Readings & Reflections
Readings and Reflections from Paper Māori 570 - Te Mahi Rangahau: Māori, Pacific and Indigenous Research Methods and Issues.
Please note - the images on this page are property of Nichola Te Kiri ©
Week one - positionality
Positionality is an understanding of who I am, where I come from, and how my whakapapa, experiences, values, relationships, and creative practice shape the way I understand and engage with the world. It acknowledges that research is not separate from the researcher; rather, knowledge is influenced by our connections to people, place, and community.
Kehaulani Kauanui - Got Blood (Introduction)
Kauanui, J. Kēhaulani (2008). "Introduction: Got Blood?" In Hawaiian Blood: Colonialism and the Politics of Sovereignty and Indigeneity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
This reading made me angry, if I’m honest. Kauanui's discussion of blood quantum highlighted how colonial systems attempt to reduce Indigenous identity to a percentage, as though belonging can be measured and quantified. The idea that a person can be considered "more" or "less" Indigenous based on the amount of blood they carry feels both absurd and deeply unfair.
What resonated most with me was Kauanui's argument that blood quantum fractures genealogy into fractions. As Māori, I understand identity through whakapapa, relationships, and connection to people and place, not through mathematical calculations. To me, whakapapa either exists or it does not; it cannot be diluted, reduced, or made less meaningful because of a number.
I also thought about those who have become disconnected from their culture through the impacts of colonisation. Many Indigenous people are already navigating barriers to reconnecting with their language, communities, and traditions. Systems such as blood quantum create yet another barrier, suggesting that some people are not Indigenous enough to belong. I find that stupide because it has the potential to deepen disconnection rather than support reconnection.
This reading reinforced for me that definitions of belonging are never neutral. Blood quantum was not created to strengthen Indigenous communities; it was created to regulate access to land, rights, and sovereignty. Kauanui's critique reminds us that Indigenous identity is relational rather than fractional. It is grounded in genealogy, connection, and responsibility, not in percentages imposed by colonial systems.
Ivan Illich – To Hell With Good Intentions
Ivan Illich (1968). "To Hell with Good Intentions." Address to the Conference on Inter-American Student Projects (CIASP), Cuernavaca, Mexico. Reprinted in Combining Service and Learning (National Society for Internships and Experiential Education).
I found Illich's reading interesting. While I did not fully connect with all of his arguments, I understood the point he was making about the terms of engagement and who ultimately benefits from acts of service. His challenge that volunteers cannot truly "meet" the people they are trying to help because of differences in language, culture, class, and lived experience made me think more critically about the assumptions that often sit beneath helping relationships.
What resonated most with me was his question of whose terms the engagement is on, who benefits, and whether doing something is actually better than stepping back and allowing communities to define their own solutions. I agree with this. As Māori, we have our own knowledge systems, values, and ways of addressing the challenges we face. Too often, solutions have been imposed on us by people who believe they know what is best, without fully understanding our realities, histories, or aspirations.
His argument reminded me of the importance of tino rangatiratanga and the right of Indigenous communities to determine their own futures. Support can be valuable, but only when it is invited, respectful, and guided by the people it is intended to serve. Otherwise, even well-intentioned actions can reinforce existing power imbalances.
Illich's statement “To Hell with good intentions” and that "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" stood out to me because it shifts the focus away from motives and towards impact. Good intentions alone are not enough. We must also consider who holds the power, whose voice is being heard, and whether our actions genuinely contribute to positive outcomes.
Bryan McKinley Brayboy – The Indian & The Researcher
Brayboy, B. M. (2000). The Indian and the researcher: Tales from the field. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 13(4), 415–426. https://doi.org/10.1080/095183900413368
I found Brayboy's kōrero interesting because it highlights something that is often difficult to admit: bias exists, even when we believe we know better. His honesty about judging participants based on appearance, upbringing, and how "Native" they seemed made me reflect on how easy it can be to make assumptions about others, even within our own Indigenous communities.
What resonated most with me was his discussion around authenticity and the idea that there is no single way to be Indigenous. I agree that authenticity is not a fixed thing. Being Māori comes with many levels and layers, and everyone's experience of being Māori is different. Some people grow up immersed in their culture, language, and marae communities, while others may have been disconnected through colonisation, urbanisation, or family circumstances. That does not make one person more Māori than another.
This reading also reminded me of the importance of reflexivity within research. As researchers, we bring our own experiences, values, and assumptions into our work, whether we realise it or not. Brayboy's willingness to confront his own thinking demonstrates the importance of continually reflecting on our biases and questioning where they come from.
For my own research, this reading reinforces the need to remain open and self-aware. It reminds me that I do not have the right to define another person's identity or experience. Instead, my role is to listen, learn, and recognise the many different ways people understand and express their Indigenous identity. In that sense, the reading felt like a reminder that research begins with humility.
Week Two - Māori and Pacific research methods I
The following readings explore themes of colonialism, oppression, identity, and self-determination, providing an important foundation for understanding Indigenous research methodologies. Through the work of Fanon, Freire, and Coulthard, these texts challenge dominant systems of power and knowledge while highlighting the importance of Indigenous voices, perspectives, and ways of knowing.
Frantz Fanon - Black skin white mask
Fanon, F. (1952/2008). Black Skin, White Masks (R. Philcox, Trans.). Grove Press. (Original work published 1952)
Reading Frantz Fanon's The Fact of Blackness was difficult for me. To be honest, I find any reading, film, or documentary that explores slavery, racism, and the violent treatment of African people haaaaarrrrrrrddddd to engage with. It is not just upsetting; it hurts on a soul cutting level. It makes me angry, and I feel an overwhelming sense of mamae for those who have endured generations of oppression and dehumanisation. At times, I struggled to continue reading, BUT I also felt it was important to sit with that discomfort…. As hard as it was.
One of the ideas that stood out to me was Fanon's description of how his relationship with his own body changed under the white gaze. Before this, his body simply existed as his own, moving through the world without question. However, he describes how that natural sense of self became replaced by what he calls a "racial epidermal schema," where his body became burdened with stereotypes, assumptions, and histories imposed upon him by others. Rather than being seen as an individual, he became defined through narratives he did not create and did not choose.
This made me think about hononga and the impact of relationships that are imposed rather than formed through mutual understanding and respect. Fanon describes a severing of connection between himself, his identity, and the world around him. I also saw parallels with taonga, kākahu, and whakarākei, which can be stripped of their relationships and meanings when viewed solely through colonial frameworks. Fanon's writing highlights the harm that occurs when people or objects are reduced to labels and categories, rather than being understood through the relationships, histories, and stories that give them life.
Paulo Freire - PEDAGOGY of the OPPRESSED
Freire, P. (2005). Pedagogy of the oppressed (30th anniversary ed., M. B. Ramos, Trans.). Continuum. (Original work published 1968)
“The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines, are fearful of freedom. Freedom would require them to eject this image and replace it with autonomy and responsibility. Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift. It must be pursued constantly and responsibly. Freedom is not an ideal located outside of man; nor is it an idea which becomes myth. It is rather the indispensable condition for the quest for human completion.” (Freire, 2005, p. 47)
This passage was one of the parts of Freire's reading that really stood out to me. His argument that oppression does not only happen externally; over time it can become internalised. The idea that people can begin to see themselves through the eyes of the oppressor is both confronting and powerful. It made me think about how difficult freedom can actually be, because freedom requires us to let go of the identities, limitations, and expectations that have been imposed on us by others. I actually also encountered this idea discussed on the Planting Seeds Podcast, where Whatanui Flavell and Raniera Rewiri were talking about the colonisation of the mind (Planting Seeds Podcast, 2026).
Freire's statement that "freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift." challenged me to think about freedom as an ongoing process rather than something that can simply be given to us. It requires conscious effort, responsibility, and the courage to define ourselves on our own terms. For me, this connects strongly to Indigenous experiences of colonisation. Colonisation did not only impact land and resources; it also attempted to shape how Indigenous peoples understood themselves, their knowledge systems, and their place in the world… hence why I jumped when I saw this exact conversation happening online!
As I reflected on this passage, I found myself thinking about tino rangatiratanga and self-determination. Reclaiming our voices, stories, and ways of knowing is not simply a political act, but also a personal one. Freire's writing reminded me that liberation involves more than resisting oppression; it requires actively rebuilding our relationship with ourselves.
This passage also resonated with my own learning journey. Through this Master's, I am not only exploring research methodologies and creative practice, but also questioning who I am as a researcher, maker, and Māori woman. Freire's words encouraged me to reflect on how I define myself, rather than allowing others to define me.
Week Three - Māori and Pacific research methods II
The following readings explore themes of colonialism, oppression, identity, and self-determination, providing an important foundation for understanding Indigenous research methodologies.
Glen Coulthard - Subjects of empire: indigenous peoples and the ‘Politics of Recognition’ in Canada.
Coulthard, G. S. (2007). Subjects of empire: Indigenous peoples and the 'politics of recognition' in Canada. Contemporary Political Theory, 6(4), 437–460. https://doi.org/10.1057/palgrave.cpt.9300307
One of the ideas that stood out to me in Coulthard's reading was his critique of the "politics of recognition." His argument is that Indigenous peoples should not have to rely on governments, institutions, or dominant systems to recognise our rights, identities, or ways of knowing in order for them to be valid. Instead, meaningful change comes from within Indigenous communities themselves through self-determination, self-recognition, and action.
This really made me stop and think. Growing up, and even now, there often seems to be an assumption that recognition from those in positions of power is something to strive for. Coulthard challenges this idea by asking what happens when we stop waiting for validation and instead recognise our own value, knowledge, and authority. For me, this felt empowering, but also confronting.
As I reflected more on this reading (which, if I'm honest, was a VERY hard read!), I found myself thinking about hononga and my own research. At first, I struggled to see the connection. But eventually I realised the link was recognition itself. Does finding, understanding, or articulating hononga require validation through Western design frameworks or academic language in order to be meaningful? The short answer, in my eyes, is no, it does not. So then I found myself asking: why am I doing this research?
That question took me back to conversations I have had with Donna Campbell over the course of this Master's. Our discussions have often been about articulation - finding ways to explain what I do as a creative practitioner. This research is not about seeking justification from Western institutions or external frameworks. It is about understanding myself, my process, my mahi, and the relationships I have with it through a kaupapa Māori and relational lens.
Perhaps that is why Coulthard's argument resonated with me. This journey is not about proving that hononga exists. It is about helping me better understand and articulate something I already know to be true. I also suspect I am not the only creative who feels this way. If this research can help others better understand and articulate their own creative processes and relationships, then that feels like meaningful work.
Sarah-Jane Tiakiwai - Understanding and Doing Research: A Māori Position.
Tiakiwai, S-J. (n.d.). "Understanding and Doing Research - A Māori Position." In Kaupapa Rangahau: A Reader (2nd ed.), edited by Leonie Pihama, Sarah-Jane Tiakiwai, and Kim Southey. (Adapted from Chapter Three of her PhD thesis, Māori Participation in Higher Education: Tainui Graduates from the University of Waikato, 1992 to 1997, 2001.)
Reading Tiakiwai's work made me think a lot about the responsibilities that come with being an insider researcher. One of the things that stood out to me most was her honesty about the weight of that position. She writes that "doing research takes on so much responsibility" (Tiakiwai, n.d., p. 81), and if I'm tbh, I hadn't really thought about insider positioning as anything other than a strength. This reading made me realise that it can also come with challenges, expectations, and sometimes scrutiny.
Tiakiwai discusses how insider researchers can be judged on things like family connections, status, politics, age, gender, religion, and perceived ability (L. Smith, 1999, as cited in Tiakiwai, n.d., p. 82). My own connections within Māori and Indigenous creative communities, both inside and outside of the university, come with their own expectations too. Like Tiakiwai, I'm learning that this isn't a neutral position. People often know who you are, where you're from, and what you do long before they know anything about your research.
This reading also connected to where I currently sit with theory. Right now, I feel a bit like a sponge, soaking up kōrero, theories, whakaaro, and new kupu with a very open mind. Rather than trying to decide which theory is right or wrong, I find myself holding on to what resonates and letting go of what doesn't. What I appreciated about her approach was that she didn't try to fit herself neatly into one framework. Instead, she drew from what made sense for her own context. For me, that was reassuring. It reminded me that my methodology doesn't have to choose sides. It can be shaped by my own positioning, my relationships, and the hononga that sit at the centre of my practice.
Margie Hohepa - Kia Mau Ki te Aka Matua: Researching Māori development and learning.
Margie Hohepa (n.d./c.2000s). "Kia Mau ki te Aka Matua: Researching Māori Development and Learning." In Kaupapa Rangahau: A Reader (Chapter 11), pp. 115-123.
“ 'Insider', 'Participant,' 'Researcher', 'Kura kaupapa Māori parent', Māori woman with Ngā Puhi and Pākehā genealogical connections (to name but a few) are not hats that I put on and take off. They are not different coloured spectacles, one of which I may choose to look through at any given time. I do not see these as multiple positionings. Rather, these are some of the facets or dimensions that make me who I am” (Hohepa, n.d., P. 117)
One of the things that stood out to me in Hohepa's reading was her discussion around positioning and subjectivity. Throughout this paper, she is very open about who she is, where she comes from, and the experiences that have shaped her thinking. Rather than treating this as something that weakens the research, she presents it as an important part of the research process itself. I found this reassuring because it reinforces something I have been learning throughout this paper: that who we are matters.
As a Māori creative practitioner, I cannot separate myself from my research. My whakapapa, experiences, relationships, values, and creative practice all shape the way I see the world and the questions I choose to ask. Reading Hohepa reminded me that this is not something I need to justify or apologise for. It is part of the methodology.
I was also drawn to her argument that theories and tools from Western disciplines can still be useful, provided they are grounded within a kaupapa Māori framework and used in ways that support Māori aspirations. This resonated with me because of a discussion I had with my friend Dr Bobby Luke, who said a similar kōrero. So rather than feeling pressure to choose one approach, I find myself drawing from multiple sources and holding them up against my own experiences and values.
Week Four - Critical indigenous studies & research
Critical Indigenous Studies explores research and knowledge that centres Indigenous voices, experiences, and ways of knowing. It challenges colonial approaches to knowledge production and creates space for Indigenous peoples to define, understand, and represent themselves on their own terms.
Devi Dee Mucina - Story as research methodology.
Mucina, D. D. (2011). Story as research methodology. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples, 7(1), 1–14.
Reading Mucina (2011) felt familiar, even though his whakapapa and mine are obviously not the same and worlds apart. What he describes… about the knowledge being passed down through stories, through lived experience, and through the wisdom of our elders, is something I recognise. His statement that "the story of one cannot be told without unfolding the story of many" also resonated with me because it reflects how I understand whanaungatanga. None of us exist in isolation; we are shaped by our whānau, communities, histories, experiences and relationships.
One of the things I appreciated most about this reading was Mucina's honesty. He openly acknowledges the challenges of working within Western academic institutions while trying to honour Indigenous ways of knowing. That tension felt familiar, as I mentioned in my reflection with Glen Coulthard. Throughout this Master's journey, I have often found myself navigating between Indigenous knowledge systems and academic expectations, trying to find a way to honour both without losing myself in the process.
What stayed with me was his discussion about fragmented knowledge. Colonisation has disrupted many Indigenous knowledge systems, yet Mucina does not see this as a reason to remain silent. Instead, he continues to tell stories, share knowledge, and contribute what he can. I found that really cool... It reminded me that we do not need to have all the answers, or a complete picture, before we begin sharing what we know.
For me, this reading reinforced the idea that stories are not simply a way of communicating knowledge, they are knowledge! They carry history, relationships, values, and ways of seeing the world. Like Mucina, I am beginning to understand that sharing these stories is not separate from research; it is research :)
Leanne Betasamosake Simpson: Chapter One - As we have always done.
Simpson, L. B. (2017). Nishnaabeg brilliance as radical resurgence theory. In As we have always done: Indigenous freedom through radical resistance (pp. 11–25). University of Minnesota Press.
Of all the ideas in this chapter, the one that stayed with me was Simpson's concept of biiskabiyang, or returning to oneself. While the chapter begins with a research project, what stayed with me was not the research itself but the way Simpson describes learning from the Elders around her. Rather than positioning Indigenous knowledge as something that needed to be translated or validated by outsiders, the Elders simply lived it. Their knowledge existed in their relationships, stories, practices, and connection to whenua. I also think we need to acknowledge Professor Paul Driben, the anthropologist leading the project.. For the way he showed up and let the elders lead the project. That was powerful! And something I knew on some sort of level I think… but it was good to see and to be reminded off.
Much of my learning throughout this Master's has involved trying to better understand and articulate things that I already know through experience. Whether it is my creative practice, hononga, or the relationships I have with the things I make, the people around me or the learning I have added to my kete. I often find myself searching for language to explain something that already exists rather than trying to create something new.
I was also drawn to Simpson's argument that Indigenous resurgence comes from within Indigenous knowledge systems themselves. It is not about seeking recognition from external institutions, but about returning to and strengthening what is already there. This connected strongly with some of the other readings in this paper, particularly the idea that Indigenous knowledge does not need outside validation in order to be legitimate.
What I took from this chapter is that returning to ourselves is not about looking backwards. It is about understanding who we are, where we come from, and allowing that to guide where we go next. For me, that feels like an important part of both my research journey and my creative practice.
Sandy Grande - Red Pedagogy The Unmethodology
Grande, S. (2008). Red pedagogy: The un-methodology. In N. K. Denzin, Y. S. Lincoln, & L. T. Smith (Eds.), Handbook of critical and indigenous methodologies (pp. 233–254). SAGE Publications.
Firstly, this reading was hard for me to get through. What a struggle. I can't say I enjoyed working my way through it, but I am learning very quickly that some of these readings take a lot out of me. I often need to reread sections several times before they make sense. There were parts that I skimmed over, parts that I struggled to connect with, and parts that simply did not resonate with me at all.
However, despite all of that, I did land on something that spoke to me. What stood out was Grande's refusal to frame Indigenous knowledge and Western theory as an either/or choice. Throughout this Master's (and also life in general having pakeha and māori whakapapa), I have often felt like I am sitting between different worlds, learning the language of academia (which I am slowly getting my head around) while trying to remain grounded in Māori ways of knowing, being, and doing.
What I took from this reading is that engaging with Western theories does not mean abandoning Indigenous knowledge. Rather, the challenge is to remain anchored in who we are while using whatever tools might help us better understand and articulate our experiences. This resonated strongly with where I currently sit in my own research journey.
Over the course of this paper, I have been exposed to a wide range of theories, methodologies, and perspectives. Rather than feeling the need to fully align myself with one framework, I find myself taking what resonates and leaving what does not. Grande's writing reassured me that this does not make my approach any less valid. In fact, it reinforced the importance of staying grounded in my whakapapa, values, relationships, and lived experiences while engaging critically with ideas from outside those spaces.
This reading also made me reflect on why I am doing this research in the first place..I am trying to find language for things I already know through experience, making, and relationships. For me, that feels like a much more honest and meaningful place to begin.
Week Five - Methods and Methodology
Methodology is the why behind the research approach, while methods are the how. Methodology provides the guiding framework, and methods are the practical tools used to carry out the research.
Russell Bishop - Freeing ourselves from neo-colonial domination in research: a maori approach to creating knowledge.
Bishop, R. (1998). Freeing ourselves from neo-colonial domination in research: A Māori approach to creating knowledge. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(2), 199–219. https://doi.org/10.1080/095183998236674
Connectedness!! or Hononga?
Bishop talks about "connected knowing," where the "knower is attached to the known" (Bishop, 1998, p. 203), and reminds us that "our mountain, our river, our island are us" (p. 203). This is something that I believe aligns closely with the direction I want my research to head. As I read this, I found myself thinking about hononga and my own creative practice. It reinforced something I have felt for a long time but have only recently started finding the language for. Making is never simply about producing an object. The relationship begins long before something is made and continues long after it leaves my hands. In fact, I believe there is always a connection between myself and the things I create, regardless of how much time has passed or where they end up.
To be honest, this reading actually got me excited! I probably should have added Bishop to my mind map, but I had already chosen another reading to reflect on by the time I got here. Never mind, here we are.
Bishop's discussion also made me reflect on the journey I have been on throughout this Master's. He describes Kaupapa Māori as "the philosophy and practice of being and acting Maori" (Bishop, 1998, p. 201). While I connected with this idea, it also raised questions for me. Similar to Brayboy's discussion around what it means to be Indigenous, I found myself wondering: what is a "good Māori"? Who gets to decide that?
What resonated most, however, was the reminder that knowledge already exists within our ways of being, doing, and relating. Increasingly, I am realising that my research is not necessarily about creating something entirely new, although I do think my future work will be shaped by a new lens… but rather about finding language for things I already know through experience, practice, and relationship.
This reading also got me thinking about sustainability in a different way. If value within Indigenous creative practice is relational, then perhaps sustainability should be understood in the same way. Rather than relying solely on definitions developed elsewhere, maybe sustainability can also be understood through Māori values, relationships, responsibilities, and the connections we hold with people, place, and taonga.
Devi Dee Mucina – Story as Research Methodology.
This is my second reflection on Mucina's work… FYI :)
What resonated with me, aside from the connection I made as an Indigenous woman and the ways knowledge is passed on, was his discussion of storytelling as a legitimate research methodology. Rather than viewing stories as simply a way of communicating knowledge, Mucina argues that stories are knowledge. They carry history, values, relationships, and lived experience across generations, which is something I also relate to through pūrākau.
His description of Ubuntu, often understood through the phrase "I am because you are," is pretty damn cool. While the language is different, there are strong parallels with how I understand relationships through a Māori worldview — "Ko au te awa, ko te awa ko au." The idea that knowledge exists within relationships, rather than within individuals alone, feels true in my eyes.
As I reflected on this reading, I found myself thinking about hononga again, and my own creative practice. Mucina describes storytelling as a way of maintaining and regenerating the relationships that hold communities together. That idea feels closely connected to much of the work I create. The kākahu and whakarākei I make do not exist in isolation. Their meaning is often shaped through storytelling and pūrākau, and people connect with them because of that. I'm not saying my work holds communities together, but I do think stories have the ability to help people recognise themselves, their experiences, and their connections to others. In that sense, they can strengthen a feeling of belonging.
What this reading reinforced for me is that meaning does not sit within a story, a person, or an object alone. Meaning is created through the relationships between them. The story, the maker, the taonga, the wearer, and the audience all contribute to that meaning. For me, that feels very close to the heart of what hononga is… not a single connection, but a network of relationships that continues to grow and evolve over time.
Timote Vaioleti - Talanoa: Differentiating the Talanoa research methodology from phenomenology, narrative, Kaupapa Maori & feminist methodology.
Vaioleti, T. (2013). Talanoa: Differentiating the Talanoa research methodology from phenomenology, narrative, Kaupapa Māori and feminist methodologies. Te Reo, 56/57, 191–212.
The concept of vā was one of the ideas that sat with me longer than I was expecting, especially after my conversation with Donna about a "liminal" space. Vaioleti describes vā as the relational space that exists between people, a space that both separates and connects. What struck me most was that vā is not considered empty space. Instead, it is something meaningful that requires care, respect, and attention.
As I sat with this idea, I found myself thinking about hononga. I know hononga is about connection, but what does that connection actually look like? I have often imagined it as a strand of thread; strong, enduring, and difficult to break. At times, I have even associated it with an umbilical cord, something connected to whakapapa, belonging, and continuity. Up until now, I have largely focused on the relationships themselves; the connection between maker and kākahu, the binding strand between people and taonga. Vā challenged me to think differently. Rather than focusing only on the relationship, it made me wonder about the space that exists within that relationship and what it takes to maintain it.
What happens to the vā between myself and a piece once it leaves my hands? I know Donna has suggested that this may be too vast an area to explore because so much of it sits beyond my control. Yet vā has opened up a whole series of questions for me. How does that space change as a taonga moves through different people, places, and experiences? Is the connection strengthened, weakened, or transformed over time? I do not yet have the answers, but I find the questions exciting. At the same time, I wonder whether they are leading me away from my original research focus or helping me understand it more deeply.
Whichever way I go with my research, I do know that relationships require ongoing care. They are not fixed or static. They need to be nurtured, respected, and maintained. The more I reflected on vā, the more I began to see parallels with hononga. Both are relational concepts, but vā has encouraged me to think more deeply about the responsibility that comes with connection. For me, that feels like an important insight, not only for my research, but also for my creative practice.
Laumua Tunufa'i - Pacific Research: Rethinking the Talanoa 'methodology'.
Laumua Tunufa'i (2016). "Pacific Research: Rethinking the Talanoa 'Methodology'." New Zealand Sociology, 31(7), 227-239.
Reading Tunufa'i (2016) sat a bit uncomfortably with me.. and I think that's exactly where the value is.
His critique of talanoa being stretched beyond its original meaning, claimed as a "pan-Pacific" methodology when it really belongs to specific peoples and languages, made me stop and look sideways at my own kaupapa. I use hononga as a central frame in my research and it's not just a concept I borrowed, it's something I've lived through my practice as a maker. But Tunufa'i's question lingers: who gets to decide what a concept "now means," and does that extension serve the community it came from, or does it just serve the project?
As an indigenous wāhine working within mātauranga Māori frameworks, I don't want to fall into the same trap he identifies… well-intentioned researchers recentring their own POV over community knowledge, even while claiming to decolonise. If I extend hononga beyond its relational core to fit my research needs, I need to be honest about that move, and accountable to the people and practice it comes from.
What I appreciate about Tunufa'i is that he's not dismissing talanoa entirely.. he's asking for straight up openess and honesty. That feels like a fair challenge to hold in my own mahi too. Hononga might be the right frame/question, but I need to be able to articulate why, and for whose benefit.. not just mine as a researcher.
That's a harder question than it sounds! Aue! What am I in for lol.
Week six - pūrakau
Traditional Māori oral narratives that carry knowledge, whakapapa, and meaning… layered narratives passed down through generations as a way of understanding the world and our place within it.
Jenny Lee-Morgan - Pūrākau from the Inside Out: Regenerating Stories for Cultural Sustainability.
Lee-Morgan, J. B. J. (2019). "Pūrākau from the Inside-Out: Regenerating Stories for Cultural Sustainability." In Decolonizing Research: Indigenous Storywork as Methodology, edited by Jo-Ann Archibald Q'um Q'um Xiiem, Jenny Lee-Morgan, and Jason De Santolo. London: Zed Books.
Reading Lee-Morgan (2019) gave me a different pov about my research as practice-led research. Her image of the inside-out tree makes so much sense to me. Most Western research, she argues, works outside-in… gathering data, applying frameworks, observing from a distance. But pūrākau methodology moves differently, starting from the pū, the core, the heartwood, and growing outward from there. When I read that, I didn't think about pūrākau as a methodology. I thought about my mahi. Because that's exactly how I create. I don't start with theory and apply it to a garment…I start with narrative, korero, and then the relationship between me and the material, the layers which forms a hononga. The knowledge grows outward from the making itself.
Initially I assumed pūrākau would be my research methodology, because it lives so deeply in my creative practice… It's my muse and the wairua behind a lot of what I make. But Lee-Morgan's reading, sitting alongside Tunufa'i's (2016) caution about overclaiming methodology, helped me see the distinction more clearly. Pūrākau moves through my work as a maker. That doesn't automatically make it the right frame to claim for my research.
Practice-led research feels more honest. It puts the mahi at the centre… not as a subject to be observed, but as the site where knowledge is actually made. The taikākā of my research is hononga. Everything else grows from there.
Hayley Cavino - “He would not listen to a woman”: Decolonizing gender through the power of pūrākau.
Hayley Marama Cavino (2019). "'He Would Not Listen to a Woman': Decolonizing Gender through the Power of Pūrākau." In Decolonizing Research: Indigenous Storywork as Methodology, edited by Jo-Ann Archibald Q'um Q'um Xiiem, Jenny Lee-Morgan, and Jason De Santolo. London: Zed Books.
If I'm honest, I don't think I've ever been the type of person who sits down and maps everything out before I begin. Most of my understanding comes through doing. Reading Cavino's work made me realise there is actually a methodology in that. At the heart of Cavino's writing is her discussion of pūrākau as praxis, the idea that "what we can know" becomes "what we can do." This was the point where the reading really made me stop and think, because I had to spend some time unpacking what that actually meant.
Cavino describes re-engaging with her tīpuna Rahera's testimony not as passive reading, but as an active process of revisiting, questioning, analysing, and retelling the story. The knowing and the doing are not separate parts; they happen together, each shaping the other. As I reflected on this (after a lot of reading and then re-reading… and even chatGPT and googling) I realised that this is very similar to the way I work.
When I begin working with a garment, especially a pre-loved piece with its own whakapapa, I rarely start with a fixed plan. Instead, I start with the garment itself. I spend time with it, handle the material, look for clues about its history, labels, wording etc, and respond to what is already there. The more I engage with it, the more I begin to understand it. In many ways, the knowing happens through the making, and the making deepens the knowing.
My creative process has always worked this way. What I’ve come to understand about a garment, its story, its potential, often reveals itself through the act of working with it. The making is not separate from the learning; it is the learning.
For me, this is why practice-led research feels like such a natural fit. I am not researching my practice from the outside. I am researching through it. The studio is where the questions are asked, explored, and sometimes answered. Knowing through doing has always been part of my process. This reading simply gave me language for something I was already doing.
This was the point where the reading really made me stop and think, because I had to spend some time unpacking what that actually meant.
Carwyn Jones - Indigenous law/stories: an approach to working with Māori law.
Jones, C. (2019). Indigenous law/stories: An approach to working with Māori law. In J. Archibald Q'um Q'um Xiiem, J. Lee-Morgan, & J. De Santolo (Eds.), Decolonizing research: Indigenous storywork as methodology (pp. 120–135). Zed Books.When identity is defined by the state, it becomes a tool of control rather than a source of belonging.
From my understanding of Jones (2019), one of the key ideas explored in this reading is the importance of approaching Māori stories and knowledge through a Māori lens. Rather than viewing pūrākau simply as stories, Jones demonstrates how they can hold deeper layers of meaning and knowledge that become visible when understood through tikanga and Māori values.
Reading Jones (2019) made me think differently about how I am approaching my understanding of hononga. The relationship between maker and taonga is something I often experience through my creative practice, but I am still learning how to articulate and understand it within a research context. The reading encouraged me to think about whether the answers I am looking for already exist within Māori knowledge systems, rather than needing to be explained through Western theories or design frameworks.
What I found most valuable was the reminder that Māori concepts can be understood on their own terms. As I continue developing my research, I am becoming more aware that concepts such as hononga, whakapapa, and relationships with taonga may require different ways of thinking and different ways of seeing. This reading challenged me to consider how Māori knowledge might not only inform my research, but also help me make sense of hononga within my own creative practice.