Racism and silencing in the media in Aotearoa New Zealand

Introduction

The New Zealand media industry marginalises Māori (Indigenous Peoples of New Zealand) interests and frames Māori society in a negative or degrading light; a phenomenon experienced by Indigenous peoples worldwide (Nairn et al., 2012). Some scholarly critique considers how the ideological and social effects of broadcast material further marginalise Māori in mainstream New Zealand society (Abel & Mutu, 2011; Moewaka Barnes et al., 2013; Nairn et al., 2012; Wall, 1997), while other literature considers Pākehā (New Zealanders primarily of European descent) bias in relation to settler-colonialism to examine how Māori-focussed media initiatives are affected by colonial structures of domination and nationhood (Smith, 2011; Smith & Abel, 2008; Smith & Ruckstuhl, 2010). Despite comprehensive analysis of racism in the media industry, little has changed to curb deficit, negative and stereotypical representations of Māori people (Moewaka Barnes et al., 2013).

In this article, we offer a way of thinking about why the media industry does not adequately respond to racism despite research that insists urgent change is needed. Mills (1997, 2007) posits that an epistemology of ignorance supports Whites to imagine that non-Whites are equal without any fundamental change to systems that support racial privilege. Institutions that are central to operations of society direct citizens towards a colour-blind ideology—the belief that society is beyond race and harmful historical grievances no longer impact the lives of people today (Bonilla-Silva, 2014)—so Whites may conveniently forget “that they inherited much of what they own” (Mills, 2007, p. 37). Drawing on Mills, we argue that the media industry in Aotearoa New Zealand sustains colour-blindness through a racial discourse of silencing (henceforth referred to as silencing). Silencing is “the collective text and talk of society with respect to issues of race” (Doane, 2006, p. 256), which advances a historically sanitised view of contemporary Māori and Pākehā relations to support ignorance and denial of the structuring force of colonisation (MacDonald, 2020).

We consider how silencing is manifest through analysing one episode from a popular current affairs television programme called The Project broadcast in 2018 and subsequent experiences with the media complaints process. We first deconstruct The Project episode in relation to the way on-screen social interactions pull towards a harmonious settler–Indigenous race relations narrative in which it appears that society has transcended historical colonial violence. Then, we consider what an email complaint about The Project episode and the network’s response reveals about the cultural assumptions underpinning debates about intent and freedom to express opinion in the media. A liberal democracy is a political framework and ideology that recognises individual rights and freedoms yet limits the extent to which Indigenous people can participate equitably in society (Maaka & Fleras, 2005). Although the analysis of silencing presented in this article is limited to one television episode, we aim to build a case for further research about silencing in the media industry, particularly because the phenomenon is observed in Aotearoa New Zealand’s national museum (Kidman, 2018) and in secondary school institutions across the country (MacDonald, 2020).

Evolving understandings of racism in the media

Media is a significant forum by which non-Māori are informed about Māori culture, lives and place in society. Early critique of racism in the media reveals how public attitudes are shaped by the way the New Zealand media represents Māori in deficit, pathological and deviant terms, which further social and political marginalisation (Spoonley & Hirsh, 1990; Thompson, 1954; Walker, 1990, 1996, 2002). Wall (1997) finds that the media produces four types of Māori stereotype: Māori as the comic Other, Māori as primitive natural athlete, Māori as radical political activist and the quintessential Māori. Negative stereotypes essentialise Māori in ways that silence their humanity and status as Indigenous peoples, yet are complicit in the propagation of Māori being a problem, social burden and victim (Nairn et al., 2012). A New Zealand media research group called Kupu Taea identify a range of anti-Māori themes that date from colonisation (Kupu Taea, 2021). Some of these tropes emerged in our analysis of silencing from The Project story, presented later in the article.

Kupu Taea provides widespread discussion of racism in the media attributed to Pākehā-dominated industry practices and policies (Moewaka Barnes et al., 2013). Newspaper items from New Zealand between 2007 and 2008 were analysed by Abel et al. (2014), who found that Māori stories receive low coverage, and that Pākehā sources are prioritised over Māori. Nairn et al. (2012) use the term symbolic annihilation to describe how a Pākehā-dominated industry omits or marginalises Māori perspectives in the media. In addition, cultural bias is enhanced by the social contexts and positioning of majority Pākehā viewers (Abel, 1997; McGregor & TeAwa, 1996). A landmark study by Abel (1997) found that New Zealand coverage of Waitangi Day is subjected to a “pressure-cooker atmosphere of the newsroom with its daily deadlines and the emphasis on ‘what happened today and how can we get good pictures?’” (p. 186). Industry decisions and the pitch and pace of stories influenced by tight time constraints and budgeting concerns are guided by the tastes and sensibilities of the viewing audience and what they deem to be interesting. Although Abel’s (1997) research was produced over two decades ago, she notes a changing format to the news that will feel familiar to New Zealand viewers today.

There has been an increasing emphasis on entertainment in New Zealand television news, with a higher priority being given to conflict, drama, and emotion. Both newsmakers and news presenters are more strongly “personalised” . . . To make news more relevant to the audience, there has been an effort in recent years to move away from institutional or structural “angles” and to discuss issues in terms of the way they affect individuals. (pp. 10–11)

Moreover, Smith (2011) argues that what may appear to be positive and progressive changes to the media industry that suggest Pākehā are conceding cultural authority, may in fact be re-centring “the settler subject as the most significant agent of history” (p. 128). The advent of Māori Television in 2004 appeared to sanction more autonomy by ensuring that Māori stereotypes and the omission of diverse Māori perspectives were no longer a viable means of prioritising settler interests in mainstream media (Smith, 2011). Although Māori Television may appear to denote a shift in power, Smith and Ruckstuhl (2010) argue that the position of the station is problematic for Indigenous peoples. Māori media producers are caught within a “Faustian dilemma”, whereby they must draw “upon existing structures of domination in order to enact forms of freedom . . . of developing autonomous and sustainable media formations that fulfil the mandates set by existing institutions and their own communities” (p. 28). The creation of Māori media services within colonial frameworks obscures how settler interests are promulgated in other ways. Indeed, an advertisement promoting the aims of Māori Television were found to provide “historical examples of social progress and reconciliation as already achieved states” (Smith & Abel, 2008, p. 7).

The scholarship in this section demonstrates how the New Zealand media industry sits within a social and political context that omits and marginalises Māori points of view (Smith & Ruckstuhl, 2010), and normalises White privilege (Abel, 1997; Abel & Mutu, 2011). Moreover, the media industry is implicated in nationhood building that aligns with settler-colonialism; ongoing social and political practices driven by settler interests to displace Indigenous peoples’ prior claim to the land and establish settler legitimacy for occupying Indigenous territories (Tuck & Yang, 2012; Veracini, 2015; Wolfe, 2006). In the following section, we conceptualise silencing as a reason why racism in New Zealand media persists.

Conceptualising silencing in the media industry

Silencing functions under a logic of elimination that holds the settler-colonial condition in place (Wolfe, 2006). Mills’ (1997) work is useful when considering how this logic is enacted through “a certain schedule of structured blindnesses and opacities” (p. 19) in settler-colonial societies. Mills argues that an epistemology of ignorance obscures the real racialised conditions of existence in order to advance:

Colourblindness, the refusal to perceive systemic discrimination, the convenient amnesia about the past and its legacy in the present, and the hostility to black testimony on continuing white privilege and the need to eliminate it to achieve racial justice . . . These analytically distinguishable cognitive components are in reality all interlocked . . . jointly contributing to the blindness of the white eye. (Mills, 2007, p. 35)

To establish settler legitimacy and belonging on foreign soil, a collective amnesia and ignorance descended on mainstream New Zealand regarding the painful and violent events of colonisation (Bell, 2006; Kidman, 2018). An intense period of violent conflicts, known as the New Zealand Wars, occurred between the government and iwi (Māori tribes) during 1845 and 1872. As a result of battles between Māori and the Crown, Indigenous territories rich in resources were under government control by the 1900s (Kidman et al., 2018; Walker, 2004). Large waves of settler immigration occurred during this time, culminating in a consistent pattern of settler growth until about 1910 (New Zealand History, 2021). Iwi who tenuously supported the goals of the colonial government in order to retain autonomy were also forced to surrender resources and sovereignty to accommodate the settler population and Western notions of civilisation (O’Malley & Armstrong, 2008). However, many New Zealanders believe that colonial violence no longer impacts people (Sibley et al., 2011; Sibley & Ward, 2013; Ward & Masgoret, 2008).

Instead of exploring the ongoing effects of violent colonial histories, mainstream New Zealand turns to one event from our colonial history to define the state of race relations—the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi. A popularised interpretation of this event claims that Māori and Pākehā came together to sign a treaty that symbolises the birth of a nation (Bell, 2006; Kidman, 2018). Kidman (2018) labels this selective account of New Zealand history, “lovely knowledge”; a cultural framework that permits Pākehā “to visualize their role within the nation’s story as benign, altruistic and at times, even heroic” (p. 105). Hokowhitu (2007) alludes to lovely knowledge when concluding that Indigenous peoples are not the target audience of the celebrated New Zealand Indigenous film, Whale Rider. He argues that Whale Rider produces “a primitive fantasyland” of Māori culture and subjects “to avoid the colonial reality . . . In this imagined community, a traditional Māori nation is reinvented and enlightened through a neo-colonial gaze, which serves to create a simulacrum that justifies continued suppression” (pp. 57–58). Lovely knowledge therefore overlooks colonial violence to pull society towards a narrative of history that supports Pākehā to feel good about contemporary settler–Indigenous relations. Indeed, Pākehā can redeem their role in colonisation through offerings to help struggling Indigenous people. This focus on broken individuals, as opposed to broken or culturally biased institutions and narrative frameworks, is one way that colour blindness thrives.

The normalisation of tenets of a liberal democracy is another contributing factor to a colour-blind media industry that obscures the visibility of Pākehā cultural bias. The Broadcasting Standards Authority was set up in 1989 to develop the broadcasting standards, and provide information and decide complaints about whether they have been breeched by television and radio programmes. The Authority places high value on the freedom of expression and broadcast material must demonstrate “a high level of condemnation” (Broadcasting Standards Authority, 2021), before it is considered to discriminate or denigrate against persons or communities. Standard 6—Discrimination and Denigration of the Free-to-Air Television Code of Broadcasting Practice appears to be open to interpretation; however, four guidelines apply the standard in relation to whether broadcasters intend to offend people or communities, or to what extent audiences are negatively affected by a story. The guidelines interpret the main standard statement in ways that direct society away from considering how social relations between groups of people are also implicated in the discrimination and denigration of Indigenous peoples.

The challenge that Indigenous peoples face with individual-focussed evaluations of discrimination is that an intention to offend involves emotions, such as hate. Subjective experience is difficult to evaluate in a political climate that supports individual rights. Unlike a liberal democracy, the politics of indigeneity is concerned with the protection of group rights, as these precede individual freedoms such as access to health care, education, customary use of land and language (O’Sullivan, 2011). An evaluative framework of discrimination and denigration that considered group rights would provide the impetus to imagine ways in which socially constructed formations of racial oppression direct institutions. Instead, a focus on the individual aligns with the perception that the media industry operates within a cultural vacuum, to silence how the affective sensibilities of Pākehā influence and pull towards a harmonious and resolved settler–Indigenous relationship. Subtle, structural forms of racism are made invisible by a narrative of racial harmony and the way the institution frames problematic behaviour and perceptions of racial injustice.

Case study: The Project

Silencing in the media industry became apparent when one of the authors of this article viewed a story from The Project broadcast in 2018, then lodged a complaint about how Māori and Pacific peoples were represented. Before relaying the nature of silencing in this exchange, we provide some background to The Project for those who are unfamiliar with New Zealand broadcasting.

The Project is a current affairs programme that occupies a prime-time television slot on the popular New Zealand channel, TV3. The show was first aired at the beginning of 2017 and quickly became a close contender for the 7 pm ratings timeslot for viewers between 25 and 54 years old. The Project was run by MediaWorks, a New Zealand–based television, radio and interactive media company, that combined “news and entertainment to provide audiences with an intelligent, informative and engaging mix of the stories that matter” (Three, 2021a). In 2020, however, MediaWorks sold its entire television division to focus on radio. Three permanent presenters with distinctive personality traits fronted the episode in question: Jesse Mulligan, a male presenter who is described as “informed, intelligent and funny”; Kanoa Lloyd, female presenter with “undeniable warmth and charm”; and Jeremy Corbett, also male with a “signature style of comedy and incisive analysis” (Three, 2021b). The Project brings in a rotating fourth presenter every episode.

In June 2018, The Project aired a story from the perspective of a woman called Sala Nimarota. Nimarota lives in a suburb called Cannons Creek in Porirua and was on the programme to discuss the issue of noisy neighbours. Porirua is a 20-min drive from New Zealand’s capital city, Wellington. The region is rich in pre-colonial and colonial history, and in 1940, the city of Porirua was established because of an urgent need for the government to erect state housing on cheap land. A large proportion of the new city residents were of Pacific heritage, state beneficiaries or low-wage earners. Cannons Creek is a suburb and has the lowest socio-economic demographic in the Porirua community. For example, in 2018, the median income in Cannons Creek for people 15 years and over was $20,100. The ethnic demographic, also in 2018, was 68% Pacific, 24% Māori and 20% Pākehā (StatsNZ, 2021).

The story begins with a voice-over from Mulligan discussing the rise in numbers of gang members in New Zealand while short clips of men in patched jackets on motorbikes play on screen. Nimarota is introduced as a Pacific woman who claims that “gang associates living in a housing New Zealand home are dealing drugs and intimidating others with threats, dangerous dogs and car chaos.” This is followed by an interview with, Judith Collins, the Leader of the Opposition, who is going to take a stand for “good neighbours” (Newshub, 2018). While the presenters are dressed in formal attire, for example, Corbett wears a pink shirt and a dark grey suit jacket with a pink, silk handkerchief in one breast pocket, Nimarota wears a black hoodie with Creekfest 2017 emblazoned on the front. The interview starts with Nimarota giving an account of the harassment and intimidation she, her family and other residents in the street experience at the hands of Mongrel Mob–affiliated neighbours. The Mongrel Mob is one of the two large gangs in New Zealand, and Māori make up a large percentage of the membership (Gilbert, 2013). Nimarota sometimes struggles to articulate her viewpoint during the interview, because of the distress she and her close community are under.

The presenters’ charisma, the contrast in appearance between presenter and interviewee, and the background information given prior to Nimarota’s interview speak to underlying assumptions regarding how the viewers are positioned in relation to the Cannons Creek community and vice versa. These details come into play in our analysis of silencing.

Pulling towards lovely knowledge

As well as being the sole female presenter on the night that the story in question was aired, Lloyd is Māori. This aspect of her identity is often most salient during episodes when a Māori story or person or Māori-associated content features on The Project. Lloyd is no stranger to fielding controversy regarding Māori issues in the media. During her time as weather presenter on TV3’s 6 pm news, Lloyd used te reo Māori to identify New Zealand place names. In an interview with Radio New Zealand, she said that some viewers had written to her requesting that she stops referring to New Zealand as Aotearoa. Support from TV3 was decisive, they said “We’re not going to stop speaking Māori and if people are challenged by it we just encourage them to keep watching so they can understand a bit more and not find it a negative thing” (Cook, 2015). By the time Lloyd graduated to prime-time presenting, her reputation was well-established. An online feature article titled The Secret Sauce of Kanoa Lloyd’s Success documents the beginning of Lloyd’s television career to The Project. The article states “Loyal fans have been vocal about their joy at not only have woman hosting a primetime TV programme in New Zealand but also a woman of colour” (Bissett, 2018, para. 4).

Two personal opinions by the presenters were offered following Nimarota’s interview. Given how Lloyd is positioned in the media on Māori issues, it is interesting that only she showed any level of criticism about the situation. Once Nimarota shared her perspective about the harassment, Mulligan looked down the barrel of the camera, and in a flat, apologetic voice states that The Project approached Housing New Zealand, and their response was they would speak to the bad tenants and remind them about good neighbourly behaviour. Kanoa, who is flanked by three, White, male co-presenters, responds,

Look, I understand their hands are tied to a degree. They can’t just go around turfing people out willy-nilly but it’s so frustrating. There are thousands and thousands of people who are waiting on Housing New Zealand houses; they’re on a list. There are hundreds of families who are being squashed into emergency housing motels—in some cases ten people living in a one room unit—and for this family who are living near Sala who are not respecting this opportunity that they’ve got it’s so disappointing. (Newshub, 2018)

Lloyd clearly sympathises with Nimarota and the good neighbours by framing the bad neighbours in a negative light. She acknowledges that New Zealand’s housing shortage is negatively affecting beneficiaries, so is disappointed that Nimarota’s neighbours are not respecting the “opportunity” (Newshub, 2018) of having a roof over their head. In this regard, Lloyd seems to suggest that people who rely on state housing should feel lucky to that they have been given a property by the Housing New Zealand.

Indeed, it is ironic that The Project, via Lloyd, presents the government as saviours and emphasises the threat of gangs from the start to the finish of the story. Henry (2015) argues that colonisation is a violent process that utilises control and fear to dehumanise Indigenous bodies. Gangs and hyperviolent constructions of Indigenous male masculinity may therefore be attempts to regain power within a Western societal framework that seeks to exert control over individuals. From the 1950s onward, young Māori shifted from rural to urban environments in search of opportunities because government confiscation of ancestral homelands had left their communities destitute (Walker, 2004). However, Māori youth who arrived in cities experienced both alienation from cultural roots and rejection by the dominant Pākehā culture (Gilbert, 2013), and institutional racism and discrimination in employment, health, housing and education (Belich, 2001). Gang culture, in which Māori constitute a significant majority of all gang members nationally, emerged as a means of solidarity in the face of systemic state abuse (Newbold & Jeffries, 2010). Encounters with government agencies, such as the Housing New Zealand, have little to do with luck.

Much of the social and historical context underlying Nimarota’s story is silenced. Without understanding this background, the viewers are presented with two types of cultural aesthetic. In this instance, Lloyd is the Good Māori. Her criticism of Nimarota’s gang-affiliated neighbours, or Bad Māori, is informed by a meritocratic view of society. Meritocracy is the idea that everyone has equal opportunities to better their circumstances in life if they work hard enough, regardless of cultural or ethnic orientation (Doane, 2003). In taking this stance, Lloyd legitimises the underhand workings of settler ideologies by reiterating a working partnership between Pākehā and Māori and presents as embodied proof that if she can do it, any Māori can. Events or persons who do not comfortably align with a narrative of racial harmony are positioned as erroneous, broken or delinquent. Media portrayals of Māori as inherently violent contribute to a Good Māori–Bad Māori discourse “according to the extent to which they collaborate with or ‘fit into’ Pākehā colonial culture, practices and imperatives. Bad Māori are routinely portrayed as aggressive, demanding, and irresponsible people who do not fit in New Zealand society” (McCreanor, 2008, as cited in Nairn et al., 2012, p. 44). When Lloyd is positioned by mainstream media as a spokesperson for Māori interests, the racialisation of cities, communities, and public and private institutions, and the significance of historical and social contexts towards Indigenous life trajectories, disappears. Instead, a Good Māori–Bad Māori binary is advanced when a Māori of reputable social standing and privilege is positioned to publicly deride Māori with gang connections, particularly in front of a mainstream viewing audience (McCreanor, 2008).

The second personal opinion about Nimarota’s situation is offered by Mark Richardson, the guest presenter. Richardson has had his fair share of media controversy and public backlash through airing semi-conservative, right-wing perspectives about current issues on television and the radio. For example, during a pre-election interview with Jacinda Ardern who is now New Zealand’s Prime Minister, Richardson became public enemy number one for insinuating that Ardern could not both run the country and have a baby (Bamber, 2017). However, following Lloyd’s criticism of Nimarota’s neighbours, Richardson was presented as a picture of benevolence. He applauded Nimarota for speaking out about “these people” and says she is “one tremendously brave lady.” Then, in a somewhat patronising tone that appears to be an attempt to lighten the mood, Richardson says he lives next to a retired accountant and “I wouldn’t speak out against him” (Newshub, 2018). Cue smattering of laughter from Lloyd.

The contrast between Lloyd and Richardson’s comments in view of how they are usually positioned by the media on contemporary social issues, highlights another aspect of an implicit narrative of racial harmony. While Lloyd appears to consolidate the divide between inherently good and bad Māori, Richardson’s support and approval of Nimarota seems to be an attempt to bridge the social and economic divide between the presenters and middle-class, White viewers, and Nimarota and her decidedly working-class, Brown community. Attempts to bridge the divide further reinforce the meritocratic flavour of New Zealand society, as the social ills associated with a lack of material resources such as those found in suburbs like Cannons Creek fade into the background, to be replaced by a common humanity and understanding that any person, regardless of social standing, can stand up to a difficult situation.

Furthermore, Nimarota’s comments late in the interview offer a template for how those struggling with social and economic disadvantage should operate in society. Nimarota speaks on behalf of residents on the street who have also experienced hardship at the hands of her noisy neighbours. She recounts threatening behaviours described by the good neighbours—blocked driveways, for example—which makes her think “you guys [bad neighbours] are disturbing the peace . . . this is unacceptable behaviour.” She says that the neighbourhood has told her “we want peace, we all want peace.” Cue Mulligan’s final question to Nimarota, “Why don’t you just move out?” Her response, “I won’t move out of my neighbourhood. I was born and bred up in Cannons Creek” (Newshub, 2018). On one hand, Nimarota is acting bravely and speaking back to gang intimidation. On the other hand, pitting economically ethnically marginalised people against each other on national television can broadcast underlying messages that are appealing to many Pākehā: Why can’t all Brown people just accept the status quo? Why shouldn’t the descendants of settlers stay and bury roots in Indigenous soil? Indeed, why should Pākehā make political or economic concessions that would alleviate the disadvantages experienced by Māori today? Bridging the divide is as much about showing how we are all One Nation (Brash, 2004) as demanding passive acceptance from those who do not reap the same privileges.

The question of intent and freedom to express opinion

In response to Nimarota’s story on The Project, one of the authors of this article emailed a letter of complaint to MediaWorks. The letter identified that the story had been framed in a way that pulled towards lovely knowledge of New Zealand race relations, by erasing how historical, institutional and economic injustices are barriers to the “opportunities” (Newshub, 2018) presented to state beneficiaries. The author outlined ways in which the Good Māori–Bad Māori binary reinforced stereotypes that socially advantaged New Zealanders have of Cannons Creek, gang members and Māori and Pacific peoples, and explained how such stereotypes contribute to discourses that protects White privilege by blaming underprivileged Brown peoples for their life circumstances (Moewaka Barnes et al., 2013).

The MediaWorks Standards Committee decided not to uphold the author’s complaint. Through personal email correspondence, they said it “regrets that the broadcast caused you offense . . . [however], we are satisfied that the Broadcast did not encourage discrimination against, or denigration of, a section of the community” (MediaWorks Standards Committee, personal communication, 19 July 2018). MediaWorks then turned to the guidelines of Standard 6—Discrimination and Denigration of the Free-to-Air Television Code of Broadcasting to explain their reasoning:

Guideline 6b states: The importance of freedom of expression means that a high level of condemnation, often with an element of malice or nastiness, will be necessary to conclude that a broadcast encouraged discrimination or denigration in contravention of the standard.

Guideline 6c states: This standard is not intended to prevent the broadcast of material that is factual; a genuine expression of serious comment, analysis or opinion; legitimate humour, drama or satire. (Broadcasting Standards Authority, 2021)

The material that is the subject of your complaint was identifiable as comment, analysis and opinion, which the Standard is not intended to prevent. Moreover, it was clear the Broadcast was not intended with a high level of condemnation.

MediaWorks’ response reveals how discrimination and denigration are framed in ways that it must seem obvious that a broadcaster is acting with malicious intent. This insight resonates with a High Court decision regarding New Zealand Māori Minister of Parliament, Louisa Wall’s complaint about the publication of two cartoons by Al Nisbet, whose work depicting women, the poor, and Māori and Pacific people has attracted a lot of controversy. Wall argued that the cartoons portrayed Māori and Pacific peoples as “welfare bludgers and poor parents who were preoccupied with smoking, drinking and gambling” (du Fresne, 2018, p. 18). She took the case to the High Court when Fairfax Media and the Human Rights Review Tribunal upheld the right to publish the cartoons. The High Court agreed that the cartoons were insulting, and depicted Pacific and Māori as poor, lazy parents who drink and smoke to excess, but not likely to bring Māori and Pasifika (non-Māori Pacific Peoples) into contempt.

We adopt also its conclusion that the “space” within which issues can be raised and debated must be kept as broad as possible and that it is not in the wider interests of society to confine publications only to those which do not shock, offend or disturb . . . For the reasons we have indicated the Tribunal’s conclusion was, in our view, the correct one because it properly recognised that, within the context we have identified, the publications, although offensive, were not likely to excite hostility or contempt at the level of abhorrence, delegitimisation and rejection that we consider could realistically threaten racial disharmony in New Zealand and which is therefore captured by the section. (NZHC 104, 2018, para. 94)

The High Court’s ruling and MediaWorks’ response to The Project complaint draws attention to what is perceived to be the main issue: a grey area that considers the right to honestly share an opinion—freedom of expression—against what may be considered hate speech. Moreover, as the responses by MediaWorks and the High Court show, this grey area swings towards the interests of those who advocate for free speech as hate speech is associated with the subjective thoughts and feelings of extreme individuals. Du Fresne (2018) follows this line of thought, when he asks, “How should [hate speech] be defined, particularly when one person’s hate speech is another’s legitimate expression of opinion? And crucially, who does the defining?” (p. 17). In these instances, it appears that it is only possible to measure discrimination and degradation through the intentionality of individuals or broadcasters, and whether they were aiming to evoke an extreme reaction or emotional response against a person or group of peoples.

O’Sullivan (2011) argues that the liberal democratic state struggles with notions of collectivity, drawing attention to the cultural bias inherent in how discrimination and denigration are currently framed by the Broadcasting Standards Authority and the limitations of this approach towards indigeneity. Pākehā hearts are drawn towards a harmonious and resolved settler–Indigenous relationship enacted on television screens, reinforcing the view that this is indeed the state of Māori and Pākehā relations today. In turn, the view that colonialism is transcended makes it less likely to accept that Māori can legitimately lodge historical grievances against the Crown. Negative and stereotyped representations of Māori in the media continue to reinforce the idea that Māori are victims of circumstance, upholding Pākehā ideologies about the nature of settler–Indigenous relations and colour blindness. Therefore, positioning discrimination and denigration as an emotional and subjective response, that can only be measured by the intent or the potential for widespread harm, is both an outcome of silencing and a means to continually perpetuate this dominant racial discourse.

Indeed, the High Court base their decision on the assumption that Aotearoa New Zealand is currently a peaceable place for its citizens. They decree that “the publications, although offensive, were not likely to excite hostility or contempt at the level of abhorrence, delegitimisation and rejection that we consider could realistically threaten racial disharmony in New Zealand” (NZHC 104, 2018, para. 94). From an Indigenous point of view, racial disharmony cannot be avoided if it is already at our back doorstep. When will our children receive educational opportunities and outcomes at a level that is on par with Pākehā? When do we have access to resources to live a long and healthy life, free from the increased likelihood of incarceration? Racial disharmony, your honour, is already here.

The freedom to hate or dominate?

This article set out to determine how the media industry can legitimately sustain racism in broadcasting, despite wide-ranging research that demonstrates how Māori are marginalised by deficit discourses and cultural bias within the industry. We approached the issue by considering the operations of silencing within one story from The Project.

We have argued that on-screen relations between Māori and Pākehā convey lovely knowledge about contemporary settler–Indigenous relations. The notion of a harmonious and resolved relationship can be consolidated through, but is not limited to, a Good Māori–Bad Māori trope, and performances by apparently well-meaning and benevolent Pākehā to bridge the social divide. Presenting the state of settler–Indigenous relations in this fashion supports viewers to uncritically accept negative, derogatory and stereotyped portrayals of ethnically marginalised peoples because it appears that Māori operate from the same social and political location as Pākehā. A narrative of racial harmony also corresponds with the weighting given by the media industry as to whether broadcast material breaches the freedom to express an option. Individualism is a main tenet of a liberal democracy and while attempts to include indigeneity within this framework can foster instances of collective Māori and iwi agency, it can also divide; issues that the dominant race do not have to contend with.

The fact that television personalities, like Kanoa Lloyd, who openly advocate on behalf of Māori interests are implicated in silencing speaks to the wide-ranging reach of this racial discourse to enter the homes of Aotearoa New Zealanders daily. Lloyd is arguably not a Good Māori when speaking out against racism on television and has received vicious public backlash when doing so (Bateman, 2019). However, Lloyd’s acts of protest are juxtaposed against on-screen Māori and Pākehā relations that reinforce a narrative of a working and harmonious bicultural partnership, and individual complaint is entirely consistent with the liberal democratic right to freely express an opinion. Hence, Lloyd may cross over to Bad Māori territory, as long as the wider settler narrative of racial harmony is sustained. In this light, it is not too difficult to imagine that a silencing discourse is a cunning ploy by settler-colonial societies to maintain ignorance towards historical colonial violence, and the semblance of a social existence that is in line with the emotional sensibilities and worldviews of Pākehā.

Bearing this in mind, a better way of handling stories like that of Sala Nimarota in communities like Cannons Creek could be to broadcast in a media forum that has an underlying philosophy to advance diverse settler–Indigenous narratives that are both amiable and difficult, thereby de-centring the settler voice. Smith and Abel (2008) point out that

Māori possess a dual identity not available to other New Zealanders: they are both members of an iwi and citizens of the state . . . This is perhaps the critical and pedagogical function of Māori Television: to bring to light hither-to unseen visions of Aotearoa/New Zealand; to see with “iwi eyes” the shape and contour of the nation’s scape. (p. 10)

Iwi eyes have the cultural knowledge and critical understanding to tell stories that show how Māori communities are today affected by our colonial and pre-colonial histories. Indeed, it is through iwi eyes and diverse Māori perspectives that we can challenge the false claims of one popularised narrative of settler–Indigenous relations. Perhaps the kind of media forum that Māori need now is one that places Māori worldviews at the centre of the viewing experience, as well as a strong political commitment that its programmes challenge silencing and repudiate settler ideologies at every opportunity.