin, Luisa-Tafu, Peato, Justine Jane “Out of breath, I formed words. Hoping to share thoughts with you, hoping to share feelings with you, hoping to share spirit with you. Out of breath, I formed words and you left me out of breath.” - Teresia Teiawa When Wan Solwara was still in genesis, we were aware of everything that was happening around us. We would talk about decolonisation, racism, and the way we as Pacific people gather to fight for our rights to exist peacefully. They were conversations filled with so much heaviness that often we would need to take a minute to gather ourselves. We were sharing spirit. Everyday Pasifika try to hold space for these conversations. To lighten the load we share stories and cry loud in hopes that Palagi will hear our spirit and start holding space for us instead, so that amongst all the chaos, we can shine more of our light. This edition is about digging for this hope in dark spaces, it’s about digging for any energy we have left to show up for ourselves, and it’s about digging for our roots. To understand our identity as we evolve is to understand our roots. Often, when people see Pasifika, their understanding of us is one dimensional. We’re either your one-stop tourist islander, with a sei in our ear, and a ruby smile on our face—or we’re an aggressive, intimidating criminal you cross the street just to avoid. Just to clarify —we are neither. We’re a vast ocean that’s complicated, creating culture as we go. Wan Solwara is an ode to the original us, a resilient and resourceful people, as well as an ode to the developing us—different yet the same in so many ways.
This is for Pasifika specifically. We wanted you guys to come to uni, be on your way to classes or just walking around campus and see the cover—an inside joke of 21st keys and lei portraits. We wanted you to be able to see us, as a people, in a space that isn’t designed for us. It is a mirror in which your voices and experiences are amplified to be heard, to be seen. I know that most of us carry familial responsibility and come to uni with a whole village on our shoulders. We push through isolating lectures and microaggressions constantly reiterating the idea that we aren’t smart enough or rich enough to exist here. Yet, we do. This is for the Pasifika kids who find themselves stuck in conversations belittling them for where they come from. For the Pasifika finding it hard to wake up for class every morning to the same one dimensional learning curriculum in every Westernised class. For the kids in us that grew up thinking that we had to be white or assimilate in white spaces to be respected and/or revered. This is for the loudmouth, super sonic, hyena laughter we suppress in public (sometime’s unsuccessfully). Every page, corner to corner, is for Pasifika to find themselves in. It’s not just a story of how we started, but it’s us right now. Digging for our roots as we grow. This is a story that started from a single conversation of being authentically us and hopefully, it allows you to form your own words to share in each other's spirit. To finally be able to breathe. Mālo Luisa-Tafu Tuiloma Leiataua Tauri-Tei Editor
Brought to you by Peoples Coffee Newtown
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News
MONDAY 3RD AUGUST 2020
Boycott: Demilitarise our Neighbouring Islands - Hawaii 2020 ROSINA BUCHANAN | TAKITIMU, NGĀPUHI | THEY/SHE
What is RIMPAC? The Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) military exercise is the largest maritime war exercise in the world. It was established at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii in 1971. New Zealand has been participating in this war exercise except for the nuclear-free gap between 1985-2012. The event is held in Hawaii every two years between June and August. The 2018 RIMPAC exercise consisted of 46 ships, over 200 aircraft, five submarines, and 25,000 personnel. Imperialism is incredibly destructive on indigenous lands and waters and is strongly opposed by Kānaka ‘ina. These are the effects of how RIMPAC has affected Hawaii: •
Environmental Destruction
•
Guns and explosives
•
An increase in sex trafficking
•
Threats to marine life
•
Toxic waste & pollution
What is happening? In April, VUW professor, Dr Emalani Case submitted an open letter to Jacinda Ardern about addressing the imperialist issues in Hawaii. She urged Aotearoa to not contribute to the circumstances. On 20th of June, Dr Emalani Case stated in a Spinoff article that “the military are the police of the world, and, like police, they are perpetrators of state violence”. The New Zealand Defence Force (NZDF) then confirmed their participation, announcing that they will send the HMNZS Manawanui to Hawaii in August. “We don't need these war games and we do not need any of the things they enable and sustain: dispossession, destruction, ongoing colonization, or militarization” This is supported by #cancelRIMPAC coalition which encompasses collaborations including Pu'uhonua o pu'uhuluhulu, Honolulu City Council and academic Dr Emalani Case.
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NEWS: ISSUE 16
Dr Case at the BLM protest earlier this year.
Image by: Salient
The cancel RIMPAC coalition stands for all forms of decolonisation–they’re all interconnected. The global phenomenon of colonisation isn’t just isolated to Hawaii. This hostile force has laid hands on indigenous lives and lands all over Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa. It’s important to recognise how this impacts the indigenous people of Aotearoa as well. It is important to understand how as Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti, what it means to understand and protect the land we are on and the people who belong to that land. Academics such as Kathy E. Fergusen & Phyllis Turnbull have said, "Everywhere you look in Hawai'i, you see the military. Yet in daily life relatively few people in Hawai'i actually see the military at all” Learn about how our country participates in RIMPAC and spread awareness on social media. It's not just an event but a structural and historical issue that encompasses imperialism, colonialism and at this stage will still be held during the Coronavirus Pandemic. Follow @CancelRIMPACcoalition and @emacase on Instagram for more follow up content.
Opinion Tauira Pasifika
- Untapped Potential of Our Voice ALI LEOTA | MULIFANUA, APOLIMA-UTA, LETOGO AND NOFOALI’I | HE/HIM
“If you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu.” These are wise yet simple words of our fierce and proud Assistant Vice-Chancellor (Pasifika) Hon. Luamanuvao Dame Winnie Laban. She is constantly sharing gems like this with our Pasifika family at Victoria University of Wellington. Well, she is definitely not wrong there. In fact, this is a true reflection of what student voice currently looks like for our Pasifika community across the university sector, both here at Victoria and across Aotearoa New Zealand. Our voice remains underrepresented at all levels of decision making at our university; whether it is at the academic board, faculty board or learning and teaching committees. There are over 1200 Pasifika students at Victoria, and there are less than five who have a seat at one of these tables. This lacklustre representation points out a clear area where our institution can support Pasifika students. Too often, student voices are treated as opinions and tickthe-box activities, but the role we play is much greater. Instead, we are the bridge that connects our institution to the people and community it serves. We are part of the much-needed change to shake up the way our university, education system, and wider society carries itself. This is where I 100% believe Pasifika students serve this purpose well. Pasifika student voices have the potential to steer our institution through rough waters. The Victoria Pasifika student leadership in the Fairer Fares campaign and School Strike for Climate were prime examples of our capabilities. Our Pasifika communities have echoed that they want to see our own people in the driver seat. In fact, student voice is a solution. It is the perfect breeding ground to develop stewards who will navigate the uncharted waters of governance and decision making.
Hon. Jenny Salesa, a current Member of Parliament, is a prime example of how the role of Pasifika student voice can act as a catalyst. In her time as a student, Salesa founded the Auckland University Pacific Island Law Students’ Association in 1993. Now she serves as the current Minister of Customs, Minister of Building and Construction, and Associate Minister for both Health and Education for the current government.
"Pasifika student voices have the potential to steer our institution through rough waters. The Victoria Pasifika student leadership in the Fairer Fares campaign and School Strike for Climate were prime examples of our capabilities." If you can start by getting involved during your time at Vic, who knows, you could end up in the Beehive like Hon. Jenny Salesa. This could be as simple as getting involved in the Pasifika Students’ Council or your faculty committees and boards. The values we have nurtured at home is the point of difference we can bring to improve educational experiences for all. Our talanoa can only come from our voices, and we need more Pasifika students to be at the table to steer the university to respond effectively. Though university seems so far-fetched from our Pasifika roots; Pasifika student voice is an untapped resource that has an opportunity to bring our home even closer to university.
NEWS: ISSUE 16
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COVID-19 Highlights Racial Inequalities VIKI MOANANU | HE/HIM
The COVID-19 pandemic has immensely changed the landscape of New Zealand society. However, one of the mainstays of the system, ingrained in the government and media is racism. More specifically, how institutional racism has become more prominent for Māori and Pasifika communities. On May 20, news broke of a central Auckland woman of Māori descent, Rose Greaves, receiving a racist and inflammatory letter from a neighbour. The letter described Greaves’ use of te reo Māori as “disgusting.” Greaves recounted that the letter perfectly summed up her experience living in the white-majority neighbourhood for seven years. But this wasn’t the only display of racism during the pandemic. Kāinga Ora, a public housing organisation, started development on new state housing in Kirikiriroa. This was to create more affordable housing, especially for Māori and Pasifika communities.
that the new initiative would disrupt “the community tone” of the area. Many residents shared the same opinion with one resident saying "If it's a lot of low cost housing, that's going to lower the tone of the neighbourhood.”. Many were quick to rebut these statements and draw parallels to how Pasifika and minority communities have been portrayed by conservative parties in the past. One Twitter user wrote that “the comments feel right out of the 1950’s” with others feeling that the language was racially charged and stereotypical. The COVID-19 pandemic has led many minority communities to the point of homelessness and in tandem with most nation-changing events, racially charged bias reared its ugly head. In sharing these stories about the disenfranchisement of Pasifika and Māori communities, we need to analyse every part of society and social behaviour, and then dismantle them.
National MP, David Bennett, came out with a statement that said that the housing initiative would “cause outrage” and
History of Pasifika in Aotearoa: ROSINA BUCHANAN | TAKITIMU, NGĀPUHI | THEY/SHE
Tīpuna Māori voyaged to Aotearoa from the Pacific Islands region, ‘Polynesia’.
Death of British coloniser—Captain James Cook at Kealakekua Bay, Hawaii This day is celebrated by Indigenous people, particularly in the Pacific. 1700'S
1250-1300
1880'S
14 FEB 1779
Pacific-bound whaling ships arrived in NZ. Fiji had the most goods brought to NZ and supplied unprocessed sugar from their homelands to the factories in NZ.
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World War I: Kuki Airani and Niuean soldiers were enlisted as they became NZ citizens.
1915
Exports/Imports: Auckland dominated trade and food resources to and from the Pacific Islands. Used to manufacture processed goods that used to be fresh and ship them back home.
1970'S
Dawn Raids started. Pacific Islanders were targeted by police in their own homes for “overstaying” their visas while under low socioeconomic conditions. Immigrants from different places, including Europeans, were overstaying their Visas—but Pacific Islanders were specifically targeted.
1966-1996
1965
1962
1924
Nuclear testing in the Pacific by the French on Mururoa and Fangataufa
Kuki Airani (The Cook Islands) gained self-governance in free association from Aotearoa, retaining citizenship in NZ.
Samoa became the first Pacific Island to gain independence from NZ.
The NZ government revoked the decision for Western Samoans to have New Zealand citizenship. Western Samoa remained under NZ government control.
1971
1975
1977-78
1982
2006
2013
7 NOV 1918
Samoa Influenza Epidemic: Pneumonic Influenza. The Taluna ship carried infected passengers from NZ to Samoa The virus spread when passengers disembarked, killing 8,500 Samoans.
2019
Polynesian Panthers were founded and their name is influenced by the American Black Panther party.
The National Party publishes racist ads and cartoons targeting Pacific migrants under leader Robert Muldoon. Polynesian Panthers support protestors and mana whenua at Bastion Point and at many Māori land protests with the Ngā Tamatoa movement.
The Western Samoan Citizenship Act–Samoan residents who were in NZ on or after 14 September 1982 were eligible to be granted NZcitizenship. Other Samoans born before 1949 and their children were not. Tokelau self-determination referendum proposal does not progress, after falling 38 votes short in favour of selfgovernance in free association with New Zealand.
FAFSWAG Pasifika queer arts collective based in Auckland founded by Moe Laga, Pati Tyrell, and Tanu Gago. Ode to queer black culture for paving ways for our brown spaces. Movie: Vai was released and directed by indigenous women across the Pacific. Created to empower the stories/narratives of women across the Pacific with the same name and how we are weaved with so much resilience.
NEWS: ISSUE 16
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Nesian411 WAN SOLWARA TEAM Nesian411 is a quick take on important things happening in our Pasefika communities which deserve more awareness,
attention, and hype. It’s the DL you didn’t know you needed, but definitely still need... CW: Genocide
SOCIAL MOVEMENTS, RESISTANCE, AND SOCIAL CHANGE CONFERENCE 2020
SOUTH AUCKLAND STUDENT SCHOOL MARCH 29TH OF JULY
Theme: Activating Collectivity: Aroha and Power
Following reconciliation of two rival schools, students from McAuley high school wanted to bring all of the South Auckland schools to show solidarity. That they’re more than statistics of low decile schools. They were pressured to postpone by police and their principal but after weeks of planning, have gotten the support of most schools in South Auckland.
Featuring keynote speakers such as Kānaka Maoli Mauna Kea Protector Pua Case and Ngāpuhi, Waikato, Ngāti Mahuta and Ngāti Maniapoto lawyer and activist Pania Newton. Visit socialmovementsaotearoa.com for more.
WEST PAPUA GENOCIDE The genocide in West Papua is ongoing, whilst West Papua remains under Indonesian military occupation. Indonesian security forces have murdered an estimated 500,000 Papuans over the last 50 years, in addition to countless human rights abuses committed against the indigenous Papuans. You can help by donating to the Free West Papua Campaign, or through refusal to contribute dollars or legitimacy to the Indonesian government through your shmall holidays to Bali.
THE BLACK LIVES MATTER MOVEMENT Although it’s disappeared from our news feeds, the movement carries on strong with the fight for freedom, liberation, and justice. And as miniscule as our efforts to denounce anti-Blackness and white-supremacy from Aotearoa may feel, in comparison to the protests of our Black brothers and sisters, know that they are vital. Continue to call out people in your circles for their anti-blackness, continue to learn, and continue to educate. And finally, continue to celebrate Black scholars, artists, inventors, and creatives, for they are more than their struggle.
MARK ZUCKERBERG filed law-suits against hundreds of Native Hawaiians in 2017 in an attempt to force them to sell their family-land on the island of Kauai, so that he could have more privacy. After being dubbed “the face of neocolonialism”, Zuckerberg dropped his lawsuits and apologised. Today, Zuckerberg is accused of continuing his pursuit via proxy through a local resident, who is also said to be suing on Zuckerberg’s behalf.
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NEWS: ISSUE 16
TEMPERZONE LAID OFF 85 EMPLOYEES after leaving them with no choice but to take all of their leave in order to feed their families during lockdown level four. In spite of what may seem as a lack of funds, Temperzone received $2.17m in wage subsidies, yet they refused to reinstate the leave accounts of their former employees.
#PacificVotesCount PACIFIC CLIMATE WARRIORS
Your playlists are political. The number of working lamps on your street are political. The placement of liquor stores in your area is political. A warm house is political. Access to clean water is political. Your group of friends are political —yup! even the one you just thought about right now. Our everyday choices are political. Malo Tagata Pasifika! For the moment, when you think of VoTiNg, I ask that you put aside that image of Parliament, colourful political parties and ALL the great memes, and answer this: Where does politics fit in your life? The 2020 vs 2019 memes are crack up because they pack a sad truth—2020 has not pulled its punches on anyone. BUT, you have an opportunity to elevate what matters to you this year, for the next four years to come. Voting is one of the most important equalisers in our society. It’s where everyone counts, but only those who vote are counted and are accounted for. This is why it’s crucial that we address our Pasifika people who have amongst the lowest voter turnout rates in the country. We are not being counted and so our voices are not being counted. That’s not to say we aren’t political or politically interested *cough*the-Polynesian-Panthers-and-their-entire-legacythat-NZ-has-benefitted-and-are-still-benefiting-from *cough*. The whole system of voting can feel foreign because the reality is our closest interactions, cultural identity are governed by leaders within our homes and our families. The origins of the governmental structure here in Aotearoa were not founded on Pasifika values and systems of governance. For some of us, this may even be the first time we’ve been asked by our government ‘what do YOU care about?’. To vote is to use your agency to be heard in this way AND it legitimises all other avenues of advocating for change. In the reimagining and bringing-home of ‘voting’, think of the voting system as a waka, va’a, vaka etc… Each vote is a paddle. Each vote is an ocean’s current that guides the vaka. Each vote is the altering of the Hoe uli (the steering paddle or sweep) in which even small but continuous adjustments to its position can be the difference between arriving in Fiji and not Samoa (685 to the oti). Each vote is a step closer to the direction of your future. Where are you navigating yourself? Where are you guiding all that is on board your vaka to? Your vote matters and has the power to turn tides.
To be Pasifika is to be Powerful. To be Pasifika is to be Purposeful. To be Pasifika is to be Political. To not “act” Pasifika, not “sound Pasifika’, not “look” Pasifika but still be Pasifika, is to be Political. To navigate Aotearoa is to be Political. Our ancestors CHOSE to leave behind the comfort of familiarity, to seek a better life and greater opportunities. They CHOSE this land for their children and their children’s children to call home. They CHOSE to contribute to this country, even when this country blinded itself to their contributions. They CHOSE to stay and resist for the dream that their children will be equipped for this society. Their guidance and their working of their Hoe uli on their waka navigating through a literal and metaphorical ocean of change resulted in you. It is a great reminder as well, that we shouldn’t vote for our ancestors, we should vote because of them. We should vote as the ancestors we are and will be. The 2020 New Zealand General Election is coming up—and this is our time to make sure we take every chance we get to have our say and make #PacificVotesCount. The Elections can be daunting, boring, or straight confusing—but we have a great opportunity now to come together and hold our country accountable in the most direct ways we can. I’ll bet my student loan that there’s someone who feels the same way as you do about politics, registering to vote, or even deciding who to vote for. If you haven’t found them yet, maybe you will on @ pacificvotescount. Check us out! (because I need my student loan).
NEWS: ISSUE 16
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Reconnection af ter Rupture A Journey Home to The Autonomous Region of Bougainville-Papua New Guinea WORDS BY ANGELA KAMPAH MATTHEWS | BAITSI CLAN, BOUGAINVILLE | SHE/HER
I invite you for a moment to journey with me to the Autonomous Region of Bougainville-Papua New Guinea (PNG). Perhaps you’ve heard of it…
of the Indigenous land owners who shut down what was the largest mine in the world at the time; of the ensuing ten year civil war which took the lives of 20,000 people; of its historical peace agreement facilitated by New Zealand and the Bougainvillean women who paved its way; or perhaps most recently of its long awaited 98 percent vote in favour for independence. It’s a complex story too big for this moment. This is a glimpse into my mother and I’s most recent journey home, a moment in a story of reconnection after rupture, and grief over lives, families and lands forever changed. I was born at the beginnings of the conflict and the closure of the mine in 1989, known as the Bougainville Crisis. Indigenous landowners took action against the Australian mine amidst growing grievances over empty promises, lack of compensation, social disparity, detrimental impacts to the environment; and the growing wealth and development
of PNG at the expense of the land and the landowners. A month later, my family said their goodbyes, unsure of when they would see each other next. We left for safety to Australia, before a military blockade by the PNG government would stop the transportation of people, goods and medicines on and off the island. Fast forward to 2019, Mum and I begin another journey home to PNG. Flying into the tropical atolls scattered out at sea, the green lusciousness of jungle and coconut plantations is a heartwarming sight. On arrival in town we stock up on supplies to gift to extended family, who come to visit with generous gifts from their gardens. Generosity is shown in large stocks of bananas, small child-size papayas, leafy cooking greens, baskets of smoked fish, watermelons, creamy coconut cassava dumplings and more. Loaded with our supplies, we cross the channel between Buka island and mainland Bougainville. The ocean flowing powerfully between the two. It humbles me how our islands lie in the middle of a massive and powerful ocean. It’s places and moments like this that make it so real to be in Oceania. I think of Epeli Hau’ofa’s words that “we should not be defined by the smallness of our islands, but by the greatness of our oceans. We are the sea, we are the ocean, Oceania is us.” It’s a short but exhilarating three-minute trip. We arrive into the vibrant and crystal-clear water taxi intersection, which is full of the noise and movement of high-speed banana boats. People are constantly coming in and out of the government, business, and NGO hub that Buka has become. If you ever find yourself here you’ll quickly notice the pride people have in being Bougainvillean. Flags adorn banana
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boats and car aerials. Bougainvilleans proudly wear T-shirts printed locally with the Bougainville flag and slogans like ‘Black is Beautiful’ or ‘Straight Outta AROB’, which is fitting for the post-Crisis warrior-like attitude and style in Bougainville. It’s no surprise or shame to be caught wearing the same shirt as numerous others. The WWII relics all over the island are also testimony to what Bougainvilleans have endured since before the civil war. This land and its people have been through so much, yet hold great resilience, pride, hope, and persistence for independence.
"Generosity is shown in large stocks of bananas, small childsize papayas, leafy cooking greens, baskets of smoked fish, watermelons, creamy coconut cassava dumplings and more." Bougainvilleans have a unique hand clap heard at churches, schools and large public events. It’s interesting to see the nationalism displayed by Bougainvilleans and that exists in such a diverse region with 20 distinct language communities and subgroups. Within PNG’s immense diversity, Bougainvilleans are distinct for being predominantly matrilineal—land is passed down through women. They are also the darkest-skinned peoples in the Pacific. Despite being mapped and administered by PNG, Bougainville is geographically and culturally more related to the Solomon Islands, where our ancestors migrated from. Similar to the Bougainville clap that developed across the island post-Crisis, Bouganvillean nationalism feels like a natural coalescence, sparked by what people endured as much as by what they are reconciling and building together. There is celebration and pride in resistance, as well as unity and persistence in achieving independence and honouring the peace agreement. The Bougainville Peace Agreement is the longest standing peace agreement in history, and Bougainvillean practices and efforts of reconciliation have been pivotal to achieving and maintaining this. Off the boat and into a Land Cruiser equipped to cross rivers and rough terrain, we settle in for the five or more hour journey to our village. We begin by sitting in the open air amongst the cargo, speeding and bouncing along unsealed coconut-tree lined roads. Finally on this land, and worlds away from Canada where we had started, peace and relief settle in. The roads are lined with Avatar-like trees with large buttress roots and draping vines, banana trees, cacao and coconut plantations and jungle. Villages adorn the roadsides with hibiscus bushes and flowering ginger plants. The island is abundant in flowing rivers that make their ways all the way down from the cloudy mountaintops to the sea. Many bridges have been washed away due to the power of these rivers and a lack of funds to maintain infrastructure. If the water level is too high after heavy rainfall, you may have to wait until the next morning to cross. Children play in the rivers and wave as we pass by. Roadside markets sell drinking coconuts, bunches of sweet rambutans and
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FEATURE: RECONNECTION AFTER RUPTURE
fresh peanuts. Knowing my love for fresh peanuts, my uncle Francis has warned me against eating them with fish…unless you’ve accidentally drunken kerosene from an unmarked beer bottle. The peanut and fish mixture is a purgative elixir that probably saved him serious internal damage. My uncle is full of practical hilarious advice, bush medicine knowledge, and is one of the best storytellers I know; Pacific Islanders generally are. He takes his time and knows exactly when to give the right intonation, or pause to cause a fit of laughter. At night on my aunt’s porch, we sit in the darkness and sounds of the forest, with fireflies floating into the night while he tells his stories. Knowing time is limited, he visits numerous times a day to ‘stori’ with us. He shares many stories, from our chief Baitsi who led us to this land and is also the origin of the name of our clan and mother tongue; to journeys through the bush hunting crocodiles; to stories from the Crisis years. He recounts carrying my grandma and running for cover from PNG Defence Force helicopters spraying their village with bullets. Just like this land, this man is full of stories, our histories. Though most of our family usually only speaks in Baitsi, my uncle makes the effort to talk to me in Tok Pisin, PNG’s most widely spoken official language, which I learnt living elsewhere in PNG. It means a lot to me, as it is isolating to be the only one who can’t understand and join in conversation. Last time I was here, I was with my siblings and cousin who had also missed out on learning Baitsi without family or community to speak it with. This time it’s just me. Mum translates briefly for me when it’s polite to interrupt the conversation. Not wanting to be a bother asking too often, I let it go and hope that we remember to translate later. I’m aware that it is nobody’s intention at all and that most have no idea how much I care, but there is pain in being reminded of how disconnected I and some of my family are. There is much cultural knowledge we’ve missed and continue to miss out on by these instances. I’m trying my best to learn.
Alongside the shared grief of Bougainvilleans, there is personal grief for our family that I have been processing. Displacement from our ancestral land and each other brought a lost connection to land, family, culture, language, and to some degree—identity and belonging. Legally we can’t even be here for more than 2 months, as our PNG citizenship was nulled when we became Australian citizens. PNG has recently opened up dual citizenship applications accompanied by a significant fee. I know Mum finds it hard, wishing she could have stayed with her family and community to help them. My grandparents passed away before we had the chance to return. Being here, though confronting at times, is where our hearts always long to be, to re-establish these connections for us and future generations and to be a part of the recovery of the people and land. In all of this I also always hold the tension, complexity, and awareness of the privilege in being able to leave during the Crisis, and of having both an Indigenous and foreign parent who both worked for the mine and the other privileges I was afforded with that. Tied to this is a sense of duty and responsibility which I hope to live up to. Continuing on the road to reach our village we pass by the mine in Panguna, still guarded by a boom-gate checkpoint guarded by local landowners. Driving through the ghost mining town is eerie. Machinery and building structures stand rusty and decrepit, the rain eats away at them and nature reclaims with creeping vines. The mine is a deep open pit where there once was a forested mountain. Few things will ever grow there again. I admire the abundance of small purple orchids growing amidst the mountains of gravel. The juxtaposition of these seemingly delicate flowers powering through the rubble is a strange and hopeful sight.
"There is much cultural knowledge we’ve missed and continue to miss out on by these instances. I’m trying my best to learn." Mum points out where she used to work as an accountant. A relative tells me when she was a child seeing my young mum marching through the building on a mission, and, unbeknownst to her, making her presence known to everyone with her clicking and clacking heels. We both laugh and agree Mum is still always on a mission. I’ve also learnt that Mum was fairly well known to people for her athletic achievements and a cow—yes a cow. Mum went to the all-girls boarding school run by missionary nuns on Bougainville. When the school received their first cow, mum was the only student who would milk it, so they named it after her: Lembo. It is also the word for a small tool that is both a hammer and axe. Mum is indeed a small but powerful hammer and axe of a woman, as many Bougainvillean women are. Mum started boarding school at 8 years old, since nearby schools weren’t equipped for higher grade instruction. She loved it, together with her old classmates
they reminisce fondly. Many of them are now leaders in their communities. Mum’s schooling even taught her to drive a tractor and do repairs on it, which would later lead her to driving her softball team around the island to games in a bright yellow van. Though she was equipped with many unique learning opportunities, compared to my uncle who did not continue to higher grade boarding school, she missed out on sitting with elders and learning many of the stories my uncle knows. Six hours later, as nightfall quickly approaches, we pull up to the village with bodies slightly achy from the adventure. Due to the remoteness and weak network reception preventing texts and calls from being received, our family greets us in surprise. In this dream-like moment, a swirling of joy, excitement, anxiety and relief fill me. The body and the heart know the land. Familiar and foreign. We are home.
FEATURE: RECONNECTION AFTER RUPTURE
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LITARA
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Intro to the 267 WORDS BY LUISA-TAFU LEIATAUA TUILOMA TAURI-TEI | SHE/HER
Here, they don’t call you by your name. Here, we have titles. Sole, uce, doxx (specifically with two x’s), usi (for that one friend) and uso. Here, we see faces in FA$IN8 tagged on the back of 1B5 history notebooks. Handprints in dried concrete. Picked picket fences show the aftermath of milk and honey pipedreams. 16
Here in South Auckland, we hold shared-lunches everyday and remember the times we used to make a playground out of big green electricity boxes. We break bread ten times over in hopes to feed thousands. Sometimes though, our hopes aren’t enough—not all of us get to eat. Clutching for our seatbelts that are already there every time we pass a police car. “My uso got arrested” for the same thing our white counterparts in the North Shore get let off on. Headlines don’t give our people any room for mistakes. They paint us as aggressive thugs and criminals, fill our streets with cop cars, and raid through the rights we don’t even know we have. Police Ten 7 never looked so much like my brothers as I watched from our state-owned living room. Yet, we go back to the dinner table, and say “fa’afetai Iesu”. Like I said, not all of us get to eat, so when we do we are grateful. Clendon library had this couch, it was shaped like a flower with a hole in the middle. Most days after school, I would sit inside the hole and read Chicken Soup for the Soul. There was a day when I stopped reading at the library and started ashing cigarettes by the skate park instead. I was 12. A day came when I couldn’t break my hopes and dreams into pieces to share anymore because I barely had enough for myself. A day where I stopped saying “fa’afetai Iesu” and started asking “why us?”. A day where I got sick of holding onto memories of being blissfully ignorant about my sister coming home from being rushed. CYFS knocking on our front and back door. Friends who never even got to 18. A nana picking and packing fruit for less than minimum wage at age 75. “You’re so strong.” Is what the government tells us when we plead for reparations, like a shitty high school counsellor. We shouldn’t have to be so strong. There comes a time when our people falter under the pressure of living in a white system. Our brown boys desperately seek some sort of community. So they rep their colours, live by their area codes, and die by the hands of boys who look like them. Teachers used to— and still do—tell us that we will never be worth something, that we will never get anywhere. I’ve come to realise that if kids don’t feel seen at home, don’t feel understood in school, they try to find solace in the streets. The same streets that track a liquor store on every major street corner. The same streets that cops roam at night looking for suspicious brown kids who fit the description of their assigned criminal, only to pull out their guns on innocent boys buying a drink at the dairy. How many of us have to be crushed by the weight of systemic injustice before everyone sees us as children again?
My uso, their usos...it didn’t really matter who was better. We were just trying to get everyone to see what we saw. Sarah’s brother who goes to St Kents gets weekly art lessons, his mum pays for his art supplies and supports his endeavours to pursue something he was only slightly interested in. Mine hid the fact that he could draw because he thought drawing was never something that could’ve put food on the table. His teachers said all he does is doodle in class when he should be focusing on academics… and we could never really afford an art set or supplies anyways. We too, have hopes and dreams like everyone else, and yet, we have to fight harder for ours or face an unfair reality. A reality where, because not all of us eat… we don’t get to play with our food.
"We too, have hopes and dreams like everyone else, and yet, we have to fight harder for ours or face an unfair reality. A reality where, because not all of us eat… we don’t get to play with our food."
I am the first child in my family to study at university. I have eight siblings. I can’t afford to fail a class or have long periods of being depressed after a tragic bender at Boston. I have the opportunity to challenge systems and be anti/pro/activist/changemaker/politicallyaware/whatever the hell I want to be. Something not all of us are privileged with. I have the opportunity to make sure my family is fed for generations to come, that their hopes aren’t snuffed out by a messy reality, and that their innocence isn’t killed by the need to survive. For my uso’s; Manu, Leilani, Junior. Rangi, Vain, Kimmy, Tiana, Awanui. For my uso’s on the Southside of my heart. For Nan. A day will come when we break bread enough to go around, the big green boxes will hold weekly talent shows, our hand prints will still be there in concrete to high five us on our walks home, liquor stores will be cancelled and replaced with keke pua’a shops, I will finally finish all of Chicken Soup for the Soul and we will eventually be able to find peace at the dinner table and say— Amene.
When I was a kid, my brother sketched out the Mona Lisa freehand and I was so (silently) proud of how talented he was. I would brag to other kids that “my brothers are way better than your brothers” and then we would all proceed to lie about our brothers until someone lied too much. “Yeah well my brother’s The Rock”. Like, ok Fred stop lying, we all know your brother’s name is Tevita.
FEATURE: INTRO TO THE 267
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The Labour of Love WORDS BY CRYSTAL VITOLIO | TIAVEA, LEPEA, FALEALUPO | SHE/HER
Growing up, the words “Ou te alofa ia te oe” were displayed more in one’s actions, rather than said aloud. Acts of alofa were shown in the roof over my head, the food on my table, the clothes that I wore, and the school I went to. ‘I love you’ was shown in the late night shifts my Dad would roster himself up for, while I was fast asleep in the comfort of my warm bed. The labour that this kind of love requires is one of blood, sweat, and tears that my Dad has never once failed to provide in abundance all throughout my twenty years of existence.
my reflection most days, the perfect word to describe the kind of effort I was giving to my schoolwork, and more so my family. The guilt of not putting 100% into my studies was consuming me everyday. Especially whilst when my Dad was 19, he moved away from everything he knew in his village of Tiavea in Samoa, to come here and work for himself and his family. If he could do all of that and more, then how come I was out here complaining about deadlines and word limits? ‘Selfish’ was all I kept thinking of myself.
At the start of this year, I did some heavy reflecting on my first year of uni and realised I was drowning in my own expectations. Making sure I dragged myself deep into He worked as a taxi driver, an my studies to equate to the "No amount of labor could office cleaner, and a window labour Dad worked and the cleaner. All three jobs, he would ever amount to the kind of love sacrifices he took to work simultaneously through I have for my family, for my Dad. provide abundant routes of the working week. A common Alofa cannot be measured when opportunities for me—even at lifestyle for many of the aunties my own detriment. I chucked it is infinite, it is more deeply and uncles out there—our very myself into the deep end and rooted in intent." own superheroes. expected that gesture to be grand enough for my own Dad always instilled in me that education was integral to labour of love. When in reality, it wasn’t love. It was me losing cutting off this cycle of working menial jobs to make ends sight of why I even wanted to be in uni in the first place. meet—jobs that require one to work the labour of a thousand men to receive the pay of a single mouth to feed. A cycle I draw strength from this. Having lost sight of my purpose that many immigrants from the motherland met upon arrival was what made me regain momentum in myself too. No to this supposed land of opportunities. The land that only amount of labor could ever amount to the kind of love I have white New Zealand seems to be systematically born into. for my family, for my Dad. Alofa cannot be measured when it is infinite, it is more deeply rooted in intent. Raw and genuine. Watching the way Dad would be the first one to leave home in the morning and the last to return was enough for me to When I find myself forgetting these things, I am always decide that University was most definitely what I wanted. reminded of what my Dad has always tried to teach me. Man, how these thoughts were always way easier in my That hard work is my vessel, and alofa and family are my head (kefs). foundations. He is the path of stars in the night sky that guide me into the direction I desire, with all the values he has Fast forward to 2019, I'm 18 years old, fresh out of college taught me. This is what motivates me the most, and realigns and straight into University. I entered the first couple of my vessel towards a clearer sight on my why. weeks at uni with a mental etching of my last name on my forehead—’VITOLIO’. A constant reminder of myself not only Towards our own journey, we show each other...“Ou te alofa being the first of many Vitolio’s to walk these hallways, but ia te oe”. also a reminder of my ‘why’. Give or take a few more weeks later, and slowly but surely, my motivation for uni hit an all time low. I had completely forgotten my ’why’, even the mental etching of my last name was turning into the word ‘VAIN’. It was all I saw in
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FEATURE: THE LABOUR OF LOVE
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MICHEL MULIPOLA, 'SIS THE SHOW' (2020) 21
Hyena Loud-Mouth: A
w o B ro h e S wn g irl's take on SIS th
LUISA-TAFU LEIATAUA TUILOMA TAURI-TEI | SHE/HER Mild spoilers ahead. If you haven’t seen it yet, go watch it first; a) it’s funny, b) for brown excellence, and c) don’t be that cuNot gonna lie, I laughed way too hard watching SIS The Show. You could probably hear my super sonic, high frequency cackles all the way down the street and you know what? You’re welcome. SIS is a real reflection of the everyday humour that can be found in the somewhat awkward, taboo, and difficult topics we as Pasifika face everyday. It exposes the ka’a girls, Malia and Gee Gee, who lowkey lied about losing their virginities—which took me all the way out because, I too, was once a ka’a girl who was also doing moepi meetups like Miki. It played on the tropes we all know and love in a way that’s refreshing and relevant to us today. SIS is putting Brown girls at the centre of narratives that haven’t ever included us. Mean Girls who? Sorry, I only know the Fa’a’s. The way SIS weaves this story of young brown women together in order to encompass all walks of Pasifika life as well as the many faces of Pasifika identity only goes to show the genius that is their writers—particularly Destiny Momoisea, Maiya Thompson, and Hanelle Harris. Watching as a 19 year old Samoan girl, the kid in me couldn’t help but laugh-cry whilst watching. It is the type of representation that goes beyond the boundaries to heal the children in us. Children who would be teased for having Islander features, who would be teased for laughing too loud, and who would watch our parents dodge calls from debt collectors.
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SIS SHOW REVIEW
It’s a show for the teine lelei who were never given sex education so they relied on unreliable sources, for the brown girls being followed around the supermarket by white men, and for the girls that have a pitch they’ve never had the opportunity to share. The latter of which was probably why my favourite character is Bubbah, played by Sieni Tiana Leo’o Olo. For some, her jokes may be out the gate, but that’s the reason why I loved it so much. The idea that Brown women can legitimately be more than a tourist image and more than someone that’s reserved and shy made me think of my own family. It was so real and familiar, that I couldn’t help but be glued to the screen. In addition to that, something that elevates the whole show is the production level. SIS really said “Ua ga budget?” because the lighting, special fx, even the wardrobe was spot on. It’s honestly so dope to see Pacific multimedia —especially comedy—evolve as time passes. Thinking back to the first time I watched Sione’s Wedding as a kid, I was excited just to see a cool transition between scenes. Fast forward to now, when the punchline drops for the debt collector sketch in SIS, I was so hype over the detailing. It made the show so much more visually pleasing to watch and you can tell so much effort went into the little things in each scene. One day, I will be watching reruns of SIS The Show feeling all nostalgic in my lounge with sheet covered couches and 21st keys above the TV. I’ll remember moments where I was an unapologetic, dirty joke loving, loud-mouth brown girl who lived for this funny as fuck show and I know for sure that all my Pasifika sisters will be right there with me.
Pasi Jams Pasi Jams Wan Solwara
Sweet Darlin' Fiji Brother Smashproof Ganja Farmer J Boog Robbin’ Hood Heroes Nesian Mystik They Don’t Know Aaradhna Laxed siren beat (Jawsh685) 6 to the World HP boys Fangai Lupe Spawnbreezie Ramukanji Onetox Half Malaita Jaro Local Welcome to prison ONEFOUR Hard Yakka Lisi Tamahana Te Vaka
SCAN THIS CODE THROUGH SPOTIFY TO JAM TO THE PLAYLIST AND ADD YOUR OWN TOO!
PASI JAMS
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PASI TWEETS
Sustainability Week August 10 -14
Care about looking after the planet but don’t know where to start or how to improve your habits? Join us for our annual Sustainability Week for fun, free activities that work towards a more climate-friendly future
www.vuwsa.org.nz/sust-week
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Te Epetoma o te reo Maori Kuki ‘Airani Cook Islands Language Week Sunday 2 August - Saturday 8 August
This year the theme is “Kia pūāvai tō tātou reo Māori Kūki ‘Āirani i Aotearoa”, which translates to “that the Cook Islands Māori language may blossom throughout New Zealand.”
The Cook Islands are a group of 15 islands spread across a vast piece of the Pacific Ocean. Spread across these 15 islands are three distinct languages and many different dialects that belong to the different islands. The island of Mangaia, traditionally known as A’ua’u Enua, is the southernmost island of the Cook Islands, and the second
largest. It is also said to be the oldest island in the Pacific Ocean, estimated by geologists to be at least 18 million years old. Cook Islands Māori people make up the second largest Pacific population in Aotearoa. Some people have migrated here, while many others have been born here as 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, or 6th generation New Zealanders.
Here’s some phrases you should learn:
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Kia orāna: Kia orāna korua: Kia orāna kotou: Pē'ea koe: Pē'ea korua: Meitaki au: Meitaki maua: Meitaki ma'ata: Aere rā:
Hello Hello to two Hello to three or more How are you? How are you two? I am fine We (two) are fine Thank you Goodbye
Tāmata’ia!
(Give it a go!)
KUKI AIRANI LANGUAGE WEEK
Barely Above Water Dylan Fa’atui Faatoia, Vaiala, Gautavai, Vaitoomuli Palauli, Vaovai Falealili He/Him/They We cry salt water to remind us that the ocean is in our blood. We bleed the ocean and cry blood and following those that sailed before, we shall navigate through brown skinned tears and keep afloat our is/lands before there isn't/lands. The world over the indigenous continue to stand to keep land from coloniser hands. While SÄ moa and her Oceanic siblings stand with their heads barely above water and they're hoping. Hoping that we learn from past actions to create a better present to gift to our future. Because failure to care for the wounded land of our grandparents and their grandparents, leaves nothing for our grandchildren. Who will have to talk of home existing only in the past.
POETRY: BARELY ABOVE WATER
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Tara Kaitlin Tara Rose Abbott | she/her | Ngāti Tepaki, Ngāti Itiao | Rarotonga, Aitutaki, Mangaia
She is beautiful Her brown hair bright against blue skies and Sunrise brings out the specks in her eyes Of Black Doris plum jam and peanut butter on fried brown donuts A weaver of worlds that sit upon clouds of old coconut candy floss Just barely sprouting a new tree from its seed She is a storyteller Her skin is light like that melt in your mouth honey, Crystallised like rough sand the sea shell source still seen Her words drip over coconut oiled wood Pulled back over a hidden smile of sun splitting through light bleached ti leaves She tells me everything with the swing of her hips And the soft whisper of Tangaroa reaching for Maungapu’s tips She is strong Like the sharp end of a spear that hits you Like the warm smell of tipani and coconut oil that fills your nose It’s like a wave when you land pushing you into the blue Of sky and surf And the taste of sea salt and sunlight settles on your skin Sticky with a sickly sweet sweat as each day begins She is loud And I can hear her in the thunderous applause Of waves that crash against rock reefs And wind whipping through coconut fronds I can hear her in the orchestra of roosters crowing from dusk till dawn And church bells ringing on Sunday morning If I could meet her I would tell her that the sound of suburban Aotearoa is deafening and That when I land the only wave that hits me is homesick for a place I’ve never lived I would tell her that sometimes I can’t see golden syrup in my winter coat And that my brown hair won’t blend with over|caste I would tell her that I try to weave my own worlds but Sometimes when the honey is sticky and sickly sweet I can’t move But if I could meet her I would tell her that I can hear her because She is loud I can hear her in the wind of Te-Whanganui-a-Tara whipping through the CBD And in the war of the waves when the tides are rough I can hear her in the scrawl of my midnight pen to paper ideas And in the steel point of my anger If I could meet her I would tell her I can hear you
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POETRY: TARA
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Ode to Our Rainbow Community WORDS BY ROSINA BUCHANAN | TAKITIMU, NGĀPUHI | THEY/SHE
CW; Homophobia/Transphobia
An ode to the Black LGBTQIA+ community To the ones within our Pasifika community To the ones within the takatāpui community And all indigenous brown communities To the ones who are closeted or are questioning their identity The ones at the frontlines of activism You are the future and the revolution You are your ancestors’ wildest dreams Respectful of the vā and don’t know enough of my cultures But willing to try in my own way If you’re willing to wholeheartedly welcome me As our whole beings Without hindrance of hiding what we fight for I’m here for it If the culture will allow it Willing to hold space Willing to take some risks We are here for the rest of you And stan/d regardless You pull back on that silent treatment but defend homophobic insults towards a queer Fijian man; many reports of trans women of colour undergoing horrendous hate crimes and queer brown women/nonbinary people being fetishised
TO THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK I said show me equality Show me that safe space that is the culture I’m here for the liberation of our people You thought ‘nonbinary’ was a papa’a thing But let me hit you with the facts Gender is a social construct And our cultural identity goes hand in hand with gender fluidity sis Religion may be central to Pacific culture but dehumanising someone because of their gender or sexuality is inexcusable I wanna see those in the christian faith who are also queer or have an indigenous gender identity, to raise your hands and know that you are valid and loved I wanna see our trans sisters existing and being unapologetically happy in their reign. I wanna see your ally friends being there as a shield for you And even if our views are different, please just treat us like human beings. I don’t speak for all of us but what I ask of you is to find understanding and humility Please protect our communities.
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Digging for our Roots WORDS BY P3ATO
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Connecting to our roots can be hard—we know this. Weaving the edges of our teachings and values of home, to those in this colonial space tends to feel impossible; since Pasefika concepts aren’t always compatible with the Western world and vice versa.
This leaves us thirsty, yearning for a place to belong, not just in the Pacific or this colonial space, but in the world. Because how are we to stand grounded and tall without roots? As Pasefika young’ns, it’s often difficult to connect to our roots whilst being expected to conform to whiteness. Our people are widely associated with low socio-economic backgrounds, our struggles to assimilate to whiteness often translate to ‘illiteracy’. Acts of resistance taken by our people—consequently to this nation’s overtly discriminatory systems and policies—have us known as “Pacific island male of large build, known to be dangerous do not approach”.
with the word, ever so easily and callously. We seem to be under the impression that our brown skin gives us a pass to use it. Easily, the word is thrown off of our tongues. Even though we know that through events such as slavery and segregation, the n-word became a dehumanizing term to direct hate and disgust towards Black people. We don’t experience the oppression of walking through an anti-Black society with Black skin so we aren’t part of their collective. Which means that even in its reclaimed, repurposed form it’s not okay for us to use the word. If you want a racial slur to throw around and be slick, repurpose one of our own cuz.
The assimilation of our identity, similar—though not at all We turn up and bob our heads with ease for the lyricism of identical—to the experiences of our Black brothers and the likes of Biggie & Pac. But when it comes to calling out sisters, is why it’s easy for us to our own families, circles, "As fellow minorities who find solace in the familiar waves and communities for their of Black culture. And that’s the anti-Blackness, we lack face our own fucked up issue: it’s easy for us. that energy. When it comes instances of discrimination and time to turn up in solidarity racism, we have no right to These days, Black culture and for the Black Lives Matter impose discomfort upon some parts of afrocentric beauty movement, we lack that are fashionable. The same items energy. We consume Black or question the struggles of of Black culture which are seen culture on the daily with ease, other minority groups." on runways and fashion shoots, yet struggle to come through still earn Black people labels for our Black brothers and such as ‘crude’ or ‘suspicious’. FUCK that. For our Black sisters. For us to continuously take and take from the culture brothers and sisters, their cornrows and durags come of our Black brothers and sisters, and then sit comfortably laced with discrimination and marginalizing labels but when in ignorance of their struggles is anti-Black, and shows we, children of the Pacific, wear those items or hairstyles, our privilege. Let’s keep the same energy we have whilst we look skux for a minute and all is good. Do you see how c-walking in Boston, when we reject anti-Blackness and that’s a problem? It’s easy for us to imitate Black culture and support our Black brothers and sisters. Sawlid. aspects of afrocentric beauty for social gain. However, (1) it’s not our culture to use for personal gain and (2) Black people It’s easy. It’s easy. It’s easy. In the same way in which we are persecuted for flaunting their own culture. expect white people to be always checking their privilege, *we should be checking ourselves*. Cause whilst we fight for The n-word. Every one of us knows the palpable effect this equity, our Black sisters and brothers fight for survival. word can have on our Black brothers and sisters, which should be enough reason not to use it. As fellow minorities who face our own fucked up instances of discrimination and racism, we have no right to impose discomfort upon or question the struggles of other minority groups. In spite of this, there are some of us whose lips are constantly parting
DIGGING FOR ROOTS
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YOUR WATER SPOKEN WORD BY MERCI TUIAVI’I | VAILOA PALAULI, MANUNU, LALOMANU | SHE/HER
“Your Water” is a spoken word piece I composed of personal experiences and encounters in my life through which I explore the topic of identity and a perspective of its link to culture. I based this piece off the Samoan phrase “E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le vai” which translates to “Wherever the duck flies, it will always return to the water.” Through my personal recounts, I compare the two environments of Australia and New Zealand and their impacts on how I personally identify as Samoan.
This piece tells my story as an Australian Samoan migrating to New Zealand and is a reflection of the ways my phases of an identity crisis have taught me to be accepting of myself as Samoan. May my fellow Pasifika brothers and sisters be encouraged by my project—to be able to identify with confidence as a Pacific Islander, despite the lack of knowledge they think they might have about their own languages, customs, and ways of life.
TRANSCRIPT
PART ONE: AN AUSTRALIAN CONTEXT I was 6 years old and at a loss for words How do you explain koko laisa ? A sea of brown sisters, petite girls from town misters, I met India, South Africa our friction caused my blisters I was bigger than them all, my physique here was unique So big was she, yet no one knew of her small Islands in the sea “So, it’s chocolate and it’s rice and with milk it goes down nice” And there I was at the beginning of my unexplainable self. I would siva to a song whose words I never understood, I used to question why my mother spoke in ways I never could, And how I couldn’t speak my language & I never got to learn it Yet I stood proud as Samoan because by birthright I had earned it So as the only Poly girl at every school that I had been to
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I embraced my Samoan culture like it was all that I had been through And there I was, too Samoan for my friends and that was that I was small next to my siblings and at school they called me fat They used to think I was “Mary” cause my family came from Aotearoa And each time they mispronounced my name I felt my head dip lower... & Lower TUIAVI’I it’s too hard to say. TUIAVI’I It’s too hard to spell. I’d achieve something at school and they would chuck in an L The smell, a stench of ignorance I guess they couldn’t tell TULAVI or TUIAVIL close enough aye? But could I blame them they’d never seen a Samoan name. So, like this isolated city, I too, felt somewhat lonely And back I went to Aotearoa to see if it was homely
PART TWO: MIGRATION - AUSTRALIA TO NEW ZEALAND I was 18 years old and at a loss for words What did it mean to be Samoan? “You don’t know what paifala is?” I grew up on sausage sizzles and vegemite Eating chop suey was an event And I don’t mean to vent but My mum had to pay rent And the koko for our rice was twice the price spent anywhere that we went So no, I didn’t know what paifala And was it wrong I never knew? Was it unsamoan to be raised true blue? Am I less Samoan cause I hadn’t tried a food? Same sized feet as my mum and yet I can’t fill her shoes because… I’m a: Plastic Samoan Fake Samoan Doesn’t like seafood or fish cake Samoan Un Samoan Less Samoan Has two or three puletasi dresses Samoan Palagi Samoan Untrue Samoan Copes better in the heat Kangaroo Samoan
Suddenly ashamed Samoan Embarrassed to identify as such Cause what I knew of my culture turned out to be... well, not much... So, there I was again, the minority. Letting the majority have this authority To make me feel an inferiority Cutting me up, correcting and testing me orally I thought this should feel like home But alone, I felt again Too shy to siva, especially in front of my Samoan friends Cause maybe my hands might seem ungraceful Maybe I couldn’t dance with appropriate facials Unfaithful, I prayed till the sea fell from my eyes I used to think God gave me some sort of disguise With my Samoan face and beautiful brown skin Yet in this foreign place I wonder of my Samoan within I had left the Indian Ocean behind, Said my goodbye to the hot sand that was fine, Crossed the country, left behind the last 18 years of my life To learn of you, Samoa. My effort to know you, Samoa. Like my ancestors traded, I traded my life And in this one Earth God created we were separated by a serrated knife And now we were worlds apart—seas apart
PART THREE: A CONCLUSION OF SELF ACCEPTANCE But maybe my longing to be with you has no need to exist For you are the very blood that runs through my veins The very cells of my brain, my name the reason there is only me and no one else the same My sacred centre. Who am I without you? “O Le tagata ma lona Fa’asinomaga” All my life I wondered of you Wondered what it meant to be like you “E lele le toloa ae ma’au lava i le vai” But wherever the duck flies, it always returns to the water Like how wherever I travel I will always be your daughter As the Arctic Tern leaves her home maybe never to return
She will always be known as Arctic I thought I knew you well but after all I see there’s still a lot to learn Throughout my flight I’ve felt your ocean breeze and your summer sun that burns The world has told me how to look like you but like your waters it is clear now Your crashing waves have beat my ear drums and suddenly I hear now My Sacred Centre, my Samoa You are small, yet you are vast And at last I’ve reached your sea Finally, I see your face, And your water reflects me
YOUR WATER
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Genesis
DYLAN FA’ATUI | FAATOIA, VAIALA, GAUTAVAI, VAITOOMULI PALAULI, VAOVAI FALEALILI | HE/HIM/THEY
LE MALAMA ROPETI FA'ATUI I remember him as old-fashioned, a firm believer in Le Atua Pa Malama put Ieova at the centre, right next to his lovely frangipani, my Nana Mamele. The way my Papa looked at my Nana was enough for them. His eyes were compassionate, clothed in an infinite sea of love, light and warmth. I want those eyes, eyes that saw everything, but focussed only on the important things. He taught me how to love, how to come in contact with it. Tenderly, with a smouldering flame. A sufficient flame to keep your love warm, but big enough to share. Without having to announce himself, his presence was felt. He held himself with such grace and there was a gentle clemency in his staunch nature. Accompanying his mana was a distinct voice. He took me to faraway places singing along to his ukulele. He had such thick fingers and hard hands, yet the way he caressed the strings were as gentle as his eyes. He’d begin to play, and in those moments, the room came alive while the world stood still. At the end of his lounge concerts, he’d finish off with something like: “I hope you had a great time today, take care and have a bloody good night.” Followed by a laugh that’s quite the opposite to mine. Because I laugh like Shenzi from Lion King Whereas Pa had a grounded laugh, a laugh gifted from the earth itself.
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Gagana Samoa and the English language belonged to him. Words were an extension of himself, another limb. He had an intelligent tongue and he wielded his intellect with great humility. He collected quotes from Readers Digest over many years and translated them all into Gagana Samoa. When our best friend, my Nana Mamele passed away, Pa slowly began to give himself over fully to Ieova. "I'm not going to fight it, if it's meant to be then who am I to change that." Exactly 10 months after Nana passed, He accepted God's will, slowly let go of the world and began his journey towards his heavenly frangipani. Pa Malama is my migrant story. My pillar who overcame adversity and hardship. Who acknowledged my potential and punished my laziness. After his passing, I spent a long time trying to fill the void. Looking for his qualities in those around me. But I was looking in the wrong places. I had them. He'd implanted them in me. I now walk through life with his love in my eyes, his delicate strum, his fire in my soul fuelling my passion and a backbone that supports my tongue. All I'm missing is his laugh.
ESTHER PERESIA PATU | SA’ANAPU /SALEAULA | SHE/HER
NELLA PULA | SALEPOUA’E SALEIMOA / FUALAGA AFEGA | SHE/HER
RELEARNING CULTURE
LE TEINE
My Grandad is an actual gangsta. A renovate-your-ownhouse gangsta. A grow-your-own-garden gangsta. A makesure-the-boys-do-the-chores gangsta. When I first heard my Grandad yell at the boys for sitting around whilst the girls cleaned, I was really confused. A bit smug, not gonna lie, but confused because I was used to doing chores whilst the boys sat around. He did this every single time there was to’ona’i.
Gone are the days where I get to sit down and massage your legs. Gone are the days where I get to hold your hand and you hold mine. Gone are the days where I looked up to you and said, I am home.
Fast forward to 2020, I decided to take a gagana Samoa paper so that I could still be connected to my culture whilst studying away from home. During this time I learnt that my Grandad was disciplining the boys in the original fa’asamoa way. It made me realise that my Grandad was continuously working to nurture the women in my family through his everyday actions. And bruh, I was shook because I know I'm not the only one when I say: I am sick and tired of making the ipu ki’s for the guests. He always makes sure my aunties are seated next to him every time he eats. That my sisters and I aren’t constantly in the kitchen. My Grandad embraced us girls with long hour speeches to “don’t ^be give up” whenever we were over and even longer hours of prayers upon prayers. I went back to Aukilani and told my Grandad what I had learnt and finally realised. I could see how happy he was to see me fully understand what he has been trying to instill in our family. “Women are the most important” As someone who has always felt that her own culture was unfairly patriarchal, these words by my Grandad meant so much. We come to University to learn sometimes dismissing the lessons right in front of our faces. Yet if we look closely, we can find our OG’s decolonising their very existence and see them protesting patriarchal structures through every lecture and conversation. Grandad told me a lot has changed in fa’asamoa, but one thing I know will never change is the way he treats his queens.
The best conversation between me and Grandpa often happens when we get to sit down and kokō our kiapula or when we are practicing our carpenter skills with the samala in my hands while he tells me what to do. His stories about the history of teine Sā is where our conversations begin and always ends. S A U M A E A F E (Teine Sā) A legend in my Grandpa's eyes; a girl who other people consider as a Samoan ghost who makes people —particularly girls—suffer when she gets jealous of their beauty and long hair. This was a story he told me where I could remember vividly every detail and every word he said: “Le kakou fagua I vaega fā, ga makou o ai e kokō fa’i, kalo, ki’apula ma isi mau mea. Iga ua uma Le makou galuega ua makou koma ma fai se meaai ole aoauli, ae ku aku loa ma Saumaeafe. E fiafia e laku gofogofo I luga ole la’au pule kelē lava ma fa’akaukau loga lau ulu I lalo ma selu. E sau loa Saumaeafe, ou iloa la’a alu foi e ulu I sesi ma fasi. Ia, ga ou kago a kuli ma fai iai, savali alu su’e me aea Ke alu ai I o’u laku oki lou ulu.” This story may sound weird to a lot of people but it is not weird to the ears of my family members—each and every one of them. Some of us may have been possessed by this teine Sā at some point. These are the kind of conversations we used to have, telling stories from what happened in a portion of his life. Saumaeafe considered my grandpa as her safe haven. It was a vice versa situation in which he received the same thing in return from her. She was his home, he was hers. I will never be able to hear more of these stories, but this is home for me. In my Grandpa's arms at home, just like how Saumaeafe considered him as hers.
GENESIS
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e le papeva se upu
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