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Moko man in a Maori world
“I didn’t decide my moko. But the moko tells my story.”
Te Mairiki Williams - Has chosen the Maori way.
“I live in the Maori world,” says Te Mairiki Williams. He says this because I have asked him about his moko, the tattoo that covers his face. I asked because this is not a usual thing you see these days on the streets of Christchurch, the largest — and most English — South Island city of New Zealand. Or should I say, of Aotearoa — the Maori name for the country. “Land of the Long White Cloud.”
I’m interested because, as with the Kumeyaay people in California, a great resurgence is happening — not just in terms of demands for rights, but also the original culture reasserting itself. And finally, people are buying the idea that a knowledge of Maori can serve as a key to the languages and cultures of the entire Asia-Pacific region. I notice it as soon as I get off the plane: everything is written and spoken in both English and Maori, te reo. On radio and TV, every greeting is spoken in the two languages. Disk jockeys are trained to not mangle Maori names. It is amazing how this changes the atmosphere in the country: it’s not as if everyone is suddenly bilingual, but it matters that they know the essentials of greeting, of etiquette. Suddenly — well, it has taken a couple of decades — New Zealand is out of denial. It recognizes where it lives: on the fringes of Asia and the Pacific, not the edges of Europe. Getting by in Maori is becoming the cool thing to do. People feel this is their culture. The mix.
Te Mairiki Williams and I happened to meet in the aisles of a supermarket named Fresh Choice, and got talking. Mr. Williams clearly has much mana, the unspoken energy, prestige, power and influence that is valued more than money here. It’s not just the elaborate character of his moko. It’s his bearing. It’s the fact that he works in prisons, giving Maori youth a sense of who they are, being a role-model.
“Did you just suddenly decide to get them?” I ask, referring to his moko.
“In the Maori world, there’s no such thing as a decision or a choice,” he says. “You don’t decide. They’ll take you when the ancestors judge you are ready. One of the elders, when I was helping him one time, finished what he was doing, and then he said, ‘Just give me five minutes, I’ll get these [moko instruments] cleaned up, and you’re on next.’ That was it. It was an acknowledgement. It’s a compliment to be considered worthy of a moko. Worthy for your ancestors to pass it on. I didn’t decide my moko. But the moko tells my story. The elders are like professors. They know.”
Mr. Williams says he doesn’t go outside the Maori world. “I do traditional artwork, traditional weaponry, physical activities. I teach. That is my main connection. I’m thoroughly connected to who I am, to my ancestors, I acknowledge them first and foremost. The protocol, the well-being. The pathways are established.”
Much of his time, he’s motivating Maori youth. “I tell them: ‘When our ancestors left Havaiki, their homeland, to come to New Zealand, they were all alcohol-, tobacco-, drug-, and violence-free, and, they were healthy! Able to live into their 90s.’ I say to the kids: ‘What brand of smokes did our ancestors bring when they came from Havaiki?’ None, of course, none.”
So yeah. A lot has happened since I’ve been away in California. This is the new New Zealand. Guess I’d better find out how people say “G’day” these days.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Moko man in a Maori world
“I didn’t decide my moko. But the moko tells my story.”
Moko man in a Maori world
“I didn’t decide my moko. But the moko tells my story.”
Te Mairiki Williams - Has chosen the Maori way.
“I live in the Maori world,” says Te Mairiki Williams. He says this because I have asked him about his moko, the tattoo that covers his face. I asked because this is not a usual thing you see these days on the streets of Christchurch, the largest — and most English — South Island city of New Zealand. Or should I say, of Aotearoa — the Maori name for the country. “Land of the Long White Cloud.”
I’m interested because, as with the Kumeyaay people in California, a great resurgence is happening — not just in terms of demands for rights, but also the original culture reasserting itself. And finally, people are buying the idea that a knowledge of Maori can serve as a key to the languages and cultures of the entire Asia-Pacific region. I notice it as soon as I get off the plane: everything is written and spoken in both English and Maori, te reo. On radio and TV, every greeting is spoken in the two languages. Disk jockeys are trained to not mangle Maori names. It is amazing how this changes the atmosphere in the country: it’s not as if everyone is suddenly bilingual, but it matters that they know the essentials of greeting, of etiquette. Suddenly — well, it has taken a couple of decades — New Zealand is out of denial. It recognizes where it lives: on the fringes of Asia and the Pacific, not the edges of Europe. Getting by in Maori is becoming the cool thing to do. People feel this is their culture. The mix.
Te Mairiki Williams and I happened to meet in the aisles of a supermarket named Fresh Choice, and got talking. Mr. Williams clearly has much mana, the unspoken energy, prestige, power and influence that is valued more than money here. It’s not just the elaborate character of his moko. It’s his bearing. It’s the fact that he works in prisons, giving Maori youth a sense of who they are, being a role-model.
“Did you just suddenly decide to get them?” I ask, referring to his moko.
“In the Maori world, there’s no such thing as a decision or a choice,” he says. “You don’t decide. They’ll take you when the ancestors judge you are ready. One of the elders, when I was helping him one time, finished what he was doing, and then he said, ‘Just give me five minutes, I’ll get these [moko instruments] cleaned up, and you’re on next.’ That was it. It was an acknowledgement. It’s a compliment to be considered worthy of a moko. Worthy for your ancestors to pass it on. I didn’t decide my moko. But the moko tells my story. The elders are like professors. They know.”
Mr. Williams says he doesn’t go outside the Maori world. “I do traditional artwork, traditional weaponry, physical activities. I teach. That is my main connection. I’m thoroughly connected to who I am, to my ancestors, I acknowledge them first and foremost. The protocol, the well-being. The pathways are established.”
Much of his time, he’s motivating Maori youth. “I tell them: ‘When our ancestors left Havaiki, their homeland, to come to New Zealand, they were all alcohol-, tobacco-, drug-, and violence-free, and, they were healthy! Able to live into their 90s.’ I say to the kids: ‘What brand of smokes did our ancestors bring when they came from Havaiki?’ None, of course, none.”
So yeah. A lot has happened since I’ve been away in California. This is the new New Zealand. Guess I’d better find out how people say “G’day” these days.
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