Decolonising Conservation: Caring for Maori Meeting Houses Outside New Zealand

Decolonising Conservation

Publications of the INSTITUTE OF ARCHAEOLOGY, UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON Director of the Institute, Stephen Shennan Founding Series Editor, Peter J. Ucko The Institute of Archaeology of University College London is one of the oldest, largest and most prestigious archaeology research facilities in the world. Its extensive publications programme includes the best theory, research, pedagogy, and reference materials in archaeology and cognate disciplines, through publishing exemplary work of scholars worldwide. Through its publications, the Institute brings together key areas of theoretical and substantive knowledge, improves archaeological practice and brings archaeological findings to the general public, researchers, and practitioners. It also publishes staff research projects, site and survey reports, and conference proceedings. The publications programme, formerly developed in-house or in conjunction with UCL Press, is now produced in partnership with Left Coast Press, Inc. The Institute can be accessed online at http://www.ucl.ac.uk/archaeology. ENCOUNTERS WITH ANCIENT EGYPT Subseries, Peter J. Ucko, editor Jean-Marcel Humbert and Clifford Price (eds.), Imhotep Today David Jeffreys (ed.), Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte Sally MacDonald and Michael Rice (eds.), Consuming Ancient Egypt Roger Matthews and Cornelia Roemer (eds.), Ancient Perspectives on Egypt David O’Connor and Andrew Reid (eds.), Ancient Egypt in Africa John Tait (ed.), “Never Had the Like Occurred” David O’Connor and Stephen Quirke (eds.), Mysterious Lands Peter Ucko and Timothy Champion (eds.), The Wisdom of Egypt CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES ON CULTURAL HERITAGE Subseries, Beverley Butler, editor Beverley Butler, Return to Alexandria Ferdinand de Jong and Michael Rowlands (eds.), Reclaiming Heritage Dean Sully (ed.), Decolonising Conservation OTHER TITLES Andrew Gardner (ed.), Agency Uncovered Okasha El-Daly, Egyptology, The Missing Millennium Ruth Mace, Clare J. Holden, and Stephen Shennan (eds.), Evolution of Cultural Diversity Arkadiusz Marciniak, Placing Animals in the Neolithic Robert Layton, Stephen Shennan, and Peter Stone (eds.), A Future for Archaeology Joost Fontein, The Silence of Great Zimbabwe Gabriele Puschnigg, Ceramics of the Merv Oasis James Graham-Campbell and Gareth Williams (eds.), Silver Economy in the Viking Age Barbara Bender, Sue Hamilton, and Chris Tilley, Stone Worlds Andrew Gardner, An Archaeology of Identity Sue Hamilton, Ruth Whitehouse, and Katherine I. Wright (eds.) Archaeology and Women Gustavo Politis, Nukak Sue Colledge and James Conolly (eds.), The Origins and Spread of Domestic Plants in Southwest Asia and Europe Timothy Clack and Marcus Brittain (eds.), Archaeology and the Media Janet Picton, Stephen Quirke, and Paul C. Roberts (eds.), Living Images Tony Waldron, Palaeoepidemiology Eleni Asouti and Dorian Q. Fuller, Trees and Woodlands of South India Russell McDougall and Iain Davidson (eds.), The Roth Family, Anthropology, and Colonial Administration Elizabeth Pye (ed.), The Power of Touch John Tait, Why the Egyptians Wrote Books

Decolonising Conservation Caring for Maori Meeting Houses outside New Zealand

Dean Sully Editor

Walnut Creek, California

LEFT COAST PRESS, INC. 1630 North Main Street, #400 Walnut Creek, CA 94596 http://www.LCoastPress.com Copyright © 2007 by Left Coast Press, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. ISBN 978-1-59874-309-8 hardcover ISBN 978-1-59874-310-4 paperback Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: Decolonising conservation: caring for Maori meeting houses outside New Zealand/Dean Sully, editor. p. cm. — (Publications of the Institute of Archaeology, University College London) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-59874-309-8 (hardback : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-59874-310-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Architecture, Maori—Protection—Case studies. 2. Wood-carving, Maori—Protection— Case studies. 3. Maori (New Zealand people)—Material culture—Protection—Case studies. 4. Cultural property—Protection—New Zealand—Case studies. I. Sully, Dean. II. University College, London. Institute of Archaeology. DU423.M42D43 2007 363.6’908999442—dc22 2007044330 Printed in the United States of America

∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48–1992. Cover. Top: Hinemihi at Te Wairoa in 1881, with Ngäti Hinemihi. (MA_B.015249 Hinemihi house at Te Wairoa, copyright and permission of Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa). Bottom: Hinemihi at Clandon Park 2007, with the ‘Hinemihi maintenance crew’, volunteers from Kohanga Reo o Ranana and University College London (photo: Man-Yee Liu). 07 08 09 10 11

54321

This book is dedicated to Peter Ucko, who was the driving force behind this book and the inspiration for many of the ideas that it expresses. It is also dedicated to Man-Yee Liu who is my inspiration and who survives.

adadf

CONTENTS List of Illustrations Acknowledgments Series Editor’s Foreword Beverley Butler Preface

9 13 15 17

Part I Setting the Scene Introduction Dean Sully

19

1 Colonising and Conservation Dean Sully Part II A View from Aotearoa 2 The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa (New Zealand) Arapata Hakiwai

27

45

3 Conserving Living Taonga: The Concept of Continuity Gamini Wijesuriya

59

4 Marae Conservation in Aotearoa James Schuster and Dean Whiting

71

Part III Conserving Expatriate Meeting Houses 5 Ruatepupuke II, The Field Museum, Chicago: The Past and Possible Future John Edward Terrell, Désirée CJ Wisse, and Christopher J Philipp

89

6 The Care of Living Objects: Conserving Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui in Germany Eva Garbutt Part IV Hinemihi 7 Introducing Hinemihi Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

111

127

8 The National Trust and Hinemihi at Clandon Park Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

149

9 Hinemihi and the London Mäori Community Karl Burrows Poem: So Who Invited Tu? Rosanna Raymond

161 173

10 Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi James Schuster

175

11 Hinemihi’s Return: A Legal Opinion Kathryn Last

191

12 Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

199

Part V Conclusions 13 Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice Dean Sully

221

Glossary of Maori Terms References Index About the Contributors

241 247 263 269

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 3.1 3.2

Buddhist Stupa Thuparama Stupa

4.1 Image of Tutanekai shortly after the fire 4.2a,b Preparing weaving materials for Tutanekai’s restoration 4.3 Fire-damaged pare carving removed from Tutanekai 4.4 Replacement pare carving installed on Tutanekai 4.5 Tutanekai nearing completion, with James Schuster and Te Amotawa Pirika (Pinder), November 2005 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4

5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8

Ruatepupuke II at The Field Museum in August 2007 View of Ruatepupuke II at Tokomaru Bay, New Zealand, prior to its sale and dismantling sometime late in the 19th century Ruatepupuke II at The Field Museum in 1986 prior to the arrival of the travelling exhibition ‘Te Maori: Maori Art from New Zealand Collections’ Ceremonial preparation of Ruatepupuke II (during the closing in 1986 of the exhibition ‘Te Maori: Maori Art from New Zealand Collections’) for eventual dismantling and renovation work Artist’s conception of the interior of Ruatepupuke II after completion of the renovation work in 1992–1993 Formal reopening of the renovated whare in 1993 by the official delegation from Te Whanau-a-Ruataupare, Tokomaru Bay, New Zealand The CRMA model Hinemoa Hilliard cleaning the rafters as part of the renovation work done in 1992–1993 on Ruatepupuke II

61 66 79 84 85 86 87 90 92 94 95

97 97 101 105

5.9

Testing for lead dust in the (original) paint on Ruatepupuke’s door posts in 2007 (centre: Désirée Wisse)

107

6.1

Photograph of Te Rauru meeting house, Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, c 1900–1904 Rauru on display at the Museum für Völkerkunde Hamburg Te Wharepuni a Maui at the 1906/07 international exhibition in Christchurch, New Zealand Te Wharepuni a Maui on display at the Gewerbemuseum, Stuttgart, Germany, in 1928 Emily and Bob Schuster weaving tukutuku for Te Wharepuni a Maui in 1993 Te Wharepuni a Maui’s porch on display at the Linden Museum, 1993–2000

113

6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 7.1 7.2

Hinemihi at Clandon Park, 2003 Interior view of Hinemihi showing the poutokomanawa (centre post) 7.3 Hinemihi in Te Wairoa 1880. Burton Brothers, Dunedin: Photograph of Runanga Hinemihi meeting house, Wairoa 7.4 Hinemihi soon after the Tarawera eruption of 1886 7.5 Hinemihi at Clandon Park pre-1914, from the photographic album of Harry William Blake, head gardener at Clandon Park c 1886–1920 7.6 Hinemihi 1919 7.7 Hinemihi prior to restoration in 1959 7.8 Hinemihi in 1975 7.9 Hinemihi after restoration in 1980 7.10 Hinemihi with Ngäti Ranana at the Kohanga Reo Hangi, 2003 8.1 8.2

8.3 8.4

The Palladian mansion at Clandon Park viewed from Hinemihi A dialogue between Julie Lawlor (National Trust Property Manager at Clandon Park) and James Schuster (Ngäti Hinemihi and New Zealand Historic Places Trust Conservator) Maramara Totara taiaha (long-handled weapon) training sessions at Clandon Park during the Hinemihi maintenance days, June 2006 Hinemihi during the welcoming ceremony, 29 November 2003

115 117 118 120 121 128 131 132 134 138 139 140 142 143 147 153 156

157 157

9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5

Ngäti Ranana and Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana welcoming visitors onto the marae during the powhiri at the Kohanga Reo Hangi at Hinemihi, June 2003 Ngäti Ranana performing during the Kohanga Reo Hangi at Hinemihi, June 2006 Maramara Totara taiaha (long-handled weapon) training sessions in front of Hinemihi during the Hinemihi maintenance days, June 2006 The Kirk whanau christening service at Hinemihi. Conducted by Rev Barry Olson at Kohanga Reo Hangi, June 2003 Rosanna Raymond performing at Kohanga Reo Hangi at Hinemihi, June 2007

10.1 Whakapapa of Hinemihi showing descent from Ngatoriorangi 10.2 Whakapapa of Ngäti Hinemihi showing descent from Tuhourangi 10. 3 Hinemihi (I) Hinemihi ki Te Wairoa at Clandon Park, 1995 10.4 Hinemihi (II) ki Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, Aotearoa, 2005 10.5 Hinemihi (III) ki Ngapuna, Rotorua, Aotearoa, 2005 10.6 The site where Hinemihi (I) stood at Te Wairoa, Aotearoa 10.7 The interior of Hinemihi (II) ki Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, Aotearoa 12.1 UCL conservation students (Isabel Pombo Cardoso, Kim Yeon-Hee, Lucy Skinner, Tamara Jaeger, Steve Miller, Eva Garbutt) conducting the physical fabric survey, June 2003 12.2 Chinese House following conservation at Stowe Landscape Gardens, The National Trust 12.3 Isabel Pombo Cardoso removing paint samples from Hinemihi’s paepae carving 12.4 A suggested chronology for historic paint sequence on Hinemihi’s carvings. The images show two reflected light micrographs (X40 magnification) of polished paint crosssections mounted in Epotek 301 epoxy resin. The paint chronology is based on archival information about known dates of painting interventions, dated paint layers within the seqence, and stratigraphic comparison between different areas of Hinemihi’s carvings 12.5 Kohanga Reo parents and children with UCL students during Hinemihi Maintenance days, June 2007 12.6 Picture of Hinemihi painted by Alaina from Kohanga Reo, June 2005

162 165 166 168 173 176 177 178 179 179 182 185 202

203 208 210

214 215

12

Dean Sully

Introduction

13

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Along with my thanks to the individual contributors to this book, I wish to acknowledge the support of the following people: Scott Boswell, David Brock–Doyle, Kateia Burrows, Beverley Butler, Chris Calnan, Elizabeth Cory-Pearce, Marion Cutting, Ylva Dahnsjo, Dinah Eastop, Cressida Fforde, Peter Gathercole, James Hales, Anthony Hoete, Jane Hubert, Christine Lachelin, Fiona Macalister, Panayota Malkogeorgou, Hirini Matunga, Renata Peters, Cliff Price, Elizabeth Pye, Stefania Riccini, Phil Saunders, Nigel Seeley, Stephen Shennan, Ulrike Sommer, Sarah Staniforth, Nino Stachey, John Tapiata, Maina Tapiata-Thompson, Steve Walker, Sarah Watkins, Helen Webb, Glen Wharton, Rahera Windsor, and the many UCL staff and students who have contributed their efforts to keeping Hinemihi warm. I am grateful to people at The National Trust for their hospitality at Hinemihi. And I am indebted to the London Maori community, Ngäti Hinemihi, and the Schuster family for their sustained generosity.

13

14

Dean Sully

SERIES EDITOR’S FOREWORD The series Critical Perspectives on Cultural Heritage seeks to define a new area of research and produce a set of volumes that make a radical break with routinised accounts and definitions of cultural heritage and with the existing or ‘established’ canon of cultural heritage texts. The series critically revisits the core question—what constitutes cultural heritage?—and engages with the concerns that shape and define the possible futures of cultural heritage studies. A key objective is that this series be of transformative value in the sense of outlining and creating new and future agendas within cultural heritage discourse using individual texts as building blocks. These publications, therefore, are intended to provide the intellectual impetus and critical framework by which cultural heritage discourse can undergo a process of radical reflection and engage in a subsequent reconstruction of its core heritage values, practices, and ethics. Central to this project is an alignment with a wider scholarship committed to disrupting the ‘Eurocentrism’ that underpins cultural heritage theory/ practice and with a contemporary ‘politics of recognition’ that is bound up in articulating new, alternative or ‘parallel’ characterisations of heritage value. This commitment is ultimately rooted in calls for the centring of cultural heritage discourse within a wider concern for the preservation of human dignity and justice. It seeks to use these alternative discourses as a resource for future action in terms of creating a pro-active, responsive, and just future for a new critical cultural heritage studies. As one of the first books in this series, Decolonising Conservation offers an original and radical rethinking of conservation as concept, policy, and practice, and addresses its re-envisioning for postcolonial, global 15

16

Series Editor’s Forword

constituencies. The volume particularises the quest of ‘decolonising conservation’ by focusing on the complexities of protecting Maori meeting houses outside New Zealand. Sully’s introduction and conclusion are crucial parts of the text as they make explicit statements about the historical conceptualisation of conservation within the colonial context and the urgent need to transform the discipline at all levels to be relevant for today’s political and moral-ethical needs and to create new cultural heritage futures. The contributors to this volume represent a unique array of ‘voices’ that are positioned across Europe–North America and, crucially, New Zealand. These voices offer diverse perspectives capable of provoking a critical discussion of the hybrid meanings and methodologies, practices, and policy issues and moral-ethical concerns and agendas of social justice that collect around the issue of the re-presentation of Maori meeting houses and related taonga. This book presents new and original critical thinking apropos conservation theory and is a commitment to the transformation of policy, practice, and ethics. It is essential reading for those engaged in cultural heritage studies and its postcolonial futures. Dr Beverley Butler Critical Perspectives on Cultural Heritage Series Editor Institute of Archaeology University College London

PREFACE During a visit to New Zealand in 2005, I spent several days staying with Jim and Cathy Schuster at their home in Rotoiti near Lake Okataina. To express my thanks for their generous hospitality, I offered to follow a recent Schuster tradition of providing a tree to be planted in the family garden. As Hinemihi at Clandon Park is surrounded by old oaks, I decided on an oak tree, so that if Hinemihi returns to New Zealand in the future, there would be an oak tree to remind her of her time at Clandon.1 However, there are already many oak trees in New Zealand, along with many non-native trees, exotic species imported along with the waves of settlers over the past few hundred years. Cathy and Jim suggested planting a native tree, Tanekaha or Celery Pine or Phyllocladus trichomanoides that Cathy would be able to harvest for dyeing materials for her weaving. If not her, then her daughters and their daughters would use it. We fixed on this idea as a way of helping to decolonise Jim and Cathy’s garden. This experience helped me reconsider my approach to the conservation of Hinemihi. My ideas were grounded in the Western conservation tradition; my perspective was through the window of the mansion at Clandon Park on the Maori house down in the garden. By shifting this view to one from New Zealand, both the distance and the proximity of Hinemihi was made clear. This was a point of departure in my understanding of Hinemihi and seeing through the historiographic layers of English appropriation. A hybrid conservation approach adapting Western conservation ideas to those of Maori, which reflected Hinemihi’s New Zealand origins and her British present, no longer seemed enough. It seemed to perpetuate the imbalance of the colonial relationship that prevailed in the ownership, control, and 17

18

Dean Sully

location of Hinemihi. This was my departure point in utilising decolonising methods to reframe the conservation of Hinemihi, the Te Arawa meeting house at Clandon Park, United Kingdom. This book is a response to the questions raised in that process. Dean Sully Cathy’s Response Many of the plants in my garden have been given to me at different times and are a constant reminder of important people in our lives. I certainly hadn’t thought about the gift of a tree in terms of ‘decolonising my garden’, but was thrilled to be given a special and very significant plant. The choice of a tanekaha was very deliberate as I’ve been wanting one for some years to complete my collection of useful native dye plants that I have been growing here at home. It will probably be my daughters and mokopuna (grandchildren) who will get to harvest and use the bark from it one day, but this rakau will be a major legacy to them as they learn the skills of weaving handed down to them from their great-grandmother. Cathy Schuster

Note 1. Wharenui (meeting houses) embody the ancestors of their iwi (tribal groupings) and therefore are referred to as individuals; Hinemihi, as a female, is referred to as ‘her’.

PART I

SETTING THE SCENE

INTRODUCTION Dean Sully

Decolonising Conservation provides a mechanism to reconceptualise Western conservation within the broader issues of heritage and the construction of the past. This book reveals the inherent Eurocentric assumptions and justifications used to legitimise the processes of conservation applied to the care of cultural heritage. The decolonisation process is a self-conscious attempt to reveal the voices that lie hidden within the monuments, archives, and artefacts that have been used in the West to objectify our relationships with the past. In acknowledging the existence of alternative stories and parallel ways of understanding, utilising, and caring for the material past, it is possible to ‘other’ ourselves within the discourse of heritage conservation. We are thus able to reconsider the nature of current relationships, power, authority, and control over the cultural heritage of peoples and their pasts. This can raise new questions about the consequences of conservation action, whether explicitly acknowledged in the process or realised as an inadvertent consequence of the work in which conservators are engaged. Decolonising Conservation is an attempt to liberate Western conservation from its Eurocentric constraints and provides an opportunity for a self-reflective examination of past circumstances, which can inform our current responsibilities and those of the future. In this book, a notion of conservation is maintained within the wider view of tangible and intangible heritage that reflects the transmission 19

20

Dean Sully

of cultural knowledge, skills, and practice as well as the care of artefacts and cultural spaces. This has relevance to ideas of social engagement, well-being, social cohesion, incorporation of diversity, selfdetermination, health, happiness, prosperity, and the complexities of identity that can be linked to ideas of heritage. My examination is framed within institutions of heritage production— museums and conservation charities in New Zealand, the United States, Germany, and Britain. All these are currently engaged with the care of historic Maori meeting houses and marae (ceremonial ground in front of a meeting house). The care of taonga (Maori treasures) outside the Maori community takes place within varying degrees of cross-cultural engagement in which the relationships between the present and the past can be seen to be negotiated through the changing nature of personal and institutional relationships. An account of this engagement at different historical periods provides some insight into the prevailing cultural situation at that time. The consequences of the imbalance of power in past relationships impacts on how present relationships become possible futures. The case studies I present examine the social networks that connect objects and people through time and space. They offer an opportunity to see how the current processes of conservation practice can be affected by, and can have an effect on, the relationships that surround the long-term care of the material past. This helps us reconsider the aims of the conservation process in terms of the effect on people, rather than in terms of preserving the physical integrity in the material past. It also gives us an opportunity to examine the potential of community-based conservation, both as a theoretical approach and a practical tool, to build relationships with the people affected by the material cultural heritage.

Many Ways to Read This Book The process of participatory conservation involves incorporating representative viewpoints of participants in the process. Likewise, the structure of this book is intended to represent the particular perspectives of the contributing authors. The position of the individual contributors is reflected in the aspects of the encounter that each chooses to select and in the language used to express this. The organisation of this volume is an attempt to incorporate a diversity of views around the theme of caring for meeting houses outside New Zealand.

Introduction

21

Setting the Scene To ‘decolonise’ conservation, we must first acknowledge the involvement that heritage conservation has had within the colonial enterprise. The first chapter, which I wrote, gives a historical account of Western conservation thought with its links to the Enlightenment and interwoven with the development of science and the theoretical framework of European colonialism. This view of Western conservation derives from an examination of the role of heritage, archaeology, anthropology, museums, and conservation in the colonial process. Current conservation philosophy can be seen as a means of privileging certain approaches to caring for material culture, whilst repressing others. The impact of Eurocentric ideas of the past and how they are memorialised in the present are considered. This is related to the role of conservation as preserving an idea of the past through its effect on heritage (museum, site, archive, collection, artefact) and people (performative culture). The practice of conserving material authenticity is considered in relation to the preservation of cultural transmission through its impact on local heritage practices and the ability of communities to participate actively in this process. A conservation is considered that reflects a change in focus from conserving objects for their own sake to conserving objects for the effects that they have on people’s lives.

A View from Aotearoa In Part II, a consideration for the care of meeting houses outside New Zealand is informed by a view from Aotearoa (New Zealand), in which heritage professionals discuss a concept of Maori taonga within Maori society and the implications for care of taonga within the institutions and communities of New Zealand. There is evident value in revealing the power of indigenous knowledge and thought in the response to the care of Maori heritage. This is important both as a reflection of contemporary Maori cultural practice and also as an opportunity for cross-cultural learning for non-Maori. The views expressed by Maori contributors in this book are essential in considering the impact of caring for meeting houses within the patrimony of non-Maori institutions. In chapter 2, Arapata Hakiwai considers the role of the museum and conservation from a Maori perspective of cultural self-determination. He outlines the intellectual framework in which taonga are cared for within bicultural governance structures in New Zealand that focus on principles of partnership and active participation of the source

22

Dean Sully

community that emphasise cultural well-being. In a discussion that includes the Treaty of Waitangi, the Mataatua Declaration, and The Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (Te Papa) Mana Taonga principle, the primary rights of connected communities in the management, care, and interpretation of their cultural material held in museums is established. This identifies the restorative function of reconnecting taonga with their community that encourages partnerships between museums and the people whose cultural material they hold. In chapter 3, Gamini Wijesuriya uses his extensive international experience in heritage conservation to compare Maori taonga and Buddhist religious places to illustrate the concept of continuity in the conservation of living heritage. The term ‘continuity’ links the concepts of original use, gradual evolution, and the association of specific communities and is considered an inherent characteristic of living heritage rather than attributed by others. It represents a past as an inseparable reality and integral part of life in the present. This is in opposition to a Western conception of a separated past. The importance of the values expressed by original or connected community is considered to take priority over the values ascribed by other users, such as heritage experts. Nevertheless, current conservation discourse prioritises the view of latter over the former. Continuity between the past and the present is an important phenomenon in many cultural traditions and therefore should be a key concept in heritage conservation. A bottom-up interactive community conservation process is advocated in preference to a top-down, linear, expert-driven process of decision-making. The role of Maori conservators in marae conservation in Aotearoa is considered in chapter 4. James Schuster and Dean Whiting focus on the development of local and regional resources to enable communities to care for their own marae. Generating local skills and knowledge provide mechanisms for re-engaging communities with traditional practice such as plant selection, raw material harvest, and Maori arts (weaving, painting, and carving) as well as the intergenerational transfer of other skills and knowledge. This is illustrated with a case study of the recent restoration of Tutanekai wharenui (meeting house) on the Owhata Marae complex. Marae conservation in New Zealand provides a model of active participation and community empowerment that can clearly be translated to the long-term care of meeting houses outside New Zealand.

Conserving Expatriate Meeting Houses The non-Maori response to the care of expatriate meeting houses is presented in Part III, in which a chronology is described for the curation

Introduction

23

and conservation of Ruatepupuke II at The Field Museum in Chicago, Rauru in the Museum für Völkerkunde in Hamburg, and Te Wharepuni a Maui within Stuttgart’s Linden Museum, Germany. In chapter 5, John Terrell, Désirée Wisse, and Christopher Philipp consider the long-term care of Ruatepupuke II. This can be seen as a flagship example of the inclusion of Maori values and voices in a distant setting and an inspirational model for those working with crosscultural encounters. The authors propose that conservation work, as a human activity linking objects and people in dynamic ways, can create novel opportunities for building relationships between museums and people outside museums that not so long ago seemed all but impossible to imagine, much less achieve. In chapter 6, Eva Garbutt considers two meeting houses in German museums, revealing that their care has been a response to different worldviews: European and Maori. This is seen to effectively merge in the conservation of Te Wharepuni a Maui at the Linden Museum in Stuttgart, Germany.

Hinemihi As an artefact of colonialism, Hinemihi,1 the meeting house at Clandon Park, Surrey, United Kingdom, offers an opportunity to see how current conservation practice can help in developing relationships between peoples and their pasts that contribute to expanding possible futures. As the key case study in this book, she enables us to examine the potential of community-based conservation both as a theoretical approach and a practical tool to enhance cultural well-being. In Part IV, several authors reflect on their relationships with Hinemihi, including the views of The National Trust, the Maori community in the United Kingdom, the Maori community in New Zealand, and the role of University College London (UCL) in her conservation. These views are distilled out of an ongoing conservation project in which important decisions continue to be made. This has provided a time for reflection for these participants; therefore, the process of writing this book has had agency within the project. Chapter 7, by Dean Sully and Alan Gallop, introduces Hinemihi, the Maori meeting house at Clandon Park. An account is given of her journey from her construction in 1881 in Te Wairoa, Aotearoa (New Zealand), the effect on her of the eruption of Mount Tarawera in 1886, her purchase, her transport to Clandon Park in 1892, her time as a summerhouse throughout the 20th century in a picturesque ‘manufactured’ English parkland within a universalising Eurocentric perspective, and her reconnection with Maori in the last twenty years. The National Trust, which manages Clandon Park, has been in

24

Dean Sully

direct contact with three Maori groups, Ngäti Hinemihi (Hinemihi’s spiritual descendants), Ngäti Ranana (a London-based Maori group), and the Kohanga Reo o Ranana (the London Maori preschool). This period has been one of re-appropriation, in which Hinemihi is reimbued with a spiritual presence. Chapter 8, by Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow, considers the conservation of Hinemihi at Clandon Park within the broader responsibilities of The National Trust as Europe’s largest conservation charity and within a more personal view of the day-to-day responsibilities involved with Hinemihi’s care. The importance of the concept of inalienability is described in enabling The National Trust to achieve its aim of holding property in trust for the nation. The use of statements of significance and consultation with the Maori community is discussed, along with the process of developing understanding and relationships with Hinemihi’s people. Karl Burrows, in chapter 9, focuses on the relationship between the London-based Maori community and Hinemihi. It is primarily a personal perspective, reflecting issues faced by a Maori community seeking to maintain traditions and a relationship with Hinemihi whilst being so far from home. This worldview is echoed in Rosanna Raymond’s poem ‘So Who invited Tu?’. In chapter 10, James Schuster considers the views of Hinemihi’s source community Ngäti Hinemihi on Hinemihi’s presence at Clandon. He discusses the relationship of Hinemihi to the other Hinemihi meeting houses in New Zealand (Hinemihi at Whakarewarewa, Hinemihi at Ngapuna), and the connection with the Te Wairoa survivors of the 1886 Mount Tarawera eruption. This includes the implications for Hinemihi at Clandon of Ngäti Hinemihi’s planned return to Te Wairoa. In chapter 11, academic lawyer Kathryn Last provides a legal opinion on ability of The National Trust to sanction a return of Hinemihi to Ngäti Hinemihi should they wish. In chapter 12, Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso discuss the current conservation approach to Hinemihi, which has been largely guided by Western practice. The authors describe the role of evidencebased information gathering in providing an effective understanding from which to base a conservation response. This includes a description of cross-sectional paint analysis carried out on Hinemihi’s decorative scheme. This process of information gathering has been used as an opportunity to share understanding and develop relationships with Hinemihi’s people.

Introduction

25

Conclusions In this section, decolonisation methodologies are considered as a way of challenging the legacy of our colonial past and addressing some of its consequences. The implications for decolonising conservation are examined in relation to community conservation and consultation. The decision-making process that determines the care of other peoples’ objects considers issues of negotiated authority, shared control, and informed participation in developing partnerships that provide sustainable long-term care for Hinemihi at Clandon Park and the other meeting houses outside New Zealand. This suggests that a solution to some of the contradictions inherent within current conservation theory and practice lies with an engagement in the social network around the conservation process.

Note 1. Wharenui embody the ancestors of their iwi (tribal groupings) and therefore are referred to as individuals; Hinemihi, as a female, is referred to as ‘her’. The masculine pronoun is used for Rauru, Te Wharepuni a Maui, and Ruatepupuke II, as they are associated with male ancestors.

26

Dean Sully

1 COLONISING AND CONSERVATION Dean Sully

The Colonial Past in the Present The histories of Europe and its former colonies are inextricably linked. Britain is as much a construct of the colonial process as are its former colonies such as New Zealand (Simpson 2002, Henare 2005, p. 17). Our experiences of the realities of the past have a direct bearing on contemporary beliefs and actions. The colonial legacy prevails within ‘our’ cultural, economic, political, military, and social relationships with ‘others’. This past is significant in forming ideas of who the ‘we’ is and how this ‘we’ relates to ‘others’. Who the ‘we’ of Britain is at this time is a complex and conflicted question. A dynamic and adaptive definition of a British ‘we’ would be necessary to encompass individuals and communities who have vastly different relationships to the history of empire and whose lives today have been shaped by that legacy in vastly different ways (Gopal 2007).

Western Knowledge Systems The growth of modern Western knowledge systems can be seen as being embedded within and shaped by the European colonial expansion of the 18th and 19th centuries. Its legacy prevails in ‘our’ current understanding of the world and is perpetuated in the way knowledge

27

28

Dean Sully

is collected, classified, and represented. This is evident in the disciplines of anthropology, archaeology, and the associated heritage specialties of museology and conservation. These disciplines evolved from and articulated with a colonial desire to conquer unknown worlds (Henare 2005). Smith states that ‘Western disciplines, such as anthropology, made the study of us [indigenous people] into “their” Science, others were employed in the practices of imperialism in less direct but far more devastating ways’ (2005, p. 11). Western knowledge systems have sought to privilege a European perspective and displace alternative ways of understanding the world around us. Historically, the negation of alternative views was a critical part of asserting colonial ideology, in which such views were labelled ‘primitive’ and ‘incorrect’ (Said 2003). Embedded within this is the credibility given to the historical and ethnographic records of European scholars over indigenous oral histories that marginalise knowledge systems of non-Europeans (Matunga 1994, p. 218, Smith & Wobst 2005, Smith & Jackson 2006, p. 317).

Colonising European concepts of difference, ethnicity, and civilisation from antiquity persisted through the Middle Ages when Christians considered themselves civilised and non-Christians were considered wild and barbarous (Wailes & Zoll 1995). The history of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment needs to be seen in reference to a colonial history that developed alongside beliefs about the Other. In early modern Europe, Christian identities were constructed in opposition to Judaism and Islam, the latter functioning as the dominant binary opposition and threat to Christianity (Loomba 2005, p. 93). As Said points out, knowledge about the Orient, produced and circulated in Europe as Orientalism, was an ideological accompaniment of colonial power. The Orient becomes a representation of itself viewed through a Western lens (Said 2003). To understand the Other is, therefore, part of the process of maintaining power over them; it provides a stratagem for the containment, mastery, and exploitation of cultural difference. This discourse results in the dichotomy between Europe and its Others, which was central to the creation of European culture as well as to the maintenance and extension of European hegemony over other lands in establishing what Said calls the flexible ‘positional superiority’ of the colonisers (Said 2003, p. 7). The construction of stereotypes hardens the edges of this divide in which ideas and images are reduced to simple comprehensible forms that are manageable for colonial purposes (Loomba 2005, p. 54).

Colonising and Conservation

29

From the 18th century onwards, modern European states extended the civilising and bureaucratic procedures of state power outwards into colonial rule. There is a clear difference between European colonialism in the modern era and colonialism prior to the modern era (Rowlands 1998). In 19th-century colonialism, ‘otherness’ became formalised through science and philosophy into explicit systems of classification and ‘regimes of truth’; the Other was defined as ‘inferior’ based on evolutionary theory and a categorisation of cultural hierarchy (Miller et al 1995, Smith 2005). The later period of the Enlightenment saw the subverted utopian illusion of a secular paradise turned into scientific form that resulted in mass human sacrifice in the totalitarian political movements of the 20th century. In the 21st century, the updated dream of the global democratic single free-market can be seen as an illusion that lies dead in the blood-soaked sands of the Middle East (Gray 2007).

Imperialism, Colonialism, Colonisation The concepts of imperialism, colonialism, and colonisation are interconnected and relate to the conquest and control of other peoples, lands, and goods (Loomba 2005, p. 8). Differences between these concepts can be defined in relation to different historical contexts; for example, imperialism is seen as originating from the centre, which is experienced at the margins as colonialism (Loomba 2005, p. 12). These tensions about power and subjectivity become central to studies of colonialism. Colonialism can be considered as one expression of imperialism that involves a ruling power maintaining long-term control over a separate people viewed by the coloniser as subordinate and alien. Colonisation is the formation of new communities in a territory controlled by the parent state of the colonisers that results in the socioeconomic exploitation or relations of domination over the colonised (usually majority) population (Rowlands 1998). In this process, it was not only the indigenous populations that needed to be controlled; Europeans were also disciplined for service in the imperial enterprise (Smith 2005). The underlying order of colonialism is reflected in control over the nature of social relationships, trade, sovereignty, law, and the activities of Western science. This concept of colonialism also refers to a set of beliefs used to legitimise or promote the system, especially the idea that the colonisers’ belief systems are superior to those of the colonised. This perception has been developed by writers seeking to understand colonialism from the perspective of local contexts and from the margins, rather than as being reflected from the imperial centres of Europe. This colonialism refers to power relations and the reactions of domination

30

Dean Sully

and resistance relating to coloniser and colonised. These oppositional categories tend to reduce the complex differences and interactions into the binary logic of colonial power. This can be viewed as a strategy of colonialism that places European culture in opposition to nonEuropean cultures. The response to this becomes an ‘anti’ position that informs social interaction from small-scale practical resistance as a daily routine to the large-scale rejection of the abstract universal values on which colonialism is founded (Fanon 2004, p. 236; Butler 2007). Stories that run counter to the prevailing hegemony characterise much postcolonial or anti-colonial writings, which address issues of political and social justice within the wider framework of selfdetermination and decolonisation (Fanon 1965). Lamming refers to a colonialism that ‘reshapes physical, social terrains as well as human identities. The colonial experience is a live experience in the consciousness of these people … that has to be dealt with and will have to be dealt with long after the actual colonial situation formally ends’ (cited in Hulme 1993, p. 120, Loomba 2005, p. 155). The result of colonialism, from one perspective of the colonised, was a systematic fragmentation of the world that led to disconnection of colonised peoples from their histories, landscapes, languages, education, health, cognitive systems, and spirituality. Control passed from the colonised to their colonisers over culture itself. This can be seen in the loss of ancestral remains to archaeologists, languages to linguistics, customs to anthropologists, and beliefs to psychologists (Smith 2005, p. 28). The outcomes for indigenous populations have been poor health, poverty, social disruption, low educational achievement, and suppression of culture, language, and spirit (Glover et al 2005).

Colonial Heritage The colonial past is not distinct from today’s realities and practices and continues to define current approaches for the management and conservation of cultural heritage. The assertion of the authority of science within a discourse of progress and rationality is bound up with the ‘rise of heritage’ (Butler 2006). The complicity of heritage, museology, and conservation in the mass illusion and deception of the ideologies associated with the Enlightenment project has been asserted (Huyssen 1995, p. 17, Butler 2006). It reflects a use of heritage to legitimise superiority of the West over other cultures in space and time (Walsh 1992, p. 67). Heritage has become a scene of contestation, conflict, violence and even death, where different interpretations of sites and monuments compete for authority (Layton et al 2001, Butler 2006). This has continuing implications for the ability of colonised peoples to practice their own traditional forms of cultural heritage management (Atalay 2006).

Colonising and Conservation

31

Colonial Conservation, Heritage, Museums, Collections, Objects, and People Western conservation has been defined as ‘all actions aimed at safeguarding of cultural property for the future’ (Clavir 2002, p. 3). Clavir argues that Western conservation as a profession is based on two main assumptions: ‘the need to preserve the integrity of the physical object, and a belief in scientific enquiry, as the basis for proper preservation and treatment of collections’ (Clavir 2002, p. 4). Science is the dominant discourse of Western conservation, which is still largely informed by the positivist notion that scientific language can be objective and value free and can discover what is ‘real’. Western conservation protocols are shaped by a colonial legacy that simultaneously reinforces the authority of the academy and the subservient positioning of other worldviews (Smith & Wobst 2005, Smith & Jackson 2006, p. 314). Western conservation theory has its origins in the development of Enlightenment theories based on the human ability to understand the material world and utilise new information for the improvement of all humankind (Wharton 2005). Within this project, museums occupied a central role in developing theories based on specimens and artefacts that gave physical evidence of the validity of intellectual ideas. Whether geological time, biological evolution, or anthropological hierarchies, the ideas, theories, and artefacts were similarly classified, collected, labelled, categorised, interpreted, stored, and displayed to convey information about the known world. This process fits into a rational scheme of control and predictability that is based on an understanding of the underlying order, pattern, and regularities that classification of collections both reveals and is reliant upon (Moutu 2007, p. 98). Such ways of knowing fundamentally affected European understanding of the world, particularly perceptions of the past and of other peoples. In this schema, artefact collections were acquired to provide a way of understanding the social structure of newly encountered ‘native’ peoples and provided the basis of strategies for controlling them within the needs of a colonial system. This knowledge provided the means by which the colonisers gained dominance, by offering a toolbox of theories to deal with new landscapes and people (Henare 2005). One of the ways that European penetration into other lands was legitimised was through the claimed ‘objectivity’ of observation and science (Henare 2005, p. 153). Alongside this was the moral quest for the spiritual and economic improvement of ‘primitive’ peoples, which fitted the redemptive notion of Christian teaching (Butts 1990, p. 109, Henare 2005, p. 158). It also fitted into the secular values of the Enlightenment project in which the religious illusion of redemption is

32

Dean Sully

retained within the quest for knowledge and control over the world around (Gray 2007). Through the process of colonisation, Europeans gained the power to study the pasts of others who were distant from themselves culturally and geographically. Anthropologists and archaeologists utilised Western epistemologies to view the practices and lives of others, carried out for the benefit of Western scholars, taught in Western institutions of higher education, and sold to Western public audiences (Atalay 2006). Rarely were the subjects of the research considered to be recipients of the information generated (Said 2003, p. 336). Many 19th- and 20th-century writers equate the advance of European colonisation with the triumph of science and reason over the so-called forces of superstition. Across the colonial spectrum, European technology and learning were regarded as progressive (Loomba 2005, p. 21). Indigenous cultures were represented as reflecting the backwardness and redundancy of native technologies and social structures in relation to the progressive dynamism of the coloniser. Nicolas Thomas sums up this narrative of succession as ‘future is to past as settlers are to savages’ (1999, p. 110). Through this period, museums introduced their visitors to the grand scheme of empire and the nation state; when placed in museums, these artefacts became a symbol of the European ability to know and control the worlds of the colonial project (Smith & Wobst 2005, Smith & Jackson 2006, p. 311). Artefacts and collections required protection within public institutions so that they could be preserved in perpetuity to continue providing physical evidence of the intellectual ideas. By 1880, the British Association for the Advancement of Science concluded that the common purpose of museums was the ‘preservation of collections’ (Clavir 2002, p. 14). In the early 20th century, museums maintained their importance as the focus of the object-based epistemologies of archaeology, anthropology, and other disciplines. Object-based study lies at the centre of the material focus of conservation theory and practice today. During the 20th century, conservation developed as a professional discipline from its roots in traditional maintenance, repair, and restoration (Pye 2001). With the development of science-based conservation, especially in 1930 with the establishment of the International Museums Office for the League of Nations Conference in Rome (Clavir 2002), both museums and conservation derived legitimacy, power, and status from their association with the broadly accepted scientific model. This meant that the underlying assumptions of science were largely unquestioned when applied to conservation questions. The application of the tools of scientific and technical investigation provided a ‘necessary illusion’

Colonising and Conservation

33

(Chomsky 1989) of scientific truth and objective fact, free from the personal subjectivity of the observer and therefore universally valid (Muñoz-Viñas 2005). The use of an expert language by powerful elite produces ‘facts’ that deflect consideration of other values that are not constructed within this particular framework of understanding. Scientific knowledge is, however, simply one way of knowing the past that is not inherently better than other ways of knowing, for example, oral tradition (Anyon et al 1996, Hodder 1999, p. 15, McNiven & Russell 2005). In the later 20th century, specialist conservation staff were increasingly employed to ensure the long-term survival of objects within increasingly large public collections. The utility of the technical achievements provided by scientific research provided evidence of the value of science-based conservation. This led to a systematic approach to the care and treatment of collections and an increasing formalisation of conservation practice and training (Pye 2001). In this process, the conservation profession has tended to demarcate discrete boundaries around its operations: the closed field of specialists deciding what was significant or otherwise, how it should be cared for, and how the resources should be spent. Such conservation boundaries are evident in the intellectual framework of the discipline today around the institutions in which these operations take place, around people involved in conservation practice, and around the objects that form the focus of these operations. One example of normal museum practice is the separation of objects on entry to collections from their previous use and maintenance. This recontextualisation provides curators, conservators, and custodians with a device to redefine the care of objects within the context of the museum. This separation allows novel solutions to be developed for their continuing care and enables the conservator to break the connection between objects in museums and the people who made and used them prior to collection (Clavir 2002, p. 9, Kreps 2003, p. 149, Wharton 2005). The relationship between entextualised objects and people is redefined by the needs of the institution that holds the collection. This has tended to focus on the preservation of the physical fabric of objects to preserve the information said to be contained in the object, in the hope that this information can be extracted through scientific research at some stage in the future (Eastop 2006, p. 519). This view sees the object as a container of knowledge that requires expert revelation to reveal its value (Eastop 2006). The object is suspended in the apparently neutral time-lessness of the museum. The museum type, its academic discipline, provides the intellectual framework for new values and meanings to be assigned to objects (Brody 1991).

34

Dean Sully

In general, museums, in accepting perpetual responsibility for the objects they possess, also accepted the assumption that any newly assigned value given to an object is correct and immutable. The curation and conservation of objects within collections create a new set of rules, meaning, and value around objects. The old values and meanings, however, are not erased and become evident when other social interests recognise other social meanings in museum objects that are in conflict with those of the museum (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 50). This provides an opportunity to recontextualise the museum object as a focus of conservation. Conservators perform an important role in ensuring the continuing survival of objects; they are also responsible for preserving aspects of their associated ‘authenticity’. The loss of physical fabric through deterioration results in the loss of information and knowledge and breaks a tangible link with the past. The product of conservation, therefore, lies in the preservation of the physical object and the information it ‘contains’ and is aligned to the role of the museum in scientific research. Although a range of value judgements determines the meaning and significance of objects and our approach to their conservation, the scientific paradigm remains the foundation of Western conservation (Ashley-Smith 2000, p. 14, Clavir 2002, p. 43). Within this framework, two important aims of the conservation process are to preserve and reveal the ‘integrity of the object’ (Sease 1998, p. 102), the ‘true nature’ (UKIC 1983, p. 3) or ‘intrinsic nature’ or the ‘essence’ (Clavir 1998) of the object, and to freeze the object at a point in time as the accepted version of reality. The concept of integrity is composed of categories of information defined through an ability to extract physical evidence from an object that can be understood within Western knowledge systems, Western conservators have focused on the tangible aspects of integrity (ie physical stability of objects). Guided by ethical principles within the scientific framework, conservators seek to define an objective physical ‘truth’ in the conserved object (Muñoz-Viñas 2005, p. 188). As science searches for representations of the world that reflect reality as transparently and faithfully as possible, the modern Western project obviously becomes the worldview best suited to this task (Latour 2002, Henare et al 2007, p. 11). In this search for truth and authenticity, conservators may strip away the obscuring layers of history to reveal or retain the true nature of the object. By doing so, they essentialise the past, freeze periods of history and objects, and segregate the present from the past. This represents an invention of the past that is infused by the present (Lowenthal 1985, p. xxv). Knowledge about the past retains its viewpoint in the present, in which current claims to ‘past truths’ are

Colonising and Conservation

35

open to future accusations of particular distortion (Rowlands 1998). Denslagen warns that by stripping away the layers of history, you cut the threads that link the present to the past (Denslagen 2003, p. 99). Most research in conservation has tended to focus on the problems associated with physical condition, deterioration, and effectiveness of interventive treatments, thereby concentrating on the materiality of objects as opposed to their social significance. The job of the conservator is, therefore, to extend the physical life of objects, to prevent objects from change seen as deterioration, to repair damage, and to restore appearance, following professional ethical guidelines (Clavir 2002, p. 50). Guidelines for conservation practice have been drawn from international charters and conventions and formulated as codes of ethics from established professional bodies,1 which are used by conservators as principles to moderate practice. An underlying assumption of conservation codes of ethics that has been questioned is that it is worthwhile to preserve the physical remains of the past, such as objects in museums. Therefore, conservation is fundamental to this process and to the museum, because without it, research and presentation would be impossible and collection would be pointless (Ward 1986). There are apparent limitations in defining such codes: they can stifle discussion and become a distant endpoint for best intentions. It is also apparent that professional rules serve the interests of the profession, not just the interests of the museum, collections, objects, and people (Pye 2001, p. 166, Clavir 2002, p. 64). Ethical codes always use general universal statements that carry within them the power relations of the prevailing social network (Clavir 2002, p. 27). This universalisation is in opposition to ideas of plurality, diversity, and inclusivity in the care of objects. Notions of the ‘universal’ can be deeply ethnocentric because they are formulated in the image of the dominant culture (Loomba 2005, p. 121). Such systems result in the imposition of centralised procedure that can lead to the suppression of diverse local approaches to caring for the material past. Although mechanisms such as the Burra Charter advocate the importance of local communities’ involvement in decision-making that allow accountability and transparency (Kerr 1996, Australian ICOMOS 2004), the development of professional protocols and best practice systems that standardise practice can have the effect of prohibiting local responses to specific problems (Garton-Smith 1997/8, p. 11). Conservation, through its professionalisation and scientific language, can disempower nonspecialist communities. The Western heritage discourse has made it difficult to consider other forms and expressions of cultural preservation, as Western ideas of history making are used to superimpose our ideas on the past (Chakrabarty 2000). This hegemony

36

Dean Sully

obscures diverse approaches that exist alongside, overlap, and intersect with each other and undermines the rights of people to exercise control over their own cultural heritage (Kreps 2003, p. x, Rowlands & de Jong 2007). Where local and traditional relationships and practices survive, the universalisation of conservation policy has the potential to make traditional skills and knowledge redundant and impoverish local cultures by breaking the continuity of local and indigenous traditions (Menon 2003, p. 106). This substitution of local for universal, in which the Western heritage practice is seen as a symbol of modernity, is repeated in many state-sponsored heritage developments. Kreps provides the example of the Provincial Museum of Kalimantan, Indonesia (Kreps 1998, 2003, p. x); however, this is repeated in numerous state and national museums throughout South-East Asia, and the rest of the world.

The Museum The separation of the past from the present is memorialised in the modern museum, in which permanence and belonging are sustained through healing a sense of loss and disruption with the past (Rowlands & de Jong 2007). Museums and other heritage institutions do not exist in isolation from society; they evolve as participants in, and in response to, social transformations. They do not merely exist within a context but are also themselves creating cultural contexts (Macdonald 1996, p. 8). In response to broader social and political forces of the 20th century, the museum as an institution has been changing from an inward-looking organisation centred on research about collections to an outwardlooking organisation with a greater focus on the needs of museum visitors and their communities (Pye 2001, Joyce 2002, p. 106, Simpson 2002, p. 215). Over the past thirty years, a ‘new museology’ has engaged in deconstructing the discourse out of which museums emerge ‘as a radical re-examination of the role of museums within society’ (Vergo 1989, Ames 1992, Kahn 1995). The museum has been recognised as an institution of control, discipline, and power (Hooper-Greenhill 1989, Clifford 1997, Macdonald 1998), as a site for the production of hegemony, and as a site to contest the right to rule and define the different identities in society (Karp et al 1992, Abungu 2001), with a responsibility towards minority groups in accordance with ‘post colonial democratisation in a shift from the colonial to a cooperative museology’ (Clifford 1991, p. 224, Ames 1992). Museums now give increasing recognition to the rights of artists, producers, and traditional owners as well as to museum visitors (Simpson 2002, p. 215), which is a significant change in policy. The shift has led

Colonising and Conservation

37

to a reconsideration of the use of and access to collections. Collections are being redefined in terms of their potential to provide learning opportunities, as vehicles for engaging with broader audiences (Merriman 1989, Hooper-Greenhill 2000), and as mechanisms for social inclusion (DCMS 2002). Care of collection strategies have, therefore, been re-aligned to accommodate these institutional priorities. This shift in emphasis challenges conservators to move beyond a conservation model that focuses on preserving collections for future generation of museum users, which has been achieved by limiting access to current generations. For some established conservation processes, this shift has merely required a marginal realignment of accepted approaches to reflect the current priorities of managing and funding bodies. However, in many cases, it has required a fundamental change in focus. One such change has been the ‘democratisation’ of conservation, which has meant a broader range of people becoming involved in defining what is heritage and how it should be used and cared for (Pye & Sully 2007). Decisions about conserving the past are, therefore, recognised as processes of complex negotiation with participants who bring their own sets of values to the debate (Avrami et al 2000, De La Torre 2002). Many cultures have traditionally kept objects that they value and have created structures and practices for their safekeeping, so the idea of museums is not a distinctly Western phenomena (Simpson 2001, p. 107, Kreps 2003, p. 1) The Maori meeting house is an example of an ‘indigenous museum’, which, in addition to a ceremonial meeting space, acts as a storehouse for taonga (treasures) and an ‘oral university’ in which the carvings provide genealogical narratives for passing on traditional knowledge. The central purpose of object preservation in museums, however, is being challenged by source communities who see the purpose of the objects to be the preservation of the specific cultures themselves rather than their material remains. This may involve conceiving objects in different ways, as living entities, some of which retain spiritual power sufficient to endanger museum workers and visitors alike (Nicks 2003, p. 21). The boundaries around conservation activities have, therefore, become increasingly permeable and are required to form and dissolve in relation to the specific requirements of the conservation event (Edmonds & Wild 2000, p. 6, Kreps 2003, Muñoz-Viñas 2005).

Objects Treasured objects and heirlooms that once formed a focus for the social networks of their original owners can continue to perform this role

38

Dean Sully

following their entextualisation as museum objects; it is just the nature of these relations that is different (Gosden & Knowles 2001, p. 9). In examining museum objects, we can reflect on those relationships as they change through time. Through the enduring networks linking Europe and its colonies, artefacts have been bartered, purchased, gifted, stolen, and otherwise exchanged in the course of imperial expansion. Such objects can be seen as representations of the historical processes of colonialism as well as a representation of the individual histories of their makers, owners, and collectors as well as the role that these objects have in current constructions of the past and ideas about the present. A continuous network of social relationships connects the use of objects and people in different circumstances of time and place. An examination of how objects interact with people, mediating relationships between peoples, places, and times reveal complex historical processes in which social relationships of the past can endure in present social interactions (Cory-Pearce 2005, p. 390). The significance of objects in museums can be seen as the sum totals of the relations that link the past use of objects to their present place in museums. Such objects and collections are valuable resources for understanding how past social relationships endure in the social interactions of the present (Gosden & Knowles 2001). For example, the past imposition of colonial control created new cultures and gave objects a new set of causes and effects that linked people in a mutual reaction that left all ingredients of the resultant mixture altered. Such exchanges resulted in different forms of cultural response such as convergence, acculturation, hybridization, and the development of new forms of difference between colonising and local cultures (Gosden & Knowles 2001). Reactions from within communities were diverse, and this needs to be acknowledged when examining the nature of historic relationships; transculturations and creative cultural borrowing as well as exploitative exchange have been parts of these historical relationships (Nicks 2003). Colonialism is not a process of reciprocal flow and equal exchange; it is an arena of contradiction that has been ‘both destructive and fertile, both violent and creative’, in which it is possible to simultaneously be victims and perpetrators on a variety of levels and in uneven ways (Thomas 1999, p. 49, Gopal 2007). There are, therefore, problems with the use of the term ‘colonialism’ that suggests a unitary and homogeneous historical process that obscures the reality of an indeterminate mass of local circumstance composed of individuals and their communities that never saw themselves as colonial or native (Rowlands 1998). The study of the local can provide new insights on the broader global forces (Gosden & Knowles 2001, Preface). The decisions made around

Colonising and Conservation

39

the long-term care and conservation of the material past provide an opportunity to re-evaluate the relationships that prevail with objects.

A Contemporary View of Conservation Conservation is a complex and continual process that involves determining what heritage is, how it is cared for, how it is used, by whom, and for whom. Conservation as a developing social practice is not only concerned with definitions of best practice but in continually reassessing the applicability of new approaches to changed circumstances (Kreps 2003). Conservation is a process of understanding and managing change rather than merely an arresting process; it is a means of creating and recreating material cultural heritage that seeks to retain, reveal, and enhance what people value about the material past and sustain those values for future generations (English Heritage 2006, p. 11). Objects are conserved because they are valued for the effect that they have on people. The conservation process results in the selection of effects or cultural values in the conserved object. As a consequence, certain values will be retained, enhanced, or added to, whilst others will be diminished, altered, or removed. Thus, it is an essential part of the conservation process to assess the values associated with the material past for these to be preferentially conserved in the process. These values are dynamic and context dependent and are therefore contested and in flux, as communities construct and reconstruct meaning as a reflection of the present cultural landscape (Strathern 1988, p. 119, Ucko 2000, 2001b, p. 304). Object meaning, rather than being inherent and singular is multiple and contingent, negotiated, and renegotiated as social context shifts around them (Merriman 2000). It is now accepted that there are multiple ways of seeing, interpreting, and understanding the past; our ideas about the past are strongly influenced by the social and political context of the times (Lowenthal 1985, Ucko 2001a, Smith & Wobst 2005, Smith & Jackson 2006). Therefore, current insights offered about the past by heritage professionals are not necessarily superior to those of anyone else. This idea of relativism, which sees all explanations of the past as equally valid, has a significant political effect in disempowering political and intellectual elites (Ucko 1990, pp. xix–xx, Trigger 1995). In addition, recognition that authenticity and meaning are negotiable and constructed implies that the value of objects as standing for something ‘real’ is diminished. There is apparently, therefore, little point in a conservation process that unthinkingly strives to represent objects as they might have been, since the past is constantly reconstructed in

40

Dean Sully

the present. Thus, the challenge is to establish a sense of past upon which members of a community in the present can project a common sense of unity. Historical consciousness is used as a means of cohering mass sentiment either in support of dominant authorities or to organise resistance against them (Rowlands 1998). So, the response of conservators can be to construct something that is morally and politically appropriate to the current moment rather than try to conserve some version of ‘irreplaceable’ remains (Lowenthal 1985, Wharton 2004, p. 222). Characterisations of heritage as a ‘renewable resource’ reflects a call to ‘actively and responsibly’ engage in ‘renewing the past in our time’, rather than simply conserve the vestiges ‘left’ by posterity (Holtorf 2001, 2005, Butler 2006). This restores the past to its active engagement in the present, not as a fictional by-product of that present, but as a constituent of the real world (Kuchler in Ingold 1996, pp. 226–277, Butler 2006). Gell’s concept of objects as indexes of agency is a useful way to conceive of the agency of conservator as part of the cumulative human agency engaged in the conserved object. The conserved object, therefore, becomes a joint undertaking that embodies the human agency represented in the production of the object to that point. There are likely to be unforeseen consequences of affecting such material networks on other aspects of culture and society (Gell 1998, p. 257). If we accept that conservators redefine objects to reflect their current expectations about the object, conservation treatments can then be said to create objects that reflect our present ideas about the past and our desires for the future but is essentially about the present. Therefore, a version of the cultural landscape needs to be constructed around the conservation event at the point of intervention to inform the decision-making process. The object altered by conservation is a sum total creation of the present rather than the revelation of the past.

Conserving ‘Real’ Objects It is possible that in the preceding description of cultural values, too much emphasis is given to the meaning of objects whilst paying too little attention to their materiality. There is a problem in a scheme where objects’ meanings are attached to but distinct from the physical manifestation of the objects themselves. As a result, objects become a mere reflection of the contexts through which they pass and a mere illustration of the cultural system in which they are placed (Henare et al 2007, p. 3). This does not acknowledge the potential that objects have to generate their own context as material extensions of the agency of those who create or utilise them (Gell 1998, p. 7, Cory-Pearce 2005, p. 46, Leach 2007, p. 172).

Colonising and Conservation

41

Thomas points out that the term ‘context’ is problematic, as it suggests that a social and historical network simply contains artefacts. This relationship is more interactive: ‘objects and contexts not only define each other, but may change and disrupt each other’, therefore they are mutually constituted (Thomas 1999, p. 18). Objects have the power to impose meaning within their cultural context, not as symbolic vehicles, but via the agency of the objects themselves (Gell 1992). An attempt to conceive objects and meanings as indivisible, by refusing to apportion object meaning separately from object fabric, provides a method that avoids the need to excavate, define, and interpret meaning within competing frameworks of understanding (Henare et al 2007, p. 4). The debate about materiality and meaning, object, and agency suggests that although meaning may be contingently constructed, it is defined by the material character of the object, which provides opportunities and constraints to human agency. Objects have the ability to do things to people as well as people being able to do things to other people through objects. Objects may retain physical traces of these and other social interactions in forms of damage and evidence of use or disuse, which may be revealed through investigation. However, meanings that are constructed within social relationships reflect the prevailing networks of power that reveal dominant meanings as well as alternative meanings. The value of these meanings will vary according to epistemological perspective. A conservator’s ability to generate information, which might challenge dominant interpretations, will be limited by the cognitive framework in which conservators operate. This discursive practice perpetuates his or her own assumptions about the world that are constrained within the culturally constructed norms of professional practice (Wharton 2004, p. 21). A flexible approach to the application of conservation principles is therefore required so that previously submerged views of care and value can become evident in the conserved object. The aim of this process is to acknowledge the existence of alternative conceptualisations of cultural heritage (such as the recent focus on intangible heritage) to that commonly associated with Western ideas and policies. This enables the development of strategies in conservation that do not threaten the existence of local heritage practices of preservation and transmission (Rowlands & de Jong 2007).

People A conservation process, guided by its effects on people through definitions of cultural, value and meaning, significance, function, and use, rather than an objective ‘truth’, requires adapting existing conservation

42

Dean Sully

principles and their application. The conserved object that results from a conservation process focused on an essentialised notion of an object represented only by its material constituents limits the multifaceted significance of the object and restricts ways of experiencing objects and the past. Developing a concept about the nature of the object that does not limit the potential agency of the materiality of objects raises the question of how conservators are able adequately to assess these elements within the time, knowledge, skills, tools, and resources available in the conservation process. It is unlikely that this will be achieved without recognising a broad range of knowledge and opinion and gaining access to it (Clavir 2002, p. 53).

Conclusion The interaction between people and objects makes us who we are. A mechanism to understand the effects that objects have on people, therefore, becomes an essential element of the conservation of an object. As conservation action seeks to crystallise the presence of certain ideas within an object, along with the consequent removal of others. By doing this, conservators enhance evidence of certain interactions between objects and people whilst diminishing others. The assessment of cultural value, effect, and meaning has been institutionalised through the concept of ‘significance’, developed from UNESCO in 1964 (the International Charter for the Conservation and Restoration of Monuments and Sites, the Venice Charter) through the Burra Charter in 1979 (Australian ICOMOS 2004) and the UNESCO 2003 convention for the safeguarding of the intangible cultural heritage (UNESCO 2003). Here, cultural significance refers to an assessment or summation of the cultural heritage values held by the communities involved ascribed to cultural heritage (such as an artwork, object, monument, place, or performance). The production of a statement of significance has the potential to provide a clear reference point from which to consider the impact of proposed conservation actions on the identified values of the artefact. This process also recognises the fundamental importance of public engagement in developing an effective assessment of cultural significance (Pearson & Sullivan 1995, English Heritage 2000, The Commonwealth of Australia 2001). The primary focus of Western conservation in preserving the physical fabric of objects and information about them potentially isolates objects from the traditions and people that gave object meaning, such as the living culture of descendants of originating communities (Clavir 2002, p. xvii). This has initiated a reconsideration of the ‘artefact focus’ of conservation and a move towards people- and community-focused

Colonising and Conservation

43

conservation or context-focused conservation (Kreps 2003, p. 149). In this process, conservation practice has moved beyond defining the value of objects exclusively within the value to the museum and academic disciplines. The museum context is one in a series of relevant cognitive frameworks that seeks to define or exhibit the effect of objects on people. The dominance of the scientific model and the centralising tendency to determine specific effects to be retained through conservation are challenged by the impact of diverse perspectives of social groups who are affected by the conservation process. Meaning may be constructed within a worldview that lies outside of the Western cognitive framework. The selection of those meanings, which are to be retained in conserved objects, can be formed through negotiation with contemporary communities that are associated with the objects (Wharton 2004, p. 222). Heritage and the disciplines of archaeology, museology, and conservation carry the baggage of a Eurocentric worldview that enables the most accurate interpretation of the past to be selected from competing ideas using the scientific paradigm. Rather than seeing worldviews in competition, a more equitable method of evaluating claims over the past can be approached by interweaving or converging diverse standpoints and knowledge systems (George & Hollowell 2007). Professional archaeologists’, curators’, and conservators’ livelihoods have depended on the preservation and interpretation of the material remains of past people (Simpson 2002, p. 106). Therefore, they have vested interests and have agency in sources of knowledge production. They also bear a responsibility to the public who provide financial support for these activities and to local, regional, national and global populations affected by the versions of the human past that are generated in this process.

Note 1. Guidelines have been drawn from such groups as The International Council of Museums (ICOM), the European Confederation of ConservatorRestorers’ Organisations (ECCO), The Institute of Conservation (ICON), and the American Institute of Conservation (AIC).

44

Dean Sully

PART II A VIEW FROM AOTEAROA

2 THE PROTECTION OF TAONGA AND MÄORI HERITAGE IN AOTEAROA (NEW ZEALAND) Arapata Hakiwai

Introduction Museums have long been in privileged positions as places where cultural treasures have been stored, managed, interpreted, and presented to their diverse audiences. Museums are cultural constructs reflecting the traditions and practices that gave rise to them and the constructions of meanings by those who develop them and work within them. However, as they strive to become more relevant and engage with the source communities that have relationships with the cultural treasures, ‘accepted’ museum traditions and practices often collide and, in some cases, conflict with the cultural values, practices, and traditions of indigenous peoples. What many museums define and accept as appropriate standards of museum care and interpretation of cultural treasures may, in fact, be in direct contradiction to or at variance with the source communities from where they originated and from where their meanings and significance lie. For many indigenous peoples, tensions often arise over issues of access and ownership because of dislocation, alienation, and displacement from their cultural treasures. The right of indigenous people to access their ancestral treasures is well established; however, for many museums 45

46

Arapata Hakiwai

reconciling their past practices into the new anthropology of museology in the modern world has been, and continues to be, a challenging and difficult exercise. Cultures continue to develop and grow in response to new and changing circumstances; museums, though, are often caught in a frozen time warp, preserving the past as it perhaps once was, but denying the ongoing continuity and vitality of those cultures in the present. The Dja Dja Wurrung bark etchings that were brought to the Victoria Museum in Melbourne from the British Museum in 2004 is one example that recently highlighted these tensions of what Fung and Wills (2006) describe as understanding and participating in both the old and new imaginings of history within contemporary Australia.1 What is important to note in this case was the assertion that culture is living and dynamic and that there was a wider context of Koori self-determination with respect to their right to participate in the narration, definition, and assignation of value to material culture and cultural identity.2 Museums have been the gatekeepers of culture and have played their part in the colonisation process in New Zealand—collecting, interpreting, and speaking about Mäori cultural treasures without forming close relationships with the iwi (tribes) who had originally owned the collections (Butts 2002, p. 225). What is different now, however, is that the world has changed and is continuing to change and evolve. Museums worldwide are in states of change and transition, of reinventing and reframing themselves to become more relevant, more accessible, and more engaging to their communities. Museums are being seen in a different light than when they were first established in the 1860s during the time of the New Zealand wars.3 What museums may define as good museum practice may, in fact, be radically different from the perspectives of the cultures of origin whose treasures arguably they belong to. For many indigenous peoples, preservation is much more than physical cleaning and conserving the ‘authentic’ artefact. The vitality and expressions of a living culture are important in the modern world, and this should be reconciled with treasures stored in passive repositories and hidden away in museum cupboards, shelves, and cabinets. Mäori taonga (treasures) and heritage are important expressions of Mäori identity and culture and express who we are as the indigenous people of Aotearoa (New Zealand). The importance of museums for Mäori is self-evident when we learn that over 80% of all Mäori taonga are held predominantly in the four large metropolitan museums in New Zealand.4 There are also well over 180,000 Mäori taonga held in more than 160 museums throughout the world,5 including wharenui (meeting houses) that once graced the landscape in New Zealand.

The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa

47

In fact, some of the most important collections of Mäori treasures are found in British, German, Scottish, Russian, French, and US museums. These taonga have been distanced from their kin and recontextualised in distant places without the sound of any Mäori language, waiata (ritual), or reconnection to their living descendants. Often these taonga have taken different trajectories and pathways and, as Paul Tapsell reminds us, tracking their pathways through the Mäori universe of time and space is like tracing an aho (a single thread) in a korowai (cloak) (Tapsell 2006, p. 19). The rediscovery of taonga connected to Mäori ancestors in far-off places throughout the world always stirs Mäori emotions, and expectations of rekindling and reconnecting their descendants to their cultural lineage are very emotive and powerful. The important treasure, meeting house Hinemihi (Hinemihi o te Ao Tawhito), has had a pathway that has taken it out of Rotorua, New Zealand, and erected it in Clandon Park, England. Removed from its original cultural context and registered with the British National Trust, this house has seen relationships established with Ngäti Ranana of London, Mäori soldiers refurbishing the house during World War I, and reconnection with the direct descendants of the original owners.6

The Legislative Framework of Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa Mäori heritage is not confined solely to material culture such as artefacts housed in museums. Rather, there is a wide holistic understanding of Mäori heritage and taonga that includes the physical and tangible heritage, including the hundreds of meeting houses throughout Aotearoa; the natural heritage, including the mountains, rivers, and lakes; and the intangible heritage. Mäori cultural treasures have been the object of fascination and intrigue for over 250 years and still attract immense interest in the auction houses and art markets throughout the world. New Zealand is a parliamentary democracy with a unicameral legislature (the Parliament) and an independent judiciary with no written constitution. New Zealand law is a blend of both legislative and common law, with strong legal precedents from the British legal system. The legislative framework of Mäori heritage has been extensively discussed by Paterson (1999) and Barker (2006), but recent changes in heritage legislation and policies and practices adopted by museums and government agencies in New Zealand reflect a significant change with respect to the protection of Mäori heritage. The legislative framework of Mäori heritage in New Zealand has laws that relate to specific areas of heritage care and protection. There are also a number of government

48

Arapata Hakiwai

departments and agencies that are charged with or have responsibilities to look after and care for Mäori heritage.

Treaty of Waitangi Perhaps the most important document and legal foundation with respect to Mäori heritage is the Treaty of Waitangi. The treaty is described as New Zealand’s founding document of nationhood and an important source of the New Zealand constitution. The treaty was signed by over 500 Mäori chiefs and representatives of the British Crown in 1840.7 It was an exchange of promises and was intended by Great Britain to be an exchange of sovereignty in return for a guarantee of the authority of the chiefs and the protection of Mäori land and resource rights.8 The treaty is often looked on as the foundation on which the relationship between Mäori iwi (descent grouping), hapü (sub-tribe), and non-Mäori rests. However, over the last 150 years the treaty has had varying degrees of recognition within legislation and the New Zealand judiciary. The Treaty of Waitangi has legal enforceable effect only when it is referred to in legislation, and in 2006 the Treaty of Waitangi was referred to in sixty-two separate Acts of Parliament. Since 1840, various governments have expropriated Mäori land, waters, and resources, which led to major grievances and injustices that exist to this day. In 1975, the Waitangi Tribunal was established as a commission of inquiry to consider claims by Mäori against the Crown regarding breaches of principles of the Treaty of Waitangi. The tribunal could only make recommendations and could only hear claims relating to Crown actions after 1975. This was extended retrospectively back to 1840 in 1985, when the tribunal was given greater jurisdiction and powers. This action provided a powerful means to hear historical injustices relating to Crown actions dating back to 1840. In 1987, the Court of Appeal also elaborated principles of the treaty drawn from the decisions of the Waitangi Tribunal, the Court of Appeal, and lower courts. These principles are important in the context of Mäori cultural heritage in that they stressed two core principles of ‘partnership’ and ‘active protection’.9 The principles are: • • • • • •

the government’s right to govern tribal rangätiratanga/self-regulation partnership active participation in decision-making active protection redress for past grievances

The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa

49

Although the Waitangi Tribunal reports are not binding on the New Zealand government, the significance of the recommendations is considered seriously. In terms of the protection of Mäori cultural heritage, many of the tribunal recommendations relate to land, although one very important decision related to New Zealand’s government not actively protecting the Mäori language.10 It is important to note that there are many Waitangi Tribunal claims that seek cultural redress, including Mäori cultural heritage in both tangible and intangible forms. In the Te Roroa tribal claim, the tribunal discussed the responsibility of the New Zealand Crown to protect Mäori taonga, in particular burial chests taken from caves from their tribal region. In this case, the Waitangi Tribunal found that the Crown had violated its treaty obligations in not upholding Mäori rights to preserve and control these taonga. As Paterson (1999, p. 113) notes, ‘The discussion of these claims concerning taonga represents an effort to discern events that allegedly occurred over one hundred years earlier’. What is apparent is that ongoing claims to the Waitangi Tribunal include taonga that may have been taken from their tribal regions and are held in museums.11 International conventions also strongly support the relationship of indigenous peoples with their cultural treasures. The United Nations Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (1993) recognises the right of indigenous peoples to cultural self-determination and their cultural property and the right to full ownership of their cultural property (Article 29), and Article 12 states that Indigenous peoples have the right to practise and revitalise their cultural traditions and customs. This right includes the right to maintain, protect and develop the past, present and future manifestations of their cultures … as well as the right to restitution of cultural, intellectual, religious and spiritual property taken without their free and informed consent or in violation of their laws, traditions and customs. (UN High Commission on Human Rights 1993a, p. 54)

The Mataatua Declaration is another indigenous initiative that asserts indigenous peoples authority over their cultural heritage. The Mataatua Declaration is not enforceable in New Zealand or internationally but has growing importance in the protection of Mäori cultural property. The Mataatua Declaration was the result of the First International Conference on the Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights of Indigenous Peoples held at Whakatane in June 1993. Some of the provisions of the declaration are:

50

Arapata Hakiwai

• [We] Declare that Indigenous Peoples of the world have the right to self-determination; and in exercising that right must be recognised as the exclusive owners of their cultural and intellectual property (UN High Commission on Human Rights 1993b, Preamble, emphasis added). • [We] Declare that all forms of discrimination and exploitation of Indigenous Peoples, indigenous knowledge and indigenous cultural and intellectual property rights must cease (UN High Commission on Human Rights 1993b, Preamble). • All human remains and burial objects of Indigenous Peoples held by museums and other institutions must be returned to their traditional areas in a culturally appropriate way (UN High Commission on Human Rights 1993b, 2.12). • Museums and other institutions must provide, to the country and Indigenous Peoples concerned, an inventory of any indigenous cultural objects still held in their possession (UN High Commission on Human Rights 1993b, 2.13). • Indigenous cultural objects held in museums and other institutions must be offered back to their traditional owners (UN High Commission on Human Rights 1993b, 2.12).

The Objects Protection Act 1975 Perhaps the most significant legislation concerning the owning, trading, and exporting of Mäori material culture is the Objects Protection Act 1975 that came into force on 1 November 2006. This act amended the Antiquities Act 1975 and the definitions of ‘antiquities’ were replaced with categories of ‘protected objects’. Many of the principles and regulations of the old Antiquities Act 1975 remain in the Protected Objects Act, although the new act also incorporates the UNESCO Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property (UNESCO 1970) and the UNIDROIT Convention on Stolen or Illegally Exported Cultural Objects (UNIDROIT 1995).12 The Protected Objects Act 1975 is administered by the Ministry for Culture and Heritage and largely regulates: • the export of protected New Zealand objects; • the illegal export and import of protected New Zealand and foreign objects; and • the sale, trade, and ownership of taonga tu¯turu (traditional treasures).

The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa

51

Mäori taonga or artefacts are sought after in the auction and art markets both in New Zealand and overseas. They bring large prices, and the temptation to export Mäori taonga out of New Zealand is a real concern. The Objects Protection Act provides a framework for the exportation of Mäori taonga with new definitions, processes, and increased penalties for infringement. Under the act, there are nine categories of protected New Zealand objects, including: • archaeological, ethnographic, and historical objects of non– New Zealand origin, relating to New Zealand; • art objects, including fine, decorative, and popular art; • documentary heritage objects; • Ngä taonga tu¯turu; • natural science objects; • New Zealand archaeological objects; • numismatic and philatelic objects; • science, technology, industry, economy, and transport objects; and • social history objects. Taonga tu¯turu is the only category of objects to have separate regulations regarding ownership and trade. Under the act, Taonga tu¯turu means an object that: • relates to Mäori culture, history, or society; and • was, or appears to have been manufactured or modified in New Zealand by Mäori; or ƒ brought into New Zealand by Mäori; or ƒ used by Mäori; and • is more than fifty years old. Under the act, all taonga tu¯turu found are prima facie the property of the Crown, but there are new processes to allow claims for ownership to be heard by the Mäori Land Court. The case of the illegally exported storehouse carvings from Taranaki known as the Ortiz carvings in the early 1970s caused international outrage, and New Zealand’s unsuccessful legal claim to the Privy Council to have them returned has been a sour point in New Zealand’s ability to actively protect Mäori taonga.13 At the International Bar Association Conference in Auckland, Sir Ian Barker (2006, p. 147) noted that had the UNIDROIT Convention been in force between New Zealand and the United Kingdom, the result of the Ortiz case could well have been different.

52

Arapata Hakiwai

Other legislation that relate to and have some degree of influence on the protection of Mäori heritage and material culture includes the New Zealand Historic Places Trust Pouhere Taonga (NZHPT), which is a charitable trust established by an Act of Parliament in 1954. Governed by a Board of Trustees and a Mäori Heritage Council, the Trust’s mission is to promote the identification, protection, preservation and conservation of the historical and cultural heritage of New Zealand. The Trust’s Mäori Heritage Council functions also include: • protecting and registrating wähi tapu (sacred place) and wähi tapu areas; • helping the trust develop and reflect a bicultural view in the exercise of its powers and functions; • providing assistance to whanau (family groups), hapü, and iwi in the preservation and management of their heritage resources; and • considering recommendations in relation to archaeological sites. Mäori heritage for the NZHPT is described as nga taonga tuku iho no nga tupuna, or treasures handed down by our ancestors, and includes a wide range of different places and items from the physical and tangible to the natural environment and the intangible.14 The NZHPT also is responsible for conserving and protecting archaeological sites in New Zealand with respect to discovery, recovery, and interpretation of the surviving evidence of past human activity. The NZHPT actively assists Mäori tribes and sub-tribes on the conservation of their marae buildings such as meeting houses and other taonga through the Trust’s advisory and on-site services. This work is often done with funding support from the New Zealand Lotteries Grants Board.15 It is important to note that in addition to Hinemihi at Clandon Park, there are hundreds of meeting houses throughout New Zealand that are still being used and have a lived tradition and function with respect to ongoing cultural practices and customs. There are other government departments and agencies that are charged with cultural and artistic maintenance and promotion. The Ministry for Culture and Heritage Te Manatu Taonga was established in 1991 to provide leadership and coordination of government activity in the cultural sector. The role of the ministry is to provide advice to government, monitor the work of government-funded agencies in the cultural sector, and initiate activities that support and promote the arts, history and heritage of New Zealand.16 The ministry actively promotes ‘cultural well-being’ and arts,17 culture and heritage being key components of a strong national identity.

The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa

53

Creative New Zealand Toi Aotearoa was created after the passing of the Arts Council of New Zealand Act 1994 and is another major organisation that recognises in the arts the role of Mäori as Tangata Whenua (people of the land). The work of Creative New Zealand ranges from support for local arts activities and one-off arts projects to funding for professional arts organisations. Creative New Zealand has a Mäori arts services team and a Mäori arts board, Te Waka Toi, that develop policies and strategies to help build and preserve Mäori arts. Toi Mäori Aotearoa is the Mäori arts organisation within Creative New Zealand that is committed to fostering and developing Mäori arts in New Zealand. These art bodies are crucial in the ongoing maintenance and development of Mäori arts and heritage into the future. Te Puni Ko¯kiri, The Ministry of Mäori Development, was established in 1992 through the Ministry of Mäori Development Act 1991. Te Puni Ko¯kiri currently focuses on providing high-quality policy advice to governmental and other agencies on issues concerning Mäori development and an important dimension is cultural and economic development aims. More recently, Te Puni Ko¯kiri has assisted Mäori tribes with cultural tourism initiatives and taonga-based research projects.18 The Department of Conservation Te Papa Atawhai (DOC) is another government department charged with conserving New Zealand’s natural and historic heritage. The Mäori name is symbolic of the functions of DOC in that Te Papa Atawhai signifies a box or container (for the taonga or treasures), and atawhai the act of caring, nurturing, or preserving. The Department of Conservation was launched in April 1987 with the passing of the Conservation Act 1987. The act requires DOC to protect natural and historic heritage and provide recreational opportunities on land entrusted to its care. Section 4 of the Conservation Act also requires the department to ‘give effect’ to the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi. The Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (Te Papa) has a key concept and principle called Mana Taonga. This concept was central in laying the foundation and setting a course for Mäori participation and involvement in Te Papa. Broadly speaking, the concept recognises the spiritual and cultural connections of taonga with the people, thus acknowledging the special relationships that this created. The concepts of Mana Taonga are: Rights of iwi to the museum’s marae in equality with all other iwi was their right through their taonga held by the museum. These rights were enshrined by the fact that they had a whakapapa both in the traditions/history expressed by the taonga as well as that of the creator of taonga.

54

Arapata Hakiwai

These rights accorded to iwi the mana to care for their taonga, to speak about and with them, and to determine their exhibitionary use or uses by the museum. These rights gave iwi the mana (authority) of co-ownership of the marae with all other iwi.

Mana Taonga recognises that there are ‘living relationships’ between the taonga or treasures and the communities and peoples from which they originate and with which they identify. Dr Seddon Bennington, chief executive of Te Papa, recently commented that ‘Mana Taonga is not just a way of thinking about the relationship for Mäori between objects and their makers. It is also bringing to our consciousness the role and attitude we need to develop in our engagement with other communities’.19 Relationships are central to the work that Te Papa does, placing Mäori at the centre of the museum’s relationships is fundamental to this process. The Auckland War Memorial Museum, Tamaki Paenga Hira, has a body called Taumata-a-Iwi that is defined by mana whenua, or local tribal principles, based on the fact that the Auckland Museum sits on their ancestral land. This Mäori advisory body’s primary function is to give advice to the governing Museum Trust Board on Mäori concerns pertaining to the taonga or treasures held at the Auckland Museum (Kawharu 2000, p. 356). Although there are other models that museums have set up in New Zealand, Taumata-a-Iwi provides the exercise of the customary principle of kaitiakitanga, or guardianship.20 The formation of Mäori advisory groups in museums in New Zealand is seen as a direct response to the responsibilities and obligations of the Treaty of Waitangi as ways to ensure Mäori participation and involvement in museums. The changing governance structures in some New Zealand museums and a greater recognition of treaty partnership has seen significant gains in Mäori representation within museums.21 There are a number of innovative and creative policy frameworks and policies that relate to Mäori cultural material. Many museums are creating memorandum of understandings and legal agreements with respect to the protection of intellectual property rights of tribal treasures whilst some museums are creating innovative policies and practices. Many museums in New Zealand have created Mäori advisory groups and bicultural governance structures. An important guiding policy for all museums in New Zealand is the New Zealand Museums Standards Scheme Nga Kaupapa Whaimana a Nga Whare Taonga o te Motu. This is New Zealand’s best museum practice scheme, but it differs from other nations in that it is not an accreditation or registration plan. The New Zealand Museums Standards Scheme nevertheless encourages the continuous

The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa

55

improvement of museum practice in New Zealand. Its point of difference is New Zealand’s unique history and the important place that the Treaty of Waitangi occupies.22 The New Zealand Museums Standards Scheme is like Museums Australia’s strong cultural policy document ‘Previous Possessions, New Obligations: Policies for Museums in Australia and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples’, which provides a groundbreaking advocacy and policy document for museums in establishing primary rights of indigenous peoples in the management, care, and interpretation of their cultural material held in museums.23 What is noticeable with respect to New Zealand’s best museum practice scheme is that museums are now looking at governance relationships, policies, protocols, and procedures for consultation, relationship management, and ownership and custodianship issues of Mäori treasures.

Conclusion The Treaty of Waitangi, the Objects Protection Act 1975, the Ministry for Culture and Heritage, the New Zealand Historic Place Trust, and the Department of Conservation are perhaps the most important legislative frameworks and government agencies with respect to Mäori heritage protection. Supporting these are strong policy initiatives and practices undertaken by many museums and allied organisations that help improve relationships between Mäori and the Crown and Mäori and those in charge of Mäori material culture and heritage. There is no doubt that Mäori cultural treasures or taonga held in museums, art galleries, private hands, and estates throughout the world have a vital role to play in what Fung and Wills (2006, p. 11.5) describe as the resignification and (re)inscription of identity. What these taonga mean to the living descendants today should not be relegated to the historic past; rather, the cultural significance of these taonga have restorative dimensions in relation to the articulation of identity, belonging, and connection. Hinemihi at Clandon Park is an example of this resignification and reconnection. As Kelly and Gordon note, museums need to reposition themselves as facilitators and partners rather than as patriarchal institutions imposing their views on the peoples whose cultural material they hold (Kelly and Gordon 2002, p. 156). Museums are creating new partnerships and relationships with indigenous peoples centred on the collections they hold and manage. These new relationships bring to the surface the recognition of different value and knowledge systems and worldviews. Giving life to the collections and treasures museums hold from an indigenous perspective may be totally different than what museums believe it should be. Traditional

56

Arapata Hakiwai

care practices adopted by some museums throughout the world are questioning the foundation of accepted museum practices in the same way that Elaine Gurian (Fung & Wills 2006, p 11.5) noted when she said that if museums don’t engage more fully with their communities, they have no future. Museums have to be more relevant and inclusive and not continue to privilege the few. Museums have a powerful role in cultural restoration and development, and enlightened museum practice is itself demanding that museums rethink and reframe themselves about what they are and what they could be. Envisioning a future that recognises and affirms the right of indigenous peoples to their cultural property must be something that the field of conservation and those in charge of Mäori cultural heritage should strive for. The Draft Declaration of Indigenous Peoples Rights,24 the Mataatua Declaration, and ‘Previous Possessions, New Obligations’ are instruments that assert the right of indigenous people to their cultural heritage. These are important declarations for any discussion and consideration of Mäori cultural heritage, whether in New Zealand or throughout the world. Active participation and involvement by the source communities that have a relationship and connection to the treasures must be embraced by museums. The positive relationship established between The Field Museum in Chicago and the tribal descendants of the Ruatepupuke meeting house Te Whanau a Ruataupare is a good example of reconnection and re-engagement.

Notes 1. See Fung and Wills (2006, pp. 11.1–11.16). The bark etchings date to the 1850s and were loaned to the Museum of Victoria by the British Museum for an exhibition called ‘Etched on Bark 1854: Kulin Barks from Northern Victoria’. When reunited with their ancestral descendants, issues arose over the right for repatriation for the wider assertion of Koori culture and identity. The production of new bark etchings from the younger members of Dja Dja Wurrung was a reinstatement of culture and identity. 2. See Fung and Wills (2006, p. 11.5). This echoes the sentiments of Elaine Gurian when she said, the exclusive right of museum personnel to decide what shall be included or excluded in their public exhibitions will, and in some cases already has, ended. The display of any objects without consultation with the native group and, by extension, any group importantly affected, will become obsolete. In fact, the involvement of indigenous peoples in the business of museums goes much deeper than mere presentation. (Fung & Wills 2006, p. 11.5)

The Protection of Taonga and Mäori Heritage in Aotearoa

57

3. The Colonial Museum (now Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (Te Papa) was established in 1865; Auckland in 1862; Taranaki in 1865; Hawke’s Bay in 1865; Otago in 1868, and Canterbury in 1870. 4. See O’Regan (1997). 5. At least twenty-six museums in the United States hold almost 5,000 Mäori treasures; seventeen museums in Australia hold approximately 2,800; and at least thirty-two museums in the United Kingdom hold approximately 6,500. 6. An article featured on the Arawa tribal website (see www.arawanews. com/—posted 6 June 2007) included statements from Jim Schuster of Ngäti Hinemihi, a descendant of the original owners. Hinemihi continues to be of interest to Ngäti Hinemihi and the wider Arawa tribal confederation. 7. See State Services Commission The Treaty of Waitangi Information programme 2006. The treaty was first signed on 6 February 1840 in the Bay of Islands and then signed all over New Zealand. 8. Article II of the Mäori language version of the treaty makes reference to ‘ö rätou taonga katoa’, which was translated by the late Professor Hugh Kawharu, himself a former member of the Waitangi Tribunal, as ‘treasures’. The Waitangi Tribunal has generally adopted the definition to ‘anything highly prized’, including the forests, fisheries, and other properties. 9. In July 2000, the government adopted a further six key principles to guide the negotiation of settlements of historical claims; these included good faith, restoration of relationship, just redress, fairness between claims, transparency, and government negotiated. 10. Parliament passed the Mäori Language Act in 1987, which officially recognised Mäori as the language of New Zealand. This was a direct consequence of the Waitangi Tribunal report. 11. In September 2005, there were 1,294 claims lodged before the Waitangi Tribunal. 12. The Conventions and Protected Objects Act increase international protection for New Zealand heritage objects, and the new provisions allow New Zealand to recover protected objects that have been illegally exported from the country after the signing of the conventions. They also allow fellow signatory countries to recover their protected objects that have been illegally exported to New Zealand. 13. The attempt by the New Zealand government to prevent the sale of the patäka (storehouse) carvings failed in the Court of Appeal and House of Lords. The British courts were sympathetic but felt they were unable to do anything other than apply the law as it stood. 14. The NZHPT describe the physical/tangible heritage places as those landbased places created, formed, or shaped by earlier inhabitants. These can be archaeological sites (eg burials, pa (fortified settlements), pits, terraces, oven stones, midden, stone/rock structures, rock-art, house sites, etc) or

58

15.

16.

17.

18.

19. 20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

Arapata Hakiwai Mäori-built heritage places such as marae buildings, including their contents (eg carvings, artworks, photographs, etc) and structures (eg flagpoles, gateways, etc). The New Zealand Lotteries Grants Board has a Marae Heritage and Facilities Fund that provides grants for the capital costs of the conservation and restoration of marae facilities, including wharenui, wharekai, (dining rooms) whare karakia (churches), urupa (graveyards), patäka, and whare taonga (museums). The Ministry of Culture and Heritage has a wide responsibility, including funding and working with Te Papa, Creative New Zealand, New Zealand Historic Places Trust, Te Matatini (Aotearoa Traditional Mäori Performing Arts Society), the New Zealand Film Commission, and the New Zealand Film Archive. ‘Cultural well-being’ is used here to describe the vitality that communities and individuals enjoy through participation in recreation, creative, and cultural activities and the freedom to retain, interpret, and express their art, history, heritage, and traditions. Other areas of focus include Maöri leveraging off their collective assets for economic gain; Maöri utilising their skills, knowledge, and talents for increased innovation; Maöri families who are strong, healthy, and connected; and mutually beneficial partnerships between Maöri and local, national, and international stakeholders. See Te Ara: Journal of Museums Aotearoa, vol. 29, no. 1, May 2004, p. 11. Kawharu (2000) argues that kaitiakitanga is more than the term ‘guardianship’, as it has a wider holistic meaning including resource management and sustainable management. Kaitiakitanga is also intimately associated with customary authority and relationships that are multidimensional. See Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa 2000, Wananga (workshop) on Bicultural Governance and Leadership in Museum Report 2000 (the Tairawhiti Museum in Gisborne and the Whanganui Regional Museum are examples). The New Zealand Museums Standards Scheme has attracted international interest since being launched five years ago; of particular interest is its bicultural positioning as underpinned by the Treaty of Waitangi. ‘Previous Possessions, New Obligations’ was launched by the Council of Australian Museums Association in 1993. The policy deals with secret and sacred material, human remains, the display, access, and return of collection items, and the right of self-determination, employment, and training. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples was adopted on 13 September 2007 by a landslide affirmative vote of 144 states in the United Nations General Assembly. Only four countries—the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand—voted against it (UN 2007).

3 CONSERVING LIVING TAONGA: THE CONCEPT OF CONTINUITY Gamini Wijesuriya

Introduction A closer look at taonga (treasured things) of the Maori community in New Zealand helps us examine some important current issues in heritage conservation, in particular the concept of ‘continuity’. Conservation is essentially a Western concept that has developed a particular approach to define and conserve heritage. An examination of the history of this approach reveals how conservation concepts applied to historic buildings and ruins (monuments and sites) concentrates mostly on their historical and aesthetic values and material authenticity. Monuments and sites were frozen in space and time, and a sharp line between the past and the present was drawn. As a result, places that were still in use, yet considered as heritage, were viewed in the same way as ruined buildings or were merely valued in terms of their historic and aesthetic aspects. The irony of this was the ignorance of, or at best, less attention paid to ‘continuity’, which has profound influence on the conservation decision-making process. I have captured the original use, gradual evolution, and link to specific communities under the title of ‘continuity’. It is believed that many of the ideas that came from the West immediately after World War II are embedded in the Venice Charter (ICOMOS 1964). Whilst this is praised by some, others are critical and comment that ‘the framework privileges the structure 59

60

Gamini Wijesuriya

over the site and expert over people’ (Stanley-Price 2004, p. 1). Heritage conservation became a discipline in which experts made the decision for the community and, in most cases, in activities controlled by the governments. I have argued (Wijesuriya 2005) that continuity is an inherent characteristic and a key concept to understand heritage and conservation decision-making. Continuity here is used to describe a phenomenon (original use by a community) that remains continuous with or without temporary interruptions in relation to certain types of cultural heritage. It therefore implies continuity of the original use, community connections, and evolutions, all of which are inherent to heritage and not attributed by the experts or the community. However, there is no doubt that certain types of heritage have lost one or more of the above aspects but maintain new functions in the relevant society. For the purpose of this discussion, we may recognise two categories of heritage: those with continuity, which we can also label as ‘living heritage’, and heritage that is disconnected from its original use and has been maintained with a different function. The discussion that follows is limited to the former category. Conservation decision-making for the category of living heritage is more complex, as the implicit characteristics of continuity are strongly linked to the identity and the day-to-day life of people. It is in this context that the former director of International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property (ICCROM) and a philosopher in conservation Paul Philippot stressed the need for new thinking for such heritage: ‘A concern for the conservation of the particular values of a historically transmitted and still living milieu considered as a problem regarding the whole community, indeed requires a new definition of the object to be restored; this definition will have to be broader and more comprehensive than the traditional one’ (Philippot 1996b, p. 218). In this chapter I discuss continuity as a key concept that needs consideration in the field of conservation, drawing lessons mainly from taonga into the debate.

Continuity The concept of continuity derives from the view that certain characteristics are inherent to heritage and that these characteristics have profound influence in defining heritage and conservation. Contrary to the suggestions that all the values of heritage are ascribed by specialists or the people, I argue that what we currently consider heritage is a manifestation of peoples’ spiritual and physical needs in a given space

Conserving Living Taonga: The Concept of Continuity

61

and time, which continues to influence the life of specific communities and therefore possesses certain inherent values. I have based my arguments in relation to religious heritage, although the concepts can be applied to a variety of other heritage types. To illustrate this, let me use the example of a Buddhist stupa, the massive domical structure originally built for housing the relics of the Buddha, which became one of the key architectural elements of a Buddhist temple. These were created to symbolise the Buddha for worship by Buddhists. The stupas built in Sri Lanka in the 3rd century BCE are undoubtedly masterpieces of architecture. In fact, some of them are the tallest structures of brick (up to 120 m in the 3rd century CE) built in the ancient world (see Figure 3.1). They were conceived as places of worship for Buddhists and continue to perform the same function up to the present. The structures and the surrounding landscapes have evolved over 2,500 years, as have many of the associated rituals and practices. Origin, use, community connections, and the associated evolutions are inherent values that are characterised by the continuity of these places. Most importantly, those values have been transmitted from generation

Figure 3.1 Buddhist stupa (photo: Gamini Wijesuriya).

62

Gamini Wijesuriya

to generation and still influence the life of the Buddhist community. However, the existence of these inherent values does not rule out ascribing other values by experts or the community at large. For instance, these stupas are of great importance in terms of their scientific, historic, and aesthetic values and, in fact, some of them are on the World Heritage List for their ‘outstanding universal value’ ascribed by the experts. Nevertheless, the current conservation discourse prioritises the latter view, which dominates over the former. The ignorance of continuity as an important concept in conservation principles is rooted with the perception of the ‘past’ that existed at the time when the conservation discipline was beginning to be formalised (Philippot 1996a, p. 268). For the West, the concept of time was linear and the division between the past and present was very sharp. As Philippot noted, ‘the past has been considered by Western man as a complete development, which he now looks at from a distance, much as one looks at a panorama. The past has been lost but continue(s) to live through nostalgia’ (Philippot 1996a, pp. 268–269). He believes that this nostalgia of the past has replaced the traditional continuity between the past and the present. Indeed, traditional continuity between the past and the present does exist elsewhere. Taonga provides living evidence of this. Accordingly, ‘taonga are vital threads from the past, acting as here (guides) to interpreting the past’ (Auckland Museum 2007). They are passed down from generation to generation and indeed have even an added value. ‘As Taonga are passed down through the generations they become more valuable as the number of descendants increases’ (Auckland Museum 2007). This is reflected in similar concepts elsewhere, such as the Indonesian pusaka heirloom objects that are used to define relationships within a society (Kreps 2003, p. 50). The fact that there is no sharp division between the past and the present for Maori has been debated by many scholars. Matunga, referring to Maori traditions, argues that the past is viewed as part of the ‘living present’. This is at odds with the view that there is a firm line between the past and the present, which often results in the relinquishing of obligation to the past in favour of the present (Matunga 1994, p. 219). This is also supported by the perception of the time in some parts of the world (Wijesuriya 2005, and see Anyon [1991] for an account of the past living on in the everyday actions of the Zuni people). For instance, the reversibility of time in an Asian context also supports the idea of continuity. This can be illustrated through the concept of samsara believed by Buddhists and Hindus. The concept of samsara or the ‘wheel of life’, consists of birth, life, and death, which are believed to occur in cycles and motivated by a factor known as ‘karma’. The literal

Conserving Living Taonga: The Concept of Continuity

63

meaning of karma is action. The word is used to refer to volitional acts as well as the forces that arise from these actions. In other words, one’s own actions of the past have the ability to influence one’s present as well as the future, including the birth and death of that individual. So the effects (benefits or punishments that result from each action or decision) may not be felt immediately; it may take several incarnations or lifetimes. Thus, the past is an inseparable reality and becomes an integral part of life. Furthermore, this perception of the past is a highly influential factor that drives people to continuously engage in religious practices, rituals, festivals, and pilgrimages and is associated with material manifestations such as temples, sculptures, and paintings and their continuous renewal. Thus, continuity between the past and the present is an important phenomenon in many cultural traditions and should be a key concept in heritage conservation. Continuity, therefore, can be considered as an important characteristic of heritage and worthy of more attention in conservation decision-making.

Continuity of the Original Use (Function) One aspect of continuity in heritage reflects original use. In assessing heritage, professionals recognise ‘user value’ as one set of values amongst many they ascribe to heritage. This results in a significant under-representation of the original use of the heritage under discussion. To address this, living heritage requires a different approach in an assessment of heritage values and, indeed, inherent values such as the original use should be considered on a different hierarchical level than those values ascribed by the others. In this context, a consideration of taonga helps us understand the concept of continuity of the original use: They are seen as the spiritual personifications of particular ancestors, either as direct images or through association. Descendants experience this wairua (ancestral spirit) as ihi (presence), wehi (awe), and mana (authority). Thus taonga are time travellers, bridging the generations, allowing descendants to meet their ancestors ritually, face to face’. (Auckland Museum 2007)

Thousands of spiritual and religious places and objects fall into this category. For example, four places advocated by the Buddha for pilgrimages (birthplace: Lumbini, Nepal; place of enlightenment, Bodhgaya, India; place of first sermon: Saranath, India; place of demise: Kusinara, India) have been and continue to be places of pilgrimages and worship for the last 2,500 years.

64

Gamini Wijesuriya

Continuity of Community Connections Continuity implies the presence of specific community connections. This is somewhat similar to ‘the cultural community that has generated’ heritage referred to in the Nara Document on Authenticity (1995). A consideration of taonga also helps us understand the continuity of community connections. Taonga is the Maori word for a treasured thing, whether tangible or intangible. Maori do not draw distinctions between the natural and man made. ‘A taonga can be any item, object or thing that represents the ‘ancestral identity of a Mäori kin group (whanau, hapu or iwi) with their particular land and resources’(Tapsell 2006, p. 17, Auckland Museum 2007). Taonga are primarily important and relevant [only]to the Maori community. They bring identity to the community and relevance to contemporary life. ‘All taonga possess, in varying degrees, the elements of mana (ancestral prestige), tapu (spiritual protection) and korero (genealogically ordered narratives). The greater the ancestors, the greater the mana of associated taonga’ (Tapsell 2006, p. 17, Auckland Museum 2007). At present, we tend to connect community to heritage mostly in the form of local communities geographically located around heritage sites. Although it is important to link the local community with heritage because of their immediate influence, there is also community that is inherent to many heritage sites. I have called them ‘associated’ or ‘connected’ communities (Wijesuriya 2004, 2005), and its meaning is very simple. It is the community for whom heritage under discussion was originally created or intended. Our first task is to identify this community in defining heritage. However, it is recognised that it is not always easy to identify the community for whom heritage was created. Community connection to heritage can also be a contentious issue. Some of the obstacles in identifying connected communities are the search for cultural identity pursued through nationalism, various forms of conflicts surrounding heritage, and suppression of the cultural rights of minorities; discussion of these is beyond the scope of this chapter. Nevertheless, it should be mentioned that the absence of the recognition of the connected community can have severe adverse consequences that reflect conflicting claims over heritage and contested issues of identity, ownership, authority, and control. The message from our understanding of taonga is that defining treasured things is entirely based on family or tribal associations that are the most fundamental elements of Maori society. ‘The indigenous heritage of Maori and Moriori relates to family, local and tribal groups and associations. It is inseparable from identity and well-being and has particular cultural meanings’ (ICOMOS NZ 1992). Implicit in this also is the influence that taonga has on the contemporary life of the Maori

Conserving Living Taonga: The Concept of Continuity

65

community. It is in this context that we have argued that the community connection should be the starting point for understanding and defining heritage (Wijesuriya 2004). This is what the World Heritage Convention of 1972 (UNESCO 1972) has failed to address, whereas the UNESCO 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (UNESCO 2003) has advanced an understanding of the community connection at the outset of defining cultural values. This convention recognises the deep-seated interdependence between intangible heritage and the community, which is equally valid for tangible heritage. This is an opportunity to enrich cultural diversity and create conditions for renewed dialogue between communities. This enshrines the need to have community participation in defining intangible heritage and to support and protect the communities involved (UNESCO 2003). In the process of defining heritage values, experts (whether national or international) may emphasise different values than those of the connected community. Where these community connections are evident, they should take priority in conservation decision-making. For example, the Bamian Buddha may have different values to the Buddhist community for whom it was created as an icon of worship, compared to its values to the present-day local community and the world’s community at large. The direct involvement of the connected community may result in better care of the heritage. For example, historical sources reveal that the sacred Tooth Relic of the Buddha now in Sri Lanka was sent there by Buddhist leaders in Orissa, India, for protection in the 4th century CE on the assumption that the Buddhist community of Sri Lanka was stronger than the one in India at that time. Since then, it has been protected directly under the leadership of the rulers and has become one of the most sacred objects of worship by Buddhists. In turn, such heritage has had a greater influence on the Buddhist community in their contemporary life.

Evolution Heritage is not static; evolution of heritage through time is recognised in the Nara Document on Authenticity (1995). Taonga are not only objects used by the ancestors but have themselves become the ancestors. The evolutionary changes produce both tangible and intangible expressions over a long period of time. Interpretation and reinterpretation of the past or the creation of various products of the past is a continuous process. This can be illustrated by a simple example. The first stupa built in Sri Lanka is called Thuparama and is believed to have been started

66

Gamini Wijesuriya

in the 3rd century BCE. Following are some of the recorded events in the history of the stupa in what is seen today largely as a restored structure of the 19th century CE. From its origins in the 3rd century BCE, the stupa was restored, enlarged, developed, and added to in the 2nd century BCE, the 1st century CE, the 3rd century, the 4th century, the 5th century, three times in the 7th century, twice in the 8th century, three times in the 9th century, and in the 10th, 12th, and 18th centuries (see Figure 3.2). The Sacred Tooth Relic of the Buddha was brought to Sri Lanka in the 4th century CE; since then, the rulers built special buildings to house the relic at least in six different places until it finally came to rest in the building built in the 17th century (now a World Heritage Site) in the previous capital of the country. This also has now become a massive building complex, with various additions to the original 17thcentury building. Together with built elements, traditions and customs have also evolved considerably. The implication of this for conservation is that consideration should not only be given to the structures built in a particular period but to all the contemporary and evolved expressions, both tangible and intangible, including the maintenance of associated arts and crafts.

Figure 3.2 Thuparama Stupa (photo: Gamini Wijesuriya).

Conserving Living Taonga: The Concept of Continuity

67

Conservation Conservation is about the care of what has been transmitted through the generations and the guarantee to transmit this to future generations. This is a concept embedded in taonga: ‘Concern about the future well-being of these taonga was never an issue because the recipients understood their obligations as hunga tiaki (custodians). Furthermore, Taonga are protected through karakia (rituals and incantation), which invoke the element of tapu (spiritually potent) and ensure they are treated with due reverence’ (Auckland Museum 2007). Elsewhere, for instance, in Buddhist traditions, there are several reasons for protecting heritage that are deeply rooted in the relationship communities maintain with heritage. Symbolism, spiritual experience, and merit making make Buddhists engage with heritage, both tangible and intangible. It is in this context that the conservation or care for what people treasure has played an important role in the society and has, in response, led to various principles and processes. An Indian treatise on architecture known as Mayamatha, written in the 6th century CE devotes a chapter to the restoration of sacred objects, buildings, and villages. This is an excerpt from the text: A temple (may be) ruined, broken down, fallen down, aged as to its materials or decrepit. Those (temples) whose characteristics are still perceptible in their principal and secondary elements (are to be renovated) with their own materials. If they are lacking in anything or have some similar type of flaw, the sage wishing to restore them, (must proceed in such a way that) they regain their integrity and that they are pleasantly arranged (anew); this (is to be done) with the dimensions—height and width—which were theirs, with decorations consisting of corner, elongated and other aedicule, without anything being added (to what originally existed) and always in conformity with the advice of the knowledgeable. (Dagens 1985)

Below is an extract from a 9th-century inscription from Sri Lanka (Wickramasinghe 1935): • [There shall be] clever stone-cutters and skilful carpenters in the village devoted to the work of [temple] renewal. • They all … shall be experts in their [respective] work. • … shall be granted to the officer who superintends work. • … his respective duties shall be recorded in the register. • … they alone shall be answerable for its correctness. • The limit [of time] for the completion of work is two months and five days.

68

Gamini Wijesuriya

• Blame [shall be attributed to] … who do not perform it according to arrangement. Conservation, or the care for what people valued as treasured things, was built into the social processes around the use of these buildings, along with the concepts of the reversibility of time. The international approach to conservation can be seen to be in conflict with Buddhist ideas of impermanence that require an acceptance of change and natural decay in all things. In a similar vein, Dean Whiting argues that ‘the conservation of marae structures illustrates the importance of broadening the concept of conservation to accommodate cultural values that exist between Mäori people and their structures’ (Whiting 2005, p. 18). One of the most important considerations for taonga is that the New Zealand government has provided them with constitutional protection. The Historic Places Act (1993) has defined taonga as heritage to be protected, and the Conservation Act of 1997, by the provision of giving effect to Treaty of Waitangi, has assured the protection of Maori taonga. In addition to legal provisions, the institutional arrangements have made all possible provisions to care for taonga (see chapter 2 in this volume). Countries like Sri Lanka have established law to protect the traditional usage of heritage: Any person who: does in, upon, to near, or in any respect of any ancient monument which is held sacred or in veneration by any class of persons, any act which wounds or offends of is likely to wound or offended the religious susceptibilities of the class of persons by whom such ancient monument is held sacred or in veneration shall be guilty. (Antiquities Ordinance 1940)

Where original use is a continued characteristic, approaches to conservation differ considerably from established Western conservation principles and ‘proves that the practice of local culture may override internationally set conservation guidelines’ (Wijesuriya 2000).

Conclusion In this chapter, I have discussed the issue of continuity by using taonga, the heritage of the Maori community that has gained state recognition. The modern conservation movement has its own way of defining heritage and the approaches to conservation. The need to define heritage differently and develop different approaches to conservation has now been recognised. It is based on the fact that different communities have

Conserving Living Taonga: The Concept of Continuity

69

different relationships with their past. It is on this basis that some advocate the ‘celebration of the diversity of the human past(s), and the increasing empowerment of communities to investigate and elaborate their own pasts’ (Layton et al 2001, p. 12). This is more pertinent when we deal with living heritage, where continuity is the key characteristic. Taonga, in particular, help us understand key concepts like continuity, which should have profound influence on the practice of conservation. The concept of taonga well illustrates the nature of living heritage; it clearly expresses the importance of continuity as a key characteristic and reflects the specific practices associated with the care for such heritage. Living heritage has been defined as the sum of all expressions resulting from the interaction between people and nature. People are connected to their myths, belief, society and environment in a variety of ways that have resulted in the creation of numerous tangible and intangible expressions. They constantly draw benefit from these expressions, which have gone through a dynamic process of evolution, reinterpretation and modification, reflecting changes occurring in society. (Wijesuriya et al 2006)

It is in this context that we proposed to pay attention to this class of heritage in this chapter. Conservation in the decision-making process should start from the community; for taonga, this is the Maori community, which we contrast with the Western approach to conservation of heritage. Instead of a top-down, linear, expert-driven process of decision-making we advocate a bottom-up interactive process where community voice, pride, self-esteem, and sense of ownership play vital roles that require support from state legislation, as in the case of taonga. There are many implications for this approach to conservation of heritage that require further attention of the professional community.

70

Gamini Wijesuriya

4 MARAE CONSERVATION IN AOTEAROA James Schuster and Dean Whiting

Introduction This chapter explores the development of marae conservation work within Mäori communities over the last three decades and discusses its impact, value, and future. Underlying this work has been the idea that the conservation of Mäori cultural heritage within the context of tribal landscapes, marae, and communities is an appropriate way of ensuring that the preservation needs and cultural values are maintained and sustained together. However, in practice this approach has met many challenges and has had varied outcomes. Mäori conservators have attempted to adapt Western conservation practice into a Mäori cultural context of working whilst maintaining the ethical and professional standards represented in Western conservation. A recognisable feature of this approach has been the teaching of conservation techniques in Mäori communities to assist hapü (subtribes) and whanau (family groups) to manage and carry out conservation work on their own taonga (treasures). This approach has been successful when conservation practices have been adapted to complement traditional arts and matauranga (knowledge) practices. An important aspect of this is that skills learned should be utilised on other marae conservation projects. However, sustaining this pool of experience has been dependent on having consistent and long-term 71

72

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

support for conservation practice within communities, an often difficult outcome to achieve given project specific funding environments, limited government resources, low numbers of Mäori conservators, and the range of social priorities that have dominated much of our Mäori leadership’s attention. Museums and potential iwi (descent groupings) cultural centres could be an important part of supporting this kaupapa (strategy) and could provide opportunities to strengthen their partnership relationships and find a broader outcome for Mäori heritage preservation. These opportunities are only possible, however, if we first recognise the wider cultural landscape that institutions are involved in and develop integrated approaches to the work.

Western Concept of Conservation The exploration of conservation within the cultural environment must begin with an understanding of conservation itself as an expression of a cultural perspective. Western conservation practice often sets science as the main knowledge base and methodology for understanding and valuing the needs of objects. This has come from a Western perspective of science and scholarship as the main tools to preserve cultural knowledge. This requires conservators to ensure conservation practice is impartial and in the best interests of cultural property: ‘The first responsibility of the conservator is to the object and to its long-term preservation’ (NZCCM 1995, p. 40). This is not a criticism of the New Zealand Conservators of Cultural Materials (NZCCM) code of ethics because it has given some recognition to Mäori cultural relationships. However, its main emphasis is the evidence of the tangible and authentic and the notion of the object as separated from and independent of people.

Preserving Identity through Culture The Mäori story starts differently. Mäori have traditionally carried a continuum of tikanga (customary philosophy), kawa (protocol), mahi toi (arts and crafts), matauranga (knowledge), taonga, and whakapapa (genealogy) through their culture. Mäori culture possessed mechanisms to preserve identity and values, spiritual landscapes, and relative connections between the realms of Atua (God), tangata (people), and whenua (land). With the post-European settlement of New Zealand, this world was challenged and changed. The onslaught of disease, loss of land, social unrest, and unbalancing of tribal power pushed Mäoridom towards its survivalist instincts. Our taonga were sold, exchanged, taken, gifted, and drifted from view into

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

73

private collections and museums both in New Zealand and overseas. The collectors and institutions were compelled to record and preserve the evidence of a dying culture. Fortunately, the fires of Mäoridom did not go out. Iwi and hapü maintained strong identities in many areas by keeping and developing their remaining lands, traditions, language, and arts and most importantly by strengthening whanau/hapü. Marae became a focus for tribal identity and provided a framework to invigorate culture and a functional place to nurture and support this rebuilding, which in many places was focused on sustaining whanau. Marae became one of Mäoridom’s most enduring institutions. Although a great deal had been lost, the beginning of the 20th century heralded a new beginning in Mäori culture. The two world wars galvanised nationhood, and Mäori found that assimilation to the majority culture was not inevitable or absolute. Sir Apirana Ngata’s Mäori land development programmes, the revitalisation of the arts through the Mäori Arts & Crafts Institute, and the building of unprecedented numbers of new marae around the country reinstated the arts into the landscape and culture. This was essentially the first phase of Mäori preservation—the self (Ngata 1931).

Conservation in Mäori Communities In relation to the broader development of Mäori culture, the phase of the story relating to conservation activities within communities is relatively short and very recent. Urban migration in the middle of the 20th century had emptied the rural landscape somewhat, and many kainga- (home-) based communities diminished. A number of wharenui rested in their absence but were woken for tangihanga (funerary ceremonies), hui (meetings), and tribal affairs. To a certain extent, these communities were finding it increasingly difficult to maintain these places, and many wharenui drifted further to the margins of disuse. Interest in the arts, particularly contemporary Mäori art in the 1970s, started to focus attention on the many and varied wharenui around the country that contained not only carved art forms but painted art and woven work. This interest prompted the New Zealand Historic Places Trust (NZHPT) to initiate programmes to develop skills and knowledge for Mäori in both conservation science and traditional practices. This work was initially focused around the marae at Waituhi—Rongopai and Manutuke—Te Poho o Rukupo (Ihaka 2006). This was important work that set the scene for the next twenty-eight years of marae conservation. Mäori communities were given the opportunity to recover their traditional knowledge and resources for the arts and apply them to the restoration of their wharenui. These were important in that a community was empowered to control its own

74

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

taonga through hands-on repair work and participation, which were all positive outcomes for the care of their tupuna whare (ancestral house). From 1986–1991, the New Zealand government sponsored training at the University of Canberra Conservation School in Canberra, Australia, for five Mäori conservators. The New Zealand Department of Internal Affairs supported the training, through the Cultural Conservation Advisory Council, to promote and develop conservation work and training of conservators to work within institutions and with Mäori communities. The Canberra course provided a body of knowledge and practical work experience that enabled a conservator to work within an institution as part of a multidisciplinary group of museum professionals working within the environment of collection policy, conservation ethics, and general museological approaches to collection care. The Canberra graduates were part players in a wider cultural engagement. For some of the Mäori conservators, their return was complicated. There was a notion that being Mäori and a conservator would go some way to help them reach into their communities. However, the ideals of those times would struggle to be realised as two sets of cultural ideals and expectations were often difficult to reconcile, particularly when one culture was their own people. The separation of work and home, and the potential for failure, was not only professional but also deeply personal at times.

Modern Cultural Environment Today, there are over 1,000 marae in active use, most of which contain wharenui and associated support buildings—wharekai (dining hall), toilet and shower blocks, and storage areas. Over half the marae were built between 1880 and 1950, potentially a large number of cultural heritage properties requiring some level of assistance. Even taking into account modern conservation techniques, larger funding resources, better standards of living, and a wider acceptance of culture and arts, we still struggle to maintain and preserve some of our most treasured built taonga.

Are We Losing Heritage to the Detriment of Cultural Sustainability? To address this important question, we have identified two different approaches that reflect the extremes of the argument: the first is termed the ‘preservation perspective’; the second, the ‘cultural perspective’.

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

75

The Preservation Perspective would probably answer ‘yes!’ to the above question because: • Preservation of cultural property is a positive social and cultural outcome and we don’t do enough of it. • We have a finite heritage resource and must therefore save everything. This is an ever-expanding task, as the cultural material becomes more fragile over time as we become more detailed in our documentation of the past and more analytical in our approach. • There is a belief that these places are iconic, possibly more so to an urbanised population suffering dislocation, seeking assurance in continuance, and sharing the idea that whole cultural landscapes belong to everyone. • Institutional thinking is about a collection of buildings and taonga rather than the more dynamic reality of unique communities. The Cultural Perspective could also answer yes, but will define heritage within a wider cultural identity that is sustained within its own cultural expertise and tribal framework because: • Emphasis is on the importance of maintaining traditional knowledge and whakapapa of art tradition over the tangible examples of the past. • Preservation can be a limitation on progression, another tool to control the affairs of a community by outsiders, and a barrier for traditional arts to be renewed. • There are natural cycles to life and replacement of cultural property that are controlled by tikanga (customary philosophy) and specific people within a tribal structure. When working with a modernising culture, the responses to conservation vary across both of the above perspectives, often within the same community, marae committee, or person. A conservator believing that a head full of specialist scientific knowledge and a case-hardened code of ethics will solve the impasse will quite often miss the bigger picture and the dynamics of Mäori communities. The discussions, arguments, and debates that are part of decision-making in Mäori communities are what conservators are not taught. Similarly, communicating the conservation process as being beneficial for communities, which are built on a different cultural framework, is not often considered in conservation training or discussion. These are, in fact, the most important elements for saving heritage in the cultural environment of Mäori communities.

76

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

Factors Impacting on Mäori-Built Heritage Marae Development Marae have become schools, health service providers, early childhood education centres, and even businesses, which in many ways have brought people back and created community around marae. With this growing variety of new uses and activities, some of the older structures on marae come under increasing pressure to be redeveloped to support a new activity or service. Preservation can sometimes be viewed as limiting the progression of a hapü and the development of new cultural functions. Underpinning this is the assertion that marae/ hapü have their own right to determine the future (tino rangätiratanga (sovereignty) of marae, one of the last truly Mäori institutions that has survived.

New Materials and Techniques The main consideration in the development of existing marae buildings is often expansion, modernisation, or compliance with current building regulations. There are a huge number of modern building materials and construction techniques available to do this. The conservation of an existing structure or the retention of a particular architectural feature of the building must be seen in relation to the main considerations of the development. Otherwise, preservation/conservation may be seen as a device to suppress the experimentation with new materials, a limit to the innovation in the expression of new art forms, and a hindrance to the vitality of contemporary Mäori culture.

Diminishing Natural Resources The continued use of traditional building materials as a part of the conservation of marae structures is threatened by the lack of availability of traditional materials (eg kiekie [Freycinetia baueria] and kakaho [indigenous species of reed] for weaving tukutuku [interior decorative wall panels] and totara wood [Podocarpus totara] for carving). This is a consequence of the reduction in existing natural plant resources, which are increasingly difficult to obtain from private property or the conservation estate.

Natural Deterioration New Zealand is generally a wet temperate environment that in most parts is exposed to maritime conditions and coastal weather. Exposure of natural building materials to these conditions mean that this material

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

77

culture is vulnerable to deterioration and can rapidly disappear. Many historic marae structures, including patäka (food storehouses) have gradually disappeared because of the decay of their timber structures.

Fire One of the most devastating and common forces of destruction is fire. In the last ten years, four significant marae buildings have been lost to fire; this is particularly alarming as many fires have been the consequence of deliberate arson attacks. This reflects some of the difficult social pressures experienced in the communities surrounding the marae.

Successful Outcomes in Mäori-Built Heritage Hapü-Based Training Generally, the pragmatic approaches to marae conservation have been the most successful. The current conservation workshop programme delivered by the NZHPT is effective for training groups who are working specifically on projects. These programmes have essentially involved hapü-based training that has focused on providing specific skills required to carry out conservation work on specific projects. There is a common pattern for marae buildings seen in many regions of New Zealand that reflects a cycle of remedial building work brought about by lack of regular building maintenance. Attempts to interrupt the cycle of neglect and expensive remedial projects have been limited by lack of resources. The original aim of the conservation workshop programme was to develop training in Mäori communities to enable these communities to sustain and develop their own maintenance programmes and resources. This has required intensive and sustained input to achieve the necessary skill levels to carry out the project work. These are, however, less effective in providing coherent and longterm skills in conservation for any particular region of New Zealand. Generally, the skills gained have not been utilised for other projects outside of their own rohe (territory). Only a few individuals trained in this way have gone on to develop their knowledge in this area and apply their skills in other projects.

Regional Servicing The conservation workshop programme, although a good idea, has been applied too thinly to achieve its aim. The inability to establish sufficient regional resources and knowledge has created a dependency on national services through NZHPT. The establishment of regionally

78

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

based services was seen to be the most sustainable method of maintaining marae. This would allow key individuals to coordinate routine maintenance programmes within the different rohe. This could potentially be within regional museums, wananga (learning sessions), or iwi cultural centres as a support base for professionally trained people to work within these communities. In the Rotorua region, for example, there has been some success with a part-time NZHPT position, and good results have been achieved (see the case study that follows for an example of the kind of work achieved). This needs to be expanded upon, and there are many potential opportunities outside of NZHPT programmes to take this further. If this were to happen tomorrow, Aotearoa (New Zealand) would have a lack of professional and practitioner resources needed to carry out remedial and maintenance conservation programmes. That is because New Zealand has provided little assistance for formal conservation training since the early 1990s. This fifteen-year gap in training and development has meant that there are very few conservators employed to work within institutions and within Mäori communities.

Mäori Tertiary and Arts Sector Involvement The most successful projects have incorporated a conservation approach with traditional artistic practices through the involvement of traditional Mäori arts experts. In light of this experience, it is hoped that greater collaboration between the arts and heritage sector can be developed. Many wananga, arts agencies, and institutions have aligned themselves successfully in positive partnerships with Mäori communities. Marae conservation projects have a potential to find natural collaborators in this sector to assist in working better with Mäori communities.

The Future To achieve some headway with the areas mentioned, a more coherent heritage sector is needed. It should be a sector that is established through a number of partnerships with tribal groups, funding organisations, heritage and government agencies, professional, and tertiary institutions. The primary strategy of such a sector would be to empower further the ability of Mäori tribal groups to sustain, conserve, and maintain their own heritage assets. The opportunity to develop this strategy is only possible if recognition is given to the wider cultural landscape. Central to this is a focus on marae as the key cultural institution in this landscape so as not to lose the importance and potential

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

79

that these places have. It is hoped that in the future more leadership will come from within Mäoridom to develop conservation programmes through tribal frameworks so that conservation practice is supported from a Mäori cultural base.

Case Study: Tutanekai Wharenui, Owhata Marae, Rotorua Introduction Tutanekai wharenui was built in 1943 at Hinemoa Point, Owhata, by the Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi hapü of Ngäti Whakaue iwi . Some carvings from Tama te kapua whare nui carved in 1877–78 were gifted from the wharenui at Ohinemutu and used to decorate Tutanekai. During the late hours of Saturday 13 November 2003, Tutanekai wharenui became the target of an arson attack. The heat and smoke damage inside the wharenui was extensive: whakairo (wood carvings), kowhaiwhai (painted designs), and tukutuku were charred at higher levels of the house and scorched at lower levels. Whakairo around the door where the arsonist applied accelerant were burnt beyond repair (see Figure 4.1). Fortunately, Tutanekai wharenui was insured for NZ$440,000.

Figure 4.1 Image of Tutanekai shortly after the fire (photo: James Schuster).

80

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

The Mäori heritage team of the NZHPT was contacted the morning after the fire by a kaumatua (elder) of the marae. Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi hapü were in shock and grieved deeply.

Community Consultation Process Two Mäori heritage advisers from NZHPT attended the first hapü/ community hui held soon after the fire. Others in attendance, apart from local tangata whenua (people of the land) and hapü members, were fire service officers, insurance agents, and kaumatua of other local hapü. This was a highly emotional gathering during which the hapü wanted to know who was responsible for the deliberate action. They also wanted Tutanekai fixed as soon as possible. Kaumatua from other hapü offered the services and resources of their marae and people whilst the fire service and insurance investigations took place at Tutanekai. After inspection of the wharenui condition, Mäori heritage advisers from NZHPT advised that the house could be fully restored. More time was needed for the hapü to settle down and think carefully about possible options for the marae/hapü. A second meeting a week later was a bigger gathering of hapü members. Many who lived out of the local area but belonged to the marae attended. As the local Mäori heritage adviser, James Schuster was invited to attend the meeting to explain details of the restoration process. Despite the one-week interval since the fire, emotions were running high. They still wanted to know who had set fire to their tupuna whare. It was agreed that money already raised for the upgrade of the wharekai should be put towards the rebuilding of the wharenui. Some, including hapü elders, wanted the wharenui pulled down, the burnt carvings given to the museum, and a completely new wharenui built. In explaining the restoration process, James Schuster said that work could start within two months to gather natural materials that would be needed whether the building was to be restored or completely rebuilt. Gathering plant materials for weaving tukutuku is a seasonal activity that takes place at set times of the year during the summer. The opportunity for hapü wananga to learn how to gather and process natural materials such as kiekie and kakaho were seen as an important part of the conservation process and a way of involving the rangatahi (young people). A discussion regarding the length of time it would take to restore the wharenui, as compared to completely rebuilding it, influenced the final decision of the gathering to decide to restore rather than replace Tutanekai wharenui. A marae building project committee was appointed. They, in turn, elected a project manager from within their committee. James Schuster was employed in a private capacity as restoration manager for the project.

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

81

It was important that Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi ‘took ownership’ of this restoration process and that NZHPT was there to provide advice and guidance to assist the community to complete the project. Structural damage caused by the fire required the marae committee to call in the services of a conservation architect and engineering firm to assess which parts of the wharenui needed to be replaced for reasons of safety and structural soundness. Several meetings followed with the hapü, NZHPT Mäori heritage advisers, structural engineers, and conservation architects. After all options, advice, and guidance were presented to the hapü, the final decision was left to them. Generally, they were open to and accepting of the proposed options and advice offered.

Hapü-Based Training Early one Saturday morning in mid January 2004, approximately thirty Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi hapü members assembled at Owhata marae, to begin their weekend wananga on the harvesting and processing of kiekie and kakaho. James Schuster explained the seasonal nature of the plants the group was about to gather, toetoe, the stem of the kakaho plant. James demonstrated how and where to cut the stems and what parts to discard. He also gave the gathering some old Mäori words associated with kakaho harvesting before he recited a karakia (blessing), prior to the group’s departure from the marae. The group’s destination was about 30 km from the marae, where toetoe grew in its natural environment and was easily accessible for all those involved. Other members of the hapü joined the group at the site, and those who had heard the explanations at the marae became the teachers of the latecomers. What was envisaged as a full day’s work was over within four hours. The toetoe harvest was taken back to the marae and spread for drying in the wharekai. At 8 am the next morning, there were approximately fifty hapü members waiting for the kiekie wananga (kiekie workshop) to begin. The convoy of various vehicles left the marae and headed out to the farm of the Raharuhi family, who had whakapapa connections to Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi, but more importantly a prolific stand of easily accessible kiekie grew in the native bush on their farm. Kiekie plant identification, traditional knowledge, and harvesting techniques were explained to the group at the edge of the bush, before a karakia was recited and the collecting began. Young and old worked together; when a huge pile of kiekie bunches had been picked, the group gathered again to learn the method of splitting kiekie down to the usable working strip that would eventually be used to reweave the scorched patterns on their fire-damaged tukutuku.

82

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

A huge picnic lunch gave the kaumatua the opportunity to explain to the younger generation the knowledge of the bush that they had been taught when they were young. Children, who had not ventured out of the suburbs before, discovered a great new playground in the native bush. The wananga was strengthening and binding the hapü together under a common cause—to rebuild their ancestral house. After lunch, when all the working kiekie strips were bound together in bundles of various lengths, the entire party travelled back to the geothermal springs at Whakarewarewa, near Rotorua. At one of the earlier consultation hui, the Tuhourangi-Ngäti Wahiao kaumatua (elder) had given their blessing for Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi to utilise their ngawha (boiling thermal springs) in the kiekie preparation process. The prepared kiekie was steeped in Parekohuru, the largest ngawha at Whakarewarewa, and then taken directly down to the river to be steeped in the cold waters of the Puarenga stream. By 5.30 pm Sunday afternoon, the bundles of kiekie were hanging to dry in the wharekai, beside the kakaho. The kiekie-drying process would take at least three weeks, depending on the weather. Restoration of the tukutuku would not begin until the kiekie had dried white. One kuia (female elder) was appointed to make the most of the sun and the wind to dry the bundles as soon as possible. Within a month, the kiekie was ready for use (see Figure 4.2).

Interim Issues A number of insurance issues remained unresolved, which meant that the restoration programme had been delayed for over three months. Estimates for the cost of the restoration were required, which included the potential labour costs involved for the complete replacement of the tukutuku and kowhaiwhai. A scaffold was erected inside the building to stabilise the roof and walls. Applications were made to the New Zealand government’s Lottery Grants Board via the Marae Heritage and Facilities fund for assistance to develop other aspects of the marae complex. The insurance payout would form one-third of the total cost of restoration and redevelopment. Installation of a sprinkler and fire alarm system, as well as disabled access and wider door openings and other facilities were incorporated into the restored wharenui architectural plans. The kuia of Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi wanted the meeting house placed under a tapu (prohibition) when the restoration work commenced, meaning it would be out of bounds to all women. Kaumatua and a church minister carried out a tapu-laying ceremony before any work commenced on the wharenui. From that point on, women were not allowed to enter the wharenui until the tapu was lifted.

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

Figure 4.2a

Preparing weaving materials for Tutanekai’s restoration (photo: James Schuster).

83

84

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

Figure 4.2b Preparing weaving materials for Tutanekai’s restoration (photo: James Schuster).

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

85

Commencement of Restoration By mid April, the kiekie was in a perfect condition and the community was ready to learn how to make tukutuku. The keenness to restore their tupuna whare remained a strong motivating factor. At any one time, there were between ten and twenty people, mostly women, working on restoring tukutuku. Others with steady hands began repainting the scorched smaller kowhaiwhai panels from the walls of the wharenui. Workshops to show the skills required to restore the artworks were required only once. The hapü were keen listeners and quick learners. Many of the women were in the ruahine (middle-aged) to kuia categories (ie fifty–seventy-five-year age group). The restoration of the sixtyfive tukutuku that had been estimated would take six months to complete took just over three months. Whilst the women worked on tukutuku, workshops were held to show available men folk the process of stripping paint from the carvings that had been detached from the wharenui by the building contractor. Badly burnt sections of carving were cut away and new sections of totara wood were pinned and glued to reinstate the required length and width of whakairo. Duplicate carving patterns and figures, based on pre-fire photographs, were redrawn on to the new totara sections. A local carver was employed to reproduce the carvings in the traditional Ngati Whakaue style (see Figures 4.3 and 4.4). As the building contractors dismantled parts of the wharenui for restorative work or replacement (because of structural weakness), heke (rafters) and kaho paetara (purlins) were sanded, prepared, and repainted with kowhaiwhai patterns redrawn again from pre-fire photographs. University students on summer vacation and local art

Figure 4.3 Fire-damaged pare carving removed from Tutanekai (photo: Dean Sully).

86

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

Figure 4.4 Replacement pare carving installed on Tutanekai (photo: Dean Sully).

students were employed to complete all the kowhaiwhai restoration. The tahuhu (ridgepole) at the apex of the meeting house had suffered severe fire damage and needed to be replaced, as it had lost much of its weight-bearing strength. Kowhaiwhai had to be completed on the tahuhu, heke, and kaho paetara before the builder could re-roof the wharenui. During the re-roofing process, alarms, sprinklers, fireproof insulation, and heat pump heating systems were installed. The hapü did not want to suffer this catastrophe again. These would also help keep insurance premiums down when the wharenui was completed. The addition of a rear room as a meeting room and storage area, along with improved access to the rear of the wharenui, reflected the improved function of the restored Tutanekai for the hapü.

Mäori Tertiary and Arts Sector Involvement At different times during the busiest months of the restoration work, visits by arts students taking various Mäori arts courses around Rotorua were common. Many came to offer their services, to take a tukutuku

Marae Conservation in Aotearoa

87

away to complete, or to watch the whakairo restoration process. Aotearoa Wananga whakairo (New Zealand Carving School) students helped assemble some of new tukutuku. Ngati Pikiao Raranga students took two panels to complete. Te Puia whakairo (Mäori Arts and Crafts Institute Carving School) students came to study the Ngati Whakaue carving style and offered to re-create the pare (door lintel) as their contribution to the project (see Figure 4.5). Te Puia’s kind offer was gratefully accepted by the hapü. One other positive outcome of these visits was the arrival on site of a Te Puia carving student, immediately after his graduation from the course. He had whakapapa connections to Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi and wanted to help.

He korero whakamutung (Conclusion) At 10.00 am on 23 December 2005, the tapu-lifting ceremony began in front of Tutanekai wharenui. It had taken just over twenty months to completely restore the ancestral house of Ngäti Te Roro o te Rangi. Women were allowed to re-enter and admire their tukutuku work that they had completed some sixteen months earlier. There were tears

Figure 4.5 Tutanekai nearing completion, with James Schuster and Te Amotawa Pirika (Pinder), November 2005 (photo: Dean Sully).

88

James Schuster and Dean Whiting

again, but this time they were tears of joy and immense pride in their handiwork. Over the period of the restoration process, three particular helpers became extremely proficient in the work they were involved in. It was hoped that one male of Ngati Te Roro o te Rangi could now be the repository of tukutuku knowledge for the hapü. Two others, one male and one female, became very adept at producing kowhaiwhai, from designing, to stenciling, and painting, and have been employed on other projects since Tutanekai was completed. The infrequent nature of marae conservation work means that they can only work when a project is in progress, which is not ideal for their everyday livelihood. On 3 June 2006, Owhata Marae complex held a formal ceremony to re-open the restored wharenui with attached facilities, a new toilet block, and landscaped marae atea (open space in front of a meeting house) to the rest of the world.

PART III

CONSERVING EXPATRIATE MEETING HOUSES

5 RUATEPUPUKE II , THE FIELD MUSEUM, CHICAGO: THE PAST AND POSSIBLE FUTURE John Edward Terrell, Désirée CJ Wisse, and Christopher J Philipp

Introduction As part of its extensive Pacific collections, The Field Museum in Chicago is privileged to care for a complete 19th-century Maori meeting house, one of the few such houses outside of New Zealand, and the only one in the Americas (see Figure 5.1). This remarkable building, traditionally named Ruatepupuke II, has a rich heritage, and it has been the focus of extensive cultural exchanges between the museum and the community of Tokomaru Bay, New Zealand, where it was built and first opened in 1881. Although this house, or whare, now stands inside a museum in Chicago rather than beside the beach at Tokomaru Bay, this ‘museum specimen’ is of enduring and deeply felt significance to the descendants of its 19th-century builders. It is a taonga (heirloom or historical treasure), not only for the family most intimately associated with it, Te Whanaua-Ruataupare, but also for all those bearing allegiance to the Ngäti Porou tribe of the east coast of New Zealand’s North Island. Additionally, as one gratifying outcome of the lengthy partnership between the museum and the people of Tokomaru Bay, this whare also now serves 89

90

John Edward Terrell et al.

Figure 5.1 Ruatepupuke II at The Field Museum in Chicago, August 2007 (photo: Désirée Wisse, © and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

as a national ‘flagship’ for many throughout New Zealand—Maori and pakeha (non-Maori) alike—both as a striking heritage symbol of their cultural pride and values in a distant and foreign land and as an innovative urban marae (gathering place) for communicating those values and sensibilities overseas in an unconventional and vibrant multicultural setting. Here, we briefly detail how we are currently looking after the Pacific Island collections housed at the museum, how our staff and the people of Tokomaru Bay share responsibility for this remarkable building, and how we have been collaborating since the mid 1980s with Te Whanaua-Ruataupare at Tokomaru Bay to transform the exhibition hall at the museum where Ruatepupuke II stands into ‘Chicago’s marae.’

Ruatepupuke II In 1905, George Dorsey, the curator of anthropology at the newly established Field Columbian Museum (now The Field Museum), was travelling through Europe to purchase interesting specimens to enrich the collections of this fledgling scientific institution in the New World.

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

91

On 22 July, Dorsey wrote to the museum’s director, FJV Skiff, asking permission to purchase a long list of things from the firm of JFG Umlauff of Hamburg—Germany’s foremost dealer in natural history specimens and cultural objects. Item no. 14 on Dorsey’s list reads as follows: ‘New Zealand house … 20,000 German marks’ (about $5,000, a goodly sum in 1905). As he explained to Skiff: ‘This is the only complete Maori house in existence outside of New Zealand’.1 Umlauff himself had purchased this building a few years earlier, Dorsey reported, from an Englishman who had purportedly owned it for many years. This ornately carved wooden building had been pronounced by an authority at the Berlin Museum to be one of the most interesting museum-worthy specimens ever offered for sale in Europe. Dr Dorsey attached a description of the whare, together with a boxed set of mounted photographs showing all its carved wooden panels, a ‘catalogue’ now stored in the Rare Book Room at the museum. His recommendation to Skiff was unmistakable. ‘I should consider that we were extremely fortunate in being able to secure such a unique habitation at a price not much in advance of the cost of transportation from New Zealand to America’ (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 16). In a letter to George Dorsey dated 8 July 1905—two weeks before Dorsey had sat down to write Skiff—Umlauff had already made it clear that he was under the impression that Dorsey had received, or would soon have, Skiff’s permission to take this magnificent building back to Chicago. ‘Besides these collections [listed earlier in the same letter to Dorsey] you bought still a Maori-house as photographed and described for the sum of $5000—with the condition that you can cancel this purchase till the 22nd. inst, by telegraphing the word “no”’ (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 17). Dorsey did not receive this letter in time to telegraph back yea or nay. Umlauff wrote again on the 24th: ‘Enclosed I beg to hand you my letter of the 8th. inst. with the confirmation of your order, which I had addressed to Southampton. But as the ship had already sailed, it did not reach you, and was returned to me, but it came in my possession only the 22nd. inst’ (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 17). As Dorsey had not said the magic word ‘no’ by the 22nd, ‘you bought from me a Maori-house as photographed and described for the sum of $5000. The house will be packed and made ready for shipment with the other goods’ (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 17). Thus, the fate of this remarkable Pacific Islands artefact was sealed by chance more than by choice. As one consequence of the museum’s close collaboration with the people of Tokomaru Bay, we now know that this whare was built in 1881 at Tokomaru Bay to honour Ruatepupuke, a legendary hero who

92

John Edward Terrell et al.

is said to have brought the art of woodcarving to the Maori people from the underwater whare of the sea god, Tangaroa. The ridge pole of the building is his spine; the rafters are his ribs; and the wide boards along the roof at the front are his arms outstretched to welcome visitors to the marae around the whare in the hall where it now stands. We also know that an earlier whare built at Tokomaru Bay to honour Ruatepupuke was dismantled sometime in the 1820s to get it out of harm’s way during a local war. Its precious carvings were soaked in whale oil and hidden in the bed of the Mangahauini River at Tokomaru. Time passed and the channel of the Mangahauini moved. The carvings were lost. Or, as some would say at Tokomaru Bay, ‘they returned to Tangaroa’s domain’. Eventually, people at Tokomaru Bay decided to erect a new whare honouring Ruatepupuke. Ruatepupuke II, now in Chicago, was opened on 23 September 1881. Hundreds of people, Maori and European, came from miles around to attend. Judging by photographs apparently taken at Tokomaru Bay at the end of the last century, this building was in considerable disrepair by the late 1880s or early 1890s (see Figure 5.2). It was eventually sold to

Figure 5.2 View of Ruatepupuke II at Tokomaru Bay, New Zealand, prior to its sale and dismantling sometime late in the 19th century (MA_B.116 Ruatepupuke Meeting House; reproduced by permission of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa).

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

93

a local dealer in Maori curios, Mr Hindmarsh, sometime in the 1890s. Afterwards, of course, it somehow reached Umlauff’s emporium in Hamburg, where Dorsey first encountered it.

Ruatepupuke in Chicago Although the whare reached the United States safely, it was not exhibited in Chicago for another twenty years because of lack of space in the museum’s original building on the south side of the city (the building now housing Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry). In 1925, after the museum had moved several miles north to its current location on the shore of Lake Michigan near the heart of the city, its many pieces were taken from storage by Curator Ralph Linton and erected more or less exactly as Umlauff had tried to reconstruct them in Hamburg at the turn of the century. The museum’s annual report for that year boasted that ‘it is the only Maori building extant that has a completely carved front, and its decorations show Maori art at its best’ (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 17). Much can be related about the story of this remarkable building after its reassembly at the museum. A simple chronicle of events is enough to convey some of the richness of this history. 1925—In the course of setting up Ruatepupuke II for public display, it was decided that its new exhibit ‘should be as realistic as possible’. DC Davies, director of the museum, wrote to James McDonald, the acting director of the Dominion Museum (now Te Papa Tongarewa) in Wellington asking for help in finding floor mats and roofing material in New Zealand that could be sent to Chicago for use in the whare. McDonald asked the Hon Apirana Ngata, member of Parliament for the Eastern Maori District, to contact people on the east coast of North Island to see what might be done. Ngata did so; twenty-four whariki (floor mats) were woven at Tokomaru Bay and elsewhere on the East Coast and shipped to Chicago. These mats are still in our Maori collection and have been consulted by weavers from Aotearoa (New Zealand) as an archive of traditional designs and weaving techniques. 1961—The doorway and window of the whare were glazed in so that the house could be used as an exhibit case to display a number of Maori mats and manikins dressed in cloaks and the like. Under the banner heading ‘New Maori Family “AT HOME” in Polynesian Hall’, the museum’s monthly Bulletin for January 1962 described the new exhibit as ‘a life-size reconstruction of a typical family scene in a Maori council house in New Zealand shortly after the coming of the white man’ (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 17). 1972—The museum began to weigh the idea that the doorway of the whare should be opened again so that museum visitors could walk

94

John Edward Terrell et al.

through it, perhaps whilst Maori music was playing softly in the background. Dr Hirini Moko Mead and other scholars in New Zealand were contacted by John Terrell for their advice and assistance. One of the early results of this renewed interest in Ruatepupuke II was the discovery that people at Tokomaru Bay were reluctant to talk with anyone about the whare. It was reported that they were unhappy it had been sold to foreigners. 1974—Dr Mead, then working at McMaster University in Canada, was invited to the museum to undertake an assessment of the whare. Much about the house and its history then was a mystery. Its name was uncertain (should it be called Ruatepupuke, Te Kani a Takirau, or Huiteananui?); its original provenance was uncertain (did it come from Tokomaru Bay or Tolaga Bay?); and its original opening date in New Zealand was erroneously thought to have been 1861. In his final report to the museum, Dr Mead recommended restoring the whare to its intended purpose and appearance in the 1860s, including repainting the polychrome rafters. Further direct inquiry at Tokomaru Bay was again strongly discouraged, for Dr Mead had learned that the sale of this whare in the late 19th century had led to considerable division within the community that continued to inform life there. He was not able to solve the mysteries surrounding the whare, however, and resolution of these uncertainties would only be accomplished as an outcome of the collaborative Chicago–Tokomaru Bay conservation and restoration work done in 1992–1993 (see Figure 5.3).

Figure 5.3 Ruatepupuke II at The Field Museum in 1986 prior to the arrival of the travelling exhibition ‘Te Maori: Maori Art from New Zealand Collections’ (© and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

95

1986—The travelling exhibition ‘Te Maori: Maori Art from New Zealand Collections’ arrived at the museum for a three-month stay and was exhibited around Ruatepupuke II on our ground floor in a newly constructed exhibit area fully meeting modern conservation standards with respect to temperature and humidity levels. At the request of The Field Museum, two elders from Tokomaru Bay, Tai Pewhairangi and Ada Iranui Haig, were invited by the exhibition’s New Zealand organising committee to be part of the official delegation from Aotearoa that opened this exhibition at the museum. Shortly afterward, at the invitation of these elders, Terrell and a group of eighteen Chicagoans visited Tokomaru Bay for the first time to discuss whether the whare should be repatriated or left in Chicago. The outcome of these negotiations was the decision by Tokomaru Bay to leave the whare in North America and restore it as a living Maori symbol in the New World in collaboration with the museum (see Figure 5.4). 1990—Taonga Maori Conference. During the Te Maori exhibition, Maori kaumatua (elders) in Aotearoa stressed that the time had come to address the sadness that many in New Zealand felt about the presence of taonga Maori far off in overseas museums (Graham 1991, p. 5, McKenzie 1991, p. 4). The Cultural Conservation Advisory Council in Aotearoa responded by inviting curators of taonga Maori in foreign museums to a specially arranged ‘Taonga Maori Conference’ in New Zealand (18–27 November 1990). A broadly informed view of objects conservation was well articulated in

Figure 5.4 Ceremonial preparation of Ruatepupuke II (during the closing in 1986 of the exhibition ‘Te Maori: Maori Art from New Zealand Collections’) for eventual dismantling and renovation work (© and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

96

John Edward Terrell et al.

a commentary published after this conference: ‘conserving the essential elements of taonga includes encouraging an active relationship with their Maori spiritual owners. This reflects an understanding of conservation in its most important sense—that objects do not exist in a vacuum but must be connected to people and their communities’ (Lindsay 1991, p. 7). Or said somewhat differently, ‘keeping the taonga warm’, from a Maori point of view, means re-establishing links with Maori people where they have been broken, and by so doing, helping to conserve the essence—the life force (mauri)—of the taonga themselves. Terrell was one of the foreign curators attending this conference (Terrell 1991, 1993). 1992–1993—Ruatepupuke II was extensively restored and relocated in the Museum to the upper galleries in collaboration with Arapata Hakiwai (Te Papa Tongarewa); Cliff Whiting (a Maori artist and leading preservationist), and the people of Tokomaru Bay lead by Piripi Aspinall and Ben Pewhairangi (see Figures 5.5 and 5.6). Maori carver Hone Ngati and Maori conservator Hinemoa Hilliard did much of the actual restoration work on the carved and painted elements of the whare. New tukutuku (wall panels) were woven for the interior of the house by Piripi, Ben, Connie Potae-Pewhairangi, Kumeroa White-Smith, Cara Pewhairangi, Doreen Costello, and Kay Kopua. In gathering and preparing local raw materials for the new tukutuku, they were assisted by Kimihia Doel, Jonette Fairlie, Hera Tari, Jan Raihania, and Julia Raihania. Community elders Kino Ward, Iranui Haig, Wikitoria Matahiki, and Tai Pewhairangi often called into the workshop at Tokomaru Bay to observe the progress of the work and give support. The book Ruatepupuke: A Maori Meeting House, by Hakiwai and Terrell, was published by the museum (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994). A second delegation of Chicagoans from the museum was led by Terrell to Tokomaru Bay to mark this historic collaborative achievement. 2005—As Regenstein Curator of Pacific Anthropology, Terrell convened a Regenstein Pacific Workshop attended by delegates from Tokomaru Bay, Te Papa Tongarewa, Auckland University, and the expatriate Maori community in London to discuss the further enhancement of Ruatepupuke II and its marae in the upper galleries as a place for multicultural encounters in Chicago informed by the values and worldview of the Maori people of New Zealand. Once again, the museum was asked to restore the grandeur of the polychrome parts of the whare. 2006—Terrell and his colleague Dr Scott Lidgard of the Department of Geology led a third delegation of Chicagoans to Tokomaru Bay to reconnect with the people there and further discuss the recommendations arising from the 2005 workshop at the museum. Later the same year, Regenstein Pacific Collections Manager Christopher Philipp visited Tamaki Paenga Hira (Auckland Museum) and Te Papa Tongarewa in Wellington to learn firsthand about current collections management practice in New Zealand; he interviewed conservators, collections managers, cultural experts, and others about the restoration of meeting houses. Later still in 2006, Désirée Wisse, Regenstein Pacific Conservator, and Ruth Norton, head of the Division of Conservation within the Department of Anthropology,

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

97

Figure 5.5 Artist’s conception of the interior of Ruatepupuke II after completion of the renovation work in 1992–1993 (© and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

Figure 5.6 Formal reopening of the renovated whare in 1993 by the official delegation from Te Whanau-a-Ruataupare, Tokomaru Bay, New Zealand (© and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

98

John Edward Terrell et al.

attended the New Zealand Professional Conservators Group conference held in October in Gisborne, just south of Tokomaru Bay to continue the museum’s consultation with conservation and cultural experts to gather information on past treatment practices and current perspectives on Maori restoration work. They were formally greeted at Pakirkiri Marae at Tokomaru Bay. Additionally, they visited two major museums in Wellington and Auckland and met with curators and conservators. They were also escorted through the meeting houses named Hinemihi II and Tamatekapuna at Rotorua by James Schuster, a New Zealand Historic Places Trust (NZHPT) Maori heritage adviser and conservator. 2007—A delegation of over fifty individuals from Tokomaru Bay visited the museum between 11 and 15 April 2007 to honour the 125th anniversary of the opening of the whare in 1881. Preparations for this visit were managed by Dr Elizabeth Babcock, head of the Department of Education, and a select committee drawn from all parts of the museum. The visit led to a strengthened sense of purpose: working together, Tokomaru Bay and the museum are resolved to develop a multicultural marae (or turangawaiwai, a place to stand) for all the people of Chicago within the museum’s walls.

Pacific Collections at The Field Museum The Field Museum cares for about 60,000 objects from the Pacific Islands (we do not include Island Southeast Asia in this curatorial area at the museum). Approximately 2,600 come from Aotearoa, which is reportedly about half of all the Maori taonga in museums in the United States. These treasures, together with all the rest of the museum’s Pacific holdings, are currently being moved into our newly constructed 180,000 ft2 Collections Resource Center (CRC) located below ground level immediately adjacent to the museum’s imposing historic building beside Lake Michigan near downtown Chicago. When not on display, it will be in this new facility—in the 11,450 ft2 room inside it given over exclusively to the Pacific, with over 49,200 ft3 of shelving—that these material expressions of Maori culture and heritage will reside for future generations from Chicago and around the world to visit, study, and appreciate. Over the last several years, teams of collections managers and conservators at the museum have been preparing the Pacific collections, as well as others, for their relocation into the CRC. This work has included making new transport and/or storage mountings for most of the items in the Maori collection as part of our Anthropology Department’s continuing programme of preventative conservation. Many of these improved storage mounts are boxes or trays made from non-acidic buffered Perma/Dur B-flute corrugated board or Coroplast® corrugated plastic, often with interior foam supports. For example, such mounts

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

99

were individually made for almost every one of the approximately 1,600 stone implements (adze blades, chisels, whetstones, flake tools, stone fragments, etc) in the Maori collection. Similar individual attention has been given to our other Maori taonga such as the approximately 160 pendants and ornaments, 130 fishhooks, 115 clubs, twenty-five musical instruments and dance accessories, thirty feather boxes, and twenty bags and baskets. There are also new Spacesaver® slide-out art panel storage modules for objects that can not be effectively boxed in trays—such as our ninety-seven staff weapons and thirty Maori paddles. We now have custom-made cabinets with large pull-out trays that have made it possible to unfold our thirty-one flax cloaks, fourteen feather cloaks, and ten flax skirts; each now has its own cabinet shelf, which greatly facilitates easy access and viewing. During their 2007 visit to the museum, everyone from Tokomaru Bay had a chance to see these taonga not on public display. Many spent a great deal of time reconnecting with these treasures in emotional, spiritual, and physical ways.

The Conservation Story Ruatepupuke II has a long history, most of which has unfolded in Chicago. Here, we focus in some detail on a few of the conservation decisions made at different times in the past informed by differing perspectives. Whilst the emphasis will be on conservation work, it should be stressed that decisions on conservation and display are intertwined (Wisse et al 2005, p. 124). If the main focus of the conservation process is on an object’s historicity, the potential conservation treatment options are likely to be different from when the object in question is being actively used as a heritage symbol or plays a role in contemporary life of the source community. There is now growing conviction throughout the world that museums need direct and effective ways of teaming up with their contemporary descendants in caring for—to borrow a word from the Maori—humankind’s taonga. This goes beyond the need to acknowledge the original makers and owners of the objects in their collections.

A Decision-Making Model for Conservation and Restoration Work The perspective we take at The Field Museum rests on a commonplace: wise conservation and restoration decisions need to be grounded in reliable information about the objects in question. Whenever possible, this knowledge base should include information on the history and

100

John Edward Terrell et al.

meaning of the kinds of objects under consideration in their original cultural settings (in the case of Ruatepupuke II, for example, the general history and social meaning of Maori meeting houses), information on the specific history and meanings of the particular objects in question (here: Ruatepupuke II), and information on their current significance to descendants of their original makers and owners. A tool that can be helpful in gathering this diverse information is The Decision-Making Model for the Conservation and Restoration of Modern Art (Foundation for the Conservation of Modern Art, Amsterdam 1997; this model is accessible on the Internet at www. incca.org, and is referred to as the ‘CRMA model’). Its appeal lies, in part, in the fact that it provides a systematic set of steps to be taken in decision-making. The model focuses primarily on both historical and cotemporary meanings of objects for diverse people and in diverse contexts to determine whether and in what ways there may be grounds for conservation treatment. Need for treatment is determined based on evaluation of both current physical condition and current and past meaning (cultural, artistic, historical, etc). For example, a crack visible in an example of modern art might be there because the artist wanted it there or because something untoward happened after the artist had completed the piece. If the latter is the case, and the damage detracts from the artist’s original intent, repair might be warranted. The CRMA model emphasises that wise decision-making calls for give-and-take. What, if anything, is ultimately done will usually be a working compromise between various (and sometimes seemingly deeply opposed) convictions and concerns. This is one reason why good conservation decision-making normally proceeds on a case-by-case basis. The decision-making process at the heart of this approach to conservation and restoration incorporates a checklist of steps that experience has shown can lead to good outcomes (Wisse et al 2005). Although not originally intended as a guide for the conservation and restoration of cultural (ethnographic) objects, the steps set out in the CRMA model can be readily modified for this purpose (see Figure 5.7). Steps 1–3: In the original CRMA model, there are three opening steps, but in practice, these intertwine. For example, when Wisse was working on the Trobriands yam storehouse in Rotterdam, the condition of the storehouse could not be adequately assessed without obtaining cultural and archival background information because it was only then that it was discovered that elements of the structure were missing. These first three steps focus on gathering needed information—the object’s cultural and historical meanings, data on the materials used, its current physical condition, etc. Clearly, the meanings of almost anything can be layered

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

101

Figure 5.7 The decision-making model for the Conservation and Restoration of Modern Art (CRMA). and ambiguous (eg different people may see different meanings in the same object or emphasise different aspects). Because conservation work can directly affect not only the materiality of an object but also its meaning, research on the possibly many layers of meaning before a conservation approach is agreed upon is crucial. Step 4: Reliable information on meaning and condition then need to be brought together to establish if conservation treatment (ie physical intervention) is wise. As noted in the originally published description of this decision-making process, whether something needs to be done can be resolved by asking: ‘Does the meaning of the work change as a result of the ageing, damage or decay it has sustained such that intervention must be considered?’ (Anon 1999, p. 8; the published description of this model includes a highly useful checklist of questions for determining whether there is significant discrepancy between the meaning of an object and its current physical condition). Step 5: Different conservation options are proposed when judged to be needed. Step 6: The presumed condition of the object after different possible treatment options are weighed against the meaning of the object earlier established to arrive at a decision as to what to do. As stated in the published model: ‘The possibilities for conservation and restoration are weighed in light of the consequences and risks that the treatment would entail for the meaning of the work. The following question is central: In what sense will the meaning of the work alter as a result of the proposed conservation option?’ (Anon 1999, p. 11). The possible conservation and/

102

John Edward Terrell et al.

or restoration options have to be considered within a framework of risks, meaning, and limitations. Step 7: These steps can lead to informed and well-motivated treatment proposals (Wisse et al 2005).

Conservation History of Ruatepupuke II Here, we first review some of the conservation work that has been done on Ruatepupuke II from the perspective of the CRMA model.

Germany It is documented in the archives of the museum that sometime before 1902, when the house was offered for sale in Hamburg, the carved upright elements were sawn off to a uniform height, carvings were shifted around and jerry-rigged in some cases to make up for missing elements, new tukutuku were simulated in lattice-work woven and painted panels, and plaster casts were made of some of the carved porch panels to fill gaps created by missing pieces (Hakiwai & Terrell 1994, p. 16). Why? Because both in Germany, then later at the museum, the whare was set up for viewing as a ‘typical example’ (or so it was evidently thought) of what an antique Maori meeting house was supposed to be like. No records survive suggesting that there was much discussion either in Germany or initially at the museum about Ruatepupuke’s individual characteristics and meaning.

At the Museum in the 1970s Hirini Moko Mead’s proposals for the conservation of Ruatepupuke in 1975 were informed by a clear sense of purpose. He suggested restoring the whare as much as possible ‘to its former conception’ so that ‘its significance can be appreciated’ (Mead 1975, p. 3). For what purpose? Because the whare was not just a ‘museum exhibit’ but also a symbol of the former achievements of Maori people. Hence, the whare was in need of full restoration ‘so that it can function proudly as a tribal symbol’ (Mead 1975, p. 2). Nevertheless, as some of his specific recommendations show, this report is clearly a product of its time as well as a reflection of Dr Mead’s own aesthetic values. In carrying out the tasks he proposed for the museum, he wrote that we should follow these broad guidelines: (1) the house should be physically restored to its original appearance; (2) the specific intentions of the carver-builder overseeing its construction in the 19th century should be followed, and where these are not clear, we

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

103

should be guided by the overall decorative style of the house; and (3) we should take full advantage of the expertise of specialists and technicians at the museum to recreate missing parts. Only when it was beyond the technical expertise of our staff should new pieces be commissioned and carved in New Zealand (Mead 1975, p. 22). The directive to restore the whare to its original appearance occasionally led Mead to offer proposals that would have led to changes in the appearance and use of the whare comparable to what had been done at the museum in the mid 1960s to turn Ruatepupuke II into an exhibit case housing a life tableau. For example, he proposed installing artificial fireplaces inside the whare. ‘Into these two fireplaces I recommend the installation of flickering lights which are to provide the main illumination inside the house. The lights should imitate as nearly as possible the differing intensities of light which come from burning fire’ (Mead 1975, p. 43). He also recommended that the poutokomanawa (the carved centre post) should be painted in spite of the fact that doing so would be contrary to the general directive that we ought to restore the whare to its original appearance. ‘I see no evidence that the poutokomanawa were ever painted red but this is one case where the principle of maintaining stylistic unity must prevail. Paint them because if they are not they will not fit into the decorative scheme of the house’ (Mead 1975, p. 33). Mead was the first expert to propose that we ought to repaint the kowhaiwhai (polychrome designs) of the whare (Mead 1975, p. 24). This suggestion, too, seems somewhat at odds with other observations in his report. ‘For students of Maori art the question of artistic judgment is not of overriding importance. … It [Ruatepupuke II] is one of the few examples of houses built in the early 1860’s which can still be seen and examined’ (Mead 1975, p. 17). Comparing Ruatepupuke to Houmaitawhiti in the Arawa district, Mead adds: ‘I suspect that as an original decorative package of carvings and rafter paintings Ruatepupuke II is more authentic than Houmaitawhiti. … All of its front decorations are absolutely original. Its rafter paintings have never been retouched or repainted’ (Mead 1975, p. 13). In sum, it appears that Mead based his restoration proposals both on his intimate scholarly knowledge of the meaning of Maori meeting houses in Aotearoa, in general, and on the physical condition and visual appearance of Ruatepupuke II as a specific whare of uncontested cultural and historical significance. We have no detailed record of how widely he consulted with other Maori scholars and knowledge experts before making his recommendations. He did not propose that Maori specialists should be actively involved in restoring the whare except when the museum had no other recourse.

104

John Edward Terrell et al.

It turned out that none of his proposals could be carried out in the 1970s, although as we shall now describe, some of his recommendations—both general and specific—were finally realised during the 1992–1993 restoration project.

1992–1993 Conservation and Restoration Work The work done on the whare during the early 1990s was the next great step forward in the history of Ruatepupuke II at the museum. Not only was the house then totally dismantled, cleaned, repaired, and relocated in our building, but equally important, this undertaking was done as a direct collaboration between the people of Tokomaru Bay and the staff at the museum. All of the work required was accomplished in less than a year and was extensively documented at the time (Anderson 1993, 1994). Ruatepupuke II was entirely rebuilt and restored to its original size (approximately 56 ft × 22 ft) and configuration of its carved and painted elements insofar as Arapata Hakiwai and others were able to determine these details from physical examination of the whare’s wooden elements. Additionally, some missing components were borrowed on long-term loan from museums in Aotearoa and the United States to complete the structure. Other missing parts were carved or otherwise recreated. Furthermore, instead of continuing to carry its own weight, an entirely new (but now hidden) metal supporting structure was fabricated for the whare, just as Mead (1973, note 3) had recommended in the 1970s—a step that made it possible to set up the house once again as a freestanding building with a complete roof and new exterior walls of rough-cut wooden planks. In contrast to Mead’s previous recommendations, however, Maori craftsmen and women were the ones who made all of the newly carved, woven, or painted elements required to finish the whare. Terrell and Hakiwai served as co-curators; museum staff were supervised on a daily basis by Catherine Anderson and the two Maori interns recruited for the work by the community at Tokomaru Bay: Hone Ngata and Hinemoa Hilliard (see Figure 5.8). Catherine Anderson has described the challenges and rewards of this bicultural undertaking. She has reviewed some of the differences that she felt she was observing at the time between how museum staff and those from Aotearoa approached the tasks required. She writes: From the museum’s standpoint, the house is an assemblage of exquisitely carved and painted Maori objects, both historically and ethnologically significant, … the only house anywhere with a fully carved façade. The Maori, we learned, do not see the house as a group

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

105

Figure 5.8 Hinemoa Hilliard cleaning the rafters as part of the renovation work done in 1992–1993 on Ruatepupuke II (© and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

106

John Edward Terrell et al.

of artifacts, but as an ancestor who is spiritually very much alive. The house represents their history, tradition, cultural pride and prestige. (Anderson 1994, p. 4)

This difference was not news to everyone at the museum, but such contrasts in experience and assumptions clearly did impress themselves on Anderson and others. Differences in approaches between the museum’s conservators and their New Zealand colleagues on the treatment of specific architectural elements led to discussions and compromise. Anderson (1994, p. 7) relates, for example, that the ridge pole, seen as representing the backbone of the ancestor being portrayed by the whare, is the largest and heaviest element of the house. The museum’s conservators wanted to suspend the ridge pole using a cradle system. Maori preferred to see it held in place from the back so that mounting clips would not be visible. From an American conservator’s point of view, drilling holes in things is seen as destructive, inappropriate, and unacceptable. From a Maori cultural perspective, on the other hand, doing such a thing may not be viewed as negatively. After all, what is important are the carved and painted designs that show, not something’s backside. Following much discussion, the conservators and Maori agreed that, for reasons of safety, the ridge pole should be held up using a cradle system as long as the mounting clips would not show: the metal suspension mount that was finally fabricated and used, therefore, was painted to match the painted designs on the ridge pole. In attaching the heke, however, the museum’s conservators reciprocated. For Maori, it was important to have the heke (which represent the ribs of the ancestor) installed in such a way that they appeared to be physically attached to the ridge pole (the spine). The solution finally used: the heke were attached directly to the hidden steel substructure using stainless steel screws (Anderson 1994, p. 7).

2006–2007 Lead Abatement In keeping with Maori custom, Ruatepupuke is open to visitors coming to The Field Museum, and they are invited to touch the carved panels gently since this is a traditional way of keeping a house ‘warm’ (alive) and of showing one’s love for the whare and the beauty of the carvings. In 2006, we carried out spot tests (using Plumbtesmo® Machery-Nagel) on different parts of the whare that can be touched by visitors. These diagnostic tests established that even light touching could result in lead exposure from the old paints used, even in the case of areas that presently look unpainted (see Figure 5.9).

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

107

Figure 5.9 Testing for lead dust in the (original) paint on Ruatepupuke’s door posts in 2007 (centre: Désirée Wisse) (© and published by permission of The Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago).

In response, the museum set up a lead abatement committee with a membership drawn from all concerned departments: human resources, education, conservation, and so on. The committee decided that formal quantitative testing should be done by an expert outside testing firm to determine the actual amounts of lead rubbing off with such exposure.

108

John Edward Terrell et al.

When we received the test results, we told the community in Tokomaru Bay about the problem we had uncovered. The community agreed with us that something had to be done because the exposure levels found, although seemingly minor, were nonetheless often above the maximum threshold established by the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), especially in the case of young children who may put their hands in their mouths after touching the whare. Three correctives seemed available: (1) we could remove the old paints and varnishes; (2) we could keep visitors away from physical contact with the whare; (3) we could seal the old paints and varnishes under a protective new layer of sealant. On both sides of the Pacific, it was agreed that only the third option made sense. Searching for an appropriate sealant quickly revealed that the conventional solution used in old buildings in the United States involves the application of thick coats of nontransparent paint carefully chosen for the purpose. In October 2006, whilst Wisse and Ruth Norton were in Aotearoa, they talked over the problem with New Zealand conservators and with the community at Tokomaru Bay. What they heard was that it would be best if we could find an effective sealant that would alter the appearance of the whare as little as possible. Tests were first done on mock-up panels to experiment with different consolidants. A combination of seven layers of Paraloid B-72 (ethyl methacrylate copolymer) 5% w/v in acetone and Methocel A15C (methylcellulose ) 1% w/v in de-ionised water showed the best results in reducing lead levels below the legal EPA exposure threshold for children and not significantly changing appearance. Four conservators worked full time for a seven-week period to apply the sealant layers. Areas out of the reach of visitors were treated with only one or two layers of varnish to make them blend in with the areas receiving full sealant treatment. Subsequent quantitative testing confirmed that the amounts of lead rubbing off all areas treated had been reduced to below the EPA threshold. Treatment was completed in time for the visitors from Tokomaru Bay in April 2007.

The Future Our approach to caring for Ruatepupuke II at the museum since 1986 has been guided by one basic idea. There is no single standard and no one solution. Inevitably, there are different points of view, and there is always the potential for disagreement and conflict. But there is also the unusual potential for conservation work to be an eloquent way of bringing together all of those who genuinely care about the past, present, and future of the world’s heritage—the world’s taonga.

Ruatepupuke II , The Field Museum, Chicago

109

We are of the opinion that the Maori concept of the marae may potentially be New Zealand’s (and, by extension, the museum’s) greatest gift to the world. For over a century, our museum has been famed as a place where people come to learn about other people and places on earth. We are convinced that the museum can also become renowned as a place where people come to learn from one another. By fostering what we are calling ‘marae encounters’, Ruatepupuke II and the marae on which it stands within the museum will bring home to Chicago and to the world how people everywhere on earth enrich our understandings of what it means to be human. We know of one major conservation task pending for us: the restoration of Ruatepupuke’s polychrome elements to their original brilliance was once more voiced at our Regenstein Workshop in Ruatepupuke in 2005 and later endorsed at Tokomaru Bay after the workshop. The painted elements being considered for restoration are physically stable and the designs intact. However, kowhaiwhai on the heke has faded and the exterior elements of the whare, the maihi (bargeboards), have a weathered surface, resulting from Ruatepupuke’s time on the beach at Tokomaru Bay in the 19th century. As a consequence, the originally intended meanings of these painted elements, as well as their present cultural meanings, are now the subject of much discussion between those involved at Tokomaru Bay and the museum. We all agree that the current appearance of these painted elements does not adequately give voice to the human values embodied by Ruatepupuke. In terms of the conservation decision-making model, there is discrepancy between present condition and cultural meaning, past and present. At the moment, we know little about the painting techniques and materials used in the creation of Ruatepupuke’s polychrome designs and their original appearance. Scientific analysis of the pigments and paint binders should help us resolve such basic factual concerns. Some historical issues could also be explored further. For instance, is the observable variation in how different parts of the whare were painted showing us that the work was done by a number of artisans or apprentices in the community, and not just by a single individual? Confirming this likelihood would show in a tangible way how Ruatepupuke from its very conception was a communal undertaking, not just an individual act of creation.

Note 1. This short history of Ruatepupuke is freely drawn from Hakiwai & Terrell (1994).

110

John Edward Terrell et al.

6 THE CARE OF LIVING OBJECTS: CONSERVING RAURU AND TE WHAREPUNI A MAUI IN GERMANY Eva Garbutt-

Introduction Of the four historic Maori meeting houses located outside New Zealand, two have found new homes within ethnographic museums in Germany: Rauru in the Museum für Völkerkunde in Hamburg, and Te Wharepuni a Maui within Stuttgart’s Linden Museum. Their stories are typical for many decontextualised ethnographic objects in that the interpretations made of them and approaches taken towards their care have been informed by vastly different worldviews— one of which can be seen to reflect a Western/European view, another an indigenous/Maori view. Within the Western worldview, ethnographic objects are primarily viewed as physical manifestations of an indigenous culture that can reveal an aspect of that culture’s history and society (Clavir 2002, pp. 14–15). However, for many indigenous groups, objects can be more than just physical entities; they are imbued with spiritual qualities that impart them with life and a function within that culture (Clavir 2002, p. 123). For Maori, meeting houses are living objects as they are imbued with the power and life force of the tribe’s ancestors (Hakiwai 1996, p. 53). 111

112

Eva Garbutt

The architectural structure of the meeting house itself represents the body of the ancestor: the ridgepole is the backbone; the mask or carved figure at the apex of the roof is the head; the rafters are the ribs; and the bargeboards on the front are the arms (Allen 1998, p. 145). They also perform a central function within Maori cultural and spiritual life; it is within their context that the ancestors are recalled and where the tribe’s social cohesion and identity is strengthened (Barlow 1991, pp. 73, 156). Over the past two decades, the conflicts between the Western and indigenous approaches to ethnographic objects have impacted on the museum and conservation profession, as indigenous groups are increasingly expressing a desire to be involved in the display and care of their objects (Clavir 2002, p. xxi). It has therefore become a central issue for ethnographic museums, in particular conservators, how the intangible qualities of ethnographic objects, their conceptual integrity, should be approached (Federspiel 2001, p. 75). The stories of Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui are examples of how the divergent worldviews, Western and Maori, have impacted on their interpretation and care within both New Zealand and Germany. Before investigating this issue in more detail, I will outline the biographies of both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui.1

Rauru The carving of the meeting house, later known as Rauru, began sometime between 1850 and 1870. He was commissioned by Te Waru of Ngati Whaoa at Paeroa Mountain, Waiotapu to honour his young wife.2 The carvers employed were Te Poroa of Ngati Ranginui and Tara Te Awatapu of Ngati Tarawhai (Neich 2001, p. 200). However, Rauru was not completed during this time. Te Waru transgressed the law of tapu (sacred, forbidden) by entering the unfinished building whilst smoking a pipe. He was warned by a tohunga (spiritual leader) of his tribe that work on Rauru must cease, as he prophesised that either Te Waru or a member of his family would die if Rauru were to be completed. Shortly after, Te Waru’s young wife died. Following the death of his wife, the carvings were abandoned where they stood. After some time, Te Waru remarried and work started again, only to be abandoned once more following the death of his second wife. When Te Waru remarried for a third time, work on the carvings began anew. However, when his third wife and one (or two) of his sons died, the carvings were considered cursed and deposited outside the village (Pomare & Cowan 1930, p. 260). In 1897, Charles Nelson, owner of the Geyser Hotel in Whakarewarewa, acquired the carvings from Te Waru with the help of Te Keepa Rangipuawhe, chief of Ngati Tuhourangi, with the aim of erecting

The Care of Living Objects

113

a meeting house as a showpiece at Whakarewarewa, a town at the centre of New Zealand tourism. Nelson was said to have acquired thirty prepared slabs, which included the toko-ihi (front post for the porch), the amo (front posts), the whakawae (door surrounds), and a number of poupou (wall slabs) (New Zealand Graphic 1900, p. 682). Nelson commissioned Anaha Te Rahui, Neke Kapua and Tene Waitere between 1897 and 1899 to complete the house he named ‘Rauru’, the name being derived from the local mythological inventor of carving (Neich 2001, p. 200). Whilst the carvings of contemporary meeting houses featured ancestors of the chief or local group who commissioned the building, Rauru’s carvings depict ancestors of Te Arawa and pan- Maori significance such as Maui, Hinenui-Te-Po, Tama-Te-Kapua, and Tane-TePupuke, whose exploits were already known to interested non-Maori through published anthologies of myth and ‘Maori lore’ (Thomas 1999, p. 46). Their inclusion was probably requested by Nelson to provide points of reference for local guides to tell the stories from Maori legends to tourists (Wilpert 1987, p. 153). Rauru was erected at Whakarewarewa, not at a marae (gathering place) like other meeting houses, but on the way to the geysers, the town’s major tourist attraction (Wilpert 1990, p. 64) (see Figure 6.1). In March 1900, a ceremony was held to open Rauru and

Figure 6.1 Photograph of Te Rauru meeting house, Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, c 1900–1904 (© and reproduced by permission of the Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, PAColl-8838).

114

Eva Garbutt

lift the tapu associated with him. Two powerful tohunga—Te Rangi Tahau of Te Arawa and Tumatara Pio of Ngati Awa—conducted the ceremony. However, eight days after the opening, Te Rangi Tahau died at Ohinemutu and, on the day of his burial, Tumatara Pio passed away (Neich 2001, p. 333). It could be said that the original curse surrounding Rauru was not lifted (Tischner 1971, p. 21). The presence of Rauru at Whakarewarewa was short lived; within six months, Nelson was already thinking of selling him. After the Tourist Department at Rotorua declined Nelson’s offer to sell for £1200, Nelson was free to offer Rauru to the highest bidder under the New Zealand Antiquities Act 1901. In June 1904, Rauru was sold to the firm of JFG Umlauff, which was based in Hamburg, Germany, and supplied museums with ethnographic objects. He was acquired for 35,000 Reichsmark by the Museum für Völkerkunde Hamburg in 1910 (Tischner 1971, p. 7, Neich 2001, p. 209). The failure of the New Zealand authorities to purchase Rauru was lamented as early as 1905, when he was described by Sydney Hoben as ‘one of the most perfect carved houses existing’ and a ‘great example of comparatively modern work’ (Hoben 1905, Thomas 1999, p. 48). As Rauru was acquired at the time that the Museum für Völkerkunde Hamburg was expanding, it was possible to build a special room to accommodate him. His elements were largely assembled correctly because Umlauff had numbered the carvings and panels and had provided clear instructions as to his construction (Wilpert 1987, p. 157) (see Figure 6.2). Unfortunately, very little information exists or is accessible regarding Rauru’s display history. At the time I was writing this chapter, the archive for Rauru was inaccessible because of ongoing renovations in the archive storage area of the museum (J Kokott 2006, pers. comm.). Also, as is the case for many museums within Germany, a large proportion of the document archives were destroyed in World War II (Tischner 1971, p. 7). One of the only insights into Rauru’s early display history that has survived World War II is that he may nearly have been converted into a casino for British soldiers during their occupation (Wilpert 1987, p. 157). Based on the knowledge of current museum staff, Rauru has stood within the room that he currently occupies since entering the museum, accompanied by display cases that, amongst other things, contain some of the few Maori taonga (treasures) within the museum’s collections (Kokott 2006, pers. comm.). In addition, education programmes are conducted within Rauru for school groups, and museum staff regularly provide tours through Rauru for interested parties (I Kottmann 2006, e-mail).

The Care of Living Objects

115

Figure 6.2 Rauru on display at the Museum für Völkerkunde Hamburg (© and reproduced by permission of the Museum für Völkerkunde Hamburg).

There are no documented conservation treatments for Rauru until more recently (G Blasum 2003, interview). This is most likely the result of two factors. The first is that Rauru’s fabric is in sound condition as a result of not standing exposed to the elements at Whakarewarewa for a significant period of time, and he has not been dismantled or moved since his arrival at the museum (H Bebensee 2003, interview). The other is that any conservation treatments that may have been carried out were never recorded, which reflects common museum practice in the past (G Blasum 2006, e-mail). The only possible conservation treatment that has been identified by the conservators through an examination of Rauru’s fabric is that his carvings may have been covered in some form of lacquer prior to his arrival in the museum. It is believed that this was either applied in New Zealand or by Umlauff upon his acquisition (Bebensee 2003, interview). The only conservation treatments carried out since the mid 1970s, the time in which the conservators Heinz Bebensee and Gertrude Blasum had been working at the museum, have been minimal cleaning and maintenance. In the mid 1990s, his carvings were cleaned using a

116

Eva Garbutt

water/alcohol solution, and a thin layer of shellac was applied to the unpainted carvings to replenish their appearance. Dust was removed from the tukutuku (interior woven decorative panels) using a brush and vacuum cleaner. In addition to this, missing paua shell eyes were replaced, and the nails used to hold the paua shell in place were replaced by black wooden nails (Bebensee 2003, interview). Cleaning using a brush with a vacuum cleaner has subsequently been carried out to prevent any further dust build-up (Blasum 2006, e-mail). This approach to conservation cleaning is consistent with the routine treatment of the majority of museum exhibits on open display. In 1986, Rauru received an official visit by Maori for the first time. The Rotorua Cultural Group, three of whom were elders from Ngati Tuhourangi, was touring Europe as part of a New Zealand tourism campaign. A dawn ceremony was held outside Rauru, during which the museum was reassured that no repatriation claim would be made, and that it was appreciated that Rauru was well looked after (Wilpert 1987, p. 157). It was also during this visit that permission was sought by the museum to use Rauru as a venue for weddings, which was granted under the condition that all members of the wedding party remove their shoes prior to entering as a sign of respect (A Kelm 2002, Aktenvermerk Betr: Trauungen im Maori-Haus). The entire museum is currently undergoing redevelopment, and it has been proposed that at least some changes will be made to the way in which Rauru is displayed (Kokott, 2006, pers. comm.). As his physical fabric is considered to be in sound condition, no further conservation projects have been planned (Blasum 2006, e-mail).

Te Wharepuni a Maui In 1905, a year after Rauru was sold, TE Donne, general manager of the Tourist Department in Rotorua, employed Neke Kapua, Eramiha Kapua, and Tene Waitere to carve a small meeting house that was partially modelled on Rauru; the carvings were to depict figures and stories from Maori mythology (Heermann 1993, p. 67, Neich 2001, p. 213). The house was never intended for use as a meeting house, measuring only 6 × 3.65 m and with an interior height of only 2.7 m (Neich 2001, p. 213). It could thus be speculated that the house was commissioned with its sale in mind (Heermann 1993, p. 67). Once completed, Donne loaned the house for £25 to the New Zealand International Exhibition of Arts and Industries held in Christchurch between 1906 and 1907, where he was given the name ‘Te-Wharepunia-Maui’—Maui’s dwelling (Cowan 1910, p. 323) (see Figure 6.3). Following the exhibition, Te Wharepuni a Maui stood for a short time

The Care of Living Objects

117

Figure 6.3 Te Wharepuni a Maui at the 1906/07 international exhibition in Christchurch (E.4137). Eramiha Kappua and his wife Wairata and daughter at TE Donne’s house (reproduced by permission of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa).

in the Government Gardens at Rotorua (Heermann 1993, p. 66, Neich 2001, p. 339). Unfortunately, the circumstances surrounding his subsequent sale are not clear, as the name of the seller was not disclosed. The only known facts are that he reached Germany via London, and that he was acquired in 1911 by the Linden Museum in Stuttgart through contact with the Museum für Völkerkunde Hamburg (Heermann 1993, p. 63). Since his arrival at the Linden Museum, space restrictions have meant that Te Wharepuni a Maui has never been displayed as a complete structure. Before World War II, museum visitors were able to view the exterior of the building but were not allowed access into the interior (Heermann 1993, p. 63). In 1928, the porch and front were on display in the Gewerbemuseum in Stuttgart as part of the colonial exhibition (Heermann 1993, p. 63) (see Figure 6.4). During World War II, he was placed in storage, after which some of his carvings were redisplayed at the Linden Museum but never his complete structure. In 1979, when the museum was undergoing renovations, he was placed in storage once again (Heermann 1993, p. 63). There is no documented conservation of Te Wharepuni a Maui before 1993. However, an examination of the carvings has revealed two layers of red paint, the top layer slightly lighter than the underlying layer.

118

Eva Garbutt

Figure 6.4 Te Wharepuni a Maui on display at the Gewerbemuseum, Stuttgart in 1928 (© and reproduced by permission of the Linden Museum, Stuttgart).

The top layer is missing on some key areas where the carvings overlap. This evidence, in conjunction with the fact that on the reverse of one of the carvings is written ‘Aufgebaut im November 1913 (Erected in November 1913)’, led the conservators to believe that the second layer of paint may have been applied during Te Wharepuni a Maui’s initial installation at the museum (S Weik-Barton 2006, e-mail). An alternative explanation is that he may have been painted in New Zealand prior to his sale. Te Wharepuni a Maui’s porch was displayed in 1989 as part of the temporary exhibition ‘Burton Brothers – Fotografen in Neuseeland 1866–1898’ at the Linden Museum. During this exhibition, some of the tukutuku were discovered to be in poor condition. As it was at that time proposed that Te Wharepuni a Maui would eventually form part of a permanent exhibition in the new extensions to the museum, it was decided to restore his damaged elements (Heermann 1993, p. 63). During her visit to New Zealand in 1990 as a participant at the Taonga Maori Conference,3 Dr Heermann, curator of Oceanic collections at the Linden Museum, sought advice on Te Wharepuni a Maui’s conservation from David Simmons, the acting director of the Auckland Museum. Simmons referred her to Emily Schuster, a recognised expert in the

The Care of Living Objects

119

traditional art of Maori weaving,4 who agreed to repair the tukutuku in honour of the memory of her great-grandfather Tene Waitere (I Heermann 2003, interview). Although the plans to extend the museum had not been realised by 1993, it was decided to display Te Wharepuni a Maui, even if only as a temporary exhibit. Emily Schuster travelled to Stuttgart accompanied by her husband Bob and Kaka Niao, a carver who had volunteered to create a new tekoteko (carved gable figure) for Te Wharepuni a Maui (Heermann 1993, p. 77).5 This project was the first of its kind to be conducted at the Linden Museum, one that actively involved an indigenous group in the conservation and display of one of their objects alongside museum staff (S Weik-Barton 2007, e-mail). Some of the staff involved had prior knowledge of the significance of Maori meeting houses and how to approach their conservation and display. For example, Dr Heermann had attended the Taonga Maori Conference, and the conservators Sabine Weik-Barton and her husband Gerry Barton had worked on and published about the conservation of taonga, including meeting houses, in New Zealand. However, for many staff members this project was a new experience (S Weik-Barton 2003, interview). For the Schusters and Kaka Niao, Te Wharepuni a Maui represents a living entity who should be treated accordingly and with the customary practices and protocol assigned to meeting houses in New Zealand (Heermann 2003, interview). Hence, to prepare Te Wharepuni a Maui for his reconstruction a karakia (blessing) was spoken over his elements prior to his assembly to awaken his mauri (life-force) and to ensure that his mana (integrity, prestige), tapu, and korero (oratory, speech, narratives associated with the ancestors) remained intact (Heermann 2003, interview). It was also requested that nobody walk over the carvings, as had been done by a number of museum staff whilst these were laid out on the floor, as this was a sign of disrespect (Weik-Barton 2003, interview). Kaka Niao was also unhappy that most of the people involved in the project were women, as meeting house construction and carving are tapu activities and traditionally conducted by men during which the noa (absence of limitations) associated with women is a spiritual interference (Weik-Barton 2003, interview). It was for this reason that Gerry Barton was employed to assist him (G Barton 2003, interview). An additional request from Kaka Niao was that the area where he carved should not be approached by women; that smoking, drinking, and eating be prohibited near the carvings; and that the wooden shavings should not be cleared away, as Maori protocol dictates that these should be ritually disposed of once the carving has been completed (Heermann 2003, interview).

120

Eva Garbutt

Kaka Niao’s major concern, however, was that due to the dimensions of the gallery space it was decided that Te Wharepuni a Maui had to be displayed in two sections: the porch would be shown separately from the main body, thereby segmenting the body of this ancestor (Heermann 1993:77). After a day of extensive discussion, museum staff were able to obtain Kaka Niao’s agreement to display the segmented Te Wharepuni a Maui, with the condition that if and when he should be relocated to a larger gallery he will be displayed whole (Heermann 1993, p. 77). In addition to maintaining Te Wharepuni a Maui’s spiritual integrity, his aesthetic appearance was of equal importance to the Schusters and Kaka Niao to restore his mana ( Heermann 2003, interview). For the restoration of the tukutuku, Emily Schuster requested to reweave the damaged panels in as far as possible with the flax that she had brought from New Zealand. As the conservators were concerned that no original material should be removed, Emily Schuster agreed to only reweave the missing sections on most of the panels. On those panels where the original weaving was almost entirely missing, Emily wove the entire panel, weaving over the remnants of the original fabric (Weik-Barton 2007, e-mail) (see Figure 6.5).

Figure 6.5 Emily and Bob Schuster weaving tukutuku for Te Wharepuni a Maui in 1993 (© and reproduced with permission of the Linden Museum, Stuttgart).

The Care of Living Objects

121

At the end of the project, a dawn ceremony was held for the opening of the exhibition that incorporated a karakia to apologise to the ancestors for the segmentation of Te Wharepuni a Maui (Heermann 2003). The ceremony was not only an emotional experience for the Maori involved but also for museum staff who had gained an appreciation of Maori culture and spirituality through working alongside them (Heermann 2003, Weik-Barton 2003) (see Figure 6.6). In 2000, Te Wharepuni a Maui was deconstructed and removed from display as the gallery in which he was standing was being remodelled. At present, there are no plans for his redisplay because there is insufficient space and resources available to reconstruct him in his entirety as promised to Kaka Niao (I Heermann 2006, e-mail).

Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui: European and Maori Approaches to Their Interpretation and Care As their stories reveal, both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui could be seen as being decontextualised ethnographic objects even within their

Figure 6.6 Te Wharepuni a Maui’s porch on display at the Linden Museum, 1993–2000 (© and reproduced with permission of the Linden Museum, Stuttgart).

122

Eva Garbutt

original contexts in New Zealand. Neither functioned as a meeting house for a tribe, serving instead as displays of Maori culture within a colonial context, not unlike their later roles within their respective museums in Germany. Beginning with their creation and completion, a dichotomy existed as to how both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui were approached by Europeans and Maori. A European perspective at the time viewed both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui from a strongly colonial viewpoint, as ‘dead’ objects from a primitive culture. Aside from commercial reasons, Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui were commissioned by their European patrons to illustrate and preserve what was assumed to be traditional Maori culture (Neich 1983, p. 255). It was a common view of the time that Maori culture had remained relatively unchanged over a long period prior to the arrival of Europeans and was being degraded through contact with European culture and would eventually disappear (Neich 1983, p. 256). This discourse surrounded Te Wharepuni a Maui within the context of his initial display, as a feature of a model Maori village erected for the 1906/07 International Exhibition held in Christchurch, which was inhabited by Maori during the course of the exhibition. The explicit aim of the Maori village was to: ‘show them (Maori), moreover, in surroundings approximating to their olden conditions of life, and to revive something of their ancient social customs, their handicrafts, and their amusements’ (Cowan 1910, p. 308). In the case of Rauru, Nelson’s aim was to create a meeting house that was better and more complete than those which any Maori had ever built (Neich 1983, p. 255). Nelson, the son of a Swedish anthropologist, considered himself versed in Maori customs and culture, a self-styled ‘white tohunga’, and was referred to as ‘more Maori than the Maori’ by some European New Zealanders at the time (New Zealand Graphic 7 April 1900, p. 657). Throughout the project, Nelson was in close contact with Augustus Hamilton, an ethnologist, biologist, and author of a number of volumes on Maori art. Together, these two men had set up a doctrine of what ‘unchanged traditional Maori culture’ should be like and exerted their orthodox views on Rauru’s carvers in terms of the iconography and stylistic elements of the carvings (Neich 1983, pp. 255–256). From the mid 19th century on, Maori carvers began incorporating new design elements from their contact with European culture. For example, they depicted carved European heeled boots on figures, which were accepted as authentic features by Maori at the time. This innovation could also be seen on some of the early photographs of Rauru’s carvings. By the time Rauru was assembled, however, these were recarved to the ‘traditional’ form of feet and toes, most probably

The Care of Living Objects

123

as directed by Nelson to comply with his, and European tourists’ view of ancient Maori culture (Neich 2001, p. 204). Unfortunately, it is difficult to know exactly how Maori at the time viewed both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui. It could be argued that as both were essentially examples of tourist art, and as neither functioned as a meeting house in the traditional sense, they lack the ‘power of belief’ associated with meeting houses carved for Maori patrons (Neich 1983, p. 255). In the case of Rauru, however, this could be assumed not to have been the case. His early history under Maori patronage is strongly entrenched in the world of Maori beliefs, so much so that Nelson was only able to acquire the carvings from Te Waru after promising that a cleansing ceremony would be conducted once Rauru was completed to lift the curse associated with him (Pomare & Cowan 1930, p. 260).Thus, at least for Te Waru and the Maori involved in the ceremony, Rauru was clearly imbued with spiritual qualities beyond his physical fabric. Contrary to the European view, which saw Maori woodcarving as a dying art (Neich 1983, p. 256), the carving techniques and stylistic attributes of both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui’s carvings go against the simplistic idea of Maori cultural redundancy when faced with the process of colonisation (Thomas 1999, p. 48). The carving of Rauru is a clear example of the continuous dialectical feedback between Maori carver and pakeha patron that adheres to ideas of traditional design, whilst at the same time representing real innovation (Neich 2001, p. 201). European patronage provided the Ngati Tarawhai carvers with the opportunity, beneath a ‘veil of orthodoxy’, to break ties with traditional ideas of form and content in their carving style (Neich 1983, p. 260). The innovative work of carvers in both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui explored asymmetry and three-dimensional space. Tene Waitere, for example, diverted from the traditional method of producing two-dimensional figures and experimented with the oblique view for some of the carved human figures, such as Maui fishing up the North Island as depicted in Te Wharepuni a Maui (Neich 2001, pp. 202, 213). Rauru’s carvings in general are remarkable for their naturalistic elements and overall vigour (Thomas 1999, p. 48). At the time that Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui were acquired by their respective museums in Germany, a similar discourse to that established by Nelson and Hamilton regarding the fate of indigenous cultures in the wake of colonialism motivated German ethnographers. At the turn of the 19th century in Germany, ethnographic museums were undergoing phenomenal growth, participating in what could only be described as a collecting frenzy (Penny 2002, p. 2). They were not only driven by the demands of the public who were eager to learn

124

Eva Garbutt

more about the exotic ‘Other’ who were portrayed in travel literature, but also by ethnologists who saw indigenous cultures as disappearing within the context of colonialism (Penny 2002, p. 2). Georg Thilenius, the director of the Museum für Völkerkunde in Hamburg between 1904 and 1936, urged ethnologists to act ‘without delay’ in the collection of indigenous material culture as these cultures were as he stated ‘living in fact in the twelfth hour’ (Penny 2002, p. 32). The few documented glimpses that we do get into their early display and conservation histories indicate that both Te Wharepuni a Maui and Rauru were still largely seen as inanimate museum objects from a redundant culture. In 1928, Te Wharepuni a Maui was once again included within a colonial exhibition. In lieu of Maori accompanying him, Maori mannequins dressed in traditional costume were positioned outside the porch. Their inclusion effectively distanced their culture from that of the European visitor, perpetuating the idea of the exotic Other. The fact that for most of his early display history Te Wharepuni a Maui was never displayed as a complete structure suggests that either little knowledge existed at the time as to the significance of Maori meeting houses as complete structures or that this was of little concern. In the case of Rauru, his possible conversion into a casino for British soldiers also indicates that he was most likely seen by the occupying forces at the time, as merely a built structure with little regard for his spiritual attributes. Any early conservation treatments that could be deduced were also merely meant to restore their appearance as museum objects— such as the application of lacquer to Rauru and paint to Te Wharepuni a Maui. In the case of Te Wharepuni a Maui, the turning point in his care and interpretation coincided with the involvement of Maori in his restoration in 1993. The Schusters and Kaka Niao were able to breathe life back into Te Wharepuni a Maui through the following of tikanga (protocol) surrounding activities associated with him, the restoration of his mana through the reweaving of the tukutuku and the carving of a new tekoteko (figure on gable of whare), and his reawakening within the context of the dawn ceremony. Although we will never know how Maori in New Zealand viewed Te Wharepuni a Maui at the time of his creation, for the Schusters and Kaka Niao he was imbued with spiritual qualities beyond his physical fabric. Through their involvement in the project, these qualities associated with Te Wharepuni a Maui were revealed to museum staff. The involvement of the Schusters and Kaka Niao in the conservation process also exemplifies the coming together of the Western and the

The Care of Living Objects

125

Maori worldview in the interpretation and care of Te Wharepuni a Maui. When possible, museum staff accommodated the requests of the Schusters and Kaka Niao, such as in the adherence of tikanga surrounding the handling of Te Wharepuni a Maui’s elements and the carving of the tekoteko. When a request could not be met, as was the case surrounding Te Wharepuni a Maui’s segmentation, intensive discussion ensued and compromises were reached. In the case of the tukutuku, Emily Schuster and the conservators reached a solution regarding their restoration. The approach taken respected both the importance of original materials, which is a key feature of the Western approach to conservation (Clavir 1993, p. 5), and it gave Emily Schuster the opportunity to reweave a large portion of a number of the panels, obscuring the tattered original weaving where this would interfere with Te Wharepuni a Maui’s aesthetic integrity. Emily Schuster’s experience of dealing with museum professionals on a number of projects in New Zealand had given her both insight and interest into Western conservation practices, allowing for an easy blending together of the Maori and European approach to conservation (Weik-Barton 2007, e-mail). Throughout the project, Maori culture was portrayed as alive and contemporary to museum visitors, as the reweaving of the tukutuku and the carving of the tekoteko were conducted within the exhibition area. This was aided by the inclusion of an exhibition of contemporary Maori art alongside Te Wharepuni a Maui, which was an important component of Dr Heermann’s view that indigenous cultures should be portrayed as living cultures (Heermann 2003, interview). To date, no equivocal conservation project has been associated with Rauru. In contrast to Te Wharepuni a Maui, his physical fabric has not required any extensive conservation in which Maori involvement was considered necessary. However, ties with Maori were formed in 1986 after the visit of the Maori cultural group. At present, the dialogue between the museum and the Maori group is based around Rauru’s function as a venue for weddings.

Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui: The Future As this discussion has highlighted, the interpretations and approaches taken towards Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui, within both New Zealand and in their early display and conservation histories in Germany, can be viewed as strongly polarised. Although Maori appreciated Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui as components of their living culture and as spiritual entities, Europeans largely saw them as inanimate objects from a dying culture. Only through the involvement

126

Eva Garbutt

of Maori in Te Wharepuni a Maui’s restoration were museum staff and visitors able to interpret and approach him from a Maori perspective. At present, Te Wharepuni a Maui remains in storage, removed from both display and the interaction with Maori that provide him with function and meaning. I am confident that if and when he should be conserved or redisplayed it will be done in a manner that once again respects his conceptual integrity, as the Linden Museum has been increasingly working with indigenous groups in the care and display of their objects (Weik-Barton 2007, e-mail). In the case of Rauru, his care and interpretation to date has not incorporated the Maori perspective to any great extent. However, the pending redevelopment of the exhibition of which he is a part would greatly benefit from the involvement of Maori in an active collaboration. It is my hope that Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui will be treated as living objects in the future and that ties to Maori will be sustained. May they continue to teach museum visitors about Maori culture, not only its past but also its future.

Notes 1. The conservation and display histories of Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui within Germany were revealed to me during the course of my Masters research (Lübcke 2003) through interviews with the relevant curators and conservators. I am grateful for their involvement at the time and their continued input whilst I was writing this chapter. 2. I will honour the fact that meeting houses embody the ancestors of their tribe and will refer to them as individuals. The masculine pronoun is used for both Rauru and Te Wharepuni a Maui as they are associated with male ancestors. 3. This conference was organised by the New Zealand Cultural Conservation Advisory Committee to introduce the spiritual significance of taonga to delegates from overseas museums containing Maori collections. 4. Emily Schuster founded the weaving school within the New Zealand Maori Art and Craft Institute (now known as ‘Te Puia’) at Rotorua in 1969. She has worked on producing the woven decorations of meeting houses for many years. As far back as 1961, Emily, along with other members of the Schuster family, produced new tukutuku for the meeting house Hinemihi at Ngapuna (Dennan 1968, p. 133). 5. Sadly, both Emily Schuster and Kaka Niao had passed away by the time I conducted my Masters research. The account of Te Wharepuni a Maui’s conservation is, therefore, based on the version of the curators and conservators involved.

PART IV

HINEMIHI

7 INTRODUCING HINEMIHI Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

Introduction Hinemihi o te Ao Tawhito (Hinemihi of the Old World) is the only complete carved ancestral Maori wharenui (meeting house) in Britain. She1 is one of only four historic meeting houses found outside New Zealand (Gallop 1998, p. 160). Today, Hinemihi is cared for by The National Trust as part of the Clandon Park estate in Surrey, England. Hinemihi was purchased from Ngäti Hinemihi (Te Arawa sub-tribe) for £50 in January 1892 by William Hillier, the 4th Earl of Onslow and governor of New Zealand (1888–1892). She was dismantled and twenty-three carved pieces were shipped 12,000 miles to Clandon Park, then home of the Onslow family, where she has stood ever since (see Figure 7.1). Her physical appropriation by Lord Onslow and subsequent redesignation and assimilation as ‘garden folly’ into a landscape tradition of English stately homes also shows the Onslow family’s cultured sophistication, status, and privilege within British society (Hooper-Greenhill 1998, p. 141, Neich 2003, p. 362). It represents an asymmetrical relationship of economic and political power that enables the appropriation and commodification of cultural forms by one society in a way that displaces the local cultural forms of another. The process of appropriating the Maori house in the garden is a consequence of the prevailing colonial system in force at the time (Neich 2003, p. 337). The legacy of this appropriation is evident in Hinemihi’s location at Clandon Park. 127

128

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

Figure 7.1 Hinemihi at Clandon Park, 2003 (photo: Dean Sully). The architectural and territorial configuration at Clandon within which Hinemihi is placed clearly reveals the legal framework of ownership. This also establishes a cultural and interpretative hegemony within which dominant meanings will be formulated and against which alternative meanings of Hinemihi must be constructed. (Hooper-Greenhill 1998, p. 141)

As well as Hinemihi’s geographical, contextual, and cultural transition, she has gone through many physical transformations in the past 127 years, and apart from the twenty-three carvings that exist from her time in New Zealand, the majority of her current structure appear to date from restorations carried out by The National Trust in 1960 and 1980 (Sully 2004b). For many visitors to Clandon Park, Hinemihi is a curious-looking, highly decorative wooden hut standing at the end of a vast lawn opposite the Onslow Palladian-style mansion (Malkogeorgou 2003). Visitors find no public interpretive signage explaining the building, where she derives from, or her biographical history (Gallop 1998, HooperGreenhill 1998, Riccini 2005). It is the Trust’s policy to show houses as far as possible in their natural state, as a guest might see them who had called on a summer afternoon.

Introducing Hinemihi

129

This means with a minimum of notices, ropes, and posts, which effectively destroy their atmosphere. (The National Trust 1996)

The manner in which a property is presented to visitors continues to be a keenly debated issue amongst National Trust staff (K Lithgow 2007, pers. comm.). To Western eyes, Hinemihi may appear merely as an interesting cultural artefact with no active cultural role; her performative importance is invisible. To Maori, Hinemihi is a very powerful and meaningful structure, a living person, to be actively engaged through performance (Digby 2002). There are many stories told about Hinemihi, and the following introduces some of these stories and provides a chronological framework from which they can be viewed. It should be remembered that this represents one very narrow thread from which to trace all of Hinemihi’s relations with people.

Hinemihi in Te Wairoa, Aotearoa 1880–1892 The volcanic Hot Lakes District around Rotorua was an early focus for New Zealand’s tourism industry in the middle of the 19th century (Andrews 2005, p. 17). By 1872, the small village of Te Wairoa was an established centre for tourists to experience Lake Rotomahana and the famous Pink and White Terraces (Cory-Pearce 2005). Here, they were also able to experience native Maori culture and witness a performance of the haka (posture dance) (Stafford 1967, Gallop 1998). The Terraces could only be reached by whaleboats travelling for two hours across the lake from Te Wairoa, powered by local Maori rowers ferrying tourists who were charged upwards of £2 per head for the trip (Stafford 1977, p. 26). Tourists were able to spend the night in one of two wooden hotels built in Te Wairoa. There were also three shops, a large Temperance Hall, a school, and homes for about 100 local members of the Tuhourangi tribal group. Growing numbers of European settlers had also moved into Te Wairoa to take advantage of tourism opportunities and the community’s growing prosperity (Warbrick 1948). Te Wairoa acted as a hub for communication and accommodation, and tourist facilities and services became increasingly organised, stimulating significant changes in the domestic life and economy of the surrounding area (CoryPearce 2005, p. 97). By 1881, concern was being expressed about the abandonment of cultivation and industry in the village and the overreliance on precarious tourist income (Stafford 1977, p. 26). The construction of Hinemihi began in 1880 in Te Wairoa; she was commissioned and paid for by Chief Aporo Te Wharekaniwha, chief of Ngäti Hinemihi hapü (sub-tribe). By this date, large meeting houses

130

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

that combined the function of church, assembly hall, chief’s house, and ancestral memorial were being constructed to accommodate tribal meetings and express the historical identity of their owners (Neich 1994, p. 93, Brown 2000, p. 262). Hinemihi was planned as a meeting place for Ngäti Hinemihi, a public place where important decisions were made, visitors entertained, genealogies affirmed, relationships confirmed, births and marriages celebrated, and the dead mourned (Stafford 1986). The construction of Hinemihi represented a statement of tribal prestige, a symbolic place to celebrate and confirm local Maori identity. She can be seen as an objectification of wealth, sophistication, technical skill, and ancestral endowment of Ngäti Hinemihi (Gell 1998, p. 251), a ‘collective presentation of tribal efficacy’ (Thomas 1995, p. 103). In addition, she provided a focus for commercial tourism as a venue for Maori cultural performances (tourists paid to view the carvings, attend dances, and enjoy refreshments). It is likely that Hinemihi was constructed to reflect tourist expectations of what ‘authentic’ and ‘traditional’ Maori carved houses would have been like (Neich 1994, p. 142, Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 58). Two Ngäti Tarawhai carvers, Wero Taroi and Tene Waitere, were commissioned by Aporo to create Hinemihi. Both men are now regarded as being among the greatest Maori carvers whose work is known today (Neich 2001, pp. 52–55, 62–69). Today, it is difficult to understand what effect or precise meaning Wero and Tene intended to convey through their work on Hinemihi’s carvings. It is certain that many represented ancestors from tribal history and by including them in the meeting house, Aporo was providing them with a place where their spirits could dwell and protect their descendants (Phillipps 1955). The story is clear on the pare (lintel) carving surrounding the doorway, showing Tane, oldest child of Papatuanuka (Earth Mother) and Ranginui (Sky Father), separating his parents in order to bring light into the world—the Maori story of creation (Neich 1994, p. 126, R Rika 1997, pers. comm.). Inside, the carved poutokomanawa (centre pole) features Hinemihi’s pet taniwha (monster) Kataore climbing down the post towards the ground. At the base of the pole was a large threedimensional male figure, possibly Ngatoroirangi the Te Arawa priest or Hinemihi’s ancestors Tarawhai or Te Rangitakaroro (Gallop 1998, p. 30) (see Figure 7.2). As a gesture towards his status as a chief and the wealth he had generated from Te Wairoa’s tourism business, Aporo added a final flourish to Hinemihi. Instead of using traditional paua shells (Haliotis iris) to depict the eyes of the carved figures, it is recorded that Aporo attached gold sovereigns into the sockets of the large male figure at the base

Introducing Hinemihi

Figure 7.2 Interior view of Hinemihi showing the poutokomanawa (centre post) (photo: National Trust Photographic Library).

131

132

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

of the centre pole and silver coins on all of the outside carvings (The Dominion 17 May 1935, Gallop 1998, p. 33, Neich 2001, p. 336). Work on the meeting house was completed in March 1881 when Aporo gave his meeting house the full name—Hinemihi o te Ao Tawhito (‘Hinemihi of the old World’)—but to local non-Maori and hundreds of visitors to Te Wairoa, she became known as ‘Hinemihi of the Golden Eyes’ (Gallop 1998, p. 33) (see Figure 7.3). Aporo charged one shilling to step inside to examine the carvings (Stafford 1967). To witness an organised performance of the haka cost £1.10s. plus the cost of refreshments (usually beer) for the thirsty performers (Gallop 1998, p. 42). ‘Few Meeting houses would have been used to such an extent as Hinemihi as it became, in effect, a public hall at Te Wairoa in which constant entertainment was provided for tourists’ (Stafford 1967, p. 243). There were complaints about the lewd nature of the dances held in Hinemihi (Talbot 1882, p. 42, Cory-Pearce 2005). Of greater concern at the time was the increase in mortality because of the spread of introduced diseases such as typhoid and tuberculosis (Gallop 1998, p. 49). Tangihanga (funerals) were frequent at Hinemihi. At the funeral, the

Figure 7.3 Hinemihi in Te Wairoa 1880. Burton Brothers, Dunedin, New Zealand: Photograph of Runanga Hinemihi meeting house, Wairoa (photograph reproduced by permission of the Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington).

Introducing Hinemihi

133

deceased were laid out for weeks at a time whilst the customary practices took place. The observation of these customs took precedence over dances and the needs of tourists (Gallop 1998, p. 48, Cory-Pearce 2005).

Hinemihi and the Eruption of Mount Tarawera in 1886 There were suggestions that the manner in which the Hinemihi had departed from tradition, both in its use as a public hall and in the substitution of money for paua shell (Stafford 1967, p. 243), would result in misfortune for the people of Te Wairoa. This is perhaps a reflection of the rapid social changes experienced by the local community at that time. Thus, it was predicted that calamity would befall the people of the region by Te Kooti, the Maori guerrilla leader and Tuhoto Te Ariki, Te Wairoa’s tohunga (priestly expert) (Gallop 1998, p. 53). On 10 June 1886, these predictions came true. A violent volcanic eruption in the Tarawera Mountain and a tremendous earthquake destroyed the Pink and White Terraces, blowing the bones of the Tuhourangi ancestors out of their tapu (sacred) burial caves in the mountain (Dennan 1968). The village of Te Wairoa and the surrounding area were buried in mud, ash, and lava, and the eruption claimed the lives of 153 people (The New Zealand Herald, 11 June 1886). An estimated forty-five people found shelter in Hinemihi and survived the eruption. Included were Tene Waitere, the young carver responsible for much of the work on Hinemihi, along with his wife Ruihi and nine-year-old daughter Tuhipo. The scale of the devastation forced the remaining people to relocate, and members of Ngäti Hinemihi settled in Rotorua, given land in the Ngapuna and Whakarewarewa districts by Ngäti Wahiao (Neich 2000, p. 62). Occurring at a time of general economic depression across the country (Sutch 1969), the Tarawera eruption was a disaster that threw the prosperous Maori communities of the region into spiritual, social, and economic decline (Cory-Pearce 2005, p. 160). After the eruption, Hinemihi was described as neglected and as being abandoned in a derelict state (Gallop1998, p. 93), the walls buried up to the broken roof, layered with volcanic debris (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 70) (see Figure 7.4). Within days, some souvenirs had been removed, at least three large carvings were removed/lost during the period of abandonment, possibly the carvings from around the door (pare and whakawae) and from around the windows (korupe). A Maori view of Hinemihi’s abandonment following the eruption focuses on the idea of tapu, which offers an alternative to the idea of neglect. After the eruption, Te Wairoa and the surrounding areas were declared urupa (burial ground) and wähi tapu (sacred), therefore were

134

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

Figure 7.4 Hinemihi soon after the Tarawera eruption of 1886. Wharepuni at Wairoa after eruption (reproduced by permission of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa).

taken out of normal use. Hinemihi’s abandonment can be viewed as an act of respect rather than neglect (Anon 2003, ceremony). ‘There are bodies still lying under the mud and ash, over 150 people are still missing from the eruption, whole villages are still buried there’ (J Schuster 1995, pers. comm.).

Hinemihi and the 4th Earl of Onslow By 1891, William Hillier Onslow, 4th Earl of Onslow (1853–1911) was approaching the end of his three years as governor of New Zealand and wished to have a permanent reminder of his time in New Zealand. Several meeting houses were identified as potential souvenirs (Gallop 1998, p. 89). The construction of meeting houses that allow the carvings to be dismantled and transported as individual pieces makes them relatively convenient objects for collectors to acquire (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 70). By 1901, James Carroll noted: ‘There is no globe-trotter who comes round with money in his pocket who does not want to take away a Maori house or some specimen of old art, which the country ought, at all events, to be consulted about’ (Henare 2005, p. 199).

Introducing Hinemihi

135

Other meeting houses offered for sale at that time included the Joshua whare (Tiki a Tamamtu at the Spa Hotel in Taupo) for £1000 and a newly commissioned, yet still incomplete house, for £600 (Gallop 1998, p. 91). The meeting house, Te Tokanganui-a-Noho at Te Kuiti, was considered for purchase, however the local chief Taonui declined to sell, claiming it belonged to all of his Ngäti Maniapoto tribe (Gallop 1998, p. 90, Neich 2003, p. 342). Roger Dansey, Rotorua’s postmaster, was appointed as Lord Onslow’s purchasing agent to buy Hinemihi for the best possible price. The sum of £50 was agreed upon between Dansey and Mika Aporo, son of Chief Aporo, who had died several years earlier, prior to the 1886 eruption. The fee was handed over in two installments of £25, one on completion of purchase negotiations and the balance once Hinemihi had been dismantled and transported to Auckland by rail for transportation to England. Dansey drew up an official hand-written bill-of-sale for Hinemihi signed by Mika Aporo and himself and dated 27 January 1892. The document is on public display in Clandon Park’s Onslow Room. Talking to The Dominion newspaper in New Zealand in 1935 (The Dominion 17 May 1935), Mika Aporo, then in his ninety-first year, recalled the meeting with Roger Dansey that resulted in Hinemihi’s sale to Lord Onslow. In the article, Mika recalled selling his father’s wharenui (meeting house) ‘for about £40 or £50 for the lot’. He said that the money had ‘been divided between the carver Wero and some of those who helped in the erection of the house’ (The Dominion 17 May 1935). As Wero had died shortly after completing work on Hinemihi in 1880, Mika probably meant Tene Waitere, who at the time was working at the Geyser Hotel in Whakarewarewa, employed as a carver by Charles Nelson (Neich 2001, p. 198). Mika recalled: ‘At the time I thought the carvings were going to be kept in Auckland and I was surprised to hear that they were in England. I hope you can get them back to New Zealand and have Hinemihi re-erected in some museum’ (The Dominion 17 May 1935). The right of an individual to sell taonga (treasured ancestral heirlooms) held in communal ownership (such as a meeting house) has been the basis of repatriation claims for Maori and other indigenous groups (Allen 1998). The distinction between the legal/individual and the spiritual/customary ownership has been the subject of requests for the return of Hinemihi; in 1935 (The Dominion 17 May 1935), 1975 (Watt 1975), 1986 (RHM 1986) and, most recently, in 1995 (Sully 2004b, Neich 2003, p. 363). For example, in 1968 Rangitiaria Dennan (Guide Rangi), Tene Waitere’s grand-daughter writes: After the eruption it [Hinemihi] was sold to the Governor, the Earl of Onslow, … The mode of sale of the house has been in dispute ever since.

136

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

The sale was not, and never could have been, approved by the whole of the tribe. Yet the house was taken down, packed up, and sent off to England for relocation on the Earl of Onslow’s estate at Clandon Park, Guildford, as a sort of curiosity and treasure house for his collection. There it still stands, in spite of efforts made some years ago to have it returned to the Tuhourangi people. (Dennan 1968, p. 130)

Hinemihi’s significance to Lord Onslow can be related to his view of himself within his own society. Onslow is a part of the cultural patrimony of Britain, so, therefore, is Hinemihi. The original cultural significance of Hinemihi is left behind and re-interpreted within the prevailing cultural hierarchy. The rational for objects to be invested with the patrimony and the cultural significance of their keepers is enshrined in museological values. In establishing the right to possess such objects, there is the tendency to reduce the non-European narratives, traditions, languages, and religions as curios. As a souvenir, Hinemihi can be seen to act as a metonym for places and events, which helps position her collector in time and space. The souvenir object creates a web of spatial attachment, made multidimensional through their extent over time. Frequent contact with the object and retelling of the stories associated with the object serve to construct and maintain the collector’s identity and spatial connections. Hinemihi, as a souvenir building, becomes a place of refuge that evokes the past of the individual. For readers many years later, souvenir objects act as an informal biography of the collector and the collector in relation to the current owners, one that can rarely be fully decoded (Hoskins 1998, Digby 2002). Along with other Maori objects in European collections, Hinemihi reflects a moment of encounter between Maori and European, collector and the seller/donor (Cory-Pearce 2005). In this exchange, relationships are formed that develop over time with the ongoing interaction of people and objects. Hinemihi represents a material legacy of past relationships that prevail in the present. The acquisition of Hinemihi by Lord Onslow took place at a time when power relationships were significantly weighted in his favour. A similar view has been expressed in relation to the removal of Ngäti Awa meeting house Mataatua in 1878, which Allen considers a consequence of the fear and deprivation of Maori in the late 19th century that enabled their taonga to be removed from the war-defeated people (Allen 1998, p. 148). Meeting houses outside New Zealand can be viewed as being decontextualised from the culture that provides them with meaning and life; their separation from the land (whenau) viewed as an act of desecration (Allen 1998, pp. 144–147). Neich considers the appropriation of Maori houses to be different from other forms of colonial artefact collecting, as it was not undertaken

Introducing Hinemihi

137

in the name of science, for national pride and prestige, to display the success of Christianity, or as a token of native industry. The Maori house was inserted as a folly into the English tradition of picturesque landscaped gardens. The development of the idea of a ‘Maori house down in the garden’ became part of the colonial relationship between England and New Zealand reaching back to much older traditions in both countries (Neich 2003, p. 331).

Hinemihi and Clandon Park After the arrival of the carvings in July 1892, Hinemihi was at first reerected by an ornamental lake or stream within a flower garden within the gardens of the Clandon Park Estate, in time for Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee festivities in 1897 (The Hub 18 May 1899, p. 39). The creation of sculptured parkland has been described as an appropriation of landscape in the conviction that nature could be both rescued and improved, with ruins necessary to remind people of their religious and political obligations (Neich 2003, p. 335). The late 19th-century landscape garden tradition featured using rustic buildings as points of interest within the garden. The Maori house, as both exotic and picturesque, is an obvious candidate for use as a garden folly, amenable to being viewed as ‘rustic’. In this process of appropriation, European owners disregarded and contravened Maori norms of usage. This assumed that the new values are ‘real’ and therefore justified the transition of use from Maori ancestral meeting place to English summerhouse, or indeed any other desired use. The use of Hinemihi at Clandon Park was one of the first examples of a broader tradition that Neich describes as ‘the Maori house down in the garden’ (Neich 2003, p. 360). Once a meeting house had been collected and set up in the European garden, there was usually very little further interaction between the new owner and Maori (Neich 2003, p. 337). Hinemihi was rebuilt at Clandon to re-create her appearance at Te Wairoa. Subtle differences may reflect a pragmatic response to her construction, such as the acquisition of new carved wooden panels for the door and window surrounds in response to the loss of the original carvings. The substitution of the wood shingle roof covering with a thin thatch roof may reflect a desire to create a ‘traditionalised’ Hinemihi that fitted with a desire for ‘rustic’. However, Hinemihi’s polychrome surface was retained and not subject to the archaising process of red overpainting evident in many 19th-century meeting house carvings in New Zealand museums (Barton 1984, Barton & Weik 1984, Neich 2001, p. 285). The commonly held view that Hinemihi was constructed

138

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

on arrival at Clandon as an open structure for use as a boat shed (Gallop 1998, p. 99, Hooper-Greenhill 1998, p. 132) is not supported by the archival evidence. Early photographs suggest that Hinemihi was originally constructed for use as a summerhouse soon after her arrival at Clandon and housed a number of Lord Onslow’s Maori artefacts (The Hub 1899, p. 39) (see Figure 7.5). Clandon Park enjoyed something approaching its ‘old splendour’ during the Edwardian period (Chamberlain 1979, pp. 94–97), Hinemihi serving the role as summerhouse for the Onslow family. Contemporary accounts suggest considerable efforts were made in developing ornamental gardens around Hinemihi: ‘Lord Onslow obtained a fine old Maori Council house, and this quaintly carved structure was erected near the far end of a piece of water. Irises abound … and flourish all through this water garden’ (The Gardeners Magazine 6 May 1911, pp. 341–342). Because of concerns about the poor condition of the carvings, restoration work was carried out in 1917 by recovering World War I soldiers, including Maori National Expeditionary soldiers (Maori Pioneer Battalion) when Clandon Park and neighbouring properties

Figure 7.5 Hinemihi at Clandon Park pre-1914, from the photographic album of Harry William Blake, head gardener at Clandon Park c 1886–1920 (photograph reproduced by © and permission of the Surrey History Centre).

Introducing Hinemihi

139

were being used as military hospitals and convalescent homes. During this work, her carvings were cleaned and she was rebuilt as close to her 1880s form as possible; however, the original plans had been lost by this stage and building materials were scarce (Gallop 1998, p. 111) (see Figure 7.6). Hinemihi was said to have been a source of spiritual comfort for Maori soldiers during this time (Gallop 1998, p. 112). The story of the patients confronting the military hospital authorities after discovering that Hinemihi was being used as a boat shed and was rotting away by the lake was told often by Rahera Windsor, kuia of Ngäti Ranana (eg at the Blessing ceremony at Hinemihi in May 2004 shortly before Rahera’s death). Rahera stressed that Hinemihi had been rescued by Maori from people who did not know her worth and were not able to care for her effectively. This important anecdotal story may also be a reflection of more recent perceptions of the past care of Hinemihi (Jackson 2002). Later generations of Onslows found different uses for the earl’s New Zealand souvenir; Hinemihi was used as a garden store, a home for a pet goat, and, at one stage, was proposed as a bar for a family garden party. Between 1934 and 1967, an image from one of Burton Brothers’ photographs of Hinemihi’s ‘Amo’ carvings was used on Reserve Bank

Figure 7.6 Hinemihi in 1919 (photo: Alan Gallop).

140

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

of New Zealand’s £1 banknote. Hinemihi as a representation of Maori carving became a national symbol of New Zealand in this way, positioned on the banknote alongside the indigenous bird, the kiwi, and the indigenous people—both were equally endangered and in need of protection. The Onslow family maintained an interest in Maori. For example, in a presidential address of the International Congress of the Anthropology Society in 1934, the 5th Earl of Onslow stated: It has taken us centuries to develop from the Maori state of Stone Age culture. That the Maori have won through is due rather to their own toughness than to our help. In more recent times the tendency has been to encourage native civilisation to develop on its own lines and to absorb rather than imitate European ideas. (Onslow 1934).

Later, in recalling his childhood, the 7th Earl of Onslow stated: ‘Because it was sand instead of a floor, it was a lovely place to play. We stored our gumboots there. It was a long way to the top of the house, so we left them in the Maori House’ (Gallop 1998, p. 116). During the middle of the 20th century, Hinemihi underwent a significant change in her structure. Figure 7.7 shows Hinemihi without a front wall and with the interior carvings turned around to face outwards. At some time between 1919 and 1945, a major reconstruction of Hinemihi had taken place (for which there are no records available).

Figure 7.7 Hinemihi prior to restoration in 1959 (photo: National Trust Photographic Library).

Introducing Hinemihi

141

By the end of World War II, the old meeting house was looking forlorn and in need of repair (Stafford 1967, p. 414). The changed social conditions during and after the war finally ended the way of life for the Onslows at Clandon Park (Chamberlain 1979). In 1956, Clandon Park and gardens, including Hinemihi, were donated to The National Trust, and in 1960 the 6th Earl of Onslow and his family moved out of Clandon House and into a private house on the Clandon estate (The National Trust 2003–04).

Hinemihi and The National Trust Following the acquisition of Clandon Park, The National Trust was initially occupied in preparing the mansion for opening to the public. By 1958, attention focused on Hinemihi and repairs were arranged in response to a planned Onslow family party at Clandon in June 1958: ‘[Hinemihi] required to be reasonably tidy for the dance’ (Cripplewell 1958). The roof covering was removed to inspect the rafters, but no further work was carried out and unfortunately she was left in this uncovered state for two years before work began to re-roof her. The National Trust approached New Zealand’s High Commission in London for help with the restoration and they, in turn, passed on the request to Maori organisations. New Zealand contacts made financial contributions to the cost of restoration, along with a supply of totora timber for the ridgepole, wall slabs and rafters, supplied by Maori owners of the Puketapu 3A Block at Taumarunui, through the New Zealand Forest Service (Te Ao Hou 1960). The National Trust considered this to be ‘a very generous donation … by the Maori people’ (Keeble 1959). Cummings, a local building firm that was already working on the mansion at Clandon Park, was engaged to carry out the work on Hinemihi in 1960. Mr KA Webster (an expert in Maori art; see Webster 1948) provided technical advice for the refurbishment during which all carvings were cleaned, along with urgent repairs to other elements, primarily the roof. The new heke (rafters) and tahuhu (ridgepole) were installed along with a new thatch roof; 50 yd2 of natural-coloured matting attached to hardboard were supplied to represent tukutuku; soft wood branches were added to line the interior of the roof; and possibly the external elm boarding were added at this time (Sully 2004b). The kowhaiwhai decorative designs on the heke were painted, and it is likely that other carvings were also repainted by Mr CA Vettiger, a painter from Horsham, Surrey, ‘who had lived for some time in New Zealand. … You could not have found anyone more competent for the job’ (Webster 1961).

142

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

Assistance and advice from New Zealand did not prevent the incorrect positioning of some of the carvings and, more importantly, Hinemihi was left without a front wall (see Figure 7.8). In 1974, Bernard Kernot from Wellington’s Victoria University, Department of Anthropology and Maori, reported to the Maori Buildings Committee of the New Zealand Historic Places Trust following his visit to Hinemihi. His report identified the work that would be needed to restore Hinemihi, which included the addition of a front wall and repainting of the carvings and roof timbers. He states: The report of the English contractors shows little appreciation of the house as a cultural object with its own system of symbols, as distinct from a collection of carved posts and painted scroll designs to be restored … if the house is going to stand overseas, it should be properly erected and maintained. (Kernot 1975)

This report was followed shortly after by an offer of assistance from the New Zealand High Commissioner in London ‘for her long-term preservation in the hope that her exile will one day end’ (Watt 1975). It was not until 1979 that refurbishment work was undertaken, carried out by the English firm of JW Draper & Sons of Titchfield, Hampshire, specialists in restoring historic wooden buildings. The National Trust

Figure 7.8 Hinemihi in 1975 (photo: Alan Gallop).

Introducing Hinemihi

143

consulted a range of expert advice prior to and during the restoration work, including Mr Campin from the New Zealand Historic Places Trust, John Bevan Ford from Massey University, John Perry from the Rotorua Museum of Art and History, Harold Gowers from The British Museum, and Leslie Charles Lloyd from the Dunedin Public Art Galley Director (Beharrell 1976). The completed work included a new front wall, door, and window; poutahu (the interior front carved roof support) was turned around to its correct position; and all carvings were cleaned and repainted. The white/red colour scheme (dating from the 1960 restoration) was reversed to match what was thought to be the original 1880s red/white scheme (see Figure 7.9). Mr Draper recalls that The National Trust had very little visual material available for him to copy, apart from an old photograph taken of Hinemihi at Te Wairoa a few days after the eruption and showing her roof covered in volcanic

Figure 7.9 Hinemihi after restoration in 1980 (photo: National Trust Photographic Library).

144

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

debris. Innocently mistaking several tonnes of rooftop ejecta from Mount Tarawera as traditional English thatch, Mr Draper replaced the thin straw thatch roof with a thick covering of Norfolk reeds. According to Mr Draper: ‘We consider that although there are some items that are incorrect, that we achieved, against some odds, a fair representation of the original building, which the National Trust appreciated’ (Gallop 1998, p. 12). A view from New Zealand presents a different emphasis: Restorations have been thorough, research diligent, the jig saw complete. Yet despite lavish attention to detail, you feel there is something missing, an indefinable element needed to complete the picture. Hinemihi stands alone, far from the Arawa people of Rotorua. Without people, there is no spirit. Without land, there is no soul. (New Zealand Woman’s Weekly 3 September 1980, p. 41, Tu Tangata 20 October/November 1984, p. 3)

The display at Clandon Park in the Onslow room of other Maori and New Zealand artefacts commemorate the 4th Earl of Onslow’s governorship of New Zealand. These objects represent a small part of the Onslow family history currently shown at Clandon, and in this process the Maori taonga are appropriated as a demonstration of British colonial control over its colonised subjects. The materiality of Hinemihi’s presence in the garden and the taonga in the house provide the possibility of activating alternative frameworks of meaning to those that currently prevail. (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 73). This holds the potential for the re-appropriation of these taonga into the Maori world by being newly imbued with a spiritual presence, through renewed Maori involvement. This process suggests that the Maori response to periods of non-Maori possession of taonga has been to ignore that episode during which it was in non-Maori hands and reflects the resilience of contemporary Maori culture (Neich 2003, p. 365).

Hinemihi and Maori Re-appropriation In 1986, Ngäti Hinemihi (descendants of the survivors of the Mount Tarawera eruption and of Aporo Wharekaniwha), led by Eveline Poumako, made a pilgrimage to Hinemihi and ‘now would like to see her back home where she belongs. She is very lonely and forlorn standing there so far away. She should be back in New Zealand’. Her intention was to take it up with the New Zealand High Commission (Rotorua Daily Post 10 June 1986). The National Trust gave them a ‘sympathetic hearing’ (Rotorua Daily Post 10 June 1986, Gallop 1998, p. 126), which led to ongoing contact with members of Ngäti Hinemihi. Mead also believed that Hinemihi stands alone, forlorn and not in very

Introducing Hinemihi

145

good condition, a valuable piece of art because she had been carved by Wero (Mead 1986, p. 117). In the summer of 1986, Hinemihi was visited by Emily Schuster (the great-granddaughter of Tene Waitere) and performance artists from the New Zealand Maori Arts and Crafts Institute in Rotorua. Their meeting with Hinemihi was an emotional experience (Gallop 1998, p. 131). Because we could feel the presence of our ancestors, including those who sheltered inside Hinemihi during the eruption, as well as those who didn’t make it to safety. By touching the carvings we could hear their screams and feel their pain. (Emily Schuster 1986 cited in Gallop 1998, p. 130)

In the summer of 1992, Hinemihi had stood in the grounds of Clandon Park for 100 years. The event was marked by a visit by John Marsh of Ngäti Hinemihi and the director of the New Zealand Maori Arts and Crafts Institute in Rotorua. On his return to New Zealand, he consulted with Ngäti Hinemihi about restoring the missing carvings and set about appointing two young carvers from the institute’s carving school to create new pieces for Hinemihi’s door and window area. The original pieces were missing but had been photographed in detail by Victorian photographer Alfred Burton on a visit to Te Wairoa in 1881. The reproduced carvings were to be presented to the National Trust as a 100th anniversary gift in 1995 from Hinemihi’s descendants and the Maori people of Aotearoa. In 1993, Cathy and James Schuster (Tene Waitere’s great-greatgrandson) measured Hinemihi for the new carvings, and during their visit some original carvings from the door and window surround were located in the attic at Clandon Park. This was timely and reduced the number of newly produced replacement carvings that were required. The carvers appointed to create the new pieces were Robert Rika (4th-generation grandson of carver Tene Waitere) and Colin Tihi (3rdgeneration grandson of Aporo Wharekaniwha, the Te Wairoa chief). Both had recently graduated from the carving school at the New Zealand Maori Arts and Crafts Institute in Rotorua after a four-year apprenticeship and agreed to produce the work unpaid and in their own time. The new pieces were shipped to Clandon and arrived at around the same time as a delegation from Ngäti Hinemihi, including Robert and his mother Julia, Colin, Jeff Crook, James and Cathy Schuster, and James’ father, the Reverend Robert ‘Bob’ Schuster. Following a dawn ‘cloaking’ ceremony, the new carvings, along with the recently discovered original pieces from around the window, were added onto Hinemihi (Gallop 1998, Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 52). The

146

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

group carried out restoration work on Hinemihi prior to the dedication ceremony. This included adjusting the positions of the (paepae) porch threshold and maihi (bargeboards), cleaning, and repainting certain carvings, including the amo (carved front posts) and raparapa (carved bargeboard ends). The roof lining in the porch was badly damaged and the soft wood branches were replaced with bamboo (the closest locally available material to traditional toetoe reeds). The carvings were officially handed over to The National Trust at dawn on Friday, 9 June 1995—almost 109 years since Hinemihi’s time in Te Wairoa had been cut short by Tarawera’s violent eruption. The Maori visitors had asked The National Trust to hand over Hinemihi and its surrounding grounds to them for the duration of a special ceremony at daybreak. They claimed ‘tangata whenau’, reclaiming back that which was theirs as people from the land from where their ancestral meeting house had originally stood and taking responsibility for what would follow. Clandon Park was handed back to the Trust following the ceremony. The arrival of new carvings and the special ceremony to accept them created a new profile for Hinemihi in the United Kingdom and New Zealand, particularly among The National Trust and the UKbased Maori community. Hare Waikingi, a respected Maori elder speaking at the ceremony, stated: ‘We will leave her here for this purpose, and not take her home. Our children will come to visit her in her new country to maintain the unity which she represents today’ (Gallop 1998, p. 156). James Schuster expressed the desire to maintain the involvement of Maori in Hinemihi’s care: ‘It is only fitting that Maori themselves should take care of the only building of its kind in Britain’ (Bay of Plenty Times July 1995). Soon after, in 1996, twelve Tuhourangi tribal elders, lead by Anthony Wihapi ‘proposed a system of co-responsibility between the National Trust and Ngäti Hinemihi, which was well received but politely refused’ (Hooper-Greenhill 1998). Since then, The National Trust has maintained direct contact with three Maori groups, Ngäti Hinemihi (Hinemihi’s spiritual descendants) Ngäti Ranana (London Maori Club), and the Kohanga reo o Ranana (London Maori Language nest). This period has been one of reappropriation by the Maori community in which Hinemihi has been re-imbued with a spiritual presence. For London’s Maori community, Hinemihi is more than simply a stark reminder of home. She has become their adopted meeting house, a place to visit either as individuals, with families or in large groups to remember and celebrate ancestors and family back home in Aotearoa (New Zealand). Rahera Windsor MBE, kuia of Ngäti Ranana, reflecting on Hinemihi in 1995 states ‘she is someone who you should come and

Introducing Hinemihi

147

see when you are sick and unhappy and who will restore your sense of Maori identity’ (Hooper-Greenhill 1998). Every year during the Kohanga Reo Hangi celebration in June, Maori people visit Hinemihi to share their culture with each other and their guests. That is when the Hinemihi that once stood in Te Wairoa visibly returns to life, surrounded by ‘her people.’ Maori tikanga (protocol) is observed, korero (speeches) are made, and waiata (songs) and haka and kapahaka (dances) are performed, centred around the preparation of a traditional hangi (a meal cooked in an underground steam oven) (see Figure 7.10). Hinemihi’s story continues. Her future is being discussed by a Hinemihi Project Group set up in 2004 as part of a formal consultation process comprising representatives from The National Trust, Maori groups (Ngäti Hinemihi, Ngäti Ranana, Kohanga Reo), and individuals, each with something to contribute that will help conserve her mana (prestige) for future generations. This group has met to formalise a statement of significance for Hinemihi and agree on a vision of how she might develop in the future (see chapter 12). At the time of writing this chapter, it has not been finally decided exactly what will be done and a number of questions are being addressed.

Figure 7.10 Hinemihi with Ngäti Ranana at the Kohanga Reo Hangi, 2003 (photo: Dean Sully).

148

Dean Sully and Alan Gallop

For example, should she have a new roof to replace Mr Draper’s English thatch? Should she have a floor fitted (she never had one)? Should she be equipped with electricity for heating and lighting? Other questions include whether to commission new woven panels for her interior and extend the wharenui to its original length (she is about one-third shorter at Clandon Park than she was at Te Wairoa). Or should she be left as she is, or presented to reflect a previous state such as she was in back in 1886 before Mount Tarawera attempted to destroy her, or as she was when she first arrived at Clandon Park in 1892, or one of the other past configurations of her time at Clandon Park? Many questions create many different potential ways forward, and the Hinemihi Project Group hope to address some of these in the next few years.

Conclusions Hinemihi o te Ao Tawhito—Hinemihi of the Old World, conceived as an expression of tribal identity for Ngäti Hinemihi—has undergone many transitions in her 127 years from Hinemihi of the Golden Eyes, to a place of sanctuary and a survivor of the Tarawera eruption, as a burial ground, a souvenir, a summerhouse, a nurse, a garden store, an image on a banknote, a goat-house, a children’s playhouse, almost a nightclub, a National Trust property, a Grade II listed building, a meeting house for Ngäti Ranana (London Maori Club), a Maori ambassador, and, increasingly, the focus of a cross-cultural partnership between Maori and The National Trust that will, it is hoped, see her transformed into an active marae and a cultural centre for Maori activities in the United Kingdom.

Note 1. Wharenui embody the ancestors of their iwi (tribal groupings) and therefore are referred to as individuals; Hinemihi, as a female, is referred to as ‘her’.

8 THE NATIONAL TRUST AND HINEMIHI AT CLANDON PARK Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

Conservation in The National Trust Katy Lithgow The National Trust (NT) looks after special places forever, for everyone (The National Trust 2004b, p. 5). The National Trust is Europe’s largest conservation charity and manages 28 castles, 215 houses and gardens, 149 registered museums, 127 factories and mines, 57 villages, 47 dovecotes, 25 medieval barns, 78 mills, 19 pubs, 12 lighthouses, 31 nature reserves, 704 miles of coastline and 600,0000 acres of countryside across England, Wales, and Northern Ireland. 3.5 million members (three times the combined membership of all political parties in the UK and more than the total population of New Zealand), 40,000 volunteers, millions of visitors, and thousands of donors, benefactors, and tenants sustain the work of the National Trust. (The National Trust 2007)

The NT was founded in 1895 to promote ‘the permanent preservation for the benefit of the nation of lands and tenements (including buildings) of beauty or historic interest’.1 By the 1970s, the NT had embraced the discipline of conservation into its work. This is reflected in the appointment of professional conservation advisers who cover the full range of its conservation 149

150

Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

activities—from archaeology to agriculture, bats to buildings, collections to coastline. The first publicly accessible document demonstrating this approach was The National Trust Manual of Housekeeping, first published in 1984, which attempted to blend the best of traditional historic practice with modern conservation science (Sandwith & Stainton 1984). By the 21st century, the NT, in addition to the preservation of physical material, had interwoven the revelation of meaning and provision of access into its approach to conservation. This reflects the increasing emphasis of conservation management planning in establishing the significance of what is to be conserved. This involves capturing the essence of or ‘the spirit of place’ through establishing both the tangible (material) and intangible (appreciable by senses other than touch or sight) aspects of a place, a building, or a collection. The statement of these qualities becomes the benchmark by which actions can be judged, and assess how they can be best implemented. The statement should itself be revised to ensure that it captures changing notions of significance resulting from specialist research and changing social values.

Inalienability One of the strengths of the NT as a conservation charity lies in its ability to declare land ‘inalienable’, conferred by an act of Parliament in 1907. Land that the Trust chooses to designate ‘inalienable’ can become alienable only by further acts of Parliament, providing a great degree of protection against social change (see chapter 11). In addition, properties may be given statutory protection through Listed Building Control,2 or from their location in conservation areas, registered gardens and parks, areas of outstanding natural beauty, national parks, sites (areas) of special scientific interest, or sites of nature conservation interest. Buildings that are protected by listed building legislation, require Planning and Building Regulation permissions and Scheduled Monument Consent and Listed Building Consent before repairs and alterations can be carried out. The care of ‘contents’ is protected by the museum and conservation ethics associated with the Trust’s status as an accredited museum authority.3 Thus, all the elements that make up a ‘property’ can be acquired and managed as a complete assemblage by the NT, which enables these elements to be preserved in context. The Trust’s ongoing acquisition and conservation activities enable it to incorporate evolving perceptions of what is ‘important’ and ‘beautiful’ into its care of current properties.

The National Trust and Hinemihi at Clandon Park

151

In 2003, the Trust defined conservation as a process and an approach that enables ‘the careful management of change’.4 According to the NT, conservation ‘is about revealing and sharing the significance of places and ensuring that their special qualities are protected, enhanced, understood, and enjoyed by present and future generations. Conservation, therefore, is seen as a dynamic, not static activity’ (The National Trust 2006). This definition recognises not only the changing nature of cultural values, which can alter what is perceived to be significant and worth conserving, but also the futility of attempting to stop change occurring. Today, two centuries since its foundation, the Trust lays particular emphasis on the active verb in the 1907 act: ‘to promote’ permanent preservation. This justifies the Trust’s campaigning actions, tackling issues that fall outside its geographical boundaries but affect the preservation of its own properties, such as the broader environment issues and impacts on the surrounding communities. The role of conservation planning in the development of agreed ways of managing these issues with all stakeholders is fundamental to the success of the Trust’s work in preserving its properties (Heritage Lottery Fund 2005). Conservation planning can be a lengthy and often costly approach, but it is of particular value for properties facing change. As a campaigning organisation, the NT promotes the social value of cultural heritage. It has called on government to recognise the importance of the historic environment, seeing it as a catalyst for social and economic change (The National Trust 2002, 2004a). In promoting the involvement of local communities in the life of its properties, the NT recognises the need for collaboration to enable desired social benefits and recognises that this involves ‘responding to other people’s interests rather than telling them what we think they ought to know’ (The National Trust 2004c, p. 2). The NT states that it will not glamourise or sanitise history but is ‘ready to explore unfamiliar or uncomfortable history in new ways … how this historical injustice relates to poverty and social inequality today’ (The National Trust 2004a, p. 22). In line with the idea of ‘stirring our consciences’, it acknowledges that ‘deepening our understanding of the past requires more than just opening the doors of these properties to the public, it involves a constant dialogue with those who want to be involved in our work’ (The National Trust 2004a, p. 23). This type of engagement is implicit in the Trust’s current (2007–2010) strategy in moving from a commercial relationship between its members, and visitors, as consumers, to a relationship that focuses on the needs of its supporters to inspire their long-term support for the aims of the NT. Their views about what is necessary to conserve its properties are as significant as those of the NT’s management.

152

Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

Although the measures of success for this strategic aim currently reflect conventional visitor and member statistics, the Trust is developing a ‘triple bottom line’ approach to enable conservation and social benefits to be assessed in its activities as well as financial benefits.5 Journeys such as those made by the staff and Maori community on what is to be done with Hinemihi have the potential to demonstrate this principle of engagement more fully than mere numbers. Since Hinemihi was acquired by the NT in 1956 as part of Clandon Park, this period of its ownership has mirrored evolving perceptions of conservation and preservation. An original focus on the material elements of her structure that produced reports on the roof, and conservation of the physical fabric led to drafting a statement of significance in consultation with all those interested in her and an ambition to embed the cultural activities for which she is a nexus into future plans for her conservation. How well classic conservation goals are transformed into conservation as a means of delivering social benefit, something that has always been at the heart of the Trust’s purpose, will be a measure of its overall success.

Hinemihi at Clandon Park Julie DeLong Lawlor Clandon Park came into the ownership of the NT in 1956 when Gwendolen, Countess of Iveagh, purchased the property from her nephew, the 6th Earl of Onslow, and subsequently donated it to the NT. The Countess of Iveagh was the daughter of the 4th Earl of Onslow, whose stint as governor of New Zealand led to Hinemihi’s arrival at Clandon Park (Chessum & Rowell 2002).

Statement of Significance As part of its conservation management process, the NT prepares a statement of significance for all of its properties, which provides the first step towards preparing a property management plan. The purpose of the statement of significance is to identify in one or two pages the features that are unique to the property and most significant in the wider world. These are the features that define the property’s spirit, and what makes it special. Although there is often a whole list of things that have become associated with a property over time, the spirit of the property is usually reflected in a few areas of primary significance, complimented by a few areas of secondary significance. For example, Clandon Park’s statement of significance focuses on the Palladian

The National Trust and Hinemihi at Clandon Park

153

mansion, the Onslow family who built Clandon and lived there, and Hinemihi (see Figure 8.1). Although Hinemihi is reflected in Clandon Park’s overall statement of significance, she is of sufficient importance to require a statement of significance of her own. The NT’s current approach to Hinemihi can best be described by considering the statement of significance, which was prepared in 2005 and finalised in 2006. Extracts of this are listed below; some details, such as Hinemihi’s construction in New Zealand and the involvement of the Maori community, have been dealt with in other chapters in this book so have not been repeated here. Since Hinemihi has not been in New Zealand since 1892, she has not evolved in the way that New Zealand meeting houses have evolved. Hinemihi’s unusual journey has made her a survivor, one that reflects Maori cultural struggle and also acts as a memorial to those who created her, sheltered in her, and their living descendants. Although Hinemihi is now a long way from her original home, to descendants of Ngati Hinemihi she remains a cultural expression that celebrates creation, history, whakapapa (genealogy), kinship, and tribal identity. Because Hinemihi is a living being, she possesses wairua, the

Figure 8.1 The Palladian mansion at Clandon Park viewed from Hinemihi (photo: Dean Sully).

154

Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

spirit or essence of being of her descendants and creators; mauri, a life force and the power of creation from the Gods; and mana, ancestral power, prestige, and status. These characteristics require interaction with humans to maintain them or bring them to life. The reciting of whakapapa and the performance of korero (oratory), speech, and narratives associated with the ancestors, occur on the marae (gathering place), in front or inside Hinemihi. With Ngati Hinemihi so far away, the London-based Maori group Ngati Ranana has been invited by Ngati Hinemihi to participate in the kaitiakitanga (guardianship) of Hinemihi, to ensure that Hinemihi maintains her essential, living link with Maori people. The annual hangi (earth oven) put on by the Maori language school Kohanga Reo, is an opportunity for Maori people to interact with Hinemihi, and for nonMaori to gain a better understanding of Hinemihi and of Maori culture. As such, Hinemihi is also an ambassador for the NT and for the local Maori community, linking the histories of New Zealand and the United Kingdom, particularly in terms of the Onslow family’s connection to New Zealand. Hinemihi is many things to many people, a whare tupuna (ancestral house), a whare runanga (meeting house), and a whare wananga (house of learning) for UK-based and visiting Maori and an opportunity for visitors to Clandon to appreciate Maori culture and history. Due to her uniqueness and her significance, it is appropriate that Hinemihi continues to develop as a focus for Maori culture in the United Kingdom. (Lawlor 2006)

Hinemihi’s statement of significance developed as a result of a meeting held at Clandon in November 2004, and this meeting was itself the culmination of some investigation work into Hinemihi’s condition. When I first became involved with Hinemihi in 2003, I discovered that a lot of recent attention had been focused on proposals to the NT that Hinemihi’s thatched roof be replaced with a material more in keeping with a Maori meeting house (Gallop 1998, p. 159). The Trust’s response to the proposals was that re-roofing would be considered when the current roof reached the end of its life (D Brock-Doyle 2000, e-mail). However, further investigation was required to determine when the end of the roof’s life might be. Robin Mills, the Trust’s regional building manager for the south-east, suggested that if we were going to look at the roof we should also look at the rest of the building to see if any attention was required elsewhere. The Morton Partnership was commissioned to carry out a structural survey for Hinemihi, which was completed in May 2004. Prior to the survey, Ngati Ranana kuia (elder) Rahera Windsor came to Hinemihi to bless the survey and any work that might follow as a result. The survey indicated that the thatched roof was likely to last a while longer and that Hinemihi was generally in good shape but that some

The National Trust and Hinemihi at Clandon Park

155

minor works were needed that would become major if they weren’t addressed (The Morton Partnership 2004). In addition to the structural survey, Dean Sully’s extensive report on Hinemihi’s physical fabric and considerations for her future conservation was finalised in the summer of 2004 (Sully 2004b). We had a body of information to help guide our consideration of Hinemihi’s future, so it was time to consult with a wider audience. This consultation took the form of a discussion day in November 2004. The Trust’s invitation included Dean Sully, Rosanna Raymond, and Tania Cliffe of Ngati Ranana and Alan Gallop, representing Ngati Hinemihi. We were also very fortunate that Rena Schuster of Ngati Hinemihi happened to be working in Spain at the time and was able to fly to the United Kingdom to attend the meeting. As well as me, the Trust was represented by Surrey Area Manager Steve Walker, Southern Territory Conservator Christine Lachelin, and Sophie Chessum who was the curator with responsibility for Clandon Park. The day started off with a visit to Hinemihi and a karakia (blessing), and the warmth that was generated by these proceedings set the tone for the rest of the day, providing us with an opportunity to share ideas and views. Ngati Ranana was in the unusual position of using a meeting house that belongs to another tribe, and Rosanna and Tania were able to talk freely with Rena about the use of Hinemihi and acceptable protocol. Rena and Alan put forward Ngati Hinemihi’s interest in the further development and modernisation of Hinemihi, whilst still taking on board the curatorial interest in Hinemihi as a unique example of a meeting house from the 1880s. There were two major outcomes from the discussion day. The first was that the minor works to Hinemihi, which included replacing the decayed soleplate on her east side, replacing parts of her elm cladding, and replacing the rodent mesh could go ahead, but that I would send around the specification in advance. The second outcome was an agreement to create the statement of significance, which everyone agreed was the necessary foundation document on which we could base plans for Hinemihi’s future. The statement of significance was finalised in September 2006 at the next project group meeting of Hinemihi. Some of the faces around the table had changed since 2004, including the attendance of James Schuster in place of Rena Schuster, and the intention was still very much to press on and discuss the vision for Hinemihi’s future (see Figure 8.2). There was strong support at the meeting for changes to be made to Hinemihi, to sensitively update her for the 21st century so that she could be used more both by Maori and by people interested in learning more about Hinemihi and about Maori culture. As a result, the NT has started a

156

Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

Figure 8.2 A dialogue between Julie Lawlor (National Trust property manager at Clandon Park) and James Schuster (Ngäti Hinemihi and New Zealand Historic Places Trust Conservator) (photo: Dean Sully).

dialogue both with English Heritage and the local planning authority to ensure that these bodies are involved in the consultation process from the beginning of any proposed development. The Hinemihi project continues to gain momentum. A further meeting, including a teleconference with New Zealand to include James, Bob, and Cathy Schuster, took place in June 2007. The project group has subsequently been going through the process of designing a brief for architectural involvement, with an eye to fundraising. There are still a lot of issues to be discussed and determined, but there is so much enthusiasm that I have great hopes for Hinemihi’s future. The Trust’s current approach to Hinemihi is that we cannot contemplate Hinemihi’s future without what is essentially a partnership arrangement with Ngati Ranana and Ngati Hinemihi. We need Ngati Hinemihi’s expertise to advise us on the Maori approach to conservation and to guide us as the tribe from whom Hinemihi has come. As for Ngati Ranana, the Trust’s interest in seeing Hinemihi ‘develop as a focus for Maori culture in the United Kingdom’ can not happen without the support and participation of Ngati Ranana. An increase in the use of Hinemihi by Maori people can only be linked to further involvement by Ngati Ranana (see Figure 8.3).

The National Trust and Hinemihi at Clandon Park

157

Figure 8.3 Maramara Totara taiaha (long-handled weapon) training sessions at Clandon Park during the Hinemihi maintenance days, June 2006 (photo: Ulrike Sommer).

The NT is a guardian of Hinemihi. This came home to me loudly and clearly when I was officially welcomed to Hinemihi by Ngati Ranana at a powhiri (ceremonial welcome) in November 2003. John Tapiata, a member of Ngati Hinemihi, carried out the challenge in traditional costume (including bare feet) despite the cold, pouring rain (see Figure 8.4). Because the weather was so bad, we all gathered within Hinemihi rather

Figure 8.4 Hinemihi during the welcoming ceremony, 29 November 2003 (photo: Dean Sully).

158

Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

than the open marae in front of her, sharing the speeches and songs in Maori and English, culminating in the hongi (sharing breath), and then sharing of food, or hakari, back inside Clandon House. I had never witnessed a Maori powhiri before, and this formal welcome demonstrated to me that Hinemihi was not an insignificant building in the grounds of Clandon Park but an important building— and personage—in her own right. I realised that not just The National Trust but also that I personally had a particular responsibility for Hinemihi. This was further demonstrated to me during the hakari when John Tapiata presented me with a replica patu (short hand-held weapon). This small club is now on display in my office and reminds me that whilst I work at Clandon Park, I am privileged to be a guardian for Hinemihi. Over the years, requests for the repatriation of Hinemihi have come up, although not recently. However, feelings still run high on this subject. During my welcome, Alan Gallop told the story of how Hinemihi left New Zealand and came to live at Clandon. One of the members of Ngati Ranana took exception to some of his words and said so, as she felt that Alan’s tale did not accurately represent how Hinemihi was taken from New Zealand. At the end of this exchange, the elder Rahera Windsor spoke. She said (in Maori, which was translated for my benefit), ‘Listen, all of you. Hinemihi has a passport to be here. She has a passport. Do you hear me?’ and everyone said ‘Yes, Kuia.’ It is on the basis of this understanding that we move forward with Hinemihi’s future.

Notes 1. This is taken from Section 4.1 of The National Trust Act, 1907: ‘The National Trust shall be established for the purpose of promoting the permanent preservation for the benefit of the nation of lands and tenements (including buildings) of beauty or historic interest and as regards lands for the preservation (so far as is practicable) of their natural aspect, features and animal and plant life)’. 2. ‘Property’ in The National Trust is used to describe a management unit. The property may comprise owned land or leased-in land, land with no legal rights but under a management agreement, covenanted land, land with only the rights (eg mineral) owned by the Trust, a mixture, or just one of these, and all the buildings and other attributes on the land. It can have open or restricted public access; it can be used for operational purposes such as a shop or office, or simply tenanted. It will cover land that The National Trust does not manage, but that is covenanted or that the Trust owns rights over, or land that the Trust agrees others should manage such as highways authorities. ‘Property’ includes land that the Trust has some rights over but

The National Trust and Hinemihi at Clandon Park

159

not title absolute, such as that between high and low water mark. All land that the Trust has a legal interest in will be part of a property. 3. ‘Contents’ refers to all movable objects in a house, although the term is extended to includes fixtures and fittings of sufficient significance to merit their own inventory record, such as particularly beautiful or important fireplaces and staircases, or important elements of historic house technology. 4. This definition, drawn up by The National Trust Conservation Directorate, goes on to define conservation as being ‘about revealing and sharing the significance of places and ensuring that their special qualities are protected, enhanced, understood and enjoyed by present and future generations’. 5. The triple bottom line is an approach that enables conservation and social benefits to be factored into management decisions as well as financial costs. A pilot project is currently underway to determine the methodology of applying this approach and to test the appetite for it.

160

Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow

9 HINEMIHI AND THE LONDON MÄORI COMMUNITY Karl Burrows

My First Visit to Hinemihi I came to London in 2000 with my wife Kateia and our two-year-old daughter Kimiora. We had only come for a short time, to make some money, see a bit of Europe, and then return to New Zealand. When we first came to the United Kingdom, it was not a priority for us to be involved in Mäori kaupapa (Mäori issues/activities) as this was something we could do at home at any time. However, it wasn’t long before we came to Ngäti Ranana (London Mäori Club), to seek Mäori companionship and sing again the songs of home. Not long after that, we were standing before Hinemihi. On a summer’s day, we ventured out of the bustle of London and into the English countryside to attend the annual Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana (the London Mäori language school for children) hangi (earth oven) celebration at Clandon Park. Here, a few hundred of us had gathered in front of Hinemihi on the far side of the marae atea (open space in front of a meeting house). Under Hinemihi’s shelter, members of the Ngäti Ranana and the parents and children of Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana prepared to welcome us. Our group gathered and a karakia (chant) was said to give protection and prepare everyone for moving on to the domain of Tumatauenga (the God of war). Although a physical 161

162

Karl Burrows

confrontation is an unlikely occurrence at Mäori welcomes in presentday times, with the heavens being opened and the dead being invited to be amongst us there is a spiritual encounter being played out at a higher level. There is a need to do things correctly to ensure that any harm from this other world does not spill into our own. We waited in silence for the karanga (ceremonial welcome call), the call to bring us onto the sacred marae (ceremonial ground) (see Figure 9.1). The kuia (female elder) Rahera called out to us to come, and we approached slowly in anticipation and with calm caution. We paused a while on the marae, and in that moment links and connections were rekindled as we remembered those who have passed on. As someone who has no Te Arawa whakapapa (genealogical link to the Te Arawa tribe to which Ngäti Hinemihi are descended), I was suddenly reminded of my ancestors and old connections; Kapua Keepa from the Ngäti Tuwharetoa tribe who raised my tauheke (elders) in the upper reaches of the Waitara and Whanganui rivers when our hapü (subtribe) were followers of the prophet Te Kere Ngataierua. They, and other ancestors, are called upon and invited to be with us as we make our next steps.

Figure 9.1 Ngäti Ranana and Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana welcoming visitors onto the marae during the powhiri at the Kohanga Reo hangi at Hinemihi, June 2003 (photo: Dean Sully).

Hinemihi and the London Mäori Community

163

The ancient haka powhiri (traditional welcome) chant ‘Toia Mai’ starts, and we, the visitors, are called to come closer. Hinemihi welcomes us. She stands at the end of an expanse of garden lawn facing the mansion at Clandon Park, shrouded by giant oak trees. She is a small whare (house), at least by today’s standards, but well adorned with bold deep carvings and painted barge boards. She has a thatched roof, something you would not see at home, thick and dark, swallowing the tekoteko (gable carved figure), so only the top of its head is visible above the roofline. Hinemihi stands proud, welcoming her mokopuna (descendants) and the many visitors who come to visit that day. Formal speeches of welcome followed, and we responded with acknowledgments to all, including Hinemihi, the house that binds us all and protects and shelters us. Final songs are shared and then we come together, shaking hands, pressing noses, and sharing hugs, kisses, and the breath of life, to become one at last. On that day in 2000, it was the karanga of Hinemihi that drew us all together for a day to celebrate our culture, support our children, and celebrate Hinemihi. Yet, sitting there, looking at the ancestral house, such a contrast to her surroundings, her form stark against the unfamiliar background of an English garden, I could not help but wonder why she was here. Proud on a day like this, but tomorrow, and most other days, Hinemihi is lonely, longing for the voices and warmth of her descendants, her people. She stands bereft, in need of her people to bring her alive again. She should be back at home, I thought, not in this strange place where she is not understood or cared for.

Maöri in the United Kingdom Mäori have been coming to the United Kingdom for a long time now. Hongi Hika, the renowned Ngapuhi rangatira (a leader of the Ngapuhi people), was one of the first when in 1820, he came to England, met with local royalty, and helped compile the first Mäori dictionary (McLintock 2006). In 1863, two separate Mäori performing troupes toured the United Kingdom and both were in London in the summer of that year (McLean 1996). At the end of the 19th century, Hinemihi, purchased by Lord Onslow, made her way across to this side of the world and was rebuilt on his family estate in Surrey, England. The 20th century saw more Mäori arrive on these shores, and, like Hinemihi, some settled in the country long term. Maggie Papakura, a well-known figure of the time, led a Te Arawa performing troupe to Australia and the United Kingdom in 1911, reacquainted herself with a local native Englishman whom she had met in New Zealand and whom she married, finally settling in Oxford where she still lies today (Walrond 2007). Many Mäori soldiers came to the United Kingdom

164

Karl Burrows

during war times; some married local women and stayed on, the majority returned to Aotearoa (New Zealand). Mäori Pioneer Battalion soldiers of World War I, recovering at the hospitals in the Guildford area, were able to visit Hinemihi during their stay and were responsible for some of her repairs at the time (Gallop 1998, p. 110). After World War II, with the increase in ease of global travel, it has become a tradition for many New Zealanders to go to the United Kingdom for a couple of years, to work and travel on the big “OE” (Overseas Experience). Mäori have not been shy in joining them. Today’s London Mäori community is small but significant in terms of playing an important role in representing Mäori culture and New Zealand on this side of the world. The general view is that most Mäori who come to London are young people who come here on short-term visas to work and travel, and to a large extent this is true (Burrows 2006). However, an increasing number also come and stay longer, usually as professional workers such as teachers, lawyers, accountants, or IT consultants, to follow careers and gain valuable overseas work experience. A significant number of Mäori have married locally; some have bought property and raised families in the United Kingdom. There are also some Mäori who have lived here most, if not all of their lives, some now kaumatua (elders), and others who are second- or thirdgeneration British citizens. ‘Te Ara’, the New Zealand government website, estimates that there are approximately 8,000 Mäori living in the United Kingdom (Walrond 2007). Although not giving a figure for London, one would think that most of them live in the UK’s capital city, the traditional stopping-off point for New Zealanders coming to this part of the world. For nearly fifty years now, the Ngäti Ranana London Mäori club has been a place where Mäori, New Zealanders, and others come to meet, socialise, haka (posture dance), and sing. It is a place where Mäori can be amongst their own, speak te reo (the Mäori language), welcome visitors in accordance with time-honoured practices, and practice their performing arts and culture. Ngäti Ranana are often called upon as ambassadors for Mäoridom and New Zealand and, much like Hinemihi, represent the Mäori face of New Zealand to the people of the United Kingdom and Europe. As demographics have changed and numbers increased, new Mäori organisations or groups have emerged in response to the desire to practice culture and pass on knowledge in more specialised or specific ways. Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana was set up to teach children the Mäori language and in 2007 is in its tenth year of operation (Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana 2007). In 2003, Maramara Totara (the London Mäori weaponry school) that operates under Te Whare Tu Taua (the National

Hinemihi and the London Mäori Community

165

School of Ancient Weaponry) was formed. Matariki, a whanau(family-) based group in East London, was started by Pania Rose and Ben Ward in 2000. They run a Kohanga Reo for their tamariki (children) and a traditional Mäori performing group. Manaia is a professional performing group that has been based in London since 2004. Generally, these groups continue to have a very close affiliation to Ngäti Ranana.

The London Mäori Community and Hinemihi Over time, the London Mäori community has built strong links with Hinemihi. Since I have been here, many have made the journey into Surrey and, in the absence of Ngäti Hinemihi, taken up the role of welcoming visitors with powhiri, whaikorero (welcome speeches), song, and food. Once a year, Kohanga Reo holds an annual fundraiser where food is prepared in a traditional manner and hundreds of guests are fed and entertained. Whenever important guests or students or community groups wish to visit and learn about Hinemihi and Mäori culture, members of the London Mäori community will come. Over the last few years, many have come to help Dean Sully and his students from University College London Institute of Archaeology in cleaning and preparing Hinemihi before the annual hangi fundraiser (see Figure 9.2). In 2006 and 2007, Maramara Totara held a series of taiaha (long-handled hand combat weapon) training sessions on the grounds in front of Hinemihi, something they intend to do on a yearly basis (see Figure 9.3).

Figure 9.2 Ngäti Ranana performing during the Kohanga Reo Hangi at Hinemihi, June 2006 (photo: Scott Boswell).

166

Karl Burrows

Figure 9.3 Maramara Totara taiaha (long-handled weapon) training sessions in front of Hinemihi during the Hinemihi maintenance days, June 2006 (photo: Dean Sully).

Te Arawa people living in London have an ancestral link with Hinemihi. Ana Morrison and Greg Lacey, both from Rotorua, were asked by their elders to visit Hinemihi, which they did soon after arriving in 2006 (G Lacey 2007, pers. comm.). Maina Thompson is Ngäti Hinemihi, a Kohanga mother of two who has lived in the United Kingdom for over ten years. She goes to Hinemihi whenever she can to welcome visitors or to take relations to visit (M Thompson 2007, pers. comm.). Yet, although there are these strong links, with the exception of some Te Arawa whanau, the moments when Hinemihi and the London Mäori community connect are few and usually brief. There are a number of reasons for this. One factor is lack of time available in the busy schedule of the London Mäori community groups and the difficulty in getting out to Clandon Park. Public transport gets you most of the way to Hinemihi, but you need to walk twenty minutes from the train station if you do not have a car. Another factor is the climate. As there is no lighting or heating inside Hinemihi and there is a dirt floor and the building is not well sealed, people tend to visit only in the warmer summer months. There are also issues relating to access. Hinemihi is on National Trust property, and visitors need to get permission to get on to the property to visit Hinemihi or pay the required entrance fee. There is an informal arrangement whereby visitors to Hinemihi are not required to pay, but in practice visitors can be denied access and there seems to be an inconsistent approach and attitude to those who want to visit Hinemihi, rather than as a National Trust visitor to Clandon Park. A further factor is that a significant proportion of Mäori who come to the United Kingdom are young and transient. In general, Mäori come

Hinemihi and the London Mäori Community

167

expecting to experience Europe, not necessarily to involve themselves in kaupapa Mäori, and if so, usually only at a social or performing level. Matters associated with tikanga (customs and protocols) are for home, for Aotearoa, the preserve of elders. In general, the Mäori visitor to the United Kingdom does not expect to encounter them here in the land of the coloniser, let alone be responsible for implementing them. Therefore, for some at least, there is a reticence to being involved in Hinemihi unless there is strong support from the wider Mäori community. With people staying longer and settling in London, and many feeling the need to find more meaningful ways to express themselves, in what is quite a soul-less city for Mäori, Hinemihi provides an opportunity available to few outside of Aotearoa. At home, the wharenui (meeting house) is the pou herenga, the post to which all are bound and connected. It is where the community gathers for meetings, funerals, weddings, family reunions, and celebrations. It is where visitors are welcomed and people reinforce their links through whakapapa and through ancestors. Having Hinemihi with us means we can karakia, haka, and welcome visitors to a wharenui as we would at home and our words do not simply bounce off concrete walls but are absorbed, given meaning, and given body through Hinemihi’s presence.

Involving London Mäori Community in Hinemihi’s Future Currently, there is a Hinemihi project group that meets occasionally to discuss issues relating to Hinemihi, particularly those regarding her upgrade, renovation, and future. The working group consists of representatives from The National Trust, the London Mäori community, Ngäti Hinemihi, and a number of others who have a keen interest in Hinemihi’s welfare. Ngäti Ranana and Kohanga Reo members attend as representatives of the London Mäori community. Proposals on the table to renovate Hinemihi include an extension, new floor, heating and lighting, and a new roof. Improvements are certainly needed to make Hinemihi more accessible for public use. For the London Mäori community, such upgrades will mean Hinemihi could then be used for waananga (learning sessions) for the teaching of the Mäori language, waiata (song), haka, taiaha, raaranga (weaving), and other Mäori traditions, arts, and crafts. It would certainly lead to an increased involvement and connection of the Mäori community and give us a more engaging and meaningful way to practice our culture. With the planned structural changes to Hinemihi, there is increased opportunity for the community to operate a wharenui in a fashion like at home and educate people about Aotearoa and Mäori people and

168

Karl Burrows

culture and for Hinemihi to continue to connect people (see Figure 9.4). There is no reason why other communities such as Pacific Island and New Zealand groups and, indeed, any community group could not use Hinemihi. In Chicago, The Field Museum is encouraging local ethnic groups to use Ruatepupuke II for community meetings, dispute resolution, and other community purposes seeking inspiration from the wharenui and Mäori culture as a way to engage communities (Terrell 2005). Hinemihi could be used by schools or other community groups for similar purposes. The Mäori community certainly has the good will to see that the most is made of this opportunity. However, to what extent can the London Mäori community commit to support Hinemihi, particularly now that plans are underway to implement structural improvements? Increased support would mean being proactive in using Hinemihi for cultural and community activities, as ‘the more she is used, the more warm she becomes’ (R Schuster, 2004, pers. comm.). As previously stated, commitment to such responsibility is not always possible considering that the London Mäori community is a relatively transient community. Commitment ultimately depends on the availability, skills, and personal circumstances of the various individuals involved in the community (J Kirk 2007, pers. comm.). Yet this is to be expected in any organisation that relies on people voluntarily committing their time and resources.

Figure 9.4 The Kirk whanau christening service at Hinemihi. Conducted by Rev Barry Olson at Kohanga Reo Hangi, June 2003 (photo: Dean Sully).

Hinemihi and the London Mäori Community

169

As Hinemihi is renovated and facilities are provided so that she can be used in a more practical manner, this will provide the foundation and incentive for more community involvement (R Raymond 6 June 2007, pers. comm.).

Kaitiakitanga (Guardianship) and the Role of the London Mäori Community Kaitiakitanga is a Mäori concept with roots deep in our culture and tradition and doesn’t immediately translate into modern-day usage. Traditionally, it refers to the role of guardians who protect a whanau or iwi (descent group) from harm or misfortune. A kaitiaki may be a certain bird, insect, fish, or animal that appears from time to time to act as a guide or communicate messages from the spirit world to the living. Sometimes it may be a taniwha or other spiritual guardian. My ancestor Maruwharanui, for example, manifested as a taniwha and roams the Waitara River as our kaitiaki. Today, people are also referred to as kaitiaki, particularly those who take an active role in protecting the mauri (life force) of resources such as marae, rivers and streams, burial grounds, reefs for collecting maataitai (seafood), and other places of traditional significance. Kaitiakitanga in this sense is the preserve of the local hapü, the people who have an ancestral connection to the land, the mountains, sea, and rivers through whakapapa, and it is their obligation to protect these places for the benefit of future generations, just as their ancestors had done. The role of kaitiaki for a wharenui will rest with people who belong to that house. The kaitiaki of Hinemihi are Ngäti Hinemihi. However, with Hinemihi being out of her tribal area, away from Ngäti Hinemihi and on the other side of the world, certain roles of kaitiakitanga have been undertaken by those present in London, namely The National Trust, the London Mäori community, and a number of individuals who have an interest in Hinemihi’s welfare. Whilst taking up these roles does not mean that these people or groups are kaitiaki of Hinemihi (as this rests with Ngäti Hinemihi and is something that can only be conferred by them), it does highlight several issues for Ngäti Hinemihi and the London Mäori community. As members of Ngäti Ranana have commented, ‘Ngäti Ranana is in the unusual situation of looking after a meeting house that isn’t necessarily from the tribe of any of its members’ (T Cliff & R Raymond 21 November 2004, minutes). What, then, are the roles undertaken by the London Mäori community and what are the issues that arise as a result? Principally, the roles undertaken involve welcoming visitors in accordance with tikanga. The powhiri is a ritual that engages participants in both a

170

Karl Burrows

physical and spiritual encounter. It must be done properly as mistakes can, in some cases, have profound implications for those involved. Welcoming visitors in a befitting manner requires a good grasp of the Mäori language, maturity, experience, and a strong working knowledge of customs, protocols, and restrictions. It is certainly not a responsibility that can be undertaken lightly and doing it properly ensures that the safety and spiritual health of the participants remains intact. At home, particularly on marae, running powhiri is usually the preserve of the elders. Younger people learn by watching, observing, and participat-ing and are not expected to take responsibility for powhiri until they are much older. The London Mäori community does not always have people available who can conduct powhiri in a befitting manner. As a result, these responsibilities are often taken up by younger people without the presence and support of their elders. Whilst the London Mäori community takes its role seriously and seeks to uphold the mana (prestige) of the occasion and Hinemihi, in some instances compromises are made because of a lack of skilled people. Recent powhiri at Hinemihi, for example, has seen speakers use the English language when welcoming guests and being conducted in a manner that demonstrated unfamiliarity with the process. Another difficulty of marae kawa (the protocols and restrictions that apply to activities on the marae) is that they are different for each tribal area. The kawa of Hinemihi is based on tauutuutu, a term that describes the manner in which priority is given to different speakers during powhiri. The London Mäori community is pan-tribal and its members come from all over Aotearoa. Many may only be familiar with the marae kawa from their own area or where they were brought up. There are also occasions when visitors are not able or lack the respect to respond appropriately. In 2004, a high school group of Mäori students and their teacher from New Zealand visiting the United Kingdom asked to visit Hinemihi. As this was a large group of young people, some of whom were from Te Arawa and had come all the way from New Zealand, Ngäti Ranana saw it as an important occasion to support. A small group of Ngäti Ranana members were able to take time off work to go to Hinemihi to welcome the visitors properly. The manuhiri (visitors) prepared themselves, wearing traditional piupiu (woven flax kilts) and the males carried taiaha. During the powhiri, following the karanga, the manuhiri (visitors) came on to the marae atea, the young men with their weaponry taking the lead. But instead of stopping to take their place on the paepae (the designated area for guests and their speakers to gather), the boys continued straight over the marae atea, past the paepae and, with weapons in hand, walked straight into the wharenui.

Hinemihi and the London Mäori Community

171

For those Ngäti Ranana members present, this was an unnerving experience. To break it down to its barest bones, Ngäti Ranana had opened the doors of Hinemihi to the visitors, but instead of acknowledging Ngäti Ranana, the visitors walked straight past them into the house with weapons in hand. In my view, it was disrespectful and inappropriate to use young people for this; they were probably unaware of the implications of their actions and were following the instructions of their leadership. It was wrong, in my view, to bring weapons inside a wharenui in such circumstances, invoking Tumatauenga, the God of war inside the whare, the domain of Rongo, God of peace. Ngäti Ranana’s response was to ask the visitors to return outside, welcome them, and return their koha (reciprocal gift). This is quite a dramatic example, but it highlights the difficulties that face the Mäori community in the United Kingdom in undertaking these roles. This would not have been attempted at home. The individuals from Ngäti Ranana in this instance were not inept in Mäori protocol or Mäori language, in fact, quite the opposite was true; nor did they lack confidence in their roles. I have made contact with them and asked for the view of the leadership from the school but have not received a response, and it would not be appropriate to surmise their reasons for taking this approach to the welcome. The best way to overcome such issues is for the London Mäori community to continue building its relationship with Ngäti Hinemihi so that common issues such as kaitiakitanga, tikanga, and kawa can be discussed. The relationship of Ngäti Ranana and Ngäti Hinemihi has developed over time but has depended on key individuals within the Ngäti Ranana community. ‘In the past, the relationship with Ngäti Hinemihi has been well defined … Rahera Windsor provided leadership and John Tapiata has provided a family connection with Ngäti Hinemihi. This link has been disrupted with Rahera’s loss and John’s return to New Zealand’ (Cliff & Raymond 2004). Although Rahera, a long-time London resident and elder for the London Mäori community, is no longer with us, there is a strong desire to maintain and strengthen the ties Ngäti Ranana has with Ngäti Hinemihi, and a number of individuals have stepped forward to take on some of the responsibility. Ngäti Ranana’s members have described their role as the ‘local people to support Ngäti Hinemihi’ (Cliff & Raymond 2004) and Ngäti Ranana’s participation in certain roles of kaitiakitanga is acknowledged by Ngäti Hinemihi members (J Schuster 2006, pers. comm.). ‘Ngäti Ranana has a role as a home tribe to welcome visitors to Hinemihi to ensure unity, spirituality and that traditions are maintained’ (R Schuster, 2004, pers. comm.).

172

Karl Burrows

For issues such as maintenance and use of Hinemihi, a marae committee should be established with representatives from The National Trust, Ngäti Hinemihi, the London Mäori community through Ngäti Ranana, and others with a keen interest in Hinemihi. The committee should be governed by rules defining their powers and their limitations.

Conclusion Every year since I have been here, the London Mäori community has gotten bigger and stronger and people are prepared to stay longer. The ‘OE’ is becoming the ‘SOS’ (Staying Overseas) (Ansley 2006). As we become more established, there is a need for us to express our cultural identity. Having a wharenui here in the United Kingdom provides us with an opportunity to do this in a manner few outside Aotearoa are able to. With Hinemihi’s proposed renovation, there are exciting possibilities to use her for cultural activities. However, having Hinemihi with us in the absence of Ngäti Hinemihi means we have a responsibility to carry out certain roles of kaitiakitanga (customary guardianship), including visiting Hinemihi, keeping her mauri alive and warm, and carrying out our responsibilities in welcoming guests. Working with Ngäti Hinemihi, with their guidance and support and in conjunction with The National Trust, can only mean better things for all parties, including an increased profile for New Zealand. When I first saw Hinemihi in the grounds of Clandon Park, I thought she was out of place, and shouldn’t be here, that she should be back at home. But then, we were only going to stay for two years. Now, seven years later, we are still here and with three children, one born in St George’s Hospital, Tooting, London. As the London Mäori community establishes itself, I feel sad when I hear of people talking about Hinemihi returning. She is an ambassador for our people and our country and although I do understand sentiments for her return home, she has made living in the United Kingdom a lot easier for all of us. I would like her to stay. I look forward to the time when Ngäti Hinemihi, Ngäti Ranana, and The National Trust are working closely together and Hinemihi is alive again with people as she was intended to be.

POEM: SO WHO INVITED TU? Rosanna Raymond

Figure 9.5 Rosanna Raymond performing at Kohanga Reo Hangi at Hinemihi, June 2007 (photo: Scott Boswell).

174

Rosanna Raymond

I am the house Feeling the cold … my korowai taken from me And I shudder in the grip of this sharp wind Were you not stoking the fires Keeping me warm I was holding fort You holding forth Is the past too harder a task … I ask And I wait as I do … … as I have … … as I will As you have come in your hundreds, thousands Year after year we have shared the air Embraced by the uri of Nga Hau e wha I wait for the karanga to take to the sky Yes, I am there to welcome you … we lament the dead I wait for the whaikorero to start, Yes, you acknowledge me, and I you I wait for the tamariki, they on my paepae Yes, I cry to, for they fill me with pride and hope I wait for the rhythm of the kapahaka … Yes, I can dance along … I know your songs I wait for the smell of the kai to emerge from the ground, Yes, I will eat with you and you with me We feed a need to perpetuate the past and the present And in doing so we bring forth Rongomatane and Papatuanuku So who invited Tu?

10 HINEMIHI AND NGÄTI (TRIBE) HINEMIHI James Schuster

Hinemihi te tapairu (Hinemihi of High-Ranking Birth) Hinemihi, the ancestress and namesake of the Ngäti Hinemihi hapü (sub-tribe), lived around mid-1500 (calculated by allocating twenty-five years to each generation of our family whakapapa). She was a woman of great mana (authority and prestige) partly inherited from her whakapapa descent lines, which traced back to Ngatoroirangi through her grandfather Tarawhai and to Tama te kapua through her grandmother Rangimaikuku. Both Tama te kapua and Ngatoroirangi were prominent ancestors who commanded the Te Arawa waka (Te Arawa canoe) on its journey from Hawaiiki (traditional homeland) to Aotearoa (New Zealand) (see whakapapa in Figure 10.1). Her mana and respect were also attributed to the fact that she had a kaitiaki (guardian spirit) Kataore. All people of her time knew of, and greatly feared Kataore, a guardian being that has been depicted by many carvers as a lizard. Kataore was renowned in the Te Arawa district as a taniwha (monster) that devoured people on their journeys through its territory. Hinemihi, however, was not afraid of Kataore and was able to sit and talk with the kaitiaki. Her tribe thus held her in high regard because of her fearlessness and because to disrespect her might bring the wrath of Kataore upon them. 175

176

James Schuster

Figure 10.1 Whakapapa of Hinemihi showing descent from Ngatoriorangi.

Her mana as ancestress of the Ngäti Hinemihi people led to later giving her name to female descendants. Throughout the whakapapa of Ngäti Tarawhai iwi (tribal grouping) are other women who bear the name Hinemihi, but it is after Hinemihi I of the mid-1500s that the Ngäti Hinemihi and three Hinemihi meeting houses take their name.1

Ngäti Hinemihi te hapü (Ngäti Hinemihi the Sub-Tribe) Ngäti Tarawhai as an iwi (tribe) lived for generations around the shores of Lake Okataina, North Island, New Zealand. Around the mid-1800s, a sept of Ngäti Tarawhai decided to move to Te Wairoa to participate in the flourishing tourist trade occurring there, where they took on the name of Ngäti Hinemihi, after their famous ancestress (Stafford 1967). It was also closer to Moerangi, the so-called lair of Kataore, who had since been killed some generations earlier (calculated by whakapapa timelines) (see Figure 10.2). The Tuhourangi people who already lived in the vicinity were related by whakapapa to the new Ngäti Hinemihi migrants, and land was given to their relatives to settle on and join the tourist trade. Word had gone out to the world via the letters of Reverend Thomas Chapman (who arrived in the Rotorua district in 1835 and was the first pakeha (person of European descent). He viewed the Pink and White Terraces and declared that a ‘magnificent natural wonder of the

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

177

Figure 10.2 Whakapapa of Ngäti Hinemihi showing descent from Tuhourangi.

world’ existed in the thermal lakes district (Stafford 1986). Sir George Grey, colonial governor of New Zealand from 1845–1853, undertook an extensive tour of the emerging ‘sight-seeing’ areas accessible to foreigners around Rotorua, including Lake Tarawera and the silica terraces (Cooper 1851, p. 210, Cory-Pearce 2005, p. 90). Some thirty years later, the visit of Prince Alfred (the son of Queen Victoria) to the Rotorua district in 1870 was said to be a defining moment in the emergence of organised tourism in the region (Stafford 1986, p. 77). Ngäti Hinemihi joined their Tuhourangi relations in the tourism business and became a very affluent sub-tribe as a result. Estimates at the time give the earnings of some Ngäti Hinemihi and Tuhourangi members as being approximately £9000 per annum (Dennan 1968). Income was derived by providing tourists with guides, transport, accommodation, entertainment, food, and souvenirs. Descriptions of the way of life in Te Wairoa are recounted in many journals of early pakeha tourists (Keam 1988). The lifestyle of Ngäti Hinemihi at Te Wairoa changed from that of subsistence living, cultivating, hunting, and gathering to that of earning a living from extracting as much monetary gain as they could from the tourist visitors. Contact with the bad influences of pakeha society—alcohol, tobacco, and disease—had a detrimental effect on Ngäti Hinemihi and Tuhourangi people (Gallop 1998). The Tarawera volcanic eruption of 1886 was described by tribal groups in other areas as ‘a punishment on these two hapü for the errors of their ways’ (Dennan 1968).

Hinemihi te whare tupuna (Hinemihi the Ancestral House) At the request of Aporo Te Wharekaniwha, a chief of Ngäti Hinemihi, Hinemihi the meeting house was commissioned in 1880. Tohunga

178

James Schuster

whakairo (carving expert) Wero Taroi of Ngäti Tarawhai was employed, along with Tene Waitere, one of his students who was living in the area at the time. The house was completed in 1881. In naming the house Hinemihi, she became the first Te Arawa meeting house to bear the name of a woman. In the eyes of many tribal elders, it broke with tribal tradition. Some even predicted that there would be continual troubles for this whare (building) as long as she bore a female name. Ngäti Hinemihi were not put off by the words of other tribal elders, and to this day there are still three wharenui named Hinemihi standing in New Zealand and one in England. These are referred to as: • Hinemihi (I) Hinemihi ki Te Wairoa—now at Clandon Park (see Figure 10.3) (Neich 2001, p. 335). • Hinemihi (II) ki Whakarewarewa, Rotorua (see Figure 10.4) (Neich 2001, p. 64). • Hinemihi (III) ki Ngapuna, Rotorua (see Figure 10.5) (Neich 2001, p. 41). All three houses, however, have had a history of movement and/ or misfortune. Nevertheless, to Ngäti Hinemihi, the wairua (spirit) of their ancestress dwells in each of these houses and her mana is as strong as ever, despite the misfortunes that have befallen them. Thus, for example, although Hinemihi (I) may have been misused in the eyes

Figure 10.3 Hinemihi (I) Hinemihi ki Te Wairoa at Clandon Park, 1995 (photo: James Schuster).

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

Figure 10.4 Hinemihi (II) ki Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, Aotearoa, 2005 (photo: Dean Sully).

Figure 10.5 Hinemihi (III) ki Ngapuna, Rotorua, Aotearoa, 2005 (photo: Stefania Riccini).

179

180

James Schuster

of others,2 she still withstood the forces of nature to shelter her people from the devastation of 10 June 1886, the eruption of Mount Tarawera. Ngäti Hinemihi descendants today hold the wharenui at Clandon Park in the highest regard, as it was the house in which their ancestors survived the eruption. They are currently looking at registering the site where she stood at Te Wairoa as ‘waahi tapu’ under the New Zealand Historic Places Act 1993. Registration under the Historic Places Act puts the site on a national list of significant heritage sites sacred to Mäori. The site is then protected by local government bylaws in their local district plan (Ngäti Hinemihi ki Ngapuna marae trustees 2006, minutes). The site is regarded as being a sacred place, not because people died there, but because people survived there; it is of spiritual significance to them. When the survivors walked out of Hinemihi the day after the eruption, they did not want to go back to the area where so much death and destruction had occurred. They left her almost completely buried under the ash and mud, never to return. The wharenui was only five years old. One of the biggest gatherings at Hinemihi before 10 June 1886 was the tangi (funeral ceremony) for Aporo Te Wharekaniwha. The chief who had commissioned her building died eighteen days before the eruption.

Hinemihi te iwi nekeneke, te whare nekeneke (Hinemihi, a People and a House on the Move) Although other tribal groups thought that the eruption was a punishment on Ngäti Hinemihi and Tuhourangi by the Mäori gods for their abuse and misuse of custom and traditions, they also felt sorry for them, for their loss of family, land, and possessions. Lands were offered to the homeless by hapü not only within the Rotorua district, but in other tribal areas such as Tauranga, Te Puke, Taumarunui, and the Hauraki district. Groups of Ngäti Hinemihi and Tuhourangi took up these offers and resettled away from their devastated homelands of Tarawera and Rotomahana. Restarting their lives in new tribal areas gave Ngäti Hinemihi little time to think about or even consider a return to Te Wairoa. Because of the death and destruction in the area and lack of knowledge about where bodies were located under the mud and ash, the two tribes declared the area an urupa (burial ground) and therefore a waahi tapu (sacred place), and Mäori were not to go there. It was within this waahi tapu that Hinemihi (I) was left still partly buried under the Tarawera volcanic ash and Lake Rotomahana mud. Pakeha relic hunters did not recognise the waahi tapu status of the area

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

181

and carvings from the wharenui started to disappear. Six years after the eruption, from within this waahi tapu and in its derelict condition, the sale of Hinemihi (I) was negotiated and signed off to the governor of New Zealand in 1892. Mika Aporo, son of Aporo Te Wharekaniwha, who had resettled with his family at Ngapuna, returned to the house that had saved his life and sold it to the 4th Earl of Onslow, William Hillier, for £50. He was paid an extra £3 to transport the dismantled carvings to Oxford (Tirau). Like her people six years earlier, Hinemihi (I) was on the move. Mika Aporo believed he was selling off the house to the government and that the carvings were being transported on to Auckland to a museum (The Dominion 17 May 1935). He believed that his people would not return to Te Wairoa and that the house would be better protected in a museum. It will never be known whether he knew that the carvings were going to the governor’s home in England or whether that was purposefully kept from him. At the time, he felt that he was doing the best for Hinemihi, the wharenui, and Ngäti Hinemihi descendants, who were scattered all over the central North Island. Paul Tapsell highlights the foresight of tribal elders during this period in comprehending the role of museums in the noncustomary intergenerational transfer of taonga (heirlooms) (Tapsell 2003, p. 244). Today at Te Wairoa, a hollow impression in the farm paddock marks the site where Hinemihi (I) once stood (see Figure 10.6). It has wild gorse bushes covering parts of it and is not cared for or acknowledged by any road sign or marker post. The grass-covered mounds of ash and mud that once piled up against the walls give evidence of the approximate size of the wharenui, but damage to the mounds by livestock restrict the accuracy of any measurements. Ngäti Hinemihi hopes that in registering the site with the New Zealand Historic Places Trust an archaeological survey will be carried out on the site for the first time.

Hinemihi ki Ngapuna, Hinemihi ki Whakarewarewa I was born in Rotorua in 1951 and raised in Ngapuna. I descend from a family that survived by sheltering in Hinemihi (I) on the night of the eruption. When they walked out the next day with the few possessions they had left, they, along with many other families, chose Ngapuna as the land where they would resettle. The land at Ngapuna was gifted by Ngäti Hurunga Te Rangi who still live there as well. Tene Waitere, one of the carvers of Hinemihi (I), his wife Ruihi Te Ngahue of Tuhourangi, and their only child Tuhipo Te Rimupae were my great great grandparents and great grandmother. It was at Ngapuna in 1896, ten years after the eruption, that my great grandmother Tuhipo gave birth

182

James Schuster

Figure 10.6 The site where Hinemihi (I) stood at Te Wairoa, Aotearoa (photo: Dean Sully).

to my great aunt Rangitiaria who was to later become a famous guide called Rangi. Three years later, in 1899, my grandmother Ngatai was also born at Ngapuna in the family’s little earth-floor hut. That same year, they moved from Ngapuna to Whakarewarewa, where Tene was employed as carver in residence at the Geyser Hotel. Their new home was a lean-to shelter against the hotel horse stables. My personal knowledge and information regarding Hinemihi and Ngäti Hinemihi has come largely from my two kuia (grandparents), Rangi and Ngatai. I sat in the meeting house listening to their korero (stories), questioning them about Tene the carver, Tene their grandfather, Tene the provider, Kataore the kaitiaki. The history of Mäori people is very much an oral history, and recounting Rangi’s and Ngatai’s stories orally to my children and my grandchildren in the future is my preferred medium. Whilst living at the Geyser Hotel, Tuhipo’s husband Te Mango Ratema, acquired a piece of land nearby through his Ngäti Whakaue tribal connection. On this site, still standing today, is the wharepuni (house mainly for sleeping) that Tene built in 1903 for his family to move into. It was their first home that did not have an earth floor. Also on this site stands a wharenui, called Hinemihi (II), that Tene built and carved in 1927 for his world-famous granddaughter Guide Rangi (Dennan 1968). The family heirlooms that were carried out the day after

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

183

the eruption in 1886 are housed in this Hinemihi (II) and our whanau (family group) are the kaitiaki of them.

Hinemihi i te ao hurihuri (Hinemihi in These Modern Ever-Changing Times) In the ensuing years, the Ngäti Hinemihi survivors began to rebuild their lives upon the lands that had been gifted to them. With crop lands and native bush obliterated, the eruption had brought about an abrupt end to the traditional communal village and subsistence living style for many tribes—not only Ngäti Hinemihi and Tuhourangi. The move to new areas of Taumarunui, Hauraki, and Te Puke allowed them to build pakeha-style homes, and become wage earners in road and rail building or in land clearing for farms and forestry. Tourism was also popular, except the geothermal and the Mäori cultural activities became focused on Whakarewarewa, Waiotapu, and Ohinemutu rather than Te Wairoa. Generations came and went. Ngäti Hinemihi descendants resettled in other tribal areas were not comfortable burying their loved ones in a place that was not their kainga tuturu (original home). When the world wars began, Ngäti Hinemihi and Tuhourangi young men joined the call to arms, and the families left behind began to drift back to their Te Arawa relatives for comfort and support. When World War II ended in 1945 and the loss of lives counted, all Tarawera survivors living in outside areas came back to Rotorua (tribal oral history). They exhumed the remains of their dead and brought them home as well. They did not want to leave them as they had had to leave their earlier ancestors at Tarawera. On their return, a great tangi was held and the remains were reburied at Ngapuna and Whakarewarewa. They would have preferred to take them back to Te Wairoa for burial, but the living descendants were not ready to return at that time. Ngäti Hinemihi people once again had to resettle, but this time it was back amongst their own iwi and with some government aid for serving their country. During the mid 1940s, Guide Rangi received word that carvings produced by her grandfather Tene Waitere, for Maggie Papakura’s house ‘Tuhoromatakaka’, had been located on a farmer’s pigpen in Oddington, Oxfordshire, England (Dennan 1968). After much letter writing to request assistance from the then prime minister of New Zealand, Peter Fraser, and with some financial input from Rangi herself, the carvings were returned. Rangi had been married to Te Aonui Dennan, Maggie Papakura’s only son, since 1935, but in 1942 he died suddenly of cancer, leaving all his possessions to his sole beneficiary, Rangitiaria Dennan. The carvings came into Rangi’s possession on their return to

184

James Schuster

New Zealand. The Ngäti Hinemihi settlement at Ngapuna had been discussing for sometime the need for a marae (gathering place) and wharenui for their growing hapü. Trips into the bush to gather the raw materials to produce the woven materials for the interior tukutuku (decorative panels) were held when an ‘in-season’ weekend was free. Ngäti Hinemihi used the opportunity to teach the ways of the old people to the younger generation. In 1956, construction of a marae was started, but unfortunately the carpenter got some of the measurements confused and when the carvings were fitted later, they were too small for the house structure. Eventually on 28 January 1962, Hinemihi (III) was opened on the very site where Rangi had been born in the little earth-floor hut, sixty-six years earlier. Hinemihi (III) was adorned with the carvings of Tene Waitere originally from Maggie Papakura’s house Tuhoromatakaka. For the first time since 1886, Ngäti Hinemihi had a tribal gathering house to replace their original Hinemihi (I), which was in England. Two common elements are associated with all three Hinemihi wharenui. The carver, Tene Waitere, and the kaitiaki, Kataore.

Hinemihi i te ao raruraru (Hinemihi in Troubled Times) Reference was made earlier about a comment by a Te Arawa tribal elder predicting that ‘troubles would befall this ancestral house as long as it bears the name of a woman’. Hinemihi (I), despite her exotic location in an English country estate park, has fallen into a dilapidated condition at least three or four times (Gallop 1998); the absence of a hapü around her, to maintain her in adequate usable condition is apparent. She is the wharenui that stands furthest away from her original home. Caretakers and gardeners of the Clandon estate are not sure how to deal with this strange house in the gardens. The phases in her English history have been covered in chapter 7. Of the three houses named Hinemihi, Hinemihi (II) has not moved since being constructed and has not had any misfortune, yet! When Tene Waitere built this Hinemihi in 1927, it was one of his last major works. He was then seventy-three years old and his nephew Eramiha was assisting him on many of his projects. Hinemihi (II) was built for Guide Rangi so that she could invite those tourists whom she had made a special bond with back to her home. The house still contains many of Tene’s more innovative carved creations: a carved headboard and tailboard for the double bed, a single bed with the same carved features, a fully carved round table, and many smaller items such as walking sticks, smoking pipe, ashtray stand, and a golf club. Rangi entertained thousands of people in this Hinemihi (II), including many famous celebrities, sportspeople, and royalty. It contains a lot of other

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

185

Mäori artifacts and craftwork that she allowed her guests to handle or wear. The family taonga that were carried out after the eruption are stored here. Also here are patu pounamu (a short hand-held weapon of greenstone), patu paraoa (a short hand-held weapon of whale bone), patu onewa (a short hand-held weapon of stone), tiki (an anthropomorphic neck pendant), hei tiki (an anthropomorphic neck pendant, made from greenstone), kakaho (woven garments), and korowai (cloaks). Other woven taonga adorn the walls (see Figure 10.7). Hinemihi (II) is virtually a museum of Guide Rangi’s life but has never been opened to the public on a daily basis; visits were by her invitation. Rangi had no children of her own, she raised many whangai (adopted children) over the years, but all went back to their natural parents eventually, except one. When Rangi passed away in 1970, she left all her possessions including the wharenui and all its contents to her niece Emily Schuster. Emily maintained the house as her aunt had over the years, adding other taonga of her own to the collection. She continued to invite special visitors just as her aunt did, until her death in 1997. Hinemihi (II) is now in the hands of the Rangitiaria Schuster Whanau Trust, and we continue to look after the house and contents just as they did.

Figure 10.7 The interior of Hinemihi (II) ki Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, Aotearoa (photo: Dean Sully).

186

James Schuster

In front of Hinemihi (II) in the middle of the lawn and surrounded by a rose garden is a carved pouihi, a fully carved memorial post (see Figure 10.4). Tene carved this monument after the death of his only daughter Tuhipo Te Rimupae, who sheltered with him and his wife in Hinemihi (I) on 10 June 1886. This pouihi was Tene’s last carving project. Three weeks after it was completed and unveiled, Tene died at the age of seventy-seven on 28 August 1931. In 2014, the once perpetual leased site where Hinemihi (II) and other buildings stand will expire. The Trust, which owns the land, has indicated to the Rangitiaria Schuster Whanau Trust that the land must be vacated by the set date in 2014. Negotiations with the Trust are in progress to secure a further lease arrangement so Hinemihi (II), which has been there since 1927, will not have to move. In 1967, seven years after Hinemihi (III) at Ngapuna was opened, the Rotorua County Council classified the land that Ngäti Hinemihi had settled on in Ngapuna as a future industrial zone. The site where Hinemihi (III) stood was classified as a Mäori reservation (lands set aside for Mäori purposes), but the homes around the marae and the wharenui with surrounding buildings and grounds would all have to pay industrial rates or move. Unlike all other marae in New Zealand, the Ngapuna marae did not have a committee of marae trustees to act as its legal entity. It was being administered and cared for by Rangi’s immediate whanau. When the county council zoning decision was released, the whanau decided it would be better if the wharenui moved out of the industrial zone before the factories and industries grew up around it and the hapü residents moved on, leaving this Hinemihi (III) deserted as Hinemihi (I) had been at Te Wairoa. In 1970, an agreement was made to relocate Hinemihi (III) from Ngapuna to the Rotowhio Model Pa at Whakarewarewa. The local newspaper carried a front-page headline— ‘Guide Rangi’s Gift to the Nation’ (The Daily Post 1970, p. 1). The house was transported overnight and the next morning was set in concrete foundations at the model pa (fortified or formerly fortified settlement), when a Mäori Land Court (MLC) official served an injunction on the New Zealand Mäori Arts and Crafts Institute to halt the installation work. Ngäti Hinemihi at Ngapuna wanted their wharenui back. A long MLC case followed whilst the concrete set around Hinemihi (III) at Rotowhio. During the court hearings, Guide Rangi, aged 73, passed away, and the proceedings were held up for some days as key Ngäti Hinemihi witnesses on either side of the court battle were involved in the huge tangi that took place. The MLC ruled that the decision to move the house should have been made by the marae trustees. Because there was no trustee committee,

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

187

the court ordered that Ngäti Hinemihi hold an election to appoint marae trustees and when they were legally registered with the MLC then their decision about whether the wharenui should have been moved or not would be legally binding. Guide Rangi’s immediate family did not stand for election. Her death was taken as a sign that the decision to move the wharenui was not the right one. The trustees were duly elected, registered with the court, and voted to have the house returned. Hinemihi (III) was on the move again. The New Zealand Mäori Arts and Crafts Institute covered the costs of the return and reinstallation of the wharenui to Ngäti Hinemihi at Ngapuna (Stafford 1986). The return brought about a revival in Ngäti Hinemihi tribal unity at Ngapuna. The marae developed other buildings onsite, including a carving workshop and a Kohanga Reo (Mäori-language preschool). New carvings were reproduced to replace some of the ill-fitting ones. Others were replaced because of their poor condition. A new wharekai (dining hall) was also constructed. But the urban spread of Rotorua has not ceased, and, as predicted twenty-five years earlier, factories have sprung up and many of the original Ngäti Hinemihi families have been squeezed out or shifted to other residential areas. The fumes of timber chemical treatments waft across the marae daily. The tiny church and Ngäti Hinemihi graveyard near the marae are overshadowed by industrial compound security fencing. The thoughts of the rangatahi (new generation) are turning towards a return to Te Wairoa. After 120 years and around six generations on from the eruption, the younger minds are thinking it is time to go home.

Hinemihi te hokinga atu (Hinemihi Homeward Bound) At a July 2006 meeting of owners in the Rotomahana-Parekarangi 6J2B2 land block, which includes the site where Hinemihi (I) once stood at Te Wairoa, discussions were held regarding future development strategies for the approximate 10 ha land lot. Economic, environmental, social, and cultural proposals were put forward and discussed, including: • Register the Hinemihi site with the New Zealand Historic Places Trust as a waahi tapu (sacred place). • Install a story board and signage for the site, along with archaeological excavations and the possibility of a link with the established Buried Village visitor attraction. • Set aside an area for an urupa (cemetery) and bring the remains of the tupuna (ancestors) at Ngapuna and elsewhere back to Te Wairoa. Carve a monument for them.

188

James Schuster

• Set aside a marae site for moving of Hinemihi (III) up to Te Wairoa, so that hangi and concerts can be provided on the marae as an optional tourist attraction. • Set aside areas for planting of native tree belts, including weaving and medicinal native plants. • Set aside areas for kaumatua (elders) flats and papakainga (communal housing for the tribe’s people) based around or near the marae housing. • Set aside areas for Ngäti Hinemihi people to build their own homes. • Set aside accommodation facilities to be made available to visitors. • Set aside parks and play areas for the children. • Appoint active trustees to manage the block and these development proposals. • Gift land at Ngapuna back to Ngäti Hurunga Te Rangi. • Keep the site of Hinemihi (I) intact for when she returns.

He Kupu Whakaotinga (Conclusion) Ngäti Hinemihi’s relationship with their ancestral house Hinemihi (I) in England is mainly one of spiritual connection. The physical house may legally be owned by The National Trust in the United Kingdom, but the wairua or spirit of the whare will always be linked to Ngäti Hinemihi and can never be taken away. The relationship between Ngäti Hinemihi, the spiritual owners, and The National Trust, as legal owners, is relatively recent. Although there had been contacts with New Zealand in the past for advice on renovation materials and restoration, none of it was with Ngäti Hinemihi. It was not until a visit by members of a New Zealand Mäori Arts and Crafts Institute promotional group, which included Emily Schuster of Ngäti Hinemihi visiting her ancestor for the first time, that a new and strengthening physical relationship between Ngäti Hinemihi and their tupuna whare (ancestral house) would begin. Alan Gallop became an important link in this relationship by keeping The National Trust informed of what was happening. He has described the many incidents that he has experienced in The House with the Golden Eyes (Gallop 1998). Via first Emily Schuster, then John Marsh, director of the New Zealand Mäori Arts and Crafts Institute in 1992, and my family in 1993, the reconnection between Ngäti Hinemihi and Hinemihi (I) has grown. Alan promoted the relationship and acted as liaison between Ngäti Hinemihi and The National Trust for all the negotiations. In 1995, the

Hinemihi and Ngäti (Tribe) Hinemihi

189

gifting of replacement pare (carved lintel of doorway), whakawae (pilaster carvings on a door frame), and korupe (carving above the window of a meeting house), plus a dawn ceremony to bless the gifts brought Ngäti Hinemihi people into first-hand contact not only with The National Trust via Dixon Asquith and David Brock-Doyle, the property managers at Clandon Park, but also with the current Lord Onslow, the direct descendant of the 4th Earl of Onslow who had brought their whare tupuna to England 103 years before. The relationship between Ngäti Hinemihi and The National Trust is very much a long-distance one, maintained by e-mails and the rare personal visit. At the New Zealand end, the communication link is reliant on my being able to pass on any information to Ngäti Hinemihi members as I meet them by chance or at one of the seldom-held tribal meetings. The vision of the current Clandon Park property manager responsible for Hinemihi (I), Julie Lawlor, is one that requires a much more robust communication network between The National Trust, Ngäti Hinemihi, Ngäti Ranana (London Mäori Club), and possibly the New Zealand Historic Places Trust. Many Ngäti Hinemihi have always been humbled by the fact that The National Trust has included us in decision-making with regard to Hinemihi (I). It has been my personal experience at marae meetings that other younger members of the hapü would prefer to fight for her return. It has always been our hope that the gifts of the new carvings and continued cultural advice contributed by Ngäti Hinemihi will further strengthen the relationship and trust that currently exists. It is important to Ngäti Hinemihi that we have someone present at any important decision-making meetings, hence the sending of Rena Schuster from Spain to the meeting in 2004 and my attendance at a meeting held in September 2006. Ngäti Hinemihi in New Zealand would be keen to contribute to any restoration or refurbishment work required for the latest National Trust Vision Statements for Hinemihi to be realised. The collection and storage of natural resource materials in Aotearoa has already begun. Ngäti Hinemihi look forward to sharing our weaving and carving knowledge and skills with Ngäti Ranana and other UK-based Mäori to develop the new vision for Hinemihi. We do it for our tupuna whare. We owe her our lives. We would not exist had it not been for her. When she is ready to return, she will. Museums may have legal evidence to support they owned such items, but from the Te Arawa perspective, this matters little because ancestors are ordered within a genealogical matrix of belonging or whakapapa, which transcends legal parameters. … Therefore the ancestors (taonga) decide when they were all ready to travel and will conspire to journey

190

James Schuster

home once the intentions of all parties, living and dead, are in alignment. (Tapsell 2003, p. 246)

Notes 1. The history of Mäori people is very much an oral history, and the stories listed here about my people were told to me by my grandparents and represent traditional tribal knowledge. 2. How the house was utilised after its opening is described in detail in the writing of Rotorua historians Don Stafford (1986) and Phillip Andrews (2005) as well as Ron Keam (1988) and Alan Gallop (1998).

11 HINEMIHI’S RETURN: A LEGAL OPINION Kathryn Last

Introduction The question of Hinemihi’s return has been raised on several occasions during her time at Clandon Park (see chapters 7 and 8 in this book); however, the ability of The National Trust to return Hinemihi to Ngäti Hinemihi is constrained by the legal framework under which The National Trust operates. Hinemihi was purchased by Lord Onslow in 1892, and the Trust’s title to Hinemihi flows from that transaction. Responsibility for property owned by a charity such as The National Trust rests with the charity’s trustees, who must act in accordance with the law and the charity’s constitution. Even when trustees of a charity feel a moral obligation to give cultural property owned by the charity to others, they may be prohibited from doing so. In the case of Re Snowden Dec’d,1 it was held that the court and the Attorney General have the power to authorise charity trustees to make voluntary payment out of charity funds in pursuance of what they consider to be a moral obligation. Cross J justified this power because ‘it would be odd that a charity which depends for its continued existence on the recognition by members of the public of a moral obligation to give to charity should itself be incapable of giving effect to any moral obligation however strong’.2 The circumstances for the exercise of 191

192

Kathryn Last

this power are qualified in that it ‘is not to be exercised lightly or on slender grounds but only in cases where it can be fairly said that if the charity were an individual it would be morally wrong of him to refuse to make the payment’.3 This case concerns bequests in a will, however, the principle is applicable to all property held by a charity. Indeed, Section 27 of the Charities Act 1993 gives similar powers to the charity commissioners with respect to any property of a charity. The application of the Re Snowden principle to cultural property was considered in the case of Attorney General v Trustees of the British Museum.4 This case concerned four old master drawings in the museum’s collections that had been stolen from the original owner by the Gestapo. The trustees of the museum were sympathetic to the claim of the heirs of the original owner and requested the application of the principle in Re Snowden to allow restitution of the drawings to the heirs on the grounds that it was morally right to do so. The court held that the principle could not be applied in the case because the provisions of the British Museum Act 1963, Section 3(4) of the act expressly prohibit dispersal of any of the museum’s property. The court held that this could not be overridden by the Re Snowden principle. The situation of The National Trust and Hinemihi can be distinguished from the case of Attorney General v Trustees of the British Museum because that case involved a statutory prohibition on what the trustees were seeking to do. In the case of The National Trust, no statutory prohibition would prevent the application of the Re Snowden principle and the return of Hinemihi to Ngati Hinemihi. In a memo of 19 November 1986, it was claimed that Hinemihi formed part of The National Trust’s inalienable property and could not be removed voluntarily by the Trust. Under The National Trust Act 1907, any lands or tenements (including buildings) that become vested in The National Trust may, by resolution of the council, be held for the benefit of the nation and become inalienable.5 It is upon this provision that The National Trust’s argument relies when it says that it is unable to return Hinemihi. It must be noted that Section 21 of The National Trust Act 1907 differs from Section 3 of the British Museum Act 1963 in that the restriction on dispersal only applies to certain types of property—those within the definition of ‘lands’ or ‘tenements’. The National Trust’s argument is predicated on the view that Hinemihi is property that would be classified within ‘lands or tenements (including buildings)’. Although the purposes of The National Trust were extended in 1937 to include chattels,6 these were not brought within the ambit of the inalienability provision. The primary question, therefore, is whether Hinemihi is regarded as ‘land’. There is a long line of case law within English

Hinemihi’s Return: A Legal Opinion

193

jurisprudence concerning the issue of which structures form part of the land and are therefore regarded as land.7 The criteria for determining accession to realty were elucidated in the decision of the House of Lords in Elitestone v Morris8; the nature of the physical bonding between the structure and the subjacent land; the practical feasibility of removing or reassembling the constituent elements of the construction; and the purpose that underlies the construction.9

The Nature of the Physical Bonding between the Structure and the Subjacent Land This criterion is also known as the ‘degree of annexation’ test, and the importance of this criterion will vary from object to object.10 Hinemihi rests on a concrete platform. In Elitestone, Lord Clyde held that the bungalow and its concrete foundations were severable and that it was therefore inappropriate to treat them as a unum quid (single unit of occupancy).11 Thus, consideration of the degree of annexation of Hinemihi can concern solely the wooden structure. There are a number of cases in which wooden structures resting by their own weight have been held not to form part of the realty (immovable property). For example, in R v Otley,12 it was held that a wooden mill resting upon a brick foundation did not form part of the realty. Similarly, it was held in Wansbrough v Maton13 that a wooden barn erected on a foundation of brick and stone was not realty. Although these cases suggest that Hinemihi is prima facie not a fixture, she may be regarded as forming part of the realty. Accession can occur where there is only juxtaposition and no physical attachment of a structure to the land.14 However, this will occur only when the circumstances show that the structure was intended to be part of the land, and the ‘purpose of annexation’ test discussed below becomes determinative.

The Practical Feasibility of Removing or Reassembling the Constituent Elements of the Construction In Elitestone, one factor in holding that the bungalow was part of the realty was that it was a structure that could not be taken down and reerected elsewhere.15 Lord Lloyd of Berwick states that ‘a house which is constructed in such a way so as to be removable, whether as a unit, or in sections, may well remain a chattel’.16 Similarly, Lord Clyde asserts that if a structure were ‘constructed in such a way that would enable it to be taken down and rebuilt elsewhere, that might well point to the

194

Kathryn Last

possibility that it still retained its character of a chattel’.17 Hinemihi is therefore distinguishable on the facts. Not only was she disassembled and re-erected when she was taken from New Zealand to England but also when she was moved within the grounds of Clandon Park in 1917 (Gallop 1998, p. 110).

The Purpose Underlying the Construction This is also known as the ‘purpose of annexation’ test.18 If a structure is not otherwise attached to the land than by its own weight, it is not considered as part of the land unless the circumstances are such as to show that it was intended to be part of the land. The onus lies on those who assert that it has ceased to be a chattel,19 which in this case would be The National Trust. The ‘purpose’ is judged objectively.20 In D’Eyncourt v Gregory, Lord Romilly MR held that the test for such items is whether they form part of the architectural design or are mere ornaments added afterwards.21 In Deen v Andrews, Hirst J held that a greenhouse resting on a concrete plinth was a chattel and could not be regarded as a ‘building’.22 The authorities suggest that Hinemihi is not a fixture and therefore not covered by the inalienability provision in The National Trust Act 1907. As such, The National Trust is not restricted in its ability to return her to Ngati Hinemihi under its statutes, and the principle in Re Snowden could be applied. However, it may be restricted because Hinemihi is a listed building.

Listed Building Control Hinemihi was listed in 1985, and the effect of listing is that she cannot be removed. Under Section 7 of the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990, it is a criminal offence to execute works for the demolition of a listed building without authorisation. Furthermore, an enforcement notice could be issued to require reinstatement. An example of this is the case of R v Leominster District Council ex parte Antique Country Buildings,23 where a listed barn was dismantled without consent and the timber framing was sold. Restoration of the barn was required because sufficient components of the building were extant.24 An application for listed building consent to remove Hinemihi would be assessed on the basis of the criteria enunciated in Planning Policy Guidance 15.25 These include: the importance of the building (ie its intrinsic architectural and historic interest and rarity, in both national and local terms); the particular physical features of the building that justify its inclusion in the list; the building’s setting and its contribution

Hinemihi’s Return: A Legal Opinion

195

to the local scene; and the extent to which the proposed works would bring substantial benefits for the community. The removal of Hinemihi would be unlikely to be granted consent because of her rarity. The only manner in which to circumvent the listed building controls is to argue that Hinemihi should not have been listed. There is no formal mechanism of appeal against listing but the secretary of state will review listings in the light of new evidence.26 It seems that the only grounds would be that Hinemihi is not a ‘building’ for the purposes of the act. It must be noted that the relevant definition of a building differs from that discussed above because the Town and Country Planning Act 1990 defines ‘building’, and this definition applies to the operation of the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990. The definition in Section 336 of the Town and Country Planning Act 1990 is: ‘any structure or erection, and any part of a building’. Neither ‘structure’ nor ‘erection’ is defined. Listing has been applied to such diverse things as telephone kiosks, walls and gates.27 However, in Cheshire CC v Woodward,28 Lord Parker CJ noted that the Town and Country Planning Act ‘is referring to any structure or erection which can be said to form part of the realty’.29 It is submitted that as Hinemihi can be argued to not form part of the realty, she is not a building for the purposes of the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990. As such, she should not have been listed and if her removal were the subject of a Listed Building Enforcement Notice,30 this would constitute grounds of appeal against the notice.31

Conclusion A successful claim for the return of Hinemihi is conditional upon an interpretation of the maxim superficies solo cedit (whatever is attached to the land forms part of it) that Hinemihi is not part of the realty. This interpretation would mean that The National Trust is not prevented from allowing her removal under the inalienability provisions in The National Trust Act 1907 and that listed building controls under the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990 would not apply. There is sufficient precedent in the case law to argue that Hinemihi does not form part of the realty and can therefore legally be returned to Ngäti Hinemihi.

Notes 1. 1970, Ch 700. 2. Re Snowden Dec’d [1970] Ch 700 at 709. 3. Re Snowden Dec’d [1970] Ch 700 at 709.

196 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26.

Kathryn Last 2005, 3 WLR 396. National Trust Act 1907, Section 21(2). National Trust Act 1937, Section 3. The principle superficies solo cedit derived from Roman law. Elitestone concerned a bungalow resting on concrete pillars that were attached to the ground. Elitestone Ltd v Morris [1997] 1 WLR 687. Elitestone Ltd v Morris [1997] 1 WLR 687, per Lord Lloyd of Berwick at 692. Elitestone Ltd v Morris [1997] 1 WLR 687, per Lord Clyde at 694. Similarly, in Webb v Frank Bevis Ltd [1940] 1 All ER 247, Scott LJ held that a corrugated iron shed and its concrete foundations, to which wrought-iron straps attached it, were not a single unit. 1830, 1 B & AD 161. 1836, 4 AD and E 886. In D’Eyncourt v Gregory [1866–67] L.R. 3 Eq 382, sculptures that simply rested by their own weight were held to form part of the architectural design for the hall in which they were placed and so were treated as part of the freehold. Elitestone Ltd v Morris [1997] 1 WLR 687, per Lord Lloyd of Berwick at 690. Elitestone Ltd v Morris [1997] 1 WLR 687, per Lord Lloyd of Berwick at 692. Elitestone Ltd v Morris [1997] 1 WLR 687, per Lord Clyde at 699. A classic example of its application is seen in the case of blocks of stone placed one on top of another without any mortar for the purpose of forming a dry stone wall, and those same stones deposited in a builder’s yard. In the first scenario, the stones would become part of the land; in the second, they maintain their status as chattels. Per Blackburn J in Holland v Hodgson [1871–72] LR 7 CP 328 at 335. Holland v Hodgson [1871–72] LR 7 CP 328 per Blackburn J at 335. Deen v Andrews [1986] 52 P & CR 17 per Hirst J at 22. In D’Eyncourt v Gregory [1866–67] LR 3 Eq 382 at 396. Deen v Andrews [1986] 52 P & CR 17 per Hirst J at 24. A similar decision can be seen in Dibble v Moore [1970] 2 QB 181. 1988, 56 P and CR 240. R v Leominster District Council ex parte Antique Country Buildings [1988] 56 P and CR 240 per Mann J at page 246. Department of the Environment and Department of National Heritage, Planning Policy Guidance 15: Planning and the Historic Environment, 1994, 3.5. Department of the Environment and Department of National Heritage, Planning Policy Guidance 15: Planning and the Historic Environment, 1994, 6.26.

Hinemihi’s Return: A Legal Opinion

197

27. Suddards and Hargreaves give the following as examples of edifices thought not to be buildings: a hen coop, a dog kennel, four walls erected 1 ft high, and an incomplete structure. (Suddards & Hargreaves 1996, p. 20). 28. 1962, 2 QB 126. 29. 1962, 2 QB 126 per Lord Parker CJ at 135. 30. Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990, Section 38. 31. Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990, Section 39.

198

Kathryn Last

12 CONSERVING HINEMIHI AT CLANDON PARK, UK Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

Introduction The long-term care of Hinemihi provides the opportunity for an open bicultural process that can offer real benefits for the Maori community in the United Kingdom and in New Zealand and for The National Trust and its members. The role of conservation in this process represents a broadening of responsibility that implies a fundamental change in conservation from passive technical service aimed at preserving the physical aspects of objects limited by technical expertise to an active role in the current discussion of human values and how to take these with us into the future (Sully 2003/2004). The conservator’s first-hand contact with the raw material of human culture provides a valuable insight into this ongoing debate. Hinemihi is in the care of The National Trust (her legal guardian); she is also in the care of Ngati Hinemihi (tangata whanau, people of the land) and the local UK Maori community for whom she provides a focus for their cultural activities. The relationships that people form with Hinemihi are experienced from the many perspectives of the individuals and communities involved. In evaluating an approach to the conservation of Hinemihi, these perspectives create a range of different contexts in which cultural meaning, value, function, effect, 199

200

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

and experience can be revealed around the conservation project. To conserve Hinemihi, a selection of these perspectives is required so that they can be represented in the conserved object. This requires some acknowledgment of the different ways in which an understanding of these experiences is constructed. This process is of key importance in ensuring that an agreed approach to caring for Hinemihi can be developed so that she is fit for her intended purpose. In this process in which multiple viewpoints are evident, the selection or suppression of certain meanings relate to questions of power (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, p. 75). Therefore, a genuine attempt at sharing understanding establishes the need for co-operative participatory dialogue, rather than a decision-making system that makes decisions and then consults about the results. Here, it is critical to distinguish between consultation and negotiation. Unlike negotiation, consultation does not necessarily allow local people to play an active role in the conservation process. Jowell suggests replacing ‘consultation’ with ‘conversation’ (Jowell 2006, p. 12). To create something of value for both parties, a partnership needs to be established, one that alters the traditional power relationship between the two. Forming active partnerships, ‘potential partners do not need to be motivated by the same factors as you, they just need to want to reach the same goal’ (Australian Heritage Commission 2000, p. 15). A good basis for establishing a partnership relationship is the intention that each partner benefit individually from the partnership; together the partners should be able to achieve more than if they are working separately.

Recent Developments The latest phase in the care of Hinemihi can be seen in what took place after the dedication of new carvings donated by Ngati Hinemihi to Hinemihi in 1995. Historically, this was a period of increased contact between the Maori community and Hinemihi through the activities of Ngäti Hinemihi and the UK-based Maori community of the Ngäti Ranana, Kohanga Reo, and Maramara Totara (DCMS 2002, p. 16). Since 1995, communication between The National Trust and the Maori community in New Zealand had been sustained largely through the agency of Alan Gallop (given the title of ‘custodian of Hinemihi’ by John Marsh) (Sully 2004a) because of his personal relationships with the Schuster family in New Zealand and his proximity to The National Trust at Clandon (P Saunders 2003, pers. comm.). The relationship of the UKbased Maori community with The National Trust has centred on the organisation of Maori activities at Hinemihi, primarily the annual Kohanga Reo Hangi celebration each year in June.1

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

201

Although the UK-based Maori community is the only regular Maori engagement with Hinemihi, The National Trust had, until recently, been rather ambivalent about its involvement in any discussion about Hinemihi’s care. This reflects the established lines of communication between The National Trust and Ngäti Hinemihi, which has subordinated the role of the Maori community in the United Kingdom (D BrockDoyle 2002, e-mail). The debate around Hinemihi’s conservation during the period 1995–2007 has tended to focus on the proposed alterations to her built structure, which include the replacement of the thick reed thatch roof with a roofing material that is more appropriate to a Maori meeting house (such as totara bark shingles); the creation of a solid floor inside Hinemihi, which would enable activities to take place more comfortably; and the installation of services such as electricity for lighting and heating inside Hinemihi, to enable her use all year around (Gallop 1998). But perhaps more significantly, this debate reflects different concerns about access, function, communication, and control over the use and care of Hinemihi evident within the different communities that surround her.

Gathering Information To prepare a response to the requests of the Maori community to develop Hinemihi’s built structure and function, The National Trust instigated a step-by-step approach to her conservation, starting with a programme of information gathering about Hinemihi (Sully 2002). This was required by The National Trust to develop a clearer understanding of the significance and needs of Hinemihi (C Lachelin 2003, memo). This process focused on the materiality of Hinemihi at Clandon Park and sought to evaluate her conservation needs in terms of understanding her physical fabric and her vulnerability to change in condition over time (see Figure 12.1). This documentary information included the production of an object chronology, a conservation condition assessment of fabric survey, paint sample analysis, a structural building survey, and an object biography that was brought together in a series of internal National Trust and University College London (UCL) reports (Sully 2002, 2004b, Cardoso 2003, Malkogeorgou 2003, J Lawlor 2004, e-mail, The Morton Partnership 2004, McCartney 2005, Riccini 2005). As a result of this biographical data, the relative importance of the constituent parts of Hinemihi could be assessed in relation to a historiographic understanding of the building. In addition, more detailed information about the changes in the fabric of the building could be used to assess the implications of any further interventions for the significance of the current building.

202

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

Figure 12.1 UCL conservation students (Isabel Pombo Cardoso, Kim YeonHee, Lucy Skinner, Tamara Jaeger, Steve Miller, Eva Garbutt) conducting the physical fabric survey, June 2003 (photo: Dean Sully).

This describes a fairly standard approach to the conservation of a complex historical artefact, reflecting the methods of the Burra Charter (Australia ICOMOS 1988). It is also a familiar process for The National Trust in that it seeks to understand the nature of the conservation problem prior to making decisions about how to proceed (Cullen et al 2004). This information has provided a clearer picture of how the Hinemihi currently at Clandon Park had evolved over time from the Hinemihi created at Te Wairoa. This assessment has suggested that Hinemihi had been subject to multiple transformations in the past 127 years and that the building that is currently at Clandon Park could be seen as the consequence of the many interventions in this period. One of the intended uses for this information was that it would be a basis for informed discussion with Hinemihi’s community about her long-term use and maintenance. The initial process of information gathering explicitly sought to separate an understanding of Hinemihi’s physical needs from those of her social relationships. The National Trust wished to put together information about Hinemihi before discussing the approach to her conservation (Lawlor 2004). This reflects the degree of uncertainty felt by The National Trust as an organisation more used to dealing with monumental artefacts of Britain’s past and less familiar with the

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

203

living culture of the contemporary Maori. The recent conservation of the Chinese House, a highly decorative painted wooden structure located at Stowe landscape gardens, a National Trust property in Buckinghamshire, United Kingdom, provides a useful comparison to The National Trust’s approach to Hinemihi (see Figure 12.2). The conservation decisions for the Chinese House are based on a clear understanding of the building’s materials, technology, and condition, which would be familiar to any Western conservator working within materials science–based conservation projects. The use of x-rays, paint analysis, preliminary cleaning tests, and a review of archival documentation helped identify a decorative scheme to be retained in conservation process. The work of the project is described as ‘cross disciplinary’ (Cullen et al 2004), which relates to working between conservators, curators, and building department. This is compared to The National Trust approach for Hinemihi, in which ‘consultation with the

Figure 12.2 Chinese House following conservation at Stowe Landscape Gardens, The National Trust (photo: Dean Sully).

204

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

Maori community is crucial to ensure the cultural significance within the work is fully appreciated’. For The National Trust, however, it is clear that both these buildings are primarily garden follies, which reflects how the buildings were originally conceived within the gardens at Stowe and Clandon Park (Cullen et al 2004).

Gathering Understanding After the initial information-gathering stage, the next step was for The National Trust to understand the community values that surround Hinemihi to contextualise the information gathered about her physical biography. The development of a ‘statement of significance’ and a ‘vision statement’ for Hinemihi provided an initial focus for formal consultation to take place. This also allowed for a consideration of the consultation process itself, how this should take place, who should be involved, etc. The first meetings were attended by invited individuals and representatives from institutions that had been involved with Hinemihi in the past. The formal consultation process with the Maori community (Ngäti Hinemihi and Ngäti Ranana) started in September 2004. This was intended as a structured dialogue with the community and a mechanism for coming to agreement, the eventual outcome of which would be the development of an agreed conservation and management plan for Hinemihi. Consultation as a way of mediating between different worldviews requires some way of ensuring that a process of open dialogue takes place. When only one side of the debate is deciding what to talk about and is selecting what to listen to, the process of negotiation and exchange is limited. The benefits of a formal process are that it provides a forum for the consultation of a community throughout the process and aims for a consensus in deciding priorities for action and development. This inclusive process broadens the ownership of decisions taken and helps reduce conflict and disaffection with the results. This process also provides an effective platform for the application of funding to enable the identified goals to be realised. The disadvantages are the amount of time and resources needed to fully complete such an involved process. At the outset of consultation meetings, The National Trust made it clear that it was open to discussing a whole range of issues about Hinemihi, including preferred method of consultation, future uses for Hinemihi, her future care at Clandon Park, problems of presentation, and issues of repatriation (J Lawlor 2004, e-mail). It was hoped that the process would go beyond respect and consultation of the Maori community by ‘simply asking for knowledge and advice’ to the more active

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

205

involvement of the community in caring for Hinemihi, where the community needs have primacy in determining practice (Sully 2004b). To create something of value for all parties, a partnership needs to be established, one that alters the traditional power relationship between those involved (Peers & Brown 2003, p. 2). The separation of the consultation process from information gathering in the initial phases of this project could be as an attempt to prioritise the value of the historic documentary sources whilst limiting the role of multivocality in the project. The language and methodology used in the process (ie that of material-based conservation) were defined at the outset as only one way of understanding Hinemihi and should not exclude or subordinate other ways of understanding. It was felt important that multivocality be maintained so that the many stories told about Hinemihi, from many points in time and space, could be incorporated into an understanding of her effect on people. This was felt necessary to determine the most appropriate care for Hinemihi. Although information gathering through evidence-based enquiry is necessary, when no physical evidence exists, kaitiakitanga (customary guardianship) can go much further, encompassing the physical, cultural, and spiritual environments (Blair 2002, p. 72). The integration of Maori oral history and traditional knowledge with information generated through a Western science approach requires close involvement of Maori communities. This process should allow a view of the past to be framed within the traditions of the Maori community group (Butts 1990, p. 115). The desire to divulge traditional information requires the development of a partnership based on trust and confidence through demonstrating integrity and sensitivity and respect for the mana (authority) of the people. Accountability to the local community for decisions and action taken helps protect against vested interests of heritage professionals involved in looking after people’s pasts (Nathan 1991, p. 50). Maori culture has its own rules and its own experts for dealing with the tribal past. People who do not follow correct Maori procedures when dealing with the Maori past can be in danger. This needs to be acknowledged within Western culture when handling other people’s pasts (Matunga 1994, p. 219). The involvement of Maori groups in the use and maintenance of Hinemihi at Clandon Park developed in a positive way over the past decade. Therefore, although formal consultation had been planned as a later stage in the process, many informal contacts and exchanges linked the stages of information gathering with the community that surrounds Hinemihi. Before any work was planned, James Schuster of Ngati Hinemihi was contacted about the information-gathering process

206

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

and survey work to ensure that he was happy for the work to take place (C Calnan 2002, e-mail). Prior to starting the physical fabric survey in June 2003, a karakia whakatapua (blessing service) was held led by Rahera Windsor, kuia (elder) of Ngäti Ranana that took place during the annual Kohanga Reo Hangi in June 2003. This was suggested by James Schuster through contact with Alan Gallop ‘just to keep them safe in their work’ (J Schuster 2003, e-mail). There are dangers associated in dealing with whare tupuna (ancestral meeting houses) that require tikanga (protocol) to navigate the physical and spiritual encounter. Doing this properly ensures that the safety and spiritual health of the participants remains intact; mistakes can, in some cases, have profound implications for those involved (see chapter 9). The consequences of tapu (codes of conduct related to sacred acts) transgression can be seen, for example, in the misfortune of Te Waru during the building of Rauru (see chapter 6). A tikanga for carrying out the survey work was discussed with members of Ngati Ranana. This included approaching Hinemihi for the first time each day from the front rather than from the side or rear and refraining from eating, drinking, and smoking on the marae (meeting place) as these activities are noa (profane) and would offend the ancestors. Removal of shoes (a common tikanga) whilst working inside Hinemihi was not requested. The tapu restrictions associated with meeting house construction and carving normally require that these activities be restricted to men. The involvement of women in the survey, and later in the maintenance activities associated with Hinemihi’s carvings, was agreed on. Rose Evans records some of the aspects of the tikanga that take place when conserving taonga (treasured heirlooms) at Te Papa, which includes not walking over carvings, not using saliva for treatments, not blowing on carvings, and excluding all women working on carvings during menstruation (Evans 1999, p. 15). Adopting these practices might appear to be relatively minor concessions to respect the wishes of the Maori community. It does, however, have significance in that it shifts the frame of reference outside of internal mechanisms that often drive conservation and research processes. In a practical sense, Maori tikanga has impacted on all recent exchanges between the Maori community and The National Trust (see Butts 1990, p. 110 for his experience as a curator working with Ngäti Kahunguunu). For example, during the consultation meetings, a karakia (prayer) is used to start proceedings and the sharing of food is factored in as an essential part of the proceedings. Acceptance of Maori protocol for proceedings by The National Trust reflects an openness that indicates that it is prepared to engage with

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

207

these issues. This openness can be seen in relation to altering the normal institutional proceedings and working practices; it is also evident by a shift in the way of thinking, which potentially makes institutions more receptive to taking on ideas from other cultural perspectives. The slight dislocation and uncertainty felt by experts and insiders in the process navigating through the cultural conventions of the Maori community help reposition the balance of authority and power between the institution and the community. This creates a degree of permeability in the boundaries around institutions and individuals and around their ideas and their certainties and is creative in that it helps bring together a form of understanding around the process. The impact of a Maori Kaupapa was clearly seen in relation to the paint analysis project for Hinemihi. The investigation of Hinemihi’s decorative scheme through paint sampling and cross-section analysis is an example of how a Western conservation approach has had to be adapted when applied to the Maori meeting house.

Investigating a Painted Surface Cross-section paint analysis provides a powerful science-based conservation tool used to identify the stratigraphy of painting schemes and has the potential to help us understand how Hinemihi has appeared at different stages in her past (Mairinger and Schreiner 1986, Schoute and Verougstraete-Marcq 1986, Eastaugh 1989, Hackney and Townsend 1999). The removal of paint samples is a destructive nonreversible intervention that leaves the physical fabric of the object diminished; therefore, a clear justification is required before sampling an object (Eastaugh 1989). The sampling strategy for Hinemihi developed from questions that were raised and remained unanswered, from other sources of information: archival documentation, physical fabric survey, and condition survey. This provided clear research objectives for the paint analysis, helped identify suitable sampling areas on Hinemihi’s painted surface, and helped reduce the number of samples needed to address the research questions. Two phases of sampling were planned, with initial sampling being opportunistic and focusing on areas of existing damage aimed at providing a general overview of the paint structure; this was important in light of evidence of significant paint removal during past restoration interventions (see Figure 12.3). Permission for this sampling to take place was agreed with The National Trust and James Schuster and Ngäti Hinemihi through e-mail contact via Alan Gallop (A Gallop 2002, e-mail). This was followed by a second phase of targeted sampling once the research questions had been refined by comparing initial results

208

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

with historical information. The number (fifty-five) and size (less than 3 mm2) of samples taken for cross-sections were kept to a minimum and was a compromise between obtaining reliable results capable of answering the research questions balanced with conservationists’ desire for minimal intervention (Eastaugh 1989). Among the research questions were: Is it possible to determine the original colours used when Hinemihi was first built? Is it possible to establish a dated sequence for the different painting interventions?

Figure 12.3 Isabel Pombo Cardoso removing paint samples from Hinemihi’s paepae carving (photo: Dean Sully).

A staged approach to the analysis of the paint samples started with optical microscopic examination of the prepared cross-sections. This allowed identification of key samples that could be examined using further analytical techniques. A combination of visible light, ultraviolet (UV), and polarised light microscopy (PLM), Raman Spectroscopy and Scanning Electron Microscope with Energy Dispersive X-ray (SEM-EDX) gave complimentary identification information about the samples. This revealed paint sequences that consisted of two to twelve discreet layers. The colours present in the cross-sections were red/orange (that changed to reddish/pinkish in later interventions), white, blue, and

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

209

black. Some layers showed a significant degree of deterioration, possibly indicating of a long period of exposure to the environment. Within the sequence, an important datum was provided by the identification of ‘Pigment Red 112’ using Raman spectroscopy, which was only commercially available after 1939. Several attempts were made to identify evidence of the 1886 eruption of Mount Tarawera within the paint sequence, as this would help demarcate between Hinemihi’s time in New Zealand and her time at Clandon Park. A dense, hard, compacted layer is often encountered when cleaning the painted surfaces of historic meeting houses in the Rotorua area of New Zealand (J Schuster 2005, pers. comm.). This could be the consequence of volcanic activity. Unfortunately, evidence of volcanic activity could not be distinguished in the painted sequence of Hinemihi in this study.

A Suggested Chronology Figure 12.4 shows the suggested chronological sequence for the identified paint layers on Hinemihi’s carvings. The National Trust archival records indicate that Hinemihi was repainted in 1960, 1980, and finally in 1995; prior to this, evidence of painting intervention is largely circumstantial. In all, it is estimated that eleven different interventions are represented in the stratigraphy of the paint cross-sections. The white layers were initially painted with lead white, substituted after 1960 with titanium white. The blue layers, after the first use of Prussian blue, are made of ultramarine, and the last blue layer consisted of phthalocyanine blue. The orangey/reddish/pinkish layers were initially red lead; in 1960, ‘Red 112’ was used, then followed by iron oxide mixed with titanium white red paints (Eastaugh et al 2004). The choice of the colours changed during Hinemihi’s life, providing links to the changing circumstances that surround her. The earliest layers (which possibly represent the colour scheme when Hinemihi was created in Te Wairoa) used brighter colours: a vivid reddish/orange (made of red lead in its orangey form, the lead (II, IV) oxide) contrasting with a strong blue (Prussian blue), and a white (lead white) are the first colour schemes present in the samples. The following three painting events retained the brightness of the colours, which could indicate a wish to preserve the memory of the original colours. From then on, the orangey colour was replaced with darker and dull reddish/pinkish colours, reflecting a change in the perception of Hinemihi. This might indicate loss of memory, change in taste, or just be related to availability of paint materials. The presence of blue in the design scheme seemed to be reduced during the painting events of the 20th century; eventually, it is just used for detailing in a pinkish red-and-white colour scheme.

210

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

Figure 12.4 A suggested chronology for historic paint sequence on Hinemihi’s carvings (photo: Isabel Pombo Cardoso). The images show two reflected light micrographs (X40 magnification) of polished paint cross-sections mounted in Epotek 301 epoxy resin. The paint chronology is based on archival information about known dates of painting interventions, dated paint layers within the seqence, and stratigraphic comparison between different areas of Hinemihi’s carvings.

The last intervention in 1995 by Ngäti Hinemihi replaced the blue with black in the areas repainted. The comparison of analytical results (pigment identification and examination of cross-sections) with the historical information leads to new ideas about Hinemihi. It has helped identify different interventions and date some of them; helped assess the condition of the paint structure; and helped suggest the significance of the use of specific materials. This study provides a record of Hinemihi’s painted decoration and becomes especially important if the existing painted surface is to be removed as part of a conservation treatment (as has happened at least twice in the past). In that event, it would be important to carry out further investigation during any paint removal to re-evaluate the conclusions of this current study.

Maori Paint This whole process is internally consistent with the quest for truth, uncovering reality through experimentation and analytical deduction. The concerns reflected in this process relate to the preservation of material evidence, such as the concerns to minimise the impact of sampling on the physical fabric of Hinemihi. The questions are refined in relation to other forms of documentary evidence, and the

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

211

answers seek to demarcate episodes in Hinemihi’s past. This raises the possibility of ‘authentically’ reconstructing an image of Hinemihi’s painting scheme during different historical periods. Therefore, there is inherent consistency in using these techniques in situations in which historiographic analysis seeks to demarcate authenticity in the material past. Some understanding of the role of paint within Maori carving is also relevant to this process. Paint as a substance has powerful associations for Maori reaching back to the origins of the world. Kokowai (red ochre) was created from the blood of Rangi and Papa, the first parents. Red ochre paint is used on carvings, not only to provide physical protection but also spiritual protection. The primary colours of red, white, and black fit the pattern of the Maori cosmology. Knowledge of the meaning of these colours was sacred knowledge, not used without permission (Whiting 1994, p. vii). Neich (1994, p. 119) suggests that the period in which Hinemihi was created was the period of greatest innovation in the arts of the meeting house, which utilised the availability of commercial paints from their introduction into New Zealand during the 1860s. Whiting opines that the use of new foreign paints would have created a struggle for the carvers who first used these new substances (Whiting 1994, p. vii). By the 1870s, use of multicoloured paints on meeting houses was widespread, which suggests that Hinemihi’s Te Wairoa decorative scheme was less likely to have been ‘traditional’ paints made of earth pigments and shark oil and more likely to be traded commercial paints. The presence of several contrasting colours including black, green, red, white, pink, blue, cream, and orange can be seen on carvings from the mid–late 19th century (Barton and Weik 1984). By the early 20th century, these polychrome colour schemes were largely replaced with the red monochrome design ubiquitous on contemporary meeting houses in Rotorua today. A possible link has been proposed between the museum practices of over-painting polychrome designs with red paint that formed part of the traditionalist orthodoxy in Maori art amongst museum curators from the 1890s until the 1950s (Barton 1984, Barton and Weik 1984, Neich 2001, p. 285). In this process, carvings could be made to conform to an idealised image of the lost Maori past by being painted red (Barton and Weik 1984, Barton 1985). This archaising process is considered an attempt to construct a tradition for Maori painted decoration at a time when the innovative use of commercially available paints was being adopted into contemporary Maori painted decoration. Ideas of authenticity in the colonial museum that referred back to the precontact period sought to deny authenticity to any contemporary practices that are seen as inconsistent with earlier expressions

212

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

(McLaughlin 1993). European involvement in the development of Maori cultural forms is rarely seen as a neutral act but rather as cultural scandal. Maori appropriation of ideas from Western anthropological theory or the Arts and Crafts movement, for example, for Maori purposes are not usually part of the story. The results of cross-cultural hybridity become interpreted as a form of contamination. The fact that Europeans were in the process of traditionalising their own cultural forms lies hidden within historical accounts, giving the impression that invented traditions are characteristic of indigenous cultural degeneration rather than something present in all societies (Neich 1978, Cory-Pearce 2005, Henare 2005).

Research Kaupapa Research by academic institutions or commercial contracts tends be an internally driven process. This often requires activities to fit into a planned sequence of events so that the aims of the analytical process can be realised within the time and resources available. This was true of the paint analysis for Hinemihi that was planned to take place within a specific time frame around the time of the physical fabric survey in 2003 and was governed by the limited availability of researchers and equipment. During a UCL student visit to Hinemihi with Ngäti Ranana members and National Trust staff in 2003, a range of issues were discussed around the care of Hinemihi at Clandon (Sully 2003/2004). The request for sampling was discussed, and the case was made for conducting this research. Questions were raised in the discussion, such as whether the paint samples could be returned to Hinemihi once they had been analysed. As any material that is removed from Hinemihi (for example, during maintenance or minor repair work) is buried in and around her to ensure that her body remains integral, how would the information from paint analysis benefit her ongoing maintenance? The value of identifying the earliest layers of pigment applied whilst Hinemihi was in New Zealand was considered an important outcome of this work. Although the proposed research was viewed positively by those present at the discussion, permission to sample paint from Hinemihi could not be decided at that time and required further discussion within the Maori community to ensure that full consideration was given to the request. Therefore, the planned sampling process, which would have enabled the analytical project to follow quickly, had to be postponed whilst the paint sampling project was discussed within the Maori community in the United Kingdom and via e-mail with those in New Zealand. Dean Sully attended the regular weekly Ngäti Ranana

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

213

club meetings to discuss the request, and it was decided that the paint sampling should be preceded by an additional karakia, to protect strangers during their invasive work with Hinemihi (sampling requires approaching the surface of Hinemihi, with a sharp scalpel, which could be considered an aggressive act). A karakia was arranged at which Rahera Windsor blessed the work that we were doing and cleared the way for the work to precede safely. The paint analysis project that started during the initial phases of information gathering was particularly important in identifying the conflict between internally generated priorities within a research agenda and the external priorities that fundamentally affect the success or failure of work in this case. The real benefits of the paint analysis were in asking the Maori community for their permission and having to justify the process in terms of the concerns raised by the community. As a result of discussions around pigment analysis, informal relationships between staff and students at UCL and members of the UK-based Maori community became more clearly established. This process enabled the development of a degree of trust and a level of understanding of the differing priorities of the various parties involved. Those involved from the Maori community found that discussions about National Trust priorities and more general conservation concerns were helpful in understanding how their relationship with The National Trust could be cultivated (J Tapiata 2004, e-mail). Faced with the need to accommodate a broader range of relationships within research and practical projects, heritage professionals often regret the loss of scientific freedom. In doing so, they forget that the structural power that formally guaranteed their free access and relative safety ignored the many implicit limits and accommodations that have always been a part of working with people (Clifford 2004, p. 5).

Bicultural Practice As a consequence of the detailed investigation of the current condition of Hinemihi’s built structure, the need for increased levels of routine maintenance became evident. Her external location, surrounded by vegetation and beneath mature trees, had resulted in a build-up of plant debris, lichen, and algal growth on the painted carvings, along with evidence of animal nesting, faeces, burrowing, and gnawing within her structure. The activities of a wood-boring insect had resulted in weakening of structures and loss of material (primarily seen in the soft wood branches that were added in 1960/1980 and some of the external elm planks). The Maori community required Hinemihi to be in a presentable condition for the annual hangi celebrations each year and concern had been expressed about her physical state, especially because

214

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

in New Zealand meeting houses are where possible maintained and restored to a high standard (J Schuster 2005, pers. comm., Hakiwai 2006). It was arranged that in addition to the necessary small-scale repair work, a series of maintenance days would be arranged to take place prior to the annual hangi celebrations in June each year. The first of these was in 2004, in which volunteers from the Maori community in London (Ngäti Ranana), UCL, and The National Trust came together to clean the painted carvings, remove debris from the structure, and document the activities. In 2005, Kohanga Reo children and parents took part in the maintenance activities for the first time. From 2006 on, Maramara Totara became involved and the maintenance days were expanded to cover the three Sundays in June prior to the hangi celebration, which have become an established part of Hinemihi’s calendar (see Figure 12.5). The maintenance days have provided an opportunity for bicultural exchange, for the Maori community of London to share their understanding of Hinemihi, and for UCL students and National Trust staff to share their understanding of conservation with the Maori community. Before work commences, a powhiri (welcoming) takes place for those new to Hinemihi, followed by a karakia to keep everyone safe during the maintenance work. Volunteers are careful to

Figure 12.5 Kohanga Reo parents and children with UCL students during Hinemihi maintenance days, June 2007 (photo: Scott Boswell).

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

215

practice appropriate protocol when entering and working on the marae. National Trust visitors and volunteers alike gain insights into Maori culture through talking with those present, witnessing traditional martial arts training, and watching Kohanga Reo (the Maori language preschool) rehearse performances, paint, draw, and tell stories (see Figure 12.6). This has been a very effective way of generating relationships between the individuals involved and with Hinemihi herself. The maintenance days continued in 2007, more as a social event that focuses on developing relationships between the people involved, with the excuse of carrying out the conservation work with Hinemihi. This has provided a forum for informal discussion about the way forward for Hinemihi and about possible collaborations between different people involved in the maintenance days. One of the important roles of the maintenance days has been in facilitating a connection between the Hinemihi and members of the UKbased Maori community. The involvement of Kohanga Reo children in the maintenance activities has been particularly significant. Hinemihi provides a tangible link between their life in the United Kingdom and the Maori cultural inheritance (Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana 2007). The hangi celebration at Hinemihi as a fundraiser for Kohanga Reo

Figure 12.6 Picture of Hinemihi painted by Alaina from Kohanga Reo, June 2005 (photo: Dean Sully).

216

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

activities makes a significant contribution to the cultural life of Maori children growing up in Britain. In this sense, Hinemihi’s conservation facilitates the conservation of Maori culture through support for teaching of language/culture (Hakiwai 1996, p. 56).

Future Conservation Project The process of formal consultation about Hinemihi’s ongoing care is currently underway. An important part of this discussion has been whether Hinemihi should be ‘conserved’ as a representation of a specific historic period. One option is to represent her as she was in Te Wairoa in the 1880s; another is as she was first set up at Clandon Park in 1897. Pre-1886 photographic documentation for Hinemihi is fairly detailed and lends itself to a historic representation of that time. This would be strengthened by archaeological excavation of the site at Te Wairoa and further scientific examination of Hinemihi at Clandon, including paint analysis. The quality of archival documentation for later periods, following Hinemihi’s arrival at Clandon, is less suited to historic reconstruction. In discussing whether Hinemihi should be returned to her original 1880 or 1897 dimensions, James Schuster noted that ‘she was built that size to suit the people of that time, she would have changed. She was right for that time and those people’ (Lawlor 2007). The implication is that those dimensions may not be right for people today. This discussion reflects a conservation process that seeks to prioritise a return of Hinemihi to a presumed previous state, rather than develop her to facilitate use by the current Maori community. This is also reflected in the nature of the architectural project that will facilitate changes to Hinemihi’s built structure. The National Trust has well-established internal procedures for managing building projects that maintain effective lines of communication through to the statutory bodies of English Heritage (a UK government adviser on the historic environment) and the local planning agencies. This requires that a conservation architect (Royal Institute of British Architects Accredited in Building Conservation, RIBA AABC) should be appointed to oversee the project, to ensure that the ‘established values’ represented in the statutory regulations regarding listed buildings are addressed (Jowell 2006, p. 11). This emphasis on conservation has been questioned by some in the Maori community who wish to see a Maori perspective more clearly represented in the architectural project. This debate reflects an important central principle as to whether the development of Hinemihi is seen primarily as a ‘conservation’ project or as a ‘regeneration’ project.

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

217

This is expressed within the ‘vision statement’ agreed by the Hinemihi project group in 2006: ‘Since interaction with people is crucial to Hinemihi’s life, she must develop to meet the needs of her community here, as she would have done had she remained in New Zealand. Hinemihi will therefore be sympathetically updated for the twenty-first century’ (Lawlor 2006). Such a vision allows Hinemihi to develop to reflect the important network of relationships that surround her. Freeing Hinemihi from the historical constraints of her physical form allows her care to be guided by the needs of the communities around her. The successful long-term care of Hinemihi depends on the strength of these social networks, and these should take precedence over ideas of fixing Hinemihi in a time other than the present. This provides a potential focus for the Maori community in the United Kingdom to think in terms of a ‘London kawa’ (protocol) for a community that increasingly comprises long-term Maori residents in the United Kingdom (A Hoete 2007, pers. comm.). The development of Hinemihi also has implications for the ability of the Maori community to commit to and sustain their involvement in her as a focus for their cultural activities in the United Kingdom. A consideration of alterations to Hinemihi’s current structure relies on a commitment from the Maori community for their future involvement. This is critical to the process, as irreversible intervention in a significant place may be justified, ‘so long as the impact is demonstrably proportionate to the predicted benefits’ (English Heritage 2006). Potentially, this requires establishing a management committee for Hinemihi that mirrors the marae committee that administer activities of meeting houses for communities in New Zealand. In this committee, Ngäti Ranana, with input from Ngäti Hinemihi, ‘will work in partnership with The National Trust to manage the increased number of requests to come to Hinemihi on a regular basis’ (Lawlor 2006). Issues of funding and fundraising will have to be formalised as part of this process. Advice and assistance from the New Zealand Historic Places Trust Pouhere Taonga (NZHPT) was provided during the restoration of Hinemihi in 1980. A partnership between the NZHPT and The National Trust has been suggested as an effective approach to the care of Hinemihi. This would provide a vehicle for developing a sustainable bicultural approach for the future care of Hinemihi, along with the active involvement of the UK-based Maori community. One consistent aspect of the future conservation project is the direct and active involvement of Ngäti Hinemihi, primarily through the agency of James Schuster, who has clearly expressed his intention to be involved in the work required for Hinemihi’s care. This has included a proposal to provide carving restoration and weaving workshops to

218

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

the UK Maori community and others. This would give the community involved in Hinemihi’s conservation the necessary skills and knowledge to take an active part, as a longer term project, in the conservation work required on Hinemihi. These acquired skills could be used in the weaving of new tukutuku (interior woven wall panels), the painting of kowhaiwhai (painted scroll patterns) on the heke (rafters), and the repair and restoration of the carvings. ‘Some of the panels can be made here by Ngäti Hinemihi, some over there with Ngäti Ranana and Kohanga reo who can have an input into the building and take ownership of the decorations of Hinemihi, then they are all part of it along with Ngäti Hinemihi here’ (J Schuster cited in Lawlor 2007).

Conclusion [Objects] have a life of their own … they follow a trajectory throughout their existence. They are in a constant state of change, sometimes that change is great, rapid, sometimes slow, and almost undetectable. But change is of their essence: it is not something incidental, or something which their users try to prevent or combat. So—and this is crucial—they are never intended to stay the same—never intended to have affixed appearance. They are made to be used, and use involves change to their form, their appearance. (McLeod 1995:7, emphasis in the original)

From a process of information gathering, transition has been identified as a fundamental feature of Hinemihi’s physical fabric. Therefore, Hinemihi need not be viewed as a static manifestation, representing any particular historical period, but rather as a structure in transition. Any conservation intervention must consider the prevailing cultural ecosystem that surrounds the conservation decisions at a particular time and place. The most significant change that has taken place since the last major intervention in 1980 is Hinemihi’s role as a focus for Maori cultural activities. This factor must be thought of as a key element in any strategy of care for Hinemihi. Evidence-based information gathering fits clearly into a system in which problems are analysed, evidence is assessed, and risks are evaluated before an appropriate way forward is decided. The value of gathering evidence about Hinemihi’s past, such as through pigment analysis, is to provide scientific data about the nature of painted surfaces that exist on the surface of Hinemihi today. In considering the conservation of the painted carvings, information from paint analysis gives historic justification for the selection of a certain painted scheme. It is, however, more likely that the eventual painted scheme for Hinemihi will reflect a dialogue between the Maori community and The

Conserving Hinemihi at Clandon Park, UK

219

National Trust. In working with meeting house conservation in New Zealand, the decision of the Marae Committee and the tangata whenau (local community) take precedence over historic evidence (J Schuster 2005, pers. comm.). Hinemihi’s conservation provides an opportunity to challenge some of the outdated representations of indigenous peoples as nonviable static cultures rather than as progressive contemporary communities. The representation of Hinemihi as a Victorian building would tend to link the idea that Maori culture is a thing of the past rather than the present and reflect a view of the ‘Old Maori’ rather than the dynamic culture represented by Ngäti Ranana and Ngäti Hinemihi. The relationships between Maori and The National Trust are clearly of the 21st century. If Hinemihi is to reflect contemporary ideas about Maori identity, decisions about her appearance, function, use, and care need to reflect the contemporary concerns of her people. In dealing with the legacy of colonial relationships, Maori are concerned about ensuring that their traditional responsibilities towards their taonga are maintained through the changed circumstances of the past in the present and into the future. Scientifically generated information is one way of understanding the conservation needs of Hinemihi. In a genuine bicultural negotiation, the use of such information is to offer a starting point for a dialogue, rather than to be seen as an endpoint that short circuits debate. In this way, the conservation of Hinemihi will be less a response to Hinemihi as an ‘art work’ and more as a response to the needs of Hinemihi’s people. In doing so, the conservation process can ensure that in preserving the fabric of the past, it does not destroy culture for the future.

Note 1. The staging of the hangi is always agreed on with Ngäti Hinemihi (J. Schuster 2003, e-mail). This event is not marketed by The National Trust as a public event because it is considered a cultural event for Maori people. In addition, the capacity of Clandon Park is limited, and the hangi would be likely to attract a large number of visitors (Lawlor 2007).

220

Dean Sully and Isabel Pombo Cardoso

PART V

CONCLUSIONS

13 DECOLONISING HINEMIHI AND CONSERVATION PRACTICE Dean Sully

Decolonising The term ‘decolonisation’, originally referring to the process of handing over governance to the indigenous inhabitants of former colonies, is now recognised as an ongoing long-term process of divesting colonial power (Huygens 2006, p. 364). Linda Tuhiwai Smith uses the term to represent an indigenous language of critique in understanding the impact of colonialism on the living consciousness of indigenous communities (Smith 2005, p. 24). This represents the legacy of the fight against colonial rule and is in essence ‘oppositional ‘in nature: ‘The reach of imperialism into “our heads” challenges those that belong to colonised communities … to decolonise our minds, to recover ourselves’ (Smith 2005, p. 23). The application of ‘decolonising methodologies’ involves a repositioning of worldviews that seeks to understand theory and practice from specific local perspectives and for specific local purposes (Smith 2005, p. 7). It seeks to enable peoples to speak for themselves and tell their own stories from their own perspectives in a manner they consider appropriate to them (Kreps 2003). The decolonising concept of ‘de-centring’ involves moving concepts from the margin to the centre, allowing a challenge to dominant narratives and providing 221

222

Dean Sully

an opportunity for ‘writing back’ in expressing values that lie hidden (Smith 2005, Atalay 2006, p. 282). This offers a means of addressing the asymmetrical interconnectivity that entwine the lives of the coloniser and the colonised. In cultural terms, reducing Eurocentrism involves revealing and questioning the cultural values of the dominant group, so they can learn to ‘other’ themselves and their own culture. In structural terms, this involves ‘depowering’ themselves (Black 1997, Kirton 1997, Huygens 2006). This is a liberating process that allows the emergence of a new discourse, one that is not confined solely by Western reference points (Kreps 2003). Decolonisation offers a critique of colonialism conducted in the perspective of an even more comprehensive, multifaceted critique of ourselves (Gopal 2007). It requires an examination of the past so as to provide some understanding of the conditions by which certain accepted experiences of the world may have come into existence and how this might be used to shape ongoing relationships (Rowlands 1998). Gopal suggests that for Britain such a common project provides an opportunity to renegotiate a desire for multicultural cohesion that goes beyond decreeing a common set of values by which we are all judged, rather, to a truly participatory dialogue in which a shared present, past, and future can be held in common (Gopal 2007).

Decolonising Conservation The impact of past collecting activities has resulted in the complex and intertwined histories of cultural artefacts and peoples that today raise issues of contested ownership and challenges over use, management, interpretation, and control of cultural heritage (Hooper-Greenhill 1998, 2000, Joyce 2002, p. 215, Corey-Pearce 2005). To descendants of the originating communities, the presence of their cultural material in centralised, national, and international heritage institutions may be seen as painful reminders of cultural loss and the injustice of past relationships that are maintained and presented as current (Muñoz-Vinas 2005, p. 66). Professional conservators contribute to this by ensuring that objects endure and by altering them to a condition that reflects their own specific cultural, institutional, and professional expectations. The physical survival of cultural material may be viewed as a positive outcome of this process, however the use of objective scientific principles to curate and conserve such objects reflects an inherent assumption of power, which underpins the right to select and enhance certain meanings of objects and culture, whilst restricting others (McLaughlin 1993, p. 2). The emphasis of Western conservation on tangible evidence, legible within Western knowledge systems, tends to separate the notion of the object from the social networks that bind people to objects.

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

223

The beliefs of descendant communities, indigenous peoples, minority groups, local people, or the socially excluded that represent ways of understanding outside the prevailing universalising paradigm are less likely to enter into the central tenets of conservation. The suppression of ‘alternative’ views that were seen as resisting the mission of colonialism can similarly be seen in current heritage conservation philosophy that privileges certain approaches whilst resisting other approaches to caring for material culture (Theophile & Ranjitkar 2003, p. 58). The decolonisation of conservation provides an opportunity to create counterdiscourse that challenges the power relations involved in existing approaches to managing the past. This approach resists the automatic imposition of a Western epistemology and worldview and the appropriation of the cultural and intellectual property of others (Clifford 2004, p. 5, Atalay 2006). The pedagogical implication of affirming alternative histories is the access to alternative knowledges that form the basis for alternative ways of doing things. By accepting the validity of alternative stories over the past, we acknowledge the validity of alternative models of managing the past (Glover et al 2004, Smith 2005, p. 34). Repatriation claims often expose the internal contradictions of the heritage industry as they represent the potential loss of the raw materials for heritage scholarship and professional practice. Repatriation claims can be seen as a form of resistance to colonial power and a mechanism for reclaiming traditions and challenging the culture of the occupier (Joyce 2002, p. 106). Hakiwai and Tapsell remind us that developing partnerships, rather than opposition positions, have been effective in resolving issues of long-term management of Maori taonga (treasures) (Hakiwai 1995, Tapsell 2002, p. 284). The solution to some of the contradictions inherent within current conservation theory and practice lies with an engagement in the social network around the conservation process. In practice, all the elements of a decolonising conservation are required to be negotiated with the communities involved in the process. This goes beyond adding public outreach elements to existing frameworks of practice. It is engaged with reconceptualising conservation theory and transforming practice (Kreps 2003, George & Hollowell 2007). A decolonising conservation offers the potential to investigate alternative ways of approaching the conservation process. A conservator’s engagement with other peoples’ objects provides an opportunity to reconsider the nature of past relationships with those who produced, owned, exchanged, collected, and used the objects, along with their descendants. The physical presence of objects that prevail through time creates a focus for considering and reconsidering relationships with ‘our’ past and the past of ‘others’. Adopting a decolonising

224

Dean Sully

position offers an opportunity to critically review ‘our’ understanding of existing relationships and seeks to question ‘our’ relationships with ‘our’ colonial past.

Decolonising Conservation Practice A key feature of a decolonising conservation practice is an agenda guided by local communities, engaged with the current aspirations of these communities, and focused on the issues that are important to these communities now (Gosden & Knowles 2001, pp. 245–249, Smith & Wobst 2005, p. 392). The aim of such a process is to enable communities to participate in the process of heritage production and management in a way that reflects their own expectations and allows them to determine what is conserved and how this is done (George & Hollowell 2007). Community-based conservation projects that are people-centred and bottom-up enable heritage processes to be decentralised and adapted to local needs (Kreps 2003). This calls for projects that are undertaken with the community, in a truly collaborative effort, in which conservation decisions come out of a genuine process of negotiation between those involved in the process (Smith 2005, Smith & Wobst 2005, Smith & Jackson 2006). This should involve conservators working within a framework of local community and indigenous control rather than solely within established Western professional guidelines (Smith & Jackson 2006). This work may require different processes of accountability in which heritage professionals are monitored by supervisors or mentors from the community groups involved (eg Huygens 2006, p. 367).

Community Conservation and the Conservation Community Conservation not only provides an opportunity to renegotiate the meaning and function of the material past in relation to the values of the current community; it also has the potential to assist in building a community through the networks that connect people to the object undergoing conservation, as an object-centred social network (Kreps 2003). The perceived necessity of conservation action, which often arises from concerns about the condition and stability of the physical materials that make up cultural heritage, brings with it a specific dynamic to the decision-making process. A conservation intervention creates a clear reason for people to define their relationship to the material culture undergoing conservation. The conservation project can offer a focus for establishing public dialogue, and, where it does not exist, assist in building a community framework through which decisions can be reached. Judgements about the values, associated with

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

225

the material past, are necessarily specific to the time and context in which they are made. The conservation process, therefore, provides a valuable opportunity to focus on the effect that material culture has on people at the ‘moment’ of conservation (Wharton 2004, p. 206). The relationships generated in the process have a direct impact on maintaining the relevance of cultural material to people’s lives. As these relationships change over time, they may cause multiple transformations in the nature of the material culture. Although each of these transformations is constructed in the present, processes aimed at developing shared understanding around conservation decisions can supply a mechanism for the long-term care of material culture. Therefore, what is required is a genuine inclusive participatory conservation process that develops long-term trust within communities and brings tangible benefits to the individuals and communities involved. In considering the conservation community, we must expect that the ways in which people perceive, value, care for, and transmit heritage will be as diverse as the communities that they represent (Kreps 2005, p. 7). The challenge of establishing an equitable balance between the seemingly incommensurable claims of different communities (such as the heritage professionals and a connected community) is significant (George & Hollowell 2007). This may entail striving towards achieving a consensus of view where possible, or if no consensus is possible or even desirable, then at least openly acknowledging the differences that are evident so that they are clearly expressed rather than played down (Garton Smith 1997/8, D Eastop 2007, pers. comm.). A community’s reengagement with cultural heritage may become a symbol of local unity and, at the same time, be a site of polarisation that reveals opposed factions within widely diverging community. These factions may wish to preserve the past but imagine the future in different ways (Rowlands & de Jong 2007). Community conservation presents a range of challenges for the conservation profession. There are difficult questions to address about who genuinely represents the ‘community’, how decisions are made, and who benefits from the process.

Who Is the ‘Community’? The term ‘community’ can be a difficult one to define; it can obscure a complex phenomenon of linked social systems that exist on many levels, often characterised by particular cultural behaviour. Communities are likely to be elusive and constantly changing. It is often difficult to identify which particular cultural community, or which part of a community, has the greatest stake in any particular instance (DCMS 2006). The image

226

Dean Sully

of a coherent longstanding localised source of authority, tied to what are assumed to be intrinsically sustainable management regimes, may be an idealised view, even within a Maori cultural context where genealogical links tend to define clearly established responsibilities to taonga. Within New Zealand, for example, urban-based Maori groups have challenged the established authority of traditional iwi (tribal) structures (Meredith 2000). When considering community involvement based on cultural links to the heritage undergoing conservation, the relative merits of specific communities to be represented in the process may need to be considered. It is a challenge to retain multivocality without accepting every voice without critique (George & Hollowell 2007). The claims of some groups such as cultural descendants, or members of a particular community, may need to be given more consideration than others. In cross-cultural situations, it is likely to be the cultural groups themselves that define the right to be involved. Therefore, this requires a valid mechanism for evaluating competing claims (George & Hollowell 2007). The validity of specific communities is likely to relate to a connection that a community has with the geographic location, beliefs, customs, and language from which the heritage originates (DCMS 2006, p. 26). Systems such as the ‘stakeholder paradigm’ and ‘interest group model’ are mechanisms for community-based heritage resource management and ways of dealing with the associated conflicts that may arise. McNiven and Russell, writing about indigenous archaeology, however, suggest that these mechanisms provide a mask of democracy and fair play to what is, in reality, further colonial appropriation that externalises communities from their own heritage. They propose the ‘host/guest’ model that is an effective scheme for cross-cultural interaction and represents genuine decolonising practice. In this model, members of the community, as ‘hosts’, have full control over the process and may invite ‘guests’ to participate on their terms. This is preferable to local communities being invited as participants in somebody else’s process (McNiven & Russell 2005, p. 236). The question of who is the guest and who the host is particularly problematic when considering the care of Maori meeting houses outside New Zealand.

How Are Decisions Made? Is community conservation possible in which authority in the process is negotiated rather than assumed? The challenge here is to develop decision-making processes that do not privilege the ‘insider’ in the conservation process. The role of the conservation professional is to act

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

227

as a facilitator, listener, and resource for the community (Butts 1990, p. 111); to provide information about the process; to participate in an informed debate; and to provide tools that can be used to achieve the desired outcomes of the participants (Kahn 2000, Smith 2005). When entering into a broader debate that surrounds the use, value, and meaning of conserved objects, conservators need to be prepared for the issues and interests that concern them as professionals not necessarily to be shared by other participants. Garton-Smith identifies the conflict between the imposition of professional conservation standards in local museums and the ability of local community groups to represent local views of the past (Garton Smith 1997/8, p. 9). Heritage professionals can endanger heritage by distancing its conservation from its traditional guardians (Johnson 1992, p. 5). Konare presents a call for the establishment of local conservation structures and practices based on each ethnic community’s particular traditions. This does provide a role for the heritage professional to give training and expertise, however their views should not take precedence over local knowledge, experience, and wisdom (Kreps 2003, p. 42). This is reflected in Gamini Wijesuriya’s assertion in chapter 3 that the beliefs of the ‘connected’ community should take precedence over that of other users such as heritage experts. There is no one definitive solution for effective collaborative practice. How community-based projects are applied to conservation practice is situation and context dependent; each community project requires place-specific solutions rather than the application of general models. Cooper and Brooking suggest a devolutionary approach in which communities are trusted to get on with the job, to sort out their own priorities and goals, and to organise their own projects and operating methods (Cooper & Brooking 2002). The heritage institution and professionals can take a backseat in such a locally driven, self-motivated programme. Practical resources can be focused on the objectives of the project, rather than on the procedural mechanisms that can become a priority in their own right (Cooper & Brooking 2002). The process of consultation that relies on specific mechanisms, such as the production of a statement of significance and management plan within the Burra Charter framework, can be seen as being designed to reflect the procedural requirements of heritage institutions, rather than as ensuring the genuine informed participation of community groups. The assessment of community values may not easily be forced into preconceived categories of importance, because places that hold significance to a particular community may not be significant to any other group (Gordon 1991, p. 48). Care needs to be exercised with the

228

Dean Sully

assumption that heritage professionals can objectively evaluate the relative benefits of conflicting cultural values held by different community groups. Knowledge about local community values may not be available to everybody and may only be accessible by particular individuals within the community, such as kaumatua (elders) who hold knowledge about wähi tapu (sacred sites) (Nathan 1991, p. 11). Rosof provides some background to the participatory mechanisms for American Indian peoples at the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), Washington, DC (Rosof 2003). Their collaboration processes have focused on producing individual statements, rather than pan-tribal cultural solutions, to ensure that NMAI practices are adapted and updated to the specific needs of individual native communities. Johnson and colleagues describe the way that systematic consultations have resulted in a shift in the way that conservators work at NMAI (Johnson et al 2005). Guided by community representatives, conservators have attempted to balance the institutional practice of conservation with the beliefs of the communities. This is also evident in the iwi- and hapü- (sub-tribe-) based models presented by Hakiwai (chapter 2) and Schuster and Whiting (chapter 4) relating to the care of Maori taonga in New Zealand. In the projects described in chapter 4, Maori conservators act as facilitators to provide tools, knowledge, and resources to enable local communities to develop their own response to the needs of their historic marae buildings. The approach to marae conservation is an excellent example of communitybased conservation and adaptation of Western conservation principles to local circumstances. Wharton’s role in the conservation of the Kamehameha I Monument in Hawai’i reveals how a shift of conservation focus away from the academy to the requirements of the community can result in a truly collaborative process that provides clear benefits to those involved (Wharton 2002, 2004). Kreps gives a useful example of the communitybased conservation of a 19th-century adobe church in Arroyo Seco, New Mexico. Here, local cultural traditions and current conservation approaches were combined to restore both the building and a renewed sense of pride in the collective identity of the community (Kreps 2003, p. 141). The restoration of Tutanekai (in chapter 4) powerfully illustrates the opportunity that destruction and restoration present for community building. Community participation in Tutanekai’s restoration was a platform for the transfer of traditional knowledge—processing raw materials, dyes, weaving techniques, painted designs, carving, etc. Through the support of heritage professionals, the community was able to take control of the process and retain the responsibility for their

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

229

meeting house. The positive benefits of community participation can be seen as having an effect beyond the limits of the conservation project. In chapter 2, Hakiwai uses the term ‘cultural well-being’ to describe the vitality that communities and individuals enjoy through participation in cultural activities and the freedom to retain, interpret, and express their heritage and traditions.

Kaupapa Maori ‘Kaupapa Maori’ is one model that describes a specific Maori approach to research proposed by Linda Tuhiwai Smith (Smith 2005, p. 183). Kaupapa Maori recognises that Maori have a different epistemological tradition that frames the way that they see the world. Thus, it establishes Maori culture as the foundation of the research method. This connects to the concept of whanau (the family) as the prevailing social organization. The concept of the whanau as the focus for conflict resolution has also been widely adopted outside New Zealand in social work practice as the ‘Family Group Conference’ (Morris & Tunnard 1996). Similarly, the extension of another key Maori concept, that of the marae as a meeting place, has been broadened at The Field Museum in Chicago. John Terrell and colleagues, in chapter 5, suggest that the Maori concept of the marae may be New Zealand’s greatest gift to the world. The role of Ruatepupuke II as a focus for Maori cultural activities has expanded as a place for cross-cultural encounters, ‘marae encounters’, for a range of community groups such as Korean diaspora communities and Native American tribes from the Chicago area (Terrell 2005). The bicultural governance structures of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (Te Papa) establish primary rights of indigenous peoples in the management care and interpretation of the cultural material held in museums. In chapter 2, Hakiwai informs us of the principle mana taonga that recognises the spiritual and cultural connections of taonga with the people. These rights accord to iwi the mana (authority) to care for their taonga, to speak about and with them, and to determine the uses of them by the museum. This is related to principles of ‘partnership’ and ‘active participation’. This gives substance to the concept of curating ‘other peoples’ objects’ and to the notion of ‘object-centred social networks’. This has meant an institutionalisation of source community involvement in the museum’s major conservation projects. The examples of the conservation of a Ngäti Pikiao 19th-century patäka (storehouse) (Kreps 2003, p. 73), and a Ngäti Tahu eel trap (Smith & Winkelbauer 2006, pp. 128–133) illustrate this process in action. In these projects, the collaboration between the iwi representatives and

230

Dean Sully

museum conservators ensured that both physical integrity and cultural integrity of the taonga undergoing treatment were enhanced. To these examples, we can add other community engagement models such as the ‘Iwi Caucus’ model , a New Zealand bicultural partnership for councils and Maori community consultation (Tunks 2002, p. 334). The ‘Carter Holt Harvey model’ for consultation between Maori communities and large commercial companies (Roberts 2002, p. 248) prioritises the intangible or spiritual relationships between the tangata whenua (home people) and their taonga tu¯turu (ancestral taonga), rather than the narrower issues of physical evidence, to inform decisions (Roberts 2002, p. 222). The role of tangata whenua is a key concept within Maori cultural resource management. The customary authority of tangata whenua over the land upon which the museums stand (mana o te whenua) provides a role of kaitiakitanga (spiritual and customary guardianship) of the taonga that resides within the museum. In addition, the source community connected to its taonga also has particular customary responsibilities for these objects. Guardianship, therefore, exists in interconnected obligation of both groups. Therefore, partnerships need to be formed through the museum’s tangata whenua to other Maori groups connected to their taonga in the museum. The tangata whenua provide the appropriate customary space, which allow outside kin groups to interact with the museum (Kawharu 2002, p. 294). Tapsell suggests that these partnership relations, under the customary authority of the home group, can be used by institutions worldwide to reconnect source communities with the objects in their museums. These long-term partnerships can be sustained through collaborative research conservation and exhibition projects that offer benefits for all parties (Tapsell 2002, p. 290).

Who Benefits? In a self-reflective process, there are evident benefits that can accommodate different ways of working that arise from different ways of understanding the world around us. This requires the heritage professional to share rather than represent authority, working sensitively, flexibly, and respectfully to demystify conservation processes for local communities (Nicks 2003). To facilitate this process, resources are required to generate trust and sustain meaningful relationships that need to be incorporated into the budgets and deadlines of funding agencies. Thus, for a community to effectively participate, resources are required to compensate participants for time spent and expenses incurred. This may involve creating employment and providing training for community members (Nicks 2003). Other specialists, such

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

231

as accountants, lawyers, architects, and the like, may be models for resourcing specialist knowledge from community groups. Formal co-management and co-ownership arrangements may be effective in some situations; however, these have long-term implications for resources that heritage institutions and communities must be prepared to honour if they are to succeed (Nicks 2003). This reflects a current discussion between The National Trust and Ngäti Ranana about the levels of commitment possible from the UK-based Maori community to use Hinemihi as a focus for Maori cultural activities that is associated with the potential redevelopment of Hinemihi at Clandon Park. The presence of a significant and active Maori community in the United Kingdom is fundamental to the success of a participatory approach for the care of Hinemihi. Karl Burrows (chapter 9) informs us about the difficulties that voluntary organisations have in making shared commitments to future projects. There are practical and social limitations for using Hinemihi as Ngäti Ranana’s ‘London marae’. One of the benefits of building relationships around the conservation of Hinemihi has been a greater understanding on the part of the community about the limitations under which heritage institutions such as The National Trust operate. In addition, Hinemihi provides some understanding for heritage professionals of how decisions about the use of heritage in their care has impacted on the quality of people’s lives. There are potential adverse consequences to increased consultation in that there is a tendency to place large demands on the same group of people within communities whose views are valued (Cooper & Brooking 2002, p. 199). It may be asking too much of people to represent a community’s views and to take some of the responsibility and criticism that belong to heritage professionals (Neich 1985). Issues about authority over cultural heritage may not be a current priority for a community. Communities that are tackling issues of social welfare list education, housing, health, employment, and access to resources as priorities for community action in preference to questions of ownership of material culture (Tapsell 2003, p. 246). James Schuster (chapter 10) provides an insight into the feelings that Ngäti Hinemihi hold as Hinemihi’s connected community. He reveals that although this relationship is significant, it is one of many relationships and many issues that face the community that may have greater priority in terms of the social well-being of the hapü. One momentous issue currently being discussed is the long-awaited return of the Ngäti Hinemihi to Te Wairoa, the village left devastated by the eruption of Mount Tarawera in 1886. Hinemihi at Clandon Park may have a role to play in this process, but it is evidently one amongst many other pressing concerns for Ngäti Hinemihi. It does, however,

232

Dean Sully

open up the opportunity at some stage in the future of uniting the three Hinemihis at Te Wairoa, in a symbolic return of the people, their ancestors, and their taonga after over a century of exile. The legal opinion provided by Kathryn Last in chapter 11 considers the ability of The National Trust to return Hinemihi to Ngäti Hinemihi, should they wish to do so. Last shows the complexity involved in dealing with the legal claims of return and restitution. In addition, Arapata Hakiwai, in chapter 2, highlights the rights of indigenous peoples to ‘self-determination’ and in exercising that right, there is recognition of indigenous peoples as ‘the exclusive owners of their cultural and intellectual property that is presented in The Mataatua Declaration (1993) and The United Nations Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (1993)’. The Maori past is not just a heritage resource; it is part of the living present that reaches back through whakapapa (genealogy), tupuna (ancestors), and through time to the creator (Matunga 1994, p. 219). This view is summed up by O’Regan: ‘The heritage of our ancestors, passing down to us, passing down through us’ (O’Regan 1990, p. 98). When considering contrasting claims about the ownership of cultural materials, few precedents suggest that litigation is an effective way forward. The positive experiences, evident in cases of repatriation such as the Kelvingrove ghost dance shirt, have occurred when both sides of the ownership claim have entered into a partnership of mutual benefit (Simpson 2002). The most effective way to address questions of contested ownership is for heritage institutions to develop partnerships with the source communities of the cultural material that they hold. In doing so, they are able to encourage active participation and acknowledge their authority in decisions about the care and ownership of their objects. Communities may not wish to engage in such a process or may require the heritage professionals to position themselves within a community framework to a greater extent prior to taking part.

Consultation that Ticks the Box When questions of ownership and control of contested material culture are evident, the involvement of the local or source communities could be seen as an attempt by heritage institutions to justify the status quo and to appropriate other cultural meanings to add value to their existing property. These actions conflict with the idea of consultation representing a genuine attempt by those involved in the process to share understanding and seek to consider the values of the other parties. For the consultation process to be valid there needs to be an attempt to share control over the decision-making amongst the people involved,

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

233

along with a process of negotiation to enable alternative outcomes to become acceptable. With institutionalised collaboration, there is a potential that the consultation process could become an empty category in a procedural tick box.

Cross-Cultural Approach The discourse around the UNESCO Safeguarding of Intangible Heritage Act 2003 represents a shift in concern from tangible heritage protection to the safeguarding of the knowledge, skills, and values as well as the people and social processes that sustain this heritage. This requires that local communities be able to sustain living heritage through the performance of their cultural traditions (Rowlands & de Jong 2007). The knowledge and practices of indigenous conservation as an expression of cultural identity and continuity fit within this concept of intangible heritage and therefore need to be protected to ensure transmission through the generations (Kreps 2005, p. 5). Gamini Wijesuriya (chapter 3) provides historical details of the traditional practices that are a part of the maintenance of spiritual buildings in the Buddhist tradition. These practices, skills, and knowledge systems are integral parts of the cultural life of these religious places and safeguard the transmission of these buildings into the future. These methods rightly take precedence over a universalised idea of preserving heritage. A collaborative approach that blends the strengths of Western scientific understanding with the knowledge of local communities or indigenous peoples has the potential to create a new set of theories and practices for an ethically informed study and management of the past. This opens up the possibility of a conservation that addresses the social issues of the present rather than merely seeks to fix the past and predict the future. The challenge, therefore, is to attempt to hybridise Western and local approaches through adaptive conservation techniques to respond to the specific needs of the communities involved (Flynn & Hull-Walski 2001). The balance between ‘educating the local’ and ‘doing it like the local’ may lie in a merged approach in which the philosophical underpinnings of conservation are stretched to incorporate the diversity of needs of local communities, thereby expanding the goals of conservation and working methods rather than limiting them, expressing the possibility of having a ‘both/and’ rather than an ‘either/or’ (Clavir 2002, p. 233, Theophile & Ranjitkar 2003, p. 58). In chapter 4, Schuster and Whiting consider the implications of hybridisation within the indigenous heritage professional. This has forced Maori trained in the principles of Western conservation to reconcile two sets of cultural ideas in their work and home lives, which is sometimes difficult to resolve.

234

Dean Sully

Cross-cultural comparison allows us to identify the differences and acknowledge the similarities of how objects are valued and cared for in various cultural contexts (Kreps 2003, p. 153). The difference between conserving buildings and conserving the skills that built them can be polemicised into a critique of conservation wherever local traditional practice survives (Menon 2003, p. 109). This might be seen as the difference between the act of making being memorialised in the physical material and the act of making being valued in the ability to make (ie the act of carving not the carving itself) (Mead 1983, p. 101, Kreps 2003, p. 44). This is enacted in Schuster and Whiting’s account of the restoration of Tutanekai in chapter 4. The removal of Tutanekai’s fire-damaged carvings and their replacement with new carvings can be seen as consistent with a Western concept of conservation. However, the decision to bury the removed historic carvings, to enable them to decompose on the marae as a way of retaining the mauri (spiritual potency) of the carver, lies outside the framework of understanding for Western conservation. Therefore, rather than memorialising the carvings as a museum exhibit, their value is seen to be in the coming together of ancestral spiritual power and the integrity of the marae. The approach taken with the Tutanekai’s fire-damaged tukutuku (decorative internal wall panels) similarly focused on replacement rather than retention of original material. The damage and restoration of the tukutuku was seen as an opportunity to renew their beauty. The current generation has confidence that future generations will be able to supply carvings and woven panels for their meeting houses in the same way that their ancestors have done in the past and as they do now. Eva Garbutt, in chapter 6, describes the conservation of tukutuku for Te Wharepuni a Maui in Stuttgart’s Linden Museum in 1993 by Emily Schuster. This is seen as a negotiation between Maori and Western conservation approaches in which a Western conservation view of the retention of original material takes precedence over Maori approach of the reweaving and renewal. The degree to which this compromise is weighted in favour of the heritage institution/professional or the Maori participants can be viewed differently from either side of the divide. In any partnership, of course, a degree of compromise and negotiation is required. The degree of compromise is clearly linked to the relative positions of power and authority in the process. Whether such a partnership represents merely the provision of a broader support for the conservation decisions or a true reconceptualisation of the process depends on access to power and authority. A redistribution of power is the key to the success of decolonisation strategies. This is likely to be a long-term process in heritage conservation processes in which the legal, intellectual, and practical limitations on progress will need to be negotiated on a case-by-case basis.

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

235

Conserving Maori Meeting Houses outside New Zealand The value of contact between heritage institutions and source communities is evident in the care of Ruatepupuke II in Chicago, Hinemihi at Clandon Park, and Te Wharepuni a Maui in Stuttgart’s Linden Museum. In these cases, the rights of Ngäti Hinemihi, Te Whanau-aRuataupare and Ngäti Porou to speak for their taonga tipuna (ancestral treasures) are established by whakapapa and customary practice. Therefore, The National Trust, The Field Museum, and the Linden Museum have clearly established lines of communication to a connected community in New Zealand. In each case, 1986 appears to be a pivotal point in the chronology of reconnecting the meeting houses with their Maori source communities in New Zealand. This possibly reflects the international impact of the Te Maori exhibition and is associated with social and political changes occurring then within New Zealand and the Maori society. Each of the four meeting houses received initial contact from representatives of the source community at this time. In the case of The Field Museum, a delegation was sent from Chicago to Tokomaru Bay to engage in an open dialogue with the community there. The partnership in decision-making that has developed around the curation and conservation of Ruatepupuke II is an inspirational model of genuine and effective participatory practice. The 1993 restoration of Ruatepupuke II was structured as a co-curated project between John Terrell and Arapata Hakiwai and conservation interns from Tokomaru Bay working alongside Field Museum conservation staff. This reflects a genuine bicultural project with shared control over principle, policy, and practice. Even fourteen years on, this project stands as an inspirational model for what could be achieved in the current conservation project for Hinemihi. The care of Rauru at Museum für Völkerkunde in Hamburg represents a different story in which the process of reconnection with the source community does not appear to have developed significantly. Eva Garbutt considers the reasons behind this in chapter 6. It might be because Rauru has always been considered to be in good condition and has been permanently sited within the same museum gallery since he was installed at the museum in the early 20th century. It might also be a consequence of expectations of the institution in which Rauru is held. It is likely that the initial reconnection with Ngäti Hinemihi following Emily Schuster’s visit in 1986 will be developed when future decisions about Rauru’s care are being considered. Deterioration in condition is a common catalyst for conservation action in the decision-making process of Western conservation. This has been apparent in discussions about Hinemihi at Clandon Park, where

236

Dean Sully

the consequences of her external location mean that relatively frequent maintenance and repair of her structure is required. These interventions have stimulated discussions about how this should take place. This does not, however, hold true for conservation interventions on Ruatepupuke II, where deteriorated condition has not been the major driving force in initiating conservation intervention at The Field Museum. The account of the debate about the restoration of Ruatepupuke II’s painted designs in chapter 5 reveals that the proposals are driven by the desires of the community at Tokomaru Bay. This relates to Ruatepupuke II’s appearance as a representation of tribal identity, rather than more conventional museum concerns of physical stability. In chapter 2, Arapata Hakiwai informs us that Maori cultural treasures held in museums have a vital role to play in the resignification and inscription of Maori identity. They have a restorative dimension to the living descendants of their producers and users today. The lack of geographical proximity limits the ability of the source communities to play a day-to-day role in decisions about their meeting houses held outside New Zealand. Improvements in global communication, e-mail, video-conferencing, and transport mean closer participation in routine decisions are realistic possibilities in ways that may not have been technically possible thirty years ago. Schuster and Whiting, in chapter 4, provide a potential model for the conservation of meeting houses outside New Zealand. There is, however, a significant difference between the approach to the conservation of meeting houses and marae that are outside heritage institutions and are intimately connected with the lives of their local community. Of the meeting houses outside New Zealand, Hinemihi at Clandon Park provides a real opportunity to engage fully with the approach taken in the conservation of historic marae in New Zealand. This model focuses on assisting the local community with training knowledge and resources required to look after their meeting houses. The presence of an active Maori community in London creates a role for Hinemihi in expressions of Maori cultural identity and in developing relationships that facilitate cultural transmission of their values for a generation of Maori children growing up in Britain. Karl Burrows, in chapter 9, informs us that there are difficulties for Ngäti Ranana in accepting responsibility for an ancestral meeting house to which they are not genealogically connected. Therefore, their relationship with Hinemihi and their responsibility to Ngäti Hinemihi requires delicate and complex negotiation. Ngäti Ranana, in the absence of Ngäti Hinemihi in the United Kingdom, are seen as the ‘home team’ to represent and support the wishes of Ngäti Hinemihi as the connected

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

237

community. Ngäti Ranana do, however, provide a local community for Hinemihi that are able to facilitate her spiritual conservation by ‘keeping her warm’. The conservation of Hinemihi has created a focus for relations between Ngäti Hinemihi and Ngäti Ranana that have implications for the role of Maori cultural transmission within the Maori diaspora of Britain. The participation of James Schuster, as Ngäti Hinemihi and Maori heritage professional to guide members of the London Maori community in the conservation of Hinemihi, offers an intriguing prospect of shifting the focus of Hinemihi’s conservation from that of a conservation project within the heritage institution in the United Kingdom to a marae conservation project that takes place within a Maori community. In engaging with the Maori community, Julie DeLong Lawlor and Katy Lithgow (in chapter 8) provide a progressive view of The National Trust’s concept of conservation that is focused on facilitating the Hinemihi’s Maori cultural function. The success of their approach will be measured in terms of the resultant social benefits. The intellectual and legislative framework of The National Trust is evident in the provision of a formal process of information gathering and structured consultation. In facilitating the use of Hinemihi as a marae, however, The National Trust offers the possibility of a life for Hinemihi beyond the status as a garden folly and historical manifestation of the Onslow family’s relationship with New Zealand in the 19th century. This explicitly acknowledges the contemporary role that Hinemihi has in the significant events of people’s lives today. How this is to be accommodated in the current proposals for Hinemihi’s future reflects an important discussion about the emphasis on ‘development’ or the emphasis on ‘conservation’ in the project. This mirrors the tension between the ‘cultural perspective’ and the ‘preservation perspective’ that juxtaposes cultural sustainability and material authenticity within marae conservation in New Zealand outlined in chapter 4. The limitations imposed by adopting a ‘preservation perspective’ on the innovation of communities is perceived as problematic for marae conservation in New Zealand. Similarly, this has the potential to create tension with the future development of Hinemihi. The development of Hinemihi’s conservation as a community project driven by the needs of the Maori community offers an opportunity for The National Trust and heritage professionals in Britain to work with Maori, on Maori cultural heritage, within a Maori worldview. This would need to be adapted within the patrimony of The National Trust and the prevailing Western conservation paradigm. In sharing authority, heritage professionals gain strength. For The National Trust,

238

Dean Sully

Hinemihi is an opportunity to work with Maori and to be guided by them, rather than seeking to impose guidelines on the process. This requires a degree of courage and confidence on the part of The National Trust to fully open up to the benefits of incorporating other worldviews into their perspective on the care of Hinemihi.

Concluding Remarks Rethinking the nature of this past beyond Eurocentric paradigms offers ways of widening the possibilities for cultural transmission in the present and future. By questioning authority over the past, decolonising processes are means of constructing a view of the past that is ethically, culturally, and politically appropriate to the present. The process of cross-cultural working and merging of indigenous conservation with a Western conservation practice begs the question about how equitable this process can be in a situation in which the power relationships largely remain unaltered. This limits the potential to develop a conservation practice that emphasises the ethics of social justice for a wider, more diverse constituency. Whether it is indigenous conservation, public conservation, informed conservation, devolved conservation, decentred conservation, peopleled conservation, community-based conservation, participatory conservation, or context-focused conservation, these concepts do not offer solutions but rather the prospect of different and possibly better ways of working. The benefits of this work need to be assessed in terms of their effect on people through general concepts of social welfare and human happiness. They may also be seen as providing new sets of questions about the role of conservation in developing a more humane heritage. The possibility of such a shared project may be our contribution towards a less terrifying, more hopeful collective future (Butler 2006, Gopal 2007). If the goal of a decolonising conservation is to enable heritage institutions to relinquish control and allow communities to become actively involved in the care of their cultural heritage, then the care of historic meeting houses outside New Zealand can be considered to be successful. However, although active bicultural participation is a commendable goal, it is evident that in all the case studies of caring for meeting houses outside New Zealand, the involvement of communities has occurred because heritage institutions and their professionals have allowed it to take place. The Maori participants are clearly guests and are not hosting the process. The role of Arapata Hakiwai in the care of Ruatepupuke II and James Schuster with Hinemihi present a degree of Maori supervisory control

Decolonising Hinemihi and Conservation Practice

239

and mentorship that helps establish more equitable relationships. As yet, this has not gone as far as Western heritage professionals working within an intellectual framework governed by a Maori worldview. In this regard, it is right to question whether Hinemihi herself will need to be consulted about the proposed changes to her use and care. How this could be done is difficult to conceive within a Western worldview, as Hinemihi’s needs are represented by discussions between her people. Whether Hinemihi herself has anything to say is likely to be expressed in terms of her effect on those people. In chapter 10, James Schuster, speaking for Ngäti Hinemihi, reflects on Hinemihi at Clandon: ‘We owe her our lives. We would not exist had it not been for her. When she is ready to return, she will’. It may be right to leave that question to her.

240

Dean Sully

Glossary and Maori Terms

241

GLOSSARY OF MAORI TERMS MAORI amo Aotearoa Aporo Te Wharekaniwha atawhai Atua haere kai haka haka powhiri hakari hangi hapü Hawaiki/ Hawaiiki

heke hei tiki here hongi hui hunga tiaki ihi

ENGLISH carved posts at the front of the meeting house New Zealand, land of the long white cloud chief of Ngäti Hinemihi who commissioned the building of Hinemihi at Te Wairoa caring, nurturing, preserving God delivery of a meal posture dance traditional welcome elaborate meal, sharing food earth oven in which food is cooked by hot stones, contents of the oven sub-tribe the homeland of the Maori across the ocean, the place from which the ancestral migration canoes departed on their epic voyages to New Zealand rafters anthropomorphic neck pendant, often made from pounamu (nephrite) guides to press noses and share breath (hau) meeting, assembly, ceremonial gathering custodians, guardians presence, awe-inspiring power, tremble, shudder 241

242

Glossary and Maori Terms

iwi kaho paetara kainga kaitiaki kaitiakitanga kainga tuturu kakaho kakahu kapa haka karakia karanga Kataore kaumatua kaupapa kawa kiekie koha Kohanga Reo kokowai korero korowai korupe kowhaiwhai kuia kuwaha mahi toi maihi mana mana o te whenua mana whenua manuhiri Maori Maori kaupapa

nation, tribe, people, descent grouping, bones, strength purlins home guardian, guardian spirit, trustee, caretaker guardianship true, original, home indigenous species of reed woven garments competitive performing arts groups prayer, incantation, spell, worship traditional call of welcome a mythical creature or taniwha who lived in Tikitapu (Blue Lake), a symbol of Hinemihi elder underlying principle, strategy, topic, issue protocol (Freycinetia baueria) plant leaf used in the construction of tukutuku gift or donation, contribution Maori language preschool red ochre oratory, speech, knowledge, narrative, oral history, transmitted knowledge, narratives associated with the ancestors cloak carving above the window of a meeting house painted scroll patterns on rafters, canoes, etc women elders, grandmother carved ancestral gateways into pa arts and crafts gable bargeboards of a meeting house ancestral standing, efficacy and well-being, authority, power, influence, prestige, status authority from/of the land customary authority over the land, local tribe principles visitors, outsiders, guests indigenous New Zealander(s) Maori principles, strategy, issues

Glossary and Maori Terms

marae

marae atea marae kawa Maramara Totara matauranga mauri Mika Aporo Moerangi mokopuna Mount Tarawera nekeneke Ngäti Ngäti Ranana Ngäti Hinemihi Ngatoroirangi noa pa paepae pakeha papakainga pare patäka patu patu onewa patu paraoa patu pounamu piupiu pou herenga pouihi

243

traditional Maori gathering place, ceremonial ground or courtyard in front of meeting house, meeting area of tribe, focal point of settlement open space in front of meeting house the protocols and restrictions on marae the London Maori weaponry school knowledge life principle, life essence, life force, power of creation from the Gods, binds physical with spiritual, contained in all existing things son of Aporo Te Wharekaniwha lair of Kataore grandchild, descendant sacred volcanic mountain of Tuhourangi, which erupted on 10 June 1886 to move, constant moving tribal grouping London Maori Club Te Arawa hapü, descendants of Hinemihi Te Arawa ancestor who commanded the Te Arawa waka on its journey from Hawaiiki to Aotearoa profane, free from tapu (denotes the absence of limitations of various kinds) fortified or formerly fortified settlement bench/beam at front of a meeting house, front row of seats non-Maori settler, person of European descent home base carved lintel of doorway storehouse for food and other valuables short hand-held weapon of wood, stone, or bone short hand-held weapon of stone short hand-held weapon of whale bone short hand-held weapon made from nephrite or greenstone flax kilts the post to which all are bound and connected carved memorial post

244

Glossary and Maori Terms

poupou poutahu poutokomanawa powhiri raaranga rangatahi rangatira Ranginui raparapa raruraru rohe Rongomatane ropu/roopu ruahine runanga tahuhu taiaha take (tupuna) Tama te kapua tamariki Ta moko Tane tangata tangata whenua tangi tangihanga taniwha taonga

taonga tu turu Tapairu tapu

carved interior wall panels in meeting houses front carved panel in a meeting house centre post in a meeting house ceremonial welcome, beckon, to wave weaving new generation high-born, leader of a descent group, chief Sky Father, from the Maori story of creation projecting ends of the maihi or bargeboards of a meeting house troubles district, territory God of peace and cultivation group or performing arts group middle-aged to old-aged woman council ridgepole long-handled weapon right, entitlement, claim Te Arawa ancestor who commanded the Te Arawa waka on its journey from Hawaiiki to Aotearoa. children tattooing designs oldest child of Papatuanuka (Earth Mother) and Ranginui (Sky Father), from the Maori story of creation people host people or tribe, local people, original inhabitants, people of the land funeral, to weep funerary ceremonies monster something that represents the Maori kin groups genealogical identity that is passed down through the generations, such as a treasured ancestral heirloom, valuable person, or thing traditional treasures/taonga woman of high-ranking birth, chieftainess codes of conduct that protect the life force, sacred, prohibited, spiritually potent, restricted, in-accessible, forbidden

Glossary and Maori Terms

Tarawhai tauutuutu tauheke Te Kohanga Reo o Ranana tekoteko Te Whare Tu Taua tikanga tiki tino rangätiratanga toetoe/toi toi tohunga tohunga whakairo Toi Mäori toko ihi totara Tu tukutuku tupuna tupuna whare turangawaewae/ turangawaiwai uri urupa wähi tapu/waahi tapu waiata wairua waka wananga/waananga wehi whaikorero whakairo whakapapa whakawae

245

Te Arawa ancestor speechmaking protocol used by Ngäti Hinemihi on the marae elders the London Maori language school for children carved figure on gable of whare, figurehead of canoe the National School of Ancient Weaponry customary philosophy, obligation, protocol anthropomorphic neck pendant sovereignty (Cortaderia sp.), used in the construction of tukutuku expert, priest, artist, spiritual leader master carver, a priest with healing abilities and power for oratory Maori arts front post for the porch of a meeting house tall, straight-growing forest tree (Podocarpus totara), wood used in carving abbreviation of Tumatauonga, God of war decorative internal lattice work wall panels in a meeting house ancestor ancestral house a place to stand, spiritual home, where I rightfully stand tall descendant burial ground sacred place song the spirit or essence of being, ancestral spirit canoe, traditional groupings of Maori learning sessions awe oratory wood carving genealogy, to recite, family tree pilaster carvings on door frame

246

Glossary and Maori Terms

whanau whangai whare wharekai wharekarakia wharenui wharepuni whare runanga whare taonga whare tupuna whare wananga whariki whenua

family group adopted children building, house dining hall church meeting house, hall sleeping house meeting house museum ancestral house house of learning mat land, placenta

References

247

REFERENCES Abungu, GHO 2001, ‘Museums: arenas for dialogue or confrontation’, ICOM News Special Issue, vol. 54, no. 3, pp. 15–18. Allen, N 1998, ‘Maori vision and the imperialist gaze’, in T Barringer & T Flynn (eds), Colonialism and the object: empire, material culture and the museum, Routledge, London, pp. 144–152. Ames, M 1992, Cannibal tours and glass boxes: the anthropology of museums, University of British Columbia Press, Vancouver. Anderson, C 1993, ‘Ruatepupuke II – conservation of a Maori meeting house’, unpublished conservation report held in the Division of Conservation, The Field Museum, Chicago. Anderson, C 1994, ‘Conservation and installation of Ruatepupuke II: a Maori meeting house’, unpublished conference paper held in the Division of Conservation, The Field Museum, Chicago, prepared for the first joint conference of the New Zealand Professional Conservators Group and the Australian Institute for the Conservation of Cultural Material, National Library of New Zealand, 2–6 October. Andrews, P 2005, Tarawera and the terraces, 3rd edn, The Bibliophile and the Buried Village, Rotorua, New Zealand. Anon 1999, ‘Decision making model for the conservation and restoration of modern art, 1999’, Foundation for the Conservation of Modern Art, Netherlands Institute for Cultural Heritage, Amsterdam. Retrieved 5 October 2007 from www.incca.org/Methodology/Ethics Ansley, B 2006, ‘Far-flung whanau’, New Zealand Listener, 1–7 July 2006, vol. 204, no. 3451. Retrieved 5 October 2007 from http://www.listener.co.nz/ issue/3451/features/6432/far-flung_whanau.html Anyon, R 1991 ‘Protecting the past, protecting the present: cultural resources and American Indians’, in G Smith & J Ehrenhard (eds), Protecting the past, CRC Press, Boca Raton, FL, pp. 215–222. Anyon, R, Ferguson, TJ, Jackson, L & Lane, L 1996, ‘Native American oral traditions and archaeology’, Society for American Archaeology Bulletin, vol. 14, no. 2, pp. 14–16.

248

References

Ashley-Smith, J 2000, ‘Developing professional uncertainty’, in P Smith & A Roy (eds), Tradition and innovation: advances in conservation, Contributions to the IIC Melbourne Congress, 10–14 October, The International Institute for Conservation, London, pp. 14–17. Atalay, S 2006, ‘Indigenous archaeology as decolonizing practice’, American Indian Quarterly, vol. 30, nos. 3 & 4, p. 311. Auckland Museum, 2007, Taonga. Retrieved 30 May 2007 from http://www. aucklandmuseum.com/?t=714 Australia ICOMOS 1988, The Australia ICOMOS Charter for the Conservation of Places of Cultural Significance (the Burra Charter), adopted 1979, with revisions in 1981, 1988, and 1999, International Council for Monuments and Sites. Retrieved 16 October 2006 from http://www.international.icomos.org Australia ICOMOS 2004, The Burra Charter. Retrieved 16 October 2006 from http://www.icomos.org/australia/burra.html Australian Heritage Commission 2000, Protecting local heritage places, a guide for communities, Australian Heritage Commission, Canberra. Avrami, E, Mason, R & De La Torre, M (eds) 2000, Values and heritage conservation, research report, The Getty Conservation Institute, Los Angeles. Barker, I 2006, ‘The protection of cultural heritage items’, in BT Hoffman (ed), New Zealand art and cultural heritage: law, policy and practice, Cambridge University Press, New York, pp. 145–147. Barlow, C 1991, Tikanga Whakaaro: key concepts in Maori culture, Oxford University Press, Melbourne. Barton, G 1984, ‘Conservation considerations on four Maori carvings at Auckland Museum, New Zealand’, Studies in Conservation, vol. 29, no. 4, pp. 181–186. Barton, G 1985, ‘Red-painted carving – a cautionary note on their care from Auckland museum’, AGMANZ Journal, vol. 6, no. 3, pp. 23–26. Barton, G & Weik, S 1984, ‘Maori carvings in Auckland Museum. Ethical considerations in their restoration’, Preprints ICOM Committee for conservation 7th triennial meeting Copenhagen, 10–14 September, 84/3/7–9 ICOM, Paris. Beharrell, CH 1976, An unpublished National Trust internal report produced to summarise three reports on the restoration of Hinemihi (by Mr Gowers, Mr Lloyd & Mr Campin) by CH Beharrell (Historic Buildings representative, Southern Region of The National Trust), NT files: Clandon-General/197677/HBR. Black, M 1997, Bella Bella: a season of Heiltsuk art, Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto. Blair, N 2002, ‘Tamaki Kaitiakitanga in the concrete jungle’ in M Kawharu (ed), Whenua, managing our resources, Reed Books, Auckland, pp. 62–74. Brody, JJ 1991, ‘Meaning of things’, Museum News, vol. 70, pp. 58–64. Brown, D 2000, ‘The Maori response to Gothic architecture’, Architectural History, vol. 5, no. 43, pp. 253–270. Burrows, K 2006, ‘Te Mahere Rautaki te Reo ki Ranana, a Maori language plan for the London Maori community’, unpublished report, July, Ngati Ranana. Butler, B 2006, ‘Heritage and the present past’, in C Tilley, W Keane, S Kuchler, M Rowlands & P Spyer (eds), The handbook of material culture, Sage Publications, London, pp. 463–479.

References

249

Butler, B 2007, ‘Taking on a tradition: African heritage and the testimony of memory’, in F de Jong & M Rowlands (eds), Reclaiming heritage: alternative imaginations in West Africa, Left Coast Press, Walnut Creek, CA. Butts, DJ 1990, ‘Nga Tukemata: Nga Taonga o Ngati Kahungunu (The awakening: the treasures of the Ngai Kahungun)’, in P Gathercole & D Lowenthal (eds), The politics of the past, One World Archaeology Series, vol. 12, Unwin Hymen Ltd, London, pp. 107–117. Butts, DJ 2002, ‘Maori and museums: the politics of indigenous recognition’, in R Sandell (ed), Museums, society, inequality, Routledge, London, pp. 225–234. Cardoso, IP 2003, ‘Report on paint analysis of Hinemihi’, unpublished UCL Institute of Archaeology report. Chakrabarty, D 2000, Provincializing Europe: postcolonial thought and historical difference, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Chamberlain, ER 1979, Preserving the past, JM Dent and Sons Ltd, London. Chessum, S & Rowell, C 2002, Clandon Park guidebook, National Trust Enterprises. Chomsky, N 1989, Necessary illusions. Thought control in democratic societies, South End Press, Boston. Clavir, M 1993, ‘The conceptual integrity of conservation in museums: Per Guldbeck Memorial Lecture’, IIC-CG Bulletin, vol. 18, no. 3, pp. 1–12. Clavir, M 1998, ‘The social and historical construction of professional values in conservation, Studies in Conservation, vol. 43, no. 1, pp. 1–18. Clavir, M 2002, Preserving what is valued: museums, conservation, and First Nations, UBC Press, Vancouver. Clifford, J 1991 ‘Four northwest coast museums, travel reflections’, in I Karp & S Lavine (eds), Exhibiting cultures, the poetics and politics of museum display, Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC, pp. 212–254. Clifford, J 1997, Routes: travel and translation in the late twentieth century, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA. Clifford, J 2004, ‘Looking several ways: anthropology and native heritage in Alaska’, Current Anthropology, vol. 45, no. 1, pp. 5–30. Cooper, GS 1851, Journal of an expedition overland from Auckland to Taranaki… by his Excellency Governor-in-Chief of New Zealand, Williamson and Wilson, Auckland. Cooper, R & Brooking, R 2002, ‘Ways through complexities’, in M Kawharu (ed), Whenua, managing our resources, Reed Books, Auckland, pp. 192–215. Cory-Pearce, E 2005, ‘In touch with things, tourism, art, and the mediation of Maori/European relationships’, PhD Thesis, Goldsmiths College, University of London. Cowan, J 1910, Official record of the New Zealand International Exhibition of Arts and Industries, held at Christchurch, 1906–7: a descriptive and historical account, John Mackay Government Printer, Wellington. Cripplewell, J 1958, unpublished National Trust Letter from Mr Cripplewell (assistant area agent) to Mr K Webster 19 May, NT files: MJR/GB/1959, Clandonpark-maorihouse/1958-63/. Cullen, R, Hooper, N & Sitwell, C 2004, ‘Two follies of the National Trust, the Chinese house at Stowe and the modern Maori house at Clandon Park’, Building Conservation Directory 2004, Cathedral Communications Ltd.

250

References

Retrieved 10 April 2007 from http://www.buildingconservation.com/ articles/chinesehouse/chinesehouse.htm Dagens, B (tr) 1985, Mayamatha – an Indian treatise on housing, architecture and iconography, Sitaram Bharatiya Institute of Scientific Research, New Delhi. DCMS 2002, People and places: social inclusion policy for the built and historic environment, Department of Culture Media and Sport, United Kingdom. Retrieved 5 October 2007 from www.culture.gov.uk/Reference_library/ Publications/archive_2002/people_places.htm DCMS 2006, Guidance for the care of human remains in museums, Department of Culture, Media and Sport, United Kingdom. Retrieved 22 May 2007 from www.culture.gov.uk/NR/rdonlyres/0017476B-3B86-46F3-BAB311E5A5F7F0A1/0/GuidanceHumanRemains11Oct.pdf De La Torre, M (ed) 2002, Assessing the values of cultural heritage, research report, the Getty Conservation Institute, Los Angeles. Dennan, R (with Annabel, R) 1968, Guide Rangi of Rotorua, Whitcombe & Tombs Ltd, Christchurch. Denslagen, W 2003, ‘The artificial life of heritage’, in E Theophile & N Gutschow (eds), The Sulima Pagoda: East meets West in the restoration of a Nepalese temple, The Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust, Weatherhill, New York, pp. 95–102. Digby, SA 2002, ‘Salvaged objects and spatial webs’, paper presented at the 98th annual meeting of the Association of American Geographers, Los Angeles, 21 March. Eastaugh, N 1989, ‘Samplings’, Conservation News, vol. 40, November, pp. 13–14. Eastaugh, N, Walsh, V, Chaplin, T & Siddall, R 2004, The pigment compendium: a dictionary of historical pigments, Elsevier, Amsterdam. Eastop, D 2006, ‘Conservation as material culture’, in C Tilley, W Keane, S Kuchler, M Rowlands & P Spyer (eds), The handbook of material culture, Sage Publications, London, pp. 515–533. Edmonds, P & Wild, E 2000, ‘New obligations: conservation policy and treatment approaches for Aboriginal collections in Bunjilaka, The Aboriginal Centre, Melbourne Museum’, Tradition and innovation: advances in conservation, contributions to the IIC Melbourne Congress, 10–14 October, The International Institute for Conservation, London, pp. 60–64. English Heritage 2000, Power of place, the future of the historic environment, English Heritage/Department of Culture, Media and Sport and the Department of the Environment, Transport and the Regions. Retrieved 16 October 2006 from http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/Default.Asp?Wci=Mainframe& URL1=Default.Asp%3FWCI%3dnode%26WCE%3D161 English Heritage 2006, Conservation principles for the sustainable management of the historic environment. First stage consultation. Retrieved 16 October 2006 from www.english-heritage.org.uk/upload/pdf/Conservation_Principles_ A4%5B1%5D.pdf Evans, R 1999, ‘Tribal involvement in exhibition planning and conservation treatment at Te Papa: a new institutional approach’, Ethnographic Conservation Newsletter of the Working Group on Ethnographic Materials of the ICOM Committee for Conservation, vol. 19, no. 19, 13–16.

References

251

Fanon, F 1965, A dying colonialism, H Chevalier (tr), Grove Press, New York. Fanon, F 2004, The wretched of the earth, R Philcox (tr), Grove Press, New York. Federspiel, B 2001, ‘The definition of the conservation profession and its field of operation: issues in the 21st century’, in A Oddy & S Smith (eds), Past practice – future prospects, The British Museum Occasional Paper Number 145, British Museum, London, pp. 5–12. Flynn, GA & Hull-Walski, D 2001, ‘Merging traditional indigenous curation methods with modern museum standards of care’, Museum Anthropology, vol. 25, no. 1, pp. 31–40. Fung, P & Wills, S 2006, ‘There’s so much in looking at those barks: Dja Dja Wurrung etchings 2004–05’, in C Healy & A Witcomb (eds), South Pacific museum: experiments in culture, Monash University Press, Sydney, pp. 11.1–11.16. Gallop, A 1998, The House with the Golden Eyes, Running Horse Books, Sunburyon-Thames, UK. Garton-Smith, J 1997/8, ‘Discourse conflict in relation to conservation in local museums’, AICCM Bulletin (The Australian Institute of the Conservation of Cultural Material, Inc), vols. 22 & 23, pp. 6–15. Gell, A 1992 ‘The technology of enchantment and the enchantment of technology’, in J Coote & A Shelton (eds), Anthropology, art and aesthetics, Clarendon Press, Oxford, pp. 40–63. Gell, A 1998, Art and agency: towards an anthropological theory, Clarendon Press, Oxford. George, N & Hollowell, J 2007, ‘Ethical challenges to a postcolonial archaeology: the legacy of scientific colonialism’, in Y Hamilakis & P Duke (eds), Archaeology and capitalism: from ethics to politics, One World Archaeology Series, Left Coast Press, Walnut Creek CA. Glover, M, Dudgeon, P & Huygens, I 2005, ‘Colonisation and racism’, in G Nelson & I Prillettensky (eds), Community psychology in pursuit of liberation and well-being, Palgrave Macmillan, New York, pp. 330–347. Gopal, P 2007, ‘Teaching history: what’s guilt got to do with it? Britain, Empire and the history of now. Manifesto challenge: developing a capable population’, Notes from a lecture at Royal Society of Arts (RSA), 28 February. Retrieved 5 August, 2007 from http://www.rsa.org.uk/events/textdetail. asp?ReadID=977 Gordon, H 1991, ‘The significance of Whaahi Tapu to the Indigenous of Aotearoa’, World Archaeological Bulletin, vol. 5, p. 48. Gosden, C & Knowles, C 2001, Collecting colonialism: material culture and colonial change, Berg, Oxford. Graham, D 1991, ‘Welcoming speech’, in M Lindsay (ed), Taonga Mäori Conference, New Zealand, 18–27 November 1990, The Cultural Conservation Advisory Council, Department of Internal Affairs, Te Tari Taiwhenna, Wellington, pp. 5–6. Gray, J 2007, Black Mass; apocalyptic religion and the death of utopia, Allen Lane, London. Hackney, S & Townsend, JH 1999, ‘Methods of examination and analysis’, in S. Hackney, R. Jones, J. Townsend (eds), Paint and purpose: a study of technique in British art, Tate Gallery Publications, London, pp. 17–24.

252

References

Hakiwai, A 1995, ‘Ruatepupuke: working together, understanding one another’, The New Zealand Museums Journal, vol. 25, no. 1, pp. 42–44. Hakiwai, A 1996, ‘Maori society today: welcome to our world’, in DC Starzecka (ed), Maori art and culture, British Museum Press, London, pp. 50–68. Hakiwai, A 2006, ‘Mäori Taonga – Mäori identity’, in BT Hoffman (ed), New Zealand in art and cultural heritage: law, policy and practice, Cambridge University Press, New York, pp. 409–412. Hakiwai, A & Terrell, JE 1994, Ruatepupuke: a Maori meeting house, The Field Museum, Chicago. Heermann, I 1993, ‘Das wharepuni a Maui: ein Maori Haus im Linden-Museum Stuttgart’, Tribus, vol. 42, pp. 63–78. Henare, A 2005, Museums, anthropology and imperial exchange, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Henare, A, Holbraad, M & Wastell, S 2007, ‘Introduction: thinking through things’, in A Henare, M Holbraad & S Wastell (eds), Thinking through things, theorising artefacts ethnographically, Routledge, London, pp. 1–31. Heritage Lottery Fund 2005, Conservation management plans, helping your application. Retrieved 26 October 2006 from http://www.hlf.org.uk/ NR/rdonlyres/F6B05389-9FF5-4565-800A-73439A7ABFDF/505/ HLFConsPlan05.pdf Hoben, SF 1905, ‘Some examples of Maori art’, Art and Architecture, no. 2, pp. 70–80. Hodder, I 1999, The archaeological process. an introduction, Blackwell, Oxford. Holtorf, C 2001, ‘Is the past a non-renewable resource?’, in R Layton, P Stone & J Thomas (eds), Destruction and conservation of cultural property, One World Archaeology Series, vol. 41, Routledge, London, pp. 286–297. Holtorf, C 2005, From Stonehenge to Las Vegas: archaeology as popular culture, AltaMira Press, Walnut Creek, CA. Hooper-Greenhill, E 1989, ‘The museum in the disciplinary society’, in S Pearce (ed), Museum studies in material culture, Leicester University Press, London, pp. 61–72. Hooper-Greenhill, E 1998 ‘Perspectives on Hinemihi: a Maori meeting house’, in T Barringer & T Flynn (eds), Colonialism and the object: empire, material culture and the museum, Routledge, London, pp. 129–143. Hooper-Greenhill, E 2000, ‘Speaking for herself? Hinemihi and her discourses’, in E Hooper-Greenhill (ed), Museums and the interpretation of visual culture, Routledge, London, pp. 49–75. Hooper-Greenhill, E 2000, Museums and the interpretation of visual culture, Routledge: London. Hoskins, J 1998, Biographical objects: how things tell the stories of people’s lives, Routledge, New York. Hulme, P 1993, ‘The profit of language: George Lamming and the postcolonial novel’, in J White (ed), Recasting the world: writing after colonialism, John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, pp. 120–136. Huygens, I 2006, ‘Discourses for decolonization: affirming Maori authority in New Zealand workplaces’, Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology, vol. 16, no. 5, pp. 363–378.

References

253

Huyssen, A 1995, Twilight memories: making time in a culture of amnesia, Routledge, London. ICOMOS 1964, The Venice charter: international charter for the conservation and restoration of monuments and sites. Retrieved 6 May 2007 from http://www. icomos.org/docs/venice_charter.html ICOMOS NZ 1992, Charter for the conservation of places of cultural heritage value. 2. Indigenous cultural heritage. Retrieved 8 May 2007 from http://www.icomos. org/docs/nz_92charter.html Ihaka, J. 2006 ‘Marae restoration spans generations’, Gisborneherald.co.nz / te Nupepa o te Tairawhiti. Retrieved 5 October 2007 from http://www. gisborneherald.co.nz/article.asp?aid=4175&iid=358&sud=27 Ingold, T 1996, Key debates in anthropology, Routledge, New York. Jackson, M 2002, The politics of storytelling, violence transgression and inter subjectivity, Museum Tusculanum Press, Copenhagen. Johnson, J, Heald, S, McHugh, K, Brown, E & Kaminitz, M 2005, Practical aspects of consultation with communities, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation, vol. 44, no. 3, pp. 203–213. Johnson, M 1992, ‘Research on traditional environmental knowledge. Its development and its role’, in M Johnson (ed), Lore. Capturing traditional environmental knowledge, Dene Cultural Institute and International Development Research Centre, Ottawa, pp. 3–22. Jowell, T 2006, ‘From consultation to conversation: the challenge of Better Places to Live’, in K Clark (ed) Capturing the public value of heritage, the proceedings of the London conference, 25–26 January 2006, English Heritage, Swindon, pp. 7–13. Retrieved 5 October 2007 from www.helm.org.uk/upload/pdf/ Public-Value.pdf Joyce, RA 2002, ‘Academic freedom and cultural heritage’, in C Fforde, J Hubert & P Turnbull (eds), The dead and their possessions: repatriation in principle, policy and practice, One World Archaeology Series, vol. 43, Routledge, London, pp. 99–107. Kahn, M 1995, ‘Heterotropic dissonance in the museum representation of Pacific cultures’, American Anthropologist, vol. 97, no. 2, pp. 324–338. Kahn, M 2000, ‘Not really Pacific voices: politics of presentation in collaborative museum exhibitions’, Anthropology, vol. 24, no. 1, pp. 57–74. Karp, I, Mullen-Kreamer, C & Levine, S (eds) 1992, Museums and communities: the politics of public culture, Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Kawharu, M 2000, ‘Kaitiakitanga: a Mäori anthropological perspective of the Mäori socio-environmental ethic of resource management, The Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. 110, no. 4, pp. 349–369. Kawharu, M 2002, ‘Indigenous governance in museums: a case study, the Auckland War Memorial Museum’, in C Fforde, J Hubert & P Turnbull (eds), The dead and their possessions, repatriation in principle, policy and practice, One World Archaeology Series, vol. 43, Routledge, London, pp. 293–302. Keam, RF 1988, Tarawera, the volcanic eruption of 10 June 1886, Keam, Auckland. Keeble, GL 1959, Unpublished letter to Mr J. Cripplewell from GL Keeble (New Zealand High Commission), New Zealand House (B99/51/-JC/AS/195917 September 1959) NT files: Clandon park-maorihouse/1958-63/HBR.

254

References

Kelly, L & Gordon, P 2002, ‘Developing a community of practice: museums and reconciliation in Australia’, in R Sandell (ed), Museums, society, inequality, Routledge, London, pp. 153–174. Kernot, B 1975, ‘Report of the Clandon Park, Surrey, meeting house, prepared for the Maori Buildings Committee, Historic Places Trust, 7–6–75’, reprinted in Tu Tangata: Maori News Magazine, no. 20 (October/November 1984), pp. 4–6. Kerr, SJ 1996, The conservation plan: a guide to the preparation of conservation plans for places of European cultural significance, National Trust of New South Wales, Sydney. Kirton, J 1997, Paakeha/Tauiwi: seeing the unseen – critical analysis of links between discourse, identity, ‘blindness’ and encultured racism, The Peoples Press, Auckland. Kreps, C 1998, ‘Museum making and indigenous curation in the central Kalimantan, Indonesia, Museum Anthropology, vol. 20, no. 1, pp. 5–17. Kreps, C 2003, Liberating culture: cross-cultural perspectives on museums, curation, and heritage preservation, Routledge, London. Kreps, C 2005, ‘Indigenous curation as intangible cultural heritage: thoughts on the relevance of the 2003 UNESCO Convention’, Theorizing Cultural Heritage, vol. 1, no. 2, pp. 2–8. Latour, B 2002, ‘Gabriel Tarde and the end of the social’, in P Joyce (ed), The social in question. New bearings in history and the social sciences, Routledge, London. Lawlor, J 2004, ‘Conservation of Hinemihi; consultation document’, November, unpublished National Trust document. Lawlor, J 2006, ‘Hinemihi o te Ao Tawhito (Hinemihi of the Old World): a statement of significance’, incorporating comments made by the Hinemihi project group, including representatives of Ngäti Hinemihi, Ngäti Ranana, and the National Trust, unpublished National Trust document. Lawlor, J 2007, ‘Hinemihi meeting notes, 17–06–07’, minutes from the Hinemihi meeting, Clandon Park, 17 June, unpublished National Trust document. Layton, R, Stone, P & Thomas, J 2001, Destruction and conservation of cultural property, One World Archaeology Series, vol. 41, Routledge, London. Leach, J 2007, ‘Differentiation and encompassment: the critique of Alfred Gell’s theory of the abduction of creativity’, in A Henare, M Holbraad & S Wastell (eds), Thinking through things, theorising artefacts ethnographically, Routledge, London, pp. 167–188. Lindsay, M 1991, ‘Commentary’, in M Lindsay (ed), Taonga Mäori conference, New Zealand, 18–27 November 1991, The Cultural Conservation Advisory Council, Department of Internal Affairs, Te Tari Taiwhenna, Wellington, pp. 7–10. Loomba, A 2005, Colonialism-post colonialism (the new critical idiom), 2nd edn, Routledge, New York. Lowenthal, D 1985, The past is a foreign country, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Lübcke, E 2003, ‘Conserving the living object: the conservation of Maori meeting houses outside of New Zealand’, unpublished Masters Thesis, UCL, Institute of Archaeology.

References

255

Macdonald, S 1996, ‘Theorising museums: an introduction’, in S Macdonald & G Fyfe (eds), Theorising museums, representing identity and diversity in a changing world, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, pp. 1–20. Macdonald, S 1998, The politics of display: museums, science, culture, Routledge, London. Mairinger, F & Schreiner, M 1986, ‘Analysis of supports, grounds and pigments’, in R van Schoute & H Verougstraete-Marcq (eds), Art history and laboratary. Scientific examination of easel paintings. Journal of the European Study Group on Physical, Chemical, Biological and Mathematical Techniques Applied to Archaeology. PACT 13, Strasbourg Conseil de L’Europe, pp. 171–183. Malkogeorgou, P 2003, ‘Hinemihi: visitor reaction to Hinemihi, Clandon House 10/06/2003–11/06/2003’, unpublished UCL, Institute of Archaeology report. Matunga, H 1994, ‘Waahi tapu: Maori sacred sites’, in DL Carmichael, J Hubert, B Reeves & A Schanche (eds), Scared sites, sacred places, Routledge, London, pp. 217–226. McCartney, E 2005, ‘Conservation and social inclusion: exploring a new relationship’, unpublished Masters Thesis, UCL, Institute of Archaeology. McKenzie, M 1991, ‘Foreword’, in M Lindsay (ed), Taonga Mäori conference, New Zealand, 18–27 November, 1990, The Cultural Conservation Advisory Council, Department of Internal Affairs, Te Tari Taiwhenna, Wellington, p. 4. McLaughlin, M 1993, ‘Of boundaries and borders’, Canadian Journal of Communications, vol. 18. Retrieved 1 June 2007 from www.wllu.ca/ wwwpress/jrls/cjc/BackIssues/18.3/