Te tangi o te kumara—a sweet exclamation: Mana Wahine perspectives on universal humility and humble boasting

The universally humble kūmara (sweet potato)

Whakataukī (cultural sayings or proverbs where the author is unknown) and whakatauākī (cultural sayings or proverbs where the author is unknown) can be viewed as a Māori (Indigenous people of New Zealand) way of passing on “ancient wisdom and knowledge through the generations,” they offer a guide for behaviour, and can support future aspirations (Rameka, 2016, p. 394). However, whakatauākī are the product of the author’s position, time, and place and are often intended for their original audience. For whakataukī, whose author’s initial purpose may not be well known, their application has the potential to become over-generalised (Murray, 2016).

Kāore te kūmara e korero mō tōna ake reka—the sweet potato does not speak of its own sweetness (Alsop & Kupenga, 2016) is a whakataukī that reminds us to be like the kūmara, to be humble, lest we be seen as being whakahīhī (boastful). Perspectives of this whakataukī and its generalised application have been discussed and shared by many rangatira (leaders) and thinkers alike. There are those who view the kūmara analogy as either a guide for humility; a balancing act for contemporary Māori; a potential impediment if engrained into your value system; or a challenge to begin building our own new proverbs to fit our time (Murray, 2016). In my PhD research, I spoke to physically active 19 wāhine Māori (Māori women) to explore their personal characteristics and their possible connections to atua wāhine (feminine deities). Through those conversations, wāhine (women) echoed many of the perspectives described above but also raised concerns about the possible and potentially problematic universal interpretation of this whakataukī, humility above all (Heke, 2022).

This whakataukī, that encourages Māori to be humble, lets their accomplishments speak for themselves, and in some cases, me whakaiti (belittle oneself), potentially and provocatively may be implicated in the overly modest and underrepresentation of Māori in some areas of leadership and other influential spaces. The sentiment of universal humility is not always favourable for Māori and has the potential to hold us back from self-promotion, celebrating success, or stepping into roles that could benefit our communities. Papesch (2021) provides some insight into a Māori model of leadership and proposes potential detrimental effects of the kūmara’s invitation for universal humility. Her less-than-conventional interpretation and application of whakataukī encourages aspiring leaders not to inhibit their aspirations, to “wear the crown” and step into their power and be leaders (Papesch, 2021, p. 13). Her adapted interpretation of another whakataukī: iti te kōpara, ka rērere i te puhi o kahika (although the bellbird is small it flies to the crown of the white pine), centres the idea of the crown being a symbol of leadership and power, and that our accomplishments need to be worn like the crown of the white pine. Alongside this is the consideration of the potentially colonial influence of universal humility, self-deprecation, and whakamā (shame); Papesch (2021) proposes the possibility of the kūmara whakataukī inhibiting Māori aspirations for leadership, in the name of modesty.

My own take on universal truths is already naturally flexible; I favour the shades of grey approach above the black and white. However, in a time when we, as Māori are trying to revitalise, re-invigorate, actively embody, and arguably decolonise our cultural practices, it can be a challenge to critically question the practice of these so-called universal truths (Murray, 2016). When we are taught these universal truths to guide our behaviour, it is unsurprising that we are so dedicated to our humility and afraid to be seen as whakahīhī. The uptake of this behavioural template does vary between iwi (tribe), hapū (sub-tribe), whānau (family), and individuals alike. There are those who take pride in being proud of their accomplishments, and this is celebrated. There are also those who stand firm in their humility, and who would be chopped down if they dared pop their head out from the crowd—a common characteristic we term: tall poppy syndrome. Not uncommon in other cultures around the world, those who dare elevate themselves are known to be at risk of being put back in their place, so to speak (Cappelen & Dahlberg, 2018). We should also consider the potential settler colonial influence, where some of our cultural practices and embedded systems of belief—especially relating to wāhine—have been white-washed or completely erased by early ethnographers and the systematic and ongoing processes of colonisation (Berryman et al., 2022; Le Grice & Braun, 2016; Murphy, 2019).

Though, with a respectful but critical eye, the message of universal humility, as relayed by the kūmara whakataukī, may not be as universal as it appears. The idea of universal truths being a guide for our words and behaviour (Murray, 2016) indicates that there may be some interpretation to be had. These truths need not dictate, but they can provide a template for how we might choose to apply them in our lives. The lessons contained within these metaphors of truth can provide us with essential guides for survival and etiquette, but universal application may be a risk to our autonomy, self-determination, discretion, and in the case of some of our tūpuna (ancestors) or whānau—possibly our lives.

Our tūpuna have, and we as contemporary Māori will continue to, experience in changing and challenging environments to which we must adapt. Whether it is a cultural practice that has been developed over generations, or the interpretation of whakataukī, the initial response to a different perspective or need for change can be confronting, but also often necessary for survival. In the case of the whakataukī: kāore te kūmara e kōrero mō tōna ake reka, wāhine I spoke to, respected the value of humility but contended that there was a need for a healthy dose of boasting in a world where our successes must contend with much louder, conflicting narratives. Their relatively unanimous consensus seemed to illustrate the importance of unpretentious self-promotion or humble boasting.

A case for the singing kūmara

Te tangi o te kūmara (the song of the sweet potato) was developed to describe the respectful dissonance with the sometimes-broad interpretation or over-reliance on the kūmara whakataukī. Te tangi o te kūmara acknowledges the original whakataukī that inspired it and its humbling influence, as it applies in certain contexts. However, te tangi o te kūmara is an argument that in keeping your sweetness to yourself—no one experiences it, no one hears about your success, or what you have to share. The problem that many of the wāhine in my research described, was that if we do not talk about or promote our successes, the reigning narrative is likely to paint us in a less than complimentary light (Heke, 2022).

We know, only too well, the historical depictions and statistical position of wāhine Māori, thanks to colonial narratives and contemporary media alike. Māori have been subjected to what has been described as a colonising agenda in many social institutions. This agenda seeks to normalise racialised frames and negative stereotypes and has led to an undermining of Māori well-being (Harris et al., 2012; Harris & Mercier, 2006; Mikaere, 2011). Described in the context of Indigenous data, as the five Ds, information gathered and presented about Indigenous peoples is often laden with disparity, deprivation, disadvantage, dysfunction, and difference (Walter & Carroll, 2020). These practices have contributed to a dominant discourse that paints deficit among all aspects of Indigenous society from health, criminal justice, and all manner of other Indigenous statistics, a picture that is often devoid of the relevant Indigenous context (Smith, 1999; Walter & Suina, 2019).

Māori and Indigenous women have been further impacted as a result of the deeply patriarchal influence of colonisation. The voices of wāhine and the complexity of their roles, significance, and prominence in Māori society have been subject to inaccurate delimiting and defining by the dominant discourse that sought to marginalise them. This influence has had a lasting impact on Māori and Indigenous women, as demonstrated by the desire to revitalise mātauranga wahine (Māori women’s knowledge systems)—our practices, our knowledges, and our expertise. Inherent in this era of revitalisation and longing for connection to these practices, is the need for wāhine voices to be heard; Wāhine voices that celebrate wāhine; our own voices.

Mana Wahine (Māori intersectional feminist theory) theory is one such response to these colonial and patriarchal forces that have marginalised wāhine Māori. In its deliberate focus on the diverse and intersecting issues, personas, and roles of wāhine Māori, it provides a theoretical and subsequent practical mechanism for empowering Māori women to (re)claim control over their own identities, realities, and voices (Pihama, 2012; Simmonds, 2011). These diverse voices and realities are the basis for Mana Wahine, demonstrating that we, as wāhine Māori exist, resist, and rise in our multiple and unique ways, as shown by the ranging ideologies of Mana Wahine over the past few decades (Irwin, 1992; Mikaere, 1994; Pihama, 2001; Simmonds, 2011; Smith, 1997; Te Awekotuku, 2007).

Ngā tangi o ngā wāhine: women’s voices

Te tangi o te kūmara was a lighthearted way of illustrating a sweet exclamation, a Mana Wahine response to universal humility that might have kept our successes silent. But instead of being hubristically whakahīhī, the idea was to allow the sweet sound of success to resonate and inspire others. Wāhine argued that one of the pathways for our success as Māori should include hearing about our own successes and being confident in voicing what we believe needs to be heard. One woman expressively described her perspective about the need for wāhine successes to be heard:

They ought to be allowed to ring their bell. We are energy. Energy, and energy is also sound. We actually have a note that we resonate to, and people are compressing it. It’s like we ought to be allowed to ring. That’s not whakahīhī. It’s actually tika [correct]. It’s actually tika. Look what I f****** did! (Mana, Chinese Medicine Practitioner and exercise instructor)

Mana represents the sentiment of the singing kūmara wonderfully and describes what she has witnessed from many people who come through her own practice—in Chinese medicine and as an exercise instructor. If, as she described, our energy as wāhine is a sound that is often compressed or silenced, then by singing it or allowing it to resound, can be an act of liberation and celebration.

Not only does this metaphorical singing kūmara advocate for giving voice to our successes, but as an opportunity to give voice to and advocate for change where practices were seen to no longer benefit wāhine, Māori, or our contemporary societies. The argument that wāhine seemed to be making was that tikanga (customs and protocols) based on historical contexts and different environments were often outdated, not fit for current conditions, or were so colonially (mis)interpreted that they would limit the full potential and expression of being wāhine Māori.

Another wahine (woman) reflected on how our ability to adapt, as Māori, is visible in the behaviours and actions of our tūpuna. She saw their practices and tikanga as valuable, but balanced that with the contemporary application and our current environments were just as pertinent:

[W]e can see from our tūpuna and what they’ve done, adapted, adapted. When you look at where we are as Indigenous people, internationally, we are this far ahead in certain places because we adapted, extremely quickly. And we fought, we adapted, and we fought. But I think we’ve come to a place where we’ve sort of stopped . . . adapting. Because people have been trying to hold so strongly on to our culture that it’s not letting it evolve the way it should. (Celia, Māori Environmental Advocate and waka ama [outrigger canoe] paddler)

Her sentiment reflects the idea that holding on to cultural practices for the sake of holding on to culture, can be counterproductive. Rather, we can hold true to tikanga, to kawa (customs or protocol), at its core values, while adapting our contemporary practices to better suit our contemporary times and the challenges we currently face.

Combining these two ideas of giving voice to our own success and giving voice to challenging or controversial ideas, many of the wāhine described themselves in a way that breaks the mould of what is conventionally expected, and challenges norms. They saw themselves and other wāhine as having more to offer than some of the narrow definitions of Māori, wāhine, or both. Dispelling stereotypes became motivations to step beyond those expectations and prove the dominant narrative to be wrong. One woman challenged perceptions by balancing her identity between seemingly opposing sports:

It’s a challenge. I think what I like about dance is getting my body to do that. Whereas in league it’s a little bit sadistic. Can you smash me? How hard can you smash me and bitch I will get up and play the ball . . . . But dance is pretty. Dance is hot. (Sherilee, Teacher, former Rugby League player and dancer)

She offers an illustration of the way we as wāhine Māori need not be confined to narrow definitions, using the example of her chosen activities. Whether its within sport, activity, or more generally as wāhine, we have the capacity and should feel empowered to take up space in a range of roles, whether with rugby balls or high heels or otherwise.

The lighthearted concept of a singing kūmara is an illustration of the need for wāhine to be vocal about their success and their beliefs, extending into a belief in the way that ancestral knowledge and practices can be adapted for contemporary environments. There was no intention to diminish the significance of the original whakataukī, but this metaphor of a singing kūmara seeks to illustrate the desire and ability to see things from different perspectives and adapt depending on that positioning. It is about having the courage to speak up and be heard, to challenge expectations, and to be adaptable—when your environment requires you to be.

A pertinent example came from a wahine from Whakatōhea (a tribe from the Eastern Bay of Plenty, in the North Island of New Zealand) who introduced her tupuna wahine (female ancestor), Muriwai, and a story significant to several iwi (tribes) around the East Coast of North Island, Aotearoa New Zealand. The story of Muriwai centres on an event when their waka (canoe) was moored off the coast of Whakatāne and the men were absent. A storm began to stir and Muriwai became worried that those left aboard were in danger. Wāhine were not customarily permitted to paddle the waka, but Muriwai made the decision to attempt to save her people by picking up the hoe (paddle), speaking out: “Me whakatāne au i ahau! (I must act like a man!)” and paddling her whānau to safety. As the protagonist, Muriwai is said to be responsible for the naming of the nearby town, Whakatāne. While some credit Muriwai, other East Coast descendants refer to Wairaka as being the tupuna wahine who performed the great feat (Wilson, 2021).

Jani Wilson, an academic with tribal affiliations to the East Coast of the North Island (Ngāti Awa, Mātaatua), and Northern tribes of the North Island (Ngā Puhi, Ngāti Hine) describes her connection to Wairaka and the relevance of Wairaka’s actions on the development of her own academic and teaching career in Film Studies and Māori Media. She considers the consequence of inaction, as her tupuna wahine, Wairaka would have done, and as many other wāhine likely do, and to make the decision to break protocol for the sake of survival. “Wairaka is constantly with me throughout this persistently choppy navigation around the vast ocean that is academia . . . Wairaka’s DNA is in my veins” (Wilson, 2021, p. 125). Similarly, our ancestors, significant places, or environmental features are embedded in our cells. They guide our behaviour and sometimes challenge us to go against convention.

The question raised by Wilson (2021) is one that is echoed in the many comments by the wāhine who contributed to my research. It considers whether we decide to stay in a metaphorical waka and adhere to predetermined roles and expectations—often dictated by colonial norms, or whether we acknowledge the metaphorical storm brewing, the impending danger of inaction or silence, and whether we decide to pick up a hoe and paddle to safety. The decision of Muriwai or Wairaka, to stand up and stand out is one that many wāhine must consider also. There may be those in our metaphorical waka who tell us to sit down and leave that work for the men. There may be those who encourage us to paddle, and there may be others still, who join us by taking up their own hoe to paddle us to a safer, better place. In any case, the stories of Muriwai and Wairaka can teach us about the need to adapt conventional practices, especially when the situation requires it, to speak up and let our voices be heard.

He oro reka: a sweet sound and delicate balance

In my own experience, I have battled with the idea of singing my own praises or remaining humble, letting my work, my accomplishments, my successes, speak for themselves. I have heard the kūmara whakataukī referenced on many occasions, where the value placed on being humble is voiced proudly. Somewhat of an oxymoron, at times, we boast about how humble we are as a people, and this whakataukī seems to have much to do with that. As a naturally quiet, introverted, and often self-deprecating person, it is easy for me to implement this whakataukī and its core message to let humility guide my behaviour and be careful what I choose to celebrate. However, as a wahine Māori academic, who is still finding my way on this career path, it becomes necessary to consider how much of the kūmara’s humility is useful as an underlying value or cultural characteristic, versus learning to apply a healthy dose of authentic pride, self-promotion, or humble boasting.

The conversations I had with 19 wāhine Māori, as part of my PhD research, has been rewarding in several ways. In particular, the discussions that centred on our accomplishments and the degree to which we are comfortable, supported, or encouraged to speak out about them. A level of bias may need to be declared with this group of wāhine. They all chose to speak to me about themselves, as successfully physically active wāhine Māori, the first indication of the singing kūmara, even before the conversations began. I am ever grateful that these women agreed to speak to me, and in most cases were excited to have the opportunity to share what they knew, what they believed, and what they were good at. Their openness to sharing was merely given a platform; their voices given airtime; their stories (re)told. Despite their disinhibition to share their expertise, their capabilities, their active whakapapa, it was never arrogant or boastful, always genuine and modest. A delicate balance of sweetness. The pride they had for their own achievements was never centred on themselves as individuals, but as a mechanism for supporting others, carrying their mana (prestige, influence) through to future generations, and ensuring stories of success were heard above and beyond those of our so-called failings.

With the help of these women and their discussions I was blessed to have with them, te tangi o te kūmara was developed. A slightly silly but significant consideration for us as wāhine Māori to apply, not as a challenge to the original kūmara whakataukī but as another guiding principle for our actions. Let us not hear our whakataukī or other cultural message holders as verbatim instructions for our contemporary lives. Let us place them in the stories of our own realities and apply them as a guide, or better still, let us be creative and bring to life our own proverbs that ring true to us and the current environments we inhabit. A sweet exclamation to be heard by our own future descendants.