Ōhu kainga waewae: The places my feet have taken me

Ōhu kainga waewae: The places my feet have taken me for Jacinta Ruru & Linda Waimarie Nikora

Sample pūrākau

Life is ordinary, until it isn’t. When all that was, was no longer present, Marathons, gym, whanau and gardening, Mates, bootcamps, kai and cooking, enduring.

Life is Ordinary,

Until it Isn’t

But let’s not forget my damn PhD, Which once upon a time, brought me glee.

Part of a national science challenge, I decide to board this doctoral carriage.

Kaumātua Mana Motuhake is the wider project, PhD time, it’s time to select, Rauawaawa Kaumātua Charitable Trust, Wānanga, kai, whanaungatanga a must.

Tāku kaupapa rangahau hauora kaumātua, Mai te kore, te po, ki te ao marama.

2017 I start my PhD, a tough journey ahead, But focus is key as the path we tread.

I take my rangahau back to Mitimiti, And adapt the project away from the city.

I wānanga with kaumātua back in the North, with such high hope that the research goes forth.

But unfortunately not as the kaupapa’s too big. I feel stuck, feel frozen, a dark pit I dig.

This is my first PhD setback, I didn’t know what to do, I was all out of whack, lost in the view.

After months of hiding and running away, My supervisors rescue me, I can no longer stray. They offer me a solution that is a win for all. Researchers community, kaumātua they call.

I’m back on track yes and analysing data, Kaumātua stories yes I must cater. But life is ordinary until it isn’t, Cause COVID hit and the world became different.

This is my second PhD setback, all I could see Was the COVID track, altering reality. So my PhD is now pushed to the side, As we navigate the unknown, the pandemic worldwide.

COVID goes on but eventually simmers, So back to PhD as the light glimmers. I decide to stop work and just PhD full time, Only one year to go, so feeling sublime.

Then, life is ordinary until it isn’t, Ahead knock, head injury, I’m now incoherent. This is my third PhD setback, double I saw, And spots that were black a relentless draw.

Another year off from my PhD, Consumed by rehab and recovery.

In the month of December 2021, Back I go for some PhD fun.

But life is ordinary until it isn’t, Spinal cord issues now persistent. This is my fourth PhD setback, a massive cyst, Is found, from my neck to my crack.

Spinal cord surgery was my only option, This was a one-time-only proposition. After listening to what the docs had to say, I know that surgery is the only way.

Walk in for spinal surgery, wake up slow, But with no power and feeling from hip to toe.

The PhD is put on hold once again, Due to this treatment injury I sustained.

This is my fifth PhD setback, I feel the attack, Of my tupuna, as they’re on the attack. Aweek-long stay with no damn reason, As to how or why my leg is bung, such treason.

The last nearly two years were nothing but fight, For accountability, ownership and what’s right. In comes darkness, depression, consumption, What has happened! I realise I’m in for a long duration.

I feel unheard and totally ignored, I leave hospital frustrated and unexplored. Seven months in and the surgeon finally listens, Through the dark clouds, hope seemingly glistens. But that glistening hope is soon deprived, Abattle fruits within, denied. Long-waits, excuses, ignorance, and lies, On sets pressure, stress and despise.

Abattle in force to fight and challenge the system, Fuck me, I’ve become a victim.

Continued darkness, depression, consumption, Such a junction !Along disruption.

10 months post-op, a 2nd surgery I endured, With hope I gain back my left leg blood flow, assured. But the surgeons have left it far too late, This is now permanent, they never acted with haste.

Continued darkness, depression, consumption, What a change! I’m in for the longest duration. My PhD is on hold once again, Too much to bear, too hard to obtain.

I scream, adversity’s a force that can fuck up your life, Push through it, get past it, you don’t need its strife. Life is for enjoyment, not endurance, It’s time for change, resilience and a hauora kind of defiance.

January 2023 thoughts of PhD brew, Back I go to the PhD queue. But life is ordinary until it isn’t, Functional Neurological Disorder now present.

FND for short causing daily body shakes, I’m tired I just want it to stop, where are the breaks. The hospital’s behaviour is dismissive in gesture, but I learn that it’s just their culture.

Continued darkness, depression, consumption, What a change! I’m still in for a long duration.

I decided to quit my job and PhD, Because I was tired, I just wanted to be free.

Fighting the system just proved too much, It was a winless battle fighting the hospital and such. Although the hospital has made me sicker, My haerenga has made my skin thicker.

So another 9 months off from my PhD, Months of hard mental rehab and recovery. But here’s an opportunity to rethink and do differently, Cause adversity, without it, we have no story.

Re-create life, your movie reels, Cause nothing looks better than healthy feels. This whole journey has been a lot to discern, I find some solace but I still hurt and yearn.

Full circle of healing is when you’re helping others, Through the same experience of another’s.

Engage with your healing, don’t wait for time, To heal you, sort my shit out, sort out your own climb.

The dark side of mental illness is like a pit, But experience, understand and make peace with it. Life doesn’t get better by chance but by change, Reach for the top of the steepest mountain range.

After years of fighting and hiding away, My supervisors rescue me again hooray! They offer me nothing but love and support, And a plea that I don’t PhD abort.

I’m now back on track yes and analysing data, Kaumātua stories yes I must cater.

Since returning to PhD in September 2023, The PhD route I can clearly see.

I’m back on the waka and not that excited, But I told supervisors that I am reunited. I now have themes, kaumātua stories a plenty, Stories of resilience, independence, connections & adversity.

After 4 years off from my PhD, I’m finally back in month number three. Life is ordinary, until it isn’t; When all that was, is now somewhat different.

Hei whakakapi māku, ehara taku toa, he takitahi, engari he toa takitini

Authors

Hine Waitere

Aymee Lewis

Bonnie Mahi

Claire Dowsett

Te Mana Helena Rattray

Isla Whittington

Jasmine Sampson

Kevin Shedlock

Mike Ushaw

Nikki Barrett

Ria Holmes

Tania McDonnell

My Father’s Son:

An Exploration of Māori Fatherhood

My experiences of being raised by a Māori father are deeply interwoven with my upbringing in Mangere and my own identity as a Māori father today. Mangere, in and of itself is many things to many people, however, for me it is a place I am deeply proud of. It reflects a kaleidoscope of cultures, constantly blending, moving and evolving seamlessly, each hue adding depth to the canvas of my upbringing. This was the pito from where I was given unbridled permission to dream, explore and believe in myself. My mother’s love of singing Phoebe Snow songs soon became mine, and from this evolved my first real love; music. It is from within this centrifuge of music that I wish to position both my story; as the son of a Māori father, and my father’s story; a Māori man pushed into the gentrification of an oversold and under-delivering promise of a better way of living. In this retelling, I look to honour my own love of music by using song lyrics to capture the changing nature of each chapter, and by doing so, allow for a more natural connection to both the authenticity of the narratives I seek to share and the powerful influence that these written lyrics possess.

“He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother….”

The Hollies 1969

I remember the first time I was abruptly awoken by the sound of my father’s torment. It was the lates 70s, and I was about eight or nine. I entered his room to find him with his eyes tightly closed, brow beaded with sweat, body rigid, clutching an imaginary weapon across his chest. His unconscious mind had returned him back to (Busan) South Korea, where, as a young man, he had travelled as part of the 1056

ground force contingent; historically remembered as Kay Force (1950). His loud murmurs would continue until his imagination confirmed the danger had passed. These unscheduled voyages to a distant battlefield, where the echoes of war still reverberated in my father’s wairua would continue to haunt him until his passing in July 1999.

His stoic generational nature did not allow for any cross-examination of his situation, however, when he did let his guard down, he would casually discuss the menial tasks he was assigned, with the most innocuous being the collecting of body parts during a ceasefire. However, what really stuck with me was the way he talked about his experiences; like getting milkfrom the fridgeorbread from the corner Dairy in Mangere. Outwardly, it seemed as though he had neutralised the potency of those collectively traumatic experiences that he had shared with his brothers in arms, but within his mind, he was still fighting a war that he would never win. Unfortunately, I was too young to comprehend what was happening to him, and I didn’t have a clue about how to help him, or even where to start looking.

The aromatic fragrance of Old Spice, Brylcreem, and Bay Rum continue to haunt me to this day…

To this day, there are various items and smells that instantly take me back to my childhood, and I use this autoethnographic depiction to position the nature of what I think is a very simple enquiry. Where was the support for my father and his generation? What tools were made available during these times to help them navigate the trauma

(and guilt) of surviving? Actually, on deeper investigation, where has the support been for Māori fathers full-stop?

My father existed within a societal temporality where his definition of masculinity was not his own. At that time, no one focused on debunking colonised cultural scripts intent on emasculating Māori men (Hokowhitu, 2007, p. 63). My father was trapped within a contradiction of characters that Hokowhitu describes as “the humble Māori man” and “the violent Māori Man” (Hokowhitu, p. 73).

Silently shaped by euro-centric stereotypes that told him getting help in any form could be seen as a weakness or source of shame. He needed to be generationally stoic and represent himself within our communityofMangereashard-working, law-abiding andself-reliant. All of these he achieved; however, they came at a cost. In my father’s time, social collateral was rarely awarded to fathers who were emotionally available, and sadly for my brothers and I, this resulted inlongandawkwardmomentsofdiscord,punctuated withunresolved tensions that brought with it a clunky intimacy and an inability to connect.

I must also point out that the intention of these recollections is not to downplay, dismiss or negatively critique my father’s performance. Moreso the reverse, he did everything within the capacity of his given skillset to provide for and protect those within his sphere of influence, and for this, he has my unwavering appreciation. He had our backs, but sadly, no one had his.

“We all need somebody to lean on”.

Bill Withers 1972

An investigation of past academic research that examines the nuances and fragility of Māori fatherhood (and by extension, all Indigenous fathers) was an unavailing exercise, as little contemporary data can be evidenced. However, fatherhood has made substantial progress over the last five decades, as elucidated within a western context. Theorists have elaborated and regularly redefined the conceptual frameworks used to identify the characteristics of fatherhood, father-child relationships, and paternal roles. It has evolved from the idea that fathers are just breadwinners to how they fill a unidimensional and universal role in their families. It is also now recognised that fathers fulfil a number of significant roles, from companions, care providers, and spouses to protectors, role models, moral guides, teachers and more.

The number of significant roles itself is no surprise, as the role of fatherhood within western literature has held a position of relative prominence for some time. However, what is surprising to me is that although, as a culture, we are lauded upon internationally for the numerous ways in which we mentor acts of indigenous innovation (far too many to recognise in this article), we are one of the slowest cultures to respond academically to the needs of our Māori fathers. In other words, while literature concerning fathers from other indigenous cultures can be easily extrapolated, Māori in comparison, have not focused enough on this pursuit. As a result, the depth and value of their contributions to our culture are as yet undefined.

More work is appearing within the Mātauranga Māori space concerning the contributions and behaviours of Māori males; however, these examples emanate from a Hauora perspective (Durie, 2004; Hamley & Grice, 2021; Stephens et al., 2022). Although vital, it has unconsciously devolved into more health-focused categories rather than the father’s health individually.

If we are to listen to the multiple deficit discourse narratives (disempowering patterns of thought, language and practice that represent people in terms of deficiencies and failures) that are regularly perpetuated throughoutthe media aboutMāorimen, then we would assume that they are simply criminals, recidivists and perpetratorsofillicit andimmoralacts.Thesescathinggeneralisations not only result in harmful racial stereotyping, but they are also inaccurate in the sense that they intentionally ‘lump’ all Māori men into the same category.

As highlighted above, little to no research has been conducted that positively affirms ways in which to address the challenges faced by indigenous parents, and by simple osmosis, even smaller amounts of data concerning Māori/Indigenous fathers.

“We gonna chase these crazy Baldheads out of town”.

Bob Marley and the Wailers 1976

The uninvited interruption of colonial elitism has left a disorienting maze of shattered identities in its wake. A legacy of enforced

distancing from traditional knowledge, cultural practices, language, lands and sense of identity. This slow and methodical reinforcement of colonisation has flippantly marginalised the cultural nuances and value of Māori ways of thinking, being and, in this particular case, fathering.Therefore, if we want to address the levels of inequality that currently exist within Māori, then the role and contribution of the Māori father to this endeavour must be better understood.

The more I look back on my life in Mangere, the more I realise how extra my ordinary father was and, to be honest, how extra every Māori father has to be. Each of us becomes custodians of our ancestral threads, whether we are aware of it or not. It is entrusted in us to weave the aspirations of our tupuna (ancestors) into the tapestry of our lives, and those we hold dear. My father covertly fought to retain his connection to Mangamuka and maintain the mana of his urban identity alongside an ever-changing diaspora. I don’t think it would be a stretch to suggest that I was not the child he had envisioned raising; however, through his sacrifice, I have become the man he needed me to be.

Conclusion: Sensitive to a Smile

“Beautiful children have come into my life, beautiful people; Oh, young and bright”.

Herbs 1987

My reasons for this research were, in the beginning, completely selfserving. I wanted to show my kids that success is a mindset; one that can be applied to anything. However, as my study evolved, I began to

recognise that this was actually about creating a space within academic literature that recognises and honours the many different narratives of Māori fathers.

Although western literature often tells us of the importance of fatherhood,my taringawouldpreferthatIbeinformedthroughstories and accents that are familiar to me. As a father, I want to learn and grow my knowledge in this space and help to share the stories of people who look and sound like me. This research is important because Māori fathers are important.

Editors

Marie-Louise Hudson

Hori Manuirirangi

Cherie Todd-Williamson

Hēmi Whaanga

Sarika Rona

Petera Hudson

To begin our conversation

The Power of Breath

Hello, Kia ora, I hope you’re well. My name is MariahAroha, I’m from Tuahiwi, Wai taha. I’d ask your name and where you’re from, but then you’d look a bit silly talking to a page. This is a pretty onesided conversation I’m afraid, such is the way of writing. Regardless, I’m glad to have the opportunity to spin a wee yarn. I’m really not used to writing in an informal manner (I’m an engineering student, so human communication isn’t exactly my strong point to begin with). Hopefully I can make some of this at least slightly interesting. You’re still reading, right? Okay, cool ☺

I research how we breathe when we first come into this world, to ultimately help neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) nurses care for newborns who need respiratory support. They say a PhD is a journey, which I initially blew off as a romantic metaphor for ‘a lot of work’. But over the last 4 years, my perspectives have shifted, I have grown, and I stand in a different place in the world to where I started. I understand why they say it’s a journey, and I’d like to share a bit of my shifting perspectives with you.

Tēnā koe, haere mai ki te whakāro au. Welcome to a piece of my mind and I’m glad for the space to share it with you. Please forgive me for a lack of personable writing skills, I’m way easier to talk to in real life, I swear! If ever you do happen to meet a MariahAroha from Tuahiwi out in the wild (probably wearing cargo pants, with a purple asymmetric mohawk), ask them if they’re me, I’d love to meet you! Maybe we can share our ideas about the world together.

So, my friend, introducing to you: The places my feet have walked me, or, in my case, the ideas I’ve learnt about the breath.

Te hā, The breath

Hā ki roto, hā ki waho.

Breathe in, breathe out. Awhakatauki that was given to me, printed on a piece of card at a hui I went to in my first year of postgrad study.Arandom selection, coincidentally relevant to my field of study. It’s blue tacked to the wall above my desk.

Hā ki roto, hā ki waho.

Actions that keep us alive. Inhaling the oxygen, exhaling the carbon dioxide.An exchange of gas from our lungs to our bloodstream, used to create energy. Respiration:Aphysical process. We learn about it in high school biology.

Hā ki roto, hā ki waho.

Breathe in, breathe out. Aphysical process. But… have you ever stood on top of your mountain, or dug your feet into the ocean floor, or hugged someone you loved, and felt the breath you share with everything around you in that moment? To breathe is to exchange energy. To breathe is to gain life. If you can feel that we exist in wairua, then you can feel the power of a breath.

In my computer, I have the air pressure and air flow from half a million breaths collected from 9 newborn babies who needed respiratory support. I apply this data to equations to extrapolate clinically useful knowledge and understand a bit more about how the babies are doing (I’ll explain it more later). It’s wild to think these were among the first breaths these babies took. Real people, the first flow of energy in the world of light, and I reduce it to maths and models.

Hā ki roto, hā ki waho.

It is not just a physical process.

Ahau, about me

This section is a bit like those ‘share a fun fact’ice breaker games, where I either forget my own name or go straight into oversharing mode… So here goes.

Well, I am MariahAroha (I know, I said that), I’m from Tuahiwi (I know, I said that too), I’m 26 and my eyes are blue (aha, new information!). The family roots I belong to are Ngāi Tahu, Kati Mamoe and Wai Taha, McDonald, MacClure, Sinclair, and Cameron.

Afun fact about me: I grew up in a 100-year-old abandoned factory in between Tuahiwi and Rangiora. Te Awa Ruataniwha flowed in between our house and the neighbours, and Te Maukatere (offensively ‘renamed’Mt Grey) could be seen from my house on

clear mornings. I now live in Christchurch and I feel at peace at New Brighton beach or atop Tamatea Pōkai Whenua (the port hills).

Here’s where it gets cheesy, and I don’t even eat cheese... Existing in love and connectedness with all life systems is what I strive for. I really think love is limitless if you are open to connection. My people are my husband and my partners, my close friends, my parents, my siblings, and my nephew and the children of my partners and friends to whom I am a chosenAunt. These are the people who I walk with and grow with, and who I have those long late-night existential chats with. I don’t vibe with rigid structures of the idealised family unit, or any socially prescribed correct path; I vibe with love and connection.

Some likes and dislikes: I like maths, robots, everything about octopuses, and when pīwakawaka follow me in te ngāhere. When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up to be spiderman, and I think spiders are really cool. I don’t like the isolation and individualisation that I feel in our urban society, and I’m not a big fan of ethically void corporations, or unsustainable agricultural practices.

I value understanding our world through scientific investigation, and I’ve always hoped to contribute to the pool of human knowledge. I’ve always hoped to do something beneficial, that solves problems. So, with my affinity for maths and robots, I went to uni and became a mechatronics engineer. Then, with my affinity for mental turmoil, I signed up with the department of biomechanical engineering to do a PhD.

Mahi, the work I do

I’m writing my thesis at the moment. Currently, the title is “Patientspecific parameter identification of mechanically ventilated newborns”. I don’t know, does that sound alright? I might change it.

The overview: I really like physics and maths. I love understanding the world with mathematical models and I also want my work to be useful in the real world, so I was attracted to biomechanical engineering research. This field applies engineering tools to biological systems to solve a medical problem. In my case, the engineering tool is computational modelling, the biological process is breathing, and the problem is premature babies sometimes don’t breathe so good. That just about sums it all up, but let me explain a bit further.

The problem: Lungs are the last organ to develop in a growing baby, so the respiratory system is incredibly delicate and not fully formed at birth. When we’re born, especially if we’re born prematurely, there’s a high risk we’ll need help to breathe. Clinicians working in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) are absolute heroes and they do all they can with the tools they have to provide the best care for the baby. When providing breathing assistance, the clinician must decide which ventilation mode and settings are right for the baby. The tools currently available to the clinician either generalise the baby’s respiratory needs based on their size and gestational age, or they consist of invasive tests.

Generalisations are fallible because babies are individual, and their needs vary. If the initial settings are the best, then clinicians will adjust until the baby responds positively, but this poses risk of injury due to the fragility of an infant’s lungs. Knowledge of certain lung parameters such as the stiffness, resistance, or size of the lungs helps to provide the clinician with more tools and understanding. This gives more clinical insight into the type of lung disease, how to provide optimal care right from the start, and how the patient is responding to the care.

There are tests that can measure patient-specific parameters, but most of these are either invasive to the body, disruptive to care, require the patient to cooperate by breathing in a certain way, or require specialised equipment or training. Therefore, they are often unsuitable for use in the NICU, and better ways to determine patient-specific lung parameters are needed.

The solution: What if we could find out patient-specific information using data already available from the ventilator or the patient monitor? My research fits an equation to the pressure and flow data of neonatal ventilators when they’re providing breathing assistance to premature babies. Modelling the breath data with equations results in the model-based identification of parameters relating to physiological aspects of the baby’s respiratory system. In practice, this would involve fitting the model to the breath data of any given individual, giving us information about the stiffness of their lungs, the resistance of their airway, the size of their lungs, and how much effort the individual is putting into each breath. Having this

information available to clinicians without having to poke and prod the baby any more than necessary would mean the clinician has more tools to know how best to care for the baby.

The bigger picture: The respiratory system has been researched and modelled for decades, although babies are much harder to study due to their fragility, so less information is known about neonatal respiratory modelling. I do not do this work alone, I am simply contributing my part to the bigger picture. I work in an office full of other PhD students who are finding engineering solutions to healthcare problems. We have supervisors who are absolutely brilliant. They steer us in the right direction and work with us to find ideas and do a huge amount of research in various overlapping fields.Asignificant portion of the projects in my office contribute to the idea of a ‘digital twin’, which is software that imitates a biological process, specific to an individual. One day, digital twins will provide clinicians with patient-specific information using the models and equations we develop combined with readily available bedside data. This will give clinicians more tools to provide the best care tailored to the individuals needs with less need for invasive poking and prodding, and hopefully decrease the use of fallible generalisations.

Other research: My office is awesome, so I want to share some other research projects.Abig one here is glycaemic control. This is the modelling of the diabetic glucose-insulin balance, and development of cheaper, less invasive devices for diabetics such as insulin pumps and glucose readers. These are life saving devices

where cost and bodily invasion often hinders effective treatment. Another project is a breast cancer screening method which has a computer analyse images of breast tissue movement. This screening process hopes to provide a more appealing alternative to the current ‘squash and radiate’approach.Another project is the development of exoskeletons for stroke rehabilitation, which assists limb movement. There are also others modelling lung dynamics for other respiratory issues such as CPAP for sleep apnea.All research projects focus on the end goal of providing individualised treatment while reducing cost and reducing the need for invasive testing.

Kaupapa, Motivations and passions

Why do I do this work? What does it mean to me? Initially it was simply the passion of applying maths in a way no one has before to work towards solving a problem. My desire to do a PhD had nothing to do with the delicate nature of assisting babies with their first breaths. I wasn’t particularly passionate about breathing, and I wasn’t particularly passionate about babies. This was simply an area of research with great need and little understanding presented to me by my supervisors. The significant health complications and patientto-patient variability of premature babies means there is a significant need for research and understanding, but because of how fragile and precious they are, they’re very difficult to research so there is quite a gap in our knowledge. I was intrigued by the concept of describing breathing with maths, and I saw the clinical need for it, so that’s why I chose modelling neonatal respiratory mechanics as my PhD

project. I realised as I went along, how little I understood the significance of breathing.

To describe my connection to my research topic, I should first describe my connection, or lack thereof, to other things in my world.

TeAo Tangata, the world of people. I am a person, obviously, but in the past I’ve struggled to feel like I belong in the world of people. I was raised Christian, and I’ve felt spiritual truth in Christian worship, but I don’t quite feel like I belong in a church. I am Ngāi

Tahu, I know my Tūpuna and they know me, but I don’t quite feel like I belong in a Marae.At school I had a few select friends, but in a classroom jumbled full of students, I just didn’t belong. It felt like there was a cultural gap, even in the environments that raised me. Rules, protocols, and social structures I couldn’t make sense of, or couldn’t see the point to. Or worse yet, social interactions I wanted to take part in, but wouldn’t come naturally to me.

If I think about it too hard, I feel like I’m sitting at the back of my head, driving my body like a robot, trying to make my movements look natural and wanting to belong. I’ve realised this has led to a disconnection within myself, with other people, and with the world in general. But it’s also why I’m drawn to scientific analysis and mathematical modelling. An objective way to interpret my environment. But… my environment is not always objective, and models are never all encompassing.

Te Taiao, The natural world. Picture this: The dense, humid forest of the Ngahere, with tiny drops of nectar on the bark of her trees, soft moss and mushrooms decorating the ground, birds following along or leading the way. If a blind person ever asked me to describe the colour green, I’d lead them to the forest and tell them to breathe it in. Rivers have a similar feeling, but with a quick rush rather than a slow sigh. The flow of cold water over rocks. You can feel the energy on your skin as you get close. Following the river up the mountain, or down to the ocean, even simply standing outside my house with the wind moving around me, the feelings change, the manifestations of nature are different, but there’s always that similar underlying energy. In these places, I don’t feel like a robot, or an observer, or an unnatural imposter. In these places, I know connection and belonging. I can breathe, listen, and exist in flow with the world around me. I think almost any human could find a similar connection with the natural world if they just stand in a place, open their mind, and breathe. We exist in a flow of wairua, and each individual will find their own places of connection. I connect and breathe with the world, with the forests, the water and the wind. We all have life. We all have vitality. We all have hā.

Innate knowledge: “You may not know your language, but your language knows you. You may not know your mountain, but your mountain knows you.”- Rawiri Waititi

Have you ever been taught an idea or come to a realisation, and it hit you like a puzzle piece falling into its place?As if you always knew this idea, but somehow you had forgotten. You just had to get out of

your own way, pull out the wax clogging your ears to let yourself hear it. I think this is innate knowledge.

It seems obvious that breathing is incredibly important. It’s life sustaining, it’s part of how we turn food into energy. ‘The breath of life’is the believed beginning of humanity for many people. But I have grown up in a colonised, urbanised, industrialised world. I have learnt the value of objectivity and rationality. I found peace in observing physical mechanisms and understanding the underlying theories. But I reduced those physical mechanisms to be only the underlying theories. I forgot to feel, and in my learnt disconnection, I metaphorically forgot to breathe.

We are all beings with life force and entwined energy. Our mauri connects us to every other being in a continuous flow of transference and conservation. We can reduce energy to mere physicality, as if that removes the wairua. We can forget to feel our humanity, but we can’t remove ourselves from it. If we let ourselves feel that connection, then we may remember our innate knowledge. It was in feeling myself breathe with those around me that I remembered just how profound and life-giving the breath is.

To end our conversation

Thank you for the time and energy it took you to read this. Whoever you are and whatever you think about the words I’ve written. I suppose this conversation isn’t really as one-sided as it seemed in the beginning. I put in time to write, and you put in time to read, so

thank you. In figuring out my perspectives, I certainly learnt something and it is my hope that you have learnt something too.

The places our feet take us are a journey of discovery, and you may not know where you’re going until you’re there. Please remember, as you walk your journey, that you are enough. Life can be overwhelming, and full of miscommunications, disconnections, burnouts, and imposter syndrome. Your worth is inherent and immeasurable. It is not defined by your achievements, your productivity, or what you look like. You belong and you exist in connection with the world around you. You are enough.

Ka puta ka ora

E kore teenei whakaoranga e huri ki tua o aku mokopuna

Maaku anoo e hanga tooku nei whare

Ko ngaa pou o roto, he maahoe, he patatee, ko te taahuhu he hiinau

Me whakatupu ki te hua o te rengarenga

Me whakapakari ki te hua o te kawariki

Teeraa anoo ngooku nei hoa kei ngaa toopito o te ao

Ko ngaa huumeka, ko ngaa kaamura me ngaa parakimete.

Ahakoa ngaa mano huri atu ki te haamaarietanga

Mahue mai ki a au

Kotahi mano, e rima rau, rima tekau, tekau maa rua

Ko ahau kei roto ko te atua tooku piringa

Ka puta, ka ora.

He kupu taurangi teenei naa Kiingi Tuukaaroto Matutaaera

Taawhiao Pootatau Te Wherowhero II (Taawhiao) o te Kiingitanga i waiho mai ki a taatou. He mau ki ngaa tohutohu, he huarahi anga whakamua moo ngaa iwi, moo ngaa uri whakatupu, mooku, moo Te Wharekura o Raakaumangamanga hoki. Ko te Kiingitanga te kaipupuru i ngaa tongikura i ngoona tapu, i ngoona ihi, i ngoona wehi anoo hoki.

Naa te iwi Maaori te Kiingitanga i whakatuu. Naa te whakaparahakotanga, naa te taamitanga o te waa te take, aa, i te tau 1858 i whakatuuria ai te Kiingitanga iAotearoa. Naa te rere o te patu, naa te heke o te toto, naa te ngaromanga o te whenua Maaori. Naa ngaa aahuatanga o te waa i tootara waahi rua te iwi Maaori, aatikanga whakahaere, aa-whenua, aa-whakaaro anoo hoki. Koia ngeetehi o ngaa take i ahu mai ai teenei kaupapa. Maa te Kiingitanga

ka pupuru i te whenua, ka pupuru i te toto Maaori, ka pupuru i te Mana Maaori Motuhake. Ko Pootatau Te Wherowhero, te Kiingi tuatahi o te Kiingitanga i whaanau mai ko Tuukaaroto Matutaera Taawhiao. I tapaina a Tawhiao hei Kiingi i te tau 1860. I whaanau mai a Kiingi Taawhiao i te waa o te pakanga. Ko te Whare Waananga o Te Papa-o-Rotu, te pakanga me te rautaki ngaana momo akoranga. He momo hoki naa toona paapaa. Araa, ko ngaa waiata, ko ngaa koorero whakapapa i taupuuria ki a ia. Ka whaanau mai ngeenei kupu wairua e kiia ana he tongi, he tongikura e Kiingi Taawhiao. Ko Tuukaaroto Matutaaera Taawhiao Pootatau Te Wherowhero II, he ariki, he Kiingi. Te Kiingi o te Maungaarongo. Paimaarire.

Noo te tiimatanga mai o te Kiingitanga tau rawa mai ki ngeenei rangi tonu teenei tongikura waha ake ana. Ko ngaa tongikura he hanga i te maatauranga. Kei roto i a taatou Te Wharekura o Raakauamanga, o Waikato iwi, o Tainui waka, koia teenei ko ngaa whakakitenga, ko ngaa matakitenga, ko ngaa whakatuupatotanga, ko ngaa kupu oati a te raangai upoko ariki o te Kiingitanga. He huarahi e taapae atu ana i ngaa kupu whakatuupato o te Kiingitanga ki ngoona iwi, otiraa, ki ngoona uri whakatupu. Ko ngaa kupu tawhito e whakatairanga ana i te ao i noohia ai e ngaa upoko ariki.

E ngahue kau ana ngaa tongikura i waihotia mai e te tupuna, e te ariki, e te Kiingi. Ko ahau teenei, ko Kahurangi Tipene, e wherawhera ana i teenei tongikura hei aarahi, hei takitaki i ngaku koorero e whai ake nei. Ko te whaainga o teenei tuhinga koorero, he hora ake i ngaa koorero moo taku tupuranga, moo ngaku wheako o

te tuhi kairangi maa te tongikura a Kiingi Taawhiao. Ko te take e wheenei ana, naa te mea ko teenei te tongikura e titia ana ki te whatumanawa o te wharekura, ki tooku ake whatumanawa. He tongikura hei tuuaapapa koorero mooku. Kia whakataukii ahau i konei;

E kore teenei whakaoranga e huri ki tua o aku mokopuna

Noo ngaa motu o Haamoa, noo Taupiri, noo Taranaki maunga a Paapaa.

I whaanau mai a Paapaa i Kirikiriroa, engari i tupu ake ia i Taamaki Makaurau. Noo Waikato tooku tuupuna taane. Ko Te Rorokitua Puutohe toona ingoa, te kaihaapai o Kiingi Korokii (te Kiingi Tuarima). Noo Taranaki tooku tuupuna whaaea. Ko te reo Maaori anake te reo i koorerotia. Ka whaanau mai tooku ruruhi i roto i ngaa rautau o te Native SchoolsAct. I patua katoatia ia e te kaiako moo te koorero Maaori te take, oti ake, tee taea e ia te koorero i te reo Maaori. Ka moe ko tooku ruruhi ki tooku koroheke ka puta ko tooku Paapaa.

Naa te ringa o te Paakehaa, kua kore te reo Maaori o paapaa.

Noo Ingarangi a Maamaa. I tae mai tooku tuupuna a James Ninnis ki Aotearoa maa runga i te waka St Augustine i te tau 1846. I te tau 1965, i huunuku ngooku kaumaatua ki Matawaia, te whaanau Paakehaa anake o te waahi raa. Ka moe ko tooku ruruhi ki tooku tooku koroheke ka puta ko tooku Maamaa. I Matawaia a Maamaa i tupu ake ai ki ngaa uri o Ngaati Hine, ki runga i te marae o

Matawaia, ki te kura reo rua o Matawaia. I konei, i kite ake a Maamaa i te ao Maaori me ngoona hua papai. Noo ngaa tau kua pahure a Grandma takoto ai ki te wharenui o Rangimarie. Te tuupapaku Paakehaa tuatahi i whai waahi ki te marae o Matawaia. Me mihi ka tika ki te mana whenua o Matawaia, moo raatou i taawharau i ngooku tuupuna, i tooku Maamaa hoki.

Ka tae mai ki taku Maamaa, kua kore te reo Maaori o maamaa.

Ka moe a maamaa raaua ko paapaa. Ka puta ko au, koAroha, ko Mōwai.

Ko ahau, ko Kahurangi Tipene teenei. He kaawai whakaheke noo Taranaki, noo Waikato, noo Ingarangi hoki.

Naa te whakatupuranga o Maamaa, naa te whakapapa o Paapaa i hiahia raaua tahi kia whakarauora i te reo Maaori me ngoona tikanga i roto i a maatou te whaanau. Teenei au te whaariki ake i te takapou o te aroha ki a raaua, otiraa ki ngooku tuupuna. Ko raaua, ka mutu, ko raatou tonu te raataa whakaruruhau o teenei reo ngooku. Ko raatou te whakatiinanatanga o teeenei tongikura. Naa raatou maatou ngaa tamariki i whaangaia ai ki te reo, i tukuna ai ki te Koohanga, ki te Wharekura.

E kore te korenga o te reo Maaori e huri ki tua i a ahau, taa raaua tamaiti, taa raatou mokopuna. Ka puta, ka ora.

Maaku anoo e hanga i tooku nei whare

I haere a Maamaa raaua ko Paapaa ki te Whare Waananga o Aotearoa, ki teAra Reo Maaori, ki te Whare Waananga o Waikato, ki te whakatutuki i te Tohu Paetahi. I whakapau riaka raaua kia whakahoki mai te reo ki te kaainga.Aianei, he pouako raaua ki Te Wharekura o Raakaumangamanga.

Ka tukuna ahau ki Te Koohanga Reo o Tahuri Mai ki Manukau. Puta ana i te Koohanga Reo ka tomokia ngaa tatau o Papakura ki Te Tonga, ki Te Wharekura o Rakaumangamanga. Iwa tau ahau e ako ana i raro i te taahuhu nui o te wharekura. I hua mai ngaa tukanga ako, ngaa kaupapa i roto anoo i te Kiingitanga. Ko ngaa pou whenua, ko ngaa mooteatea, ko ngaa tongikura, ko ngaa tikanga, ko te tangi o te reo o Waikato. Katoa ngeenei kaupapa i whaangaihia ki a au e Te Wharekura o Raakaumangamanga.

Ko ngaa uaratanga me ngaa maataapono o te wharekura, o te Kiingitanga, o te Waikatotanga araa, te ture, te whakapono, te aroha, te rangimaarie, te manaakitanga i kawea ki waho atu i te tomokanga o te kura, i aarahi i a au ki te ao. Mei kore ake ngaa maataapono, kua kore e tutuki i ahau ngaku whaainga.

He whakatutuki i taku tohu paetahi, i taku tohu hoonore, he whakaako piipii paopao ki Ngaa Kura Koohungahunga, he whakaako i te reo Maaori me ngoona tikanga ki te Whare Waananga o Ootaakou, he waewae kapua atu ki Uropi ki te whai wheako, he puukenga ki Te Tumu, aa, hei aakuanei he whakaoti i taku tohu kairangi.

Naa Maamaa raaua ko Paapaa teenei whare haumanu i hanga mooku kia puta kia ora.

Ko ahau kei roto ko teAtua tooku piringa

Naa ngooku maatua, naa Te Wharekura o Raakaumangamanga, naa Te Tumu, naa te tipiwhenua kua whaanui taku tirohanga atu ki te ao. Ngaa aahuatanga kua whakarite mooku moo te tuhi i taku tohu kairangi, oti ake, te tuhi ki te reo Maaori.

He Maaori, he Raakaumangamanga, he whaanui te whakaaro ki te ao. Kua roa te noho o te reo Maaori, o te wharekura o Raakaumangamanga, o te Kiingitanga hei tuuaapapa moo te maarama ki ngaa maatauranga a te Maaori, otiraa, ngaa rangahau o te ao. Ko taku tuhikura kairangi he aro ki ngaa wheako o te whaanau McLeod i Tauranga Moana e mau ana i te taniwha irakee CDH1. He tuuponotanga toona ka mate i te mate pukupuku puku, i te mate pukupuku aa-uma hoki. He iwi moorehu raatou te whaanau McLeod. Ko Raatana too raatou whakapono noo reira ko te pou taraawaho o te tuhikura anoo nei he whakamoemiti. I tiimata ki te inoi whakatuuwheratanga o te whakamoemiti, i mutu ki te inoi whakamutunga.

I a au e tuhi ana, ahakoa te whaainga matua kia tutuki taku tohu kairangi, engari anoo, ko taku whaainga kia whakamaaori i te reo Maaori ki te ao. Kia whakamaaori i te whakamahinga o ngaa tongikura, o ngaa haka, o ngaa whakamoemiti hei pou taraawaho moo teetehi tuhinga. Kei te kite ake i teenei rangi tonu i te pakanga

ki te Whare Paaremata moo te reo te take. Ko taua aahua tonu! Noo reira he wero, he kupu akiaki eenei ki te hunga e moohio ana ki te reo. Kia kaha te reo Maaori. Naa te mea, kaaore he aha ki a ahau mehemea kotahi mano, e rima rau, e rima tekau, tekau maa rua o maatou e wero ana i ngaa nahanaha, i ngaa puunaha. Ko taaku, he whawhai moo te reo. He whawhai moo ngooku maatua, moo ngooku tuupuna. Maa te tuhi i taku tohu kairangi ki te reo Maaori.

Moo te roanga o teenei haerenga rangahau ngooku, i poorearea mai taku nohoanga. Ehara i ahau te taniwha irakee CDH1; tee taea e au te whakapapa atu ki Tauranga Moana; he raawaho ahau ki teenei kaupapa. I noho i waananga mehemea ko au te tangata tika ki te mahi i teenei mahi. I noho tahi atu ki too te whaanau McLeod taha mea rawa ake i huakina te tatau whare, te tatau manawa ki ahau. I whakatau, teenaa, hiinei te mahi maaku hei whakatutuki. Ka mutu, noo mai anoo tooku tino ngaakaunui ki te whakatutuki i te tohu kairangi. Kua waimarie ahau i te whaanau McLeod, kua riro i a ahau te hoonore ki te whakatutuki i teenei mahi, oti ake, taku tohu kairangi.

Heoi, me whakamiha atu ka tika ki ngooku maatua, ki Te Wharekura o Raakaumangamanga, ki tooku whenua o Waikato. Ahakoa kaaore teenei kaupapa rangahau e haangai ana ki a raatou, ko raatou kee ngaa tuuaapapa o tooku ao. Naa ngaa akoranga kua kaporia teenei mahi hei whakatutuki. Moo raatou, moo te whaanau McLeod, moo ngaa uri e whai ake nei te take.

Mei kore ake ko ngooku maatua, ko ngooku tuupuna, kua kore i ahau te reo Maaori, te tuhi i taku tuhikura ki te reo Maaori, te tuhi i teenei tuhinga moo Ōku Kāinga Waewae. Naa raatou i hanga i teenei whare mooku, aa, maaku te whare e whakapakari kia tuu moo ake.

Ko ahau kei roto ko te atua tooku piringa.

Ka puta ka ora.

So, you know how I grew up in Wairoa e kare? With the privileges of the taiao, our haukāinga, our community and kaumatua? But also, the complexities of a colonised reality? I want to tell you my story about that and how it shaped my current research about disinformation and misinformation on social media.

What the f%*& is misinformation and disinformation?

Ko Tākitimu te Waka

Ko Ngāti Kahungunu, raua ko Ngāti Rakaipaaka ngā Iwi

Ko Ngāi Kauaha, ko Ngāti Kurupakiaka, ratou ko Ngāti

Hinehika ngā Hapū

Ko Mauwhiri, ko Maumaukai, ratou ko Whakapūanake ngā Maunga

Ko Waitirohia, ko Wairoahopupuhonengenengematangirau, ratou ko Hangaroa ngā Awa

Ko Manutai, ko Taihoa, ratou ko Pūtahi ngā Marae

Ko Hinekōrako, raua ko Hineruru ngā Tipuna

I’ve spent a bit of time thinking about life journeys and how everything seems to connect. What a wairua badass eh? But let me start at the beginning. My (nuclear) whānau home was blended; my Mum and siblings are Pākehā, and my Dad is Māori, whereas the wider community consisted of majority Māori and majority whānau. However, learning how to become a person in my own right and develop an identity was complex. Some of the narratives I was exposed to went something like this:

"The dope smoking comes from your father's side" "You are going to be the first one pregnant”

These comments were commonplace, and as a young person, I am sure I internalised these ideas, some of which took on the form of self-fulfilling prophecies, and colonised my mind. Not knowing any better, I took them in, in silence. I’m not sure if it broke me as much back then as it does now to reflect upon it. From an individual perspective, it is no wonder I chose to walk a certain path; one that led me towards partaking in substances and partying with the rest of my high school friends. In hindsight, it was an easy road to acceptance on a path already laid for me, for us. Collectively, though, these remarks echo harmful and deeply ingrained stereotypes and misperceptions –the

'lazy Māori’ the 'stoner hori'

over-sexualisation of Wāhine Māori criminalisation of Māori

More than hurtful, these stereotypes are tools of colonial oppression that have worked to undermine the mana of Māori, particularly Wāhine Māori. My own life choices, besides those of my peers, paint a certain picture. I believe these stereotypes worked as they were intended; to relegate our identities to the hori, stoner, oversexed and criminal. I guess I have to be nuanced here; there is also work going on beyond narratives and discourse, such as policies, intergenerational trauma and discrimination, racism and marginalisation. However, we will focus on the narratives as my academic journey has been rooted in a desire to deconstruct and dismantle these colonial narratives, but I will get to that soon.

I guess it’s important to add that there was, and always will be, a strong counter-narrative. I was privileged to have a big, wider whānau; the Wairoa community, which solidified my proudness to be Māori. For example, my teachers at high school were Māori or well-versed in te ao Māori, so naturally, they planted seeds of te ao Māori knowledge within us. I was name-called for being white, hah, what a perfect counter-discourse to what white colonial NZ would attempt to instil; by ten years old, I had rejected my government name ‘Cassandra’and was signing my name as Terauhina Lewis (My Nanny’s name and my middle name).

I was not ‘inherently bad’either, and I believe none of us are. Yeah, I had dipped into my Mum's coin stash a few too many times, and the scuff marks on the wall outside my bedroom told their own story, but I had been called a ‘weirdo’by the cuzzies too many times to deny my big dork energy. I was practically raised in the depths of

digital waters. I was chronically online and in front of screens, alongside the rest of the world as it opened its eyes to the storm of social media that would come and devour us with its trends. I remember around 2012, when all of a sudden it was the norm to take selfies, we would say ‘skuxx’, and that song Gangnam style played on repeat. I cannot explain exactly how, but I know it was around that time that I started to become what people label as ‘conspiracyminded’. I now see that this ‘phase’was the result of trying to understand what was wrong with the world; things just straight up didn’t ‘feel fair’. I was working at AFFCO as a janitor, but I was drowning in questions in a community whose undercurrent was over-policed and under-resourced.Also, I was coming to the realisation that the stories I was waterboarded with while growing up, didn’t quite add up.

The riptides of oppression and the narratives spun to keep us in our ‘place’.

Aroha for my papakāinga ran deep, but so did the awareness of our realities – the riptides of oppression and the narratives spun to keep us in our 'place'. There was this feeling of being part of a larger story, one where 'unworthy Māori’and ‘undeserving poor' wasn't just a whispered self-critique but a societal storm. I felt myself raging against these injustices and justifications for our marginalisation and the indifference to colonial trauma and racism. Unfortunately, however, my toolkit at the time for dismantling these narratives was as empty as my understanding of the extent of

colonialism we were up against – capitalism, white supremacy, western patriarchy, and so on. If any of this resonates with you so far, then chur cuzzy, look at you, we are doing good!

But, social media algorithms are not interested in the truth; they are interested in increasing profit, and increasing user interaction and attention.

So, I did what I suspect many people did/still do and used YouTube and social media to ‘self-educate’. Some of it was useful, the critiques of capitalism in an easy-to-digest manner, for example, held some truths. But social media algorithms are not interested in the truth; they are interested in increasing profit, and user interaction and attention. So naturally, the recommended videos divulged into documentaries about the ‘elites’, ‘documentaries’hosted by ‘anonymous’groups, and clips about the dangers of fluoridisation.

So, there I was feeling like I was getting a grasp on things feeling like I was privy to some ‘big secrets’ But those f%*&ing narratives again.

Phrases like “I can't promote you, young girls just get pregnant” and “she pushes him until he beats her” once again felt commonplace. I am pretty sure I argued against these points. I had found a voice, but it was dismissed with “What do you know?” So I sat in an echoing silence.

Did I say I am a strong wāhine Māori? Because I am. I didn’t know it at the time. But I do now. Some could say it is somewhat stubborn hah. These words fuelled me to enter university. It’s funny to think back at that time and how close I was to journeying a methamphetamine-charged future instead. But hei aha, I enrolled in university, handed in my notice and left within a month of making that decision. The decision was clear –I want a better life for my moko and my people, Since no one will listen I will make them listen

University offered me a new perspective, not the case for everyone, but in my case, it was. It wasn’t just the papers or the lectures either; it was the kōrero, with the kaiako and other tauira. For example, I remember arguing with Luke Oldfield about fluoridisation of water, how humbling it was to read his postgraduate research on fluoridation and some of the political discourse, and psychology behind the rejection and widespread panic of it. I also admit, that I had some sort of emotional attachment to ideas such as anti-

fluoridisation which served as resistance to any counter information I received. I was physically angry the first time I read his work. Interesting eh, I come from whānau with bad teeth, my town is lowsocio-economic – statistically speaking we are the type of town that benefits most from fluoridisation. But I digress. It is these situations, interactions, stories and conversations with Māori academics and students which challenged me to look beyond the narratives I had been drowning in; even better, there were so many tools to fill up my kete mātauranga.

“Your journey is your strength”

One day, chilling and having a korero and kai, a kuia (also a student), told me, ‘Your journey is your strength’. Those simple words echoed; they made me think about how our stories, struggles, and victories are interconnected to the whakapapa of our knowledge and collective experience. It dawned on me that the stereotypes weren't just personal battles; they were echoes of a larger war against misinformation that has plagued our people for generations.

As I delved into postgraduate study, I found myself drawn to the ways misinformation and disinformation (at the time, I talked about discourse and stigmatising narratives) had been weaponised against Māori. But it was more than just academic interest; it felt like my nannies had kicked my ass in that direction. Each paper I read, each korero I had, peeled back layers of colonial narratives, revealing the mana of our people. It was as if I was relearning our story through the lens of our tīpuna.

At this point in my becoming, I embraced being chronically online and radically pro-Māori. I also noticed more identity-based propaganda and ethnicity-focused disinformation campaigns, especially online.As I write this, the NACT (national/act) government is attempting to undermine Te Tiriti and The Treaty, brandishing support through propaganda, fear-mongering and divisive ideology that hides behind a slogan of ‘we are all one’a.k.a colour-blind racism.1

Nothing new, but some of the examples of things I see online and which have become commonplace are:

“The Māori elite is the problem.”

“Co-governance is racial separatism.”

“What do you know?”

“Radical Māori.”

“Angry indignance.”

My voice was backed now, but still, I was met with ‘what do you know’and angry indignance. My voice increased the divide; I was part of what people saw as a ‘radical Māori’. It was a proud moment for me, but the echoing silence persists.

1 Eduardo Bonilla-Silva (2017) defines colourblind racism as a contemporary ideological framework that explains racial inequality as the outcome of nonracial dynamics. Unlike overt racism of the past, colourblind racism avoids direct racial language and overtly racist discourses. Instead, it cloaks ongoing racial

These misinformed beliefs echoed across my whānau, friends and co-workers. It felt obvious to me where they were getting these narratives from; I had also seen the memes. So, I began to wonder how the internet and social media are either complicit in the proliferation of identity and culture-based misinformation or alternatively, serve as another tool for Indigenous story-telling and counter-hegemonic narratives. I think the answer lies somewhere in the middle with extra caution paid to the fact that these are technologies which

“makes it easier and faster to produce racist outcomes. Notice that I said outcomes and not beliefs, because it is important for us to assess how technology can reinforce bias by what it does, regardless of marketing or intention.”

(Benjamin, 2020, p.26)

We are forewarned that social media was created and continues to be monopolised by a male-dominated, white, capitalist sillicon valley, whose ideas, biases and preferences have been etched into the development, coding, management and well - every facet of social media architecture. Whats worse is that Māori may be specifically targeted by disinformation campaigns due to historical

discrimination and inequalities in the guise of neutrality, arguing that race no longer matters or should be considered in the policies and decisions that shape lives and opportunities.

disenfranchisement and colonial traumas (Rangiwai, 2021; Ngata, 2020). Technology such as social media is not neutral, and can and does perpetuate racist outcomes online and IRL (in real life).

But, we are also forearmed. We are armed with the teachings of our tīpuna. Rangimarie Mahuika (2008) reminds us that Māori ways of knowing and disseminating information offer a powerful counternarrative to rampant colonial myths. I am certain this must also be true for the spread of digital misinformation. By embracing te ao Māori knowledge systems, we gain a valuable pathway for navigating the complexities of digital landscapes.A Kaupapa Māori approach not only helps us discern information effectively but also grounds us in our cultural legacy of valuing knowledge. Moreover, Māori scholars like Leonie Pihama andAni Mikaere have articulated that there may be added challenges and insights faced by individuals holding multiple marginalised identities, such as being wāhine, takatapui, or kura urupare. This intersectionality heightens the difficulty in navigating the multifaceted nature of misinformation and disinformation, and underscores the importance of culturally grounded approaches of resistance and counteraction.

It is my sincere hope that this reflection helps others to gain a more in-depth understanding of the layered complexities that influence and affect our identities as Māori. Moreover, it is through writing this piece that I have discovered just how important this mahi is for me, and I believe, for our people as a whole. Reflecting back, it’s clear that my journey into the depths of online misinformation and disinformation wasn’t just about unearthing truths hidden by the

elite or decoding the conspiracies on the internet. It was about understanding the layers of narratives we’re wrapped in – the ones we’re told and the ones we tell ourselves.As I navigate the complexities of identity, community, and systemic oppression, I realise that peeling back these layers was not just an act of curiosity but a necessary step towards reclaiming our narratives, mana, and futures.