He Kākano Au: Finding My Way Back

"Am I Māori Enough? A Journey of Whakapapa and Identity"

Understanding Whakapapa

“Hey babe, are you going to wear your new taonga to te reo tonight?”

“Nope, I don’t feel comfortable.”

“You know that’s the place where you should wear it?”

“Really?”

“Really!”

That brief exchange with my partner triggered a louder conversation inside my head: Am I Māori enough?

Reconnecting with one's whakapapa is a remarkable experience. It is a journey into the self, discovering a world rich with layers you never knew you could access. The trouble is that both you and others can get in the way. My understanding of my whakapapa – my Māori self – is a common story of murky history refracted through a colonial lens of blood‑quantum: How Māori are you when you are 1.56 per cent?

My Iwi and Tūpuna

Ko Rangitāne o Wairau te iwi – a small iwi at the top of Te Waipounamu. My tūpuna is Rea Te Rangihiroa, who married Captain Jack Halliday. They had a daughter, Mary Jane Philomena Halliday, who married James Moore and established the well‑known Moore whānau in Johnsonville, Wellington. My mother was born four generations later and, depending on whom you ask in the whānau, only had a vague sense of our Māori ancestry. I always felt a flicker of pride in that hazy connection and would boast about it to friends, but as time passed, I forgot and drifted further from my whakapapa.

Teaching and Awakening

When I began teaching, I was confronted by the hard‑hitting truths of colonial impact on Māori, particularly within education. It was as if a door had begun to open, and I was taking tentative steps towards it. Peering through the frame, I started to see the bigger picture, which prompted deeper questions about my whakapapa. My partner, who is Ngāi Tahu, had already embarked on her journey and encouraged me to step into te ao Māori and illuminate my whakapapa. In 2016, my mum took a job at the University of Otago, and there the light shone brightest: she traced our lineage and registered us with our iwi. The journey had begun.

Public Speaking and Growth

Fast‑forward to 2021. I was teaching at a school in Wellington when I was asked to speak on behalf of the manuhiri at our mihi whakatau. I stood before the kura and wrestled with my whai kōrero and pepeha. The language did not come easily; there is a depth to te reo I could neither feel nor yet understand. During that year, I spoke three more times, and each time I felt a little more Māori.

By the end of the year, my partner and I chose to move to Tāmaki. I secured a position as an RTLB – not just that, but as a member of Pouwhirinaki (Māori RTLB).

Embracing My Identity

There I was, standing at my own mihi whakatau, about to share my pepeha. Nerves swelled within me. I am Māori, I repeated over and over. I stepped forward – and it flowed. The light I had been searching for was there. I was no longer at the doorway; I was in the room.

During that first year, I met someone who would change my life and set me on a new path. This colleague is as Māori as they come: he looks Māori, speaks Māori, and lives Māori. He encouraged me to take the whai kōrero at our mihi whakatau, guiding me on what to say and how to say it. One day, during an in‑depth discussion in the office, he leaned over and said, “Bro, you are Māori. I see you as Māori.”

As RTLB, we often talk about each student having a ‘go‑to’ teacher in their kura; I had found my own go‑to person. As the year unfolded, I began to seek out more. I added a tauparapara from my iwi to my pepeha and led the whai kōrero at our professional development day in front of the late Matua Angus Macfarlane – something I still treasure. Yet the year also forced me to confront issues I had been blind to. My friend and colleague often had to fight for te ao Māori – at work and beyond. I began to see and feel the racist undercurrents that pervade our society. Being Māori is never easy, and I felt guilty: I could move between worlds, but my friend could not; his Māoritanga was always on display. I have not yet found an answer to that guilt.

Expanding My Horizons

The following year, I seized a new opportunity in another cluster, which deepened and enriched my journey. I attended night classes and met non‑Māori who were passionate about embedding and celebrating Te Tiriti o Waitangi. My study became a sounding board for ideas and a safe space to explore te ao Māori further. Even with all that support and aroha, I still did not feel Māori enough. At the end of 2024, my Cluster Manager asked me to become the liaison at the kura kaupapa. I replied with an emphatic yes, yet inside the doubt grew: I felt like an impostor, unworthy of stepping into that space.

Facing Doubts and Fears

A long, lovely summer break did nothing to ease my doubts. As the new year began, I felt deep trepidation about how I could support the kura. In true Māori fashion, I was not alone; the strength of Pouwhirinaki meant I could reach out and be honest about my fears. With a gentle push and some timely words from my friend, I stepped into the role. At the time of writing, I believe I have made a positive start: two terms devoted solely to building relationships within the kura. I am fortunate to have a practice leader who understands that whakawhanaungatanga is not a checklist item – it is an ongoing process.

The Journey Continues

This is a journey. My taonga is now something I wear without thinking; when it is absent, I feel exposed. My taonga tells those who are watching that I am Māori enough.

E kore au e ngaro, he kākano i ruia mai i Rangiātea.

I will never be lost, for I am a seed sown from Rangiātea.

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