Māori ideas of gender, like water, were fluid. Also like water, they were polluted when colonists arrived and we’re still trying to take stock of the damage. But times are changing.
At this year’s Te Matatini, the largest spectacle of kapa haka in the world, something groundbreaking happened. Gender ‘norms’ are rarely challenged in kapa haka, but this year, in front of the entire world, performers from Angitū Kapa Haka broke gendered lines. The Auckland-based rōpū presented two performers to the nation in non-conforming kākahu (attire) and, most notably, in the poi section - never before seen on Te Matatini stage. These performers are takatāpui, Māori queer-identifying individuals.
For quite some time, there has been what some might consider a gender separation in the realm of kapa haka: women perform the poi, men perform the haka. Those familiar with the mantle of kapa haka will know this to be untrue, as women and haka are both integral parts of the performance framework - much of which is carried out by women. But why can women perform haka if men cannot perform the poi? Ōriwa (Kāi Tahu) said that “it’s like the idea of women being able to wear pants but men can’t wear skirts, because anything tied to femininity is considered weakness. Takatāpui performing the poi on a national stage is the raw representation of Māoridom we have been waiting for - but it sucks that we’re so blown away by it, considering it was normal for our ancestors.”
Gendered hierarchy is an import. We didn’t always have it here. You can see this in te reo Māori, as both personal pronouns (ia) and possessive personal pronouns (tana/tona) are gender-neutral. But the sudden arrival of Christianity and Victorian values changed Māori society, eradicating all ideas of gender diversity and placing men firmly at the top. But today, with a revitalisation of te reo and a surge of pride internationally, some of the old values are resurfacing.
Pronouns are a hot topic right now, which is not a sentence any of us (except your year 3 grammar teacher) thought we’d ever read. But moving out of the English language, the concept of what a pronoun means gets blurry. Te reo Māori doesn’t really place emphasis on masculine and feminine nouns, and instead acquires much of its contextual meaning from whakapapa (genealogy). English doesn’t do this either, but English and many European languages insist on personal pronouns. This might seem like a subtle difference, but the implications are considerable; if your entire worldview is narrated by the gendering of objects, gender becomes a critical factor of life.
Hani* (Rongowhakaata, Ngāti Porou) describes the shortage of fixed gender terms in te reo Māori as a “sign of liberty”. Terms such as ‘kaumātua’, ‘teina’ and ‘tuakana’ - all of which are gender-inclusive - place the importance of an individual on their social status, age group or role within the community. “Our tūpuna had a multipurpose language and subsequently a limited vocabulary. They didn’t have words for husband or wife, but did use ones that specified importance to the bloodline, such as pōtiki (youngest child) or mataamua (eldest child), signifying a clear cultural difference to that of the British nuclear family.”
Ōriwa describes their relationship with pronouns in te reo Māori as “stable and secure” considering the flexibility it offers to takatāpui-identifying people, but challenges the way in which it is taught today alongside other languages. “If you’ve pursued any Western European language, you’ll know that inanimate objects are identified with masculine or feminine properties. What the fuck is masculine about a chair? I feel that the same binary context is applied to learning our reo Māori, which is quite incorrect. The term ‘ia’ (non-gendered pronoun, applicable to all) doesn’t have a specific meaning, so why do we still push that narrative?”
It may not come as a surprise, then, to learn that a culture that didn’t emphasise gender was also pretty relaxed when it came to sex. Aspects of sexuality were widely and vividly depicted in traditional carving, often depicting male and female genitalia amid sexual acts. A carved storehouse in Auckland Museum, named Te Puawai o Te Arawa, depicts a heterosexual couple having sex, which is also seen on a waka huia in the British Museum. But not just hetero sex; a papa hou, also displayed in the British Museum, depicts two male figures amid a sexual encounter. Intercourse of all forms was endorsed in every way before the arrival of colonists and their more rigid sexual rules.
The arrival of Europeans saw a major shift in sexual attitudes due to the influence of Christianity and Victorian ideas of morality, promoting the idea that sexual intercourse should occur only between a man and a woman within the parameters of marriage, and only for the purpose of procreation - entirely opposite from the way in which Māori had functioned for several centuries. These ideas led to fast and active attempts to transform Māori culture: sexual organs in carvings were covered or removed altogether, waiata and karakia of explicit origin were forbidden, and many sexual experiences (particularly premarital or queer) were prohibited entirely.
Today, we are able to see and hear how attitudes have changed towards takatāpui within our communities, some of which are more accommodating to the rainbow community than others. For takatāpui, some found that their rural upbringings set with conservative views, trans-fearing attitudes, and heavy religious influence marked a significant influence in their personal development. Wairere* (Kāi Tahu, Te Āti Awa) was raised in Southland, a notoriously conservative region that “majorly opposes the existence of Māori culture and the LGBTQ+ community, let alone Māori queers.” Wairere describes her own experiences as takatāpui in Southland as “isolating and uncomfortable. It was as normal to me as the way I tie my laces. I couldn’t help that I like girls, but was told that it's ‘unnatural’ and ‘just a phase’. But if it’s ‘just a phase’, why were they so against it? My emo phase didn’t put me in counselling, but my attraction to girls did.”
And while takatāpui and the wider rainbow community have reclaimed several controversial terms, such as ‘homo’, ‘dyke’, ‘queer’, and ‘fag’, we still hear these words tossed around with intended venom. “Many people consider these derogatory terms as ‘party language’ - they don’t know the history of the words, so they abuse them,” Ōriwa said about the slurs. “Which certainly fall into the same category as casual racism.” And while these words are continuously perpetuated by many demographics, Ōriwa said that it is particularly concerning to see their rise in use amongst Māori and Pasifika, who “are not homophobic, just dark humoured.” This says something about the intensity of colonialism, and to what extent it has transformed ideas of how to treat people.
Even among Māori circles, whānau were the hardest to get through to. “I grew up in a household that wasn’t queer-friendly and had an implication of discomfort towards queer culture,” shared Ōriwa. A recent graduate in Māori Studies and Politics, Ōriwa said that, growing up in Ōtepoti Dunedin, “it took a long time to feel comfortable in my own queerness. Otago Girls High School has a reputation for being an unwelcoming environment to ‘outsiders’. Look at the news and you’ll hear the girls scrapping over any marginalised group. Last year’s incident wasn’t a rare occurrence,” she said, referencing a 2022 incident of racially-motivated bullying that attracted media coverage. “It happens every day.”
Hani* pointed out that many of their extended whānau were simply just unaware that terminology such as ‘lesbian’ or ‘transsexual’ existed. For many of them, it was the circumstances of their upbringing in a disconnected rural area. For others, it was less likely they were to meet someone who identified with the terms. But for the majority, it was the overarching absence of the news not making it to that side of the pā. “More often than not, rural whānau are uninformed about these matters because they are pākehā ways. My Papa told me that ‘whānau is whānau, and love is love. Just don’t bring your cousin home.’”
Hani went on to describe her experiences with lesbian circles, and feeling “too feminine” to fit in. “I was raised on the pā by my kaumātua and taught that women as a collective were to care for tamariki and work the land. Ultimately, I was raised with the idea that my femininity was a gift - but that made it hard to pursue relationships with other women.” And while her family was accepting of her sexuality as takatāpui, Hani quickly found that extended whānau questioned the tikanga (tradition) and validity of her relationships: “They were fine with it until I decided against having children. Then my sexuality became a problem. As the eldest child, parents were expecting mokos from me.”
While the term ‘takatāpui’ is representative of queer-identifying Māori, it also embraces transgender men and women - as is the case with several indigenous cultures across the world. Transgender people maintained a revered position within pre-colonial Māori society, serving as the transmitters of ancestral knowledge.
The role of takatāpui during these times was indicative of how pre-colonial society functioned - much of which we can observe through the written accounts of oral histories. Tūtānekai, Hinemoa’s eventual husband according to the Māori legend, is remembered for having had a close male companion, Tiki. This companionship is understood today as a traditional example of same-sex attraction. In a manuscript by 19th-century scholar Te Rangikāheke, Tūtānekai loved Tiki, and said to his father Whakaue:
“Ka mate ahau i te aroha ki toku hoa, ki a Tiki.
I am stricken with love for my friend, for Tiki.”
It is also revealed that Tūtānekai referred to Tiki as “taku hoa (my friend) takatāpui”. And thus, in 1844, a colonial missionary by the name William Williams recorded the ancient term takatāpui in the Dictionary of the Māori language. Māori queerness is anything but new. But despite the unapologetic openness Māori maintained regarding sexuality, Williams’ Māori language dictionary provided the definitions of sexual terminology and body parts in Latin, as opposed to English, because that would’ve been too crass. For example, the definition for ure (penis) was provided as ‘membrum virile’...real hot stuff.
But when it came to defining takatāpui, Williams described it as ‘an intimate companion of the same sex’. Some generations later, takatāpui-identifying academics Ngahuia Te Awekotuku and then Lee Smith found this word in Te Rangikāheke’s manuscripts. Finally understanding the truly queer nature of this word provided immense context to the love triangle between Hinemoa, Tūtānekai, and Tiki some 400 years ago.
After this discovery, Te Awekotuku and Smith gave the term ‘takatāpui’ to the wider Māori queer scene in the 1980s. Credibility for the term was based on their reputations with Te Awekotuku in leadership roles within the art, museum and heritage sectors and with Smith as a renowned linguist. Since the 1980s it has been increasingly reclaimed, best known now as an umbrella term of identity for Māori with diverse gender identities, sexualities, and sex characteristics. The floodgates, dammed up during colonisation, are reopening.
Regarding the future of takatāpuitanga, Ōriwa shared their hopes of normalising gender diversity on stages like Te Matatini: “I see more discussions taking place regarding takatāpui…things like Angitū celebrating non-binary people were such a massive feat, but why?"
"There is so much left yet to be done. Te Ao Māori demands conversations. So let's have them.”
*Names changed.