Tapu Misa: Choices a fine thing, but far easier said than done

A few years ago I sat in a cafe and unburdened myself to a friend. I was depressed. I had three small children and, thanks to a decision to give up even part-time work, I was feeling unfulfilled and fiscally challenged.

It seemed to me that I was sinking into the drudgery of full-time motherhood while my childless contemporaries pursued brilliant careers and collected hefty pay packets. I felt unacknowledged and unappreciated and, yes, sorry for myself. I like to blame it now on that special delirium brought on by severe sleep deprivation.

My friend gave me latte and sympathy, and gently reminded me that it had been my choice. That, in fact, I still had a choice.

True. It had been my choice to devote myself fully to my children. I was the one who had decided that the nice income and professional ego-stroking that came with a full-time job wasn't worth the risk to sanity and family. I'd seen too many women burn themselves out and what was the point in having children if you never saw them?

Some women have no choice in the matter, but I felt that I did. Although, as with many choices, it was much easier said than done. That's the thing about choice: You're always wondering whether the other ones would have been better.

My mother would have thought me highly indulgent had she seen me wallowing over a latte because I wasn't coping with the demands of raising three children. She had raised seven, while cleaning office buildings at night so she could be home during the day. She didn't have time to be depressed; she was too damn tired. But that's progress for you.

If you want to see how far we've come, we Pacific women, you only have to look at our mums.

Take Ida Malosi, the first Pacific Island woman judge. Her mum cleaned toilets to supplement the family income (dad was a wharfie), and now here she is - mother of three, a partner in her own law firm and just appointed a Family Court judge in Manukau at 40.

Or look at Pacifica, an organisation much like the Maori Women's Welfare League, which was started by a group of mamas to help struggling fresh-off-the-boat migrants find their feet in the land of milk and honey. These days it's being driven by their daughters, many of whom are university-educated professionals. They still do weaving, still sometimes sit around with the ukulele and sing songs the way their mums and aunties used to. But they have serious concerns, too, such as working to raise the education levels of Pacific Islanders and having a political voice.

In such company you can't help but enthuse about how far we've come - and Josephine Bartley does. She's 29, a lawyer with Consumer Affairs and Pacifica's Auckland president.

Pacific women have the brains, we have opportunities our parents never had, and we still have the passion to help out the rest of our Pacific people.

Yes, but alongside the stunning successes - and there are many - is the sobering realisation that as a group we're right at the bottom of the heap. Pacific women have the lowest median income, the lowest hourly rates.

If being a woman in New Zealand is still not as smooth a ride as it is for the blokes, being a brown woman is even harder. We may be studying in greater numbers, we may be making inroads into professions our mothers didn't even know existed. But we seem to be paying a much heavier price for the privilege.

According to the University Students Association, Pacific women will take an average 33 years to pay off student loan debts from a three-year degree course. Compare that with 24 years for Maori women and 22 for Pakeha.

We all still cling to the promise of betterment through education, but on present trends many Pacific women will struggle to wipe their debts in time for retirement. That's because they're more likely to end up with lower-paying jobs - if they're lucky enough even to get work.

Ask Josephine, born and raised in Mangere, who spent three years looking for a legal job after graduating.

It is no accident, either, that our newest judge's South Auckland law firm, King Alofivae Malosi, is made up entirely of Maori and Pacific women and was set up just three years after the partners graduated from law school.

Despite the dismal picture, though, our girls will keep trying and many will succeed against the odds - despite over-protective fathers and brothers, despite onerous family obligations and despite sometimes domineering partners.

We've changed, and there's no doubt that education and contact with Palagi culture have played a part.

We don't have the same attitudes to physical discipline as our mothers. We are, I think, more adaptable to change than our menfolk, more resistant to the kinds of counterfeit cultural demands that hold us back. Most Pacific women today know that we have choices - and we're prepared to use them, too.

* taputapu@paradise.net.nz

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