But two events brought me to tears.
Our conference was opened by Te Maurea Whiritoi kapa haka, who sang a song about a topic we don't like to hear often though it has been there for so long: the mortality rate of our youth. Our statistics are awful for a variety of reasons. They sang about their hearts breaking at having to say goodbye to their friends and carry on. I said goodbye to two friends in high school, too, and that was 30 years ago. So little has changed. I cried. I teach kids. I do not ever want to hear their names in this way but statistically, I might.
The second event was the closing keynote by Dr. Ann Milne. I came across her work in June and it blew my mind (I briefly commented on it in a previous blog post- link here). I will not summarise the keynote because it deserves to be listened to in full.
So why the tears? You will see in my Twitter profile this sentence: Hopeful for our human kaleidoscope.
Someone asked me at uLearn after I explained a current project that has cultural, sociological and pedagogical dimensions: Where does your thinking come from? How do you manage to weave all this together? That gave me pause.
My life experiences have enabled me to live alongside multiple cultural, racial and gender contexts, and I have learned this one very simple thing: When our quality as a human being transcends gender, race, and age, we will understand how equity and diversity makes us more powerful; however, it is only when we truly value all the diversity in the great human kaleidoscope that we begin to transcend our differences.
Stepping into different cultural contexts throughout my life have enabled me to expand my perspectives of what it means to be a human being, and I have been able to grow as a result. When I experience a new cultural location, it does not mean that I lose any of the essences of who I am and where I am from or my cultural location. Instead, it grows my mental landscape of where I can travel to as a culturally located being. When I stepped into Te Ao Māori (the world of Māori knowledge), I gained new ways of being that did not diminish who and what I am. I am not and never will be Māori, yet I have gained access to a corpus of understanding that has enriched me with its beauty.
I'll share briefly this one example of what I know (that in reality, is not that much).
In Te Ao Māori the first breaths we take as human beings are referred to as 'Tīhei Mauri Ora!' in karakia (Māori prayers and invocations), whaikōrero (speeches) and waiata (Māori traditional songs). It is enacted through the hongi- a traditional way of pressing noses and foreheads in greeting that symbolises the coming as one in mind, body, and spirit and means that one belongs as part of that community (whānau). It also speaks to what we all have as human beings: the gift of life and our strength in connection. It is incredibly beautiful.
Here is Dr. Rangimarie Turuki Rose Pere with more on the hongi.
So I was able to listen to Te Maurea Whiritoi kapa haka singing in Te Reo Māori and Dr. Ann Milne speaking about Māori contexts and understand their meaning then create a link to my personal contexts as a person and an educator. My tears were heartfelt thankful tears because hope is way forward in challenging times, and I can see where I can apply their messages as an educator in my small localised ways to honour the Breath of Life at a pivotal time of change.
- How might I ensure that my practice addresses the need for students to develop strong mental health and wellbeing?
- How might I create meaningful ways to critique and expand the cultural horizons of my practice?
No reira, kei te mihi ki a koutou.
Tīhei Mauri Ora!
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