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Renewal and Resistance: Moko in Contemporary New

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DOI: 10.1002/casp.942 · Source: OAI

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Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology
J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
Published online in Wiley InterScience
(www.interscience.wiley.com) DOI: 10.1002/casp.942

Renewal and Resistance: Moko in Contemporary

New Zealand

LINDA WAIMARIE NIKORA*, MOHI RUA and NGAHUIA TE AWEKOTUKU

Maori & Psychology Research Unit, University of Waikato, New Zealand

ABSTRACT

Moko is still here, contrary to the widely held belief that the art and custom of moko—Maori skin
adornment—had vanished from New Zealand communities. Over the last two decades an increas-
ingly visible number of Maori have revived and renewed the practice, taking colour into their skin. As
an indigenous people, re-taking moko confronts and refutes the myth of a ‘dying race’. It calls on
Maori to recommit to strong Maori identities, customs and traditions and challenges the viewer to
re-examine their social representations of moko and moko wearers. This paper reports the resistance
strategies of a group of 83 moko wearers. Strategies include (1) educating, representing and
reconstructing; (2) invalidating and minimizing representations; (3) building and enhancing social
networks; and (4) securing cultural identity and pride. They reflect the celebration of cultural
resilience. Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

Key words: Maori; moko; facial tattoo; stigma; resistance

INTRODUCTION

Our lives are lived through our bodies and those elements that adorn them. Our bodies,
clothing, material possessions, roles and communities, all mediate the meanings we, and
others, have of ourselves. Diprose (2005, p. 384) argues that ‘the modified or marked body
is not usually a sign of itself; it only means something through the expression and sharing of
meaning and community with other bodies’. She asserts that it is through the sharing of
meanings with others that a sense of belonging or exclusion arises. Culture as the
atmosphere through which we live our lives gives our bodies meaning and at the same time
we evolve culture through the meanings we create and display (Moore, 2004; Womack,
2005). In his theory of social representations, Moscovici (2001) proposes that fleeting
notions are arrested, objectified and represented to ourselves and others, circulating
through mediated processes leaving images opened to be questioned, contested and
negotiated. Sometimes these representations are confirmed and reinforced, but often new

* Correspondence to: Linda Waimarie Nikora, Maori & Psychology Research Unit, University of Waikato, Private
Bag 3105, Hamilton, Aotearoa/New Zealand. E-mail: mpru@waikato.ac.nz

Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Accepted 21 May 2007
478 L. W. Nikora et al.

meanings evolve or old meanings are re-presented and begin again the cycle of arrest,
objectification, circulation and negotiation.
This paper is concerned with two things. The first considers the attention moko wearers
attract as a result of transforming their bodies by patterning their skin with moko. Our
second and more primary interest is in the way that moko wearers engage their social
environments to resist, modify or renew ‘meanings’ about moko, moko wearers and Maori
people as a cultural collective. This objective corresponds with Howarth’s (2006) urging to
attend more to social psychological conditions for challenging stigma from insiders’
perspectives, rather than adding to the often repetitive literature on individual coping (e.g.
Folkman & Moskowitz, 2004).

IMAGING MOKO

For Maori, the living face also reflects the dead; and marking the skin effects
‘. . .simultaneously the exteriorisation of the interior which is simultaneously the
interiorization of the exterior’ (Gell, 1993, pp. 38–39). Skin is a fragile barrier; the unseen
world of the departed is always close, often threatening. Metaphorically, it is Hawaiiki—
our place of origin and yearning, the abode of our ancestors. Their constant influence
through signs and symbols mediate relations between mythical and ‘real’ persons and
spirits, human and godly, historic and contemporary. By transforming their bodies moko
wearers instantly transform themselves. They are no longer bare; they are layered with
meaning. They contest, negotiate and re-negotiate meaning, relevance and interactions
within their social ecologies. As the wearer engages these tasks, their significant others and
communities become involved as well, while the pressure of context bears down on the
representations being sought and shaped.
Ta Moko—taking Moko—is a serious commitment. It inscribes your soul, it uplifts your senses,
and it changes you forever. It is the ultimate engagement of oneself with one’s body, because it
cannot be removed (Te Awekotuku, 2006, p. 135).

Moko—the practice that involves the chiselling of human skin and the insertion of
pigment—is related to tatau, the Pacific tradition of puncturing and colouring the flesh.
From this technique, tatau, comes the English word ‘Tattoo’ and its Western practice (Gell,
1993). Explaining moko to the reader or observer is a process of making the unfamiliar
familiar. We are forced to reach across mediated contexts, experiences, histories, politics,
classifications, objects, communities, emotions and feelings to represent the unfamiliar, to
make moko familiar, to make it unthreatening. Moko could be made known by referring to
the European tradition of tattooing. Similarities exist. But this is not enough. It is not the
same. ‘Tattoo’ invokes images of unfamiliar bodies, places, histories, of criminality and
deviance, of seamen and vagrants, and creates confusion, disturbance and the presence of
something foreign, at least to most Maori.
Moko emerges from a different place. The following lines from a lament composed in
1846 by Te Heuheu Iwikau, III for the sudden death of his son describe. . .

A hurihurihia to tupu hauroa, to tupu haunui, e i. A kite iho au to kiri i ahua. ki te wai ngarahu.
To mata i haea ki te uhi matarau, Waiho nei nga iwi, huhe kau ake!
Your body, grown so tall, so magnificient I gently turn over; I gaze at your finely patterned skin,
At your face incised exquisitely; Ah, losing you will devastate the people. (Iwikau, 1932).

Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
DOI: 10.1002/casp
 Moko in contemporary New Zealand 479

The sentiment expressed in this lament reveals how the Maori aesthetic, the sensuality
and immediacy of moko, endured (Te Awekotuku, 2006). Moko was perceived as an
aesthetic and individual self-presentation; it embodied the self. Patterns identified the
wearer to others and were unique to that person, though they could also be recognized as
derived from the traditional repertoire of design forms unique to his or her tribe. Traditional
chants and oral histories tell us that moko was a part of everyday, ordinary, mundane Maori
life, although some things marked some wearers as different from others. There were male
and female design conventions. Some were more elaborate than others and, as moko took
years to acquire, older people tended to be much more adorned than younger.
To the early 19th century European traders, settlers and missionaries to New Zealand,
moko demonstrated that Maori were inferior and barbaric, a view mediated by The Great
Chain of Being and Darwinian thinking. This representation persisted well into the 20th
century. Upoko tuhi (preserved heads), a noble practice warped into a ghastly trade,
became a major collectible during the Musket War period from 1818 to 1831 (Te
Awekotuku, 2004). The arrival of missionaries reinforced the demonizing of moko as evil
and ungodly—a disfigurement of God’s handiwork. When tensions over land and
resources erupted between Maori and settlers in the 1860s, moko became a sign of
resistance, part of the rallying call for Maori unification, continuing to this day (Te
Awekotuku, 2006). By 1895 Maori had become a diminished population. Photographers
and painters captured this period in nostalgic portraiture—the last opportunity to represent
‘The Maori as He Was’ (Blackley, 1997). While Maori women in the early 1900s continued
with moko as marks of femininity and old world identity (King & Friedlander, 1972), their
grandchildren integrated gang culture with their own to create new marks of resistance and
identity (Harawira, Maitai, & Umbers, 1993) and to renew the symbols of Te Ao
Tawhito—the Old Maori World.

MOKO IN CONTEMPORARY PUBLIC PLACES

Maori self-determination has dominated the historical relationship with the settler
(Pakeha) society (King, 2003). This has caused tension to this day, focussing on the
Crown’s breaching of the Treaty of Waitangi (Orange, 1992) and pressure to assimilate.
Moko continues as a sign of resistance, an issue of Maori sovereignty, a constant element of
Maori society in the latter half of the 20th Century (Harris, 2004).
Since 1971 New Zealand has had explicit anti-discrimination legislation. The Human
Rights Act 1993 and The Human Rights Amendment Act 2002 prohibits discrimination on
the grounds of: age, colour, disability, employment status, ethical belief, ethnic or national
origins, family status, marital status, political opinion, race, religious belief, sex and sexual
orientation. It engages: access to public places, education, housing, and other sites,
opportunities and services. Although New Zealand meets international human rights
standards in many respects, racial discrimination persists (Harris, Tobias, Jeffreys,
Waldegrave, Karlsen, & Nazroo, 2006; Human Rights Commission, 2004; Spoonley,
1993).
In 2001, Kay Robin, a woman with a moko-kauae, a traditional chin moko, was refused
entry to a bar on the grounds of a ‘no facial or offensive tattoos’ policy. She complained to
the Human Rights Review Tribunal. The issue was eventually settled by voluntary
agreement involving the Director of the Human Rights Proceedings, the plaintiff and the
defendant (de Bres, 2003). The bar owner acknowledged that the ‘no facial’ portion of his
Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
DOI: 10.1002/casp
480 L. W. Nikora et al.

‘no facial or offensive tattoos’ policy was in breach of the Human Rights Act and that his
policy had caused Kay Robin humiliation, loss of dignity and injury to her feelings. He
agreed to compensate her $3000 and to remove the word ‘facial’ from the sign displayed on
his premises.
Joris de Bres (2003, para 5) the New Zealand Race-relations Conciliator of the day urged
employers and proprietors to
. . . take note of this settlement as it sends a clear signal as to the meaning of the Act. It is our view
that a person of Maori descent cannot be denied entry to or service in a licensed premise on the
grounds that they are wearing a moko on any visible part of their body.

The Human Rights Commission advises ordinary New Zealanders to reconsider their
response to moko and the people wearing it. Moko should be seen as a Maori cultural
entitlement; a treasure, which enriches New Zealand society; and should be regarded as
ordinary and socially acceptable across all public spaces.
Referring briefly to the European tattoo tradition, various studies since the 1990s have
documented a reverse trend from the pathologized tattooed body on the margins, to
increasing numbers of ‘ordinary’ people acquiring tattoos as a form of individual
expression (Armstrong & Gabriel, 1993; Millner & Eichold, 2001). Most of these studies
concerned people who have tattoos, rather than the tattooed person, the latter identified by
the greater visibility and extent of their tattoos. Similarly, Nikora and Te Awekotuku (2003)
found that a sample of New Zealand university students saw moko as appealing and
reflecting personal and group identity, allegiance and solidarity. Moko was trendy. But
some still saw moko as a disfigurement, undertaken by a risky radical minority, particularly
if it was facial.
In his study, Rua (2003) found that wearers confronted a host of expectations: to be drug
free, clean living and exceptional moral and cultural role models. Their moko represented
‘cultural fluency’. Resonating pre-colonial and resistance representations, wearers felt and
experienced heavy pressure to be fluent speakers of Maori, competent ritualists, and
reservoirs of traditional knowledge. They also received challenges from within their own
communities—who were they to be adorned with marks associated with authority, mana
(power) and prestige? What training had they had? Whose permissions had they sought?
And perhaps, beneath all these questions lies a challenge for the viewer—what does this
mean for me?
In public spaces, like supermarkets and cafes, and community spaces, like schools,
workplaces, marae (gathering places) or at hui (gatherings), moko wearers understand they
will attract attention (Nikora, Te Awekotuku, & Rua, 2004). Where Maori are a devalued
non-dominant ethnic minority, moko wearers are marked as different not just from the
dominant majority but from other Maori too. This creates an interesting dynamic where
moko wearers have to reconcile the validity of their ethnicity and cultural identities (Tyler,
Brome, & Williams, 1991) and their marks of difference and meaning to both ‘others’—
the dominant majority, and ‘their own’—their families and communities. Moving through
challenging spaces becomes a mission in anticipating and reading reactions and associated
meanings, determining responses that are realistic and legitimate, assessing the
consequences of responses taken (or not) and learning from the experience (Tyler
et al., 1991).
Central to this mission is the need to identify and understand sources of stress. For moko
wearers, the sources of stress are various and variable. The bar owner in the aforementioned
example viewed Kay’s moko as a ‘facial tattoo’ and therefore ‘offensive’—something that
Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
DOI: 10.1002/casp
 Moko in contemporary New Zealand 481

threatened to disrupt the norms and values of and between bodies within the bar space.
Represented in the facial tattoo are images that challenge the social relations of, and in,
spaces. They are images of marginality (anti-conformists, outcasts, gangs), criminality
(antisocial, lacking moral standards, violence) and pathology (madness, impairment, evil).
Facial markings intrude upon and challenge ‘clean’, ‘honest’, ‘open’ and ‘respectable’
faces. Another challenge is also made here. Moko imaged as survival, pride, femininity,
beauty and as non-dominant ethnic identity contests the assumed right of dominant groups
to dominate. It signals the continued existence and resistance of Maori and points to all the
failed efforts to make Maori subservient. Moko takes on a symbolic power that questions
hegemony by presenting alternative ways of viewing and being. Moko and the embodied
become acutely political.
Over the last two decades, moko has re-emerged powerfully within Maori communities
which have adapted to living with few marked faces (Te Awekotuku, 1997).
When Ngarahu took her moko kauae, she was suddenly elevated to kaikaranga—the female ritual
chanting role performed during a formal welcome of visitors to her marae (gathering place). On
the occasion of being handed this role, she looked about her and noticed a much older Maori
woman, not marked, but who was just as capable. Ngarahu approached her and asked her why she
had not been considered to which she replied ‘no! Because Koro (male grandparent) said I haven’t
got the number plate!’ The number plate obviously being her moko kauae (Nikora et al., 2004,
p. 199).

In this example, we see evidence of the living face representing faces past. The
grandfather envisaged the elderly women of his youth and their contribution to ritual. He
required Ngarahu to engage the ritual process of chanted encounter. As an age-related role,
the task would normally fall to the eldest capable woman but in this instance, age became
secondary. Moreover, for a community to have ‘faces past’ brings the past into the present.
The community becomes more authentic, and so too do their rituals, creating a resource
that adds to their cultural capital and distinctiveness (Bourdieu, 1984). Just as Kay and her
moko challenged the norms and values of the bar she attempted to enter, Ngarahu and her
moko challenged the social roles and relations within the marae cultural setting and
ritualized space. Unlike Kay, Ngarahu and her moko were claimed and given validity and
called to a cultural role where competence had been assumed. This can be stressful (Nikora
et al., 2004) particularly when competence is mistakenly assumed or confounded by age.
This said, moko has returned and transforms wearers from one identity to another.

THE PRESENT STUDY

Narrative interviews about people’s journeys to becoming and being moko wearers were
conducted as part of larger multi-disciplinary study of moko across time that involved the
re-reading of historical, pictorial and oral history records and an investigation of
contemporary meanings and manifestations of moko. Between 2001 and 2005, we
completed 83 interviews with wearers who lived throughout New Zealand with the
exception of one who lived in Australia. Participants had been wearers for at least 5 years
by the time of interview. The types of moko that participants presented were varied and are
presented in Table 1. All but one participant had their moko process completed by way of
electric tattoo machine. The one exception had his puhoro (buttocks, thighs, back)
completed with traditional chisels, in our opinion, the first of its kind since the 1800s.
Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
DOI: 10.1002/casp
482 L. W. Nikora et al.

Table 1. Types of moko

Placement Percentage n!

Tuhono (arm band) 25 21

Kauae (female chin moko) 25 21
General body 22 18
Puhoro (legs, buttocks, thighs) 16 13
Pukanohi (male face moko) 13 11
Leg and back 6 5
!
Some had moko on different parts of their bodies. The categories listed above are not independent.

Through reading and re-reading the transcribed narratives, members of the project team
independently and then collectively, negotiated a series of narrative ‘plots’ to describe the
journeys that wearers went through. The plots were characterized by stages: (1) thinking
about moko, (2) researching moko, (3) seeking permission, (4) finding a moko artist, (5)
going through the transition and (6) life after. Although the content of ‘plots’ varied, the
staged nature of the journey did not. To understand how moko wearers negotiated their
social ecologies and the strategies used to resist, affirm or change the circulated
representations of moko, we explored each stage of the narrative plot to identify imagined
and actual considerations of stress (positive and negative) causing representations (e.g.
mother having negative opinion of moko wearers), and participants imagined (e.g. if it ever
happened I would. . .) and actual responses (e.g. it happened and I did. . .). In this way we
were able to build a picture of how moko mediates the lives of wearers and the social
ecologies they move through.

FINDINGS

This section reports on strategies used by moko wearers to resist, affirm or change
representations of moko and themselves as wearers. We report on the process of becoming
a moko wearer and how a wearer’s community of interest(s) reacted to their transformation.
We also report on wearer’s experiences of cultural elevation and its implications, as well as
the strategies used to respond to verbal and non-verbal reactions. Finally, a brief overview
of cultural identity and pride as primary motivators for taking moko is considered.

Becoming a moko wearer

Wearers tended to seek an in-depth understanding of moko to inform their decision to take
moko, and to build a picture of what their future lives might be like. They did this through
reading (e.g. Blackley, 1997; Hatfield & Steur, 2003; King & Friedlander, 1972; Neleman,
Iti, Turei, & McDonald, 1999), seeking out knowledgeable people, studying techniques
and procedures and talking with practitioners, elders, friends, family and other wearers.
Some set goals for themselves as part of ’being ready’ and ’worthy’, like giving up
smoking and drinking, increasing their cultural competence, participating in family and
community activities and pursuing further education. Although the desire for moko
inspired a quest for a clean lifestyle, some recognized this as a life-long goal rather than
something to be achieved in a couple of years. Like Shane below, all participants realized
Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
DOI: 10.1002/casp
 Moko in contemporary New Zealand 483

that they would be seen differently, would have different expectations visited upon them
and had in some way accepted the challenge that such a transformation would present.
I went to Canada. That reaffirmed my desire for full moko, and in the back of my mind were all the
things that I had been told about moko—only certain people are allowed to have moko, only
certain people were allowed to do it, under certain strict rules and regulations. . . Yet after that trip,
I came back and thought, I’ve just been halfway round the world, and nobody stopped me doing
what I wished and there were no rules and regulations there—I could do anything! And that really
confirmed for me that all that stuff is nonsense! (Shane).

Participants spoke of two influential communities of interest. The most influential in

someone preparing to take moko and reacting to their new marks were family members,
relatives and friends in the wider community. Many participants reported being anxious
about what family members thought about their desire to become wearers. They considered
what their marked bodies would mean to others.
I had more difficulty with my younger brother who said, ‘Aye? What the hang you wanna do that
for?’ So the moment he said that I stopped talking. I thought, well, I now know I don’t need to deal
with you! My mother was pretty quiet, because they had no idea. They’d only seen tattoo, rather
than seen this (puhoro). They’d only heard about moko in the old days, when there was a lot of
scab and infection, and . . . thought it was scarring of the body. It was pretty bad, and they didn’t
want me to get done like that. . . They had no idea. When I finally came home, they just did a total
turn around (Piri).

Unlike the resistance that Piri met with, Melanie met stronger reactions and consequences.
I got it done, and my children’s father left me! (Melanie).

Others were warned and reminded of the difficulties endured by Maori women through
the 1960s and 1970s.
You know in the old days our kuia (elderly women) used to pretty much stay in their own backyard
with their moko (Hineroa).

And others were praised, celebrated and embraced.

When I asked my eldest granddaughter, who is 20 this year, she said, ‘oh Nan it would be neat to
say, my nanny’s got a moko’ (Te Wairemana).

All of the above stories probe the representations held by the other. Though participants
had, in their own minds, already committed to transforming themselves, they were still
curious about how their family members and significant others thought. They wanted to
know how they would be framed as a wearer, and whether their ideas about what moko
meant to them coincided with others. Whatever they may have learned, thinking about
taking moko contributed to living in a politicized body with a renewed and sharpened
cultural identity. These things all contributed to resistance strategies developed once they
had become wearers.

Addressing cultural elevation

Participants, particularly those with visible moko, reported being called to perform cultural
roles and rituals often beyond their experience, especially by other Maori. They were
expected to be knowledgeable in Maori culture and able to command authority on cultural
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DOI: 10.1002/casp
484 L. W. Nikora et al.

matters, and the general public assumed all facial wearers must be language and protocol
experts. Wai was surprised to learn of such expectations.
. . .they automatically think I can korero (speak) Maori, and I am expected sometimes to karanga
(traditional female welcome). Even in our place of work, if there is a hui (meeting) at the higher
level I am asked to karanga. . .I can if I have to, but this is something I didn’t have to do before
(Wai).

In contrast, Kay anticipated the cultural expectations and committed to learning the
Maori language as part of preparing to take moko.
The biggest one for me was how can I be myself and not screw up people’s expectations? The reo
was a big consideration—I am not fluent. I am a second language learner (Kay).

Kay resolved her motivation to take moko by situating her belief in being a fluent
language speaker as a lifelong journey. Like Wai and Kay, for Tracey addressing cultural
expectations is part of a personal journey of education and improvement. Tracey told us:
Well my mum says, part of ta moko is the reo (Maori language). You need to be focusing on your
reo (Maori language skills). It’s really interesting because Teina and I go to an aunt. She’s teaching
us karanga (traditional female welcome chant). Our roles as kotiro (young women) are evolving.
What you see now is (cultural) succession planning. Everything is connected.

Engaging in cultural learning activities helped this group of participants to respond to

cultural expectations expressed of them no matter how accurate the expectations might be.

Educating, re-presenting and reconstructing

When moko presents, reactions occur. If the reaction is immediate and spoken moko
addresses the representation and viewer. Most wearers choose to engage attention, seeing it
as an opportunity to educate others about moko, their motivations, processes they went
through, what it means to be a wearer and the narrative of their moko. They found this to be
an effective strategy to demystify preconceived ideas and stereotypes about moko wearers.
Kim explains, ‘. . .just be honest. It’s a topic of conversation. . .especially when you are in
Police uniform often people ask you, that’s traditional isn’t it? What does it mean?’ As a
Police Officer, Kim understands the importance of trust between colleagues, so educating
and informing fellow officers helped maintain and even enhance comradeship. ‘Those
young Pakeha cops were blown away by the story that I told them and how I received it.
That it was about honour. It was about my status as a police officer—as a kaitiaki
(guardian)’.
Educating others was also an opportunity to tell them about those things important to
wearers as Maori. Merearihi told us: ‘. . .some of them were asking me ‘‘What does it
mean?’’ And I said basically it’s talking about me, coming down one line (whakapapa)—
who I am’. Wearers like Brad enjoyed the attention and opportunity to promote moko to
others. ‘It’s a good laugh. If they want to know about it, I promote my bros’ work, the
practitioner. . .so I’ll tell them all the korero (stories) and I’ll show them a piece’. While
these encounters are common in the New Zealand context, they also occur in contexts
outside of New Zealand. Andre told us that while at a United Nations conference, his moko
became a vehicle for engagement, understanding and cultural exchange. ‘I was sitting
down with some people from Africa and other business people, and they were so interested
Copyright # 2007 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. J. Community Appl. Soc. Psychol., 17: 477–489 (2007)
DOI: 10.1002/casp
 Moko in contemporary New Zealand 485

in it. They knew it was a story. They wanted it to be explained. They were taking photos. . .’
(Andre).
Entering conversations about moko provides opportunity for understanding to emerge
and be negotiated. Moko can be distinguished from mainstream tattoos and gang insignia
and wearers from Maori radicals, criminals and the like. Moko can be demystified.
Chanz recalls accusations toward moko wearers as ‘mana munchers’ (status seekers) but
dismisses these comments as ignorant. She also reflects upon non-Maori who write and
comment upon Maori culture and her interpretation of the writer’s inherit sense of
superiority to the detriment of Maori. As Chanz states, ‘That’s why this survey (research) is
crucial to sieve out all of that colonial bollocks and maintain what is rich, unique and
indigenous. It’s about tangata whenua (Maori) values, initiatives and aspirations’. This type
of representation of moko is similar to what Georgina experienced when her sister
suggested Georgina stop smoking to respect what she believed to be the traditional history
of moko. Georgina dismissed this as inventive and recalls a different history, ‘. . .you know
the old people didn’t do that (give up smoking and drinking). That’s how it was and is.
None of this misconception that you have to be like this or that’. Another inventive
assertion of the past includes moko wearers being elderly with significant milestones in
their lives, something Georgina acknowledges as she remembers her kuia with moko,
‘. . .for instance, nanny Moerangi was 16 yrs old, and there were others who were 15 years
and so on. It (moko) grew with them. . .you don’t have to wait till you’re a kuia (elderly
woman) to wear a moko’ (Georgina). Waiteahoaho has confronted and challenged such
assertions as well and like Georgina and Melanie, she disregarded such inventiveness by
simply claiming, ‘It’s my desire to have it, and it has got meaning for me’ (Waitiaho).
Georgina found that being knowledgeable about moko was helpful to addressing
negative remarks. ‘. . .People who commented in this way, did not know the history of ta
moko. If I spoke about Rarohenga, Mataora and Niwareka, they didn’t even know about
them’. With this in hand Georgina turns the tables and says, ‘. . .well this is your problem,
you’re quick to judge. You don’t even know the story, i ahu mai i hea (where it came
from). . .’. For Georgina negative reactions reinforce her view that lack of knowledge has
prevented people from making informed judgements and marginalized moko wearers
accordingly.
Maori gangs have been closely associated with moko, reinforcing ideas of margin-
alization and criminality.
. . .where I come from the ramifications of wearing facial moko means that you’re gonna be in
gangs. . .There’s going to be the police and jail and there’s going to be guns. There’s going to be
herb plantations and there’s going to be p-labs and there’s going to be all that (George).

Many participants like Wai, who worked in the corrections system, sought to reshape
such negative perceptions ‘. . .we have a lot of inmates that wear their moko, and be it
Mongrel Mob or Black Power (ethnic Maori gangs), that is still their moko, their taonga
(treasure), and it has still got meaning behind it’. Other resources that participants drew on
to address representations of criminality and marginality are what we refer to as
‘presentation’ resources, that is how they dressed, spoke, conducted themselves, the
settings they enter and the employment they were engaged in. They felt a strong sense of
responsibility to moko and what it means.
There is a trial of sorts to wear moko. It is not easy, there are aspects there that hold you back from
doing what most people consider normal things. I am comfortable to go to our local pub but will
leave before people start getting drunk. . . I don’t put myself in certain places and sometimes in

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certain people’s company. . .I don’t go out in tracksuit pants or a pair of shorts. I dress well. . . I try
to put my best foot forward because I wear moko. . . I deem it my responsibility to ensure that I am
well thought of, and that the moko is held in high regard (Shane).

Moko wearers do not always have the opportunity to engage the viewer in a reciprocated
conversation, educate and inform. Wearers sometimes have to deal with hostile stares and
body language or pronouncements where conversation and replies are not invited. For
instance, in areas of low Maori population density, Maori are rarely seen publicly, and
residents have a limited knowledge of Maori people and culture. For Katerina,
understanding her city in this context allowed her to dismiss prejudicial or ignorant
comments ‘. . .my NZ (non-Maori) friends were negative in their remarks which I took with
a grain of salt. It was unusual to see (moko) on the streets of the city’. Yet Kay’s
experiences also demonstrated to us that such adversity was also found within Maori
communities. Kay told us of an encounter she had with Maori elder. . . ‘She said, ‘‘Oh look
at this one! She thinks she’s a rangatira (chief). Look at her. . .I don’t know our kids these
days. Do they know what they’re doing?’’’ Kay was quick to get advice from another elder
who said to disregard what had been said because, ‘She’s just jealous. Take no notice’.
Whare encountered a similar reaction when he showed his moko to an aunt and uncle, ‘I
decided to show my puhoro and I said to them, ‘‘do you want to look at my moko? . . .I think
they were shocked’’’. Shock is a common reaction. Taurewa told us. . .
You get these old colonial Pakeha (non-Maori) walking down the road, and they screw their faces
at you or look away. . .I think don’t impose your stuff on me. . .If you have a problem with what I
have on my face, then that’s your problem.

Doing so enables Taurewa to re-establish a sense of health and well being by reclaiming
pre-European notions of identity.
Wearers often felt an obligation to champion moko and all things Maori. Developing a
keen awareness of how others viewed moko, how they would react in encounters and
whether such engagements were worthy of pursuit, is critical to the wearer for maintaining
their balance and wellbeing. For example Chanz often feels as though she has to speak on
behalf of all moko wearers and advocate all Maori issues. Although she understands and
appreciates this position, she also tires from it and has refrained from feeling like she must
‘save the (Maori) world’.

Building social networks to support cultural identity and pride

Social support networks are reciprocal arrangements. For as much as a wearer may receive
support from others, they are expected to contribute something in return. For some
participants, establishing support networks started during the contemplation period. They
actively sought out knowledgeable people and shared information. In so doing, they
increase their own knowledge and competence, and the social and cultural capital of their
broader social networks and community. In preparation to take moko, Tungia, like many
others consulted with others as a way to develop her network. ‘I joined a group. . .to
develop not only the wairua (spiritual) stuff, but to look at my integrity and who you are,
and what you are going to do’ (Tungia).
We specifically asked participants whether they had discussed taking moko with others.
Men tended to engage less in this activity than women, but those men who did were clearer
about who were supportive or not, and why. Shane approached his family members
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 Moko in contemporary New Zealand 487

expecting the worst and hoping for the best. He was shocked and humbled by their
responses. His father told him, ‘Well I wondered when you were going to ask’. Shane’s
grandmother was apprehensive about his decision. ‘. . .She never said no, but she did get
upset about the drastic change and what would happen to me, fearing for me, as her moko
(grandchild)’. For those who engaged their families and communities before taking moko,
they were also able to recognize when people had changed their positions, like Piri above
whose mother and aunts ‘did a total turn around’.
Talking with others and probing attitudes enabled wearers to reinforce their social
networks with people who would be supportive of them. After taking moko, wearers like
Ayson, reported being drawn to activities, people and groups that were likeminded in their
appreciation of moko. Becoming embedded in social networks of this kind affirmed
Ayson’s decision to take moko. He remembers the week following the taking of his moko:
‘some amazing things happened. . .all these kaupapa (activities) that I’d never experienced
before in taha Maori (Maori culture) all came together at that time’ (Ayson).
Moko becomes a vehicle for establishing ongoing relationships, especially between
moko wearers. Te Weurangi told us that ‘. . .women with ta moko always greet one another.
If we see each other we go up and hongi (greet). . . Like one time I brushed up against this
woman and we both turned around and we saw the moko and we just greeted each other’.
Te Weurangi is so inspired by her moko that she is keen to meet other women with moko:
‘I’d really like to meet them. Have all of us together one day’. As Chanz told us, ‘Being in a
room full of wahine (women) with moko is an uplifting experience. . .brilliant day!’
Support from others enables wearers to navigate their everyday realities without
radically departing from how life was before becoming a wearer. For example June had
applied and been accepted for a job as a nurse. She interviewed for her job as a non-wearer
and presented for work as a wearer. She and her support network firmly believed that her
changed appearance should not make a difference to her competence and capacity to nurse.
Her employer considered her and her moko an asset to the hospital environment and its
mission to meet the needs of the high number of Maori using their service.
Identity, pride and continuity featured significantly as motivations for taking moko.
Having a strong cultural identity informed by knowledge of history and genealogical
connections and committing to family and community cohesion contributed to cultural
renewal, invigoration and pride. Moko stimulated thinking and discussion of cultural
values and futures. For example Melanie told us of an elderly Maori woman’s comments:
‘Why is she wearing it? What has she done to deserve that on her face?’ Although Melanie
preferred not to react immediately, she reconciled her decision to take moko as a form of
cultural reclamation, ‘I think, what those old ones lost, what they let go, we are reclaiming
and they can say whatever they like, but we are reclaiming what they let go’. Reclaiming
moko is an important part of Melanie’s sense of self and identity for it, ‘. . .makes you
stronger and their attitude makes you stronger, to deal with the korero (stories) and
puahaehae (back chatting) that are coming with it’.

CONCLUSION

We have described the attention that moko wearers attract. Moko wearers engaged their
social environments to resist, modify or renew ‘meanings’ about moko, themselves and
collectively as Maori. They were purposeful, considered, imaginative and critical. Feeling
victimized or stigmatized provided fuel to confront, resist and renegotiate negative
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DOI: 10.1002/casp
488 L. W. Nikora et al.

representations. Wearers drew on particular and proven strategies (Breakwell, 1986). Yet
they often choose to focus on positive response strategies that contributed to the renewal
and invigoration of Maori cultural pride and identity (Te Awekotuku, 2006). This approach
is plainly associated with the broader political and ongoing engagement in activities
towards realizing Maori autonomy and self-determination.
The sense of belonging and pride associated with taking moko is intimately related to
personal and social identities (Breakwell, 1986) that are bridged by psychosocial and
embodied processes that assist or inhibit how wearers navigate their worlds (Tyler et al.,
1991). Within families, and Maori communities, moko confronts how Maori think about
ourselves, histories, continuities and change. It is a mark of critical reflection and conscious
choice, and signals an ongoing engagement with the decolonization project. It is a
challenge to ourselves, an affirmation of the traditional aesthetic (Tyler et al., 1991) and a
critical presence within the broader New Zealand context.

Moko is about reclaiming a lost toanga (treasure)—a part of us that was taken away through the
process of colonization, almost to extinction. It’s my external way in showing that I’m proud to be
Maori (Aneta).

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This research was made possible by the generosity of participants and a grant from the
Royal Society of New Zealand’s Marsden Fund (UOW-101).

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