Tag: Māori

To the future helpers who serve without cost

We step into some roles not for glory but because we feel called. To teach, heal, and walk alongside someone in their hardest season. But what happens when the cost of showing up exceeds what we are willing to give?

How can we uplift mana-enhancing spaces, by Māori for Māori, by Pasifika for Pasifika, when our hauora (mental, physical, financial) is stretched to its limits?

In Aotearoa, we ask students who train to become social workers, counsellors, teachers, nurses, and midwives to voluntarily dedicate months to unpaid placements.

Some students benefit from privilege, such as supportive parents, a partner to help bridge the gap, a grant, or savings. On the flipside, others experience fatigue from working over 40 hours a week, managing debt, and dealing with mental distress, all while bearing the weight of serving a system that’s not built for our survival.

I’ve been grappling with some thought-provoking questions over the past few weeks. How can we expect students, particularly Māori and Pasifika (as well as female students), to step up as representatives of our communities when the path to serve often requires us to do so without compensation? The heart of the work is rooted in whanaungatanga and alofa/aroha, yet the financial burden of becoming qualified falls on those of us already carrying the heaviest loads.

Why are the professions that are predominantly filled by women and vital to our collective well-being also the most undervalued? We hear about shortages in workers, care, and time. However, perhaps the issue isn’t a shortage at all but rather a system that demands too much while offering too little in return.

I don’t want to delve too far into politics, though the threads of these issues run deep. I just felt compelled to express my thoughts on the importance of fairness, the right to rest, and valuing the mahi that supports our whānau, tamariki, and future.

To everyone I’m talking to – those who have overcome it and those still enduring it – thanks for being warriors for our community. I see you, I appreciate you, and I stand with you.

To those learning to stand tall in their Māoritanga

Ko Whetumatarau rāua ko Maungakaka ōku maunga

Ko Awatere rāua ko Orotua ōku awa

Ko Horouta tōku waka

Ko Hinerupe rāua ko Mātahi o Te Tau ōku marae

Ko te Whānau a Hinerupe ki Waiapu rāua ko te Whānau a Hunaara ōku hapu 

Ko Ngāti Porou tōku iwi

Ko Shannon tōku ingoa

My roots are anchored in the whenua of Te Araroa and Te Tairāwhiti; places woven into the fabric of my childhood, where summers smelt of earth and sea, and where my tūrangawaewae whispered of belonging long before I understood it. These places aren’t just memories; they are part of me, sacred markers of whakapapa, constantly reminding me of where I come from and who I continue to be.

Walking in my Māoritanga hasn’t always been easy. I have fair skin, light hair, and I don’t speak te reo fluently. There have been countless times when I’ve felt I wasn’t “Māori enough” to claim the stories of my tīpuna. That imposter voice can be loud. But I have come to understand that Māoritanga isn’t measured by appearance, blood quantum, or fluency. If you whakapapa Māori, you are Māori.

I recognise my privilege. I know that my fair skin has, in many ways, shielded me from the discrimination and inequity I might otherwise have faced. That reality isn’t lost on me, and I don’t write this to dismiss or downplay it. Alongside that truth, I’ve discovered a deeper sense of purpose and identity through embracing my culture. By standing firm in who I am, I’ve realised that I’m not just honouring myself but also making my family proud.

Reconnecting has been a journey – gentle and fierce all at once. Beginning te reo Māori studies sparked a quiet revolution within me. Receiving my tā moko marked another significant milestone. It carries my grandparents, etched into my skin and forever part of my story.

To anyone wondering if they belong, know this: you do. Your bloodline carries the stories. Your ancestors are proud. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Just keep walking, keep speaking, keep learning. Your Māoritanga is a living inheritance.

Stand tall in it, even when others question you. Especially then. You are the dream of those who came before and the strength of those who are yet to come.

Kia kaha, always.