For too long, Māori have been surrounded by the stigma of relying on handouts and “free money” from the government. There are social expectations of what Māori are meant to be, and if you don’t fit a particular narrative, then you aren’t Māori enough. A plastic Māori. Many of the University’s current Māori students are the first in their families to pursue tertiary education, making them the first to break through the barriers that are the long-lasting result of terrible native school curriculums. But their successes are often challenged, with ridiculous proposals like the 2020 Med School mayhem, the alienation of students who receive Māori scholarships, and the disregard of white-passing Māori.
Low-decile schools and minimum-wage jobs are a standard expectation for a lot of Māori who learn to ‘make do’ with the life they’ve been given. For many students, Māori scholarships have forever changed the future of their families – breaking the cycle of underpaid and uneducated workers for generations to come. But academic successes don’t guarantee widespread success, as tauira Māori are subject to bullying and mistreatment on the basis of having received a Māori scholarship, or access to Māori admissions in competitive programmes such as law and FYHS.
Māori have been treated as inferior since Treaty days. With separate schools for Pākehā came separate curriculums, plunging Māori children into classrooms that emphasised domestic housework and labour training rather than core subjects, leaving them with skills only relevant to minimum wage paying jobs, effectively forcing Māori into an underclass. This can still be seen today through the continuous influx of Māori in low-decile schools and low-paying jobs. As of 2019, 25% of New Zealand students were educated by low-decile schools, with 45% of these students being Māori. Considering these stats, it’s almost a miracle that a noticeable chunk of health science students are Māori, despite the aforementioned disadvantages. Countless whānau would consider university, let alone med school, to be a dream come true; a step into the future. But these dreams were momentarily dashed with the rise of a new proposal in 2020, established on the basis of “special treatment”. The 2020 proposal was to cap the amount of Māori and Pasifika entry pathway
spots in medical school, as well as investigate the University's Mirror on Society Policy. But are special admissions really to be likened to special treatment?
NTKA President Te Wharau Walker (Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Ngāti Pikiao) shared that though he was not directly impacted by the 2020 med school controversies, he felt it through his friends. “It was harmful at the time because it applies everywhere – it starts with capping entry numbers, then you have them barring Māori entrance pathways altogether.” Te Wharau explained, sharing that people relate to who they see themselves in: “it makes sense that Māori patients are going to demand for Māori doctors in a system that continues to fuck us over.” Te Wharau called the University’s 2020 proposal to cap Māori entrance numbers ridiculous, saying “even if we are advantaged over others, the majority of Māori who study do it for the benefit of their community. None of this is for personal gain – if you knew anything about us, you’d know that.”
Firm in his truth, Te Wharau argued that Māori entrance pathways aren’t actually as special as most people think. “Have you ever thought about why these pathways were established in the first place?” he challenged, nodding to the lived realities that indicate very little privilege, and more so systematic abuse and mistreatment. According to Te Wharau, health professionals continue to overstep tikanga Māori and then wonder why Māori are reluctant to see a doctor. “Being a doctor isn’t always about book-smarts, it also requires empathy and respect,” because who would respect a person who mispronounces their name and disregards their culture? “Pākehā see Māori as always receiving special treatment, but where’s the special treatment in our stats? Half the New Zealand prison population are Māori, same with the unemployment rates and kids in low-decile schools - those are not indicators of privilege.”
As if that weren’t already enough to deal with, many Māori are still being gaslit into feeling not “Māori enough” to take up Māori spaces. For Lydia Dale-Barrett (Kāi Tahu), who grew up separated from her culture, she actively refrained from applying for Māori-targeted scholarships and programmes. “I thought I would be taking opportunities away from ‘real Māori’, despite having experienced the same hardships through intergenerational trauma… I felt like an imposter.” A familiar concept for many, imposter syndrome has become rife among Māori communities, disconnecting people from pursuing pathways established for their success in a Western world. Whereas for Mere*, a white-passing Māori, her experiences are similar to that of Lydia. “[Not looking Māori] stopped me from joining groups outside of kura (school) or taking up Māori leadership roles because I questioned if I really belonged there or if the opportunity should go to someone more fitting.”
But it all comes down to a matter of birthright – both Lydia and Mere believe that despite being denied their Māori identities, if you whakapapa Māori, then that is enough. “It is unfair to reduce the Māori population to only those with darker skin, or those who can trace their whakapapa because colonisation did a real number on all of us,” Lydia said, to which Mere also agreed. “Due to colonisation, we’re all at different stages of our journeys with Māoritanga. No one should feel ashamed of learning about their own culture just because of where they are in life and what they look like.”
In recent years, students have taken to social media platforms to debate these issues, particularly in response to the 2020 med school proposal. Having been compared to a handout, few non-Māori students argued that the proposal had “nothing to do with racism and all to do with merit,” while failing to mention other admission pathways, such as rural entry, suggesting that the argument was actually all to do with racism and little of merit.
In a country where Māori make up just over 3% of the medical workforce, one would hope that Māori students are embraced as the changing face of their communities - instead, they’re met with more adversity and convinced that it’s a privilege. The narrative never seems to change; funny how scholarships are a handout, but generational wealth isn’t. “We’re out here making big moves that our whānau have prepared us for - the only difference is that we’re doing it for them, not ourselves. That’s the thing about being Māori, it all comes full circle. I reckon Pākehā could learn a thing or two from us,” said Te Wharau, “we’re breaking down the barriers that wanted to keep us hidden, but here we are.”
*Name changed.