Te piko o te māhuri, tērā te tupu o te rākau: language and literacy in marae-based programmes

2. Literature review

A perusal of relevant literature both in New Zealand and overseas indicates that very little published work is available that refers to marae-based learning for adults. The use of this model of education to promote knowledge acquisition among Māori learners is a growing phenomenon, particularly given the remote nature of communities and the mixed ability of people to access continuing education. From a social justice framework perspective, learners who enrol in certain programmes at Te Whare Wānanga o Awanuiārangi are given equitable access to, and participate in, learning that is more culturally appropriate, particularly through the mobility of lecturers and programmes, which enables them to go out to those communities and move between marae. In doing so, the rights of Māori learners to gain opportunities to improve literacy and language development through privileging te reo Māori is accentuated. For these learners, their education through marae-based learning opportunities will span their lifetime; it has triggered literacy learning that involves “the spiritual, and the material, the ancestral and present-day realities”, and helps to deal with past and continuing impacts of colonisation (Rawiri, 2005, p. 29).

2.1 Rationale for Māori defined pedagogies

Else (1997) highlights the recommendation that more research be undertaken into the ‘new’ kinds of education which may be helping Māori. This report was intended to examine the education gap between Māori and non-Māori and, although not referring directly to marae-based education, noted generally the need to reconceive of education so that Māori can be effective in educating their own. This reconception was foreshadowed by the report of the Department of Maori Affairs (1960), which would then form the Hunn Report (1960), and also attempted to address the disparity between Māori and European children, although the report itself does not appear anywhere to advocate the reinstitution of marae-based learning or similar situations.

Such reconfiguring of education means having to re-address the effects of colonisation; that is, several Māori writers place the lacuna in the educational status of Māori at the feet of colonisation. For example, Tiakiwai (2001, p. 2) argues that colonisation has had a devastating effect on all Māori structures delivered through policies of assimilation. Consequently Māori have withdrawn from learning. The effect has been the lack of Māori engagement in learning. and a continued undervaluing of self in what Walker (1999, pp. 188-189) describes as:

Hemara (2000, p. 5) asserts that a culturally common cynicism of Pākehā education existed: “Māori (and some Pākehā) suspected that European education was a tool of the colonial enterprise and that the education on offer was irrelevant and inadequately delivered.” Smith (1999, p. 59) often emphasises a similar point: that Western education is considered true knowledge – a grand truth while indigenous knowledge is regarded by the West as more primitive, and not really knowledge. She explains how the institutions of imperialism have facilitated the development of disciplines that have in turn assisted the West in defining, classifying and storing indigenous knowledge. She describes how loss of knowledge, culture and language results in huge loss to the cultural identity of the indigenous person (ibid.). For Smith, schools and universities are the repositories of Western knowledge, which then gets reproduced for consumption (ibid., p. 58-59). Universities (as well as schools) categorise what comprises knowledge and assigns disciplines (ibid., p. 65), in the name of academic freedom. In many cases, indigenous knowledge was not taught because it was considered something less than knowledge – unverifiable, and mythical.

The effects of colonisation on the ability of Māori to learn were alluded to early on in the writings of H.T. Whatahoro about Te Kauwae Runga, one of the esoteric bodies of ancient Māori knowledge. Moihi Te Matorohanga, whom Whatahoro records, warns against giving the tapu discourse around the Whare Wānanga to the Pākehā in case it is sold for money, and thus rendered noa, or common, within the public domain (Smith, 1913, p. 160). Tikao also notes the slide in meaning of Māori mana, itself linked with practices of knowledge acquisition, toward a Pākehā meaning (Beattie, 1939, p. 98) and, although he does not note this in a disparaging way, he does allude throughout the rest of the book to changes in Māori customary practices since colonisation occurred.

Smith (2007, p. 70) describes one important pedagogical and philosophical difference between Māori and Pākehā cultural versions of learning. She notes the importance of silence when watching and learning:

She continues by emphasising the often pointless exercises of collecting and classifying activities that were required of students at school, and moreover how they conflicted with the traditional, holistic teachings with which she was raised (ibid., p. 71).

2.2 Historic pedagogies

Historically, Māori engagement in learning was holistic – meaning that learning occurred in all situations and contexts. Mead (2003, p. 313) notes that there was an acceptance of, and adherence to the binding nature of tapu. The fluidity of these learning contexts (or learning communities) underscored Māori society’s relationship with the world around it (natural, spiritual or physical), and was sourced in such events as the ascent of Tane into the heavens, which saw the retrieval of knowledge (Robinson, 2005, p. 70) and which paved the way for humans to be able to access that knowledge.

The inclusivity of learning is highlighted by Hemara (2000, p. 5), who has written extensively on the realm of Māori pedagogies in his eponymous literature review. Hemara’s recounting of intergenerational learning reflects Smith’s (2007) claim that learning is based on assistance from elders and occurs in the wider community. He points out the potentially biased nature of literature, though, when he reminds the reader that the majority of informants have been male (Hemara, 2007, p. 7). It was for this reason that he included traditional Māori media such as moteatea, kōrero tawhito and whakapapa in his review. He also asserts that accounts usually state that only boys and men received an advanced education, indicating that nearly all the researchers were men: “This may say more about the ethnographers than the Māori subjects” (ibid., p. 19).

However, while it is undoubtedly true that the exclusion of women from the literature will have a profound effect on the basis of learning, it is nevertheless possible to distil some general principles about traditional pedagogies from literature, including sources outside of Hemara’s review. That students were often in a state of tapu is one feature that figures largely in the works of such writers as Mead (2003, p. 310) and Smith (1913, p. vi). Additionally, karakia had to be said at different times in the course of teaching (Hemara, 2000, p. 21; Mead, 2003, p. 308), and continue to be recited on various learning occasions.

Hemara states that students started at the same learning point (Hemara, 2000, p. 9) and progressed gradually. There were generally only a small number of students (ibid., p. 5). The process of learning itself began in the womb (ibid., p. 10), and at birth karakia were recited so that children could assume their future roles readily (ibid.). The roles of children could not be fulfilled without their involvement in discussions at hui, and McLean (1996, p. 32) cites Samuel Marsden’s astonishment at this phenomenon:

Learning was often spiritual in nature, but sometimes the element of physical surprise was employed to encourage students to learn. A type of “faux-anger” – a term adopted by Hemara (2000, p. 21) was used in Whare Wānanga to confuse students to get them to respond to a problem. McLean (1996, p. 43) states that “Historical discourse, whakapapa and related activities taught the children ... where they were located geographically and genealogically” and that oriori were also used to place ancestors in events into cryptic form (ibid., p. 23). Pere (1982, p. 69) believed that geometrical shapes were best learned within the context of the environment so that the shape, colour and size of all things could be related to holistically.

Whakapapa was seen as a vital tool to learning. Moon (2003, p. 43) posited that whakapapa referred to the layering of knowledge, which itself alludes to a belief that knowledge must be acquired gradually. Tikao, a tohunga of Kai Tahu, recounted to Beattie the care necessary in the learning of karakia, and highlighted the consequences of the omission of words or the wrong uttering of a karakia. He recounted an instance where another tohunga forgot the words to a karakia and died shortly thereafter (Beattie, 1990, p. 93). Benton (1995, p. 6) referred also to karakia being used before, during and after learning to ensure receptivity to and retention of knowledge; karakia were thus to be used carefully and thoroughly.

Despite this precaution, however, it seems that the delineation made between learning and practice was slight. In their report on wānanga capital funding, the Waitangi Tribunal noted that teaching and learning occurred every day, and observation was necessary to ensure that the welfare of the people was maintained (Waitangi Tribunal, 2007). Hence seemingly inanimate objects such as whakairo could influence learning because they possessed mauri and were representative of past generations (Hindle, 2002, p. 9). These were necessarily tribally based; pedagogies therefore were highly dependent on the iwi from which they derived (Benton, 1995, p. 9). Benton also notes that names for these learning institutions differed between iwi and that, although they often contained the word whare, they were not bound to any particular building (ibid., p. 3).

2.3 Modern constructs of Māori and other indigenous peoples’ education

The need to develop educational interventions which resemble the above pedagogies, or which are philosophically similar, is one that has fuelled the development of indigenous institutions. These institutions reflect cultural concerns and aspirations and strive to adopt policies and processes that better reflect the needs of their own peoples. Stokes (1999) cites Boyer’s 1997 report, which focuses on the establishment of First Nations/Native American colleges and found that those indigenous peoples involved were participants in the revitalisation of appropriate learning methods of the First Nations/Native American people, where “they are changing lives and offering real hope for the future” (Stokes 1999, p. 4). Schwab (1996, p. 10), through research conducted among aboriginal communities, has also examined the role of indigenous institutions in providing better services and outcomes for their own people, concluding that “the achievement of competence in both worlds should be the ultimate aim of Indigenous education”. Efforts of indigenous peoples have challenged Western ways of thinking about, and constructing, learning and learning communities.

Literature on marae-based learning is scarce, apart from its basis in pre-colonial times (see above). Literature on foundation learning on marae in tertiary settings is even more scant. Much of the literature dealing with this area focuses on language acquisition for second language learners, which does share similarities with foundation learning.

2.4 Contemporary overseas indigenous approaches

McGrath (2002, p. 103) applies Edward Hall’s definition of high-context culture to the Inuit, in the context of second language learning. She states that high-context cultures are capable of learning through observation, due to communication being more dependent on context than spoken words alone. In commenting on the need to transmit culture along with the knowledge of language, she cites the dilemma that students face when they are taught to greet someone, for instance, but no place may be given for body language and facial expressions when that learning is occurring (ibid.).

Students were able to contribute to solutions to this dilemma, and one of the comments they made was that learning needs to be based on experience (McGrath, 2002, p. 104). This experience did not appear to be solely or obviously culturally based, for instance, “... go to the park, do drama ...” were suggestions given alongside “...make bannock, bring fish in and eat them”. Possibly, the Inuit draw on a number of sites for contextual learning to take place. McGrath then considers the Japanese language programme at York University, in which students first explore the spaces of a Japanese house and are then given the names for them (ibid.), demonstrating, as she states, that cultural awareness occurs simultaneously with language acquisition. She finally advises against attempting to adapt a second language to a mother tongue, and posits that this risk is ameliorated through the experiential learning of a high-context language.

Maracle & Richards (2002, p. 127) describe the challenges and relative success of an immersion programme for Mohawk language learners, driven by the apparent failure of existing once-a-week language classes. These authors recount the establishment of the immersion programme, which took place in a rented house, and sought the involvement of elders and other speakers so that a contextual basis for learning was evident. Maracle and Richards cited preparing lunch as a way in which conversation was encouraged through context (ibid., p. 128). They did refer to some problems: primarily, much of the instructors’ time was spent explaining simple grammar which was meant to have been taught earlier, and students busied themselves in writing too much down without listening to explanations.

Although these authors did not elaborate on the actual importance of an ancestrally defined building, and seemed to prefer more orthodox, Western learning pedagogies, they did highlight throughout the paper the need for involvement from the wider community. Community participation was a factor discussed by Blair et al. (2002, p. 95) also, in relation to Dene language revitalisation. These authors emphasised the importance of involving all members of the community – not just elders – in language learning, along with student engagement in traditional activities. Similarly, De Garcia et al.(2002) describe the comparative success of a language camp for Jicarilla students, which was run on the basis that learning occurred alongside doing, with a community focus.

Kirkness (2001, p. 43) is one writer who does discuss the importance of a culturally based physical environment for learning. She cites the importance of the Longhouse to learning for the Salish people. The Longhouse concept is based on traditional homes of the Coast Salish people, and is used in teaching at the University of British Columbia. It is apparently constructed of red cedar logs; she describes this physical construction as a “...vessel for the continuation of knowledge...”, and draws a parallel with the marae-based learning approach.

2.5 Contemporary Māori approaches – learning opportunities as literacy in context

The development of literacy, whether through speaking, listening, reading, writing or critical thinking (Ministry of Education, 2007), is best understood as a social construct, or ‘social practice’ (Elish-Piper, 2000). Learning opportunities that encapsulate literacy and language development are socially constructed (Cummins, 1986; Hohepa & Jenkins, 1996). For adult learners, foundation learning that also encompasses numeracy, and information and computer technology, can be rewarding as well as technically challenging (Benseman & Sutton (Eds.), 2008), not least because of the sometimes lengthy breaks that adults take between engagements with formal learning encounters. Added to the above concepts of the practice of ‘literacy’, for Māori, akoranga Māori (Māori learning) is both social and functional literacy (Ministry of Education, 2001), because of the need to maintain social relationships, express feelings, give clear instructions and share information, whether in the home or on the marae, and is best exemplified through “intergenerational learning across families” (May et al., 2004, p. 1). Saville-Troike (2003, pp. 3 and 7) also suggests that patterns of knowledge and behaviour are transmitted in the process of socialisation and enculturation. These learning situations in the home and especially on the marae can be no less formal than in a ‘mainstream’ classroom and provide a ‘strengths model’ of education, building on existing family literacy” (ibid.).

The key to situations in the family and on the marae being effective as important sites for learning is that they respond to the idea of a “responsive social context” that allows individual learners to have some control over “learning interactions” (Glynn, 1987, cited in Hastings and Schwieso (Eds.), 1987, p. 253). Being ‘responsive’ is a critical factor in the evolvement of learner-centred, and learner-directed, curriculum whereby learners have the potential not only to participate in, but also to initiate and mediate, the context for learning. Participation in local wānanga allows Māori learners to pursue one of their main objectives, the pursuit of te reo Māori. However, encouragement of learning is not just through an emphasis on developing ‘literacy’ or ‘oracy’, but includes multiple ways of communicating and meaning making (Mlcek, 2006). That is, Māori have historical and contemporary approaches to linking learning on the marae as legitimate knowledge that maintains mātauranga (Māori knowledge), not just through oracy but also through the nature of oral practice (ibid.). In examining the connections between language, power and knowledge to transform relationships and personal situations, Māori learners are also engaged in ‘critical literacy’ (De Souza and Andreotti (Eds.), 2007).

The Ministry of Maori Development (2001, p. 10) nominates Māori literacy as the ability to “read the world, read the word, and be the world”, and states that “literacy is tribally located and that whānau, hapū and iwi are literacy providers”. In another indigenous study, Hohepa & Jenkins (1996 p. 6) argue that the systems of so-called “preliterate societies” are actually very sophisticated bodies of knowledge. They continue with the idea that “[t]exts need to have relevance to social practices. The growth of literacy requires institutions for using text, such as spiritual, legal and political”(ibid., p. 9). Tiakiwai & Mika (2005) take up this point when discussing the diverse nature of learning sites by using three case studies: Te Whare Wānanga o Awanuiārangi, the Ngāti Awa Settlement Claim, and Te Kohika. These authors depicted the last two in particular as less obvious, but nevertheless valid, learning sites. In these two cases, learning occurred for those connected with the events and was mediated by such cultural aspects as tikanga and whakapapa. The formality of the above situations cannot be underestimated, particularly in the rules and protocols of engagement. However, compared to the formal structure in a conventional classroom, whereby the teacher, through interpreting the ‘official’ curriculum, initiates and controls the environment, the environment and event in the case of Māori learning are quite often the vehicles for both teacher and learner “reciprocity and mutual influence” (Glynn, 1987, cited in Hastings and Schwieso ibid., p. 259) to establish and maintain learning through instances of mana, tapu,and noa, which are all “relational and social processes within which life unfolds” (Harvey 2006, p. 55).

Culturally appropriate teaching, although not necessarily delivered on a marae, is a common theme explored by several writers. For example, Mete (1996, p. 117) discusses the instance of the Huarahi Education Trust, which delivered literacy skills to Māori of all age ranges. Mete offers a stern message for other Māori educators:

The Huarahi Education Trust was successful in delivering literacy skills but was closed in 1995 due to lack of funding. Mete was quick to indicate that, while the community was generally helpful, it was not always so: when the Trust was established it was pitched into competition for funding with other institutions (ibid., p. 120) and so was among the various Māori educational institutions which were viewed with some distrust within their own ranks. However, during its relatively short existence it did deliver literacy skills in particularly contextual ways, including through the Parental Skills Pilot:

“In keeping with the kaupapa of literacy, it introduced concepts of mana wahine and mana tane through the oral stories of kaumatua and mythology and assisted parents to support their own children’s literacy skills.” (ibid.)

Similarly, the Haranui Marae Training Centre provides their marae for learning, and students are encouraged to learn about tikanga and te reo Māori in its appropriate setting (New Zealand Qualifications Authority, 2006).

Marae continue to be used as a space and place for teaching generally, and the delivery of specific literacy skills are embedded in the receptive features (reo torohū = whakarongo ‘listening’, pānui ‘reading’, mātakitaki ‘viewing)and productive features (reo whakaputa = kōrero ‘speaking’, tuhituhi ‘writing’, whakaatu ‘presenting’) of language (Murphy & Keegan, 2002, p. 3). Many iwi and hapū continue to hold wānanga for their own people. These wānanga are interested in developing the knowledge base of their people, and encouraging them to ‘read’ their tribal surroundings, particularly through oracy and articulating those surroundings. Royal (2001, p. 38) discusses his experience of learning where he discovered the impressions of one’s body within the wharenui through the tracing of genealogy. He believes the body is a reflection of a wharenui that emphasises the contextual importance of learning.

In the more formal sense of the name, wānanga have come to mean the Māori tertiary institutions that are recognised by legislation. Mead (1997, p. 59) describes the legislative characteristics of wānanga as being underpinned by Māori tradition and custom; consequently, wānanga will be “...more attuned to iwi needs”. For Te Whare Wānanga o Awanuiārangi, the focus extends beyond such cultural expectations that are taken for granted assumptions of the Wānanga’s operations and activities. Mead (ibid.) notes that the development of alternative learning communities, such as the wānanga, has come about in frustration at the adherence to mainstream ideologies that continue to position Māori on the periphery of what counts in New Zealand society.

Te Wānanga o Raukawa developed a marae-based studies initiative which recognised that Māori prefer to be educated by their own people and in accordance with tikanga (Te Wānanga ō Raukawa, 2004a). Titled Iwi and Hapū Marae Based Studies, this programme ensures that marae are able to commit to the 10 kaupapa of whanaungatanga, manaakitanga, pukengatanga, rangatiratanga, wairuatanga, kotahitanga, ukaipotanga, te reo, kaitiaitanga and whakapapa. Mutual Recognition Arrangements with the Committee Mātauranga of each participating marae ensure that these kaupapa are adhered to (Te Wānanga ō Raukawa, 2004b). Their programme perhaps best reflects Durie’s goal of whakatuia: the extension of learning beyond the school gate and the relational positioning of Māori views of learning (Waitere-Ang, 2005, p. 365)

Various mainstream universities offer options for Māori-centred learning. Te Timatanga Hou at Waikato University, for instance, appears to offer literacy skill development to students, and the students can also participate in kapa haka (University of Waikato, 2004). It is not stated, however, whether the teaching takes place in a marae setting. The Huarahi Māori stream of the Certificate in University Preparation also offers language and critical thinking skills “...in a supportive Māori and Pasifika learning environment” (ibid.). The University of Auckland offers specialised teaching to Māori students in the form of the Graduate Diploma in Business (Māori Development) – Te Tohu Huanga, which is based on a Kaupapa Māori approach to teaching, where whanaungatanga, kotahitanga and the lived Māori experience of lecturers are critical to its success (Henare, 2001, p. 116). While this programme of study does not in itself offer explicit ‘literacy skills’, students are encouraged to develop these alongside the content itself. In this way, literacy and content are allowed to inform each other.

2.6 Conclusion

There is a long way to go in regard to documenting literacy and language development as an outcome of marae-based programmes. Part of the ongoing debate about how programmes are deployed to communities revolves around the contestable nature of just what constitutes literacy and language development and even whether the programmes are foundation opportunities or an extension of what is tacitly held by learners. However, an accepted favourable pedagogy among ‘mainstream’ literacy and language practitioners is that content and context are intertwined, and literacy and language are socially constructed. There is no denial also of the incredible diversity and flexibility afforded by marae-based learning to deal with both the subtle and explicit challenges of developing literacy within a culturally appropriate context.