Hona Black (Ngāi Tūhoe, Te Whānau ā Apanui, Ngāti Tūwharetoa) is a lecturer at Te Pūtahi-a-Toi: School of Māori Knowledge at Massey University. Black’s first book, He Iti te Kupu: Māori Metaphors and Similes, has been extended in a second volume, Te Reo Kapekape; Māori Wit and Humour.
Did you grow up speaking te reo Māori, or are you more of a Renaissance man?
We spoke only te reo Māori when I was growing up in Palmerston North in the 1990s. It started at home, then kōhanga, then kura kaupapa. I didn’t learn English until I was about 11, when I started having English classes at school.
Had your parents been on a similar linguistic path?
Dad was raised in Ruatoki, in the Bay of Plenty, and his mother was very staunch about ensuring only te reo Māori was spoken in their family. Although my mum is Pākehā, when she met my dad, she also learnt te reo Māori, as there was an expectation that all the grandchildren on Dad’s side would speak it as our first language.
Your grandmother must have been very determined. What was her story?
My grandmother dedicated her life to the language, and she taught all her life, including at Otago University. According to Dad, there was just one rule his mother insisted on. Whenever you came into her house, when you passed through those doors, you spoke only te reo Māori. She also wrote many songs for my auntie, Whirimako Black.
Did you ever register any criticism, or disapproval, to your full immersion back in the 90s?
Our world was so protective, we never felt any negativity. It was as if we lived in a bubble. All our mates were Māori, we were surrounded by a really strong community, and during school holidays we always went to Dad’s whānau in Ruatoki, so from one Māori-speaking community to another.
How have your siblings evolved with the gift of full immersion?
My younger brother plays rugby in Japan. My sister is a kōhanga reo teacher and my other brother is always in the te reo space. I’ve never spoken English to my siblings; it would feel so weird because we’ve had our language for life. Even though Mum was from an English-speaking world, she bought into te ao Māori 100%, and she also spoke only te reo Māori to us as kids. She even taught me at primary school.
Was teaching an obvious avenue for you?
Even though my father and my grandmother were both teachers, academics, and Mum was a teacher, teaching wasn’t something I consciously chose. When I finished school, I had no idea what I wanted to do, so I did some random papers at university, including te reo Māori. Then I started working in the dorms at Hato Pāora College in Feilding, the same secondary school I’d gone to. The principal suggested I get a degree in education, which is how I became a teacher.
You’re now a senior lecturer in Māori knowledge at Massey University. What does that role entail?
I work in the teacher-training space, in a programme called Te Aho Paerewa, for people who want to teach in kura kaupapa. There’s a three-year degree and a one-year postgrad course.
Your first book, He Iti te Kupu: Māori Metaphors and Similes, was published in 2020. How did that come to fruition?
As a teacher, I’d been collecting similes and metaphors to make class more interesting for the kids. Over time, I’d amassed such a collection I realised I had enough for a book. I started to exchange kōrero with a publisher, Oratia, then Covid happened. Stuck in our house in Murupara, I thought I might as well do something with all that time, and that first book was my Covid project.
The second book focuses more on humour. How does Māori humour differ from Pākehā?
My grandmother made an interesting observation, that when she was little, the language she spoke came to their mouths from down in their guts. Te puku. They’d feel something then say it. Whereas today, she said, language is more intellectualised. It starts in our heads, then comes out our mouths. This book of funny sayings I’ve heard over the years came from that comment, and it demonstrates how cheeky Māori humour can be. Some of the expressions might even be deemed too rude to say in English. Like, in terms of sexuality – Māori talk about particular body parts as if they’re like any other body parts. We don’t make certain parts taboo, because in te reo Māori we’re pretty open about sexual things.
Can you pinpoint a favourite idiom?
I like phrases that paint a good picture. For example, Sir Tīmoti Kāretu once said to me, ‘He mīanga koe nō taku tuarā’, which basically means, ‘You once urinated on my back’. When I first heard that, I didn’t get it, but I later realised it meant that he was an older person reminding a younger person to be a bit humble. The imagery being, I carried you on my back when you were little, and you peed down it. An aunty or uncle would say this to someone getting a bit boasty. As in, don’t you forget I’m older than you, so I know better. Sayings like that have layers.
What do you say when people try to push the agenda that we are all the same, or one people?
When I lived in Murupara, I worked in Te Whaiti in the middle of the bush, where I loved spending time with a guy called Chaz. When people from parties like Act or One New Zealand would say we’re all the same, the question Chaz always asked was: “The same as who? Are we the same as you? Or are you the same as us?” When someone takes that stance, you have to ask who gets to define what that same-ness is. Chaz really pushed that point.
Is there anything from tīkanga you use when the going gets tough?
I just like to be busy. To work hard. That was instilled in our family from an early age, that laziness is not a good thing. It’s also not an option because as Māori, we can’t afford to be lazy if we want te reo Māori to stay alive. We have to work hard to save our language. We also have a responsibility to carry on the battle our parents fought, to ensure their efforts were not wasted; otherwise, what was it all for?
There are so many challenges in Aotearoa right now: resistance to co-governance, even to bilingual road signs. What do you make of that rhetoric?
Māori are pretty used to those attitudes. We’ve been hearing that stuff for hundreds of years and Māori bashing is always worse in an election year. But they are ridiculous arguments. Those opponents to co-governance or bilingual road signs are naive, as those attitudes will die away as younger generations come through.
How should people contest those beliefs?
Māori have a proud history of protest, and protesting against the anti-co-governance movement is important. But not everyone has to wave a placard, as there are many different forms of activism. Sending our kids to kōhanga or kura is a form of activism, as is openly placing my culture at the centre of everything I do and working to revive te reo Māori. Reculturating. Giving back. Helping people along their journey to rediscover their tongue, te reo Māori, which is inseparable from tīkanga and culture. For me, speaking te reo Māori and teaching te reo Māori is the strongest form of activism.
