Assertions of cultural autonomy: indigenous Maori knowledge in New Zealand's community-based Maungatautari Eco-island project

Abstract

This paper describes, situates and evaluates the use of indigenous knowledge by local Maori stakeholders in the Maungatautari Ecological Island Trust and project, a multi-stakeholder community-based biodiversity conservation project located on New Zealand's North Island. Local Maori groups known as Mana Whenua (subtribes with ancestral rights to certain lands) connect through ancestral and tribal ties to Maungatautari, a prominent mountain in the Waikato region and site of the project. They have with varying success asserted cultural rights and sought for inclusion of cultural protocols and indigenous knowledge. In conjunction with the pursuit of their Waitangi Treaty claim for lost land and rights, this has further (re)constructed and crystallised notions of culture and identity for them. These efforts have and will continue to provide leveraging power to Mana Whenua within the project, which enables them to implement their cultural knowledge and protocols in a “culturally safe” and inclusive multi-stakeholder partnership; accentuate their sociocultural uniqueness from other New Zealanders; and contribute on their own terms to the development of Maungatautari as a compelling ecotourism site and a globally significant biodiversity conservation reserve.

Keywords:

• indigenous knowledge
• community-based biodiversity conservation
• Maori
• multi-stakeholder collaboration

In 2002, the National Geographic Society recognised New Zealand as a globally significant biodiversity “hotspot”, boasting an abnormally wide array of peculiar, endemic “living fossils” which have been and remain the target of what they judged to be some of the more progressive programmes in the world to preserve them (Warne, 2002, pp. 75, 83, 86, 94). Alarmingly, however, though these innovative approaches have operated for decades, most of New Zealand's threatened endemic species continue to decline precipitously: the country's bafflingly unique (and cute) but threatened kiwi bird, for example, has experienced a 30% population drop in the last 25 years, reaching a low of 70,000 birds when once they numbered in the tens of millions (Craig et al., 2000, p. 61; Little, 2014, p. 1; Warne, 2002, pp. 83, 86, 94; Young, 2004, p. 211). Of New Zealand's terrestrial-based bird species, 40% have gone extinct in association with a reduction in forest cover from 78% of the archipelago's land area to 30% post human colonisation (Young, 2004, p. 229).

Craig et al. (2000, pp. 61–62), having examined New Zealand's conservation efforts against the trend of continued biodiversity loss evidenced in declining numbers in populations and extirpations, concluded that failure to overcome the twin challenges of invasive pest and predator species and extensive habitat loss stems less from a lack of suitable science or technology and more from factors firmly situated in the human social and ideological arena. The first of three interrelated factors is the continued presence of preservationist notions (i.e. ideology that calls for preserving endemic species without affixing economic value to them nor allowing for any sort of overlaying multi-stakeholder sustainable use management paradigm) in the legal framework of New Zealand (pp. 61–62). The second factor is the inadequate funding for newer technologies and comprehensive conservation work that needs to be done (pp. 61–62). The third factor is the relatively low levels of conservation undertaken to date through partnerships between government, local community and Maori stakeholders (pp. 61–62). Among a suite of remedies they suggest would begin to turn the trend and better conserve the country's biodiversity is the inclusion of local Maori and their traditional knowledge in community-based and regional partnerships set up to sustainably manage resources and biodiversity (pp. 62, 70). This echoes an existing call from within anthropology which advocates for the inclusion of local and indigenous peoples and their knowledge to create more holistic biodiversity conservation initiatives (Berkes, Johan, & Folke, 2000, pp. 1251, 1254–1256, 1259–1260; Orlove & Brush, 1996, pp. 333–337). Further, Craig et al. (2000, pp. 61–62, 65, 70) suggest a change in New Zealand's laws and policies that affect conservation and the management of natural resources: move away from an ideological/conceptual approach focused on preservationist ends to one focused on achieving a sustainability built on an economic valuing of New Zealand's biota. In aggregate, the solution they present for New Zealand's imperilled biodiversity is the creation of community-based culturally inclusive multi-stakeholder partnerships involving Maori and other local, regional and national stakeholders whose collaborative partnership sustainably manages and protects natural resources and endemic biota. More recently, such a multi-pronged approach was both independently verified and championed in research helmed by Dr Marie Brown and made more publicly digestible to New Zealand readers through exposure in a national newspaper and in a recent book release. The New Zealand Herald’s pithy summary of her collaborative work published in the book Vanishing Nature: Facing New Zealand's Biodiversity Crisis (Brown, Stephens, Peart, & Fedder, 2015) intones the problem is not a scientific one whilst the primary solution for New Zealand's biodiversity woes is to “overhaul legislation, beef up conservation funding and empower all New Zealanders to get involved” (Morton, 2015, p. 1).

A number of partnership projects were in development and/or emerging in New Zealand at the time Craig et al. published in 2000. One of them was the pest-fence-enclosed urban-based reserve Zealandia/Karori Wildlife Sanctuary, located at a repurposed water reservoir in the nation's capital of Wellington. Karori, as it was first called, essentially started in 1995 as the Karori Sanctuary Trust, a community-led project that involved interested individuals from the community, local and regional government, and the Department of Conservation (DOC) as partners and stakeholders. A number of years after its pest fence was completed in 1999, Karori rebranded to “Zealandia” as part of a wider effort to produce a self-sustaining revenue stream. They built an innovative interactive visitors' centre and added a balcony café using a city council loan and developed value-added experiences available for a fee. Public reaction to these changes was not universally positive and the creation of a reliable revenue stream remains elusive. The successful reintroduction of many endemic birds and other species to the area, however, has proven the effectiveness of the science and technology wielded in the project. What controversy and problems it has faced of late, which do have the potential to impact its long-time viability, primarily pertain to issues other than its scientific and ecological viability. Rather, they are situated in the realm of human perceptions of what it is to be in the long term and in public debate over the project's financial viability and unease at ratepayers having to financially buttress it ad infinitum (Morton, 2011, p. 1; Rudman, 2013, p. 1).

Another biodiversity conservation project akin to Karori is the pest-proof fence project known as Maungatautari Ecological Island or Sanctuary Mountain Maungatautari. Situated on the North Island about 26 kilometres south-east of Hamilton City, the project, which officially began in 2002, is a biodiversity conservation project intent on restoring approximately 3400 hectares of Mt. Maungatautari's forest ecosystem (Figure 1). Like Karori, the project relies on a unique barrier fence to keep out predators and pests, allowing nationally threatened endemic biota reintroduced there to thrive in an environment similar to that which they evolved in – no foreign predators and a fecund indigenous forest. It does, however, differ from Karori in a number of important ways. For one, it is not urban-based, nor especially close to or part of any large urban centre. Hamilton City is New Zealand's fourth most populous city, but it is, as mentioned above, 26 kilometres away. It also started differently compared to Karori. Shared interest in restoring the mountain's ecosystems and returning its lost species was gradually cultivated to bring its public, cultural and legal stakeholders together to demarcate and guide the restoration project. Most importantly, it included people from the community who had direct connections to the mountain. Local Maori subtribes who have a long presence there and who have ancestors who lived, died and are buried on the mountain constituted a primary stakeholder. Also included were adjoining landowner-farmers who with their families own sheep, dairy or stock farms on its slopes. A number of them grew up there just as their parents did, and enjoyed the mountain and its forest as their backyard. The project also included interested persons as volunteers who launched and help lead and provide scientific input for the project and served as trustees. Local and regional governmental bodies with statutory authority over the portion of the mountain designated a scenic reserve and which are responsible for the environmental health of the surrounding region warmed to the idea and were included. Also included was the country's DOC due to the responsibility it has to manage wildlife and resources throughout the country.

Figure 1. Maungatautari the mountain and ecological island, near Cambridge, New Zealand, shown south of the Lake Karapiro reservoir portion of the Waikato River. Te Ara, the Encyclopedia of New Zealand (2005–2013). Used with permission.

Together in 2001 they formed the Maungatautari Ecological Island Trust (MEIT) with local Maori and landowner-farmers as the primary stakeholders. Thereafter, they soon conducted a community-wide participatory appraisal and consultation process to gather public opinion and formulate project goals. Following the consultation they declared their formal intent to create an endemic ecological island of the mountain, return once present endemic species and return native birdsong to its forest that had fallen silent. To do this they started with several interrelated objectives: gather millions of dollars in funding; further develop and deploy 47 kilometres of pest-proof fencing and culvert technologies; eradicate most if not all mammalian pests from the mountain and perpetually monitor for pests; reintroduce to the mountain many locally extinct endemic bird and fish species such as the kiwi, hihi and kokopu; and in general manage all professional and volunteer efforts in the project.

MEIT's endeavour gained momentum with initial installation of Xcluder fencing in early November 2003 and from there accomplished these aforementioned tasks. Quickly completed sub-cells, created to demonstrate the viability of the concept, soon became homes for reintroduced kiwi which nearly as quickly began to produce offspring. In mid-2006, fencing around the entire mountain was completed and from that time, many milestones were achieved (Figure 2). Pest eradication efforts over the entire mountain took place through successive aerial brodifacoum drops and trapping. Once pest monitoring consistently showed no sign of stoats, rats and possums, many initial species reintroductions took place. More recently, tuatara, New Zealand's unique Triassic age reptile, a species of giant weta and the tieke bird were reintroduced. Many more species reintroductions are planned, both to reintroduce species to the mountain and to build genetic diversity for those already returned. Ecologically, the project has been deemed a success.

Figure 2. An aerial view of a portion of pest-proof fencing and indigenous forest at Maungatautari. Te Ara, the Encyclopedia of New Zealand (2005–2013). Used with permission.

Research origin, method and focus

Early in 2008 whilst nearing completion of master's research examining cultural factors associated with community-based conservation in New Zealand and Hawaii, I contemplated studying the Maungatautari project in depth for my doctoral degree. Because MEIT was comprised of people from culturally distinct backgrounds, one being a variegated indigenous group with Polynesian ancestry and the other derived of a settler population marked primarily by a Western, European cultural background, I theorised that sociocultural differences among them would lead to some instances of intercultural misunderstanding and dissonance in the Trust and thereby manifestly affect the project. As it was a nascent project, I wanted to see the role of culture and cultural politics in stakeholder relations within the Trust and ascertain how these issues were being navigated. I relocated to Cambridge, New Zealand in August 2009 to commence a three-year doctoral study of the organisation and the project through anthropological participant observation. My focus was to examine what cultural concepts were arising within and affecting the project. After completing a full research plan and gaining ethical approval for human research with New Zealand's University of Waikato, I gained research consent from the Trust and became a volunteer in the project. In this role, I daily participated in and observed volunteer efforts both on and off the mountain over the next two and a half years. I attended Trust board meetings and subcommittee meetings. I participated in species reintroduction events and other Trust and project proceedings. I conducted informal conversational interviews with participants. I also conducted over 60 semi-structured recorded interviews that on average lasted three to four hours. Through these methods I gained a sense of the project, what it meant to different people and groups, what notions, beliefs, concerns and interests related to culture that individuals and stakeholder groups asserted in relation to the mountain, the project and multi-stakeholder relations in the Trust.

Sociocultural anthropology research has examined culturally heterogeneous community-based conservation partnerships (see Brosius, Tsing, & Zerner, 1998, 2005; Einarsson, 1993; Orlove & Brush, 1996; Poncelet, 2001, 2004). Frequently it is the case that such partnerships must navigate organisational and communicative incompatibilities between members of its stakeholder groups. When these partnerships include indigenous peoples and/or locals and those more firmly set in an ideological conservationist camp, or who come from a differing sociocultural background to that of other stakeholders, intercultural issues arise which adversely affect the overall project (Orlove & Brush, 1996, p. 338; Poncelet, 2004, pp. xv, 8). Those living alongside one another in a community or region within a society, who are engaged in community-based stakeholder partnerships focused on a conservation agenda, often encounter disjuncture and difficulty in the collaborative arena because of differing cultural perspectives, notions, beliefs, attitudes and values (Blaser, 2009, p. 11; Einarsson, 1993, pp. 75, 81; Harms, 2008, pp. 47–48, 54–56; Kempton, 2001, p. 65; Kottak, 1999, p. 26; Poncelet, 2001, pp. 282, 286; 2004, p. xv; Riley, n.d., pp. 2, 10–11). The differences and challenges experienced in culturally heterogeneous community partnerships often stem from differing worldviews and associated notions toward land, the environment, biota and resources. Culturally linked conceptual differences also extend to the “how” of doing conservation as individuals from differing sociocultural backgrounds in a society can hold substantially different perceptions of and approaches to environmental concepts, issues and problems, meaning that some of the biggest hurdles to addressing environmental problems are related not to want of technology or funds, but to dissonance in the domain of human communication and cooperation amidst any effort to integrate or navigate disparate perspectives (Poncelet, 2004, p. xv). Further differences in this context can relate to any number of various aspects, including at the least: efforts to change the landscape; altering local resource management; newly policing or implementing restrictions previously ignored; altering the use of public and private sacred or profane space; experiencing an increased presence of the “other” in that space; affecting or making inviolable biotic resources once commonly used, easily accessed or viewed as an indigenous right; or determining long-term goals for contested land and resources which the various groups conceptualise differently. In a New Zealand context, however, the issue of healthy intercultural collaboration within community-based conservation projects and the inclusion of indigenous knowledge in projects sited there is more fraught because of its unique history and the sociocultural development of its society.

Loss, exclusion and monoculturalism

Modern New Zealand as a society and nation traces its roots to the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi between the British Crown and many, though not all, Maori chiefs. At the time, Maori numbered close to 100,000 while settlers numbered only in the thousands, represented by itinerant whalers, colonising missionaries, immigrating farmers and businessmen, and a number of military men. Though there is an ongoing debate about what the Treaty meant to people in 1840 versus contemporary views of it, it effectively legalised British presence in the islands, extending British citizenship and rights to Maori and brought the rule of British law. Over the intervening years, the Treaty has had one sure effect over all others: it made possible the alienation of Maori lands into Crown and settlers' hands.

Like other peoples who experienced European colonisation, New Zealand's indigenous Maori had to navigate these developments without direct precedent to inform them of how to proceed. Western technology, foods and guns led to an increase of inter-tribal wars and intensification of them, and with introduced diseases, served to alter tribe and subtribe power and distribution across the landscape and reduce their population. By the early 1860s full scale war developed between Maori tribes and settlers (often called Pakeha) as a result of colonial government missteps and machinations to obtain more Maori land through new laws, forced land sales and the development of a road from Auckland south into the Waikato heartland (Alves, 1999, pp. 25–27; Walker, 2004, pp. 114, 118–120). The ensuing New Zealand Land Wars (sometimes called the Maori Land Wars) resulted in a demoralising defeat for the powerful Waikato-Tainui tribes in the Waikato region and the loss of 1.2 million hectares of ancestral land in the 1860s (Alves, 1999, p. 28; Walker, 2004, pp. 128–129). To a people who felt that they belonged to the land, dispossession on this scale and to other degrees elsewhere across the country over ensuing decades amount to a cultural affront to them and led to a Maori urbanisation throughout the twentieth century (Clark & Tairi, 1992, p. 15; Walker, 2004, pp. 186, 197) (Figure 3).

Figure 3. Maori tribal land confiscated between Auckland and Kihikihi in the more northern areas of the Waikato region, c.1869. Te Ara, the Encyclopedia of New Zealand (2005–2013). Used with permission.

A weakening of traditional Maori tribe and subtribe connections to ancestral lands and lifeways, the result of urbanisation and societal pressure to conform to dominant Pakeha lifeways, had a parallel in a decline of Maori language use and cultural practice. Maori language, called te Reo Maori, was, pre-contact, not a written language. As such, it was, through story, song and chant, the repository of the genealogy and details of ancestors, gods, women, warriors, chiefs and tribes and the feats and events of their existence. Because of this, the practice of language for Maori was a crucial mechanism for the retention of their culture and the maintenance of their identity, much the same as the practice of using for identify referents links to ancestral lands, mountains and rivers (Durie, 1998, pp. 58–59, 115).

British colonisation took its toll on this cultural anchor. Rife with acclimatisation policies aimed at transforming the landscape into one reminiscent of Britain, native plants, animals and people (i.e. Maori and their culture) were viewed as targets for replacement by more evolutionarily fit invading races and ways of life (Walker, 2004, pp. 146–147; Young, 2004, pp. 63–65). From 1847 to the mid-1950s, Maori schoolchildren were increasingly prevented from using their native tongue at school, first on the playground, then in the classroom (Durie, 1998, p. 59; Walker, 2004, pp. 146–148). Over time it became more customary to enforce classroom prohibitions against the use of te Reo Maori with corporal punishment (Durie, 1998, pp. 59–61; Walker, 2004, pp. 146–147). However, the prohibition against speaking te Reo didn't stay at school. Many Maori children growing up in this era having never learnt to speak fluent te Reo Maori. Indeed, some were even forbidden to speak te Reo at home as their parents saw the inevitability of a ubiquitous English language society and wanted children prepared for it. A number of research participants I spoke with either personally recalled such a stricture, or one similar to it their parents experienced. In sum, the coerced suppression of their language constituted another way in which Maori identity and rights were supressed and/or eroded, leaving Maori little alternative but to make a “cultural surrender” (Walker, 2004, p. 147).

This prevailing sociocultural milieu suppressed and/or denied the existence of a Maori culture producing a monocultural society. Relative population figures play a role in this. In relation to population figures from 1840 to the recent 2013 census, Maori essentially reversed positions with New Zealand's other primary sociocultural group known as Pakeha (New Zealanders having European settler ancestry). Pakeha have for over 100 years been the dominant people in New Zealand, far outnumbering Maori. As of 2013, those identifying their major ethnic group of European approached 3 million while Maori on the other hand number a little over 500,000 (Statistics New Zealand, 2014, p. 6). Te Reo Maori continued to wane as a direct result of less Maori and the prohibitions in the past which prevented transference to subsequent generations. Until it was declared an official language in 1987, it was not spoken officially or acknowledged as a language in New Zealand. Excepting kapa haka (dance used in war and celebrations) renditions performed by rugby teams, all things Maori were put out of the public eye and not to be seen. Most New Zealanders without Maori ancestry lived life in a tunnel vison framed by their dominant culture, to the exclusion of Maori culture (Metge, 2001, pp. 2, 5). Thus, for the vast majority of New Zealand's population over the past century, the in situ New Zealand sociocultural experience has largely been a monocultural one (Goldsmith, 2003, p. 285; Hazlehurst, 1993, p. 73). For Maori this has meant that for the majority of their lives they have had to operate in a dominant Western sociocultural sphere, wherein “paternalistic mono-cultural biases and assumptions” have persistently excluded or denied Maori cultural perspectives (Sullivan, 2003, p. 224).

Assertions of culture

In the context of the MEIT project, overcoming a long prevalent monoculture has meant that Maori stakeholders there as Mana Whenua (local Maori tribes or subtribes with ancestral connections to and dominion over certain lands and resources) of Maungatautari, have had to make special and calculated efforts to voice their concerns and cultural needs, and get indigenous knowledge, in the form of cultural protocols and concepts, infused into project practices and procedures. Their efforts have at times met with resistance and suspicion. Tension and standoffs in the project and community have come about as a consequence of conditioned views and attitudes expressed by some in the community and stakeholder groups in reaction to Mana Whenua increasing their role and the presence of their knowledge and practices in the project and their concurrent effort to reacquire the mountain and other redress by means of a Waitangi Treaty claim settlement. Nevertheless, they have succeeded in many instances big and small to have their cultural ways and knowledge included in the project and repositioned themselves to take a more direct role in relation to Trust decisions and management of the project. What follows are representative incidents and developments that evince these successes.

Cultural harvesting and food safety

Rongoa is the te Reo term for traditionally sourced medicines or traditional Maori medicinal practices. Maori and others recognise Maungatautari as unique in the region because it boasts the widest array of medicinal plants and the potential to also have the widest and most robust array of traditional foods. It also is the origin of many streams in the area, which flow into the nation's largest river, the Waikato, which is dammed to form a number of reservoirs and produce electrical power. The mountain also feeds into the regionally strategic Waipa River. What happens on Maungatautari has the potential to affect, in one way or another, hundreds of thousands of people. As mentioned above, the mountain's forest, once it was fully enclosed, was subjected to a few aerial brodifacoum poison bait drops to clear it of invasive predator and pest mammal species. These poison drops were quite successful, though mice remained in small pockets. With cats, rats, stoats and possums gone from the mountain, mice were no longer predated nor had any competition for resources. As their numbers increased, previous discussion of conducting additional aerial drops when needed was resurrected. However, Mana Whenua stressed their rights and desires to continue gathering and using plants like the kawakawa shrub leaves, supplejack (pirita) vine or the native watercress for medicine and food. They voiced concern over the possible uptake of the blood thinner poison into the ecosystem's animals and the plants they customarily use. Local scientists were consulted and concurred with their concern. Adjoining farmers with pastoral animals and streams that come down through their pastures supported their stance and scientific caution as well. The Trust and project management decided as a result to conduct no further aerial drops. Rather, a shift was made to try and eradicate the last major pest of mice manually, with only small, targeted poison applications thereafter.

Informal rahui for a future (possible) sustainable use

The world's largest pigeon is New Zealand's wood pigeon, known widely there as the kereru. Over the many hundreds of years that Maori have lived in New Zealand, kereru became a staple protein/food source for Maori tribes, especially those on the northern end of the South Island and on the North Island. Its size and ease of capture through noose traps or finding some which had fallen from a tree after gorging on sugary berries, made it an especially easy food source to add as larger game went extinct in New Zealand. It also became significant for many Maori tribes, as consumption of the bird near a person's death was believed to help convey that person's wairua (soul or spirit) out of this world (Young, 2004, pp. 217–218). Largely because of severely reduced habitat (New Zealand has one of the largest land converted to pasture ratios in the world, 50% compared to the average of 25%) and invasive predators and competitors, kereru have become a threatened species and under law in New Zealand, a protected species (Bellamy & Springett, 1990, p. 139; Craig et al., 2000, p. 65; Young, 2004, pp. 217–218). So what are Maori to do? Do they continue to take the bird under the cultural use rights they have through the Treaty of Waitangi? Various acts, such as the Resource Management Act (RMA) 1991, absorbed both the ideas of sustainable harvest and preservationism (strict non-use of a resource) and signalled a desire by the government to either conserve or at least comprehensively sustainably manage the country's resources and permit Maori the right to use traditional resources (Durie, 1998, pp. 22, 31; Young, 2004, p. 195). In the case of Maungatautari, of those I interviewed and discussed the topic with, Maori participants indicated that eating kereru for their tribe had in the past largely been done for tangihanga (funerals and rites for the dead) and special events. They were, however, divided on the issue of whether or not kereru should ever be harvested in the future. They all agreed that an unofficial rahui (a moratorium of use of a resource or area associated with tapu) by all intents and purposes had been in place from the beginning of the project. A lifting of the tapu of the mountain had occurred permitting the project fence to be installed and conservation work there, but no official rahui had been set up. As a result, some felt that once the kereru population numbers were strong again, cultural harvesting of the bird could resume under kaitiakitanga (subtribe guardianship of resources) oversight. Others opined that harvest of them should never return to Maungatautari as it was destined to be a Noah's ark for the country's threatened species, that it needed to remain an example of conservation and Kentucky Fried Chicken just down the road would suffice. Regardless of their personal stance, they all indicated that they would abide by any future decision on the matter made collectively by Mana Whenua subtribes associated with the project.

Other resources it seemed remained available for cultural harvest. Mushrooms, kawa, supplejack, fern fronds, native watercress and other plants, possibly even freshwater crayfish, were other traditional food and medicine sources for Maori in the past. Some participants informed me that they grew up eating these foods from the mountain and that it was their right to continue using them. Certain volunteers in the project confronted a group of Maori ladies exiting the visitor sub-cell enclosure, arms full of fern fronds and other leaves and stalks. They defended their actions implying they were Mana Whenua, as they lived in a nearby district and that it was their right to use traditional foods and medicines, and no other place nearby had it all in one place like Maungatautari. In talking about this incident and others, Mana Whenua participants, who held Trust and marae positions of responsibility, indicated that given the vastness of the mountain and the now extreme fecundity of its forest, such extraction did not worry them. I then asked their thoughts about the roles of kaitiaki (individuals from a subtribe who are designated to be the guardians of subtribe resources and lands). Such roles, they said, could more widely arise again and presently, they had enough representatives regularly on the mountain to observe and report on its health and make recommendations as needed. Indeed, they orchestrated it so at least one individual would be heavily engaged in project work on the mountain to do so.

Finding natural solutions

In 2010, a rare but freshly dead Duvaucel's gecko was found on the project fence. This was a surprise as it was thought to already be extinct there. The Trust's Science and Research and Biodiversity subcommittees recognised the importance of this happenstance discovery. A gecko survey was planned to try and identify anew all gecko species still extant on the mountain. Survey boxes were built, which were to be securely affixed by nails to a number of trees in the forest. Mana Whenua, however, found out about this planned use of nails and objected. In some of the early years of the project thousands of kilometres of pest monitoring tracks and paths in the forest were created and marked with plastic coloured triangles attached to trees with nails. Such practice often occurred without consultation with Mana Whenua or thought to the possible negative aspects to it. Mana Whenua wanted no more of this. The trees they said had a mauri, an existential essence that is in everything, including inorganic things like rocks. The placing of foreign materials into the trees hurt and/or offended their mauri and hence hurt the forest. Certain Maori and others on the biodiversity subcommittee discussed the issue openly, listening to each other's needs and beliefs related to the situation. They all agreed Western science and traditional culture and ways of knowing could be married. The solution they arrived at was the use of supplejack to tie the boxes to the trees, a hearty, wood-like but pliable endemic vine that grows throughout the forest. The vine for them was a natural element of the forest and could be used there as a tool they reasoned. A test was carried out and the vine was found to be sufficient to secure the survey boxes. The survey was subsequently carried out successfully using supplejack. Both Mana Whenua and Pakeha stakeholders were pleased with the collaborative success achieved.

Repurposing cultural concepts

To move and reintroduce kiwi birds, tuatara, native fish, insects or any plants back to the mountain, stakeholders must abide by the RMA. This act recognises that local Maori have rights over all others in regards to these animals and plants. Local Maori, as kaitiaki per the act, are stewards over the plants, animals and lands to which both they and the Maori belong. To Maori these animals, plants and resources are taonga, or custodial treasures linked to the land and their ancestors, and thus also to them. In order for species reintroductions to occur in the project (after all prior scientific approvals are obtained) specimens need to be acquired from other locations where they still exist in New Zealand. Mana Whenua educated other Trust members that the removal of a taonga from another subtribe to the mountain here could not just happen by a written request alone. Mana Whenua in the project must go to other Maori tribes and subtribes who have these species in their rohe (traditional land areas connected to a subtribe) and create a mutual agreement to take upon themselves a surrogate kaitiaki role, wherein they, and to a lesser extent the Trust, would become the guardians of the relocated animal(s) or plants and accept the obligation to reciprocate the favour in the future. Again, a phone call or letter could not suffice for such a weighty matter. Some cultural retooling took place in accomplishing this project task.

In the past tono was the process by which specific ties and relationships were created making possible a marriage between individuals from two different Maori groups. The process and ritual by which it is accomplished occurs on a marae, with one of the groups sending a delegation to the other group's marae for a meeting to work out the terms. Through tono the two groups became connected not only through the marriage but through the mutual obligations they arrive at through the tono process. Tono now has another but modern cultural use. Mana Whenua employed it as a means to recognise the obligations they have toward one another when species specimens were being relocated to Maungatautari. It seemed that the concept worked well but was, however, still novel to some. Once, while in the middle of a tono, a Maori man leaned over to me and whimsically whispered how strange and funny it was that they were now employing tono for birds.

In order to get a number of North Island black robins for an impending reintroduction, I travelled with a group of representatives from two Mana Whenua marae associated with the project. We drove over an hour south to meet on a marae of a hapu (subtribe) who had a forest nearby with a strong population of the birds. We were greeted and brought onto the marae, and in groups, stood apart from one another until through a process of formal interaction we became more familiar with one another. In both English and in te Reo Maori, participants discussed their relationships to one another and the deepening of it which would occur through the relocation of their birds to the mountain. Once agreement was made on the responsibilities each would have to the other, it was agreed that a successful tono was had. Official permission was granted. Through tono, donor and receiving Maori groups worked out what kaitiaki responsibilities each had and what responsibilities the Trust had to Mana Whenua in watching after the birds, reptiles, insects or whatever it was that was coming to the mountain.

Tono also came to be used as a tool for Mana Whenua to alter the course of developments in the project. When aspects of the project were not being done according to intended plans and agreements made by the stakeholders or recorded in thoroughly vetted management plans, local Maori could not undertake tono and brought reintroductions to a halt. On occasion they did use tono to gain sufficient leverage to change the direction of project aspects when they felt no other recourse was available. They indicated that tono for more species specimens would be forthcoming when things got back on track. This did of course cause some discord among some stakeholder groups and their representatives at the Trust board table and either deepened some rifts or brought people back to the board table to discuss underlying issues.

An emerging fixture: local Maori culture

Ngati Koroki Kahukura (NKK) is one of the primary subtribes engaged as a stakeholder group in the project. Their ancestors lived on and around the maunga (mountain) for hundreds of years and received especial stewardship over Maungatautari by the Maori King. Because ownership of a large portion of the maunga was removed from them in 1912 so that it could be made into a reserve, and other lands and resources, such as a portion of the Waikato River which flows on the eastern and northern flanks of Maungatautari, were taken from them and used for government projects, NKK have held a real grievance for generations. In the early 1970s, the country's Maori Council informed the sitting government of 14 statues in law that flouted the second article of the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi and infringed on Maori rights: the government under the influence of a few well-placed Maori, then passed the 1975 Treaty of Waitangi Act (Smith, 2005, pp. 228–229; Walker, 2004, pp. 211–212). This law surfaced notions of an intended bicultural society and established a tribunal to investigate claims of breaches of the Treaty by the government which Maori groups lodged. Later, a 1985 amendment enabled the tribunal to investigate claims back to 1840 and make recommendations to the government concerning redress. Before MEIT was formed, NKK lodged such a claim with the Office of Treaty Settlements. When the Trust did form, it recognised the fact that NKK had an outstanding claim on the area and maunga and together, they agreed that whatever would come with a Treaty settlement, the project would remain in place and the mountain would remain open for the public to enjoy.

When a number of events in the project occurred to the displeasure of NKK, they responded by approaching other project stakeholder groups directly, seeking support for a number of structural changes to the Trust board. Around this time (2010), word surfaced that NKK's treaty settlement was nearing completion and it would likely include a formal return of the maunga to them. The structural changes they sought included the adoption of a co-chairperson arrangement in the Trust, with one always to be representing and named by Maori stakeholders. Together, these developments internally divided some stakeholder groups and the community. Though many difficult impasses occurred, NKK and other Mana Whenua did successfully bring about the co-chair arrangement. In this structure they saw a way to ensure their rights and cultural needs would always be considered in the project, and the workload normally shouldered by one chairperson, could be shared by two. A contemporary re-envisioning of the Treaty produced discourse and notions of a New Zealand society as one which was intended originally to be bicultural combined with a growing power among Maori groups with each and every successful Treaty settlement, and served as an undercurrent to the debate and rhetoric surrounding this change. Mana Whenua wanted a bicultural Trust, wherein they could enjoy their rights and be “culturally safe”.

Conclusion

Through the Treaty process which NKK and other Mana Whenua groups have participated in, and their involvement in the MEIT project, local Maori groups have strengthened their subtribe connections between marae and between subtribes. Participants informed me that before their treaty claim was lodged, two marae of the same subtribe usually did not interact much and their peoples rarely mingled with one another. Now, they coordinate and regularly plan for their peoples in a marae unifying NKK Trust. Cultural notions, beliefs and values have been debated and discussed anew in marae meetings aimed at providing their Trust representative with guidance and decisions to take back to the MEIT board table. These notions and beliefs have been more widely circulated in the Trust and the community as a result. Others have come to recognise that some Maori groups do indeed have their own culture and one that is distinct from a ubiquitously applied “kiwi” sociocultural identity construct. On the strength of their Treaty claim and the reorganisation of Trust leadership positions, Mana Whenua have concretely ensured that they can more directly influence Trust decisions and provide information such that their cultural needs are respected. They are through these moves further projecting a sociocultural distinctiveness. Yes, they can operate within a Pakeha world. They have had to do this. Pakeha have never been in a position of having to survive by knowing Maori cultural ways. Through the project, many Pakeha, who already knew more about Maori culture than the previous generation, are gaining more experience and knowledge of Maori protocols and familiarity with Mana Whenua cultural concepts. These cultural concepts are often being used in the project toward the creation of sustainable ecological management of the mountain and its resources. Mana Whenua also now stand in a position to actively contribute toward the further development of the project and simultaneously work to ensure they can meet their kaitiaki obligations to themselves, other tribes and the Maori royal family while supporting Maungatautari's growth as an ecotourism and globally significant biodiversity conversation site.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Funding

Funding for the three years of doctoral fieldwork in New Zealand, from which much of this paper's research derives from, was provided by an Education New Zealand International Doctoral Research Scholarship and by a research stipend from the University of Waikato School of Social Sciences.