The Native Problem.

Maori Record : a journal devoted to the advancement of the Maori people, Volume 2, Issue 17, 1 November 1906, Page 49

The Native Problem.

(By Tino Tangata.)

No. I.—THE ANCIENT AND THE MODERN MAORI. A CONTRAST.

(From the Christchurch Press.) The tattooed Maori of the past presented a wonderfully picturesque figure. From the summit of his befeathered topknot to the hem of his dogskin cloak, his scheme of personal adornment was carried out with a barbaric harmony which showed him as indeed he was — dignified, reticent, and chivalrous ; venturesome, precipitate, and dauntless ; desperate, implacable, and bloodthirsty. However much the pakeha might lament the obvious barbarity of his brown brother, there was no ignoring his striking personality ; there was no denying his palpable masterfulness. Nothing was to be gained by exciting the latent force of so potent a personage by schemes for his forcible subjection. What, then, did the pakeha do ? He encouraged his Maori brother to discard his ihupuni cloak for a frock-coat, to put a top-hat upon his cropped head, to lay

aside his mere, encase his legs in trousers, and pinch his feet with boots, and behold ! the tutored savage stood before men an anomalous nonentity. Some would blame rum, others would blame the musket, as the chief cause of his decline ; but however helpful these were in completing the work, the downfall of the Maori began when he lost his identity and took the fatal step of merging his personality in that of the pakeha. The problem which the fate of an aboriginal people presents to a conquering race is one which has not been dealt with successfully in the New World and in Oceania. As the Astec and the Inca disappeared before t'e immigrant Spaniard, as the Red-skin is vanishing before the Pale-face, as the blacks of Australia are diminishing as civilisation advances, so have the Maoris decreased as the pakehas have multiplied in New Zealand. While Parliament at Wellington discusses the pros and cons of freehold and tenure, and seeks to devise methods for appeasing a land-hunger which we know to be well nigh insatiable, the original owners of the soil, through causes but slightly appreciated and but little understood, are threatened with extinction. Captain Cook estimated the inhabitants of these islands at 300,000, though there is every reason for thinking that he overestimated the number through making a a false computation from the vast concourses which welcomed the Endeavour as she voyaged round the coast of Te Ika a Maui; but we know that a people which a hundred years ago numbered fully 100,000 now numbers but 40,000, and that the deterioration has not been merely numerical, but has affected the physique, the stamnia, and the character of a race which ethnologists were agreed in placing in the first rank of barbaric peoples. The pre-pakeha Maori enjoyed a social polity which, being as it was the outcome of his conception of right and wrong in spiritual as well as in material matters, was finely calculated for his well-being ; but the Maori of to-day, trammelled as he is by many of his ancestors’ -ideas and views of life, finds himself in the midst of a people whose civilisation he cannot assimilate unless he first abandon those inherentsentiments by which alone he may hope to save his race from absorbtion ; and it will be found that just as an aboriginal people is willing or averse to surrender its racial characteristics, so is its existence limited or prolonged. It is not generally understood that the social polity of the pre-pakeha Maori was one which, though it could not be called civilisation, neverthless had reached a stage when it needed but a benign stimulus to create that regard for the commonweal which would have welded the antagonistic tribes into a nation presenting an unbroken front to the invading white man. But the national idea was quite foreign to the oldtime Maori. His social view was bounded usually by the palisaded walls of his pa ; it

rarely extended beyoned the limits of his tribe, and only upon occasion, included kindred tribes living at a distance. His life was distinctly communistic; possessions he had none save his garments and ornaments and weapons, and such like personal property, in which was included his wife. For the rest he went share and share alike with the members of his hapu—in times of plenty he was replete, in times of scarcity he starved—or with his immediate relatives foisted himself upon the hospitality of a hapu with which he could claim relationship. But whatever came or went, his fortunes were those of the community to which he belonged, the guiding genius of which was the chief, a man chosen perhaps by birth, perhaps for his general fitness, but who held his post only so long as his mana and capacity for administration remained indisputable and intact. Such a social atmosphere naturally generated a certain laisser faire which, if it did not encourage individual effort, certainly produced a freedom from the cares of to-morrow, which with us is enjoyed only by the very pious or the very rich. Moreover, where an entire community acted in concert there was an economy of labour which, in a fertile country, afforded freedom from excessive toil. Picture then the life of an ordinary Rangatira of the time. Belonging as he did to the privileged class he had passed through the whare kura, where he was schooled in all the lore of the Maori. His religion consisted of a purely spiritual belief in a multiplicity of gods, who presided over the destinies of the world. For him there was no heaven or hell, but merely a place of departed spirits (Te Reinga), where he would one day join his ancestors, and live eternally a life of peace and quietude. But in this world he expected nothing but the enmity of his ancestral foes and the vindictiveness of the powers of the air which those foes might have at their command. Against the former he might be guarded by the weapons of the tribe, and against the latter by the incantations he had learned in the whare kura, by the karakia of his priest, or by the intervention of his mighty ancestors, who, though dead, had taken their mana to the spirit world, whence they exercised an influence commensurate with that which they had exerted on earth. Thus his life was one of constant expectation of attack from material and spiritual foes. The springs which actuated his conduct may now be understood. He had received from his forefathers his mana and his spiritual attributes, and in proportion as these were great his enemies were anxious to end his potency with death, and by partaking of his flesh receive into themselves the mana of himself and his ancestors. Thus inter-tribal feuds were perpetuated and a national cohesion was made impossible.

But while the Maori must necessarily be a warrior, ever ready to meet his hereditary foes, and a religionist well versed in a complicated polytheism—a man who dealt in spells and devilments, and stood in greater fear of the unseen than of the visible—nevertheless he lived a life which had its compensations of comfort and enjoyment. His communal manner of living was full of social happiness, and by no means devoid of physical pleasure. From boyhood he had learned to cast all his care upon the hapu and the tohunga, he felt himself to be a member of an honourable brotherhood which every material and spiritual consideration strengthened, which stirred his enthusiasm, developed his manliness, and fired him with resolve. Having taken his place among the warriors of the pa, the tribal instinct was paramount with him, and over-topped all such minor considerations as affection for the fair or love of children whom he might beget. Prowess in war, and a burning desire to add to his mana by distinguishing himself in battle against the enemies of his tribe, these became the mainsprings of his action. He perfected himself in every warlike exercise, he studied that marvelous system of engineering which has been the wonder of modern soldiers, and sought every opportunity to advance the repudiation of his tribe. Ambition spurred him on ; with the aid of those influences which the spirits of his ancestors might be expected to use on his behalf, he hoped to discomfort all his personal foes, and by bravery in war or wisdom in council, he hoped one day to lead his hapu, or to found another of which he should be chief. In making his domestic arrangements he had experienced no difficulty. From the age of puberty he had enjoyed that license which was extended to the young people of both sexes, and upon his reaching man’s estate it was a simple matter for him to change an ordinary light o’ love into a permanent marriage. But subsequently, if his importance grew with his years, he might add to his mana and his household by marrying a rangatira woman of a neighbouring hapu. He would now rank as one of the principal men of his pa, a man to be consulted when emergency arose, a man whose voice would be heard in the whare runanga when important matters were discussed. Then would come his long-looked for chance, which came sooner or later to every Maori warrior. The tribe has grown strong enough to draw conclusions with its enemies, and a tana is to set out to wage bloody and relentless war, wherein great glory may be won. In the furious onslaught our Maori bears himself manfully, and earns the coverted honour of securing the mataika and is the first to shed a foeman’s blood. His home-coming is glorious. Flenceforth he is a warrior with a career, which he follows unremittingly. A taua never sets out, whether for the purposes of war, or to carry the patu mamae (the weapons

of grief for those slain in battle) or to pay a visit of ceremony to a friendly tribe, indeed nothing of tribal importance happens in which our rising rangatira does not play a prominent part. At length by some dauntless or superlatively clever action he succeeds in saving the tribal honour at a critical moment, and covers himself with imperishable fame. He sits now with the chief men of the tribe, and is regarded by his neighbours and friends as a man whose mana is unquestionable and immense ; and by effluxion of time and the removal of the leaders he had fought under, he succeeds the rule of his hapu. But there comes a time when our warrior returns from an expedition maimed and bleeding. He lives, but physically his work is done. Out of his wealth of experience, however, he gives counsel to the tribe, and in the wharepuni at night he tells to an admiring audience the korero pono and the korero tara, the inspiring legend and the witty fiction, and enlarges on the noteable events of which he has been the hero. His is not an unhappy old age. His wives and daughters wait upon him hand and foot, glad to do him service; his merry grandchildren play round his knee; from everybody he receives the respect due to a chief whose name is known from Hokianga to Whanganui; and when at last he departs to be with his fathers in Te Reinga, he is regarded by the members of his bereaved tribe as a wairua, a guardian spirit imbued with a lively interest in their welfare. But no more shall be seen the tatooed Maori whose strenuous life was so full of high lights, whose allotted years were crammed with incident, whose nature, whatever his successes, smacked more of the hero than of the savage. As a contrast, behold his grandson in trousers and a bowler hat, emblems of the civilisation he has put on. Take him to a billiard saloon, put a cue into his hand, and he will challenge all-comers to a match, 500 up, and will start the game with a “break” of 30. The rest of his stay in town is spent in “scorching” about the streets on a bicycle, or loafing under the verandahs of shops, or drinking in bar-rooms. Then when his money is gone, how to get something for nothing is the problem he sets himself to solve. He goes round to his pakeha friends, and borrows anything from half-a-crown to five pounds; and failing this he will beg cast-off clothes for himself, for his wife, and for his children; and yet this wretched mendicant may in reality be a richer man than the pakeha he begs from. Certainly he may not be rich in cash, but his lands, if he would but farm them with energy and intelligence, might be made to return him a handsome income. And here we arrive at the heart of the problem. The latter-day Maori still suffers from the evils of the communistic system of his fathers without having gained the independence of the individualistic system of the pakeha. Therefore, he lives in a hovel and goes dressed in cast-off

clothes. Worse still, he has no racial instinct to spur him into action. National instinct the Maori never possessed; tribal instinct was all he ever owned. It is pathetic to watch his poor endeavours to assume the instinct of the Britisher; realising, as he does, that it is the influence of the Briton that has made him what he is. So the Maori of to-day drowns his sorrows, not so much in liquor as in forgetfulness. He forgets the inspiring legends and the enthralling folk-tales which he heard from his old grandfather, he forgets the verj'- history of his tribe, and abandons the customs of his people. He is interested in the sensation-working wonders of the pakehathe phonograph, the motor-car, and the electric tram, and buries the past in an excitement begotten at race meetings and football matches. But it does not need the power of second sight for the ordinary observer to see that the modern Maori is oppressed with unutterable woe. A listless manner, a hopeless expression, an inertia which can accomplish nothing, these are the prominent characteristics of the poor descendant of the energetic, formidable, unscrupulous tatooed Maori of the past. Having lost the complicated religion of atua and wairua, and without being able to assimilate the comfortable dogmas of Christianity, he is armed against the blackest of futures with nothing better than a superstition. Still, believing in witchcraft and the powers of the unseen world, he is without the karakia with which to ward off evil; with a vague belief in the powers of the white man’s God, Ihu Karaiti, he hardly feels himself competent to attract the Divine aid. So when his children, heirs to the pneumonic weaknesses of his parents, and subject to the epidemical diseases of the pakeha, sicken and die, he blames the makutu, which he is powerless to ward off; and to his inertia in regard to the material which mars his life, is added a spiritual indifference and despair which makes his outlook more miserable still. How, then, is the Maori to be lifted out of this Slough of Despond? How is he to be given an interest in life which shall inspire in him an enthusiasm for his race ? What influence will develop in him an energy which shall make him independent and prosperous ? What agency will create in him a religious ideal which shall satisfy the cravings of a soul which naturally dwells upon the supernatural ? For without these there is little hope that the deterioration of his character will be stayed, or that his race will escape the fate which inevitably overtakes an aboriginal people brought into close contact with the white man.