Navigating tikanga Māori can be like navigating your waka through the waves – it’s dynamic, fluid, and never the same from one iwi to the next. The idea that tikanga (practices) is a fixed, rigid structure is laughable when, for centuries, Māori have adapted, evolved, and thrived through change. Perhaps nothing highlights this more than the ongoing conversation about wāhine speaking on the marae. It’s a topic as diverse as iwi (tribe) and hapū (subtribe) themselves; one that stirs up passionate debate that is grounded in tradition yet open to reimagining what leadership on the marae and beyond can look like today.
Whaikōrero refers to the art of oratory on the marae. Speeches delivered in a formal, ceremonial manner is a central aspect of Māori gatherings, encompassing both the structured delivery of messages and the broader practice of communicating important cultural, social, and political matters. The practice is steeped in tradition and protocol, often carried out by men on the paepae (orators’ bench). However, this tradition is not entirely static. Like other practices, it’s subject to the evolving nature of Māori society.
When it comes to wāhine speaking on the marae, there’s no one-size-fits-all answer – and that’s exactly the point. The idea that Māori beliefs can be boiled down to a singular, homogenous viewpoint is as fictional as spotting a taniwha in your backyard. The real beauty, and perhaps the challenge, lies in the fact that every rohe, iwi, hapū, and marae brings its own unique take on this deeply rooted issue.
Waitangi Day in recent years has reignited the debate over wāhine and whaikōrero – often drawing public attention and critique from Pākehā perspectives. However, they will tend to frame the conversation through a lens of “sexism” and outdated “warrior” stereotypes. One thing, however, is clear: this conversation belongs solely to Māori. The term “sexist” simply doesn’t capture the nuance of the debate. For Māori, this is not a transient issue; it is a deep-seated, ongoing conversation that holds significant implications for the future of our cultural practices.
But the question remains: is the kawa against women speaking on the marae truly sexist? Or is it a misunderstanding, warped by the lens of white feminism – a movement focused on breaking gender inequalities in Western contexts that, when applied to tikanga Māori, overlooks the cultural and historical context of Māori practices as a result? Critic Te Ārohi dives into this discussion, speaking with several wāhine to uncover their perspectives on whether this age-old custom is a restriction or a reflection that white feminism can’t quite grasp.
Tikanga Māori: A brief explainer
First, what are the traditional roles of wāhine and tāne on the marae? During pōwhiri (ceremonial welcome) and throughout tikanga, there is a clear gender-based delineation of responsibilities. Wāhine will lead the karanga (ceremonial call), guiding the manuhiri (visitors) onto the marae, after which they take their place behind the tāne (men). The men then engage in kōrero (conversation) with the manuhiri, a practice that historically involved negotiations and was often linked to territorial expansion.
Women will be physically positioned behind men which, contrary to assumptions of outside perspectives, is not a reflection of their societal value but rather an acknowledgment of their sacred role as bearers of life and guardians of wisdom. In the past, pōwhiri could end in conflict or bloodshed if agreements weren’t reached, and in those moments, men were considered more expendable. However, this does not imply that women were suppressed. The role of wāhine Māori on the marae extends beyond what is often assumed. Women set the tone and kaupapa for hui through karanga, and disagreement with the men’s kōrero could be expressed by physically turning their back on the speaker. After the pōwhiri, women are fully empowered to engage and make their voices heard.
Jessie Witeri (Ngāti Whakāue, Ngāti Ngararanui, Ngāti Ranginui, Te Whakatōhea)
Jessie Witeri (Ngāti Whakāue, Ngāti Ngararanui, Ngāti Ranginui, Te Whakatōhea), a Māmā, renowned spoken word poet, and kaihaka (performer) in Northland-based group Waerenga Te Kaha, has passionately contributed to the discussion on the evolving roles of Māori women in every corner of our community. “I come from Te Whakatōhea, cloaked by the prestige of our ancestress, Muriwai, [who] was known to pull in the waka of Mataatua to shore,” Jessie shares, highlighting the legacy that shapes the wāhine of her iwi. “The women in my iwi very much liken themselves to our tupuna kuia – staunch, strong-willed [and] kind, but will put you in your place if needed.”
For Jessie, her understanding of gender roles on the marae has shifted over time. “I used to think it was all about sexism until I realised the power we carry as women. If we wanted to, we could absolutely shut down every aspect of a marae. Perhaps white feminism [and] Western ideologies, in general, carry the values – or lack of – that question the dynamic of wāhine Māori and tāne Māori working together harmoniously. As Māori women, I believe we should uphold our kawa – the kawa that our nannies and aunties carried for years. Doesn’t mean we can’t call out bullshit though.”
Women’s roles on the marae have evolved. Jessie reflects on this, noting that while certain traditions may seem unchangeable, they have had some adaptations. She believes some wāhine may have forgotten the extent of their influence, but maintain the authority to exercise it in other areas. “The aunty who runs the kitchen has the power to feed you a hearty beef stew or to give you plain biscuits,” she explains. “The speaker's wife may even show her lack of support through awkward silence as the kaikōrero (speaker) waits for his song that won’t come.”
Maria Davis-Tini (Tainui, Te Arawa, Ngāi Tahu)
Critic Te Ārohi also speaks with Maria Davis-Tini (Tainui, Te Arawa, Ngāi Tahu), a young wahine whose deep-rooted connection to Te Arawa kawa and commitment to kaupapa Māori are evident in her roles as Aka Ahurea for Ngā Tauira o Te Kete Aronui (NTKA) and a dedicated student of Otakou Whakaihu Waka.
For Maria, the concept of women dictating the outcome of a whaikōrero resonates. “From my personal experiences, one of the nannies disagreed with one of the uncles on the pae, and in protest of what he said, she sang her own thing to whakaiti (diminish) what he was saying,” she remembers. “All in all, she was protesting against him. No one asked questions because that is our way. There is the freedom to speak up – you can respond.”
Maria, embodying the spirit of ‘Te Arawa hard’, shares her perspective on the role of wāhine on the marae based on personal experiences. For her, it has never been customary for women to speak from the orators' bench. “It’s just not in our kawa. I've never thought of that as something belittling to a woman because I was raised with it,” Maria explains. “I’m big on Te Arawa kawa, so I was never allowed to mihi [ki te] hunga mate (acknowledge the dead). That doesn’t mean I’m unprivileged, because it is to protect my ira wahine (female essence) and my whare tangata (womb).”
Choosing to Speak
While many women like Maria feel secure in the status of their cultural roles, it also begs a bigger question: do women even want to speak on the paepae? Jessie says that it’s subjective. “I know of women who do want to speak on the pae, and some who could never imagine themselves up there,” she says. “Some of the best silver-tongued speakers that I’ve heard in my short 26 years are women.”
In some iwi, the roles of wāhine on the marae have never been as rigidly defined. In others, recent generations have seen a resurgence of women stepping into spaces traditionally held by tāne.
Hineira Tipene-Komene (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Hine) stands out as a prime example of this evolution. Known for her outspoken nature and infamous kōrero at Ngā Manu Kōrero (a te reo Māori speech competition for secondary schools) where she stirred up controversy by lifting her skirt, Hineira is a formidable voice in Te Tai Tokerau (Northland). Although most Ngāpuhi marae do not permit women to speak on the taumata (dialect for orators’ bench), Hineria notes that the situation is different for those in Ngāti Hine. This divergence is attributed to their direct descent from Hineāmaru, who was of chiefly descent and settled the ancestral lands of Waiōmio Valley. Most young people don’t want to speak on the taumata, says Hineira. “A few nannies do [it] because they’re used to it,” she says. “For me personally, I don’t want to unless I absolutely have to.”
Evolving Roles
Marae were no stranger to the effects of World War II and the global shift that it spurred in gender roles. In our own Ōtepoti backyard, for example, the empty space that men left when they went to war enabled women to join the Capping Show, elect female members onto the governing student body, and take editorial positions at Critic Te Ārohi. Hineira shares that at the same time, the role of wāhine on the marae evolved while tāne went to battle. “Without wāhine, we would have lost our tikanga on the marae, had they not carried on,” Hineira says.
This historical reality raises a compelling argument about evolving kawa across iwi and hapū. If wāhine were entrusted with preserving tikanga in such critical times, should their role on the paepae also evolve? Could the very fact that they sustained these practices in the absence of men signal that now is the time to formalise their contributions further, particularly in speaking roles?
On the modern day marae, Jessie highlights how this evolving role manifests in practice. Women will take on various responsibilities, from karanga and raranga (weaving) to supporting the speakers with waiata (song). “[Or] singing them down if we think they’re talking out of their ass,” she laughs. “We cook, clean, sit quietly as we acknowledge the stench of patriarchy, and do one of the hardest jobs in the world – look after their kids.”
So has gender delineation always been the norm in te ao Māori? As we embrace and understand the complexities of our history, there is room to recognise regional differences and adaptations that reflect Māori interests and evolution. By amplifying these regional variations, we acknowledge the dynamic nature of Māori traditions and the ongoing evolution of our cultural practices.
Colonial Restrictions
The perception that kawa exists to oppress wāhine Māori oversimplifies its purpose. Kawa is a reflection of deeply held cultural values, not a tool of subjugation. As guardians of the whare tangata, wāhine hold mana unique to them, even if it is expressed differently from tāne. This balance isn’t about limiting wāhine, but rather protecting and elevating their sacred roles.
Wāhine Māori have always held incredible influence within te ao Māori that far exceeded their Pākehā counterparts. Wāhine are at the heart of our pūrākau (legends). Papatūānuku, the earth mother, is the foundation of life, and Muriranga-whenua, Māui’s grandmother, whose gifted jawbone enabled him to fish up Te-Ika-a-Māui (the North Island), demonstrates the power of wāhine within both the physical and spiritual realms of te ao Māori.
Only with the arrival of Europeans in the 19th century were Māori subject to rigid gender norms. The Victorian belief in ‘separate spheres’ dictated that a woman’s place was in the domestic sphere, and their identity was tied to marriage and motherhood. These colonial ideas clashed with Māori traditions, where women hold significant roles in decision-making, whakapapa, and leadership.
Before colonialism, Māori society was fundamentally built on balance. Ranginui (Sky Father) and Papatūānuku (Earth Mother) exemplify this: their harmonious relationship enjoys a balance of forces essential for life. In this balanced structure, wāhine play crucial, distinct roles that are complementary to those of tāne. Women are vital in decision-making, safeguarding whakapapa (genealogy), and upholding tikanga (customs). Their roles, while different, are equally important, contributing to a harmonious and functional society.
For example, Te Rangitopeora, ‘Queen of the South’ signed Te Tiriti o Waitangi when it was brought to Kāpiti. Her signature wasn’t just symbolic – it was a bold assertion of mana, an acknowledgement that Māori women held influence in political decisions at a time when European women didn’t have the right to vote.
Meri Te Tai Mangakāhia was a member of Te Kōtahitanga Parliament, the Māori parliament established in the 1890s to address Māori issues and advocate for Māori rights. She played a crucial role in debates about land loss and the protection of Māori cultural identity.
These women, just some of many examples, used their positions to challenge colonial policies that aimed to undermine Māori sovereignty and women’s roles within their communities. Their activism was instrumental in the push for the recognition of Māori women’s rights.
In contrast, the colonial systems imposed by European settlers sought to restrict these rights. Colonists often overlooked or disregarded the established roles of Māori women, imposing Western ideals of gender roles that marginalised their influence. The contrast between Māori and Pākehā experiences highlights how colonialism sought to reshape Māori society, eroding traditional roles and rights that Māori women had previously enjoyed.
Jessie, Maria and Hineira shed light on a conversation that can only be had among wāhine Māori, and not well-intentioned but out of context outsider perspectives on women’s role on the marae. These women reiterate through their personal experiences and perspectives that we must continue navigating these discussions while honouring our traditions. “All of these wāhine, who have played important roles in the infrastructure of te ao Māori deserve their flowers,” Jessie said. “Māori women, in general, deserve their flowers.”
The history of wāhine’s influence on the political, cultural and spiritual realms of Māori culture is testament to their enduring adaptability. Their importance on the marae is about more than just speaking, and their voices sing out both literally and symbolically, evident in the very cultural architecture of the continuity of our people. To view the exclusion of women from the paepae as inherently sexist is to project colonial understandings of gender, and ignores the many other ways that Māori women have positioned themselves at the forefront. They deserve their flowers, and deserve to have their roles recognised and celebrated, for all they have done to contribute to spiritual, emotional, and cultural wellbeing. Wāhine voices can be heard in many spaces, practices, and actions, if only we are attuned enough to listen.