A Story of Three Exhibitions in Canberra

National identities and histories are often in a state of flux. As public institutions of national history, Australia's Commonwealth museums and galleries in Canberra can be sites of debate and contention. They are always tied into the broader genre of history and the way in which those histories “are understood, represented, commemorated—and contested” (Message 2018: 136). Their exhibitions function as the public face of their collections and their history and are the medium through which they become known. Exhibitions are complex and collaborative undertakings and “set the priorities as to what is shown and when” (Mendelsohn, DeLorenzo and Inglis 2018: 11).

In 2020, the conventions of our world were shaken with the outbreak of a global pandemic. As well as the urgent practical necessities of dealing with COVID-19, the conservative Liberal/National coalition Australian government, led by Prime Minister Scott Morrison, was beset by ongoing political protests with both global and national connections. Those included #BlackLivesMatter and the perennially urgent issue of the treatment of Australia's First Peoples, violence against women driven by the #MeToo movement and then playing out in a series of ugly rape allegations from within the government, and the revelation of potential war crimes committed by Australian Special Forces in Afghanistan, which are subject to an ongoing criminal investigation. In a year of crisis, three of the country's national cultural institutions launched temporary exhibitions intersecting with those very topical and contested subjects.

The exhibitions staged by the National Museum of Australia (NMA), the National Gallery (NGA), and the Australian War Memorial (AWM) provided an opportunity for each institution to represent some of the missing or marginalized voices in history, and for them to draw on their own collecting and exhibition histories to uncover and explore different kinds of omissions and silences. The exhibitions were well into the development stage by the time of the COVID-19 global outbreak, and physical openings to the public were delayed by shutdowns early in the pandemic. The NMA's Endeavour Voyage: The Untold Stories of Cook and the First Australians provided the opportunity to see Cook's exploration through the eyes of Australia's First Nations peoples. The NGA's Know My Name celebrates works of Australian women artists and confronts significant gaps of artworks created by female artists from within its own collection. And the AWM's Ink in the Lines examines the story of tattooing in the military as symbols of loss, trauma, memory, and regeneration. It is striking to reflect on them collectively, at a time when many of the world's master national narratives, Australia's included, are being profoundly and publicly challenged.

The launch of three temporary exhibitions in the same year, each questioning established productions of knowledge and ways of seeing, allows us to examine how Australia's national cultural institutions re-create national narratives through their exhibitions. We can ask how successful they are at attempting to reshape those narratives, or at least in issuing an invitation for us to reconsider well-established ways of telling and seeing.

Airing New Zealand's History on the Small Screen

In May 2020, New Zealand's first nation-wide COVID-19 lockdown remained in place. While some restrictions started to ease as we moved into Level 3, the majority of us were still spending most of our time in our homes surrounded by our belongings—the things that had kept us company, and kept us entertained, during the aptly named “unprecedented times.” The seventh of May, however, marked a point in at which we once again began to see the now very familiar household clutter around us in a new light. TVNZ had put the call out for New Zealanders to “scour their homes in the search for treasures, objects, and taonga that have special significance to New Zealand and our history over the last 100 years” (TVNZ 2020) for their new show, National Treasures. The program would see Kiwis sharing their taonga (treasures) with a panel of experts at Auckland Museum, with one hundred items eventually being chosen for display in the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (Te Papa). This review examines National Treasures as an example of public history and heritage making in Aotearoa New Zealand in the post-COVID world beyond the physical museum, as well as analyzing what “treasures” are and the role that brick-and-mortar museums play in helping to create and maintain a sense of national identity through taonga.

Public history is a practice with a long past in New Zealand. While it can come in many forms, and be described in many ways, Bronwyn Dalley summarized it as: “historical work undertaken according to the research priorities, agendas, or funding capacities of another party rather than being self-directed by the historian” (Dalley 2001: 9). The role that public history plays within society has become ever more significant as New Zealanders have continued to turn to formats beyond traditional books to get their hit of history. As technologies have continued to improve and become more accessible in a world where most have access to the Internet from their own phones, it has been noted that the average layperson increasingly wants to see history in museums, as well as on the large and small screen. Dalley reported in 2001 that when it came to history, New Zealanders “want to hear it and they want to walk through it” rather than reading about it (Dalley 2001: 11). Twenty years later it is clear to see that little has changed on this front, though new forms of media have helped to facilitate this—i.e., through things like social media and video-on-demand streaming services. This is where National Treasures comes into the picture. The program represents several of the non-text-based forms of public history, that of history made for the screen, in this case television; and also history as put on display in a museum exhibition.

Broadcast over four episodes from 7 March to 4 April 2021, and available through online streaming via TVNZ's OnDemand service, National Treasures aired to a viewership perhaps more aware of its identity and distinctive nature as a nation than it has been in many decades. New Zealand's prompt and systematic response to the threat of the COVID-19 outbreak and global pandemic has been the recipient of much praise, even from the World Health Organization (WHO) itself (1 NEWS 2020). Our response, however, has had several ancillary results beyond simply keeping our case and death toll at some of the lowest in the world. By closing our borders on 19 March 2020, our once thriving tourism and heritage industry all but disappeared. As the situation, and lockdowns, progressed, New Zealand heritage professionals were forced to adapt their approach to, and within, our local, regional, and national museums and heritage institutions. National Treasures can be seen as demonstrative of the response of the GLAM (Galleries, Libraries, Archives, and Museums) sector in shifting to a greater inward focus on New Zealand, and to New Zealanders, as they sought new nets of potential visitors following the total loss of international tourist revenue.

At its very core, National Treasures is a show about New Zealanders for New Zealanders. Made with support from NZ On Air and Te Māngai Pāho, the program embodies the GLAM sector's response to combatting closed doors and changed practices post-COVID—it recognizes that it must appeal to New Zealanders to succeed, both as a television show and as an exhibit representing one hundred years of our nation's history. Elizabeth Wood has proffered the idea that “the exhibition content that reflects localized interests and multiple perspectives aids museums in promoting visitor-oriented meaning-making” (Wood 2009: 25). National Treasures collates New Zealand taonga that can represent New Zealanders in many different ways, and through this process (by producing the show) Kiwi viewers are able to connect to some form of inherent New Zealand identity and sense of belonging. This connection is where the meaning-making lies. What enables the taonga that National Treasures presents to hold such connective potential is the story they tell; and pivotal to understanding this power is how we define what “treasures,” or taonga, are.

On a basic level, “taonga” can be defined as property, a treasure, or something highly prized (McCarthy 2018: 217). When it comes to further expanding on this description, it has been noted that, “much ink has been spilt trying to describe this most complex and elusive of Māori concepts” (McCarthy 2011: 132). In his institutional history of the first twenty years of Te Papa, Conal McCarthy's approach to clearing some of this mist around the concept of taonga was to present the views of some of the (then) current Māori professionals working within the museum. These various definitions remain useful in a consideration of taonga more generally, and in this case, in relation to the treasures that National Treasures presents on television. Huhana Smith, a former curator, spoke of taonga as: “Anything tangible or intangible to do with the accumulated value with regards to people's relations to it, including objects, stories, whenua, [and] awa” (Huhana Smith, cited in McCarthy 2018: 132). Smith's somewhat all-encompassing definition of taonga enables us to see that the potential for something to be taonga or a treasure is ever present, with the perceived, inherent, or accumulated value a person ascribes to something being that which crystalizes its status as taonga.

The sentiment that underpins Huhana Smith's definition of taonga is reflected by both Stacey and Scotty Morrison (National Treasures’ co-hosts) in their own discussions of what taonga is, and what the kind of treasures were that the show was seeking out to display. Stacey stated that, “Things aren't important… it's about taonga, or valuable treasure, however you perceive that to be” (Barry Hill 2021), thus highlighting the importance of value ascribed to artifacts (in the multiple forms they come) in turning them into treasures. Scotty's opinion on taonga that hold importance for all of Aotearoa New Zealand is similarly centered by the significance of the value given to them through the act of storytelling. “Things become national treasures when the backstory becomes important,” he said, “when the backstory links us to our past and educates us about who we are” (Barry Hill 2021). The way in which National Treasures facilitates, and is structured around, storytelling in relation to taonga is where the show really succeeds in presenting accessible, interesting, representative, and emotional public history. One of the show's experts, Nina Finigan, remarked: “We all know this, but you realize history truly is made up of people, and their stories. It's very obvious and beautiful and sad all at once” (Victoria University of Wellington Te Herenga Waka 2021). These histories have staying power due to the way in which they have been told—i.e., by those New Zealanders who brought their taonga to Auckland Museum to be assessed by the program's experts in the first place, and who helped humanize these parts of our history, allowing viewers of the show to also make personal connections with them.

In his chapter titled “Fabricating Heritage” for the edited collection Cultural Heritage, David Lowenthal argued that, “Heritage like life history must be above all our very own. Only a heritage that is clearly ours is worth having” (Lowenthal 2007: 119). In Lowenthal's view, then, heritage and the histories that museums and cultural institutions tell must be representative of a particular group, community, or even nation to hold any real value. Following this perspective, National Treasures needed to ensure that the storytelling it did around the taonga it displayed to the nation was, therefore, in some ways representative of the nation (or the audience) it was screening to in order for the show to attain any cultural hold. National Treasures curated a wide range of stories to represent different parts of New Zealand society—something that will be discussed more extensively below—and essential to the object of making this history “ours” in a New Zealand context is the centrality of kaupapa Māori (Māori issues, topics) in the show.

A Māori presence is felt throughout National Treasures. Te reo Māori (the Māori language) is seamlessly integrated into discussions between visitors and experts, within the group of experts themselves, and even into Stacey Morrison's opening remarks—which are presented in English and te reo Māori. The use of te reo Māori—and the choice to not translate certain phrases or conversations—seems very purposeful. While Stacey's opening speech does end with an expression of cultures coming together—“Kia putikitiki te taurahere tangata. Kia mau, kia renarena | Our diverse cultures bound together through threads of history”—National Treasures makes it clear to viewers that underpinning most, if not all, of the stories told, and heritage described, is Māori history. In his 2015 article “New Zealand History is Māori History”, Nēpia Mahuika proposed that “New Zealand historians, and some Māori historians too, must realize that all New Zealand history is relevant to Māori and that Māori are relevant in all New Zealand histories” (Mahuika 2015: 6). Mahuika stated that in order for ethical historical scholarship to occur in Aotearoa New Zealand, tikanga, and the recognition of the above statement, must be the foundations of any history produced (Mahuika 2015: 5). From this outlook, Māori are brought back into the national, nation-making, and national identity narratives. In a nationally broadcast show calling itself National Treasures, Mahuika's approach is therefore essential in the creation of public history for a New Zealand audience.

The presence of Māori history discussed amongst Māori and for a Māori audience can be seen in parts of National Treasures. For instance, it is often the case on the show that when taonga was brought in by Māori kaitiaki to Auckland Museum, the discussion with the museum expert was held in te reo Māori. Māori were thus able to speak to their own histories and taonga in the way of their choosing. In the first episode, for example, Stacey took on the expert role in the segment with the great-grandson of Wiremu Kerekere, Manaia, who had brought along the case used by his tipuna (ancestor) during his time in Māori Radio Broadcasting. Wiremu Kerekere was involved in iwi (tribal) broadcasting, and was also a trailblazing figure in national radio during the early period of the revitalization of te reo Māori broadcasting (National Treasures episode 1). Therefore, the fact that Stacey and Manaia are able to kōrero (discuss) Wiremu in te reo is intrinsically related to, and reflective of, the history the selected taonga represents.

In the second episode, Scotty, during one of his travels across the country to visit the taonga that “couldn't quite make it [to the museum] on the day” (National Treasures, episode 2), met with Hinerangi Puru, the daughter of Dame Whina Cooper. They spoke about the pouwhenua (staff) that was carried at the front of the 1975 Land March, and that is now held at Waitangi. Here, in such a historically significant place (Waitangi), and with such a prominent wāhine Māori, the use of te reo is utterly natural and entirely pertinent to the narrative the taonga speaks to. Additionally, there are other examples of Māori-specific taonga throughout the show—such as a flag from the occupation of Bastion Point, and the watch of Sir Syd Jackson—but the broader point is that even in the stories of taonga that do not quite so obviously have a connection to Māori as these examples had, te reo is still utilized, and so are tikanga (cultural practices) around Kaitiakitanga (stewardship) and respect. National Treasures thus demonstrates how Mahuika's point about the responsibility of all to recognize all New Zealand history as Māori history can be put into practice.

Much has been said by museum professionals and practitioners about biculturalism within museums in Aotearoa New Zealand (McCarthy 2011, 2018; Tamarapa 1996). Whilst this review will not delve into a discussion of this discourse, we can see how the notion of biculturalism itself in this context also feeds into Mahuika's ideas around New Zealand history being Māori history, and the responsibility of all New Zealanders— but particularly Pākehā (European New Zealanders)—to recognize this. When it comes to National Treasures, the ways in which it embraces kaupapa Māori help to subvert the traditional ways national New Zealand histories have been told—especially prior to the period of the “Māori Renaissance” in the late twentieth century, and particularly in large-scale, encyclopedia-style written versions of New Zealand's history.

Discussions about biculturalism within the New Zealand context do also throw up questions around how the nation is defined. In fact, certain museologists see the next steps beyond the paradigm of biculturalism to be “bi-nationalism,” and the recognition of a self-determined Māori nation existing alongside a Pākehā/settler nation (McCarthy 2018: 141). National Treasures provokes certain parallel questions in relation to definitions of a nation in several ways. Firstly through its own name—National Treasures—which leads onto a second consideration of who makes up that nation and whose treasures are being put on display on a nationally broadcast television channel (as well as online via OnDemand), and also, consequently, in the national museum, Te Papa. The production of National Treasures has been very timely—and perhaps responsive to—discourse about the concept of nations as prompted by the indiscriminate global pandemic experienced in 2020 (which is still ongoing as of this writing). “COVID helped us redefine ourselves,” Stacey Morrison remarked; “We're constantly redefining who we are as a nation” (Barry Hill 2021). The pandemic has, especially in the way in which New Zealand specifically has experienced it, forced somewhat of a reckoning in terms of forcing us to rethink our own identity as Aotearoa New Zealand, and as New Zealanders, in a time when we have become very much physically isolated—more so than normal—from the rest of the world.

Another layer of this “nation” story also comes in the form of the historic challenges from marginalized groups to museums for their recognition from, and within, such institutions. Sharon Macdonald described how this “emphasis upon museums as projections of identity, together with the idea of museums as ‘contested terrains,’ has become increasingly salient over the past decade” (Macdonald 1996: 10). The stories told in National Treasures, through the taonga shared with the experts (and the viewers), also reflects this expansion within museums of the kinds of people, groups, and identities their collections and exhibitions show. The program has experts talking with the kaitiaki (guardians) of taonga about the many aspects of our past. They speak to the nation's sporting history— through treasures such as a Black Magic jacket from New Zealand's winning America's Cup in 1995, and the hat and jacket of New Zealand's first Māori Olympic skier, Simon Wi Rutene, through to New Zealand fashion history—with examples of costumes from the set of the 1980s show Gloss, and the “Power Jacket” made by the artist Rachel Rawlins, worn by MP Louisa Wall in Parliament during the 125^th anniversary of women's suffrage in New Zealand (National Treasures episode 3). Taonga display our music history too, with a framed ticket from Bob Marley and the Wailers’ only New Zealand show (National Treasures episode 2), and a pin from a Front Lawn show (National Treasures episode 3), as well as our queer history, with taonga such as Hero magazines (National Treasures episode 1) and the first Civil Union certificate issued for a same-sex couple in 2005 (National Treasures episode 4).

Through telling these varied stories, National Treasures reflects the “diverse cultures” that Stacey stated are bound together through history, and also through the act of telling their stories. Histories of Pasifika communities in New Zealand are aired on the show through a number of taonga. In fact, one of the most emotional moments in the show comes in the first episode, when expert Oscar Knightley interviews a teacher about the treasure he had brought along—floor boards from his school that covered a hiding place where young Pacific teens were able to hide from immigration officials during the dark period of New Zealand's history that was the Dawn Raids (1974–1976) (National Treasures episode 1). Though Knightley himself had not experienced the raids, he knew many who had (Barry Hill 2021); and as a Kiwi of Samoan heritage, the emotional weight that such seemingly average objects—wooden planks—held, due to the history they represented, really impacted Knightley: it brought him to tears (National Treasures episode 1). Emotions run high throughout the program—from joy through to grief, and everything in between—and inform the way in which the public history told on the show is portrayed.

The purposeful targeting of viewer emotions is perhaps revealing of the ways National Treasures aims to unite New Zealanders through some kind of formation of a “national identity.” “We need to talk about these histories, as hard as they may be,” Matariki Williams, one of the show's experts, stated, “and having that told at a personal level is really important” (Victoria University of Wellington Te Herenga Waka 2021). The power of this combination of emotive and personal storytelling is most clearly demonstrated through the histories of disaster that some of the taonga tell—i.e., the taonga that already represent moments in which national identity and unity were tested or put on display. By mixing in these stories amongst those of treasures of a lighter nature—such as the props taken from the set of Lord of the Rings (National Treasures episode 2)—the show is able to bring together these somewhat disparate histories to form a more cohesive attempt at a definition of a New Zealand identity, an identity made up of these diverse stories, histories, and the groups that the taonga and narratives represent.

Steve Anderson suggested that television, and the capacity to re-examine and revisit such dark histories, has the therapeutic capacity to express, and also perhaps exorcise, a nation's collective trauma (Anderson 2001: 32). National Treasures facilitates this “therapy” through the telling of stories relating to the 2011 Christchurch Earthquakes—with the clothes worn by, and body tag given to, a woman who survived the collapse of the PGC Building (National Treasures episode 2). The concept of taonga is also presented by Scotty in Christchurch through his discussions with women who lost loved ones during the 2019 Christchurch mosque shootings, and who had brought along taonga owned by their lost whānau (family)—such as a medal and a football—and that also encapsulated the community response to this tragedy—i.e., the messages written by children and left by the mosques (National Treasures episode 1). Intangible taonga are also presented, such as the elderly man who turned his journal notes about the Tanigwai Railway Disaster of 1953, which he witnessed as a child, into a waiata (song) that captures the raw emotions of shock and grief about that event that he still feels to this day (National Treasures episode 1). The handcrafted diorama of a COVID-19 1:00 p.m. Press Conference meeting made out of recycled materials—with a recycled PM Jacinda Ardern and Director General of Health Ashley Bloomfield to boot—brings us back to our most recent national crisis and trauma (National Treasures episode 4). This taonga in particular shows the capacity for treasures to facilitate a form of therapy by working through, and also representing, those hard parts of our past in a New Zealand that has been intrinsically changed by this event. As Oscar Knightley commented, National Treasures is not just a “puff piece approach to history;” it works through some difficult but crucial parts of our past through its presentation of New Zealand history on screen, for the benefit of (and with respect for) all New Zealanders.

National Treasures airs New Zealand's past in a way that enables New Zealanders to come together and bond through the ways in which our diverse histories differ, but also intersect, and speak to a number of shared experiences that we have had as a nation. Though the show culminated in an exhibition at Te Papa, the form of storytelling around taonga that seemed most effective, and accessible, was that in its televised form. The traditional museum exhibit, whilst free, was only open at the national museum in Wellington for just over a month (8 March–18 April 2021), and lacked some of that real human connection that so brought the taonga to life in the television show. Even Jock Phillips—who was one of the experts on the show—noted in his book Making Histories: A New Zealand Story the ways in which digital mediums and those beyond white-walled exhibitions can be more effective in engaging a broader audience by bringing history to life in an immediate way (Phillips 2019: 306).

Though the television program and the resulting Te Papa exhibition represent many histories of a wide range of New Zealanders through the taonga and the stories they tell (and that are told about them), there do remain certain gaps in the national picture presented. “While television presents images of the national to the citizens of a territory,” Shuchi Kothari, Sarina Pearson, and Nabeel Zuberi (2004) noted, “it ‘hides’ or marginalizes images and stories that are not considered central to national identity.” Those most notably “hidden” in National Treasures are our disabled communities (Lodge 2021), and also our more recent refugee and migrant communities. The reasons as to why they were excluded is perhaps telling of how these groups are viewed in the nation-making narratives we tell ourselves, with their absence also underlining the criticisms members of these communities laid against the government for lack of specific attention and information provided to them during the COVID-19 lockdowns. A nation is made up of a great many moving parts, and this in part explains why a four-episode run of a show purporting to display the nation's treasures fails to address all these groups. In the future, however, it is important to recognize those that remain excluded from public histories of a nation, even if that story itself has already expanded and diversified greatly from the monocultural Pākehā history it once was.

National Treasures reflects New Zealand's inward turn in examining the nature of our nation, as prompted by the situation forced upon us following the pandemic. With international tourists, particularly international museum visitors, out of the picture for now, New Zealanders have the benefit of being more able to tell, and focus on, our own histories for ourselves. Through this process—and through programs such as National Treasures—the role of taonga in representing and creating a nation/New Zealand national identity has become ever clearer.

Ailish Wallace-Buckland,

Victoria University of Wellington

Waikato Museum / Te Whare Taonga o Waikato, Hamilton, New Zealand, 14 September 2019–10 October 2021

From the darkness, a quickening echoes where potential resides.

Here is the place of non-linear time where past, present and future meet.

A womb of creation,

where gestation of life is given substance.

Guided by our ancestors, we are transformed into future potential.

Pō/Te Po holds the divine feminine and the beginnings of all life from the first single-celled organism, bringing us into the world in which we live today.¹

Descending toward the exhibition mirrors lowering into Rarohenga, the realm of Hine-nui-i-te-pō,² the Maaori guardian of the dead. I look to the left and there is our waka taua (war canoe), Te Winika, her tauihu (prow) facing our ancestral awa (river) Waikato. Te Atairangi Kaahu, the late Maaori Queen, gifted her to Waikato Museum Te Whare Taonga o Waikato. To the right, the gown of waahine toa (warrior woman) Tuaiwa “Eva” Rickard, our renowned activist. Straight ahead, the waharoa (gateway) with cascading and life-giving wai (water) projected over the opening to te pō (the darkness, night). I am surrounded by the essence and impact of waahine toa.

One year in the making, this collaboration between Te Whare Taonga o Waikato and the University of Waikato Te Whare Waananga o Waikato smashes through prevalent mistruths on multiple levels. Using the exhibition for research dissemination, E Hina e! E Hine e! Mana Waahine Maaori/Maoli of Past, Present and Future brings into the public realm the indagations of Dr. Nālani Wilson-Hokowhitu (Kanaka Maoli), Dr. Aroha Yates-Smith (Te Arawa, Tainui, Horouta, Takitimu, Mataatua), and Curator Poutiaki Whakataki Maree Mills (Ngāti Tūwharetoa). The multimedia approach and density of content overload the mind and senses, leaving a lasting impact and encouraging deeper foraging and return visits.

The keystone of the exhibition is the celebration of the female essence, where the female voice takes center stage, supported by artworks, taaonga (treasures), fashion, and video. Presented from staunchly Maaori and Kanaka Maoli³ perspectives, the exhibition is deeply imbedded with recurring Pasifika symbols and motifs that have literally been built into the triangle doorways,⁴ koru layout,⁵ and multiple entries that support Maaori and Kanaka Maoli non-linear conceptualizations of time. The physicality of the space portrays the journey of all life from its beginnings in the womb of te kore (the void) through to today, reiterating the mana (power) that women hold as the bearers of life and death.

Housed in the pito/piko (umbilical cord, navel) and na‘au (gut) of the exhibition is Taumata Atua (Resting Place of a God), a wood figure, circa 1500–1800 (see Figure 1). Unearthed on a Waikato farm, she has been connected to renowned female warrior leader Koura, as well as to the unborn child and to fertility due to her fetal form. It is around this Taumata Atua that the exhibition is formed. The na‘au is the seat of knowledge, where our instincts begin (Noyes 2018: 376).

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Taumata Atua. Unknown maker. Wood. Circa 1500–1800. Photograph by Jon Primmer.

Citation: Museum Worlds 9, 1; 10.3167/armw.2021.090113

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This “gut feeling” is valued in both Maaori and Hawaiian cultures, as is the pito/piko from which we are first grown and sustained through this connection with our mothers in the womb. It is also within the womb that we are, in the beginning, in a state of gender flux: “In the beginning, in Te Ao Maaori, male and female were a single being, undivided … The tikanga of gender balance in Maaori are multiple and many” (Salmond 2018). By amplifying the voice of Indigenous Pasifika women, E Hina e! E Hine e! attempts to reclaim the centrality of waahine/women in our Indigenous stories and knowledge, presenting from floor to ceiling with immense gusto our overwhelmingly feminine force in various iterations, as if to counter almost two centuries of marginalization. E Hina e! E Hine e! sets out to both correct our historical narrative and reconnect us to the feminine atua/akua (divine ancestors) embodiments and mo‘olelo (stories). To repair the fragmentation of our culture and its teachings, we need to first restore balance to our Indigenous knowledge and reconnect to a complete version of our whakapapa/mo‘okū‘auhau (genealogy).

It is no secret that since colonization—and historically—men have dominated positions of power, and society has perpetuated patriarchal hegemony both actively and passively. Only recently have we fully begun exposing myths of gender roles in pre-colonial Aotearoa and the lasting impact they have had on Maaori women. Furthermore, the androcentric and Eurocentric early writings of Elsdon Best through to Berys N. Heuer perpetuated a negative view of Maaori women (Ralston 1993), creating an illusory truth effect as the repeated citing of these biases made them appear more credible. The male voice dominated and the female was omitted in what Yates-Smith calls “displacement of the feminine” (G. R. Yates-Smith 2018).

As Maaori life was sequestered further, our people absorbed a new, more patricentric belief system, the lessons of the puuraakau, and pakiwaitara (stories) of our waahine akua/atua became less known. Saved by the meticulous efforts of our tuupuna/kūpuna (ancestors) to maintain them, and of contemporary academics, who have dedicated themselves to recovering this knowledge, E Hina e! E Hine e! provides an elevated platform from which to begin the repatriation of these cloistered koorero (stories) into common knowledge. It is an important step in the right direction toward self-representation and re-establishing balance, as well as being a glorious irony that this platform is in a museum, considering museums’ andro/eurocentric genesis:⁶ “Most of our deities and elements shift between that feminine and that masculine, that Kū and that Hinā. Within even the element itself. It depends on what your purpose and intention is. So being able to flow back and forth is very, very, very important” (Kanoelani Davis, quoted in “Laka,” Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020a). Balance in all things is essential to Maaori and Kanaka Maoli worldviews, and this balance of gender in our atua/akua, environment and selves is shared with our Pasifika cousins. E Hina e! E Hine e! focuses on the power of our female deities, as te whare taangata (the house of humankind) protectors and as repositories for knowledge. The post-colonial phenomenon of elevating the role of a singular supreme male entity known as “Io” to prominence, and the reduction or outright removal of female influence in our stories have destroyed this balance, neutralizing female power and inflating male power (Mikaere 2019: 10).

An example is Hine-nui-i-te-pō, who has been misrepresented over time as the antithesis of life in order to make her power appear negative and frightening. However, her true story about her evolution from Hine-tiitama (goddess of dawn), through trauma, to choosing to become our guide at our most vulnerable, is particularly poignant and empowering. Hine-tiitama and Hine-moana embody the reality of this transition. Heartbroken, Hine-tiitama is comforted by Hine-moana, who enwraps her body as she heals. Dancer Bianca Hyslop and photographer Terri Ripeka Crawford capture the absolute deterioration of the world for Hine-tiitama, showing her softer more tender side and reminding us that it is from this place that she became our guide after death (see Figure 2), from a place of manaaki (care and protection), not revenge or anger. It is here, too, that she is complemented by Taane, who she compelled to stay and care for us, her children, in the living world. It is also important to note that this piece is placed beside the pito/piko of the exhibition, echoing that this transformation is something of a rebirth.

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“Hine-tiitama and Hine-moana” by Terri Ripeka Crawford (Ngaati Porou, Ngaati Kahungunu, Ngaai Tuuhoe), Director/Photographer/Choreographer, and Bianca Hyslop (Te Arawa), Dancer.

Citation: Museum Worlds 9, 1; 10.3167/armw.2021.090113

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If a waahine atua could not be made into a fearful deity, she was not recorded at all. The trope of the male warrior Maaori atua is so prevalent, that even to mention that they had complementary female counterparts of equal status elicits exclamations of surprise. As our Indigenous worldviews formed around the observation of the natural world, and the natural world is constantly presenting the continuation and evolution of life through complementary forces, be that cisgender, gender fluid, or by two opposing elements, it is rational to suppose we mirrored that within our cosmology as well.

E Hina e! E Hine e! seeks to restore gender complementarity and balance with the belief that this will create pathways to a sustainable future and may even be the key to our survival on this planet. Yates-Smith believes the benefits of knowing our waahine atua are that our women are empowered (A. Yates-Smith 2019a: 52), and empowered women are an asset to their communities and society. It could also encourage the adoption of a holistic Maaori worldview and a reconnection with spiritual knowledge. This could help taangata whenua (Indigenous peoples)⁷ cope with the pressures of materialistic standards of modern living and realign our focus with metaphysical and physical well-being (A. Yates-Smith 2019a: 56). We could also learn to value the view that we are holistically connected to our natural world through whakapapa and our responsibilities as part of this genealogy: “The consequences may have impact not only on the cultural, social and political scene but also on the environment, with people adopting a more caring and informed attitude toward Nature, thus affirming the importance of Papa and her offspring” (A. Yates-Smith 2019a: 56–57). Understanding how these stories support caring for our environment begins with understanding the importance of whanaungatanga (connectedness and kinship) through our whakapapa. These connections are nurtured through principles of manaakitanga (hospitality and caring), and kaitiakitanga (guardianship). It “sets forth a series of rights and responsibilities, commitments and obligations, and supports a collective purpose” (Wilson-Hokowhitu 2012).

Maaori and Kanaka Maoli trace whakapapa through to our primordial parents at the beginning of time, including all elements of the natural world not only as ancestors, but also as our elders. Connecting ourselves by using familial ties in this way acknowledges a whaanau/‘ohana (family) relationship with all life around us. Therefore, as we are connected to the familial group, we have responsibilities as part of that collective. E Hina e! E Hine e! presents six video narratives that address these connections in various ways.

The first is “Po‹ele and Kumulipo” (Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020d), which plays just after te pō as we enter into the realm of the elemental waahine atua/akua in our water, our volcanic activity, and our lands. Here, Maile Naehu (Kanaka Maoli) explains the Kumulipo, a Hawaiian creation chant that comprises 2165 lines. This chant was composed for an ali‘i (ruling chief) to show his genealogy back to the beginning of time through to the birth of life with Kumulipo (male element) and Po‘ele (female element). Maile explains that this humbles us as humans, because in the grand scheme of time, we have come at the end and everything before us is to be regarded as elders.

Continuing through, we come to “Parawhenuamea,” written and performed by Aroha Yates-Smith (2019b). Based on whakapapa and koorero, she describes the converging of Taane (deity of the forests) and Hinetuuparimaunga (deity of the mountains) to form puna (spring), bringing forth our deity Para-whenua-mea, embodied as our life-sustaining groundwaters. This is reiterated throughout the exhibition and reinforces women's role as uukaipoo (the source of sustenance). Natalie Robertson's short film “Puna Manawa Wai o Tikawa, Te Puna o Rangitauaki” (n.d.) (Te Rimu), depicts her ancestral spring, valued and protected as the source of life. Regan Balzer's artwork Toi tuu te Whenua, Whatu Ngarongaro te Tangata: People Come and Go but the Land Remains (n.d.) further supports Yates-Smith's koorero linking Parawhenuamea to Pelehonuamea of Hawai‘i. We also see the visual embodiment in Hinetuparimaunga by Ripeka Terri Crawford in her production still from her te reo Maaori opera Goddess.

After the creation of our elemental deities come our human ancestors. “Hineahuone” (Tuffery 2020) tells of the creation of the first woman at Kurawaka. Beginning in te kore, the nothingness from which all life emerged in stages, this piece is told through a stunningly filmed sand art animation depicting how Hineahuone herself was shaped from the earth, reinforcing our connection to the land. The placement of this piece before the pito of the exhibition was particularly interesting. As a Maaori viewer, this reiterated for me Hineahuone as our first waahine, who was formed of the earth of our goddess Papatuaanuku, not born of the body. It would make sense that she would emerge before the pito with this logic.

“Laka” (Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020a) presents a very direct human connection with Laka, the Hawaiian ancestor of hula and the forest. Kanoelani Davis explains, as she makes a head lei from the fern palapalai, that it is the kinolau (one of many bodies) of Laka. She reiterates that caring for these kinolau is caring for ourselves, highlighting our dependence on our environment to survive. This care and concern for our environment is mirrored in Ka ‘Opua ā Hina (see Figure 3), by Maile Andrade (Kanaka Maoli), which fills the space near “Laka” from floor to ceiling. Guided by the mo‘olelo of Hina making such fine kapa (bark cloth), the clouds are attributed as her work. Ka ‘Opua ā Hina invites us to immerse ourselves in the finely beaten kapa sheets that dangle from the ceiling and sway as we walk by, their fragility emphasizing their beauty and mimicking the delicate nature of the world around us.

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Installation view of E Hina e! E Hine e! Mana Waahine Maaori/Maoli of Past, Present and Future exhibition, Waikato Museum Te Whare Taonga o Waikato, 14 September 2019–10 October 2021. On the left is Toi tuu te Whenua, Whatu Ngarongaro te Tangata: People Come and Go but the Land Remains by Regan Balzer (Te Arawa, Ngaati Ranginui, Ngaati Kirihika, Ngaati Maniapoto). In the center background is Ka ‘Opua ā Hina by Maile Andrade (Kanaka Maoli).

Citation: Museum Worlds 9, 1; 10.3167/armw.2021.090113

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“Moloka‘i Nui a Hina” (Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020b) extends this interconnectivity. It opens with Maile Naehu and Kanoelani Davis (Kanaka Maoli) performing songs about Hina and her island child, Moloka‘i. Their mo‘olelo are loaded with lessons and understandings from antiquity. Maile explains how when Moloka‘i was born, Hina needed to ensure her island child had everything it needed and so provided fresh water, the requirement for all life. It is no coincidence that our ancestors recognized the many forms of water as manifestations of the divine feminine. We are grown in the safety of water inside our mothers’ wombs, the breaking of which signals our emergence from te pō into te ao maarama (the world of light), in which we now reside.

Finally, we are brought into the modern day with “Moloka‘i Nui a Hina—Creative Activation” (Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020c), which presents contemporary manifestations of these understandings in business, clothing design, slam poetry, and hip hop. For Kanoelani Davis, this means acknowledging the different forms of Hina across all time, and Hina's role in society and the world itself; she embeds her designs with the mo‘olelo and messages of all Hina. Maile Naehu continues this, infusing poetry and hip hop with mo‘olelo. Her goal is to build a new generation of “guardians” who are strongly grounded in their identity. Coupled with a global consciousness, Maile explains, these leaders can save the planet: “If we understood the kinolau of laka, then that way we understood that we need to take care of it as if we need to take care of ourselves” (Kanoelani Davis, quoted in “Laka,” Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020a). Looking back through recent history, one does not have to look far to see modern manifestations of our waahine akua/atua in our contemporary women. Tuaiwa Rickard, Whina Cooper, Meri Mangakahia, Te Puea Hērangi, Pania Newton, and Pua Case, to name a few, have all led political movements to better the collective whole. As Maile Naehu knows, it is our descendants who will lead our people; therefore, it is important that they are grounded in their identity, understand the stories of their ancestors, and are globally conscious.

Further supporting this view, Natalie Robertson sees the potential that such reconnection may “offer models that could cultivate creative environmental revitalisation and restitution internationally” (Robertson n.d). As Regan Balzer's work states—Toi tuu te Whenua, Whatu Ngarongaro te Tangata: People Come and Go but the Land Remains—we have placed ourselves above everything else, deluded that we are superior to the elements and arrogant enough to believe we can control everything. However, if we are to continue to survive on this planet, we need to seriously reconsider our position in relation to the natural world and actively begin to repair the balance our ancestors knew was important so long ago. “Honor her and she will honor you” (Kanoelani Davis, quoted in “Moloka‘i Nui a Hina,” Wilson-Hokowhitu 2020b).

From a Maaori viewer's perspective, E Hina e! E Hine e! is so thoroughly imbued with our Indigenous voice that the exhibition can, at times, feel like it is speaking to us privately—not in such a way as to exclude non-Indigenous peoples, but in acknowledgement that we are our own voice and that what we have to say is important. It is validating and empowering to have an exhibition that is for you, rather than about you. By reconnecting with koorero and mo‘olelo of waahine atua/akua that debunk the constructed devalued position of waahine in Indigenous societies, it presents an opportunity to further decolonize our thinking and find inspiration in more accurate interpretations of our stories. We cannot do this with only half of our koorero. Adopting an Indigenous, more egalitarian mindset, informed by the complementary relationships of our atua/akua based on reciprocity, manaakitanga and kaitiakitanga, is a powerful step in the right direction.

He waahine, he whenua, i ngaro ai te tangata.

Without women and land, humanity is lost.⁸

Hollie Tawhiao,

Ngaati Tiipa