Among friends?: On the Dynamics of Maori-Pakeha relationships in Aotearoa New Zealand 9783737000604, 9783847100607, 9783847000600

Citation preview

Freunde – Gönner – Getreue Studien zur Semantik und Praxis von Freundschaft und Patronage

Band 7

Herausgegeben von Ronald G. Asch, Sabine Dabringhaus und Hans-Helmuth Gander

Agnes Brandt

Among friends? On the dynamics of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relationships in Aotearoa New Zealand

With 9 figures

V& R unipress

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.d-nb.de abrufbar. ISBN 978-3-8471-0060-7 ISBN 978-3-8470-0060-0 (E-Book) Gedruckt mit freundlicher Unterstützung der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft. Ó 2013, V& R unipress in Göttingen / www.vr-unipress.de Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Das Werk und seine Teile sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung in anderen als den gesetzlich zugelassenen Fällen bedarf der vorherigen schriftlichen Einwilligung des Verlages. Printed in Germany. Druck und Bindung: CPI Buch Bücher.de GmbH, Birkach Gedruckt auf alterungsbeständigem Papier.

for my friends

Contents

Table of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

11

Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

15

Part One: Theoretical Framework . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 A look at Western social theories of friendship . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 The study of friendship: a Western history of ideas? . . . . . . 1.1.1 The classic friendship ideal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.2 From a spiritual to a private relation . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Contemporary approaches revisited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.1 Friendship and intimacy in (post-)modern society : sociological and psychological perspectives . . . . . . . . 1.2.2 The anthropology of friendship: contextualizing social life 1.2.3 Cross-cultural friendship under study . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 Defining friendship? An argument for openness . . . . . . . . 2 Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Friendship in majority society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.1 The notion of ‘friendship’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.2 The ‘related’ concept of mateship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 Friendship in Ma¯ori society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.1 A society without friendship? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.2 Ma¯ori social life and values: an inherently flexible system 2.3 Conclusion: friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand . . . . . . . . 3 Friendship worlds: an analytical framework . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1 Figured worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2 Identity and culture in friendship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3 Friendship worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . .

19 19 21 21 22 24

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25 28 31 34 36 37 37 39 41 41 44 48 49 49 52 57

8 Part Two: Socio-Historical Framework . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview . . . . . . . . 4.1 Finding Aotearoa: the land of the long white cloud . . . . . . 4.2 Finding New Zealand: from first encounters to annexation . . 4.3 Aotearoa New Zealand: relations in an emerging nation . . . 4.3.1 A Treaty signed: Te Tiriti o Waitangi . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.2 In the contest for land and power . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3 Dawn of a new era: Ma¯ori recovery in a dual society . . 4.3.4 Unsettling the nation: urbanization and decolonization 4.4 Snap-shot: Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ today . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5 Diversification through immigration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6 Culture discourses and identity politics . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6.1 Introducing biculturalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6.2 Beyond biculturalism? Identity politics and the multicultural challenge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Contents

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

59 59 59 61 64 64 67 71 72 78 79 83 83

. .

86

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Part Three: New Zealand Friendship Worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field . . . . 5.1 Fieldwork, ethics, reflexivity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1.1 Ethics and fieldwork in Aotearoa New Zealand . . . . . . 5.1.2 In the field: getting access and making progress . . . . . . 5.1.3 Friends in the field: chances and challenges . . . . . . . . 5.2 Research methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.1 Participant observation and informal conversations . . . 5.2.2 Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.3 Relationship charts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.4 Choices of analysis and sampling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices 6.1 E hoa! – My friend! Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ terminology . . . . . . . 6.1.1 A note on language use: English and Ma¯ori . . . . . . . . 6.1.2 Who’s who? Friend, mate, acquaintance . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.3 Ko wai? Hoa, a¯piti, whanaunga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.4 Kith and kin? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.5 What’s what? Friendship–whakahoanga–wha¯nau . . . . . 6.2 What’s in a friend? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.1 Ideal and praxis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.2 Attraction and opportunity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.3 Support, trust, reciprocity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.4 Intimacy, comfort, care . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.5 Communality, togetherness, unity . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

93 94 94 95 98 101 104 104 107 109 110 112 113 114 115 118 119 120 124 124 126 128 131 135

9

Contents

6.2.6 A note on instrumentality and strategy . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.7 How much is too much? Conflict and change . . . . . . . . 6.2.8 The more, the merrier? Friendship pattern and social network . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3 In a nutshell: friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand . . . . . . . . 7 Friendship worlds in practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1 Pa¯keha¯ worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.1 I don’t have Ma¯ori friends! Friendship opportunities in Pa¯keha¯ society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.2 I have Ma¯ori friends, but… When te ao Ma¯ori is irrelevant . 7.1.3 Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds – the Pa¯keha¯ experience . . . . . 7.1.4 Going beyond? Some Pa¯keha¯ experiences . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.5 In summary : Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2 Ma¯ori worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.1 Where are my Ma¯ori friends? Experiences in Pa¯keha¯ society 7.2.2 Taha Pa¯keha¯ vs. taha Ma¯ori? (Non-)belonging as Ma¯ori . . 7.2.3 Friendship in-between worlds – some strategies of engagement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.4 Wha¯nau and friendship – emotional connections and cultural belonging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.5 In summary : Ma¯ori friendship worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3 Which difference counts? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.1 You either get them or you don’t! The (ir-)relevance of cultural difference . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.2 ‘Making it work’ – handling difference in friendship . . . . 7.3.3 ‘Best friends’ – a special case . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4 Not that simple: intra – cross – inter – trans . . . . . . . . . . . .

137 139 140 147 148 150 151 157 161 173 185 186 188 192 203 227 240 242 243 245 249 250

Part Four: Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Weaving it all together : the many worlds of friendship . . . . . . . . 9 Implications for future research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

253 253 261

Appendix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Appendix A: Map of Aotearoa New Zealand . . . . . . . . Appendix B: The Treaty of Waitangi – Te Tiriti o Waitangi Appendix C: Short profiles of interviewees . . . . . . . . . Appendix D: Questions for evaluating friendship and trust Appendix E: Relationship chart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

263 263 264 267 270 271

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

10

Contents

Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

273

References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

277

Table of Figures

Figure 1: Figure 2: Figure 3: Figure 4: Figure 5: Figure 6: Figure 7: Figure 8: Figure 9:

New Zealand friendship terminology Individual depictions of social networks by culture (N=58) Individual-centered chart Mixed relationship chart Group-centered relationship chart Group-centered relationship chart Hine’s relationship chart Map of Aotearoa New Zealand Relationship chart

Acknowledgments

This book is the result of my doctoral journey, which has been supported by a range of institutions and peoples, friends and family. The research upon which it is based has been facilitated by a scholarship of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft and was undertaken as part of the research group Friends, Patrons, Followers at Albert-Ludwigs-University in Freiburg, Germany. I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to my supervisors Prof. Dr. Judith Schlehe and Prof. Dr. Eveline Dürr for their continuous support, encouragement and advice in practical as well as intellectual matters. Special thanks go to Prof. Dr. Monika Keller, who initially introduced me to the study of friendship and who has been a great source of professional and personal inspiration ever since, and to Dr. Horst Cain, who introduced me to the study of Oceania and who initially encouraged me to set off to Aotearoa New Zealand. I would also like to thank the staff at the School of Social Sciences at Auckland University of Technology for welcoming me as a visiting PhD student in 2007 and 2008, and the staff and students at Te Ara Poutama where I practiced te reo as well as kapa haka with old and new friends who made my doctoral journey an intellectually inspiring as well as enjoyable undertaking. My thanks also go to my mentors, colleagues and friends at Albert-Ludwigs-University in Freiburg, who shared their thoughts and time with me on many occasions. My deepest gratitude is shared with all those who participated in my research and who so generously and patiently shared their time with me. I would like to extend a very special thank you to the families and people who welcomed me into their homes and supported me in so many different ways. E te iwi, te¯na¯ koutou i a¯ koutou manaakitanga mai! Finally, thank you to all those significant others back home, friends and family who supported me throughout the entire process of my thesis, from sharing my initial ideas and visions to the joys and troubles of fieldwork and to the process of data analysis and writing. You know who you are!

Introduction He hono tangata, e kore e motu, ka¯pa¯ he taura waka, e motu. – A human bond cannot be parted, unlike the severable canoe rope. Ma¯ori proverb1 The happy man needs friends. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics

Relationships are the glue that holds the world together. This common belief applies to ancient Greece as much as to contemporary Aotearoa New Zealand2 society – as the two citations above attest to: He hono tangata, e kore e motu, ka¯pa¯ he taura waka, e motu. – ‘A human bond cannot be parted, unlike the severable canoe rope.’ According to Hirini Moko Mead and Neil Grove (2003:70 f.), this Ma¯ori proverb refers to a spiritual bond, which is stronger than the mooring rope of a canoe (waka). This saying is often applied to marriage, but also to friendship – the relationship, which, according to Aristotle, is needed in order to live a happy life. Friendship, i. e., the idea of a bond that goes beyond the ties of family or kin, stands at the core of this study. Specifically, my analysis focuses on friendship experiences by Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ in Aotearoa New Zealand, i. e., the members of the indigenous population and the descendants of the European settler population.3 Friendship has become increasingly significant in people’s lives – in Aotearoa New Zealand as well as in other parts of the world. This is the result of the transformation of the place of the family (e. g., Bell and Coleman 1999b) and of the growing interconnectedness of our contemporary world(s) that have led to a new variety of social ties in which people engage in creative ways (Featherstone 2001). Despite this actuality, the study of friendship still constitutes a rather neglected field of study. In anthropology, friendship has taken a surprisingly marginal role, especially if one considers the meticulousness with which anthropologists have studied kinship or clientelism. In contrast to these estab1 Cited in Hirini Moko Mead and Neil Grove (2003:70 f.). 2 Aotearoa – Ma¯ori for ‘New Zealand’. In this study, both terms will be used interchangeably. 3 The term ‘Ma¯ori’ refers to the indigenous peoples of New Zealand. While ‘Pa¯keha¯’ follows no unitary definition, in common usage it refers to “a person of pre-dominantly European descent” (Williams 2000 [1844]:252). Pa¯keha¯ identities have been shaped by their experiences as members of the dominant group in society. I use the term to refer to New Zealanders of European descent who identify as Pa¯keha¯ and/or European (cf. Spoonley 1988). This includes persons identifying as ‘New Zealanders’ but acknowledging a cultural heritage linked to the settler population.

16

Introduction

lished topics of enquiry, the anthropology of friendship is just emerging as a research field of its own. One goal of this study is to contribute to this growing research field by providing an anthropological study of friendship conceptions and practices. A second goal is to illuminate the social dynamics of New Zealand inter-group relations. By understanding the place and the meaning of friendship in Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯’s everyday life-worlds, I not only seek to uncover the variety of friendship conceptions and practices, as well as to illuminate the workings of cross- and intra-cultural friendships; I specifically set out to further our understanding of the embeddedness of social relations in their wider societal context. As fellow anthropologists are starting to take up the topic of friendship more systematically in their work, they have also started to challenge some widely spread assumptions on sociality and modernity.4 Rather than treating friendship merely as a subsidiary category to kinship, these authors have called for a contextualized study of emic friendship categories. The picture that emerges is that of a highly flexible social phenomenon that (a) may ‘mean’ quite different things in different cultures, epochs, and languages; that (b) is linked to ideas concerning the constitution of the subject; and that (c) touches on notions of autonomy, intimacy and relatedness, as well as on the relationship between the private and the public. The study of cross-cultural friendship has been described as vital for understanding the particularities of friendship contents and practices since such friendships are particularly revealing about existing social, cultural, economic as well as political boundaries (Beer 2001). At the same time, the study of crosscultural friendship uncovers the transformative potential of such relations across boundaries. Ultimately, cross-, inter- or trans-cultural friendships may lead to more flexible forms of sociality that allow the actors to actively construct, de- and re-construct existing boundaries. However, as I will argue, in order to grasp in detail the dynamics involved in the formation and maintenance of such ties across boundaries, we need to examine the place of friendship within actors’ social universes. Aotearoa New Zealand provides a particularly interesting setting for such an undertaking because of the special status of intergroup relations. In particular, the places of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ have been shaped by the colonial experience; their relations have grown historically from first encounters between Ma¯ori and Europeans, through colonial times, and decolonization. In conjunction with migration flows from the Pacific Islands area, Asia, and other parts of the world, 4 For example, Beer 2001, Brandt and Heuser 2011, Desai and Killick 2010, Grätz 2011, Grätz et al. 2003, Guichard 2007, Heady 2007.

Introduction

17

this has led to a situation characterized by rapidly changing culture composition. Against this background, present-day New Zealand identity making processes and group relations are dominated by popular and political debates surrounding (a) indigenous rights and postcolonial settlements and (b) immigration issues. Inextricably linked to these processes are the notions of biculturalism and multiculturalism. Since the 1980s, the New Zealand government has officially espoused a bicultural policy that acknowledges Ma¯ori’s cultural difference on the basis of their status as indigenous peoples – a move that was based on the acknowledgment of the Treaty of Waitangi (1840) as a central defining document for Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ relations (cf. King 2003:515ff). However, mainly as the result of the socio-demographic changes brought about by immigration, the notion of multiculturalism has entered into the debates in recent years, which has unfolded into an ample debate as to the place of the bicultural ideal within a de facto multicultural state. The challenge of reconciling the country’s (post-) colonial heritage with its growing diversity proves to be a challenging task, which – as I will show – is reflected in people’s social universes. The study of friendship here reveals crucial implications for the understanding of group relations in postcolonial society. Due to the lack of research on friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand and elsewhere, and due to the complexity of the topic, a qualitative approach based on ethnographic research methods is particularly suitable for uncovering the everyday construction of friendship in different socio-cultural contexts (Gareis 2000). In the following chapters, I provide an in-depth analysis of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand based on ethnographic field research in 2007 and 2008. How do individual actors conceptualize friendships within the wider sociocultural environment? How do they engage with others and on what grounds do they establish more intimate ties? How do they place their friendships in their wider social network? How do the socio-political relations influence crosscultural friendships? Are cultural and ethnic boundaries reproduced, or can friendships provide a site for overcoming boundaries and for social role modeling? What is the significance of culture-specific friendship conceptions and interpretations? By tracing these questions, I will illuminate some major trends and patterns that deserve further inquiry. As I will show, the idea of biculturalism within a multicultural society reverberates in Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯’s everyday social universes and friendship worlds. Some of these friendship worlds are monocultural, others are bicultural and/or multicultural; and while the boundaries of these worlds are in constant flux, only few transcend them fully, thereby creating new transcultural social worlds in spaces in-between (Bhabha 1994). This book consists of four parts. Part one (chapters 1 to 3) specifies the

18

Introduction

theoretical framework. I start with the analysis of social theories of friendship, which are for the most part informed by the Western-European tradition of thought (chapter 1). After discussing relevant approaches, I conclude this chapter by arguing for an emic approach to friendship that favors categorical openness. Chapter 2 takes the discussion to the local level. My analysis of the available literature takes me from ‘friendship’ and ‘mateship’ as localized Western-European conceptions to the question of the absence of such categories in Ma¯ori society. The analysis of Ma¯ori social life reveals a complex universe of relatedness in which the idea of friendship is included in the idea of the wha¯nau (extended family) and of whanaunga (relatives, relations). Chapter 3 presents the analytical framework of this study. I propose a multidimensional practice framework, which strongly relies on the idea of ‘figured worlds’ developed by Holland et al. (1998) and their theory of identity and culture. From this I develop the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ as a social practice theory of friendship that favors categorical openness, and which takes as a premise the idea that actors engage in multiple internalized figured worlds in interrelation with others. In part two, I specify the socio-historical framework, thereby providing the grounds for a contextualized study of individual life-worlds (chapter 4). After tracing out the historical processes that continue to shape group relations until this day, I turn to contemporary society and take up the issue of culture discourse, pointing out some central implications of the notions of biculturalism and multiculturalism for present-day group dynamics. Part three, ‘New Zealand Friendship Worlds’, is dedicated to the empirical data. I start by espousing the methodological framework (chapter 5). In chapter 6, I discuss New Zealand friendship terminology, ideals and practices. I argue that friendship cuts across a variety of social conceptions and practices that are associated with multiple Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. In chapter 7, I apply this finding to the level of individual experiences: I look at how Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ engage in relations with people called ‘friends’, ‘mates’, or hoa (the generic Ma¯ori term for friend), how they experience themselves and others in these relationships, how they employ terminology and how they express sociocultural context and/or belonging. I argue that different friendship worlds are skillfully juggled by the actors depending on their respective environments, experiences and identifications. Finally, part four brings together the different strands of analysis. After summarizing the main findings, I discuss implications for understanding intergroup relations in Aotearoa New Zealand, and for the study of friendship in general (chapter 8). I conclude with a reflection on the limitations of the results and implications for future research (chapter 9).

Part One: Theoretical Framework Aroha mai, aroha atu. – Love toward us; love going out from us. Ma¯ori proverb5

In this part, I will specify my theoretical framework, which lays the groundwork for the discussion in parts two and three. Chapter 1 provides an overview of the study of friendship in social theory, starting in ancient Greece and ending with the study of friendship in contemporary societies. Since I am interested in relationships between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, I will devote a section to the study of cross-cultural and inter-ethnic relations (chapter 1.2.3). I conclude this chapter by raising the problematic question of defining friendship. Instead of delivering a clear-cut definition or typology of friendship, I argue for categorical openness and definitional flexibility. The second chapter takes the discussion to the local level, investigating different notions of friendship and relatedness in Aotearoa New Zealand. Drawing on the two previous chapters, in chapter 3 I lay out my theoretical framework. I propose a practice theory of friendship which draws on the notion of ‘figured worlds’ and the associated theory of identity and culture developed by Holland et al. (1998) as a suitable analytical tool for understanding the diverse ways in which actors make sense of their different friendships with others, and of themselves in these friendships.

1

A look at Western social theories of friendship

Despite its actuality in an increasingly interconnected world, friendship is a somewhat under-researched area of investigation. Whereas social phenomena such as kinship, clientelism and corruption are established areas of study in the social sciences, friendship has not yet received the same amount of scholarly attention. Especially in the field of anthropology, where the study of kinship continues to take center stage, the development of a distinct anthropology of friendship is still overdue (Bell and Coleman 1999b:5). In part, this is related to the problem of defining friendship: Whenever 5 Cited in Hirini Moko Mead and Neil Grove (2003:19).

20

Theoretical Framework

friendship appears in academic literature, the meanings attached to the term are hazy and its definition remains problematic. This is because friendships are highly flexible and situational phenomena that can – and do – change across time, place, social context, and in the course of a relationship (e. g., Carrier 1999, Pahl 2000). Hence, friendship may mean something quite different in different societies, historical epochs and languages – but also in different social contexts.6 As Raymond Firth notes in the preface to The Anthropology of Friendship (Bell and Coleman 1999a), one of the few anthropological compilations in the study of friendship: [F]riendship is of a very diverse and complex, even ambiguous, nature (…). The concept of friendship can vary greatly in intensity, from simple well-wishers to familiar, close, dear, intimate, bosom, boon-companion friend, each with its own subtle quality. (In Bell and Coleman 1999a: xiv)

As the subsequent discussion will show, the problem is inherent in the nature of this type of sociality, “the invisible relationship” as Farida Tilbury (1999) calls it in her study on cross-ethnic friendship. Friendship, she argues, is invisible in two senses. Firstly, because of the lack of sociological literature on the topic; secondly, it is invisible in everyday life, for even though most people would report to have ‘friends’, “it is a relationship seldom discussed, without institutional legitimation and without a language around which to articulate its meaning” (Tilbury 1999:130). I must qualify her second point by adding that in the era of Facebook and Co., friendship is summoned rather frequently. However, the meanings attached to it remain difficult to grasp and are at best hazy. As a thorough history of the notion of friendship is beyond the scope of this work, the following analysis is restricted to some major themes relevant to the questions addressed by this study.7 Apart from some ‘classics’ in philosophy and history, I concentrate mainly on contemporary approaches in anthropology, sociology and psychology. I would also like to point out that the material discussed below pertains mainly to Western-European reflections on the phenomenon of friendship. In parts, this is a reflection of the central place that friendship has taken in this philosophical tradition; but it is also, of course, a reflection of male Western dominance within the academic tradition. Finally, in acknowledgment of the problematic issue of self-reflexivity in research and text production, I would like to point out that my own friendship conceptions and 6 For example, Beer 2001, Carrier 1999, Descharmes et al. 2011, Keller 1996, Killick and Desai 2010, Krappmann 1996, Pahl 2000, Pahl and Spencer 2010, Spencer and Pahl 2006, Tenbruck 1964. 7 Several related issues have been analyzed in detail by my colleagues of the research group ‘friends, patrons, followers’ at Freiburg University (please refer to www.grk-freundschaft.unifreiburg.de). See also, Descharmes et al. (2011).

A look at Western social theories of friendship

21

experiences of friendship are of course also deeply rooted in and part of the Western-European tradition (see also, chapter 5).

1.1

The study of friendship: a Western history of ideas?

The written history of friendship usually starts with the writings of the ancient Greeks and Romans: Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, etc. These classical philosophical writings usually presuppose a context of male-male friendships centered around the idea of the friend as the ‘other self ’, the notion of reciprocal consideration and friendship’s contribution to a virtuous and good life (Devere 2005).8 1.1.1 The classic friendship ideal The Greco-Roman model of friendship was most heavily influenced by the writings of Aristotle: In book VIII and IX of The Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle (384 – 322 BC) lays out a friendship ideal that resurfaces throughout history in the study of friendship, and which continues to inform Western-European friendship discourse until this day (Aristotle 1998). The concept he discusses is philia, one of the ancient Greek words for ‘love’, ‘brotherly love’, or ‘the love between friends’. Aristotle distinguishes three types of philia: friendships of utility, friendships of pleasure and friendships of the good. Friendships of utility and of pleasure are formed for the purpose of obtaining some good from each other and are therefore incidental; more permanent and superior is the friendship of the good: Perfect friendship is the friendship of men who are good, and alike in virtue; for they wish well alike to each other qua good, and they are good in themselves. (Aristotle 1998:196)

According to Aristotle, true friendship is rare as it requires likeness of virtue between virtuous men and such virtuous men are also rare. Furthermore, this type of friendship requires time and familiarity, as well as mutual love and trust (Aristotle 1998:197). He underlines the importance of the everyday practice of friendship and warns that a lack of it may ultimately destroy or end a friendship. 8 Male-female relations in ancient Greek writings are mostly discussed in terms of eros, romance, passion, sex, or marriage; mention of female-female friendships can hardly be found at all. Even though some ancient thinkers acknowledged male-female friendships, they did so “almost exclusively as husband and wife” and “[t]he only philosopher of antiquity to consider women and men as equally capable of engaging in friendship was Epicurus (341 – 270 BCE), whose Garden of Friends was open to all – men, women, and slaves” (Devere 2005:845).

22

Theoretical Framework

Likeness and equality are vital ingredients of these ties between the good, in which the virtuous friend appears as alter ego. Their internal nature can be found in man’s relation to self, i. e., in self-love (ibid.:227). Reciprocity should be observed whenever possible. For the case of unequal friendships (e. g., between parents and children) Aristotle concludes that the love should be distributed proportionally (ibid.:203 f.). The ancient ideal defines friendship as a necessary constituent of a good and happy life. As Aristotle determines (1998:192): “For without friends, no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.” These lines echo in Cicero’s: sine amicitia vitam esse nullam – ‘without friendship life is nothing’ (cited in Geerlings 1981:266). Cicero (106 – 43 BC) also believed that true friendship exists only between men of good (cf. Geerlings 1981:266 f.). In real life, however, amicitia is subject to all sorts of pressures. Aristotle’s reflections reverberate in contemporary ideals, which portray friendship – first and foremost – as a symmetrical bond among equals. Until this day, reciprocity, familiarity, time spent together, and likeness are considered central ‘ingredients’ for friendship to develop and prosper. However, a crucial point for the purposes of the present study is that philia alludes to a concept much broader than the present-day notion of friendship as a bond between equals (see below, chapter 1.2). It considers relationships formed out of selfinterest as well as asymmetries, and it is not limited to non-kin relations – even though friendships among kin are considered special kinds of friendships. 1.1.2 From a spiritual to a private relation In the medieval period the ancient canon was superseded by the concept of spiritual friendship as espoused by Augustine of Hippo, and later by Æthelred of Rievaulx or Thomas Aquinas (Devere 2005:845). Reworking the ancient GrecoRoman treatises, at the center of this conception stands the relationship between God and man, which supersedes and precedes that between men. For Augustine (354 – 430 AD) friendship therefore can be found among believing Christians only (cf. Geerlings 1981). Beyond the Christian world, scholars such as Sufi mysticist al-Ghazali (1058 – 1111 AD) and Jewish philosopher Moses ben Maimon (1135 – 1204 AD) have been known for taking up the ancient friendship ideal in their reflections (cf. Devere 2005). In the modern period, comparatively few philosophers pay attention to friendship. Among them are Francis Bacon, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Michel de Montaigne, later also Friedrich Nietzsche and Jacques Derrida. Michel de Montaigne’s (1533 – 1592 AD) well-known essay Of Friendship (de Montaigne 1909 – 14), in which he writes about his friendship to Êtienne de la Bo¦tie, emphasizes the particularities of this friendship:

A look at Western social theories of friendship

23

If a man urge me to tell wherefore I loved him, I feele it cannot be expressed, but by answering: Because it was he, because it was my selfe. (de Montaigne 1909 – 14/15)

Friendship is conceptualized as free of social constraints and as the result of free will and affection, thus marking a radical departure from the older friendships conceptions. A rather contrasting conception can be found in Francis Bacon’s (1561 – 1626 AD) essays Of Friendship (1983b) and Of Followers and Friends (1983a): There is little friendship in the world, and least of all between equals, which was wont to be magnified. That that is, is between superior and inferior, whose fortunes may comprehend the one the other. (Bacon 1983a)

In Elizabethan and Jacobin England the utilitarian and the virtuous are barely distinguishable; patronage is cloaked in a language of ‘fidelity’ (Herman 1995). Friendship thus becomes “inseparable (…) from alliance, clientage and favouritism – concepts which are to us antithetical to friendship” (Wootton 1999:188).9 The difference that Wootton describes between ‘our’ contemporary notion of friendship as opposed to the early modern period is partly the result of a shift of the semantics and practices of friendship in 18th century Europe. Along with the enlightenment period and the revolutions of the late 18th century in the Western world, the close entanglement between patronage and friendship was dissolved along with the increasing separation of the private and public spheres. Friendship was thus transformed into the ideal of a predominately private and noninstrumental relationship that dominated Western-European friendship conceptions throughout the 19th and 20th century. This model accentuates a voluntary and private relation free of self-interest and utilitarian considerations; more instrumental and asymmetrical ties are often regarded with some suspicion as to the friendship content of such relations – a rather limited ideal that rarely holds for the level of social practice. At the beginning of the 21st century, we find a renewed academic interest in the study of friendship, ranging from philosophers and historians to political scientists, sociologists and anthropologists as well as economists and international relations experts. Before moving on to contemporary approaches, I would like to emphasize that the overwhelming majority of the historical philosophical discourse deals with male-male relationships within male-dominated social elites. In regard to male-female friendships, the writers of the Middle Ages and the Romantic era, if they refer to them at all, do not “note equal affectionate friendships, but unattainable, idealized, and exclusive male-female intimacy” (Devere 2005:845). Some reflections on female-female friendship can be found 9 ‘Us’ refers here to scholars trained in the Western-European tradition.

24

Theoretical Framework

in the works of Teresa of Ývila, Catherine of Siena, or Juana In¦s de la Cruz; further sources can be found in personal correspondence, diaries, novels, or poetry (ibid.:846). However, it is safe to state that male philosophical writing turned a blind eye on women’s friendships. This only changed with the women’s movement and the subsequent transformation of women’s relationships (with men and with women).

1.2

Contemporary approaches revisited

“[T]he happy man needs friends”, Aristotle wrote in the Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle 1998:239). While much has changed since he wrote these words, many of our contemporaries would probably agree that friendship, however diverse and diffuse, plays a central role in the lives of humans throughout the world. In fact, as the institution of the family has undergone fundamental changes, at least in Western-European societies, the more informal social category ‘friend’ has become increasingly significant in the lives of human beings – in diverse forms of expression (e. g., Bell and Coleman 1999b:4, Nötzoldt-Linden 1994). Nevertheless, friendship remains a rather neglected field of study. Apart from some older works,10 the literature on friendship remains sparse in the social sciences. Where anthropologists have been concerned with kinship, sociologists have been preoccupied with institutionalization and social structure, decrying the loss of a sense of community and the increasing social fragmentation in the wake of individualization (Roseneil 2000:17). Often-cited exceptions are Simmel (1993), Whyte’s Street Corner Society (1993 [1943]) and the British community studies of the 1950s and 1960s. In the German tradition, Tenbruck’s (1964) work also exerted some influence. Despite this lack of research, in more recent years, the study of friendship has increasingly been taken up in anthropology and its neighboring disciplines.11 These developments within the academic field can be explained to some extent by the topical actuality of non-kin relations. In our contemporary world(s), it is a widely held assumption that friendship, this flexible bond, constitutes the more appropriate type of sociality than the family. 10 For example, Banton 1966, Bell and Coleman 1999b, Brain 1976, Cohan 1961, Du Bois 1974, Gudykunst 1985, Jacobson 1973, Leyton 1974, Simmel 1993, Tenbruck 1964. 11 For example, Adams and Allan 1998, Allan 1979, Beer 1998, 2001, Bell and Coleman 1999b, Bukowski et al. 1996, Chambers 2006, Collier 1991, Desai and Killick 2010, Devere 2005, 2007, Eisenstadt and Roninger 1984, Fischer 1982a, b, Gareis 2000, Giddens 1991, Grätz 2011, Grätz et al. 2003, Gudykunst 1985, Gudykunst et al. 1991, Guichard 2007, Keller 1996, 2004a, Keller and Gummerum 2003, Kiefer 1986, Krappmann 1996, Pahl 2000, Pahl and Spencer 2010, Roseneil 2000, 2004, Spencer and Pahl 2006.

A look at Western social theories of friendship

25

1.2.1 Friendship and intimacy in (post-)modern society: sociological and psychological perspectives In social theory, friendship has been regarded first and foremost as a social phenomenon of modernity. For a long time, especially in sociological theory, the growing prominence of friendship was related to the process of internal differentiation of modern Western societies. German sociologist Friedrich Tenbruck (1964:438ff), for instance, in his theory of friendship, argues that the modern notion of friendship supplies shelter from disorder brought about by a heterogeneous social world: Going back to Aristotle’s notion of the friend as alter ego, Tenbruck concludes that in an increasingly differentiated society, the individual seeks (and finds) self in the other – or rather: others, for the modern person’s individual existence cannot be stabilized in just one friendship (cf. Tenbruck 1964:454). Tenbruck conceptualizes friendship as a personal relation characterized by voluntariness that may be more or less institutionalized (ibid.:432). The author accounts for the existence of a great variety of conceptions in different sociocultural settings, including friendships geared towards utility and complementarity, and more institutionalized forms. In his view, friendships ‘step in’ where other social relations do not sufficiently satisfy the inner and outer existence of the individual (ibid.:450). Following this argument, ritualized friendship and quasi-kinship in small-scale societies point to some sort of deficit in kin structure. Friendships function as subsidiary ties of an incomplete social structure. Similarly, Anthony Giddens (1991) argues that the dynamics of our fast-paced and disembedded12 modern world bring with them a transformation of intimacy (see also, Giddens 1992) from which emerge new forms of sociality. As prototypical of these new spheres of social life he identifies the ‘pure relationship’, i. e., a free-floating, inherently reflexive relation existing “solely for whatever rewards that relationship as such can deliver” (Giddens 1991:6). In contrast to kin, modern friendship is valued and engaged in for its own sake only. It presupposes commitment (a species of trust mobilized by mutual disclosure) to the relationship itself and to the partners engaging in the relationship; it demands intimacy and is intertwined with self-identity (ibid.). Finally, the shift within modern society towards relatively stable, voluntary, reciprocal and transversal relationship ties is said to hold the chance for a radical democratization of personal life (Giddens 1992). A counter-argument to this position can already be found in Georg Simmel’s 12 Giddens refers to ‘disembedding’ rather than ‘differentiation’ in order to emphasize the “‘lifting out’ of social relations from local contexts and their rearticulation across indefinite tracks of time-space” (Giddens 1991:18).

26

Theoretical Framework

work, who points out that the increasing differentiation of the modern person into different social roles in fact hampers complete intimacy (he refers to absolute, seelische Vertrautheit).13 In his view, modern man has too much to hide to develop the kind of friendship described for antiquity (Simmel 1993:83). More recently, Lyn Jamieson has argued that intimacy is not only a multi-dimensional phenomenon, but that all personal interactions may also reinforce existing socio-cultural divisions “rather than democratize personal life” (Jamieson 1999:482). As Bourdieu (1984) reminds us, agents take up certain social positions in different fields, i. e., in different worlds of relationships. The social position itself is the result of the interaction between field, habitus14 and the agent’s social, economic, and cultural capital. As a form of social capital15 friendships can be employed – unconsciously or strategically – to bond and/or bridge,16 but also to reproduce inequalities and boundaries. As numerous studies have shown, friendships are formed through both choice and social constraint: Even though opportunities for interaction across social boundaries may have increased in the modern world, they are not unlimited. Despite their low institutionalization friendships are lived within existing social settings and opportunity structures. Like other social ties (e. g., romantic ones) friendships are often characterized by homophily (cf. McPherson et al. 2001).17 Homophily (‘love of the same’) is the tendency to associate with similar others. Its opposite is heterophily (‘love of the different’). Applied to friendship, homophily means that a friend is experienced and imagined as similar to self, as alike. Friends not only share attitudes, they also tend to share ethnic origin, socio-economic and cultural background, education and income levels, social status, as well as gender, age, and religion (e. g., Fischer 1982a, Lazarsfeld and Merton 1954, McPherson et al. 2001). The classic sociological citation for homophily is Lazarsfeld and Merton’s 13 See Rammstedt (1992 – 95) for the complete edition of Simmel’s work, especially volumes 7, 8, 11. 14 Habitus is a set of learned dispositions, skills and ways of acting acquired through the experiences of everyday life. 15 Social capital is “the sum of the resources, actual or virtual, that accrue to an individual or a group by virtue of possessing a durable network of more or less institutionalized relationships of mutual acquaintance and recognition” (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:119). 16 Robert D. Putnam (2000) has developed a distinct theory of social capital, in which he distinguishes bonding capital and bridging capital: Bonding capital refers to personal ties with similar or alike others. Bridging occurs between people who are unlike each other, but who establish ties across differences. Both kinds of social capital are linked. Putnam’s theory has led do considerable discussion. Claude Fischer (2005) questions his use of the term ‘social capital’ and his emphasis on organizational forms. Similarly, Spencer and Pahl (2006) criticize him for neglecting micro-social worlds and informal personal relationships. 17 This is not to deny the existence of other friendship constituting factors, for instance, strategic considerations.

A look at Western social theories of friendship

27

(1954) study, in which they distinguish between status homophily (the tendency to associate with others of similar social status) and value homophily (the tendency to associate with others who think in similar ways). In their comprehensive review paper, McPherson et al. (2001) examine a vast array of social studies that have observed homophily in ethnicity, age, gender, class, organizational role, etc. The authors identify racial and ethnic homophily as the biggest divide in social networks in the Unites States – ranging from marriage and friendships to appearing in public together or to knowing of someone (McPherson et al. 2001:420). In psychology, homophily is known as the similarity attraction-principle. Besides geographical proximity, similarity constitutes a crucial determinant of interpersonal attraction, and therefore of friendship. Studies in social psychology have shown that both physical and social similarity increases attraction between persons (e. g., Byrne 1971, Morry 2007, Newcomb 1961, 1963). What counts is perceived similarity. Similar to the discussion around homophily and heterophily, the similarity attracts-principle has been discussed in its relation to the principle of complementarity, but research has shown that (perceived) similarity prevails (e. g., Buss 1985, Kandel 1978) – in friendship and in other relationships. Spencer and Pahl (2006) try to understand friendship similarity by taking a contextualized approach. They see the broader social relevance of friendship as providing a kind of social glue and introduce the notion of ‘personal communities’, i. e., “the microsocial world of significant others for any given individual”, to grasp the flexibility of social practices (Pahl and Spencer 2010:197). Personal communities are based on friendship repertoires (the range of friendships people have), friendship modes (the way people make and maintain friendships over time), and patterns of suffusion (the extent to which boundaries between friends and family become blurred) (Spencer and Pahl 2006). The idea of personal communities underscores the social complexity of social practices. In times of ‘post traditional intimacy’ (Budgeon 2006), in a society in which family ties and professions no longer provide the individual with clear identifications, friendship constitutes an interpersonal care structure, a source of personal identification and of self-worth (Pahl 2000, Roseneil 2000, 2004). Shifts in family relations, individualization and postmodernization processes as well as a change in perceptions and practices of gender and sexuality have fed into the unsettling of the modern friendship model (Roseneil 2004:412). This also has implications for the relation between intimacy and autonomy in friendship:

28

Theoretical Framework

[W]e found that the people we interviewed were consciously seeking to create a way of life that would meet their need for connection with others while preserving their autonomy and independence. (Roseneil 2004:415)

In psychology, friendship has been described as a special relationship of care that fosters moral goodness in persons (Blum 1980, Bukowski et al. 1996, Keller 1996). Blum (1980) characterizes friendship as a moral relationship of altruistic emotions of sympathy, concern, care and identification with the other. As a voluntary relationship it is characterized by reciprocity and intimacy (cf. Keller 1996:37). But friendship is also a developmental phenomenon: Both the meaning and practices of friendship change over the course of life.18 There are also significant differences in the ways in which individuals and social groups establish and organize their social ties in practice. The influence of class-membership in friendship was an important concern of the community studies of the 1950s and 1960s (Willmott and Young 1967, Young and Willmott 1957). One of their main findings was that the middle class tends to have more and more diverse friendships than the working class, a result that Willmott and Young (1967) explained with a difference in social skills available to middle and working class members. Community studies also found significant gender differences within each class. These findings have had considerable influence on how women’s and men’s relationships have been conceptualized in subsequent studies, i. e., women’s friendships tend to be associated with a greater range of more affectionate and intimate friendships, and men’s friendships with shared activities and experiences (Pahl 2000:112ff). Roseneil’s work (2000, 2004) adds here an important perspective since it shows that, as a result of the decline of the traditional family model, hetero-relations have been culturally and socially decentered and the distinctions between heterosexual and homosexual ways of life have been de-stabilized. However, there still exists a particular demand for studies on women’s friendship (Beer 2001:5806, Pelican 2003), as well as on the distinct dynamics of same-sex and cross-sex friendship relations (cf. Bell and Coleman 1999b:13).

1.2.2 The anthropology of friendship: contextualizing social life In anthropology, apart from some older works,19 the available literature on friendship remains relatively sparse. In part, this can be explained by the in18 For example, Keller 1996, Keller 2004 a, b, Keller and Gummerum 2003, Selman 1980, Youniss 1980, Lambertz 1999. 19 Among others, Banton 1966, Brain 1976, Cohen 1961, DuBois 1974, Gudykunst 1985, Jacobson 1973, Leyton 1974, Paine 1969, Wolf 1986.

A look at Western social theories of friendship

29

fluence of the differentiation thesis so dominant in sociological theory. By regarding kinship as the main structuring principle in more ‘traditional’ or nonWestern societies, and friendship as a subsidiary or complementary category, the study of friendship has, for many years, remained a by-product of anthropological research. Earlier contributions have focused on the structural and functional aspects of friendship. Despite acknowledging the existence of social categories such as quasi-kinship, bond friendship and adoption, these works have failed to grasp in detail emic friendship conceptions and practices that go beyond Western-European ideas of friendship (see also, Brandt and Heuser 2011). Common themes in these works are voluntariness and reciprocity, solidarity and trust, as well as emotional affinity, intimacy and values (cf. Eisenstadt and Roninger 1984). Furthermore, the ancient distinction between instrumental and non-instrumental friendships widely persists in many friendship typologies, such as Cora Du Bois’ (1974) differentiation of exclusive, close and casual friends, or Eric Wolf ’s (1986) differentiation between expressive/emotional and instrumental ties – even if the authors acknowledge that the differences are gradual, rather than mutually exclusive; and even if Wolf, for instance, is mainly concerned with patronage. Furthermore, as Guichard (2007) emphasizes, even though there exists broad consent in the literature that trust and intimacy are crucial friendship defining factors, they are not reliable indicators for closeness; neither are terms such as ‘best’, ‘good’, or ‘casual’ friends. The usefulness of such typologies is therefore questionable. Only very recently, a more critical body of anthropological literature on friendship has emerged. Anthropologists have started to challenge some widely spread ethnocentric assumptions on sociality and modernity and have called for a study of friendship that focuses on its embeddedness in the particularities of the wider socio-cultural context.20 Above all, they argue in favor of a more inclusive and contextualized conception. I have already pointed out that friendship is an invisible relationship. The word ‘friend’, at least in some socio-cultural settings, tends to be used in habitual language as “a residual label, a description applied to almost all associates for whom no more specific title is available” (Fischer 1982b:305). In contrast to kinship, the social principles underlying friendship are rarely clear-cut, so that it is often easier to define a person’s kin than her or his friends (Allan 1979:30). As a social category of relatively low institutionalization, friendship often ‘happens’ in close proximity to other categories, such as kinship, romantic ties, alliances, and even patronage networks. The problem of identifying friendship is linked to 20 For example, Beer 2001, Bell and Coleman 1999b, Brandt and Heuser 2011, Grätz 2011, Grätz et al. 2003, Guichard 2007, Heady 2007, Killick and Desai 2010, Meier 2003, Pelican 2003, 2004, Schlee and Trillmich 2007.

30

Theoretical Framework

the fact that friendship is semantically disguised. Hence, affective relationships classified as kin or patronage, have often been dismissed for the study of friendship. However, relationships not qualifying as friendships to the WesternEuropean observer may indeed constitute indigenous friendship categories (cf. Grätz et al. 2003). Especially in the case of kin who are also friends, researchers have often overlooked the sympathetic content of such relations (Guichard 2007). In the words of Julian Pitt-Rivers, “non-kin amity loves to masquerade as kinship” (1973:90). Furthermore, the subjects of study may obscure their friendships – a tactic that anthropologists have failed to account for in their work, thereby underestimating the importance of this phenomenon (cf. Guichard 2007:326ff). On the other hand, anthropologists have shown that, in other traditions of thought, the label of ‘friendship’ may be more readily applied to relationships that are also affective but rather asymmetrical or strategic. Bottom-up friendship, for instance, is of central importance in the Philippines (e. g., Beer 1998), and in Indonesia we also find more asymmetrical ties referred to as friendship (e. g., Brandt and Heuser 2011). Grätz emphasizes that friendship in Africa comprises both functional and emotional-cognitive dimensions, “without necessarily separating them or putting them in hierarchical order” (Grätz 2011:356). Clearly, friends of utility are not a phenomenon restricted to historical times. Rather, it can be argued that the unfolding of friendships is characterized by a tension between intimacy and strategy, which is accentuated differently in different socio-cultural settings. There remains of course the problem of distinguishing friendship from other social relationships. Part of the problem is that anthropologists and other social scientists have over-contrasted kinship and friendship as different categories. There is agreement in the literature that friendship and kinship may be contrasted along the lines of achievement versus ascription and temporariness versus permanence (Grätz 2011, Guichard 2007). However, as Guichard (2007:314) emphasizes, to systematically delimit friendship to a non-kin relationship remains disputed as it carries with it the danger of plunging a very specific conception of ‘true friendship’ on other people. It follows that friendship and kinship are closely intertwined phenomena that need to be studied together (Adams and Allan 1998). Guichard, following Allan (1979), also calls to mind that friendship is actually a quality existing between two (or more) individuals, whereas the criteria for kinship are external, so that they are not in fact mutually exclusive categories (Guichard 2007:314). I would like to add that the problem of semantics goes hand in hand with the problem of translation – a challenge faced by social scientists and historians alike. That is, what do contemporaries ‘mean’ when they refer to ‘friendship’ in different epochs, and how can we detect corresponding ideas in different socio-

A look at Western social theories of friendship

31

cultural settings and languages other than our own? Anthropology tries to grapple this problem by focusing on emic categories and social practices as well as practicing the highest-possible degree of self-reflexivity. In order to understand the workings of friendship in different societies, we need to look at specific contents as well as the limits of conceptions and practices. I agree here with Tilo Grätz (2011:374) who calls for the radical contextualization of friendship research. The study of cross-cultural friendship may provide important insights here, for in such friendships across boundaries culture-specific contents and practices often come to the fore (Beer 1998).

1.2.3 Cross-cultural friendship under study As authors across the social sciences have noted, the neglect of friendship as a topic of cross-cultural21 research is quite astonishing (cf. Beer 2001:5806, Carrier 1999, Keller 2004a). For the little research there is, what we do know is that while there are similarities in the concept of friendship across cultures, there are also differences in the meanings and functions of friendship. In short, friendship varies both cross- as well as intra-culturally.22 If one assumes that friendship ties require – to a certain degree – common models of behavior and rules of exchange, and ideally also shared group membership, the question arises how members of different cultural groups (or of different religious, social, political groups, etc.) succeed in establishing and maintaining friendships with one another, and whether these friendships have specific characteristics. The study of cross-cultural friendship may illuminate here the social dynamics of cross-cultural relations in general. On the one hand, conflicting or contradictory friendship conceptions may even inhibit the formation of such friendships. On the other hand, the formation of cross-cultural friendships may lead to more flexible forms of sociality that allow the actors to actively de- and re-construct boundaries between self and other, to reveal and/or to conceal conflicting moral norms. Friendships between members of different groups may, under certain circumstances, constitute important integrative forces and reduce conflict (Grätz et al. 2003:17). Furthermore, such friendships may lead to a change in international images and perceptions (Gareis 2000:67) and to more tolerant modes of interaction with members of other ethnic groups 21 In contrast to Grätz et al. (2003) I do not speak of inter-ethnic or inter-group friendship. As Eric A. Heuser and I have argued elsewhere (Brandt and Heuser 2011), I understand the term cross-cultural as more inclusive and allowing for a greater diversity in difference. This is particularly important in Aotearoa New Zealand, where the complexities of social interaction call for a more inclusive category than ‘ethnic group’, or ‘ethnicity’. 22 For example, Beer 1998, Bell and Coleman 1999b, Descharmes et al. 2011, Krappmann 1996, Pahl 2000, Ting-Toomey and Korzenny 1991.

32

Theoretical Framework

(Fong and Isajiw 2000). But in order to evaluate the inter- or trans-cultural potential of such relations, the respective culture-specific contents, conditions and limits of friendship have to be accounted for first (Beer 1998:210). For instance, Keller and colleagues in their studies on moral development have raised the question whether the notion of emotional intimacy so central during adolescence in Western societies is also typical for Asian societies, and whether relationship autonomy (Selman 1980) is established differently in these societies (Keller 2004a, b, Keller and Gummerum 2003). Their findings reveal differences in Chinese and Icelandic children’s conception of friendship (a more altruistic orientation in Chinese children, and an orientation towards self-interest in Icelandic children); but they also reveal that in both societies friendship takes a central position during adolescence (Keller and Gummerum 2003:116). The authors not only show that differences exist, but that they may also change over time. Keller et al. (2010) have also found differences in the development of moral emotions and self among Icelandic and Chinese children. In social theory, inter-ethnic relations have often been discussed under the ‘contact hypothesis’, or under a conflict perspective: Where the contact hypothesis argues that increased contact between members of different groups will lead to increased trust and reduce prejudice (Allport 1954), a conflict perspective argues that distrust between the groups will rise (Forbes 1997). Jackman and Crane (1986) in their quantitative study of friendships between black and white US Americans found that personal contact is selective in its effect on whites’ attitudes, and that intimacy is less important than variety of contacts. More recently, Putnam (2000, 2007) has questioned both contact and conflict theories. In a quantitative US-based study, the author has found a correlation between higher diversity and a decline in trust, both between and within ethnic groups (Putnam 2007). However, Putnam’s results remain questionable as he neglects to account for more informal interpersonal ties as well as for multiple group identifications and interests.23 Recent studies on cross-cultural friendships often investigate the phenomenon of migration (e. g., Fong and Isajiw 2000, Meier 2003) or relationships between international students (e. g., Gareis 2000, Kudo and Simkin 2003). In most of these studies, the American or Canadian culture is compared with ‘an other’ culture or group (cf. Devere 2007). In the field of cross-cultural communication we also find some studies on friendship (e. g., Ting-Toomey and Korzenny 1991). Collier (1991), for instance, explores the issue of conflict in close friendships. Comparing Mexican, African, and Anglo American actors, she finds that all conceptualize close friendship as 23 For example, Calhoun 1994, Gergen 1991, Hall 1996, Hermans and Dimaggio 2007, Holland et al. 1998.

A look at Western social theories of friendship

33

involving a high degree of trust and acceptance, but she also assesses significant inter-group and gender differences: For example, Anglo-Americans emphasized freedom of speech, whereas African-Americans focused on problem solving, and Mexican-Americans on supportiveness and sharing feelings (Collier 1991:143 f.), and where Anglo-American males favor direct and rational decision making, female Anglo-Americans prefer ‘situational flexibility’ and concern for the other (ibid.:146 f.). Gudykunst et al. (1991) studied thirty Japanese-North American relationships differing in levels of intimacy and type of relationship. One finding was that respondents in friendship and romantic relationships perceived their partners as atypical of their culture, whereas respondents in acquaintance relationships did not. Another result was that similarity in interest and attitude as well as cultural similarity played the biggest role in romantic relationships, less so in friendships (Gudykunst et al. 1991:246ff). Gareis (2000), in her study of German and US-American college students, showed that different conceptions of friendship may lead to misunderstanding and confusion in cross-cultural friendship, as well as complicate the formation of such friendships. In anthropology, Meier (2003), in an analysis of friendship among North Ghanaian migrants in Accra/Tema, emphasized the ambivalence of such friendships among migrant groups: On the one hand, they are highly valued, on the other hand, many migrants avoid such friendships out of fear of disclosing too much, of gossip, and of not being able to live up to expectations. Consequently, many of them prefer to stay ‘lonely’ or enter relations with ‘strangers’ from other ethnic groups (Meier 2003:2). Pelican observed that host-guest relations often form the basis for interethnic friendships in North West Cameroon (Pelican 2003:2). She also discusses joking relationships among Hausa women and concludes that while the model of ‘the best friend’ shapes intra-ethnic relations, inter-ethnic friendships remain more superficial (ibid.:3). Finally, she finds gender-specific differences in the conception and practices of inter-ethnic friendship among the Mbororo (Pelican 2004:2ff): Whereas men evaluate their friendships in terms of reliability, reciprocity and moral and financial assistance, in women’s friendships mutual affection, shared experience, emotional support and gift-exchange are central components. Comparing Mbororo and Hausa friendship ideals and practices, Pelican concludes that the spatial and socio-economic organization influence friendship form and function. In an ethnographic study of inter-ethnic relations among senior students at an Australian high school, Willoughby (2007) found that shared orientation toward language and cultural maintenance, rather than common ethnic background provides the social glue that keeps peer groups – divided broadly along ethnic

34

Theoretical Framework

lines – together. Students from similar backgrounds are often “more likely to befriend each other because they can better understand each others’ languages, cultures and experience of juggling the competing demands of the ethnic heritage and contemporary Australian youth culture” (Willoughby 2007:255). Furthermore, most friendship groups include persons who, instead of sharing the ‘correct’ ethnicity, share the group’s interests and attitudes (ibid.). This raises the important issue of how friendships across cultural or ethnic boundaries are established and which role similarity plays (see above). Shared space is an important factor in the establishment of cross-cultural relations. Heinz Reinders (2003), in an exploratory study on inter-ethnic friendships among Turkish and German youth in Germany, has found that social spaces outside the family constitute important centers for the establishment and the maintenance of inter-ethnic networks (Reinders 2003:102). He adds the concept of ‘moving’ to Verbrugge’s ‘meeting and mating’ in order to explain why youths go to certain places (moving), in order to meet people (meeting) with whom they may then establish friendships (mating) (ibid.:107). Moving is closely linked to social roles, lifestyle and attitude. In a more recent publication, Reinders (2010) discusses the concept of coculturation, which is based on the idea of social co-production in peer relations (cf. Youniss 1980). The underlying assumption is that in certain(!) group settings, co-equal peer interaction produces new cultural forms, such as ethnolects, or certain music styles (Reinders 2010:125). This means that friendship interaction across boundaries may bring forth new forms of relatedness, which in turn influence personal and group identifications.

1.3

Defining friendship? An argument for openness

In face of this immense variability of friendship meanings as well as practices, how can we empirically assess and theorize this social phenomenon? As the above analysis has demonstrated, friendship – in contradistinction to kin relations – is often theorized as a secondary aspect of the social order. While kinship is usually an ascribed permanent category, friendship ties are voluntary and can principally be dissolved, even though they are often conceptualized as long-term rather than short-term relationships. The partners engaging in friendship are non-exchangeable. Basic characteristics of this social relation are therefore some degree of affection, emotional intimacy and trust. Furthermore, the contemporary friendship model that we find in the bulk of the academic literature remains influenced by European ideal discourses and accentuates a private relation that is more or less free of self-interest and utilitarian considerations, whereas more instrumental and asymmetrical ties are often regarded

A look at Western social theories of friendship

35

with some suspicion as to the friendship content of such relations. As I have mentioned, this rather limited ideal not only reproduces Eurocentric assumptions of sociality and relatedness, but in most cases, it also does not hold for the level of social practice. Theoretical attempts to classify friendship patterns often retreat to oppositions such as friendship vs. kinship or friendship vs. patronage. Apart from the problem of over-contrasting the differences of social categories, much of the flexibility of friendship relations is being lost in such static depictions. Such separation accuracy not only appears daunting, but it is in fact counterproductive for the task at hand. I concur with authors such as Guichard (2007) and Grätz (2011) that the lines between friendship and other forms of sociality (e. g., kinship, patronage/clientelism, god-parenthood) are anything but clearcut. They overlap, intersect, change, they may reinforce one another and apply all at once. Thus, we find different friendship variations in both Western and non-Western societies. The situation becomes even more complex when one considers the increasing interconnectedness of our globalized world, in which in-between spaces24 may provide space for the construction of new forms of sociality, and in which the process of identification becomes “a never-ending, always incomplete, unfinished and open-ended activity in which we all, by necessity or choice, are engaged“ (Bauman 2001:482). Faced with the great variety and fluidity of friendship conceptions and practices in an increasingly interconnected world, the challenge for the anthropologist studying friendship – as in the case of all social phenomena – is to allow for conceptions of sociality that are fluid and flexible, rather than static and definite (e. g., Appadurai 1990, Hannerz 1996). In light of the problem of empirically assessing friendship, Barcellos Rezende (1999) has argued for a more inclusive approach that conceptualizes friendship as an idiom of affinity and togetherness. Similarly, Eric Schwimmer (1974) resorts to the notion of philia as a more inclusive social category that allows for polyvalence and change. Tilo Grätz argues that friendship should be conceptualized as “a bundle of features, which may differ with respect to a particular social situation as well as the cultural context” (2011:356). In the new kinship studies, we find a similar problem, which Janet Carsten (2000, 2004) attempts to resolve by referring to the inclusive notion of ‘relatedness’. Hence, rather than trying to freeze this highly dynamic relationship into a set typology or scheme, thereby stripping it of at least one of its main characteristics, I argue for an approach that favors categorical openness. ‘Friendship’, 24 The idea of in-between spaces (Bhabha 1994) emphasizes the negotiability of social life and identities from which may emerge new forms of sociality. I will come back to this point in chapter 3.

36

Theoretical Framework

above all, refers to a qualitative dimension of a relation between two or more persons. It is a relational phenomenon, i. e., the meaning of friendship is acquired in the process of engagement between actors. This explains, for instance, why the word ‘friend’ may be applied to social ties that are based on only a few – if any – of the ingredients of the ideal notion of friendship (whichever this may be for a particular actor). It also accounts for the great flexibility with which shortcomings and conflicts may be ignored or compensated for : It seems that actual friendships are valued for particular attributes, and these attributes can compensate for other shortcomings, so that friends may be fun but unreliable, trustworthy but dull and so on, and it is the particular combination of qualities, as Raymond Firth noted, which gives each friendship its distinctive character. (Spencer and Pahl 2006:59)

In sum, friendship is a diverse and multifaceted phenomenon that must be studied in its respective socio-cultural, economical and political context. Since friendships are highly context-dependent and flexible categories, they are essentially processual phenomena. Like identities, they are conceived as fluid, changing, ambivalent and at times fractured.

2

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

In light of the relative neglect of research on friendship in the social sciences, it is not surprising that we also find a distinct lack of friendship research in Aotearoa New Zealand, especially on cross-cultural friendship. To some extent, this has to do with the discussion of what constitutes New Zealand culture. New Zealand culture is often characterized as inherited from English-European culture, but as interwoven with Ma¯ori and Pacific Island cultural ‘elements’, or traditions and values. As a Western society, New Zealand majority culture25 incorporates the settler culture of Pa¯keha¯ New Zealanders of predominately European descent as well as certain cultural elements or influences from the indigenous Ma¯ori population and the cultures of the ‘old’ and ‘new’ immigrants (see also below, chapter 4.8). The question of “What is New Zealand/Kiwi/Pa¯keha¯/Ma¯ori/etc. culture?” is a topical issue in both public and private debate; behind it, the question of whether there exist localized concepts of relatedness takes a back seat. ‘Culture’, in this discourse (or ‘culture talk’), is usually framed in terms of the problematic ‘culture-as-container’ model, i. e., as 25 I use the term ‘majority’ culture in order to highlight the fact that there exists a dominant culture in Aotearoa New Zealand, and in order to draw attention to the influence of power relations on people’s interactions. Individual actors may take different and changing positions in relation to what is perceived as majority culture.

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

37

a bounded entity, rather than fluid, dynamic and complex. I will discuss identity and culture in more detail in chapters 3 and 4. For now I would like to emphasize that, in a postcolonial society like Aotearoa New Zealand, we can expect to find multiple conceptions of relatedness (indigenous and non-indigenous) that overlap and intersect, thereby creating new, possibly hybrid meanings. I start with an analysis of the question of friendship in New Zealand majority culture, before moving on to a critical assessment of the place of friendship in Ma¯ori society.

2.1

Friendship in majority society

Starting with the assumption that New Zealand majority society is still strongly informed by Western-European roots, the dominance of a Western-European friendship ideal as discussed in the previous chapters suggests itself. However, as in other societies, this ideal can be expected to find its expression in localized forms. 2.1.1 The notion of ‘friendship’ To my knowledge, there do not exist any anthropological studies on the meaning of friendship in New Zealand majority culture, or Pa¯keha¯ culture for that matter. John Harr¦ (1966) touches on the topic in his classic study of marriages between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. Writing in the mid-1960s, some of Harr¦’s observations regarding Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relationships and interaction still hold today : For instance, that Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations framed in terms of ‘work mates’, ‘team mates’ or ‘drinking cobbers’ often do not extend to invitations into the home; that opportunities for contact are especially limited for middle- and upper-class Pa¯keha¯ ; and that both Pa¯keha¯’s and Ma¯ori’s attitudes and patterns of behavior restrict opportunities for ‘mixing’ (Harr¦ 1966:127ff). Apart from such separating factors, Harr¦ identifies a shared interest in modern dance, ‘pop’ music, and sports (particularly rugby, football and basketball) and the social activities associated with them. While he stresses the importance of shared social space for intermixing, Harr¦ also recognizes another important point: that the opportunity as such does not suffice to enter more intimate relationships with one another, and that friends and relatives play an important role in kindling relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ (ibid.). In sociology, we find the work of Farida Tilbury, who submitted a PhD thesis on cross-ethnic friendships in 1999 (see also, Tilbury and Lloyd 2001). Her empirical study combines an initial scoping quantitative exercise together with qualitative interviews with twenty-one Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ of working class

38

Theoretical Framework

background in the Wellington area. Tilbury is mainly concerned with the contact hypothesis and the question of whether friendships between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ “improve race relations or reinforce stereotypes and discriminatory attitudes” (Tilbury 1999:i). Apart from a review of relevant sociological and psychological literature, she also provides some empirical information on the meaning of friendship and on different types of friends. However, she neither discusses Ma¯ori terminology, nor does she question the prevalence of the Western-European friendship ideal. Nevertheless, her account gives some insight into the construction of friendship in New Zealand majority culture. The following is a brief summary of her findings:26 First of all, Tilbury reports that there was little difference between the number of ‘good friends’ reported by Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ respondents (an average of four to five); and while people felt confident to distinguish a ‘good friend’ from ‘a friend’, “they had difficulty describing exactly what constitutes this difference” (p. 135) – a common problem in friendship studies. Tilbury mentions feelings of affection, trust and reliability (including feeling at ease and a sense of comfort) as important key themes, pointing out that the affective dimension was stronger than the instrumental one. Further themes were honesty, sharing, openness, or “a feeling of unguardedness” (p. 136). The instrumental side of friendship was expressed in very general terms; ‘good friends’ were counted on for material or practical help (e. g., childcare, money). In Tilbury’s study, many respondents reported similarity in terms of similar backgrounds or shared interests, stage in life, personality, outlook, or common work as the basis for their friendships. ‘Good friends’ were those who had exerted a significant influence on the actors’ lives – not necessarily those who were seen the most often. ‘Chemistry’ and ‘vibes’, an attraction to voices were mentioned as friendship constituting factors, as were similar lifestyles, common interests and stage in life. Sometimes friends were chosen for material or emotional benefit. In regards to shared activities, Tilbury found talking, going out together or getting together at each other’s homes to be major activities, as well as more specific interests and group membership. She also emphasizes the importance of mundaneness in friendship interaction. In terms of gender, both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ women displayed a greater emphasis on talking, and men a stronger focus on shared activities. Importantly, the author does not report ethnic differences in the conception of friendship. What she does point out, however, is the striking similarity in respondents’ answers, which reproduce the findings of other research, especially in terms of the centrality of trust and communication as friendship constituting characteristics: 26 The following account draws on Tilbury (1999:135 – 40).

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

39

It was as if they were telling a standard story about friendship – ‘a good friend is someone you can trust’. It is a stock answer, a culturally accepted definition which does not require thinking about (…). (Tilbury 1999:139)

As Tilbury remarks herself, the strong theme of trust could be the product of the interview situation that favors an account of an ideology of friendship, rather than provides insights into how friendship is actually experienced. My study circumnavigates this problem by providing a contextualized study of friendship experiences based on long-term participant observation as well as different interviewing techniques. 2.1.2 The ‘related’ concept of mateship Apart from ‘friendship’, we find in Aotearoa New Zealand a rather generalized rhetoric of ‘mateship’, often used to describe the positive, friendly and cooperative character of inter-group relations. The underlying idea of ‘mateship’ refers to a specific mode of interaction in the settler societies of New Zealand and Australia. ‘Mateship’ is often described as a particular type of comradeship, usually among men, originating in the harsh conditions of life in the colony (e. g., Greig et al. 2003). However, in contrast to Australian sources,27 I found hardly any useful literature for understanding the local specifics of mateship in contemporary Aotearoa New Zealand. Moreover, ‘mateship’ is just as hard to grasp as ‘friendship’, which makes a contextualization difficult. Political scientist and friendship researcher Heather Devere discusses the use of the term ‘mate’ in Aotearoa New Zealand as a localized example for the subtleties of language use around friendship and gender (Devere 2007:22ff): Accordingly, ‘mate’ is a common term of address to express friendship. It is particularly common for referring to friendships between males, but is increasingly being used “by young women to refer to their male friends with whom they are not having a sexual relationship. It is rarely used by females or mates to refer to female friends” (Devere 2007:22). The associated notion of ‘mateship’ is linked to ideas of male companionship and support: ‘[M]ateship’ represents an often unexpressed understanding, primarily between males, of a support network of companions who share activities and take responsibility for one another. There is some sense that it is a tougher and more appropriate terminology for males than any generic term which could include females. (Devere 2007:24)

Devere also mentions women’s more recent use of the term ‘girlfriend’ to refer to their female friends, and of ‘girlfriend’ and ‘boyfriend’ as a term of address for a sexual relation (ibid.:23). 27 For example, Bank 1995, Butera 2008, Murrie 1998, Wierzbicka 2001.

40

Theoretical Framework

Looking over the Tasman Sea, we find an insightful article by Karina Butera (2008) on ‘neo-mateship’ in Australia: Drawing on the works by Bank (1995) and Murrie (1998), among others, the author analyzes mateship as an everyday practice of men’s same-sex friendships. Following Wierzbicka’s (2001) argument that friendship and mateship are distinct notions of relatedness, she contends that the word ‘mate’ “has expansive colloquial cultural currency in Australia” and a distinct meaning; as such, it applies mainly among working class men (Butera 2008:269). ‘Traditional mateship’ she defines as “a fraternal relationship, bound by loyalty and courage; where practical support is a prerequisite, along with toughness, independence and resilience; (…) where overt displays of vulnerability or emotion are to be avoided” (ibid.). In contrast, ‘friendship’ has a much broader meaning (ibid.). Butera then goes on to assess accounts collected from interviews with three generations of Australian men. The author contends that there is a transformation in Australian men’s same-sex friendships towards more individualistic, transient and contingent relationship choices, more expressiveness and disclosure, and to providing both practical and emotional support. At the same time, however, “men still invest in mateship performance” (ibid.:268). She concludes that, although the parameters of acceptable gendered behaviours in Australian men’s friendships are expanding, they have not yet reached the breadth and depth found in ‘pure’ friendships, but could be described as a new type of mateship: neo-mateship (Butera 2008:265).

In contrast to ‘traditional mateship’, i. e., “the emotionally reticent, stoic and self-reliant postcolonial practice” described by older participants, ‘neo-mateship’ refers to “the more flexible, emotionally expressive and individualistic style” described by younger participants (ibid.:268). The ‘pure’ friendship she refers to is the pure relationship described by Giddens – and criticized by others (see above, chapter 1); ‘mateship’ she takes to be “an idealized, yet constrained subcategory of friendship” (ibid.:270). Going back to the analysis in chapter 1, I propose that ‘mateship’ (traditional and neo) and ‘pure friendship’ are in fact different subcategories, or varieties, of the social phenomenon that I refer to in this study as friendship, i. e., certain notions of relatedness bound to a particular time, space, context and actors. All three are local variations of the Western-European friendship ideal discussed in chapter 1. In sum, according to the literature, we find in New Zealand majority culture a conception of friendship that for the most part reproduces the Western-European ideal of a symmetrical relation among equals. Both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori actors report a standard story of friendship characterized by affective qualities, to a lesser extent instrumental ones, as well as by trust and communication,

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

41

honesty, sharing and similarity. We also find ‘mateship’, which – if the results from the other side of the Tasman Sea are an indication – may constitute a localized, gendered friendship category that is increasingly finding expression in a more expressive variant. But what about Ma¯ori-specific conceptions of relatedness? Do we find a (or several) separate category for friendship in Ma¯ori society?

2.2

Friendship in Ma¯ori society

For pre-colonial or ‘traditional’ Ma¯ori society, as for other non-Western societies, the primacy of kin relations has led anthropologists to either ignore friendship relations as a relevant social category, or to subsume them – usually without further explanation – under kin categories. Eric Schwimmer (1974) takes up the question of the relation of friendship and kinship in Ma¯ori society. He, too, concludes the absence of a distinct category of ‘friendship’ outside the dominant kin category. According to his argument, even though we find a distinct idiom for ‘friend’ in the Ma¯ori language – hoa –, there does not, however, exist a separate category for people referred to as hoa outside kin terminology. Is there indeed no distinct category of friendship outside the dominant kin category in Ma¯ori society? If so, what other Ma¯ori-specific conceptions of relatedness do we find? Where can we place friendship within, or in relation to, Ma¯ori social categories? In the following, I take up the question of the place of friendship in Ma¯ori society. I argue for a contextualized analysis of multiple conceptions of relatedness, which co-exist and overlap with the dominant notion of friendship and mateship laid out above. I will start with Schwimmer’s (1974) insightful argument. 2.2.1 A society without friendship? Anthropological and historical accounts by both Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori observers suggest that in ‘traditional’ Ma¯ori society, as in other East Polynesian societies, kinship constitutes the main form of relatedness.28 Eric Schwimmer (1974) explains the absence of a distinctive social category for friends (hoa) outside the kin group with the central value of genealogy and the elaborate social mechanisms of genealogical reckoning, which still form an integral part of any formal gathering and greeting situation (p. 52). For example, at the outset of a significant social gathering, Ma¯ori customarily insist on es28 For example, Best 1952 [1924], Buck 1954, 1958 [1949], King 2003, Metge 1976, 1995, Salmond 1992, Schwimmer 1974.

42

Theoretical Framework

tablishing a common link by means of tracing kinship connections between host (tangata whenua) and guest (manuhiri). They introduce themselves by referring back to i nga wa¯ o mua – the time before or the past. Nowadays, this often involves the identification of one’s maunga (mountain), awa (water, sea) and iwi (people, tribe) or hapu¯ (subtribe), a connection to the whenua (the land) and to its people, thus placing individual actors within larger social groupings and in relation to one another. For pre-colonial times, this meant that, in principle, every person in Aotearoa could trace his/her relation (however distant) to every other person (cf. Schwimmer 1974:52). I would like to add that today, the potential for establishing links is often restricted by a lack of knowledge of whakapapa (genealogy). Especially urban Ma¯ori often have no or only partial knowledge of their genealogical links. Nevertheless, they usually can establish some connection with other Ma¯ori. In fact, I found that the tracing of connections (kin or non-kin) remains an important social mechanism in both formal and informal situations. Despite this primacy of kinship in Ma¯ori society, Schwimmer (1974) finds hoa, a Ma¯ori friendship idiom of reference and address that is used across gender and age, in formal as well as informal contexts. Hoa (‘friend’ or ‘mate’) “signifies a relatively unrestrained, warm, affectionate, cooperative, equal, personal, and private relationship” (Schwimmer 1974:52). Hoa is not a kinship term and does not imply kinship; it is usually used within the same generation by persons of the same or opposite sex, and unlike kinship terms, it does not connote relative seniority (tuakana/teina) but is reciprocal. Schwimmer concludes from his analysis that there is “no category of persons called hoa, but [that] we do find an idiom of reference and address that expresses friendship” (1974:52). His definition of hoa is consistent with my own findings (see below, chapter 6) and with the definitions found in conventional Ma¯ori dictionaries such as Williams (2000 [1844]), Ngata (1995), Biggs (1990), or Te Aka Online Dictionary (www.maoridictionary.co.nz). According to Williams (2000 [1844]: 54), hoa may refer to a friend, mate and companion, or to a spouse, husband, or wife. The latter meaning may also be qualified by adding the term wahine (women, female) or ta¯ne (man, male). A gender unspecific term for ‘spouse’ or ‘partner’ is hoa rangatira. In everyday usage, hoa, like ‘friend’, primarily refers to a qualitative dimension, marking a particular relationship as affectionate. The type of hoa may be specified by adding a descriptive term: e. g., hoa mahi – colleague (from mahi – work); hoa ta¯ne – husband (from ta¯ne – man); hoa wahine – wife (from wahine – woman); hoa tata – neighbor (from tata – close, nearby) (cf. Devere 2005:21). The opposite of a friend – the opponent, opposition, enemy, or adversary – is referred to as hoariri (from riri – angry, annoyed).

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

43

Furthermore, hoa whawhai (from whawhai – to fight) can either refer to ‘ally’, ‘foe’, or ‘enemy’ (Te Aka Ma¯ori Online Dictionary). Another term for ‘friend’ that Schwimmer does not mention, but which is also listed in Ma¯ori dictionaries and other written sources is a¯piti. According to Williams (2000 [1844]:21), a¯piti also means ‘supplement’ (anything deficient), and ‘fight at close quarters’. Te Aka Ma¯ori Online Dictionary also lists the terms mara (northern dialect), kara and hika (eastern dialect) as form of address to a friend, and the word ko¯taretare for “a person who lives on the generosity of one’s friends” (www.maoridictionary.co.nz). This underscores the importance of generosity, but also of reciprocity (utu) in friendship. Proverbial sayings such as the following ones emphasize these qualities: He rangatira he hoa matenga mo¯u, kia kore koe e whakare¯rea. – ‘A chief will be a friend in disaster and will not forsake you.’ (In Mead and Grove 2003:114) Hoa piri ngahuru, taha ke¯ raumati. – ‘Like a friend who sticks to you in autumn, but departs in summer.’ “[A]utumn is the time of harvest and plentiful food supplies, summer is the time of scarcity and hard work.” (In Brougham et al. 1996:60) He takitahi nga hoa o te tangata ha¯kere. – ‘A greedy person has few friends.’ (In Ngata 1995:208)

These proverbs demonstrate that the ideal does not always match the practical realities of everyday life. Moreover, they allude to the notion of a ‘bad’ or false friend and to the vulnerability of friendship from a Ma¯ori perspective (cf. Brougham et al. 1996:60). Hence, despite the absence of a distinct friendship category in Ma¯ori society, friends – and friendship for that matter – do exist. This is also supported by Schwimmer’s argument (1974). I would like to emphasize the point that even though Schwimmer assesses the absence of a separate social category for people referred to as hoa, first of all, he finds with hoa an idiom that expresses friendship. Secondly, he does not deny the existence of the practice of friendship in Ma¯ori society. Thirdly, rather than treating friendship and kinship as mutually exclusive categories, Schwimmer resorts to the notion of philia specifically because it binds together both kin and non-kin relations (see also above, chapter 1.3). I conclude that, even though there does not seem to exist a distinct friendship category in Ma¯ori society according to the literature, we do find an idiom expressing friendship, and we do find friendship practices. I concur with Schwimmer (and others) that the kinship idiom does indeed constitute the dominant idiom in Ma¯ori society and that we need to account for kin terminology when looking for ‘friendship’ in Aotearoa. I therefore argue for a contextualized study of friendship that accounts for the high degree of flexibility of

44

Theoretical Framework

Polynesian social categories. In order to understand the meaning of friendship, or the place of hoa in Ma¯ori society, we need to consider Ma¯ori social organization and kin categories – as it is here that we find ideas surrounding social interaction and relatedness. 2.2.2 Ma¯ori social life and values: an inherently flexible system In order to understand the place of hoa in Ma¯ori society, we need to start with the principles that continue to inform Ma¯ori ideas of relatedness and the associated social practices. Wha¯nau, hapu¯, iwi, and waka are usually described as the main social units of Ma¯ori society : The wha¯nau (extended family, birth, offspring) is described in the literature as the smallest social unit (cf. Buck 1958 [1949], Walker 1990), i. e., an extended family encompassing three or more generations that occupied one or more wharepuni (sleeping-houses) and dwelt together with other wha¯nau in a papaka¯inga (settlement). At its head were the female and male elders (kuia and kauma¯tua), its main function was the procreation and nurturing of children (Walker 1990:63). The term hapu¯ (sub-tribe, descendants, pregnant) is usually used to refer to a group of wha¯nau of common ancestry forming an autonomous political unit that controlled a particular part of tribal territory (ibid.:64). The hapu¯ controlled a defined stretch of tribal territory, but the iwi (tribe, bone) is usually described in the literature as the major effective political unit. The iwi consists of a number of hapu¯ stemming from a common ancestor (Buck 1958 [1949]:333). However, as the social coherence of the hapu¯ extends the iwi, the hapu¯ is said to form the major social unit in ‘traditional’ Ma¯ori society. Finally, the largest social unit, the waka (canoe), refers to a lose ideological bond of iwi based on a common ancestor who came to Aotearoa on one of several canoes between 1100 and 1300 AD (e. g., Walker 1990:65) (see also, chapter 4). I would like to emphasize that a clear-cut and well-bounded depiction of Ma¯ori social units needs to be treated with caution since it obscures more spontaneous and flexible uses of Ma¯ori social categories (cf. Ballara 1998, Gagn¦ 2004, Webster 1975). As historians and anthropologists have argued, the use of social categories such as wha¯nau and hapu¯ was, and still is, sometimes imprecise. Anne Salmond (1991), drawing on myths, proverbs and Ma¯ori writings, attributes the ‘tremendous flexibility’ of Ma¯ori social life to four principles: The unity of all phenomenal life through genealogical connection; the complementarity of male and female; the principle of primogeniture; all of which can be overcome by a fourth principle of competitive striving expressed in a language of war. (Salmond 1991, cited in Metge 1995: 46)

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

45

The inherent flexibility of the social system is reflected in the ambilineal descent system (cf. Firth 1957). However, in practice affiliation with the hapu¯ of residence was stronger (Walker 1990:64) and “[i]n affiliation as in other respects, Ma¯ori society preferred the male before the female” (Metge 1976:7). Nowadays, most Ma¯ori claim double affiliation. Within each descent group, social status was accorded to seniority of descent, i. e., the elder (individual or descent group) ranked above the younger (e. g., Metge 1976:7, Walker 1990:65). Traditional Ma¯ori society was strongly internally stratified and the principle of tuakana (the elder) and teina (the younger) remains an important social mechanism both in terms of individuals’ and groups’ relations with one another. Leadership was hereditary ; status and rank differences were associated with differences in mana and tapu29 (Metge 1976:8). The idea that leadership was reserved for men only has been criticized by men and women in recent years and has been rejected as a colonial byproduct (e. g., Mahuika 1992, Mikaere 1998). Both men and women of mana could, and can, become great leaders by virtue of it. What remains unclear is how widespread female leadership actually was. Today, it is difficult to reconstruct Ma¯ori women leader’s traces in a society where language is on the whole genderneutral.30 However, there exist a great number of oral traditions on powerful women (mana wa¯hine) that can be considered a sign of women’s important position in the past (cf. Mikaere 1995). The flexibility of the social system has also been emphasized by Schwimmer (1990) and Ballara (1998). According to Schwimmer (1990, summarized in Gagn¦ 2004:82), the moral principles of whanaungatanga (as an inclusive, horizontal kinship ethic that unites people; literally ‘the making of relations’) and whakapapa (as an exclusive, vertical descent ethic that enables restructuring; literally ‘to place in layers’) pervade the entire culture, which is why all socio-economic units are interrelated. As Gagn¦ points out, “the process of 29 Mana and tapu are complex Polynesian concepts. In Ma¯ori society, “[m]ana was spiritual power which possessed and was possessed by individuals, groups and things and accounted for their effectiveness. An individual inherited an initial store of mana varying with the seniority of his descent, but he [sic!] could increase or decrease it by his [sic!] own actions.” (Metge 1976:8). Inextricably linked to mana are tapu and noa. Williams (2000 [1844]:385) translates tapu as (1) under religious or superstitious restriction, (2) beyond one’s power, inaccessible, (3) sacred, (4) ceremonial restriction, quality or condition of being subject to such restriction. People, places, objects and actions may be tapu in different degrees, permanently or temporarily ; violation of tapu rules may result in sickness, trouble or death (Metge 1976:58 f.). Things that are free from tapu are noa. Tapu and noa form an exhaustive classification, but they are not negations of each other. For an analysis of mana see, for example, Firth (1940), Keesing (1984), Lehmann (1922); for tapu see Lehmann (1930) or Shirres (1979); for an overview of both see Metge (1976: 58ff). 30 For example, there is no he/she (ia), or his or hers (ta¯na/to¯na) in Ma¯ori and first names can often be male or female.

46

Theoretical Framework

change and transformation continues, but even today, continuity remains and the system is reaffirmed in a cyclic way” (2004:82). As the discussion of my empirical material in part three will reveal, in particular the notion of the wha¯nau (extended family) plays a central role for the study of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand. The wha¯nau – which may include non-Ma¯ori in-laws – not only remains an important unit of support, but it still functions as a provider of intimacy and care. As in other Polynesian societies, it serves as a model for collective behavior and interaction. Another crucial category for the study of friendship is the idea of a wider egooriented personal kin universe of whanaunga (relatives), which Ma¯ori recognize (d) in addition to the ancestor-oriented wha¯nau: The word whanaunga means relative in the widest sense, whether the connection is by descent, marriage or adoption. (Metge 1995:40)

Joan Metge (1995) and, more recently, Natacha Gagn¦ (2004) have provided detailed ethnographic analyses of the meaning and the place of the wha¯nau in the contemporary world. Both authors emphasize the flexibility and changeability of the meanings associated with the term. Over the course of history the wha¯nau has acquired a range of new meanings that go beyond the notion of the extended family. Not only has the wha¯nau become a powerful symbol of Ma¯ori values and ways of relating to the world (tikanga Ma¯ori), but the notion has entered into the vocabulary of policy-makers; in fact, the term has entered into wider society since it is known to and used by a range of people (Metge 1995:26). Metge has compiled “the many meanings of wha¯nau” in New Growth from Old: The Wha¯nau in the Modern World (1995:52 – 60): “a set of siblings, brothers and sisters born to the same parents but excluding the latter” (p. 52); original emphasis. “all the descendants of a relatively recent named ancestor traced through both male and female links, regardless of where they are living or whether they know or interact with each other” (p. 52), i. e., a cognatic descent category. “those descendants of a relatively recent ancestor who act and interact together on an ongoing basis and identify themselves as a group by symbols such as the ancestor’s name” (p. 53), i. e., a cognatic descent group. “a descent group core with the addition of members’ spouses and children adopted from outside, a collection of individuals and parent-child families who act and interact together on an ongoing basis under a common name” (p. 53), i. e., an extended family. “descent groups of much greater genealogical depth, namely (…) hapu¯ and iwi.” (p. 53)

Locating friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

47

“the small family consisting of one or two parents and their children (…). Over the last century, (…) Ma¯ori began to refer to it either as wha¯mere, a transliteration for family, or as wha¯nau.” (p. 54; original emphasis)31 “a group which is not based clearly on descent but is made up of kin related in a variety of ways, who act and interact for common ends, identify themselves by a common name and model themselves on the wha¯nau as extended family.” (p. 54) “an elastic band. Ma¯ori who would normally apply the word to a group of limited size stretch it elastically when it suits them to do so.” (p. 55) “to greet or refer to an assembly of people of like mind and interests gathered for a common purpose.” (p. 55) “an ad hoc action-group mobilised on behalf of a particular person to support him or her in a testing situation: a job interview, a public speaking engagement (…).” (p. 55) “groupings of people who are not connected by kinship, let alone descent.” (p. 56)

The last four (contemporary) meanings are of particular relevance for this study as they cover both kin and non-kin, Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori. Under the idea of wha¯nau are often subsumed particular ways and approaches (for instance, in education) to account for Ma¯ori perspectives and ways of relating to the world and for certain “wha¯nau values such as aroha [unconditional love, affection, empathy], mutual support and unity” (Metge 1995:56), which wha¯nau members ideally adhere to in their relations with one another and with outsiders: By describing their group as wha¯nau, members signal to themselves and the world at large that they have modelled it on the wha¯nau extended family. They use the word wha¯nau as a symbol and charter, a constant reminder of the wha¯nau values to which they aspire. (Metge 1995:58)

Wha¯nau values are also prominent storylines in Ma¯ori myths and legends (e. g., Pomare and Cowan 1987a, b), as well as in proverbial expressions (e. g., Brougham et al. 1996, Mead and Grove 2003). My search for the idea of ‘friendship’ also led me to investigate these written sources of oral traditions. My findings support Schwimmer’s (1974) argument that, while we do find the idiom hoa, we do not find a separate category expressing friendship. I found numerous stories about unions between humans, as well as between humans and numinous beings (bound together in the kin universe); I found, for instance, proverbial expressions on the relationship between older and younger siblings, between wha¯nau and hapu¯ members, or between wha¯nau, hapu¯ and iwi; and I found that 31 Like Natacha Gagn¦ (2004:153), I did not come across the word wha¯mere during my fieldwork. My findings support her hypothesis that the word wha¯nau for the parent-child family is a more recent development.

48

Theoretical Framework

friendship (often marked by the use of the term hoa) is expressed in, or subsumed under, kin categories. What I also found were stories about the social values and principles (whakaaro nui) that guide social interaction, such as aroha (unconditional love, empathy, compassion), utu (reciprocity), whanaungatanga (the making of relations, kinship in its widest sense), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), mana (authority, power, prestige) and tapu (under restriction, prohibited, sacred), or kotahitanga (the principle of openness or unity). These principles may also codify and express friendship. The proverb quoted in the beginning of this part of the study is one of them: “Aroha mai, aroha atu. (…) Friendship accepted demands friendship in return” (cited in Mead and Grove 2003:19). For this study, Ma¯ori values regarding relations with outsiders are of particular interest. Metge devotes a separate point to this in her discussion of wha¯nau values: Wha¯nau members recognise a collective responsibility to reciprocate the help received from other groups (…). At the same time they recognise a collective responsibility to their own group (…). Finally, wha¯nau members recognise a collective responsibility to provide compensation for any loss or injury inflicted on outsiders by one or more of their number, in order to prevent or heal a breach of the relationship and to restore the mana of the wha¯nau. (Metge 1995:102)

The central value placed on relationships is reflected in all of the principles discussed above. Outsiders are integrated into the system, either temporarily (e. g., in the case of guests) or on a more long-term basis (e. g., in the case of affinal relations). I will come back to these social principles in my discussion of the empirical data. For now it suffices to keep in mind that all of them are interrelated in complex ways and that they are applied in flexible, at times competing ways. In any case, the value of having relations is paramount.

2.3

Conclusion: friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

From the above discussion we can expect to find several localized expressions of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand. Apart from a localized expression of the Western-European friendship discourse, we can expect to find the idea of ‘mateship’ as a culture-specific construction based on the socio-historical construction of a settler past associated with ideas of gender and class. We may also find more inclusive Ma¯ori categories of relatedness, namely the social category of the wha¯nau and the idea of a social universe of whanaunga that are in turn associated with specific values and principles that guide Ma¯ori in their inter-

Friendship worlds: an analytical framework

49

action with others. Finally, we may find transformed or new conceptions of relatedness that have not yet been discussed in the literature. In any case, we can expect multiple conceptions that overlap and intersect in diverse and meaningful ways in the day-to-day lives of New Zealanders today. In the next chapter, I will outline my theoretical framework for the study of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand. My discussion builds on the previous analysis.

3

Friendship worlds: an analytical framework

The above discussion has shown that friendship is not only a highly flexible social relationship, but that it is expressed in variable localized forms and practiced in sometimes conflicting ways by different persons and groups. The theoretical vocabulary discussed above included the idea of social ‘capital’ or ‘glue’, of ‘personal communities’ and ‘social worlds’. The analysis referred to both the individual as well as the social level, to macro- as well as micro-approaches. A common denominator of these approaches is that they are tied up – in one way or another – with ideas surrounding the constitution of self and other, to the notion of community and to specific ways of relating to the world. In the following discussion, I propose a multidimensional practice framework for the study of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand that seeks to combine these ideas in innovative ways. I will strongly rely on the idea of ‘figured worlds’ developed by Holland, Skinner, Lachicotte and Cain (1998) and their associated theory of identity and culture. I will start with the concept of ‘figured worlds’ as a suitable analytical tool for the understanding of people’s life-worlds, interactions and lived experiences in this study.

3.1

Figured worlds

The concept of ‘figured worlds’ was initially developed by Holland, Skinner, Lachicotte and Cain (1998) and has received wide recognition across different disciplines and fields of application. It is a useful analytical tool for looking at how people interact and engage with others in places and spaces, and how they make sense of their worlds in everyday life. A ‘figured world’ is a “socially and culturally constructed realm of interpretation in which particular characters and actors are recognized, significance is assigned to certain acts, and particular outcomes are valued over others” (Holland et al. 1998:52). Drawing on Leontiev’s (1978) notion of ‘activity’, Holland et al. (1998:41 f.,

50

Theoretical Framework

my emphasis) make the following points about figured worlds, identities, and meaning: First, figured worlds are historical phenomena, to which we are recruited or into which we enter, which themselves develop through the works of their participants. Figured worlds, like activities, are not so much things or objects to be apprehended, as processes or traditions of apprehension which gather us up and give us form as our lives intersect them. Second, figured worlds, like activities, are social encounters in which participants’ positions matter. They proceed and are socially instanced and located in times and places, not in the ‘everywhere’ that seems to encompass cultural worlds as they are usually conceived. Some figured worlds we may never enter because of our social position or rank; some we may deny to others; some we may simply miss by contingency ; some we may learn fully. Third, figured worlds are socially organized and reproduced; they are like activities in the usual, institutional sense. They divide and relate participants (almost as roles), and they depend upon the interaction and the intersubjectivity for perpetuation. The significance (indeed the existence) of cultural worlds in our lives does not derive from holding them ‘in mind’ as some whole image (we may or may not do this), but from recreating them by work with others. Fourth, figured worlds distribute ‘us,’ not only by relating actors to landscapes of action (as personae) and spreading our senses of self across many different fields of activity, but also by giving the landscape human voice and tone (…). Cultural worlds are populated by familiar social types and even identifiable persons, not simply differentiated by some abstract division of labor. The identities we gain within figured worlds are thus specifically historical developments, grown through continued participation in the positions defined by the social organization of those worlds’ activity. They are characteristics of humans and societies. ‘Figured world’ then provides a means to conceptualize historical subjectivities, consciousness and agency, persons (and collective agents) forming in practice. It also provides the terms for answering a conundrum of personal agency.

Figured worlds are socio-historically derived and continual ‘as if ’ worlds, in which individual and group identities are formed dialectically and dialogically. They are socially and culturally constructed realms of interpretation and action that take shape within and grant shape to the co-production of activities, discourses, performances and artifacts. They are peopled by characters “who carry out its tasks and who also have styles of interacting within, distinguishable perspectives on, and orientations toward it” (Holland et al. 1998:51). By doing so, people develop new identities. Figured worlds are imagined worlds, which ‘happen’ – as social process and in historical time –, and which also serve as guide for future actions. According to this perspective, actors reproduce cultural knowledge and identity but also innovate, improvise and reconfigure their social

Friendship worlds: an analytical framework

51

and cultural lives. The word ‘world’ emphasizes the open, ambivalent, and fluid characteristics of people’s experiences in diverse spaces. But why is this conception so useful for the study of friendship? The notion of friendship is inextricably linked to ideas concerning the constitution of the subject in its relation to the immediate and wider social context, and thereby touches on notions of autonomy and relatedness, the individual and the community. Since identities ‘happen’ in social practice (Holland et al. 1998:vii) friendship discourses are also identity discourses. They refer to self and other on the individual level as well as on the group-level (Guichard 2007:328). At the core of the notion of figured worlds stand the principles that persons are constitutive of relationships (or – to draw on a term coined by Marilyn Strathern (1988) – ‘dividual’); that identities are positional; and that new worlds and new identities emerge from actors’ engagement within them (cf. Clammer et al. 2004b:17ff). Figured worlds offer opportunities for the actors to understand “of and for themselves” (Holland et al. 1998:4). As actors engage, or ‘play’ in different figured worlds, they use certain narrations, actions, symbols or words to indicate, for instance, their involvement in and belonging to certain groups and places. The symbols, techniques and signs that they employ are collectively developed and imbued with meaning through social practices and interrelationships. Going back to the assumption that we find in Aotearoa New Zealand (and elsewhere) overlapping friendship conceptions and practices, the idea of different figured worlds that authors are a part of and engage in with others within certain historical and social contexts – contexts which are structured by existing power relations, but in which actors are able to reconfigure themselves and others – is compelling. I would like to underline the crucial point that figured worlds can be learned, and that the learners of the new worlds that they enter into and engage with can apply their knowledge in other figured worlds, thereby invoking change (cf. Clammer et al. 2004b:12). The relational logic inherent in this conception means that no element within the system can change in isolation from the others (ibid.:9). This has important implications for understanding the way in which people create identity through mutual engagement with one another within specific social, historical, economical and cultural contexts: The human and non-human ‘persons’ involved in such systems have experiences in different contexts, interpret them in a plurality of ‘voices’ (heteroglossia) from which they create a multi-layered ‘identity’. This kind of anthropology does not study the internal structure of the ‘individual person’ but rather her or his environmental context. (Clammer et al. 2004b:9)

52

Theoretical Framework

One of the strengths of this conception is that it accounts for indigenous ontologies that may include human and non-human persons, for instance, animals and inanimate entities (see also, Clammer et al. 2004b:10 f.). As we will see in chapters 6 and 7, such an inclusive perspective is crucial for understanding indigenous conceptions of relatedness. The kind of anthropology alluded to by Clammer et al. (2004a) thus opens up the friendship terrain to a contextualized study of identity making processes that account for both emic and etic conceptions. This is important if we are to understand how Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ fashion and experience their friendships on a day-to-day basis and how they position themselves and their friends vis-‚-vis one another, but also within the wider social environment. The notion of figured worlds is not an isolated concept, but it is part of the wider theory of identity and culture elaborated by Holland et al. (1998) in their book Identity and Agency in Cultural Worlds. It is important to underscore that figured worlds are not the same as ‘culture’; they are “the cosmologies or ontological conceptions upon which culture is ultimately based” (Clammer et al. 2004b:3), i. e., they are basic to the construction of culture. They are also not simply the same as systems of knowledge either, for they are accounts of different ways of being in the world “and a definition through practice (and not only through cognition) of what that world is and how it is constituted” (ibid.:4). As Clammer et al. (ibid.:5 f.) underline, in addition to material factors, what often lies at the heart of conflicts between cultures, or between indigenous people and the state, are ontological conceptions, i. e., accounts of different ways of being in the world. They are not only political, but they are also the key to the phenomenological forms that order day-to-day life. As the authors argue, this is why the notion of figured worlds – more so than the notion of identity or culture – can help us understand the relationship between cultures and illuminate the notion of multiculturalism, for instance (ibid.:6). In the next section, I will place the notion of figured worlds and the associated theory of culture and identity developed by Holland et al. (1998) in the wider discussion of identity and culture relevant for the study of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand. I will concentrate on those aspects that are needed to contextualize my analysis in the subsequent chapters.

3.2

Identity and culture in friendship

As already mentioned in chapter 2, ‘culture talk’ is a topical theme in New Zealand discourse. ‘Culture’ is often invoked to explain inter-group relations and it plays a central role in the discourses surrounding postcolonial power relations and decolonization (cf. Greenland 1991:91). As a result, Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ social

Friendship worlds: an analytical framework

53

worlds are often constructed as separate, almost dichotomous spheres of life; at the same time, public ‘culture talk’ involves a great deal of pointing toward shared cultural characteristics, and a common ‘Kiwi’32 culture. In general, New Zealand actors use the terms ‘culture’, ‘ethnicity’ or ethnic group’, but also ‘nation’ and ‘race’33 in inconsistent ways. By retaining the idea of ‘culture’, I respond to the essentialization of culture in New Zealand discourse. This is not to belie the fact that the ‘classic’ notion of culture, ‘that complex whole’ (Tylor 1871), has been rightfully repudiated in anthropology on the grounds of being essentializing, over-individualizing, singular and static, and has been replaced by more fluid, dynamic and complex conceptualizations.34 It is also not to belie the fact that ‘culture’ and ‘ethnicity’ are not the same. As Fredrik Barth reminds us, the ethnic boundary35 defines the group, “not the cultural stuff that it encloses” (Barth 1969:15); and since there is no simple one-to-one relationship between ethnic units and ‘culture’, any number and combinations of (invented) traditions (e. g., language, religion, descent) can be selected as constituting characteristics of that ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 1999 [1983]). In any case, it is difficult to analyze the local configurations out of the predominant frame of ‘ethnic identities’, even more difficult since this frame is promoted by the actors of the Ma¯ori renaissance movement and others (see also, chapter 4). This is why I believe that ‘culture’ provides the more inclusive and useful category for understanding individual self-identifications in Aotearoa New Zealand. In fact, much of the academic discussion on ‘culture’ today centers on the processual, multivocal and polyphonous properties of culture and identity, on questions of cultural intermixing and merging, on negotiations, and on the possibilities of new cultural forms and configurations arising from them. Postcolonial theoreticians such as Bhabha (e. g., 1994, 1996) or Appadurai (e. g., 1990, 1998) point out the new mobilities and shifting boundaries that inform people’s identifications in a globalized world. Themselves cosmopolitan actors, these authors emphasize the permeability of boundaries and trace out the 32 ‘Kiwi’ is sometimes employed as a compromise formula beyond Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. 33 ‘Race’ is a often used term in reference to ethnic group membership in Aotearoa New Zealand. According to Rex (1990:141), race is a biological concept; others argue that race has only been used as if it had a firm biological foundation (Spickard and Burroughs 2000:4). I use ‘ethnic’ or ‘cultural’ as the generic terms. 34 For example, Appadurai 1990, 1998, Bauman 2001, Bhabha 1994, 1996, Clifford and Marcus 1986, Drechsel 1998, Ekholm Friedman and Friedman 2008, Featherstone 1990, 2001, Featherstone 2005, Friedman 1994, 1999, Gupta and Ferguson 1992, Hall 1994, 1996, 2002, Hall and Du Gay 1996, Ikas and Wagner 2009, Kuper 1994, Ortiz 1995, Robertson 1992, 1995, Welsch 1998, 2002, 2005, Wright 1998. 35 Ethnic boundaries are maintained by means of cultural differentiae, which may be expressed through dress, language, or behavior (Barth 1969:38).

54

Theoretical Framework

processes of cultural hybridization and innovation in the spaces ‘in-between’ (Bhabha 1994), from which emerge new cultural spaces and identities. Identity is necessarily in-between, both alike and different (Bhabha 1996). The inter- and trans-cultural has been theorized as going beyond the multi-cultural, suggesting interaction and sharing as well as the potential of creating something new and hybrid. According to Bhabha, it is the ‘inter’ – the cutting edge of translation and negotiation, the in-between space – that carries the burden of the meaning of culture. (…) And by exploring this Third Space, we may elude the politics of polarity and emerge as the others of our selves. (Bhabha 1994:38 f.)

We also find a (renewed) interest in issues of power (cf. Reuter 2004). As Hall (1996) reminds us, identities are constituted within – not outside – representation and relate to inventions of tradition as much as to tradition. Molded within the play of power and exclusion, identities are processual, strategic, positional, fragmented, and “multiply constructed across different, often intersecting and antagonistic, discourses, practices and positions” (Hall 1996:4). Processes of globalization and localization (Featherstone 1990), cultural homogenization and heterogenization (Appadurai 1990), and the postcolonial world(s) play central roles in this process (Hall 1996:4). In our increasingly glocalized (Robertson 1995) social worlds, notions of belonging are changing – as are people’s social practices and categories. Because of it, what is needed is a historically grounded analysis of the dynamic production of difference in interconnected spaces and power relations (Gupta and Ferguson 1992). In the contemporary debate on culture, we find a multitude of conceptions with which theoreticians intend to grasp the processual, changing and innovative potential of cultural forms. I have already mentioned Homi Bhabha’s notion of third spaces and the idea of hybridity. Hybridity goes beyond the idea of the multicultural. Where multiculturalism has been unable to provide bridges and in-between spaces, the notion of hybridity accounts for people’s ambivalent and multiple identifications; it seeks to grasp those hyphenated identities (e. g., Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯) without retaining the binary oppositions inherent in them. Related concepts are, among others, the notion of syncretism (Herskovits 1956), bricolage (L¦vi-Strauss 1966), or creolization (e. g., Glissant 2005, Hannerz 1996). However, hybridity has been criticized for dissolving difference in a ‘pool of homogenization’ (Kapchan and Strong 1999) and of holding the danger of sagging into indifference (Welsch 2002). Furthermore, while the concept has been celebrated in academia, it is not necessarily the project of the people that anthropologists are trying to understand, and instead of challenging power

Friendship worlds: an analytical framework

55

relations the notion of hybridity may even reproduce cultural hierarchies (Thomas 1996). It is important to keep in mind that cultural fragmentation and homogenization happen simultaneously (cf. Ekholm Friedman and Friedman 2008, Friedman 1994). Cross-cultural encounters not only lead to more tolerance, integration and the emergence of third spaces, but also to exclusion and new boundaries (cf. Beck 1998). Postcolonial Aotearoa New Zealand provides a good example for how difference may be either escalated (e. g., in order to emphasize Ma¯ori identity as indigenous and different to Pa¯keha¯ identity) or dissolved (e. g., to emphasize a shared ‘Kiwi’ identity). In friendship, too, actors may emphasize certain parts of themselves, and of their friends, for different reasons. Going back to Hall’s assertion that identities are “points of temporary attachment to the subject positions which discursive practices construct for us” (Hall 1996:6), the actors may strategically employ identities. By escalating or disguising difference or similarity, the actors also re-construct self and other in the process. And in cross-cultural friendship the recognition of self through difference is particularly prominent, or observable (cf. Woodward 1997). Self and other emerge as the products of their interaction, i. e., as relational. Both, the determination through cultural difference and the danger of disguising difference must be resisted (cf. Schlehe 2000:14). Breinig and Lösch (2002) try to capture this in the notion of transdifference, which simultaneously seeks to bracket yet retain difference as a point of reference. The strength of this concept in contrast to others (e. g., interculturality, transculturality, hybridity) is that difference is not being ‘theorized away’. Rather, it throws a fresh perspective on multiple identifications in contemporary society (Lösch 2005:26; cf. AllolioNäcke et al. 2005; Kalscheuer 2009). In order to critically assess the construction of difference in friendships, a flexible framework is needed which accounts for both, the existence of difference and its potential dissolution. This is also why I employ the term ‘cross’-cultural as the starting point of my search into the ‘inter-’ or ‘trans’-cultural. By doing so, I can distinguish between and ask questions about social context. In any case, a theoretical framework is required that captures the dynamics of discourse, friendship and identity on the individual as well as on the group level. I believe that Holland et al. (1998) have developed a practice theory of identity and agency that – especially in conjunction with the concept of ‘figured worlds’ – provides a promising analytical avenue for my purposes: By drawing on a range of traditions of thought and theories (among others, Vygotsky, Bakhtin, and Bourdieu) they develop an approach which displays a strong focus on improvisation and innovation in the process of identity formation. Following Bakhtin’s notion of dialogism, the authors call their theoretical framework ‘dialogic’. The

56

Theoretical Framework

underlying concept of identity they understand as “both broader and more particular” than the notion of cultural identities: We focus on the development of identities and agency specific to practices and activities situated in historically contingent, socially enacted, culturally constructed ‘worlds’: recognized fields or frames of social life, such as romance, mental illness and its treatment, domestic relations, Alcoholics Anonymous, academia, and local politics. (Holland et al. 1998:7)

The purveyors of this approach follow a conceptualization of identity as processual, dialogic and polyphonous.36 Accordingly, self is conceptualized as made up of a multiplicity of I-positions, i. e., various, often contradictory, self-understandings among which dialogical relationships are established. Actors are seen as creatively fashioning imagined worlds in dialogue with the voices and actions of others. The crucial point is that a person’s relationships and notions of self are not just influenced by the wider social and cultural processes, rather they are creatively fashioned by the actors in dialogue with a multiplicity of sometimes colliding voices and actions of others. I would like to emphasize that such a perspective accounts for the influence of multiple, intersecting power relations and social inequality structures. Holland et al. (1998:7) acknowledge that identifications within these worlds are usually structurally marked (e. g., along gender or ethnicity). The theory of a dialogical self is so compelling for the study of cross-cultural friendship because of its capacity to transcend the boundaries of self and other, inner and outer, while also accounting for the impact of power relations on the construction of identities without discarding the important factor of human agency. This, I believe, is also what makes it so appealing for anthropologists working on and in contemporary Ma¯ori society : For example, Toon van Meijl uses the notion of the dialogical self in his analysis of multiple identifications of young urban Ma¯ori, whose personal experiences often clash with the ‘official’ political representations of Ma¯ori identity. Eric Schwimmer (2004) employs the notion of figured worlds in his analysis of Ma¯ori networks and relations between Ma¯ori and governmental and nongovernmental institutions to refer to different historical ontologies, or Ma¯ori ways of being in the worlds through time. As he shows, local Ma¯ori leaders have to speak in heteroglossic ways: These actors not only need to be bicultural (being bilingual and claiming positions in indigenous as well as mainstream society), in order to press claims, they need to draw on indigenous as well as non-indigenous ontologies (cf. Clammer et al. 2004b:13). Finally, Natacha Gagn¦ (2004) employs 36 For example, Hermans 2002, Hermans and Dimaggio 2007, Holland et al. 1998, Holland and Lave 2001, Holquist 2000, see also, van Meijl (2006).

Friendship worlds: an analytical framework

57

a multidimensional dialogic framework in her discussion of the life-worlds of Ma¯ori in Auckland, and she draws on the notion of the figured world in her analysis of the place of the wha¯nau in contemporary society (see also, chapter 2.2.2). Drawing on Holquist (2000), Gagn¦ emphasizes the point that figured worlds are understood as historical poetics: Each particular form is historical (…). If current expressions of long-enduring or earlier forms are never precisely the same, their connection to their previous identities can still be more or less recognized: continuity is made possible through changes. This is exactly what I argue, discussing the figured world of the whaanau: it has changed through colonization and urbanization, but it is still alive and well. (Gagn¦ 2004:18)37

As Gagn¦ stresses, figured worlds cannot be addressed ‘in general’ but must be specified. Another important point that she makes is that power relationships may prevent or restrict people in their choice of joining or leaving certain figured worlds (Gagn¦ 2004:22). The strength of the idea of figured worlds in particular, and of a dialogical framework in general, she sees in the fact that dialogism provides a multidimensional framework that treats structures and practices as two aspects of the same reality (ibid.:13). Like Gagn¦, I believe that such a framework is essential if we are to understand how individual actors not only describe, but also live their relationships in their respective environments; how they draw on relationship conceptions; and how they construct, de- and reconstruct themselves and others in their interaction with one another. However, as Gagn¦ (ibid.:21) also points out, we need to keep in mind that certain aspects of identity are essentialized and certain markers, for instance, skin color may impose important limitations on personal choice.

3.3

Friendship worlds

The flexibility, multiplicity, and instability that we find in the conception of friendship is precisely what the notion ‘figured world’ seeks to capture. At the same time, it explains the existence of a ‘standard story’ of friendship (see above, chapter 2.1). Drawing on the previous theoretical discussion of friendship, relatedness, and figured worlds as sites of identity production, I would like to propose a multidimensional social practice theory of friendship that favors categorical openness (see above, chapter 1.3) and which takes as a premise the idea that actors engage in multiple and sometimes contradictory internalized figured worlds in interrelation with others. 37 Gagn¦ uses double vowels instead of macrons (e. g., whaanau instead of wha¯nau) in her publications.

58

Theoretical Framework

The principles, inherent rules and obligations of friendship form a figured world, i. e., a realm of interpretation, which people draw on in their actions and relations with others. If we take the call for categorical openness serious, there exist several possible figurations of friendship – in different spaces and times, among different persons, and for different means. If we then also account for the existence of multiple conceptions of relatedness, which may be employed simultaneously in contradictory and incoherent ways, the figured world of friendship, I concur, is not so much ‘a’ figured world, but several worlds. The idea of friendship worlds holds the potential for actors to engage in relationships situated in different figured worlds and to position themselves, subconsciously as well as strategically, along multiple, at times contradicting and changing identifications. Similar to the idea of personal communities, the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ underlines the social complexity of social practices. However, the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ goes beyond the idea of ‘communities’, above all because it allows conceptual space for contradicting ontologies and heteroglossic systems. These are crucial if we are to make sense of multiple yet intersecting friendship conceptions and practices in Aotearoa New Zealand. Engaging in different figured worlds – which supposes the incorporation of different realms of interpretation – opens a space for play, dialogism and agency (cf. Holland et al. 1998). While ‘friendship worlds’ address the ‘cultural stuff ’ of communities they are not the same as friendship ‘cultures’: Going back to the assertion that figured worlds are both more broad and more specific than ‘culture’, the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ provides us with a comprehensive framework for understanding the ways in which New Zealanders make sense of their diverse ‘ways of being in friendship’. I will explore these different ways of being in friendship and the associated identifications in chapters 6 to 8, when I look at how Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ engage in diverse relations with people called ‘friends’, ‘mates’, or hoa, how they experience themselves and others in these relationships, how they employ different languages and terminology and how to refer to different cultural conceptions to express sociocultural context and/or belonging.

Part Two: Socio-Historical Framework The idea of contested stories and multiple discourses about the past, by different communities, is closely linked to the politics of everyday contemporary indigenous life. Linda Tuhiwai Smith, 1999, p. 33

I have already mentioned that in order to account for the dynamic production of difference in interconnected spaces and power relations we need a historically contextualized study of sociality (Gupta and Ferguson 1992). This part provides an overview of the socio-historical processes that have shaped the lives of the peoples who have come and settled in Aotearoa New Zealand over time. After tracing out the processes that continue to shape New Zealand group relations and identifications until this day, I turn to contemporary society. Finally, I take up the issue of culture discourse, discuss the place of the notions of biculturalism and multiculturalism and point to implications for present-day group dynamics.

4

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

The following account of the making of Aotearoa New Zealand is essentially a story of the peoples who claim a place in its history and who have made it their home. As is usually the case with such stories, it is not so much ‘a’ but several stories, retold by different people at different times. In the following depiction I have tried to account for as much polyvocality as possible – however imperfectly achieved. I have included both classic works and more contemporary accounts written by Ma¯ori as well as by non-Ma¯ori thinkers who were trained in the fields of history and/or the social sciences. Nevertheless, the text remains the product of my own selection of events and interpretations.

4.1

Finding Aotearoa: the land of the long white cloud

The island country of Aotearoa New Zealand is situated at the southern end of Polynesia, the largest cultural area in the Pacific. Consisting of two main and several smaller islands, it stretches over approximately 1600 km (see Appendix A

60

Socio-Historical Framework

for a map) (Meyers 2001:299). The first humans, probably coming from Eastern Polynesia, arrived on the geographically isolated islands some time between 800 and 900 AD (cf. Walker 1990:28). There they found “a prolific, archaic environment, until then completely undisturbed by human beings” (Salmond 1992:31). These first settlers brought with them dogs and the small Polynesian rat; they hunted the native animals including the moa, a large flightless bird, and cultivated foods such as the kumara (sweet potato) (cf. Salmond 1992:31ff). According to Ma¯ori mythology, the legendary Maui fished up the North Island while on a fishing trip with his brothers. This is why the North Island is called Te Ika a Maui (The Fish of Maui) in te reo, the Ma¯ori language. The South Island is said to be his canoe, Te Waka a Maui.38 According to popular mythology, after Maui came Kupe, a Polynesian voyager who is said to have first discovered the land and subsequently set off from his homeland of Hawaiki along with his crew, women and children to settle there. Supposedly, it was on Kupe’s voyage that the land was named after a long white cloud (ao-tea-roa) (e. g., Best 1952 [1924], Simmons 1976).39 According to oral traditions, or histories (ko¯rero o mua), Kupe was followed by others and eventually a ‘great fleet’ of canoes (waka) (Tainui, Te Arawa, Mataatua, Kurahaupo, Tokomaru, Aotea, and Takitimu) is said to have arrived in Aotearoa, probably some time around 1100 and 1300 AD; this is said to mark the beginning of systematic Polynesian settlement (cf. Simmons 1976, Walker 1990). Their popularity notwithstanding, these oral traditions, or histories, of the discovery and settlement of Aotearoa New Zealand have been challenged in the past, in particular in regard to time frames and chronology of events, and they remain controversial. Especially the great fleet theory as proposed most prominently by the 19th century ethnologist and founder of the Polynesian Society S. Percy Smith (1913 – 15), and reified by subsequent authors such as Best (e. g., 1952 [1924]) and Buck (Te Rangi Hiroa) (e. g., 1954, 1958 [1949]), has been questioned; and the Kupe story also remains somewhat unclear.40 Nevertheless, these accounts continue to inform local historical conceptions and representations until this day. As characteristic of most oral histories, the narratives are multiple and fluid, shaping and reinventing history time and again. Perhaps 38 Maui’s canoe is also known as Nuku-tai Memeha or Maahunui. Maahunui is also a term for the South Island (cf. Pomare and Cowan 1987a:41). Another one is Te Wai Pounamu after the greenstone (pounamu) that can be found there. 39 This version of the naming of Aotearoa was popularized in particular by the publication of William Pember Reeves’ The Long White Cloud in 1898, “the first widely read general history of New Zealand” (King 2003:41). 40 For a discussion of the construction of oral traditions on the so-called ‘great fleet’ see, for example, Simmons (1976), and Hanson (1989). See Simmons (1976:15 – 59) for a detailed analysis of the Kupe story and of Percy Smith’s genealogical calculations; for a deconstruction of the great fleet theory see in particular pp 101 – 113 and 308 – 311.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

61

most importantly, the tribal histories that flow from them remain significant for the Ma¯ori people in terms of personal and tribal identifications, notions of belonging, and historical claims to land and power (see also, Walker 1990:42). As Simmons writes in his concluding remarks of The Great New Zealand Myth: Tribal traditions exist to justify claims to mana [authority, power, prestige] and land. They are what the tribes themselves believe about their origins and history and as such are extremely interesting and important in their own right. (Simmons 1976:321)

In Aotearoa New Zealand, as in other parts of the world, Western historiography has been criticized for its monopoly of interpretation of the past. As has been pointed out by indigenous and non-indigenous scholars, so-called oral ‘traditions’ are much more than just that. They are indigenous systems of knowledge that – apart from providing contextualized meanings of local events, personages, and environments – often also pose crucial counter-hegemonic discourses to Western historical conceptions and representations of the indigenous ‘other’, especially in a postcolonial context (e. g., Said 1979, Smith 1999, Trask 1993, Young 1990). As pre-European ideas were often influenced after ‘contact’ with European thinking, and as most of the early accounts are the written interpretations of only a handful of European men, the question of how pre-European social life in Aotearoa proceeded, and how that world was understood, remains largely unresolved.

4.2

Finding New Zealand: from first encounters to annexation

When the first European explorers arrived, Aotearoa was already populated. Abel Tasman was the first European to ‘discover’ New Zealand in 1642, about 800 years after Polynesian settlement had presumably started. The first encounter between the Dutch sailors and the local Ma¯ori of Nga¯ti Tu¯matako¯kiri took place on the South Island at Taitapu (Golden Bay) and resulted in casualties on both sides (cf. Salmond 1992:77ff). As Salmond notes, the contacts on this first European visit were rather “brief and tenuous, and all attempts at communication failed” (1992:84) – a somewhat glum outlook on future relations. After Tasman, it took more than 120 years before the next European set off to re-discover ‘Zeelandia Nova’, as it was known by then. In 1769/70, Captain James Cook circumnavigated the islands on the Endeavour. During the six-month journey, Europeans and Ma¯ori had extensive opportunities to observe each other, to meet, trade and fight with each other (cf. Salmond 1992:122). Cook’s reports on the country’s plentiful resources and on the assumed inability of the indigenous population to unite against future colonists, led to the arrival of

62

Socio-Historical Framework

sealers (1792), timber traders (1794) and whalers (1807) (e. g., Salmond 1992:267, Walker 1990:78). Also in 1769, French explorer Jean de Surville visited the country. Neither Cook nor de Surville were aware of the other’s presence, even though they essentially sailed past each other. Surville was followed by Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne (1772), who was killed by local Ma¯ori in the Bay of Islands along with twenty-six of his crew, “apparently as a result of breaching tapu” (King 2003:110). In retaliation, the surviving crew killed between 200 and 300 Ma¯ori (ibid.). Apart from such fatal encounters, which historians often attribute to cultural misunderstanding (cf. King 2003:110), this initial phase was characterized by close contact and increasing trading activities between Ma¯ori and Europeans. As Salmond notes in the conclusion of her excellent book Two Worlds, the early encounters between Polynesians and Europeans were not only shaped by material imperatives, but also by their respective categories, cosmologies and customs, and they initiated a process of negotiation and exchange that continues to this day (1992:431). From these early encounters came forth two categories, ‘Ma¯ori’ and ‘Pa¯keha¯’, to distinguish between the indigenous population and the (predominately European) non-indigenous population. According to King (2003:168), the term ‘Ma¯ori’ seems to have been in widespread use among Ma¯ori by the 1830s, while ‘Pa¯keha¯’ was a current Ma¯ori word to denote Europeans by at least 1814 in the Bay of Islands. As King writes, [t]here is no evidence in this or any other instance in early literature that the term [Pa¯keha¯] was derogatory. It was simply a necessary descriptive word to distinguish European from Maori, and it probably came from the pre-European word pakepakeha, denoting mythical light-skinned beings. (King 2003:169)41

The first Europeans to actually live in Aotearoa New Zealand were seamen who had jumped ship, most of whom appear to have been “undischarged convicts on the run” (cf. King 2003:116ff). Named after the two peoples present in Aotearoa New Zealand at the time, these men (and at least one woman: convict mutineer Charlotte Badger) came to be known as ‘Pa¯keha¯ Ma¯ori’42 as they joined Ma¯ori communities. The arriving sealers, traders and whalers built the first European settlements, which led to active Ma¯ori-European interaction including intermarriage. However, along with the Europeans, alcohol, prostitution and in41 Possibly the first tribal account of the term is by a Nga¯ti Porou leader who describes the visit of pale-skinned people to the East Coast, using the word pakepakeha in a haka [ritual dance, performance] to refer to those “fair-skinned, human-like being[s]” (Salmond 1992:62). Salmond suspects this to be a possible origin for the word Pa¯keha¯ – European. 42 In recent years, there has been an upsurge in literature on these ‘Pa¯keha¯ Ma¯ori’. See, for example, Bentley (1999).

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

63

fectious disease found their way across the Pacific, which resulted in a dramatic decline of the Ma¯ori population, a trend that was further aggravated by the socalled inter-tribal Musket Wars in the 1820s. The wars were the result of a fierce arm-race amongst rivaling Ma¯ori tribes on the North Island and ultimately led to a large-scale redistribution of the indigenous population. A key figure was Hongi Hika of Ngapuhi, a local northern tribe (cf. King 2003:136ff, Walker 1990:81ff): With the arrival of Europeans in the Bay of Plenty, Ngapuhi and their direct neighbors of Nga¯ti Wha¯tua, but also other local tribes, were able to trade in pigs and flax for muskets, which they used in armed inter-tribal rows. The situation escalated when Hongi Hika, in answering an invitation by the British missionary Thomas Kendall, traveled to England in 1820. While Kendall’s incentive was to produce A grammar and vocabulary of the language of New Zealand together with Professor Samuel Lee of Cambridge University, the book which laid the orthographic foundations of written Ma¯ori, Hongi Hika also hoped to obtain guns and muskets to be used in the wars. Around 1821, on his return journey, Hongi Hika stopped off in Sydney, where he traded in the gifts he had received for his help in the introduction of Christianity. Back in New Zealand and heavily armed he led a number of successful raids against his rivals, in particular to avenge previous grievances (i. e., to perform utu). This started an even more desperate arms race. Hongi Hika died in 1828 following a bullet wound. What his story shows is how Ma¯ori appropriated and utilized the new resources available to them for their own purposes in dealing with other Ma¯ori groups. It also demonstrates the significance of tribal identifications, which still continues to inform certain Ma¯ori modes of identification today. The bloody inter-tribal wars also helped pave the way for the Christian missionaries. Christian missionary activity started in 1814 under Samuel Marsden on behalf of the Church of England’s Church Missionary Society (CMS) in the Bay of Islands (Walker 1990:81ff): Initially, there were only few converts, but in the 1830s whole iwi (tribes) converted, mainly as a result of the missionaries’ influence as teachers of new knowledge (e. g., writing and reading), and as peace makers.43 Teaching in the mission schools was initially conducted in the Ma¯ori language (te reo), but by the middle of the 19th century, English had become the language of instruction, a measure that led to the prohibition of the use of te reo in a great number of schools at the beginning of the next century (cf. Biggs 1968, Walker 1990:146 f.). The missionaries have been described as “the cutting edge of colonisation” (Walker 1990:85). 43 It should be noted that the first missionaries had actively engaged in the musket trade, but their activities were put to a stop by Reverend Henry Williams, which eventually led to this new image as ‘peace-makers’ (cf. Walker 1990:84ff).

64

Socio-Historical Framework

As European settler numbers were on the rise, the missionaries became increasingly concerned over their conduct in New Zealand, a disquiet that was shared by many Ma¯ori. In the North, this led to a petition of thirteen Ma¯ori chiefs to the king of England, William IV. The petition was conducted under missionary guidance; its goal was to secure control over British nationals in the country as well as “protection from the possibility of other foreign intervention” (Walker 1990:88), thus manifesting a sense of insecurity among iwi (tribes) (cf. Cox 1993:7). The result was the appointment of James Busby as British Resident (ibid.). Subsequently, in October 1835, a declaration of confederation and independence was signed at a meeting with thirty-four Ma¯ori chiefs at Waitangi (ibid.). The text declares the country’s independence under ‘The United Tribes of New Zealand’. However, as the idea of a Ma¯ori nation was alien to the tribally organized Ma¯ori peoples, tribes throughout the country continued with ‘business as usual’ including fighting, which led Busby and the missionaries to conclude that another solution was needed. Their primary concern was how to deal with rising settler numbers and resulting land issues. In fact, it was land that was most urgently required in order to cater to the settlers’ needs – land that in large part was under Ma¯ori control. However, the Ma¯ori population was dwindling (in 1840, it had already decreased by approximately 40 percent) (Walker 1990:80), and in January 1840 New Zealand was annexed as a colony of New South Wales. Captain William Hobson was sent out and instructed to obtain sovereignty over New Zealand to the British Crown “by the free and intelligent consent of the ‘natives’” (Walker 1990:90). The hasty drawing up and signing of the Treaty of Waitangi followed shortly after.

4.3

Aotearoa New Zealand: relations in an emerging nation

In the following, I will elaborate on the relations in the British colony. At the beginning stands the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, a document that not only heralded New Zealand’s colonial status, but which continues to shape intergroup relations in the postcolonial state. My focus will be on the ways in which the two categories of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, and the idea of two associated ‘worlds’ have been strengthened by the socio-historical processes, but also undermined and transformed. 4.3.1 A Treaty signed: Te Tiriti o Waitangi On 6th of February 1840 the Treaty of Waitangi (Tiriti o Waitangi), by which Great Britain took possession of New Zealand, was concluded (cf. Walker 1990:96 f.). It

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

65

was signed on that day by Captain Hobson as Crown representative and by 43 Ma¯ori chiefs. It was then taken around the country, totaling in a number of 540 signatures.44 There are several versions of the Treaty, in English and in Ma¯ori (see Appendix B for the two official ones). Walker counts in reference to Ruth Ross four English versions and a Ma¯ori translation by Henry Williams, “[t]he English version from which the translation was made has yet to be found” (Walker 1990:90 f.). Whereas most Ma¯ori signed the Ma¯ori version(s), Captain Hobson signed the English version. Nowadays, the Treaty is not only widely regarded as the central founding document of the modern nation of Aotearoa New Zealand, but it also forms the foundation for contemporary land and sovereignty claims posed by Ma¯ori (see below, chapter 4.3.4). Not surprisingly, the existence of several different texts in combination with the document’s rather general or broad contents has caused a considerable degree of unrest and discussion. At the heart of the debate lie diverging translations of the term ‘sovereignty’ in the first article of the Treaty : In the first clause of the official English version it is made clear that chiefly sovereignty of New Zealand is to be ceded to the Queen of England. However, whereas in the English text, Ma¯ori surrender their sovereignty to the British Crown, in the Ma¯ori version the translation has somewhat obscured this meaning. Therein, they surrender ka¯wanatanga, an abstraction from ka¯wana (a transliteration of ‘governor’), which means ‘governorship’ (see also, King 2003:160). ‘Governorship’, however, is a debatably inappropriate translation for ‘sovereignty’, a line of argument that is also supported by the use of a different translation for ‘sovereignty’ in the Declaration of Independence five years earlier : mana. Yet, the notion of mana (authority, power, prestige) is an utterly complex Polynesian principle that structures not only social and political relations but also mythological and religious domains (see also, footnote 29, p. 45). In any case, mana and ka¯wanatanga constitute two distinct concepts imbued with divergent philosophical traditions. Against this background, some argue that – according to the Ma¯ori version – Ma¯ori never actually surrendered their mana, or their sovereignty, to the British Crown. But the problem does not stop here. According to the Ma¯ori version of the Treaty, the second article secures full control and absolute authority (te tino rangatiratanga) over property rights of value (translated as taonga katoa) to Ma¯ori tribes (Fleras and Spoonley 1999:10). While taonga katoa has been argued 44 At least thirteen Ma¯ori women have (so far) been identified as signatories of the Treaty (Mikaere 1998:93). Records show that Crown representatives did not allow women to sign the Treaty, which led to some irritation among Ma¯ori women (ibid.: 92). This indicates that Ma¯ori women leaders were excluded and marginalized by the colonizers.

66

Socio-Historical Framework

to be much more than ‘other properties’, namely, anything prized and of value (to Ma¯ori), the main confusion in this article lies in the use of the word rangatiratanga. In fact, rangatiratanga in many ways can be argued to be a more accurate translation for ‘sovereignty’ than ka¯wanatanga. Hence, Ma¯ori claim that – according to ‘their’ version of the Treaty – they never surrendered their sovereignty to the Crown because (a) ka¯wanatanga is not the same as ‘sovereignty’ and (b) rangatiratanga has been explicitly secured to them. This interpretation is also supported by the third clause of the Treaty, in which it is again made clear “that the Queen’s governance was acknowledged, not her mana” (Walker 1990:94). The limits of translation, both on the level of language and of culture, are evident here. The task of finding out how Ma¯ori may have interpreted the Treaty at the time of its signing proves difficult if not futile. The following saying of a Ma¯ori chief that was widely quoted among Ma¯ori of the day may shed some light on it: “The shadow of the land goes to Queen Victoria, but the substance remains with us” (quoted in Schwimmer 1966:107). The issue was even reported to the Colonial Office in London, “where an Under-Secretary expressed the fear that the Maoris [sic!] would discover that they had parted with a not insubstantial shadow!” (Schwimmer 1966:107). This seems to support the argument that Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori had rather different understandings of the contents of the Treaty and that Ma¯ori did not, at least not purposefully, surrender their sovereignty to the Crown. Another interesting observation concerns the use of the word maori in the Ma¯ori version of the third article: Therein, the expression maori tangata (ordinary people; from maori – ordinary and tangata – people, person) is used for the first time in an official document to refer to the indigenous peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand. In the preamble of the Treaty the term can also be found, as can the term pakeha for Queen Victoria’s non-Ma¯ori subjects in Aotearoa New Zealand (King 2003:168). It is important to note that when Ma¯ori refer to the Treaty today, what they usually have in mind is ‘their’ version, which – according to the above interpretation – secures their sovereignty, as well as mana (authority, power, control) of and over their lands. Since the British Crown was obliged to take care of its subjects under the Treaty, the Treaty was in fact a favorable solution to the problems in Aotearoa at the time. However, not all Ma¯ori chiefs signed it and some important leaders like Te Wherowhero of Tainui and Te Heuheu of Tu¯wharetoa were missing as signatories. But the colonizers collected signatures of other chiefs and on 21 May, Hobson proclaimed sovereignty over the North Island on the basis of the Treaty. He also proclaimed sovereignty over the South Island on the basis of the principle of terra nullius. He thus ignored the existence

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

67

of the local Ma¯ori, Nga¯i Tahu (Walker 1990:97). In 1841 New Zealand became a full Crown Colony (King 2003:163). 4.3.2 In the contest for land and power The Treaty provided the British Crown with a legitimate source of constitutional government. The main task now was to consolidate sovereignty. This was achieved by “[a]cquisition, control, and, ultimately, expropriation of land” (Walker 1990:98). As Steven (1989) has argued in his analysis of white settler colonialism, land – not trade – constitutes the major driving force behind settler colonialism in Aotearoa New Zealand and continues to shape inter-group relations until this day. Whereas historical narratives of the shaping of society have often focused on a story of increasing trading activities between British merchants and the indigenous peoples, Steven’s analysis unsettles these narratives by shifting the focus to the contest for land. His line of argument stands in stark contrast to persisting popular Pa¯keha¯ beliefs that favor benevolence as a driving motive force behind the creation of the colony. Steven instead points to underlying imperialist attitudes and self-interests as the main colonizing forces. From this perspective, the Treaty was a military stratagem, which served the interest of the settlers and of the colonial system. In fact, the Treaty was violated not long after its signing, followed by a long history of land disputes. In 1840, Ma¯ori still outnumbered Europeans but settler numbers were on the increase (cf. King 2003:170ff). A large part of the settlement in the 1840s was organized by private-enterprise immigration company schemes. Most immigrants came from England and Wales; the second-largest group were the Scots, followed by the Irish. The largest minority group were the Germans, the remainder was made up mainly of Scandinavians, Poles, French and Italians. In the course of the gold rushes in the 1860s there were also a growing number of Chinese immigrants, but the majority were of European descent. From the beginning of organized colonization in 1840, many Ma¯ori tribes opposed the sale of land. However, as settler numbers increased and as the colonial legislation made Ma¯ori land available through the Ma¯ori Land Laws Act and several Native Land Acts, over the course of the 19th century Ma¯ori were slowly forced off their land (Walker 1990:135ff). Resisting groups were decimated in bloody fights between 1843 and 1872 (Sinclair 1980:112 – 148), a time that has come to be known as ‘the New Zealand wars’, also tellingly referred to as ‘the land wars’, or, ‘the Ma¯ori wars’.45 Along with the land, Ma¯ori not only lost an important economical resource 45 Opinion on the exact time frames varies. For a detailed account see Belich (1990).

68

Socio-Historical Framework

and the means for their very existence, but also the basis of their social system. The land (whenua) has a special place in Ma¯ori society through its association with the ancestors (tu¯puna), the living and the ones yet to come. The relationship with the land is referred to as spiritual and lies at the very heart of Ma¯ori notions of identity and belonging (cf. Mead 2003:269ff). For many, the loss of the land meant the loss of the fundaments of their existence, and of their social and political standing, of their mana. From this loss emerged a new sense of Ma¯ori nationalism in the young colony : The need to create new alliances and to unite against the colonizers led to discussions of Ma¯ori kotahitanga (tribal unity),46 which culminated in the idea of a Ma¯ori king as a counter-force to the British one. This idea arose from a new sense of ‘Ma¯oriness’ in face of the European presence as well as “from a belief that the key to the power of the Europeans lay in their unity under the British Crown” (King 2003:212). A distinct Ma¯ori organ was needed in order to match that power. This move clearly expresses Ma¯ori aspirations to implement a more balanced relationship that was consonant with their interpretation of the Treaty. Against this background, in 1857, even though several iwi (tribes) had previously declined an invitation to support the movement, chief Wiremu Tamihana of Nga¯ti Haua¯ wrote to all Waikato tribes proposing paramount chief Te Wherowhero as king. A meeting was held and in 1858 Te Wherowhero was installed as Ma¯ori King at Nga¯ruawa¯hia under the name of Potautau I (cf. Walker 1990:111ff). Peaceful coexistence along with Ma¯ori self-determination and independence were key ingredients in the King Movement ideology : What Potautau envisaged was a conjoint administration with the King ruling in territory still under Maori customary title while the Governor ruled on lands acquired by the Crown. (Walker 1990:113)

In this vision a balanced co-existence of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ is expressed. However, such a conception of power relations deeply contradicted colonial attitudes of superiority. As a result, Governor Grey planned an invasion of the Waikato area. This move culminated in the Waikato war (1863 – 64) and the confiscation of millions of acres of tribal land (cf. Walker 1990:119ff). It was during the war that the famous sentence was uttered: Ka whawhai tonu ma¯tou, a¯ke, a¯ke! – We shall fight on forever!47 Another consequence of the loss of land and mana (authority, power, prestige) was the rise of religious prophets as a new group of Ma¯ori leaders (cf. Walker 1990:129ff): Their goal was to unify Ma¯ori against the Pa¯keha¯ oppressor 46 For a thorough analysis of Ma¯ori kotahitanga see, for example, Cox (1993). 47 There are different versions as to the exact phrasing and the speaker of these famous words that were uttered at the battle of Ora¯kau. They have become an important symbol for the continuing struggle of Ma¯ori for justice.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

69

under the umbrella of religion. The anti-missionary Papahurihia cult, the Pai Marire or Hauhau cult, the Ringatu¯ faith – all of them fought against Pa¯keha¯ domination and for the reassertion of mana (authority, power, prestige) and land. In fact, the founder of the Ringatu¯ faith, Te Kooti, has been described as waging “the most effective guerrilla campaign ever seen in the country” (King 2003:219). Up to this point, the colonists had been convinced of their ultimate triumph in the New Zealand wars, but reverses suffered in 1868 shed some doubt on this belief and “there was talk of abandoning the colony or sending to Mother England for help” (Walker 1990:135). Nevertheless, Te Kooti ultimately withdrew to sanctuary in the King country, an event that is often taken by historians as marking the end of the wars. Ma¯ori resistance, however, persisted. In the Taranaki area, too, the non-violent Ma¯ori resistance movement that had formed around the Parihaka48 community, was broken down in 1881 by armed troops and settler volunteers who were driven by fears that the entirely peaceful campaign was only a prelude to armed conflict (King 2003:221). This incidence shows the deep divide and the often desperate struggle for survival by both indigenous and settler populations. In the view of many Pa¯keha¯ of the day, the effects of the wars lay mainly in the assertion that sovereignty rested with the Crown, or the government respectively (ibid.:222). For Ma¯ori, while the immediate effects of the wars were rather mixed, the conjoint effects of colonization were devastating in that they reduced them to a powerless minority group. Whereas European settlements prospered, the conditions in Ma¯ori communities varied greatly. Poor health standards in particular led to a further decrease in population numbers, so that by the close of the 19th century, Ma¯ori made up only 10 percent of the population, and their remaining land (the majority of which was useless for cultivation) constituted 17 percent (ibid.:258). These figures contributed to a wide-spread belief among Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori that the Ma¯ori were close to extinction – an assumption that turned out to be somewhat premature in the further course of history. In the 19th century, many Pa¯keha¯ perceived Ma¯ori as a more or less homogenous collective, or group: ‘natives’ – a racial categorization that often included persons of part-Ma¯ori descent whose features were “even slightly Polynesian in character” (King 2003:241). To some extent, this perception of Ma¯ori as one group was the result of the existing parallel structure that separated Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ both geographically and socio-culturally in the 19th century. Dress, language, social organization and everyday activities, to name only a few aspects, were perceived by Pa¯keha¯ as different, as ‘other’, thus creating an ideological opposition between colonizers and colonized, non-indigenous and indigenous 48 For a history of the peaceful resistance at Parihaka in the Taranaki region see, for instance, Scott (1975).

70

Socio-Historical Framework

population. On an institutional level, too, Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ remained organized in quite separate ‘worlds’, or what King refers to as the ‘two New Zealands’: a Pa¯keha¯ one serviced by “government administration systems; and Ma¯ori New Zealand, served by a native school system and little else” (King 2003:246). Ma¯ori for a long time remained organized along tribal structures. This persistence of tribal identifications secured Ma¯ori communities some degree of autonomy within the colonial system. On the other hand, it prevented conjoint political action. This was the case even though Ma¯ori received some official representation with the installment of four Ma¯ori seats in parliament and the extension of the franchise to Ma¯ori men in 1867 (King 2003:241).49 However, there slowly emerged a feeling for the need of conjoint Ma¯ori activity and by the turn of the century several inter-tribal assemblies (hui) had taken place in an attempt to take the idea of kotahitanga (unity) a step further (cf. Walker 1990:152ff): As a result of the tribal forums, a deputation of chiefs was sent to the Queen in England to put forward another petition that summarized the historical events and asked to correct a number of wrongs done in accordance with the Crown’s obligation under the Treaty. The petition failed, as did the next one in 1884, and yet another one in 1914. Eventually, new strategies were sought out: One was the establishment of the Ma¯ori tribes’ own parliamentary institutions. Once again, there was reference to the Treaty when the parliament was established and Hamiora Mangakahia took his office as its first prime minister (cf. Walker 1990:167). In the Waikato, Kingi Tawhiao also concluded “that Maori grievances would have to be settled by Maori initiatives within New Zealand” and subsequently set out to establish another form of tribal parliament, the kauhanganui (ibid.:169 f.). In its manifesto the Ma¯ori are defined as the prior discoverers and inhabitants of the North and the South Island. It is asserted that the land has neither been sold to nor conquered by any other nation, thus claiming discrete Ma¯ori sovereignty. In both of these, and in many other efforts, Ma¯ori’s conception of an unjustly asymmetrical relationship between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ is clearly evident. The search for Ma¯ori unity, kotahitanga, can be seen as a search for the reassertion of mana (authority, power, prestige) and self-determination. Against this background, the continuing loss of land, customs, language, and identity became the main focus of Ma¯ori’s political struggle in the 20th and the 21st century (cf. Walker 1990:176).

49 New Zealand women were granted franchise in 1893. See Walker (1990:144 – 46) for a critical discussion of token Ma¯ori representation and the role of institutionalized racism in legislation process.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

71

4.3.3 Dawn of a new era: Ma¯ori recovery in a dual society The efforts of the kotahitanga movement and the kauhanganui to countervail the effects of colonization by establishing some degree of Ma¯ori autonomy within the nation state were carried on in the 20th century by a new group of educated Ma¯ori leaders. Trained in Western medicine and law, Maui Pomare, Peter H. Buck (also known as Te Rangi Hiroa) and Apirana Ngata were keyfigures in bringing the so-called ‘Ma¯ori recovery’ under way. Their efforts included the advancement of sanitation and health education, health reform and innovative Ma¯ori land development. In particular, Ngata undertook great efforts to revive Ma¯ori culture by promoting and reviving the art of carving, the Ma¯ori language (te reo), and traditional waiata (songs) (cf. King 2003, Walker 1990). Steeped in both the Ma¯ori and the Pa¯keha¯ world (te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯), these new Ma¯ori leaders operated by and large from within the Pa¯keha¯ legal system. Far from reducing the importance of their deeds, Ma¯ori historian Ranginui Walker describes them as bicultural educated men and as ‘dual beings’ in the sense of Paulo Freire, i. e., “torn by loyalty to the wellspring of their own culture, and connection by occupation to the power-brokers of the colonising culture” (Walker 1990:180). Out of the three men, Pomare in particular has been criticized by his contemporaries for alienating himself from his people. Pomare and Buck both strongly believed that Ma¯ori ought to volunteer to fight in World War I, the rationale behind which was twofold: Firstly, they argued that the discipline of the armed forces was to be beneficial for Ma¯ori men. Secondly, they (and many others) believed that a contribution by Ma¯ori alongside Pa¯keha¯ would prove that Ma¯ori had not only earned their right to equal citizenship, but also their right to essential state resources, which were crucial for their efforts in the areas of agriculture and health development (cf. King 2003:333). However, the results of their recruitment efforts varied greatly depending on iwi’s (tribe) and hapu¯’s (subtribe) respective experiences and relations with Pa¯keha¯ settlers as well as governmental institutions. Moreover, after the war, hopes that wartime equality with Pa¯keha¯ would continue into peacetime were disappointed. Particularly problematic was the lack of rehabilitation assistance for returning Ma¯ori soldiers. Partly as a result of their disappointment, a considerable number of Ma¯ori exservicemen turned to the rising Ratana Movement (ibid.). Like previous movements, the Ratana Movement combined political activity with religious belief and gave new hope and a sense of unity to Ma¯ori. In 1925, it saw the establishment of a separate Ratana Church (Te Ha¯hi Ratana), which exists until this day. It is important to note that the cultural revival in the early 20th century was accompanied, or made possible, by Ma¯ori’s growing material prosperity. Ma¯ori

72

Socio-Historical Framework

increasingly entered into the European economy and became more involved with so-called ‘majority’ culture (Schwimmer 1966:125). Despite more engagement and overlap between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, however, the dual world of the 19th century persisted. On an institutional level this was manifest, for instance, in separate school administrations, army units, and even a separate bishopric within the Anglican Church (ibid.:124). For many Pa¯keha¯ in the 1940s, Britain was still associated with a sense of ‘home’, while the Department of ‘Native’ Affairs continued to develop, lease and sell land previously owned by Ma¯ori (Walker 1990:139). Even though the colonial period officially ended with New Zealand’s gaining of total independence from Great Britain by the Statute of Westminster Adoption Act in 1947, the challenges posed to Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ under colonial rule extended well into the postcolonial period. For Ma¯ori, the dually organized society was, at least in some ways, an attempt to avoid clashes with Pa¯keha¯ interests. From this perspective, it may be interpreted as a means of preserving a distinct ‘Ma¯ori identity’ (cf. Schwimmer 1966:124). On the other hand, such institutionalized dualism certainly carried the danger of further marginalizing Ma¯ori in society. In any case, it not only reinforced the notion of two separate peoples and ‘worlds’, but also boosted the formalization and minimization of contact between them (ibid.:125). 4.3.4 Unsettling the nation: urbanization and decolonization After World War II, the pre-war social patterns and ideologies were initially reconfirmed. Major national trends in post-war society were the rapid development of city suburbs and suburban culture along with a substantial ‘baby boom’. A notable growth of a more overt form of materialism was accompanied by the rise of philosophical and political conservatism, which eventually resulted in the National party taking over from the Labour government in 1949 (cf. King 2003:413ff). Most crucially perhaps, a widespread belief – at least among the majority group – in having the ‘best race relations in the world’ was thriving. Not only were relations between the two ‘races’ (i. e., Ma¯ori and Europeans) believed to be harmonious, society as a whole was widely imagined as class- and sexism-free. As Steven (1989) has noted amongst others, this egalitarian myth – which still reverberates in public and political rhetoric – is essentially an ideology of the working Pa¯keha¯ man that has its roots in the making of the settler colony. At its heart lie a number of assumptions about colonial life around ideas of equal opportunity and ‘mateship’ (see also, chapter 2.1.2) that – despite evidence to the contrary – continue to inform popular and official representations until this day. The emphasis on national identity building inherent in the myth of an ega-

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

73

litarian society is resembled in other immigrant countries, such as Australia, Canada, or the United States. These countries share some important identity concerns, including the problem of a double sense of displacement: displacement of the migrant populations who have come to settle and displacement of the indigenous population (cf. Greig et al. 2003:164). In fact, Aotearoa New Zealand displays some striking resemblance to its next-door neighbor Australia in its fashioning of the egalitarian myth (ibid.:163ff): Both share their love for the ‘underdog’ and a general antipathy towards ‘tall poppies’; and on both sides of the Tasman Sea, the myth of ‘mateship’ as based on loyalty, respect and fair play can be found in similar ways – as can the accompanying rhetoric of fairness and equity. Also, in both countries, the myth of egalitarianism is a product of mid19th century colonial consciousness and the notion of the colony as a ‘workingman’s paradise’. The associated myth of comradery and mateship originated in the harsh living conditions in the colony, “with its idealisation of fraternity, hostility to authority, the absence of privilege and lack of deference – as well as its lack of women!” (Greig et al. 2003:170). Not surprisingly, this interpretation of colonial life has been challenged by historians in the past, who have reassessed the role of the marginalized (usually meaning: women and indigenous populations) in the writings of history. The egalitarian myth was also supported by the economic conditions. The economic boom of the post-war years supported the belief in an egalitarian society, in which every man(!) could make a living. While the myth of a class-, racism-, and sexism-free society was still intact in the 1950s, first cracks in the image were already appearing. Urbanization, in particular, constituted an influential factor in the unsettling of assumed harmony. In the 1950s, even though Ma¯ori were by then fully incorporated into the economic system, there still were some significant differences in group-patterns: The majority of Ma¯ori at the time were living in the rural areas, and while they were over-represented in certain sectors of the labor market (e. g., primary production) and under-represented in others (e. g., service occupations and commerce), Ma¯ori standards of living and housing generally remained below those of Pa¯keha¯ (cf. Metge 1964:15 f.). Whereas up until the 1930s there had been relatively little interaction between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, this changed rapidly when Ma¯ori started to move into the urban areas during the Depression and World War II. Initially, it was the result of job openings now more generally available to Ma¯ori men and women who sought to abandon rural poverty, but “[t]here was no single cause for the momentum which this migration built up over three decades” (King 2003:474). Urbanization brought about fundamental social change. Not only did it lead to a renegotiation of the relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, it also significantly

74

Socio-Historical Framework

affected the relations within Ma¯ori communities.50 In fact, Ma¯ori migration to the city “brought both compensations and trauma: eventual security and wider educational and employment opportunities for some, and cultural and emotional dislocation for others” (King 2003:473). Adaptation to the new urban environment was not always successful, so that some families, or wha¯nau, “collapsed into dysfunction, alcohol and drug abuse, physical and emotional health problems, violence and crime” (ibid.). The consequences were considerable as families lost their active ties to their hapu¯ (sub-tribe) and iwi (tribe) as well as the Ma¯ori language, the observance of customs, and the practice of rituals (ibid.:477). As Ma¯ori social institutions had to be adapted to the urban environment, the system of the wha¯nau, i. e., the main support system for Ma¯ori women and men, was transformed; urban marae51, (ceremonial centers) were established in an effort to support the newcomers and to preserve Ma¯ori cultural identity. Not surprisingly, this period has been described as holding even more risks for Ma¯ori than earlier periods. Against this background, what is usually referred to as the decolonization period started in the 1970s, a time characterized by political activism and social movements both on a national and on a global level (e. g., the Anti-Nuclear Movement, Women’s Liberation, the Trade Union Movements). In the early years, Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ collaborated in their struggles for greater equality. However, Ma¯ori soon identified a distinct need for dealing with their position in society, from which rose a new Ma¯ori political activism. Ma¯ori activism has been described as a traditionally extremely heterogeneous social force that has ‘evolved’ from a progressive political activism of the late 1960s and early 1970s to a cultural nationalist framework that was predominant in the 1980s (cf. Poata-Smith 1996). Major objectives were historical grievances and claims under the Treaty of Waitangi. In particular, a dramatic upsurge of Ma¯ori activism in the 1970s had profound effects on New Zealand society, especially in terms of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations. In the urban centers, activist groups such as Nga¯ Tamatoa (‘the young warriors’) in Auckland emerged and soon became the public face of the rising political consciousness among urban Ma¯ori (Walker 1990:210). Nga¯ Tamatoa’s main goal was to preserve Ma¯oritanga, the notion of a distinct Ma¯ori cultural identity, way of life and worldview (cf. Mohanram 1995, 1999). Through a rhetoric of ‘brown power’, the group expressed its fundamental rejection of the racist institutions and values which they de50 Joan Metge (1964, see also, 1976) has provided a detailed anthropological analysis of the process of urbanization and social transition in Aotearoa New Zealand. 51 The term marae refers to the open area in front of the meeting-house (wharenui), where formal gatherings are held. In common usage, this includes the whole complex of buildings around the marae. It should be noted that nowadays only a minority of Ma¯ori visit a marae regularly. For a detailed account see, for instance, Salmond (1975).

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

75

tected in society ; racism was perceived as “the basic social cleavage in society” (Poata-Smith 1996:106). The rising political consciousness among Ma¯ori women and men coalesced into a powerful Ma¯ori land rights movement (lasting from 1975 to 1984). In particular, the land march across the North Island (1975) under the lead of a Ma¯ori woman, Whina Cooper, attracted a lot of media attention – though it is said to have initially bemused rather than informed non-Ma¯ori (Walker 1990:214). Many Pa¯keha¯ joined the Ma¯ori protesters and supported them in their cause for greater equality. Today, the land march has become a powerful symbol for Ma¯ori’s struggle for land and self-determination. Also in 1975, the Treaty of Waitangi Act reaffirmed the importance of the Treaty and established the Waitangi Tribunal, where Ma¯ori have the possibility to submit claims under the Treaty (ibid.:212). Its functions include the hearing and investigation of Ma¯ori claims and settlement recommendations to parliament. Even though the tribunal has advisory functions only, it has taken a central place in Treaty settlements. Most importantly perhaps, since then the Treaty of Waitangi has been interpreted as the nation’s founding document. By the late 1970s, there was talk and ample evidence of a ‘Ma¯ori renaissance’. A major source of discontent among Ma¯ori was the failure of the government to adequately deal with the changing conditions and emerging needs that resulted from urbanization (King 2003:481). As ‘integration’ of Ma¯ori was being confused with ‘assimilation’ by most Pa¯keha¯ of the time, including the political leadership, and as Ma¯ori institutions were being valued less than their Pa¯keha¯ equivalents, the emerging urban protest groups expressed their discontent through demonstrations, petitions, press releases and appearances on radio and television, i. e., through “rather Western modes of expression” (ibid.). A major site of struggle was the promotion of te reo, the Ma¯ori language, which was estimated to be dying out (Walker 1990:238). In 1981, the Hui Whakatauira was held, which led to the establishment of te ko¯hanga reo, socalled ‘Ma¯ori language nests’ aiming at the creation of an environment that allowed for the total immersion of Ma¯ori children at pre-school age in the Ma¯ori language. In particular Ma¯ori women were involved in the revival of the Ma¯ori language as mothers, teachers and activists. In 1985, the first kura kaupapa, i. e., a ‘Ma¯ori language school’ catering for ko¯hanga reo graduates, was established at Hoani Waititi Marae in Auckland (ibid.). Both te ko¯hanga reo and kura kaupapa Ma¯ori have been milestones in the struggle for the revival of Ma¯ori language and culture during the 20th century. Today, although the majority of Ma¯ori students are in so-called ‘mainstream’ education, there has been an overall increase in their participation in Ma¯ori-led education and the retention of Ma¯ori language and culture remain key-factors in the struggle for equality between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. In 2006, 23.7 percent of

76

Socio-Historical Framework

Ma¯ori could hold a conversation about everyday things in te reo, the Ma¯ori language, an increase of 1,128 people from the 2001 census (Statistics New Zealand 2007b).52 Since 1978, te reo is one of the three official languages in Aotearoa New Zealand (English, Ma¯ori, and since 2006, also sign language). In the early 1980s, The Black Women, the Waitangi Action Committee (WAC) and the Ma¯ori People’s Liberation Movement of Aotearoa were at the forefront of Ma¯ori political activism. Their political ethos was based on “the liberation struggle against racism, sexism, capitalism and government oppression” (Walker 1990:220). For many, Ma¯ori sovereignty posed the ultimate goal. For Pa¯keha¯, this frequently resulted in confusion and insecurity as their position in society was challenged and the nation’s sense of its place in the world was collapsing (cf. During 2000:389). At the same time, many Pa¯keha¯ committed themselves to Ma¯ori’s political goals and supported the movement in its wider quest for equality. Apart from the 1975 Land March, the 1981 South African rugby union tour (commonly referred to as The Springbok Tour), for instance, showed Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori protesting alongside each other against racial segregation under Apartheid. Nevertheless, the social and political climate at the time was one of growing unrest and increasing insecurities among New Zealanders of all cultural backgrounds and affiliations. In the 1990s, land settlements became a priority, and in 1995 the government, for the first time in history, returned land to the Ma¯ori as part of Tainui’s Treaty claim in the Waikato. The Tainui settlement was accompanied by a formal apology for the invasion of the Waikato and the subsequent confiscation of land (see above). As a result of Ma¯ori activists’ struggle in the preceding decades, in the 1990s, national institutions and policy makers were forced to respond to Ma¯ori needs and aspirations. In 1996, the number of Ma¯ori in Parliament rose from five to sixteen (King 2003:494). Major steps forward for Ma¯ori were the devolvement of many government services (especially in health and welfare) to iwi authorities, the recognition of the state’s responsibility to promote Ma¯ori language and culture and the official acknowledgment of the Treaty as a framework for the relationship between the two Treaty partners (ibid.:499). The latter was a consequence of Ma¯ori’s political struggle and also an acknowledgment of the society’s growing ethnic diversity – the result of increasing immigrant numbers, mainly from the Pacific island area.53 However, the claim processes have also encouraged competitiveness within and between different tribal units, which has led to new divisions (cf. Poata-Smith 2004). What is more, urban Ma¯ori were 52 The next census will take place in 2013. At the time of writing, most statistics available from Statistics New Zealand (www.stats.govt.nz) were based on the 2006 Census. 53 The topic of immigration will be discussed in detail below (chapter 4.5).

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

77

disadvantaged by the claim process, most notably by the Fisheries Settlements Act 1992 (Sealord Deal) which initially denied urban Ma¯ori rights to a fishing quota, and which led to fierce debate in the 1990s. In any case, by the turn of the 21st century, the relationship between Ma¯ori and the Crown had changed somewhat, making Ma¯ori more visible in society (King 2003:502). The Fisheries and Seabeds Controversy resurfaced in national debates in 2004, when the Labour government adopted a law that gave ownership over all seabeds and foreshores to the state. This move not only led to the largest protest march since the 1975 Land March, but to far-reaching political protests. It also led to the formation of the Ma¯ori Party around Tariana Turia and Pita Sharples. Since its initial formation, the Ma¯ori party has been gaining votes and influence. In its first general election in 2005, the Ma¯ori Party won four out of seven Ma¯ori seats. In 2008, it won five seats and entered the present National-led coalition government. Also in 2008, a significant forestry agreement was signed between the Crown and Ma¯ori representatives of several tribal units relating to Crown forests located on the North Island. The financial redress package covers NZD 195.7 million plus rentals that have accumulated since 1989, making it the largest deal so far (NZPA 2008). The Treaty settlement process frequently leads to frustration among New Zealanders and to calls to settle once and for all, in order to end “a never ending story”, as Garth George called the Treaty settlement process in the New Zealand Herald in July 2009 (George 2009). Supposedly expressing the views of “thousands of New Zealanders” the author asks: “when, oh when, will Ma¯ori Treaty of Waitangi claims be settled finally, once and for all?” What this rather simplistic question of course ignores is the great complexity of the Treaty settlement process and of the socio-historical processes that have led to it; it also ignored its significance for those who are involved in it, and for whom the process often is not only a life-long but also a painful personal journey for justice and compensation. However, what the question also shows is the growing unrest and impatience of many New Zealanders – whether they identify as Ma¯ori, as Pa¯keha¯, or as any other group. This is also evident on the level of politics: in an attempt to accelerate the claim process, the Treaty of Waitangi Amendment Act (2006) set a deadline (1 September 2008) for the submission of all new historical claims to the Waitangi Tribunal, the consequences of which remain to be seen in the further course of history. Also in 2006, the Principles of the Treaty of Waitangi Deletion Bill, which aims at the removal of all references to the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi from legislation, passed its first reading in Parliament. Even though the alliance government prevented it from going any further after its second reading, it can be read as an indication of a more general ‘conservative backlash’ (Barber 2008) in national politics. Some of this was also apparent in October 2007, when a wave

78

Socio-Historical Framework

of police raids performed under the Terrorism Suppression Act of 2002 provoked new protests by Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. Police action focused on the rural community of Ruatoki in the Bay of Plenty, which lies at the heartland of the Tuhoe iwi. The so-called ‘terror raids’ led to several arrests under firearm charges, including some Ma¯ori activists.

4.4

Snap-shot: Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ today

As in other postcolonial societies such as Hawai’i, the effects of colonialism most notably reverberate in national indicators for social and economic inequality. As national statistics indicate, Ma¯ori as an ethnic group constitute the biggest minority with approximately 15 percent of the total population, whereas Pa¯keha¯ constitute more than 70 percent (Statistics New Zealand 2007c).54 The Ma¯ori group is still significantly younger in age-structure than the total population and has a higher birth rate and higher mortality levels than non-Ma¯ori (Ministry of Health and Statistics New Zealand 2009:15). Most importantly, perhaps, Ma¯ori continue to be more affected by socio-economical inequalities than their Pa¯keha¯ peers. Although several national social and health indicators have improved in recent years (e. g., life expectancy), progress is slow and there remain a number of highly problematic areas. On the level of employment, for instance, unemployment rates remain relatively high, especially among Ma¯ori women who (alongside Pacific women) are at the bottom of the income scale. In terms of education, consistent with the national trend of rising education levels (especially in Wellington and Auckland), there has been a significant increase of both Ma¯ori men and women holding secondary and tertiary education levels, but the gap between Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori (especially in relation to Pa¯keha¯ and Asians) persists (cf. Statistics New Zealand 2006, Statistics New Zealand 2007b). Following these rather broad statistical indicators, social and economic inequality overlap with ethnicity. An uncritical interpretation of these indicators frequently feeds discriminatory attitudes and popular negative stereotypes that portray Ma¯ori as a group as unemployed and ranking high in criminal, mental health, and domestic violence statistics. Notions of ethnicity, class, and culture are meddled in such negative-stereotypes, which ignore the socio-cultural complexity of power relations in a postcolonial society. They also close their eyes

54 As already mentioned, at the time of writing (November 2012), most of the statistics available at Statistics New Zealand (www.stats.govt.nz) were based on the 2006 Census.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

79

to the diversity of ethnic groups and ‘ethnic labeling’ as done in statistics, but also in public and political discourse.55 In regard to self-identifications, for Ma¯ori there exist a great variety of possible (often multiple) affiliations along ethnic, cultural, but also tribal lines, or by descent. It is not uncommon for a person to state that he or she is of, for instance, Nga¯ti Porou and Tainui, or Nga¯ti Hine and Scottish descent. Similarly, Pa¯keha¯ can identify along several lines. Whereas some refer to themselves as Pa¯keha¯, others perceive the term as derogatory (for different reasons) and choose to identify as European, or New Zealand-European. Still others refer to their respective European ancestry (Scottish, Irish, German, etc.). Then there are those who choose to call themselves ‘New Zealanders’, a category of at least equally problematic characteristics. Furthermore, as a result of the long history of relatively high rates of intermarriage,56 the possibilities of multiple ethnic and cultural identifications are greater than ever, especially among the younger generations (cf. Callister 2004). I will come back to these points below (chapter 4.6). For now, I need to emphasize that not all persons counted as belonging to a particular ethnic group in national statistics also strongly identify culturally with that group. Statistics such as the ones referred to above serve as broad indicators and general background information and have to be interpreted cautiously. In any case, in light of the socio-historical developments discussed so far, a new social contract remains to be negotiated, a contract that accounts not only for the relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, but also for the ‘other groups’ in the country, the large Pacific Island and Asian populations and people from other parts of the world who continue to come to and settle in Aotearoa New Zealand.

4.5

Diversification through immigration

Immigration is a topical issue in both popular and political culture discourse. For a long time, culture politics in Aotearoa New Zealand focused mainly on the relations between the two Treaty partners, but this changed when a large number of immigrants found their way across the Pacific in the 1960s and 1970s. Until then, the country had counted among the most ethnically homogenous countries in the world (Brooking and Rabel 1995:36). The rapid growth of the Pacific population was produced by labor demand 55 See Goodyear (2009) for the measurement of ethnicity and ethnic variety in national statistics. 56 Almost half of the Ma¯ori population live with a partner from another ethnic group; among Pa¯keha¯ the numbers of cross-ethnic relationships are growing, but some 90 percent still choose Pa¯keha¯ as their partner (cf. Callister et al. 2007).

80

Socio-Historical Framework

and resulting policy changes in the 1950s (Macpherson 2004:136). The main migration forces were the search for economic opportunity and, over time, family reunification. Internal growth became the primary growth-factor in the 1980s (ibid.). The diversity of this group is often conflated in labels such as ‘Pacific Islanders’, ‘Pacific Peoples’, or Tagata Pasifika. While the total of the Pacific Islands area amounts to something between 20,000 and 30,000 islands spreading across Melanesia, Polynesia and Micronesia, in Aotearoa New Zealand, these terms usually refer to non-indigenous persons of Polynesian descent (especially from Samoa, Tonga, the Cook Islands, and Niue).57 The Pacific population is – similarly to the Ma¯ori population – significantly younger in age than the total national population, and despite some indications that the Pacific growth rate is at least in parts slowing down, it can still be described as fastpaced (cf. Macpherson 2004:136 f.). Increasing inter-group interaction and marriage have fostered diversification of identifications and new senses of belonging among New Zealanders of Pacific descent. As already mentioned (see chapter 4.3.4), the rising number of immigrants from the islands of the South Pacific played a crucial role in the official recognition of the Treaty of Waitangi as a framework for inter-group relations. It also had a significant impact on national immigration discourse and led to a review of immigration policies in the 1980s. The colonial model of immigration to Aotearoa New Zealand, which had favored Great Britain and Ireland as migration sources (with some exceptions), thus gave way to a more diversified ‘global’ immigration model (Spoonley et al. 2004b:109). This in turn resulted in further diversification of migration sources, most notably in rising immigrant numbers from Asia (cf. Didham and Bedford 2004:12). In contrast to the first immigrants from the islands of the South Pacific, largescale Asian immigration is a more recent phenomenon that has been noted since the 1990s, especially from Taiwan, Hong Kong, China and Korea (King 2003:506). In the 2006 census, ‘Asians’ comprised the fourth-largest ethnic group, and in contrast to the Pacific group, qualification levels among the Asian population are very high (Statistics New Zealand 2006). Asian immigrants come to Aotearoa New Zealand for short or long-term stays; a considerable number moves on after some time, while others stay for good. Many come for economic reasons and for work-opportunities, others come for education, business, lifestyle, or any combination of these (Johnson and Moloughney 2006:4). More recently, as in the case of Pacific peoples, family reunification has become a significant factor. 57 Whereas Aotearoa New Zealand continued to be directly responsible for Niue and the Tokelau Islands after World War II, Western Samoa gained independence (1962), and the Cook Islands became self-governing in free association (1965).

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

81

The use of the term ‘Asian’ in national statistics and public discourse conflates a highly heterogeneous population and must be treated with caution. However, the members of this imagined community also share common characteristics in the context of New Zealand society, most notably perhaps the experience of discrimination and exclusion as ‘newcomers’ (e. g., Dürr 2010, Ip 1995). As Asian immigrant numbers in the 1990s were rising, in some quarters of society anxiety was on the rise as well. This anxiety is usually articulated in a feeling that ‘there are too many’ Asian immigrants in the country, a problem shared by other immigrant groups – in Aotearoa New Zealand as elsewhere in the world. In recent years, immigration sources have become even more diversified. Most notably, there has been an increase in immigration from the Middle East, Latin America, and Africa. The result is a rapidly changing social fabric characterized by increasing ethnic diversity, especially in the country’s urban centers. In the 2006 census, the total population was counted at over 4 million people, 67.6 percent of whom identified as European/Pa¯keha¯, 11.1 percent as socalled ‘New Zealanders’,58 14.6 percent as Ma¯ori, 9.2 percent as Asian and 6.9 percent as Pacific peoples (Statistics New Zealand 2007c).59 Importantly, 10.4 percent of the population identified with more than one ethnic group (Statistics New Zealand 2007c). In Auckland, the main point of entrance into the country, the picture is even more diverse with high proportions of Asian and Pacific peoples, as well as rising numbers of ‘other’ groups. All of them leave their imprint. Despite, or, in face of discriminatory attitudes and negative group representations, diversity is celebrated publicly in various events, which enjoy great popularity among New Zealanders and tourists alike: A number of these festivities regularly celebrate Ma¯ori culture and language, for instance, in the course of the annual Ma¯ori language week. A more recent phenomenon are the mid-winter celebrations of Matariki, the so-called Ma¯ori New Year, which have claimed a separate ‘slot’ in the festival calendar. Some of these festivals are equally popular among Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori. Their main function, apart from

58 ‘New Zealander’ was a separate category for the first time in 2006. Of those identifying as New Zealander, 12.9 percent also identified with at least one other ethnic group (Statistics New Zealand 2007c). The new category provoked debate in regard to the question of comparability (in previous years it had been counted in the ‘European’ category). The drop in responses in the ‘European’ category in 2006 can be partially explained by the introduction of this category. My research confirms that Pa¯keha¯ more so than Ma¯ori tend to identify as ‘New Zealanders’ only. See also, Goodyear (2009). 59 The numbers add up to more than 100 percent because the Census allows multiple ethnic identifications.

82

Socio-Historical Framework

entertaining, is to represent a positive image of Ma¯ori as an integral part of Aotearoa New Zealand national culture, and to celebrate national diversity. The same may be said about the annual Waitangi Day celebrations, which commemorate the signing of the Treaty and which serve as an occasion for publicly celebrating national culture. While Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ remain at the core of the celebration as the two founding nations of Aotearoa New Zealand, in recent years there have been efforts to include ‘other’ groups, at least at the level of speech making. Other celebrations of Ma¯ori culture proceed in Ma¯ori environments with only few non-Ma¯ori participants. Examples are the annual Koroneihana (coronation) celebrations of the Ma¯ori King (or Queen) at Tu¯rangawaewae Marae in the Waikato and Te Matatini national kapa haka (Ma¯ori performing arts)60 festival. These celebrations are open to non-Ma¯ori and from my experience non-Ma¯ori are explicitly welcomed and addressed on such occasions; but the focus remains on the celebration of Ma¯ori culture and identity. In summer, it almost seems like each ‘group’ has a festival of their own, with which they celebrate their distinct heritage within a wider ‘multi’-cultural framework. For example, in Auckland, the Pacific community celebrates their cultural distinctiveness as well as their heterogeneity in the annual ‘Pasifika Festival’; the Chinese community celebrates the ‘Chinese Lantern Festival’; the Indian community has started to celebrate the Hindu festival of Deepavali; and the ‘International Cultural Festival’ provides a stage for all cultural and ethnic groups present in Aotearoa New Zealand. At all of these festivals, one finds ‘cultural’ stage performances, arts, crafts, and foods. Several of them also take the opportunity to draw attention to specific social and political issues, to educate about health and family issues as well as other concerns. On the one hand, the commodification and consumption inherent in such public celebrations of ‘culture’ is evident and arguably problematic in terms of cultural stereotyping. In some ways this resembles the egalitarian myth making of earlier days. On the other hand, these celebrations also serve the promotion of intercultural understanding and tolerance. While the usefulness of such strategies is debatable, the existence of this great variety of cultural festivals and celebrations in Aotearoa New Zealand also expresses the desire to not only represent but also to create and (re-)imagine society as an open, tolerant, and diverse space. An interpretation of these processes as simply masking inequalities and reproducing culturalist or ethnic discourse on the basis of capitalist and/or racist ideologies would be too simplistic. In the following I will 60 Kapa haka groups (performing arts groups, sometimes referred to as ‘culture groups’) are a major tourist attraction and an important site of cultural renaissance (see, for example, Kaaretu 2001, Kaiwai and Zemke-White 2004).

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

83

inspect the complex issue of cultural politics circulating in public and political discourses more closely.

4.6

Culture discourses and identity politics

The aim of this chapter so far has been to outline the relevant socio-historical processes that laid the foundations for and continue to shape and (re-)structure contemporary culture discourse and identity politics in Aotearoa New Zealand. As has been demonstrated, not only has colonial expansion led to dual worlds of colonizer and colonized, but ‘Pa¯keha¯’ and ‘Ma¯ori’ have also been constructed as separate group categories through the process of colonization and subsequent decolonization. This construction of two distinct collective identities within two distinct ‘worlds’ (te ao Ma¯ori – the Ma¯ori world and te ao Pa¯keha¯ – the Pa¯keha¯ world) reverberates in group relations and identifications until this day. As discussed above, the Treaty of Waitangi continues to play an important role in this process. It is in reference to the Treaty that Aotearoa New Zealand is imagined as a bicultural society, i. e., a society in which some form of comprehensive partnership is envisaged between the two Treaty partners (cf. Schwimmer 1968a, Sissons 1995). Ma¯ori have claimed the deliverance of this partnership incessantly since the very beginnings of the colonial period up until this day. Appeals to the Crown, or the government, to ‘honor’ the Treaty, i. e., to fulfill Treaty obligations, are nowadays formalized by the process of claim settlements. This process is long and complicated, and in most cases somewhat detached from most New Zealanders’ day-to-day lives. In combination with the rapidly changing social fabric, a major challenge in present-day society lies in the reconciliation of the society’s postcolonial heritage with its increasing ethnic and cultural diversity. As socio-economic inequality frequently overlaps with group affiliation, leaving some groups more disadvantaged than others, this task proves to be even more complex. Inextricably intertwined with this contested field of culture politics and group relations are the notions of bi- and multiculturalism. In the following, both will be explored in more detail. I will focus on some of the major points that seem of particular relevance for inter-group relations and identity making processes. 4.6.1 Introducing biculturalism Eric Schwimmer is credited for having first introduced the term ‘biculturalism’ in reference to New Zealand society in the 1960s. In his introductory essay to the now classic compilation The Maori People in the Nineteen-Sixties (1986b), Schwimmer– borrowing Talcott Parson’s (1965) sociological concept of ‘in-

84

Socio-Historical Framework

clusion’ – proposes the concept of biculturalism as a timely replacement of the somewhat problematic notion of ‘integration’ prevalent in social theory and policy making at the time (cf. Schwimmer 1968a:11ff). Not to be confused with the concept of ‘assimilation’, the notion of biculturalism refers to full economic and political inclusion of Ma¯ori into society while simultaneously maintaining distinct forms of Ma¯ori organization (see also, Sissons 1995:62). Following Parsons, Schwimmer identifies three basic requirements for inclusion: equal civil rights, a full sharing in the process of government and the exercise of power, and equality of the resources and capacities necessary to make ‘equal rights’ into full equal opportunities. Measured by these conditions, the author concludes for the Ma¯ori peoples in the 1960s that, “few people would claim that the Maori is fully ‘included’ in the New Zealand ‘societal community’” (Schwimmer 1968a:11). Taking this as his point of departure, Schwimmer then goes on to develop the notion of biculturalism as a new conceptual framework for the relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ (cf. 1968a:12ff). For this, he turns to the Franco-Canadian model. This model, which serves in the Canadian context to describe the relationship between Francophone and Anglophone Canadians, recognizes Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ as two distinct social and cultural collectives. The historical foundations for this “most unsystematic and elusive phenomenon” (ibid.:13) the author identifies in the processes leading to the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi and in the institutional developments laid out by mid-20th century state departments (see above, chapter 4.3). Recognizing cultural difference between the two founding groups under the Treaty, the bicultural ideal pursues the goal of “an overcapping set of values, common to both groups, to which both are willing to give ultimate primacy” (Schwimmer 1968a:18). Translated to the personal level this means the following: Everybody learns one culture in his childhood and owes it primary allegiance. The bicultural person, in addition, accepts as legitimate the values of a second culture, is to some extent familiar with these values, and can turn to them, if necessary, for subsidiary relationships. (Schwimmer 1968a:13)

Following this conception, the bicultural person is endued with some degree of intercultural competence in his/her dealings and relationships with others. A central condition of biculturalism is the ability “to see two sides of the question”, i. e., to consciously confront and reconcile two conflicting but equally valid value systems. This way each can “make creative use of the other” (ibid.). Schwimmer concludes a bicultural identity for Ma¯ori: In this sense, the Maori is already, for the most part, bicultural. He has intermarried extensively with Pakeha, and has adopted Pakeha concepts in his dealings with land, in

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

85

his economic and social life, in his forms of artistic expression, in social control and religion. (Schwimmer 1968a:13)

For Pa¯keha¯, he assesses that the majority remain monocultural. For the state of the nation in the late 1960s Schwimmer therefore concludes no more than “a tentative biculturalism in principle”, in which Ma¯ori have “to make far more painful adjustments” than Pa¯keha¯ ; and which has been “facilitated by the setting up of an ideal framework of genuine equality, which is still, however, no more than an ideal” (ibid.:18). In order for that to change, both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori are required not only to accept the validity of, but also to familiarize themselves with each other’s culture; as it is only then that the two systems can ultimately be reconciled (ibid.:19 f.). Schwimmer, in this early essay, already points to the dangers inherent in making biculturalism “into a cult”, and he emphasizes that it is the actors’ responsibility to take the bicultural into their “private lives and private relationships” (ibid.:18). To what extent they have succeeded in this endeavor is in part the concern of this study. Following its initial introduction, the notion of biculturalism quickly left the academic arena and was taken to the level of national political debate and identity discourse (cf. Sissons 1995). The political climate of the 1970s helped pave the way for the bicultural ideal. Taken up as official state policy in the 1980s, it remains widely recognized in both political and public life. Partly as a result of its pervasiveness, biculturalism in present-day Aotearoa New Zealand is a rather diffuse and ambiguous term referring to a variety of meanings and discussions that also change over time. Bicultural goals include the incorporation of Ma¯ori values and perspectives into decision-making processes at institutional levels, the improvement of inter-group relations through the celebration of cultural distinctiveness and variety, the development of parallel Ma¯ori institutions (e. g., in health and education), or the creation of more or less autonomous patterns of Ma¯ori self-determination (cf. Fleras and Spoonley 1999:237 f.). This wide spectrum of meanings has led to considerable confusion as to the implications of the bicultural policy for group relations and rights – on the political level as well as on the level of day-to-day living. A central idea in most approaches is that of the two founding peoples as ‘first among equals’ (primus inter pares) (ibid.:237ff), i. e., as taking precedence in establishing the social and political agenda. While, in principle, this does not deny other groups the rights to full and equal participation, this idea often generates doubt as to the possibility of its just implementation. Above all, there remains the question as to how to reconcile the bicultural ideal with the country’s increasing cultural and ethnic diversity.

86

Socio-Historical Framework

4.6.2 Beyond biculturalism? Identity politics and the multicultural challenge A major problem is that, even though biculturalism has found its way into a variety of institutions and into official decision-making processes, in many cases it remains a rhetoric and promise, rather than being taken to the level of powersharing (cf. Fleras and Spoonley 1999, Poata-Smith 1996). More than forty years after the publication of Schwimmer’s essay, biculturalism still alludes to an ideal, rather than to de facto group relations. During my research, I often encountered dissatisfaction, especially among Ma¯ori, who complained about token representation and a lack of implementation of the bicultural ideal on the level of community politics. Consultation processes with Ma¯ori, for instance, were frequently experienced as lacking in-depth collaborative decision-making. Furthermore, even though there have been significant improvements that have aided the ‘inclusion’ of Ma¯ori in the spirit of biculturalism, socio-economic divisions remain problematic. Furthermore, as the discussion of the empirical material in part three will demonstrate, Ma¯ori continue to be more biculturally competent in their social lives than their Pa¯keha¯ peers. Finally, the effects of the Ma¯ori renaissance have only been beneficial for some. In fact, the absorption of the rhetoric of cultural nationalism into governmental policy-making in certain ways has disguised existing inequalities, rather than threatening privileged positions (cf. Poata-Smith 1996). In this context, the rise of new elites is often criticized. The issue of local elites who are in control over socio-economic assets and representational power has been discussed by social scientists in Aotearoa New Zealand, but also in other places such as Australia, Canada, or the United States. In anthropology, Jonathan Friedman,61 amongst others, has been a major contributor to the debate. In particular, the process of ethnicization in national politics in Aotearoa New Zealand has been discussed in recent years. This process is deeply intertwined with the notion of biculturalism (cf. Gagn¦ 2009). As Elizabeth Rata has argued in an article called Rethinking biculturalism (2005), in Aotearoa New Zealand “biculturalism was the outcome of a close alliance developed between the leaders of the Ma¯ori revival and another group of the post-war new professional class”, which was comprised of settler descendants of working class origin and of people who also sought to redefine themselves according to the identity movements of the period (Rata 2005:269). In the 1980s this led to an emphasis on ethnic identifications as Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori and on differences, rather than commonalities, between the two groups, thereby creating considerable ethnic divisions and advancing a problematic process of ethnicization (ibid.). This is why Rata 61 For example, Friedman 1994; 1999; Ekholm Friedman & Friedman 2008.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

87

dismisses the present-day notion of biculturalism. She argues instead for a new democratic modernism that has, at its core, a concept of a New Zealand culture “formed from the contributions of all immigrants groups, including Maori” (ibid.:277). While institutional recognition of ethnic categories is dismissed in this model, “some cultural values and practices that have developed within the separate histories of those ethnic/racial groups” may be accommodated, dependent “upon the extent to which those values and practices are consistent with democratic principles” (ibid.). This suggestion not only challenges biculturalism but it constitutes a radical departure from existing politics. Partly in response to Rata, Natacha Gagn¦ takes up the issue in an article called The political dimension of coexistence (2009). She makes some crucial points regarding the emergence of ethnicization that are missing in Rata’s argument. Above all, she emphasizes the politicized nature of inter-group relations in present-day Aotearoa New Zealand; and she shows that this is the result of diverse, multiple, and dialogically interconnected factors that have contributed to present-day identity-making processes and politics. As Gagn¦ emphasizes, nowadays, the complex process of jurisdiction of Ma¯ori property and the claim settlement processes have given rise to a “highly politicized rhetoric about what constitutes a ‘real’, ‘proper’, or ‘authentic’ Maaori” (Gagn¦ 2009:37). In this regard, the rhetoric of Ma¯ori authenticity and the maintenance of the ethnic divide serve tangible political interests – for Ma¯ori as much as for the Crown. I would like to add that this also has important implications for Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ modes of identification. As the previous discussion has shown (see chapter 4.3), the notion of a pantribal Ma¯ori identity initially emerged as a result of the colonial experience. The contemporary notion of Ma¯ori indigeneity is based on their status as tangata whenua, i. e., as the ‘custodians’, ‘inhabitants’ or ‘people of the land’. Accordingly, they were the first human beings to settle on the land. Ma¯ori identity, or taha Ma¯ori, is based on this origin; its basis component is the complex notion of Ma¯oritanga, which is “the analogue to culture”, or “everything that is socially learned by the members of [Ma¯ori] society” (Walker 1989: 35). I have already mentioned that a distinct relation to the land as both a material and spiritual domain is claimed to be an important characteristic of Ma¯ori modes of identification. This is also expressed in the double meaning of the term whenua for ‘land’ and ‘placenta’, the main function of which is the succoring of new life (cf. Mead 2003:288 f.). The symbolic connection to the land thus constitutes a central element of belonging as and being Ma¯ori. It is the spiritual dimension of this relationship to the land that is often referred to by Ma¯ori when the distinctiveness of their own in contrast to non-Ma¯ori notions of belonging is referred to. Linked to this discourse is Ma¯ori’s political struggle for self-determination. However, for many Ma¯ori living in the city, today, active links to their

88

Socio-Historical Framework

ancestral homelands have eroded over time. This can be problematic in terms of cultural identification and belonging, an issue that was often mentioned in my conversations with so-called ‘urban Ma¯ori’. One of them is Kahu.62 In his own words: [M]ost Ma¯ori now live in urban centers away from their traditional lands and so their (…) physical and their spiritual connection is lost (…). Through the process of urbanization and assimilation (…) a lot of Ma¯ori identify with Pa¯keha¯ (…). They lose a strong sense of who they are (…). I guess for myself, I go home as much as I can (…) but (…) I was brought up in the cities. So my knowledge and my connection to my past is not as strong as what I would like it to be, but I give it my best. (Kahu)

Like Kahu, many younger Ma¯ori in their twenties and early thirties actively seek to re-connect to family relations and ancestral places. They learn their genealogies (whakapapa), retrace their parents’ and grandparents’ steps over time and go back to their rural homelands to meet their relations. While their experiences are often ambiguous to the point of being painful encounters of self, some succeed in renewing relations to ancestral places and family members outside the city. Others emphasize their connections to places and communities within the city, for example, to the local neighborhood, to certain groups, or to urban marae (ceremonial center). As a result, new modes of identification and belonging have emerged that have led to distinctions not only between Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori but between urban and non-urban Ma¯ori, and also between tribal Ma¯ori and those who identify as Ma¯ori but who do not acknowledge tribal connections (cf. Gagn¦ 2009). Also linked to this discourse is the notion of Pa¯keha¯ identity. While the word pakeha is already mentioned in the Treaty (see above, chapter 4.3.1), a distinct notion of Pa¯keha¯ identity came up in the 1980s, primarily as a reaction to the Ma¯ori nationalist movement and as part of the processes that led to the dismantling of the egalitarian myth and to the official acknowledgment of biculturalism. Initially, this split Pa¯keha¯ into two fractions: those who supported a policy of biculturalism, and those who supported monoculturalism (During 2000:391). Not surprisingly, much of the discussion on being Pa¯keha¯ deals with the acknowledgment of Ma¯ori’s indigenous status and the implications for Pa¯keha¯’s place as descendants of the settler population, who claim a distinct right to belong. Against this background, Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori are not only construed in relation to one another, but they tend to be juxtaposed as different and exclusive, rather than inclusive, thus leading to the bi-ethnic biculturalism criticized by Rata (2005) and others. The specific historical processes and culture politics have led to a situation of 62 For reasons of data protection and anonymity, all personal names and identifying information have been altered.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

89

separation and ‘turning inwards’ of both cultures, a situation in which hybrid identifications are not easily embraced (Bell 2004). On the level of individual experience this can be problematic, first and foremost because of the lack of flexibility and ambiguity in such politicized representations of ‘culture’ and ‘identity’. As van Meijl (2006) has demonstrated for the case of young urban Ma¯ori, for instance, the ‘official’ representations of Ma¯ori identity often collide with personal experiences and may result in a crisis of self on the individual level. Similarly, Hoey (2004) has argued that the socio-historical construction of Pa¯keha¯ identity proves problematic, as it is often linked to feelings of unease and dislocation. For some, ‘Pa¯keha¯’ carries with it such negative connotations that they feel threatened in their right to belong to Aotearoa New Zealand (see also, e. g., King 1999, Spoonley 1986). What is more, such singular and exclusive identifications as one or the other – Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯ – do not reflect appropriately a social reality that sees a growing number of New Zealanders identifying with more than one group (cf. Statistics New Zealand 2007c). After all, since the arrival of the first Europeans, interaction between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ has involved diverse relations, including intermarriage, from which have come forth individuals who can – and do – identify in multiple and changing, rather than singular and static ways. Personal representations of self are not only multiple and processual, but they are often contradictory and ambivalent. In some respects, the decision to identify as neither Ma¯ori nor Pa¯keha¯ reflects this confusion or mismatch between politicized identity discourse and personal experience. As a result, a number of persons instead choose to identify as ‘New Zealander(s)’, or ‘Kiwi(s)’, a self-description of at least equally ambiguous connotation: While in some cases this can be counted as an attempt to move beyond existing boundaries, in others it may be the result of lack of understanding and ignorance towards the position and needs of Ma¯ori (among other groups) in a Pa¯keha¯ dominated society. From an indigenous perspective, such an equalizing label for all is regarded as highly problematic for it is seen as glossing over existing differences and inequalities as well as threatening Ma¯ori’s tangata whenua status and rights (Spoonley et al. 2004b). The recent migration patterns and the rapidly changing social fabric further complicate the issue. For many of these ‘new’ immigrants, becoming a ‘Kiwi’ or a ‘New Zealander’ – rather than a ‘Pa¯keha¯’ – is an important part of their place making process. Against this background, calls have been made for the recognition of diversity under the banner of multiculturalism. The multicultural discussion had a first peak in 2004, when Don Brash delivered a speech at Orewa Rotary Club in Auckland as incoming leader of the National Party. In this speech, he signaled that his party would eliminate differential treatment in favor of a nation of ‘one people’. Brash spoke of “the dangerous drift towards racial separatism in New Zealand” and of “the threat

90

Socio-Historical Framework

which ‘the Treaty process’ poses to the future of our country”.63 Brash’s general argument was ‘to move on’, beyond Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations towards a multicultural society, where all New Zealanders will form one nation. The speech led to fierce debate on the status of the Treaty, and on biculturalism. While it provoked an outcry among the more liberal quarters of society, it fueled discussions about the possible abolition of all references to the Treaty. In public discourse, resentments over perceived privileges of Ma¯ori were voiced, as was the need to once and for all ‘move on’ and to become ‘one people’. In more recent years, there has been increasing talk of a multicultural nation built on a bicultural past. However, as is the case in other societies, the notion of ‘multiculturalism’ constitutes an equally contested concept and is at least as multi-facetted and ambiguous as that of ‘biculturalism’. In fact, “[t]here is [often] little to distinguish multiculturalism from biculturalism except for its emphasis on Ma¯ori as the target group” (Fleras and Spoonley 1999:239). Nevertheless, the question as to how to reconcile biculturalism with the country’s changing social fabric remains. Whereas some see the move towards multiculturalism as a step forward, a step towards acknowledging New Zealand as a country where all ethnic and cultural groups are represented on equal terms, others see it as a threat to indigenous rights and – by implication – to the rights of all ethnic and cultural groups that are not part of the majority group. Biculturalism, it is argued by some, is perfectly capable of accounting for the increasing ethnic diversity in that it provides a fundamental structure for the relationship between the indigenous and the non-indigenous population. In this interpretation, the non-indigenous settler groups, referred to as pakeha in the Treaty, may include these ‘new’ immigrant groups. Among Ma¯ori the debate created indignation but also fear : fear that a multicultural policy might undermine prior bicultural commitments under the Treaty and that Ma¯ori might lose their status as tangata whenua (see also, Spoonley et al. 2004a). As ‘the multicultural challenge’ (Shweder et al. 2003) or ‘the thorny question of multiculturalism’ (May 2004) remains a topical issue, the recent emphasis on Ma¯ori indigeneity and on the politics of difference is also an outcome of a perceived threat through the rhetoric of multiculturalism. In closing, Gagn¦ makes a point that I find particularly important in this context, i. e., that the feelings affected by and constructed through these power relationships “are embodied and deeply felt as much as they are rational and conscious” (Gagn¦ 2009:37). Individual actors feel differently about the processes discussed above, and while for some identity politics do not matter very much in their day-to-day lives, other feel affected by them and it influences the 63 For the full text of the speech refer to: http://www.national.org.nz/article.as px?articleid=1614, October 2012.

Aotearoa New Zealand in the making: an overview

91

ways in which they approach and interact with others in their immediate and wider social environment. In any case, “there is no easy way out” of the rhetoric that has been so well internalized and which continues to serve as an important interpretive framework for social relations (Gagn¦ 2009:39 f.). How individual actors experience these contradictions in their day-to-day lives is the concern of part three of this thesis.

Part Three: New Zealand Friendship Worlds They do make up the tapestry of your life, all these people coming in and out… Camille

In this part, I will discuss how the idea of friendship (chapter 1), and the local discourse which has shaped individual as well as group identifications (chapter 4) is grounded, and takes effect in the everyday experiences and friendship worlds (chapters 2 and 3) of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. By drawing on ethnographic data collected between 2007 and 2008, I will explore these different friendship worlds and identifications, looking at how Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors engage in diverse relations with significant others called ‘friends’, ‘mates’ or hoa. I will investigate which terminology they use and how they frame the notion as well as the practices of friendship within their respective social universes. The guiding questions of this part are: How do actors conceptualize their friendships within their wider socio-cultural environment? Which terminology do they refer to? How do they engage in friendships with others and on what grounds do they establish close personal relationships? How do they experience and place their friendships in their wider net of social relations? How do the social and political relations influence cross-cultural friendships? What is the significance of culture-specific friendship conceptions and interpretations? Are cultural and ethnic boundaries reproduced in friendships, or can they provide a site for overcoming existing boundaries and for practicing social role modeling? I will start by specifying my methodological framework and the empirical material (chapter 5). In the following two chapters I analyze the empirical data: I first investigate the local terminology, ideals and practices of friendship (chapter 6), before discussing case studies of how actors of different social backgrounds construct and experience their relationships with others in their everyday lives (chapter 7). In order to account for the dynamic complexities of relationship ideals and social practices, I will discuss the actors’ lived experiences in their respective socio-cultural settings. I will show how different people engage in different worlds of friendship – worlds which are informed by the wider sociocultural discourses laid out in chapter 4; which relate back to the ideas of

94

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

biculturalism and multiculturalism; and in which multiple identifications are negotiated through mutual engagement.

5

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

This chapter outlines the way the research project was designed and carried out. It discusses the methodological choices made before, during and after the field. It shows how the project evolved through my own actions as well as through those of the people whom I met, and it deals with the chances and challenges encountered in the process. I will start with some reflections on anthropological fieldwork and the important topics of field ethics and reflexivity, which form the basis of responsible ethnographic research. I will reflect on the way I approached the field and the people in the field as well as on my own roles and relations in the field. I will then specify my methods and the process of sampling.

5.1

Fieldwork, ethics, reflexivity

Anthropological fieldwork can be defined as the research of a human community, or parts of that community, by a researcher participating in this community over a longer period of time. Well-established characteristics of this type of research are the acquisition of the relevant local language(s) and the collection and subsequent analysis of empirical data by means of participant observation, informal talks, and interviewing techniques (e. g., Bernard 2006, Elwert 1994, Girtler 1984, Tolich and Davidson 1999). Fieldwork is the generation, analysis, and presentation of non-numerical data, based on the observation and (unstructured) interviewing of the people in the research setting. (Tolich and Davidson 1999:5)

The strength of this method lies in the fact that the researcher seeks to enter the everyday lives and experiences of the people whom she is researching. The greatest strength of ethnographic research methodology – and, simultaneously, its greatest weakness – lies in the researcher’s involvement, which requires at the same time proximity and distance, engagement and withdrawal, spontaneity and reflection (Schlehe 2008:120). Unlike the early years of anthropological fieldwork, nowadays, the researcher does not necessarily have to be a ‘foreigner’ who enters the research site from the outside (usually a Western-European country). Rather, it is now widely acknowledged that both, ‘outsider’ and ‘insider’ research models hold distinct advantages and disadvantages in regard to field access and research process. For

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

95

instance, in terms of field access, the inside researcher who is also a part of the group she is researching and who therefore enjoys the trust of that group may find it relatively easy to gain access quickly. At the same time, an insider researcher may encounter particularly complex role conflict as she needs to juggle the roles of distant observer and involved group member. In contrast, a researcher coming from the outside may be less restricted by personal obligations within the group. In any case, at the core of the anthropological investigation always lie the actors’ own interpretations and representations of their actions and ideas. Ideally, through the combination of participant observation, informal conversations, different interviewing techniques, and literature research, etic and emic perspectives are being combined. In order to do so, the researcher’s goal is to maintain a ‘good’ balance between distance and proximity that is beneficial to the research process. 5.1.1 Ethics and fieldwork in Aotearoa New Zealand I concur with Harvey R. Bernard (2006:26) that ethics are the biggest problem in conducting responsible anthropological research: The biggest problem in conducting a science of human behavior is not selecting the right sample size or making the right measurement. It’s doing those things ethically, so you can live with the consequences of your actions. (Bernard 2006:25 f.)

In Aotearoa New Zealand, research ethics constitute not only a controversial academic but also a particularly political and emotional topic for those involved in the research process. Negative or ambiguous experiences made by those being researched have led to disappoint-ment and frustration with researchers and the research process (cf. Smith 1999). This includes feelings of being ‘over researched’ and disappointment at not gaining any tangible benefits from the research undertaken. As a result, ethnographic fieldwork is frequently met with suspicion and sometimes even openly rejected. Ma¯ori in particular often regard the academic research endeavor with suspicion because of its association with the colonial experience and European imperialism. In the words of Ma¯ori academic Linda Tuhiwai Smith: From the vantage point of the colonized, a position from which I write, and choose to privilege, the term ‘research’ is inextricably linked to European imperialism and colonialism. (Smith 1999:1)

It follows that research does not constitute a value-free exercise but must be understood as pursuing specific interests in particular political and social

96

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

contexts (ibid.:5). Hence the question: Is it even possible to conduct responsible anthropological research? It has become a well-established insight of anthropology that both the generation of the empirical data in the field and its subsequent analysis and (re-) presentation in the form of written texts are at best fragmentary and partial undertakings that call for reflexivity throughout the entire research process (e. g., Clifford and Marcus 1986, Kaaretu 2001, Marcus and Cushman 1982). This insight has been the result of critical voices, which have questioned the goals and methods of the anthropological enquiry and the roles of those conducting research. In Aotearoa New Zealand (as elsewhere), non-indigenous researchers have been challenged as to their right and ability to conduct research on indigenous peoples. As a non-Ma¯ori, a non-Pa¯keha¯, and a non-New Zealander, am I able to ‘see’ and understand the world of those whom I am researching? Am I authorized to write about ‘their’ experiences? These questions are important and have been raised many times before.64 I concur with the opinion that only a multiplicity of perspectives can provide a better understanding of the complex human phenomena we are encountering in our increasingly interconnected world. The perspective provided by this study is one among many and it certainly makes no claim to completeness or representativeness. The point is that this book has been penned from a single perspective, i. e., my subjective perspective and must be read as such. The challenge posed by ethics and the demand for greater reflexivity can be a difficult task and a challenging experience to the individual researcher – both academically and personally. In fact, researchers from different backgrounds (including indigenous researchers) frequently experience feelings of insecurity and vulnerability whilst trying to maneuver with as much caution and selfreflexivity as possible through the research site. Both ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ models hold distinct advantages and disadvantages, and in the case of this study, coming from ‘the outside’ proved beneficial in several ways: First, an outsider researcher leaves the field at some stage. Even if the researcher returns over the years, and even if she takes up certain social roles within the community (e. g., researcher, visitor, friend), she is not entangled in everyday affairs in the way the members of the community she is researching are. That makes it easier to talk about certain issues sometimes and to reveal personal viewpoints. Indeed, many research participants told me that it was nec64 It should be noted that there certainly exist significant limitations as to how and to what extent the ideal of reflexivity can be (and should be) realized in practice. For a critical discussion of the issue of reflexivity and the danger of ‘nativism’, i. e., the assumption that only the native can speak for the native, see Kuper (1994).

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

97

essary that a non-New Zealander conducted this kind of research. They felt that they could talk to me more freely about their views and feelings because I am not part of, and not affected by, the wider socio-cultural discourses the same way a New Zealander might be. Secondly, an outsider tends to approach the field from a broader perspective. An outside perspective can reveal social patterns sometimes not visible to an insider. As already mentioned, an outsider can often move more freely between different groups, due to fewer and less strict social obligations than an insider. I felt that my outsider status enabled me to move between rather different groups of people, who provided me with a great range of (often conflicting) perspectives on social relations in Aotearoa New Zealand. In fact, I was often surprised by how freely people talked about their personal lives and relationships and by the general openness that I encountered. A central challenge for any researcher is to collect valid data whilst making sure that everybody involved in the research process is feeling ‘safe’. Furthermore, there should be some benefit (indirectly or directly) for those involved in the research. My hope is that the results of the study will not only be of general academic interest, but that the research will be of some value to those involved in and supporting the project. So far, several persons participating in the research have given me positive feedback on their experience with it, leaving me optimistic as to the benefits (however small) for those involved. I was well aware of the ethical dimensions of my project. I have tried to proceed with respect, honesty, and transparency, and I was met with great benevolence, friendliness, and support. Throughout the research process, the core principles of ethical conduct as proposed by Tolich and Davidson (1999:70) served me as a guideline: do no harm; voluntary participation; informed consent; avoid deceit; confidentiality ; anonymity. Since I am dealing with people’s personal relationships and more or less private views in a comparably small country where the total population at the time of writing amounts to some 4.4 million people (refer to www.stats.govt.co.nz, October 2012), the protection of confidentiality can be particularly delicate. In a research setting, where research ethics remain a highly sensitive topic, this is of even greater importance. This is why I have chosen to give pseudonyms to all research participants. As I have guaranteed my interviewees anonymity, I have also decided to abstain from detailed accounts of their biographies. While I have taken care to alter or leave out all identifying details (e. g., place names, tribal affiliations), I have included as many biographical and contextual details as possible in order to provide the best possible contextualization. I have also tried to make explicit and reflect on my own presence as researcher and author as much as possible.

98

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

5.1.2 In the field: getting access and making progress For this study, ethnographic fieldwork was carried out in Aotearoa New Zealand between February 2007 and June 2008. I spent a total period of thirteen months in the field. The research proceeded in two subsequent field phases from February 2007 to October 2007 and from February 2008 to June 2008. The three months in-between (from November 2007 to February 2008) served as a time for thorough reflection on and discussion of my work with fellow researchers in Germany. This interlude allowed me to distance myself from the data collected during the first eight months of fieldwork, to reflect on the research progress, and to re-adjust my project accordingly. It also allowed me to spend some time with family and friends and to reflect on my own role as researcher and private person. In geographical terms, the research centered on the city of Auckland (Ta¯maki Makaurau). As the country’s biggest city, Auckland provides a particularly diverse urban setting with relatively high educational opportunities and mobility levels. Acting on the assumption that this setting would provide a multitude of spaces of encounter for people of different backgrounds, thereby enabling the formation and maintenance of cross-cultural friendship relations, Auckland was chosen as the main research location. Furthermore, there were also some practical considerations involved: From a previous stay65 I had already gathered some knowledge of the city and I could draw on an expansive social network that helped me get access to people and places relatively easily. On the institutional level, my status as a visiting PhD student at Auckland University of Technology provided me with access to research resources and with important connections to New Zealand academics. As Tolich and Davidson (1999:13) remind us, the personal biography of the researcher (“who you are”) plays a decisive role in the field process. The influence of my professional as well as my private self on the generation, analysis and presentation of the data cannot – and shall not – be denied. Undoubtedly, the fact that ‘I’, the writer of these lines, is a woman in my early thirties, childless, university-educated, German, etc., has to be accounted for. While some of these aspects aided me in the research process, at other times they posed a challenge or hindered access to persons and/or places.66 When I arrived in Auckland in February 2007, my intention was to conduct an ethnographic study on New Zealanders’ friendship practices within the wider socio-political and economic context. I was particularly interested in crosscultural friendships between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ and how this connected to the 65 From 2001 to 2002 I stayed in Auckland as an international student. 66 I will come back to this important point below (chapter 5.1.3).

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

99

wider discourses on biculturalism and multiculturalism. I also planned on including data on ‘other’ actors, especially Pacific peoples and Asians. Well aware of the problem of ‘slotting’ people into cultural or ethnic categories in an environment where multiple identifications are the rule rather than the exception, I intended to generate a multiplicity of perspectives, rather than providing a single exhaustive picture. ‘Culture’ was to be one aspect among many, and ‘relatedness’ was to form the pivotal point of my investigation. Both intra- and cross-cultural personal relations were to be included in order to uncover the complexity of social dynamics. However, even though I succeeded in collecting data on friendships from Pacific peoples and Asians (and others), in the face of the great complexity and an abundance of material, but also in light of the lack of research in this area, a comprehensive analysis of all of these different life-worlds proved beyond the confines of this study. This is why I eventually decided to focus my written analysis on the experiences of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors. During the first two months in the field (from February to May 2007), I lived in a Pa¯keha¯ household in a suburb in central Auckland. My stay had been arranged prior to my arrival. The suburb I lived in can be described as an ethnically and culturally heterogeneous setting; it is particularly popular among Pacific peoples, Indians, and newly arriving immigrants. The household I lived in consisted of four nuclear family members across two generations, who refer to themselves as New Zealanders of European descent, or simply as a ‘Kiwi’-family. All family members draw on an extensive social network that is based on their involvement with different church communities. They regularly enjoy contacts with international visitors and open their house to English language students of all nationalities and religions. My life with them opened up important insights into their everyday lives and activities. They welcomed me into their family and made me feel at home. They questioned me about my research and my person, and they discussed with me their everyday lives as well as their opinions on politics and more generally on topics covered by the media. While my stay with the family was beneficial in many ways, it did not provide me with too many insights into the workings of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendship relations because most family members did not engage in friendships with Ma¯ori – apart from the odd church friend and some work contacts. In fact, during this initial research period, which was intended for field explorations and social networking, I was finding it unexpectedly difficult to find cross-cultural relationships that went beyond the level of friendly interaction. This in itself was of course very revealing, but it still posed the problem of getting access to households in which these relations are part of day-to-day life. After talking to several people about my problem of finding the cross-cultural relations that I was after, in May 2007, a friend of mine brought me into contact with a woman

100

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

who was living within the wider Ma¯ori wha¯nau relations a bit further out of the city, in a rural setting. She has an extensive social network consisting of New Zealanders and non-New Zealanders of different ages, cultural affiliations and socio-economic backgrounds. After talking to her about myself and about my research, she invited me to come and stay with her for the remainder of my first field stay (May until October 2007). Once more, I tried to get involved into the daily lives and activities of my hosts as much as possible and once again I was welcomed very warmly into the family. I was taken along to daily activities, to holidays and weekends at the beach, as well as more formal events and meetings. I discussed my research and I was given valuable input and encouragement. Even though my new home was no longer located in central Auckland, it proved beneficial in several ways: Above all, it gave me the opportunity to collect both urban as well as rural data. In comparison to central Auckland, in this area the population structure still reflects more the ‘traditional’ ideal of a bicultural society. In contrast to the cultural diversity so pervasive in the city, there are considerably lower numbers of Pacific Peoples, Asians, or other ‘new’ immigrants in this area. My experiences in this environment provided me with a different perspective that ultimately helped me understand both city and rural life better. Furthermore, this location enabled me to uncover the high mobility between the city and its rural surroundings. In fact, mobility emerged as a central factor in the way intimate relations are maintained by different actors. I, too, became more mobile, traveling between the different districts as well as inside the city, upholding connections to different people. My intention was to collect as many perspectives and experiences as possible in order to find common patterns as well as divergences. During my time in Greater Auckland, I also stayed at some other places: a couple of weeks with wha¯nau (extended family) relations in the city, some weekends in another rural settlement, and several weeks in Wellington. Building on my visits during the first field stay, Wellington (Te Whanganui-aTara or Po¯neke) became another, or secondary, field site during my second field stay (I stayed more than two months in Wellington). Even though Wellington city only counts some 180,000 inhabitants (Statistics New Zealand 2007c:14), it is well known for its cosmopolitan flair. ‘Cosmopolitan’ often refers to ‘European’ (in the sense of Continental Europe) and is associated with artistic and cultural events, but also with governmental institutions and national politics. Central Wellington is often described as ‘whiter’ or ‘more Pa¯keha¯’ than Auckland, which is reflected in a Ma¯ori population of just under 8 percent (ibid.:13) – in comparison to 11 percent in Auckland. However, some of its neighboring cities are characterized by high Pacific and Ma¯ori populations. The Wellington household I was staying in was located in a central city suburb

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

101

that may be described as predominately middle class and Pa¯keha¯. Initially, a friend of mine invited me to come there for a visit. At the time I was living in Greater Auckland. Rather than staying with a family, this time I had the opportunity to share a flat in a central city suburb with New Zealanders of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori decent (in changing constellations). I also had some other contacts in Wellington, and I decided to spend some time there. My stay was intended to serve as a kind of foil, or reference, to the Auckland data. The people I was staying with were students and working men and women in their early to midtwenties, all of whom engaged actively in intra- and cross-cultural friendship constellations and social networks on a daily basis. Again, I am very much indebted to them for welcoming me into their lives and for aiding me in my research in numerous ways. During my thirteen months in Aotearoa New Zealand, I purposefully traveled back and forth between the different places and people. Even though I conducted research at several field sites, I would like to emphasize that this study has not been framed methodologically as multi-sited ethnography (Gille and Riaon 2002, Marcus 1995). Clearly, the focus of my research was on the city of Auckland. Furthermore, even though I followed up connections and links between certain places and people, I did not do so within an analytically and methodologically comprehensive multi-sited framework. Rather, I tried to flexibly meet the demands of the research process, following up on loose ends and open questions whenever possible. This way I sometimes found myself in unexpected places and situations that more often than not raised new questions, sometimes did not lead anywhere at all, but always helped contextualize my data later on. Above all, working at different localities showed me the embeddedness of social relations and patterns of interactions. It sometimes revealed consistency of actors’ relationship patterns, personal lifestyles as well as individual relationships; at other times it showed their changeability and fragility. It allowed me to observe general patterns and it also made it easier to estimate local and national discourses. 5.1.3 Friends in the field: chances and challenges As already pointed out, accessing the field and making progress in the field was relatively uncomplicated because of my personal social network. In many ways, I could simply fall back on existing relationships with New Zealanders of different ages and backgrounds – relationships that I had formed in 2001 and 2002 during my time as an international student in Auckland. Friendship was a big part of it: I had people who helped me find places to live, people who helped me find and purchase a car, and people who helped me find other people to talk to. They invited me to come along to places and events, they talked to me about my

102

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

research, sometimes they made critical suggestions, at other times they encouraged me to carry on. Some of them became active research participants; others simply paved the way for me and for my project. Also providing me with their sympathy, affection, and emotional support, these key figures constituted important cornerstones for the success of my research endeavor as they helped overcome reservations and suspicion towards the foreign researcher. Some of these relationships I consider friendships – friendships that were already in place when I started my research, or which developed in the process. As with all friendships, some of them strengthened and deepened, while others dwindled, or simply changed. While having these friendships was beneficial in most ways, it also created some difficulties for me, mainly in terms of overlapping social roles. Juggling conflicting roles as friend, acquaintance, flatmate, boarder, colleague, as well as researcher proved a difficult challenge. This is, of course, a well-known phenomenon. Every anthropologist needs to carefully balance proximity and distance in the research process. Much has been written in anthropology on the ambiguity of the role(s) of the fieldworker and on the uniqueness of the relationship between the researcher and the people who participate in the research. In fact, the confusion surrounding this relationship is so fundamental, that there does not even exist agreement among anthropologists as to how to call the researcher’s collaborators in the field: While some still refer to the more traditional label of ‘native’ or ‘local’, others, in emphasizing the relational dimension of the connection, prefer labels such as ‘subject’, ‘assistant’, ‘collaborator’, ‘informant’, or ‘interlocutor’ (cf. Driessen 1998). However, the most common seems to be the term ‘research participant’. ‘Friend’ is another label that is used to term these relationships – albeit a highly ambiguous one. In fact, the friendship label is avoided and even warned against by anthropologists in order to escape possible role confusion (cf. Driessen 1998). The underlying assumption is a fundamental incompatibility of the roles of ‘friend’ and ‘informant’ brought about by an inherent tension between power differentials and friendship rhetoric. And indeed, as the (professional) work relationship turns into a (private) friendship, it often becomes hard – if not impossible – to distinguish between informants and friends, or rather, between researcher-informant and friendship ‘shares’ in a relationship. The issue becomes even more confusing if one considers that ‘friend’ and ‘friendship’ are highly variable categories, which may be understood rather differently by the actors involved. In the case of this particular study, the problem was even more pertinent because of the research topic: Not only was I seeking to research cross- and intracultural friendship relations, in the process of doing so I was also engaging in cross-cultural friendships – friendships that often have to balance personae with

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

103

different life experiences and cultural backgrounds, as well as sometimes diverging friendship conceptions and practices; friendships that often follow their own and quite separate logics (for this point see also, Beer 1998). Friendship thus became an integral part of the research methodology. It is my contention that it is not by mere chance that ‘friends’ are so often mentioned in field accounts and monographs. Friendship and fieldwork are deeply entangled phenomena, above all, because of the practice of conducting long-term fieldwork. Without close interpersonal contacts, the successful ethnographic endeavor can hardly be imagined, for it is only when the researcher succeeds in establishing relationships based on some degree of trust and intimacy that she will get those deeper insights into the life-worlds and everyday experiences of the people she is studying (cf. Beer 2001). Importantly, this is not to deny the existence of power differences in the field. Often, but not exclusively so, the researcher holds a structurally favorable position. Furthermore, as Henk Driessen (1998) convincingly argues, the rhetoric of friendship can mask the power differential between fieldworker and informant. However, both researcher and research participant, friends or not, hold positions of relative power, which are rarely unidirectional and which may also shift in the course of interaction. In practice, the relationship between researcher and researched is constantly (re-)negotiated (Schlehe 2008:137). My intention is not to argue to simply (and somewhat unreflectively) turn all research participants into ‘friends’, or vice versa, to turn one’s friends into research participants. The resulting role conflicts would most probably be insurmountable. However, rather than discarding the label ‘friend’ altogether because of the problems involved, I believe that these relationships hold some chances that need to be considered in order to live up to the ideal of selfreflexivity. After all, every ethnographic study is highly influenced by the ways in which all actors involved in the research engage in it and with one another. This includes sympathy as much as antipathy and conflict. In the case of this study, during the entire fieldwork process, there was one instance where the entanglement between personal relationship and research relationship eventually led to a person drawing out of the research process. As the person told me, the fact that our relationship contained both friendship and researcher-informant relationship content had created some role conflicts. We had an open talk about our respective thoughts and feelings and in the end we simply dissolved the professional part of our engagement with one another. I was a little disappointed and felt a bit confused at first because I had not even considered our relationship a ‘real’ friendship in my own terms, but I then realized that this was of course a reflection of my own, rather narrow friendship ideal. There is, of course, also the possibility that the friendship argument was used here as an excuse to draw out of the research. Whether this was the case or

104

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

not, the incidence demonstrates well the conflict-potential of professional and personal relationship. However, critical incidences such as this one also help to understand some of the dynamics involved in friendship. In particular, cross-cultural friendships often rely on a good portion of goodwill and openness by the actors engaging in them. For it is only then that mutual learning can take place, which is indispensable for an intimate long-term friendship to be maintained. This particular incident also helped me, as a researcher, to once again reflect on my own roles and relationships in the field, and it showed me that the role conflicts arising from the researcher-informant relationship can be solved in productive ways. Throughout the research, the entanglement of personal affection and academic interest was a challenge and sometimes a risk (mainly for the relationship but also sometimes for the project). However, it was also a great chance and a stabilizing factor. Hence, rather than altogether forsaking the possibility of friendship in the field, I want to argue for a closer look at these very special relationships, thereby including them in the research process.

5.2

Research methods

I am working with the qualitative methods of anthropology. As a relatively new topic of enquiry, a study of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand lends itself particularly well to this methodological approach (Gareis 2000), which through its flexible combination of field methods over a longer period of time uncovers the everyday practices and meanings of both intra- as well as cross-cultural relations. Friendships are relatively intimate personal relations. In order to make visible the fractures and fissures of these often highly idealized social relations, both verbal and non-verbal channels of enquiry have to be pursued. 5.2.1 Participant observation and informal conversations In his classic Argonauts of the Western Pacific (1961) Bronislaw Malinowski describes the relevance of participant observation and field research as follows: Living in the village with no other business but to follow native life, one sees the customs, ceremonies and transactions over and over again, one has examples of their beliefs as they are actually lived through, and the full body and blood of actual native life fills out soon the skeleton of abstract constructions. (Malinowski 1961:18)

While much has changed since the pioneer of ethnographic fieldwork wrote the above lines, participant observation still plays a paramount role in anthropology. In fact, I believe it constitutes (or should constitute) the centerpiece of the

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

105

anthropological enquiry. In this study, participant observation was the most important method throughout the research. During the initial phase of fieldwork it served as a comprehensive strategy that helped me to gather more general knowledge and to explore the field. In the subsequent stages, this allowed for a more target-oriented observation directed towards the understanding of certain behaviors, discourses, etc. Friendships are relatively intimate, affective private relations that can be hard to grasp. The actors themselves are not necessarily conscious of the ways in which they pursue and practice their relationships with others. In my experience, people often find it difficult to talk about friendship beyond the level of idealized discourse, or to explain why a particular friendship works the way that it does. In fact, there often exists a considerable gap between friendship relations as ideal conceptions of relatedness and the actual workings of people’s personal relations. Observation of specific interactions and more general behavior helped me to understand better some of the ways in which people pursue their lives and relationships on an everyday basis. As pointed out above, I immersed myself in the research setting as much as possible by living in different households and by participating in the activities of persons from different backgrounds. I tried to involve myself in the lives of the people I met whenever possible: I stayed at their houses, visited friends and relatives, took part in their everyday activities, and went along to special events (e. g., birthdays, funerals, group meetings, dinner parties), to private and public events and places. Through their networks I met people of different ages, social, cultural and ethnic as well as economic backgrounds who lived in the city, or in the countryside, and who had different interests, lifestyles and worldviews. Some of them I only met once or twice, others I maintained intensive relations with. I resumed my efforts at learning te reo67, I took part in university programs and events, and I got involved in the life of the university marae (ceremonial center) in the city : I attended noho marae weekends (stayovers) and other wa¯nanga (traditional schools of learning); I participated in kapa haka (Ma¯ori performing arts) practices and graduation ceremonies. I also regularly attended events at several rural marae near Auckland, and I visited different urban and rural marae in other parts of the country. The occasions ranged from dawn ceremonies and claim settlement hui (assembly, gathering, meeting) to festivals, and visits to family and friends. I also had the chance to regularly attend the meetings of a local Treaty claim committee. This was particularly valuable since it provided me with insights into the actual workings of Ma¯ori-Crown relations

67 I had first started learning the Ma¯ori language in 2001/2002 during my enrolment as an international student.

106

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

on the local level and into the meaning of the claim process for ‘ordinary’ people and their relationships with one another. I was always on the move: accompanying people, visiting people, meeting new people, simply going wherever they told me to go. This strategy proved fruitful for engaging with a variety of persons from often very diverse backgrounds. By doing so, I was constantly discovering new perspectives on my research topic. I visited people in different parts of the country, I traveled across the North to the South Island, I revisited places that I had been to before and I got to know new ones, all along talking to the people that I met, jotting down my experiences in note books and discussing my observations with those whom I met. Whenever possible, I tried to talk to people. I told them about my research, I asked them questions and I listened to what they had to say. Sometimes they were trying to teach me something, at other times our positions became reversed and I was asked for advice and I became the one answering the questions. These rather spontaneous interactions, statements, and thoughts helped to build greater rapport, but they also served as thought-provoking impulses – by means of confirming or refuting assumptions, by pointing to new research avenues or impasses. My main language of investigation was English, but I tried to converse in Ma¯ori whenever I had the chance to do so (and when I felt it was appropriate68), significantly improving my knowledge of te reo as I went along. It is this immersion into the field, and the engagement with the people in the field, that marks off anthropological methods from those of related disciplines, which tend to depend on verbal modes of enquiry (e. g., interviews) or written ones (e. g., social surveys). Because of its complexity, participant observation can reveal insights not accessible by solely verbal or written modes of enquiry (even though anthropologists also make use of those). While ‘observation’ is usually associated with the visual, I would like to point out the importance of non-visual manifestations. Feelings, for instance, can give important insights into people’s experiences and life-worlds. Friendships are often about socializing. Laughing together, cooking for one another, dancing, or singing can be more revealing than important routine actions. Listening, too, is an important sensual experience that in many instances is as revealing as ‘watching’. In many cultures, listening constitutes an important condition of learning. In fact, sitting down and listening to what a particular person has to say 68 My efforts at speaking te reo were usually acknowledged in a positive way. However, since only a minority of Ma¯ori speak te reo, the issue of non-Ma¯ori persons learning to speak the Ma¯ori language is contested. I never encountered criticism personally, but I was aware of this socio-political dimension, and I tried to proceed with respect. This included to not speak te reo on certain occasions. When asked why I was learning te reo, I replied that since I had learned English, I also felt the need to learn te reo, the second official language of Aotearoa New Zealand.

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

107

is, I believe, an integral part of the anthropological endeavor. Rather than pressing my own interests as a researcher, I tried to listen to what people wanted to tell me. Sometimes, I did not comprehend initially why someone was telling me something about a person or a specific event, and the reasons only became clear later (sometimes many weeks later). All of these experiences, my observations and thoughts, but also impressions, questions, assumptions and problems, I recorded in my field books. I also wrote down my personal thoughts, feelings and reflections on the research progress. I frequently re-read them in order to keep track of the research and of my own position in this process. After my return to Germany, and again as part of the process of empirical data analysis, I assessed my field notes and diary entries in regards to contents and coherence, using them as a kind of contrast foil against which to clarify my findings. The analysis of the field notes reveals the course of the field process, and complements the analysis of the verbal material. 5.2.2 Interviews Alongside informal conversations with New Zealanders of different ages and backgrounds, I conducted unstructured and semi-structured interviews. The unstructured, or narrative, interview is aligned with the commitment of the interviewee rather than the interviewer, and while this also applies to so-called semi-structured interviews, the latter tend to be a bit more coordinated in regards to topics or themes. Each interview is unique in that it is characterized by the interaction and communication between (at least) two individuals (interviewer and interviewee), by the relationship between them and by the specific context of their encounter (Schlehe 2008:119). The main purpose of the interviews was to deepen (and to test) my understanding by following up on specific points, but also to explore new aspects and to open up an even wider range of perspectives and experiences. I conducted predominately one-on-one interviews, in which my interview partners were asked to talk more or less freely about friendship and a number of related topics. In one instance, two friends asked me to be interviewed together, in a second case, I was asked to visit someone at his friend’s place where a whole bunch of people gathered on a regular basis. In the end, I recorded a very revealing group conversation with three friends, myself, as well as some by-passers. In both instances, the initiative to come together came from the interviewees themselves. The dynamics of the group opened up new and interesting perspectives and insights into the actors’ understanding of friendship, but also into the ways they were interacting and reflecting together on the topic. In several other instances, by-passers (family members, friends, neighbors, or colleagues) entered the conversation for a short time. These ‘disturbances’ by a third (and/or fourth)

108

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

party usually proved fruitful in that they gave the conversation additional input and changed the dynamics of the conversation. They also provided some clues as to the status of persons within their social network. The interview themes were the result of my observations and conversations as well as other research activities. Conversation topics included more general conceptions and experiences of friendship (meanings and definition, role, ideal conception and practice) as well as closely related relationships (e. g., family, work relations) and concrete relationship experiences over time. Depending on the course an interview was taking, I also enquired about cross-cultural experiences, about self-identifications and about more general socio-political topics such as immigration issues and the Treaty of Waitangi. Apart from this, the interviewees could determine the course of the interview rather freely. Consequently, the conversations turned out to be flexible and took between one and three-and-a-half hours. Whenever possible, I tried to meet people several times. Interviews were conducted in English, the first language of most interviewees. In the case of Ma¯ori interview partners, English was often intermixed with Ma¯ori words and phrases. One interview was conducted in German (the mother tongue of the interviewee). With respect to place and time, I tried to comply with my interviewees’ suggestions. In some cases the interviews took place at their homes, which provided me with further insights into their lives. The interviews were recorded upon approval and transcribed. The analysis of the written interview material was conducted computer based with MAXQDA Software. I would like to emphasize that only few of the interviewees had reflected on their social universes prior to getting involved in my research. The narrating process involves a reflexive narrating and understanding of self that reflects dayto-day experiences and the subjective interpretations thereof (Hein 2006:65). In the process of narrating actors re-tell, re-interpret and thereby re-construct these experiences (Hermann and Röttger-Rössler 2003:3). This needs to be borne in mind for the analysis in chapters 6 and 7. In order to trace out the complexity of my topic, I pursued two additional methodological strategies in the interviews: The first served as a refinement of the understanding of friendship norms and practices, the second was initially intended to throw some light on the composition of the actors’ social networks and on their everyday friendship practices. Firstly, while in the social sciences in general rather little is known about the understanding of friendship across cultures, within the field of developmental psychology Keller and colleagues (e. g., Keller 1996, 2004a, Keller and Gummerum 2003) have conducted several empirical studies on socio-moral reasoning about friendship in cross-cultural context (see also, chapter 1.2). From their work, a set of questions regarding the conception of friendship and trust

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

109

(see Appendix D) was employed as part of the interview strategy. The goal was to collect more targeted data on the understanding of friendship, especially in terms of the role of emotional intimacy and autonomy in friendship relations. Secondly, in order to collect data on the interviewees’ networks of personal relationships, so-called network, or relationship charts respectively, were used during the interviews. Since this tool proved particularly useful, it deserves a subchapter of its own. 5.2.3 Relationship charts Following Beer (2001:5807), the combination of network data with the more ‘traditional’ methods of participant observation, informal conversations and interviews lead to a more complex and more differentiated picture of the dynamics of friendship relations. The network charts that I used during the interviews are a modified version of Kahn and Antonucci’s (1980) method of concentric circles and served to collect data on ego’s personal relationship network (see Appendix E). Even though I made an effort to also interview ego’s alteri and to compare the charts (position, relationship understanding, etc.) within a social group of peoples, my intention was not to conduct a full network analysis. Rather, I used the charts as an additional conversation impulse and as a visualization aid. I therefore prefer to refer to them as ‘relationship charts’ rather than ‘network charts’.69 The relationship charts turned out to be of particular value in my research. One of their immediate advantages is that they can be integrated into the interviewing process easily without disturbing the course of the conversation (cf. Höfer et al. 2006:291). I frequently used them at the second or third meeting, or when it seemed appropriate (for instance, when the interviewee started talking about concrete friendships). The instructions are semi-standardized: The interviewee is asked to fill in the chart with the persons that play a role in her or his life. The interviewees are given maximal design flexibility, including the possibility to re-design the chart according to their needs (for instance, by adding or deleting circles or by discarding the chart altogether and drawing freehand). They were provided with a pencil, an eraser, a pencil sharpener as well as colored pencils. Afterwards, I asked them to explain the chart to me. I asked questions about the persons in the chart as well as about its design and structure. I was cautious not to interrupt the process of drawing and in several cases I left the room for some minutes. Two interviewees asked me to take the relationship chart home to be able to think 69 For a critical position on the question of qualitative network analysis see, for instance, DiazBone (2006).

110

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

about it and I complied with their wishes. In a number of cases the charts were being changed at subsequent meetings, in most cases, persons and other details were added, deleted or shifted during the conversation. The result is a variety of rather diverse and highly individualized relationship representations. The work with the relationship charts was beneficial in that it added additional information and made visible the dynamics of personal relationships and social environments – even when not in use. One person, a Ma¯ori kuia (female elder), criticized the charts’ two-dimensionality, which for her showed the Western or non-Ma¯ori character of the instrument. She then went on to explain in detail how relationships work from a Ma¯ori perspective, thus adding extremely insightful information to our conversation. The use of the relationship charts also proved useful in that it helped to discuss concrete friendship practices and the everyday significance of particular relationships, rather than generalized and highly idealized friendship conceptions. Since I used the charts as a narrative aid, I also guaranteed the interviewees not to disclose revealing information contained in them, and not to reproduce them. This is understandable in light of the highly sensitive information depicted in them (e. g., information on how close they feel to certain people, who they regard as problematic). This is why I have not included a copy of them. Furthermore, while I mention certain aspects such as network size and talk about specific people in the case studies in chapter 7, I was careful to only give very broad measures (large, small, only family relations, etc.). In chapter 6.2.8, I have included some anonymized charts. These serve illustrational purposes only. Also, in chapter 7.2.4 I included one chart to support the case I am making. In any case, I have made sure that the depictions do not contain identifying information. 5.2.4 Choices of analysis and sampling As the above implies, the empirical analysis is based on diverse types of qualitative data (field notes, recorded interviews, relationship charts, literature research), which were analyzed with different tools (computer and non-computer based). My analysis choices were content-oriented as well as pragmatic and followed a systematic approach by which I identified relationship patterns and contents in line with qualitative content analysis (Mayring 2000, 2004). With the help of MAXQDA software, the transcribed interviews were coded by means of a deductive process, classified and analyzed. The same was done with excerpts of field notes and diaries, which then served to counter-check the analysis of the interviews. The relationships charts were grouped into patterns according to size (less than 10 persons was regarded as comparatively small; more than 30 as large), age, gender, and group affiliation (Ma¯ori, Pa¯keha¯/European, Ma¯ori-

Methodological choices: the researcher, the people, the field

111

Pa¯keha¯, Pacific people, Pacific-Ma¯ori, Asian New Zealand born, Asian non-New Zealand born, ‘other’). By following up a combination of analysis strategies, I am aiming, above all, at a comprehensive (albeit not exhaustive) and interpretative qualitative approach that favors a contextual analysis of social phenomena within their wider sociocultural and political settings. I found this approach very efficient: by combining the different materials I found patterns, established inconsistencies, contradictions and new avenues for further research. However, there are certainly innumerous other ways of analyzing my data, some of which I point out in my reflections on the limitations of my study in the last chapter (chapter 9). In order to be able to contextualize, to compare and to contrast research findings, it is important that the research sample reflects the heterogeneity of the research setting (Schlehe 2008:131). I recorded formal interviews with a total of 80 persons of different age, gender, sexual orientations, social background, and cultural and ethnic affiliation (see Appendix C for a short profile of interviewees). Most of them were New Zealanders, but especially among the ‘Asian’ group there were several different nationalities represented. I also conducted one interview with a German international student who at the time of our interview was living in a cross-cultural flat situation with a Ma¯ori and a Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander. Apart from providing me with an interesting outsider’s perspective, I also hoped to (and did) gain some self-reflexive insights into my own perspectives as a German in Aotearoa New Zealand. I purposefully sought to include in my sample a variety of people from different living environments and social backgrounds. I conducted interviews with men and women, New Zealanders and non-New Zealanders. Ages ranged from seventeen to seventy ; the mean age was around thirty-three. Most persons were living in or commuting to urban settings, while some were deeply involved in rural life and community politics. However, as pointed out before, the focus of my investigation was the urban field. Occupations included stay-at-home-mothers, students, managers, clergymen, businessmen, retirees, teachers, professors, manual workers, farmers, as well as artists, musicians and unemployed persons. In terms of cultural affiliation and ethnic background, a variety of intersecting, often multiple and sometimes contradictory identifications and affiliations are present in the sample: I talked to people who described themselves as Ma¯ori, Pa¯keha¯, European, European-Pa¯keha¯, Pa¯keha¯-New Zealander, as New Zealander, as Kiwi, or as Tongan, Samoan-New Zealander, Ma¯ori-Tongan-New Zealander, Asian, Chinese, Taiwanese, Asian-New Zealander, German, Anglo-Indian, Indian-Filipino, and so on. Depending on the situation and the persons involved, the actors often employed their (multiple) identities in quite skillful ways. Throughout the analysis, I have aimed at tracing

112

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

out the dynamics resulting from these diverse and multiple, as well as strategically employed self-identifications and the corresponding ascribed identities. While I tried to include data on persons with different socio-economic backgrounds and social milieus, the majority of persons that I conducted formal interviews with were at least secondary and more than often tertiary educated. At least in part, this is compensated for with informal conversations and participant observation. Nevertheless, these are important limitations that should be borne in mind when considering the research findings. At this point, I would like to comment on my dealings with the different ‘kinds’ of research participants. As I already pointed out, I engaged in the lives of the participants on different levels. Whereas some of them I have known for years, have lived with and have re-met for more than ten years, others I only met once or twice, or ‘passing-by’ at a special occasion. Some of them I call ‘friends’, others ‘key research participants’, some were ‘simply’ ‘participants’, or ‘just’ ‘interviewees’ i. e., people I only met once or twice for an interview. Clearly, these relations involve different degrees of engagement and trust between researcher and the researched, which may, or may not, be reflected in the data collected. Whereas this variety of participants may add further insights and enrich the data, it also needs to be made explicit and be reflected upon in the presentation of the empirical data. In the following chapters, I have thus endeavored to make explicit my level of involvement with research participants and the context or ‘setting’ of their participation. Finally, as I already mentioned, I initially intended to include more prominently the perspectives of Pacific peoples, Asians and ‘other’ non-Ma¯ori, nonPa¯keha¯ into the written presentation of my analysis. However, as I already explained, for pragmatic as well as analytical reasons, the results presented here focus on the experiences by Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. Nonetheless, these ‘other’ data also enter into my analysis since they constitute the empirical ‘backbone’ of my theoretical and analytical reflections.

6

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

Which friendship terminology do we find in Aotearoa New Zealand in the 21st century? Which meanings are associated with friendship and how do Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealanders frame their friendship experiences within their social universes? These are the guiding questions of this chapter in which I trace out New Zealand friendship terminology, ideals and practices. Rather than predefining friendship, I follow an emic approach that favors categorical openness. I

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

113

will consider the ways in which the actors refer – both in English and in te reo Ma¯ori – to their friends (i. e., ‘friend’, ‘mate’, ‘acquaintance’, hoa, a¯piti, whanaunga) and how they differentiate between them. I will then go on to examine the meanings that they attach to the designated relationships. As the results will reveal, more than three decades after the publication of Schwimmer’s (1974) essay on kinship and friendship, we find a diversified picture of social relatedness in Aotearoa New Zealand. Not only do we find a Ma¯ori word for ‘friendship’ (whakahoanga); different relationship semantics (in English and in Ma¯ori) suggest the co-existence of multiple friendship conceptions as well as the variability and permeability of social forms. As I will argue, the creative use of language is an important key for understanding different friendship worlds, some of which are situated within the figured world of Pa¯keha¯ society, whereas others are confined to Ma¯ori spaces and life-worlds.

6.1

E hoa! – My friend! Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ terminology

While both English and te reo (the Ma¯ori language) are official languages of Aotearoa New Zealand, English is the dominant language in public discourse as well as lingua franca in the vast majority of New Zealand households (see chapter 4.3.4). Even though te reo is increasingly used in everyday interaction and in society in general (for instance, in the media), for most New Zealand actors, including Ma¯ori, English is still the main language of communication. This also has important implications for the way in which actors use different relationship terminology. From linguistic anthropology we know that language use is not only linked to identity construction (e. g., Kulick 1992), but that language and socialization are an integrated process (e. g., Ochs 1988, Ochs and Schieffelin 1984). Don Kulick (1992), for instance, in his exploration of the use of two languages in the village of Gapun in Papua New Guinea, has shown the connection between language use and identity construction: In Gapun, speaking the local Taiap language is indexical of what is perceived as ‘backward’ Gapun identity and associated with the notion of personal autonomy, speaking the creole language Tok Pisin is indexical of modern Christian identity and associated with the idea of cooperation. This has also led to a change in patterns of language socialization (Kulick 1992: 256 f.). As Ochs and Schieffeling (1984: 307 f.) have pointed out in their analysis of white middle class and Kaluli caregivers’ speech behavior, language acquisition is a process of integrating code knowledge, i. e., knowledge of the code properties of a language, with socio-cultural knowledge. Thus, the ways in which actors make creative use of the languages available to them (or not) provides important insights into how they identify in a given social context vis-‚-vis

114

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

others; importantly, this may differ according to individual knowledge levels and both language and socio-cultural socialization. In the following, I will discuss the relevant relationship terminology employed by Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors to express friendship.70 6.1.1 A note on language use: English and Ma¯ori In spite of the primacy of English in private and public New Zealand discourse, English and te reo Ma¯ori are intertwined in important ways: Firstly, over the past decades, Ma¯ori terminology and concepts have entered more widely into everyday language among New Zealanders. For instance, Ma¯ori kin terminology such as wha¯nau (extended family), hapu¯ (subtribe), iwi (tribe), but also terms like tangata whenua (indigenous person, host), tangihanga (funeral, rites for the dead), and hui (assembly, gathering) are frequently integrated into English sentences – in both private and in public discourse; more often than not this occurs without translation. In most instances, these terms fill so-called lexical gaps to avoid circumlocution. They also sometimes serve to display or emphasize socio-cultural content, or difference respectively. In other cases, Ma¯ori and English terms are simply used interchangeably. On the one hand, this flexible use of terminology and language may provide important insights into the socio-cultural context and meanings of friendship. On the other hand, the disentanglement of these meanings poses a great challenge for the anthropologist trying to make sense of it all – an experiment of inherently limited success. I will come back to the challenge of terminological ambiguity throughout this chapter. The use of the Ma¯ori language in particular is tied up with notions of cultural identity, with participation and heritage, not only by Ma¯ori but also by nonMa¯ori New Zealanders. Partly as a result of the socio-cultural processes discussed in chapter 4, te reo Ma¯ori is nowadays part of a broader notion of New Zealand identity and heritage that incorporates a sense of shared belonging in New Zealand.71 In any case, the meaning(s) attached to Ma¯ori and English relationship terms vary significantly depending on the socio-cultural context in which they are used, on the motivation and intention of those using them, on the specific characteristics (e. g., personality, age, gender) of both addressee and 70 For reasons of legibility I will use the term ‘friendship’. Unless specified otherwise, ‘friendship’ refers to relationships the actors maintain to ‘friends’, ‘mates’, ‘buddies’, hoa, a¯piti, and whanaunga (see also below, chapter 6.1.2). 71 A concise analysis of this important issue is beyond the scope of this thesis; I have briefly touched on it in chapter 4 and I will discuss some aspects in more detail when I return to the notion of wha¯nau as a culture-specific notion of relatedness expressing friendship (see chapter 7.2.4), and to the place cultural difference in friendship (see chapter 7.3).

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

115

addressor, but also on their respective level of knowledge of the language, and on whether they were socialized mono- or bilingually. Metge makes a similar point in her discussion of the use of the word wha¯nau when she describes that the variable use of the word not only results in misunderstandings between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ “but also between Ma¯ori of different generations and with different degrees of Ma¯ori knowledge” (1995:52). It is important to keep in mind that only a minority of the Ma¯ori population has a good command of the Ma¯ori language and that few people speak te reo in their daily lives. In some cases – but not necessarily so – this is linked to loss of cultural identity and a sense of unease as Ma¯ori in Aotearoa New Zealand. For instance, speaking te reo is sometimes perceived to be part of being a ‘real’ Ma¯ori (cf. Brandt 2006, van Meijl 2006). However, a growing number of Ma¯ori actors also employ Ma¯ori terminology in their everyday language use. They speak Ma¯ori at home, at the marae (ceremonial center), at Ma¯ori educational institutions and when socializing with family and friends. In many cases, the use of te reo is fragmented and restricted to interaction with other Ma¯ori as well as to particular socio-cultural environments. Examples include formal gatherings at the marae (ceremonial center), more informal family meetings and gatherings, so-called ‘Ma¯ori groups’ and/or ‘Ma¯ori spaces’ in private or professional life. Code-switching, i. e., the practice of moving back and forth between two languages (in this case English and te reo), is a frequent phenomenon in conversations among Ma¯ori. It also occurs sometimes between Ma¯ori and nonMa¯ori, depending on the bilingual knowledge of the conversation partners. On this note, it is important to emphasize that there also exists a growing number of non-Ma¯ori who learn te reo, or who have at least some general knowledge of the Ma¯ori language. This adds further complexity to the ways in which actors creatively make use of different terminology. In any case, whether or not a person speaks Ma¯ori or refers to Ma¯ori terminology, at what times, why and with whom this person does so, provides important insights into the cultural setting of a specific interaction as well as her or his cultural identifications. The use of language also gives some clues as to how individual actors position themselves in their social interactions and relationships with others. For now, it suffices to keep in mind that English is the main language spoken in Aotearoa New Zealand, but that the actors in this study may draw on more than one language as well as on several relationship terminologies at once – and that they may do so in diverse, inconsistent, and contradictory ways. 6.1.2 Who’s who? Friend, mate, acquaintance In light of the dominance of the English language as well as the Western-European ‘friendship’ discourse, it is not surprising that the majority of actors that I

116

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

talked to – regardless of age, gender, socio-cultural or economic background – first and foremost used the terms ‘friend’ and ‘mate’, to a lesser extent ‘buddy’, and ‘acquaintance’ to refer to and to address their significant others beyond the family context. In most cases, English-speaking actors refer to the relationships with these significant others as ‘friendships’, which – as we already know – may refer to a confusing array of meanings and practices (see chapter 1). As I noted in my diary after some months in the field, going through compilations of relationship terminology and other field notes: “The research topic seems diffuse at the moment, almost impossible to grasp…” (field diary May 30, 2007). Any other result would have been surprising, of course. Despite its variability in meaning – but consistent with the findings of other studies in the English-speaking world – a ‘friend’ is a term of address used by New Zealanders of diverse backgrounds, age groups, gender, as well as group affiliations to refer to a person with whom one has a voluntary bond of affection, and which is maintained outside of romantic or family relations. Often friends and family are mutually exclusive, but not necessarily so. Friends are usually distinguished by New Zealand actors in regard to the level of perceived closeness or intimacy (e. g., good friend, intimate friend, close friend, just friends), in regard to the time or duration of the relationship (e. g., old friend, childhood friend), and to the social context in which the friendship was formed or is maintained (e. g., school friend, university friend, work friend, going out friend). In particular women and non-heterosexual actors seem to distinguish ‘girl friends’ and ‘guy friends’, but also ‘gay friends’, sometimes also ‘straight friends’ and (mainly in the case of heterosexual women) ‘gay guy friends’, to demarcate gender identity ; ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ are usually used in reference to a sexual relationship (hetero- or homosexual). These relationships are not necessarily included in the category of ‘friendship’, but some actors include their partners or spouses respectively, as well as sexual relations. On the whole, my findings support Heather Devere’s (2007) on this point, i. e., whereas New Zealand women increasingly follow the habit of calling their female friends their ‘girlfriends’, men tend to not use the term ‘boyfriend’ to refer to a non-sexual relationship (see also, chapter 2). Finally, by adding descriptive terminology to the generic term ‘friend’, the type and the specific characteristics of friendship may be qualified – vis-‚-vis one another or in reference to a third party. Another English term in Aotearoa New Zealand is ‘mate’, to a lesser extent ‘buddy’. ‘Mate’ and ‘friend’ (and sometimes ‘buddy’) are often used synonymously. As in the case of ‘friend’, the type of ‘mate’ may be qualified by adding descriptive terms (e. g., work mate, school mate, flatmate, sports mate, best mate). While both ‘friend’ and ‘mate’ are used across age, gender, socio-cultural and socio-economic background, certain groups of actors use ‘mate’ rather than

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

117

‘friend’ in everyday lingo. Especially males tend to use the term ‘mate’ when referring to their male friends. This corresponds with the available literature on the meaning of mateship in Australian and New Zealand society discussed in chapter 2. However, I also found ‘mate’ to be in use in particular among younger actors in their teens and twenties who tend to employ some kind of teenage or youth language. Finally, I found that Ma¯ori women of all ages employ the word ‘mate’ to refer to male and female friends. I did not find many Pa¯keha¯ women beyond their forties who frequently used the word ‘mate’. My data diverges here from Devere’s (2007) depiction (see chapter 2.1.2). An explanation may lie in the image of ‘toughness’ associated with the term. Among Ma¯ori women the image of tough, and sometimes even warrior-like wa¯hine toa, i. e., strong women of mana (authority, power, prestige) and standing in society, is often summoned (cf. Brandt 2006). The reason why ‘mate’ is more commonly employed by Ma¯ori women than by Pa¯keha¯ women could therefore be linked to a culture-specific conception of gender. Furthermore, it could be related to the intersectionality of gender, class, and culture. In fact, many of the older Ma¯ori women who use the term ‘mate’ regularly have a working class background. However, on the whole, I concur with Devere (2007) that ‘mate’ is more often used by males, and that it more often refers to friendships between men. There is some variation as to the level of closeness associated with ‘mate’ and ‘friend’. All in all, it seems that those who use the word ‘mate’ a lot, either do so as a synonym for ‘friend’, i. e., to refer to all sorts of intimate and not so intimate relations, or to express a particularly intimate friendship. Especially men and women under the age of forty referred to mateship as an intimate friendship. The older men in my sample did not use the word ‘mate’ very often when talking about their male friends; however, when addressing them in everyday interaction they did. Others used the word more broadly, or only used it to refer to friendly, yet casual relations, for instance, to work mates or school mates. Perhaps the most frequently used term containing the word ‘mate’ was the ‘flatmate’, i. e., a person with whom one shares one’s intimate private space but who is not necessarily a friend. In fact, as in the case with work mates, a flatmate does not even have to be a person whom one likes. In any case, I did not find a pronounced difference between ‘traditional mateship’, ‘neo-mateship’ and ‘pure friendship’ as described by Butera (2008) for Australia. Nonetheless, there are some indications for localized variations of mateship in Aotearoa New Zealand. Finally, some actors prefer to use the term ‘acquaintance’ to refer to ‘just friends’, or ‘just mates’ in the sense of ‘people I know’. However, the borderline between both categories is blurred and shifting, rather than clear-cut. ‘Acquaintances’ are usually people that one knows, but to whom one does not feel particularly close or connected. Furthermore, most actors would not directly address a person as ‘acquaintance’ or introduce him or her as such (as in: “This

118

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

is my acquaintance xyz.”). In order to comply with politeness standards, ‘friend’ would be the appropriate term to employ in such a situation. This underlines the central value attached to having friendly relationships. 6.1.3 Ko wai? Hoa, a¯piti, whanaunga Consistent with the findings of Schwimmer (1974), I found hoa to be the generic Ma¯ori term for ‘friend’ or ‘mate’. As discussed in chapter 2, hoa signifies an affectionate and private personal relationship. It is widely used among Ma¯orispeaking actors to refer to a friend, mate, companion, or to a spouse, husband, or wife. In fact, hoa rangatira (spouse, partner) was probably the most widely used combination of hoa in everyday interaction. Like Schwimmer (1974), I found that hoa marks a qualitative relationship dimension in the absence of the principle of seniority (tuakana/teina). I found that hoa is used mainly in reference to symmetrical relations within the same generation, but there is some variation as individual actors make creative use of both Ma¯ori and English relationship terminology. Similar to ‘friend’, hoa may be applied to different kinds of relations, including family. For instance, “Ko wai to¯ hoa?” – “Who is your friend?” is an often-heard phrase to learn the name of, or the relation to, a particular person. As described in chapter 2, I found hoa to be used in conjunction with descriptive words to specify the type of relationship (e. g., hoa mahi – work friend, hoa tata – neighbor). Hoa, ‘mate’ and ‘friend’ are often used interchangeably. I observed this flexible use of terms especially among actors who identify as Ma¯ori and who draw on both Ma¯ori and English in their everyday social interactions. A less frequently employed term for ‘friend’ is a¯piti. I heard people use the word only rarely. When they did, a¯piti was used synonymously with hoa. I also came across affectionate terms such as kara or kare – ‘dear’, but I found that they tend to signify more of a romantic or sexual relationship, rather than friendship (see also, chapter 2). On this note, I would like to underscore the significance of Ma¯ori kin terminology for the study of friendship, or – more generally speaking – relatedness. In everyday language, especially the terms whanaunga (relation, relative) and wha¯nau (in its broader meaning), are used, especially by Ma¯ori actors, to refer to persons also classified as ‘associates’, ‘friends’, ‘mates’, hoa, or a¯piti – both within and outside the family context. In chapter 2, I already outlined the problem of separating friends from kin in Ma¯ori culture. I also emphasized the flexible construction of the notion of the wha¯nau. I purposefully include these kin terms at this point, thereby anticipating a central outcome of my analysis: Emic relationship terminology and conceptions need to be analyzed as dynamic and inclusive categories rather than static and exclusive ones if we are to make

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

119

sense of people’s friendship worlds. I will come back to this point throughout the following chapters. For now, I would like to emphasize that the use of the words whanaunga and wha¯nau in reference to non-kin relations reflects Ma¯ori-specific conceptions of relatedness. We therefore need to have a closer look at the overlap of kin and friendship terminology. 6.1.4 Kith and kin? Most actors in this study raised the problem of trying to single out their ‘friends’ from other relations. This is not surprising in light of the definitional problems discussed in previous chapters. Both in te reo and in English, friendship and kinship terms overlap and are sometimes used synonymously. Friends are referred to as family, or wha¯nau, and family are referred to as friends. This intersection is particularly observable within the same generation or peer group. The two most prominent examples concern the partner or spouse and the cousin relationship. Firstly, both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealanders often refer to their partner as their ‘best friend’ in regard to the level of trust and everyday intimacy involved. As the partner is conceptualized as confidant and significant other, the characteristics of the partner relationship match central qualities associated with friendship. However, in most cases, the partnership remains distinguishable from other friendships. A partner may be thus described in terms of, or likened to, a ‘best friend’ rather than being introduced as one – at least in English. As for te reo, I have already noted the extensive use of the term hoa ta¯ne/hoa wahine, or hoa rangatira for husband/wife, or partner/spouse. In this case, hoa refers to a romantic relationship in the absence of the social principle of relative seniority. Hoa ta¯ne and hoa wahine are conceptualized as complementary and symmetrical. The second example concerns the overlap between friendship and cousin/ sibling terminology. According to Baumann, the term ‘cousin’ invokes both the obligation of kinship and the personal preference characteristic of friendship (Baumann 1995, cited in Carsten 2004:144). In Aotearoa New Zealand, the terms ‘cousin’, ‘cuz’, ‘cuzzie’ (or : ‘coz’, ‘cozzie’) ‘bro’, ‘sis’, in combination ‘cuzzie-bro’, but also hoa and ‘friend’ can be used interchangeably as affectionate terms of address within the peer group. This is especially notable among Ma¯ori actors (cf. Devere 2007:23). Importantly, ‘cousin’ is employed as flexibly as ‘friend’, so that without knowledge of the context, its use remains inconclusive. In many cases, the use of kin terminology correlates with existing kin relations – however distant these may be. Both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors ‘link up’ and establish connections, but I found this to be more pronounced among Ma¯ori (see also, chapter 2). When actors meet for the first time, they immediately establish

120

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

where they are from, where they have lived or worked, and which people they know, thereby tracing out connections. This overlap between friends and family relations is even more pronounced in rural areas, where family ties are more explicit and everybody is somehow related to everybody else. Even though genealogical connections can often be established, this is not always the case and persons with no genealogical connections are frequently ‘taken in’, or adopted into kin-like relationships (so-called fictive or quasikinship).72 This shows the general flexibility and openness of social categories (not just friendship) in everyday life. Kin terms are also used to emphasize the intimate and enduring characteristics of a particular relationship. Non-Ma¯ori are simply integrated into the existing relationship terminology system as Julie, a seventeen-year-old Pa¯keha¯ girl, told me: Erana and Trish, they’re cousins but they’re two Ma¯ori girls that I grew up with and so we’re kind of all like cousins, like they would call me their cousin if they introduced me to someone, I would call them my cousins and I call their parents aunty and uncle and they call my parents aunty and uncle. (Julie)

In Julie’s case, living over many years in close proximity to each other, the families (one Pa¯keha¯, one Ma¯ori) have established significant links through shared experiences and space, neighborly support as well as sympathy. In both examples, the use of kin terminology reflects familiarity and shared history. Kinship terms serve to define group membership. In particular among younger Ma¯ori actors, their use is often connected to a globalized youth culture and associated music styles (e. g., hip hop), dress code and language. Calling one another ‘cuz’ (‘coz’) or ‘sis’ may thus imply shared group membership, a shared background, and sometimes also shared ancestry. Usually, this is restricted to persons within the same age group. As for intimacy and levels of closeness, the term ‘cuzzie-bro’ may refer to one’s best mate or friend; however, similar to ‘friend’, ‘mate’, or hoa, the use of cousin or sibling terms does not necessarily indicate intimacy and for many actors this form of address serves as a catchword rather than conveying hidden deeper meaning.

6.1.5 What’s what? Friendship–whakahoanga–wha¯nau Since ‘friend’, ‘mate’, hoa (and a¯piti) are usually used interchangeably, the associated relationship categories are ‘friendship’ or ‘mateship’ (see above). But what about te reo Ma¯ori? Going back to Schwimmer’s (1974) assertion of the 72 From a Ma¯ori perspective, the social institution of wha¯ngai (feed, nourish, bring up) is a central wha¯nau value (cf. Metge 1995). Wha¯ngai is weighted towards establishing, nurturing and cementing relationships.

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

121

absence of a separate friendship category in Ma¯ori society – is there really no Ma¯ori term for ‘friendship’? In contrast to Schwimmer, I came across such a term: whakahoanga. Whakahoanga, literally ‘the making of a, or several friends’, was the word usually provided to me by Ma¯ori speakers when I enquired about ‘friendship’. Whakahoanga is not only the term most frequently listed under ‘friendship’ in Ma¯ori dictionaries and other written sources, but whakahoanga was mentioned in te reo classes, in textbooks, in academic and non-academic literature; a quick internet search leads to more than 1900 hits, and there exist entries under the same name in popular social networks such as facebook and bebo. But is whakahoanga simply the Ma¯ori equivalent to ‘friendship’? If so, why is it that Schwimmer makes no mention of the term in his 1974 paper? Of course it is not that simple. Indeed, the notion of whakahoanga to refer to hoa or a¯piti in te reo seems to raise more questions rather than answer them: First of all, while the term hoa is in common usage, I hardly ever heard Ma¯ori actors use the word whakahoanga in everyday language. Ma¯ori actors simply referred to the English ‘friendship’ when talking about their hoa, or friends, or, if they employed a Ma¯ori term, they referred to the wha¯nau – a kin category. As Hemi concluded thinking of a Ma¯ori category for friends: [T]he big thing that’s going off in my head is just the wha¯nau. (Hemi)

Ma¯ori often tried to explain to me why they think of wha¯nau, and not of ‘friendship’, when thinking about ‘friends’, or intimate non-kin social relations. In fact, several people commented on the idea of ‘friendship’ being a Pa¯keha¯ way of framing social relations. This not only reflects the high degree of flexibility of the wha¯nau relation in the contemporary world, it also supports Schwimmer’s argument for the absence of a separate friendship category in Ma¯ori society. I will discuss some implications of this in chapter 7. Another Ma¯ori term brought up by Ma¯ori speakers to express friendship was hononga, which can be translated as ‘connection’, ‘relationship’ or ‘link’, but also as ‘joint’ or ‘union’ (Te Aka Ma¯ori Online Dictionary). After asking her as to how to frame the English ‘friendship’ in Ma¯ori terms, one Ma¯ori woman told me that a ‘true friend’ one might refer to as ho¯honu (deep) or pono (true, genuine, honest). Furthermore, the emotive term aroha (unconditional love, empathy, affection) was invoked in order to refer to the affectionate dimension of relatedness. Aroha is the Ma¯ori value associated almost instantly with the wha¯nau – but also with friendship. Aroha is ‘love for kin’; it signifies warm affection, empathy, as well as sympathy, compassion, and pity for those in need, approval of or pride in someone and gratitude for kindness and gifts received (Metge 1995:80). Importantly, the practices of aroha are more important than the affectionate feelings associated with it, and the demonstration of loving concern

122

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

for people (arohanui ki te tangata) is an important tikanga (the right way, custom, rule) in Ma¯ori society (ibid.:87). What the use of these terms shows is that friendship must be conceptualized as inclusive – and not as a mere residual category. But this is already taking us to the level of contents. Let’s take a step back to thoroughly inspect the term whakahoanga: Upon closer inspection, the dictionaries reveal the following: While the Ngata Dictionary translates whakahoanga as ‘friendship’ (Ngata 1995:187), The Reed Dictionary of Modern Ma¯ori translates the term as ‘have fellowship’ (Ryan 1997:347). ‘Friendly relations’ is translated as whakaaro whakawhanaunga (p. 506); Te Aka Ma¯ori Online Dictionary also translates ‘friendship’ as whanaungatanga. I have briefly touched on whanaungatanga in chapter 2. Literally, whanaungatanga means ‘the making of relations’. According to Metge (1995), it refers to ‘kinship in its widest sense’; it reinforces commitment in the wha¯nau (extended family) and implies responsibilities to wha¯nau members and other relations. Finally, Williams lists whakahoa as ‘make a companion of, associate with’ (Williams 2000 [1844]:54), which is translated as ‘be friendly with, associate with, affiliate’ in Reed (Ryan 1997:347) and in Ngata (1995) as ‘to befriend’ (p. 34), ‘associate’ (p. 23) or ‘partnership’ (p. 363). There is no entrance for whakahoanga in Williams. A closer look at the grammatical construction of whakahoanga helps illuminate the puzzle. In te reo, the causative prefix whaka- transforms statives and nouns to universals, which indicate the causing of the assumption of the form, condition or state indicated by the simple base (Biggs 1998 [1969]:102 f.): whakahoa – ‘to make a or several friends; to befriend’. In order to transform a universal or stative into a noun, the noun derivative suffix may be suffixed, in this case -nga (ibid.:92): whakahoanga – ‘friendship, the making of friendship’. This grammatical construction follows the same logic as that of whakawhanaunga – ‘to have a relationship’, and whakawhanaungatanga – ‘the process of making relations’. Whakawhanaunga may also be used in the sense of ‘getting to know each other’ or ‘establishing relations’. It is a term that I heard often at social occasions, especially at the marae (ceremonial center). Whakawhanaunga and whanaungatanga draw on notions of community and companionship that include kin and non-kin relations in varying degrees of intimacy. This is why, in everyday language, whakahoanga and whakawhanaunga are often used synonymously by speakers of te reo. Considering all of the above, I concur that whakahoanga in fact constitutes a linguistic equivalent of the English ‘friendship’ in te reo, but a relatively recent one. I conclude that whakahoanga is a contemporary linguistic construction filling a lexical gap for the English term ‘friendship’, referring to a relatively warm, affectionate and unrestrained relationship that does not denote relative

123

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

seniority. This hypothesis is supported by several Ma¯ori speakers’ insistence on ‘friendship’ being a Pa¯keha¯ perspective of looking at relations as well as by Schwimmer’s analysis of friendship and kinship in Ma¯ori society. Going back to Schwimmer, my data confirm the primacy of Ma¯ori kin terminology in everyday language use: When Ma¯ori speak of their relationships with ‘friends’ or hoa, they either use the English ‘friendship’ or the Ma¯ori word wha¯nau. As I will argue in chapter 7, the word wha¯nau may be used to emphasize a Ma¯ori-specific conception that is distinct from the Western-European notion of ‘friendship’ associated with Pa¯keha¯ society. In sum, some thirty-five years after Schwimmer’s publication, we find in Aotearoa New Zealand a diversified picture of relatedness, or philia, in which different semantics co-exist and overlap. Figure 1 illustrates the most frequently used Ma¯ori and English terminologies.

hoa

whakahoanga friendship

mate

friend

bro/sis

family

Figure 1: New Zealand friendship terminology

On the whole, I found relatively few gender differences in the use of the discussed terminology. The actors employ them, for the most part, genderblind. Exceptions are, under certain circumstances, the use of the words ‘mate’ and ‘girlfriend’/‘boyfriend’. In the case of ‘mate’ there also was the indication for a class-based effect. Ma¯ori terminology is gender-neutral unless specified by means of using descriptive terms – as is Ma¯ori language in general. Maybe this explains why the difference between Ma¯ori men and women in using the word ‘mate’ was less pronounced than among Pa¯keha¯.

124

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

A major point of the above discussion is that friendship and kinship are not exclusive categories and that we find new and old conceptions of relatedness framed as ‘mateship’, ‘friendship’, whakahoanga and wha¯nau. ‘Friendship’ I found to be the generic term used by all actors. ‘Mateship’ as such was hardly ever referred to, but the use of the word ‘mate’ as a form of address indicates a localized conception here. Whakahoanga I found to be the Ma¯ori translation for the English ‘friendship’, whereas wha¯nau designates a Ma¯ori specific notion of relatedness. As the analysis in the subsequent chapters reveals, Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ terminology correspond with different worlds of friendship. Depending on language socialization and identifications, these worlds co-exist and overlap in people’s everyday experiences. The discussion in chapter 7 will reveal the close interrelation between identity construction and language use described by Kulick (1992). But before proceeding to detailed case studies, we need to examine more closely the meanings and practices that the actors attach to the notions of friendship, mateship, whakahoanga and wha¯nau.

6.2

What’s in a friend?

After bringing some order into the terminological jumble, we can return to the question of what the actors in this study mean when they refer to their friends, mates, or hoa. Put differently : What is the ‘stuff ’ that friendships are made up of ? What ideals are associated with friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand? And what happens in everyday life? How do friendships start? When do they end? In the following, I will explore some general themes, or ‘ingredients’ of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand. In order to stay within the limits of the confined space of this thesis, I will keep the discussion to some central points that will provide the ‘baseline’ for my in-depth discussion of individual practices in chapter 7. 6.2.1 Ideal and praxis I have already established that ‘friend’, ‘mate’ and hoa refer to a voluntary bond of affection, which may overlap with other forms of sociality (most notably family relations), but which is usually maintained outside of these relations. I have also emphasized the vast range of meanings and practices associated with these terms, ranging from casual acquaintances to the most intimate, life-long relationships built on mutual trust, understanding and support. In my research, I was often struck by what seemed – at least to the German anthropologist – like a somewhat inflationary, and variable, use of the label ‘friend’. I found that whether or not someone is considered a friend not only depends to a high degree on situation and context, but also on a person’s current frame of mind and

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

125

emotional state, for instance. The term ‘friend’ may be invoked in order to gain certain benefits, but also in order to avoid conflict or friction. Despite this great variability there are some commonalities detectable in how the actors in this study construct friendship. Like Farida Tilbury (1999:139), I found a ‘standard story’ of friendship (see chapter 2) which favors an intimate, voluntary, personal and informal relationship based on some notion of trust, reciprocity and relative permanence or stability. The standard story puts trust at the core of the relationship, along with expressive and (to a lesser extent) instrumental aspects such as attraction, understanding, support, reliability, communication, similarity, sharing and openness, a sense of community and connectedness as well as personal happiness and satisfaction. Being with friends was experienced as a rewarding experience that creates feelings of happiness and of comfort and ease. Friends trust and respect one another ; they invite each other over to their houses for dinner and have garden parties together ; they grow up together, work together and they celebrate birthdays, weddings, anniversaries and other rites of passage together. They help and support one another in times of need; they provide companionship; they share the same outlook; they ‘are there’; they understand and they do not judge… These are just some of the things that Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealanders expect friends to do and to be for one another. The underlying conception of such depictions of friendship mirrors the classic ideal of the virtuous friend as alter ego, the second or other self and constant companion (see chapter 1). My results thus confirm the findings of many others in the field. But there is – of course – more to it. In contrast to Tilbury’s study (1999), my analysis does not solely rely on written and verbal responses given to a set of questions. While the actors in this study recur on friendship as a symmetrical affective bond among equals, the ways in which this ideal is put into practice paint a different picture of the place and the meaning of friendship in their everyday lives and experiences. First of all, the words ‘friend’, ‘mate’ and hoa are applied to a range of relationships some of which may in fact have only little or no friendship content. This was confirmed by my own observations but also by the actors themselves, who, after being asked to differentiate between the people they referred to as hoa, friend, mate, etc. usually found a discrepancy between the use of friendship terms of address and the friendship quality attributed to a relationship. Secondly, in practice, friendship is a highly vulnerable and changeable social relation. In fact, I was often amazed just how quickly a person’s social universe could change. During my thirteen months in the field, I observed how friends laughed together, cried together, fought, reunited and split up. People supported one another practically, as well as emotionally, but they also disappointed one

126

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

another, quarreled and had fall-outs. Feelings were hurt, trust betrayed, respect put at risk and support withdrawn. 6.2.2 Attraction and opportunity Most people emphasized the fact that friendships (of whatever kind) are chosen and voluntary, unlike family relations. Friends are chosen on the grounds of mutual sympathy and of certain (usually positive) qualities and characteristics ascribed to them. They are people whose company one enjoys, and who one feels on par with: Close friends are people you want. (Hine) You can actually hand pick your friends. In a big sense. (Matt)

Who a person wants or chooses is of course variable. A lot of it depends on sympathy and interpersonal attraction. ‘Gravitating towards people’, ‘clicking’, ‘feeling on the same wave-length’, or ‘chemistry’ were frequently used expressions to explain why someone establishes connections with certain persons but not with others. All in all, I found that the expressive dimension overrides more instrumental aspects. Consistent with the findings in social psychology and sociology (see chapter 1.2.1), my data reveal the similarity-attraction hypothesis, or the principle of homophily, as a strong indicator for the establishment and the successful maintenance of friendship. To recap, attraction is bound up with personality, likes and dislikes, life-stage, or habitus as well as age, gender, social, cultural, or economic background, etc. Of particular interest for this study is the question on which basis similarity and difference are constructed in Ma¯ori’s and Pa¯keha¯’s friendships. As the data show, there is no simple answer to it: Shared history, common interests, activities, practices, values, beliefs, or attitudes, but also social status, class, gender, age, culture or ethnicity can serve as dividing or uniting factors. The flexibility of friendship allows for context-specific and individualized constructions. Like Tilbury (1999), I did not find ethnicity to be particularly salient in the ways in which actors talked about their friendships (see chapter 2.1.1). Shared social milieu and group membership, or (sub-)culture, tend to play a bigger role than ethnic membership in friendship formation. I found that similarity is usually constructed along shared lifestyles, values, and interests, and that similarity in personality was often emphasized when actors came from different backgrounds or paths of life. Personality and personal experiences are particularly influential factors in the formation and maintenance of friendships because they influence the ways in which persons approach and interact with others.

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

127

Most actors maintain their most intimate friendships with persons of the same gender and age, a similar socio-economic background and cultural affiliations. Gender and class were more readily acknowledged as friendship constituting influences than cultural or ethnic group membership. Of the four, gender homophily was the most readily acknowledged. In general, whether a person regards a structural factor as important or not has a lot to do with the way in which s/he feels affected by it. For instance, if a person feels that her/his gender places her/him in a position of being ‘other’, s/he may be more sensitive towards gender difference. As I will show in chapter 7, in practice, these factors play out in significant ways in regard to how people experience their friendships within their social universe. In a way, the assertion that ‘culture does not play a role’ in friendship contradicts the ‘culture talk’ referred to earlier. This has to do with the importance placed on positive Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction and the egalitarian myth as much as with the ideal of positive friendship interaction. It also has to do with the idea of friendship as a private, symmetrical relationship among equals, in which structural markers should not play a restricting role. Difference is played down in friendship – unless it is framed in positive terms! For instance, when friends are from a different path of life, or a different culture they are often experienced as interesting and as adding something to one’s life – by providing a new perspective, or by widening one’s horizon. Learning and self-growth were mentioned as important benefits from being with people who are different, or who do things differently. However, difference is usually regarded attractive as long as it ‘adds’ something; and even though it may challenge one’s viewpoints, there is a point in friendship when difference becomes too challenging and too problematic (see below, chapter 6.2.7). Even though friendship is ideally regarded as guided by interpersonal attraction, opportunity plays an at least equally important factor. In the following passage, Aperama describes the process of becoming close as one of stepping out of the boundaries of “what’s been provided”: [A]s soon as we start getting outside of the boundaries of work (…), or outside the boundaries of (…) asking questions backwards and forwards. (…) When you get outside those boundaries you see what people are like. (…) [And] you start developing your common bonds with one another (…) [If you] sing some party songs with them, or go and have them over home for tea (…), or you go out with their family and your family, or you go out nightclubbing with them, or you go to the gym (…), go play sport with them, (…) you’re developing your relationship (…), you’re becoming wha¯nau, a closer bond. (Aperama)

The common structure Aperama refers to is essential for any relationship to develop.

128

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Shared spaces, activities and group membership I found to be essential friendship-constituting factors that provide the opportunity for persons to find common ground on which to connect. Belonging to the same associations, churches, work and/or study groups, going to the same pub, living in the neighborhood, or visiting the same caf¦ for lunchtime may all provide initial points of contact. For some, the workplace plays an important role in facilitating friendships since it provides a shared space and point of reference. Others like to keep work and private life separately because of potential asymmetries. Sports and music seem to be particularly important entrance points. Lifestyle and habitus are relevant as they determine interests as well as the activities that friends may engage in together. In any case, attraction and opportunity work together in the formation of friendships. 6.2.3 Support, trust, reciprocity Most people I talked to regarded friendship, and relationships in general, as important if not essential for maintaining a fulfilled life. ‘Going through life together’, ‘a sense of belonging’, ‘making each other happy’, ‘creating satisfaction’ were frequently mentioned qualities associated with friendship. Lack of friendship was associated with solitude, discomfort and unhappiness, but only few persons had experienced this. Twenty-three-year-old Tino was one of them: I did have a period (…) where I kind of didn’t really put much effort into friendships at all and that was probably the worst time of my life. (Tino)

Tino feels that, at the time, even though he would occasionally turn up to people’s parties, etc., he did not make enough effort at maintaining his friendships. By acting in several instances unreliable, withdrawn and self-centered, he violated central rules of friendship, namely the display of interest in the other, loyalty, and communication. After neglecting his friendships for several months, he realized that his friends had withdrawn. He had to put in extra-effort in order to rekindle his friendships. As Tino’s example shows, friendships involve time and effort. For many people the investing of time and effort comes easily. Socializing with friends is a taken-for-granted, integral part of life; enjoying one another’s company, talking, laughing and having fun together are activities that provide release and comfort as well as a sense of belonging. Because of this, many people feel that friendships simply ‘happen’ and that friends are ‘just there’. However, this is not the case for everyone and some actors find it relatively difficult to establish friendships; for example, because they find it difficult to relax around strangers, or because they do not want to disclose too much too fast. Some persons are rather conscious of

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

129

their social relations (or the lack thereof); some regularly evaluate their own position vis-‚-vis others, but the great majority do not consciously reflect on their friendships unless they are forced to, for instance, in the face of conflict or disappointment. Further exceptions occur when a person enters a new social context, such as a change of job or city, following divorce, or after the children have left home. In these cases, people may actively try to establish new relationships, and/or to rekindle old social ties. All people in this study mentioned fun and enjoying time together as integral parts of friendship. Apart from this ‘fun part’, friends are expected to be there for one another in times of sadness and despair – by being non-judgmental and understanding, by providing empathy and affection or aroha (unconditional love), as well as practical and emotional help or awhi (assistance, help), support or tautoko (support, prop up). Friends not only share the burden, their presence makes things easier or ‘lighter’. The sharing of time and space, but also of interests and activities, secrets and experiences, emotions and values are important prerequisites for connecting on a more intimate level. Sharing also creates trust. Especially the sharing of ambivalent or negative emotions such as sadness, despair, or anxiety is said to increase trust because it makes oneself vulnerable. Trust was a crucial topic; it is interconnected with loyalty, affection and reciprocity : It’s more than trust, an honesty to the relationship that we will be putting in and getting out of it. Not that there needs to be a tally (…). (Alan) I think for it to be a good friendship there’s reciprocity, there’s a sort of a genuine feeling that you’re good friends (…). (Kahu)

All in all, people trust in the principle of reciprocity and equality in friendship. This works as long as the qualities exchanged ‘feel’ in balance. Several actors underscored the importance of giving. Ma¯ori actors emphasized here the wha¯nau values of tautoko (support), awhi (embrace, foster), manaakitanga (extending care to others), utu (reciprocity) and aroha (unconditional love). In chapter 2.2.2, I already mentioned the importance of wha¯nau values for Ma¯ori conceptions of relatedness. Ma¯ori recognize certain values of acting towards each other and towards outsiders. These responsibilities are sometimes subsumed under the notion of mahi a nga¯kau, which can mean ‘work done from the heart’ and ‘work laid upon the heart’ (Metge 1995:98, original emphasis). They include, (a) the notion of mutual support (practical and moral) which is referred to as a¯whina (help, assist) and tautoko (support, prop up); (b) the duty to care for each other expressed, among others, in the notion of manaaki (show respect or kindness to), awhi (embrace, foster), and wha¯ngai (feed, nourish, bring up); (c) the duty to protect each other, which is expressed in the words tiaki (guard, keep), whakamarumaru (shelter), and whakangungu

130

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

(defend, protect); and (d) the duty to work together for common good (mahi tahi). The demonstration of these values in practice is paramount (cf. Metge 1995:99). One of the most prominent mahi a nga¯kau in my research was manaakitanga, the extension of care towards others, or the principle of hospitality. Another important wha¯nau value was utu, the principle of reciprocity. Utu is often translated as ‘revenge’, according to Metge, “a gross distortion of its significance” for “[u]tu is the principle that anything received should be requited with an appropriate return” (1995:100). In Firth’s words: “The root idea is that of ‘compensation’ in the wide sense, of obtaining an equivalent” (Firth 1959:413). Utu ensures ongoing relations between individuals and groups by binding them together in a system of mutual obligations. As “one of the fundamental drives of action” (ibid.) in Ma¯ori society, it has both a negative and a positive side. Utu does not only apply to material goods, but also to the exchange of affection, approval, support, care, and respect, which wha¯nau members are expected to reciprocate without counting the costs (Metge 1995:101). Mutual trust is a prerequisite for effective wha¯nau action (ibid.:87). Several Ma¯ori in my study expressed that wha¯nau values go beyond mainstream or Pa¯keha¯ conceptions of the receiving and giving of help, sympathy and support since there are part of a more inclusive building of relations, of whakawhanaungatanga. When referring to Pa¯keha¯ families who also display such values, some actors felt that this was exceptional and ‘more Ma¯ori’ than Pa¯keha¯. Clearly, stereotypes of what constitutes Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ ways of being in the world play a role here. The dichotomist view of a distinct Ma¯ori world as opposed to a Pa¯keha¯ world (te ao Ma¯ori versus te ao Pa¯keha¯) comes to the fore in such accounts. It is important to keep in mind that such assertions also serve as identity marker by which difference is highlighted. In practice, such binary oppositions are fuzzy. In any case, both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ have certain expectations towards reciprocity, or utu, and if these expectations are violated, this may lead them to reevaluate a relationship. In this context, I came across the notion of ‘high maintenance friends’. High maintenance friends are especially needy, and take or ask too much. Such a friend violates a person’s conception of what is within the bounds of normal sharing and support behavior. What is within and what is outside of these bounds is of course variable. However, if one party continually finds that s/he gives more and receives less, this may have dire consequences for the relationship at hand. Most persons tend to stay away from such friendships. When high maintenance friendships intersect with family obligations (e. g., in the case of cousins), it may not be as easy to establish distance. In these cases, the actors may withdraw to a ‘just family’ kind of relationship, without the sharing of deeper intimacies.

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

131

6.2.4 Intimacy, comfort, care Trust, reciprocity, sharing and support go with ideas surrounding care, intimacy and comfort. In Ma¯ori terminology these are aroha (unconditional love, empathy), awhi (embrace, foster), wha¯ngai (feed, nourish, bring up), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others) and whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense). Whereas whanaungatanga is identified as the domain of the self, or ‘us’, manaakitanga is associated with the domain of ‘others’, which may be temporarily included as ‘us’ by being cared for as manuhiri (guests) (Gagn¦ 2004:180). Outsiders may thus be made part of the intimate circles of the wha¯nau. Degrees of trust correspond with degrees of intimacy. However, like Tilbury (1999) I found that even though the actors in this study felt confident to distinguish ‘good’, ‘best’ and ‘normal’ friends from one another, their criteria tended to be fuzzy and subject to change. In very general terms, both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ distinguish intimate friends (good, close, best friends) from ‘normal’ friends on the grounds of perceived emotional closeness, openness, or trust. The most intimate peer relations are frequently compared to or framed in terms of family or kin relations (e. g., “she is like a sister”; “he is wha¯nau”). Several actors pointed out that close friends are those persons who exert a significant influence on their lives, and who – if absent – leave a hole. Close friends are also role models; they represent attributes that ego aspires to or likes. They are ‘good persons’ whom one can trust and rely on. The sharing of private time and space is important for the establishment of intimacy. I found that the opening of one’s home, the sharing of a family dinner or a family barbecue is an important boundary marker. The sharing of food was described as an important relationship building activity. By inviting someone to one’s home, an important step is made that may lead from a casual work-relation to a friendship, for instance. By doing so, one opens one’s ‘comfort zone’, i. e., a place or situation in which people feel at ease, secure and comfortable. It is also a safe space to disclose and to display vulnerabilities and emotions. This underscores the importance of comfort, which is in turn tied up with a sense of belonging and of being understood. Because the friend ‘gets it’, and because s/he does not judge you, there is a feeling of being able to relax and to ‘be oneself ’. However, this does not necessarily imply that the best friends are also the ones that are seen the most often. Close friends are also close because – despite times of long separation and infrequent contact – the closeness is still there. Old friendships are often described as involving a sense of familiarity and intimacy that bridges different life-worlds, time and space. In general, close friendships are constructed as independent from time and place. Most of these friendships are dyadic. I need to add that in the time of cyberspace, the personal encounter

132

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

takes new forms: social networks, video calling and mobile phones already play a central role in relationship building – especially in the lives of the younger generations. Distances are bridged, social networks expanded. Nevertheless, the sharing of time and space (online or offline) remain core constituents of friendships. Many have a friend that they feel they have more in common with than with others, a closest or ‘best’ friend. However, the idea of a ‘best’ friend is also regarded with some suspicion since it seems to imply a hierarchy of social relations, which is felt to be somehow inappropriate for the conception of friendship as such. In any case, these are the friends who take part in the ‘dramas’ of everyday living: I’m a diabetic (…) sometimes (…) I don’t feel so good (…), remembering those (…) things, they are trivial (…) but they are personal (…). (Julian) [S]he’s never left [our home town], but she’s still my best friend. I roll into her house with her four screaming children and a husband and I’m just like, “Hi mate (…), let’s have a coffee.” (Hine)

In the last case, even though Hine’s best friend nowadays lives a life rather different to her own, their shared history has created a sense of intimacy and familiarity that allows her to “roll into her house” any time – even if they no longer live nearby, and even though they do not see each other as often as they used to. This underscores the mundaneness of friendship. ‘Hanging out’ and ‘killing time’ together were often mentioned as prerequisites for a ‘good’ friendship to develop. The following account by Katerina describes the ‘ordinariness’ of friendship interaction very poignantly : I played tennis with Diane (…) standing in her garden and eating raw beans straight off the vine, (…) that’s friendship to me. With Mary I think it was the sharing of children (…). [Marjorie] loves bringing me plants for the garden, it’s that simple. We’ll sit and have a cup of tea, we’ll eat dry crackers and we’ll just talk about things. We don’t have to be in a forced situation, (…) that’s what I mean by simplicity, it’s without glitz. Take me as I am. (Katerina)

‘Take me as I am’ is what many break their long-term intimate friendships down to. ‘Take me as I am’ implies both intimacy and relationship autonomy. In line with other research (see chapter 1.2.1), I found that women tend to pay a bit more attention to disclosure, expressiveness and communication in friendship than their male counterparts. Similar to Tilbury (1999), I also found for women an overall greater emphasis on talking, and for men a stronger focus on activities. Both men and women confirmed this in their reflections on gender roles and stereotypes, but I also observed this in everyday practices. Furthermore, both women and men felt that they could talk more freely about

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

133

intimate topics with their female friends. In Alan’s words, a Pa¯keha¯ in his early thirties: In the past, when I have talked to people about, you know, a relationship (…) or being heartbroken or upset (…), it’s been those female friends (…). It’s always much more comfortable being that intimate with a woman. (Alan)

Interestingly, June, one of Alan’s female friends feels that it is rather difficult to talk about feelings with Alan – at least in comparison to her female friends: But also, like you’ll tell your girlfriends your feelings, and I used to tell Alan my feelings, and he’d freak out (…). Like he didn’t know how to react. (June)

Nowadays, Alan’s most intimate friendship in terms of disclosure and emotion sharing is his relationship to his wife. This kind of gendered discourse was reproduced by both male and female actors in this study – on the discursive level as well as on the practical level. Butera (2008), in her discussion of neo-mateship in Australia (see chapter 2), argues that mateship is tied to loyalty, independence, resilience and camaraderie rather than displays of emotions or vulnerability. Because of it, the wife (heterosexism is also part of the mateship ideal) is usually the closest confidante and ‘best’ friend (Butera 2008:273). I certainly found this to be the case for several men in my study. As already mentioned, I also found the inclusion of more expressive, individual and flexible elements that Butera (2008) takes as signs for ‘neo-mateship’. However, I also found greater variation and significant divergence at several points: Apart from the fact that the women in my study (especially Ma¯ori women) also make extensive use of the term ‘mate’, I also found that Ma¯ori men, at least in comparison to Pa¯keha¯ men, tended to talk about expressive elements and about the place of emotions in friendship more easily and comfortably. For instance, they referred more often and more spontaneously to aroha, love, affection, or to the need to take care of others (manaaki, wha¯ngai), about feeling connected and the sharing of deep emotions. The underlying relationship ideal that these men allude to is that of the wha¯nau, rather than the kind of ‘mateship’ described by Butera. Furthermore, I found that Ma¯ori talked about connecting on the spiritual level (taha wairua) more often than their Pa¯keha¯ peers. Friendship ties function as a significant care structure outside the family, sometimes even as surrogate family. This is often the case when the family is absent (for whatever reason). Certain group associations may complement or replace biological family ties, thereby challenging the primacy of hetero-normative social practices described by Sasha Roseneil (see chapter 1). For example, in the case of thirty-four-year-old Garth, his ‘gay family’ plays a central role in

134

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

his life. Garth identifies primarily as a New Zealander, but his gay identity is very important – as is his identity as a Ma¯ori: I identify as a New Zealander (…) I am Ma¯ori but I consider myself takata¯pui [homosexual] because I am a gay man and for a while I was identifying as just a gay man but when I started meeting other takata¯pui (…) I felt like I had another extended wha¯nau. (Garth)

Garth values the sense of connection with other takata¯pui for providing a care structure outside the birth family, another wha¯nau. His idea of friendship is tied to this notion of a gay family. As he told me, for those members of his gay family who do not find the same amount of acceptance within their birth family as he does, this ‘other’ family provides a safe space in which they can practice social values that clash with the norms of their birth family. Hence, while friendships often confirm accepted norms and social practices, they are also utilized in more subversive ways and may open up important spaces of innovation. In the face of so much intimacy, I need to raise the question of sexuality in friendship. On the ideal-level, men and women, Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, hetero- and homosexual actors of all ages tended to conceptualize friendship as a nonromantic and non-sexual relationship. Sexuality is kept out because it is regarded as detrimental to friendship intimacy as well as comfort and trust. However, in practice we find a great deal of sex, romance and emotional imbroglio. Friendship as social practice allows here for multiple role casting. This is also linked to the changeability of social relations: Friends may explore the sexual side of their attraction; friends may turn into lovers and lovers into friends. As in all relationships, the rules of engagement are dynamic and negotiable, rather than static. The discrepancy between ideal and practice is not so much a contradiction, but it tells us something about the nature of human interaction. Connected to this is the theme of complicity. Bending the rules and being ‘naughty’ together, for instance, by violating the no-sex-rule every now and again, or by telling each other politically incorrect jokes, are important practices of intimacy. Swearing and joking can simply be fun activities that provide some release from the burdens of everyday life. At the same time, joking serves to playfully acknowledge difference (e. g., by joking about group stereotypes); it thereby helps to establish symmetry and intimacy. At this point I want to point out the influence of age in regard to friendship intimacy and autonomy. Consistent with the findings of research in psychology (see chapter 1), I found that friendship intimacy played the biggest role during adolescence, and that the time after leaving the parental home (late teens to early twenties) is the time when friends play the biggest role in day-to-day affairs. Autonomy plays an increasingly important role in later years, when people start

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

135

families and careers and have less time for their friends. Leaving space and having respect for the needs of the other are important parts of this. For Katerina and other Ma¯ori in this study, the simultaneous acknowledgment of intimacy and autonomy in relationships is subsumed under the notion of aroha (unconditional love, affection). Since aroha is inextricably linked with the idea of the wha¯nau as an inclusive framework for friendship, in Katerina’s view, wha¯nau ultimately provides a more intimate bond than ‘friendship’ – a bond in which care is provided as well as a sense of belonging. The following accounts by Aperama and Rahuia support her view: Just (…) being able to closely bond with them, talk with them (…) as if you would chat with (…) your brother or sister. Just being able to share things (…) shoot the breeze, (…) sleep in the same house, look after one another, whakawhanaungatanga – relationship building, (…) care for them, if their family is sick, (…) your aroha, your love goes out to them (…), tautoko (…) support them at a grieving process, (…) being able to do things like that makes them wha¯nau to me. (…) I don’t really consider people friends. (Aperama) [Y]ou’re just a next door neighbor, (…) then you talk over the fence, (…) and so it begins, and then “Oh well I’m going to Housie on this night.” (…) “Oh I’m only (…) real tight.” “Yeah, well, me too, so we’ll put it together.” [T]hen more and more different wha¯nau activities together. (…) But when those things happen in Ma¯ori friendship, the husband and the brother and the whoever (…) and the kids, they are all there, too (…). (Rahuia)

Both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ would hold the situations described by Rahuia and Aperama as exemplary for intimate friendships. Nevertheless, many Ma¯ori (and also some Pa¯keha¯) insist that the wha¯nau provides a more inclusive and relational framework for understanding friendship, one that puts the relationship at the center, and not so much the individual. I will take up this important point in more detail in chapter 7.2.4.

6.2.5 Communality, togetherness, unity Communality, togetherness and kotahitanga (unity, to stand as one) were recurrent themes. They are tied up with all of the topics discussed so far : care, support, trust, reciprocity, familiarity, intimacy and comfort, or aroha (unconditional love, empathy), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), tautoko (support), wha¯ngai (to nurture, nourish), utu (reciprocity) and whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense). Kotahitanga, the principle of openness or unity, is a wha¯nau value that demands time and energy of individual group members who are expected to work through and/or accept differences, to keep confidentiality, to stand loyal vis-—vis outsiders and to take responsibility for each other’s actions (Metge

136

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

1995:102). In my study, doing things together, communally, in a group were regarded as crucial values in friendship: And what does it have to do with friendship, well a lot, because friendship for Ma¯ori is about, is support, it’s about the, “If we go over, we’ll all go over the waterfall.” (…) [W]e’ll do it together, (…) and that works against us on some occasions, too, (…) ‘cause we’re all fat (…) and we all drink far too much because we can’t just let one drink too much (…), nah. (Hine)

Hine was half-joking when she said the above, but she was eager to get across to me the point that there exists, from her experience, a distinct way of looking at and of living relationships among Ma¯ori that is (not always, but often) identifiable as different to how Pa¯keha¯ relate to one another. Rahuia, a Ma¯ori kuia (female elder), mentioned in this context the inclusiveness of the social universe, which encompasses all living beings as well as the dead and those yet to come. For Rahuia, there is a clear difference in Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ values of communality and togetherness in friendship: If that (…) was a Pa¯keha¯ situation, (…) well, there’s no other way to say it, (…) that Pa¯keha¯ woman always has the thought in the back of her mind, (…) “After my husband, (…) wants my fur coat, (…) she borrowed my pearl necklace and never gave it back (…).” Kids (…) say, “Oh Mum, she’s here all the time!” (…) Husband comes back, “Oh, are we feeding them again?” See. Those types of things undermine a friendship, but [in] Ma¯ori (…) friendships, there is (…) never any question in the wha¯nau. (Rahuia)

Her account draws on her own experiences as a Ma¯ori woman growing up in rural New Zealand of the 1950s and 1970s, a woman who continues to fight for the rights of the Ma¯ori people to be acknowledged and for their claims to be settled. Her suspicion towards Pa¯keha¯ friendship originates in her experience of a society, in which the egalitarian myth was still striving and in which Ma¯ori experienced discrimination and social exclusion in their everyday lives. Going back to the analysis of chapter 4, the emphasis on Ma¯ori-specific modes of relatedness based on kotahitanga (unity, to stand as one), and wha¯nau values must be read against the ‘deep divide’ brought about by colonization. I already pointed out that the differences between the Ma¯ori and the Pa¯keha¯ world are often over-pronounced into a dichotomy between ‘them’ and ‘us’, and that, in practice, they are fluid, rather than clear-cut and well defined. Kotahitanga and togetherness may of course also be experienced between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. Rahuia herself told me about an incident in her community where Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ locals demonstrated their loyalty in the face of a tragic accident that happened more than half a century ago: [W]hen the bus accident happened (…), the local farmers, they were the first ones to come (…). In my time, that’s the best demonstration of community, (…) where all the community just got together. (Rahuia)

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

137

Robert, a seventy-year-old local Pa¯keha¯, remembers the story like this: [T]hey came to us and asked us for help (…). That was a really big tragedy in this district. (…) It was quite an upsetting time for not only Ma¯oris but the Europeans. Especially, for the Europeans that had mixed quite a bit with the Ma¯oris. (…) Hone was the first one to come running over to Dad (…). He says, “We don’t know the full story, can we have a truck to go up and bring home who’s,” you know. (…) Dad said, “Robert’ll take you.” No question about (…). Now that’s what I call friendship. (Robert)

Robert’s account alludes to friendship expressed on the communal level between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ locals as well as to the friendship between his father and Hone, a local Ma¯ori, both of whom were leaders in their community. The incident shows how a community pulls together in times of need. In the case of this particular event, it tied Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ closer together and cemented friendly relations. The people that I talked to about this incident all described it as a tragedy, but also as a demonstration of whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense), tautoko (support), aroha (unconditional love, empathy), solidarity, communality and cooperation. However, the example also shows that the rhetoric of Ma¯ori versus Pa¯keha¯ worlds persists.

6.2.6 A note on instrumentality and strategy From the discussion of the empirical data so far it is clear that – by and large – New Zealanders experience their friendships as characterized by symmetry, equality and expressive or affective aspects. Regardless of age, gender, social, cultural or economic background, the more instrumental or asymmetrical aspects tended to be played down, masked, or simply ignored by the actors in this study – at least on a rhetorical level. However, in practice, people of course ‘use’ or ‘exploit’ their relationships for various benefits, both emotional and more material ones. Friends support one another in everyday affairs, they look after one another’s children, do the groceries, lend each other clothes, cars, or money, they help in coping with family affairs, provide jobs, food, shelter, etc. But while many acknowledge the potential (practical and/or emotional) ‘usefulness’ of their friendships, several persons mentioned feelings of discomfort and unease when receiving benefits without being able to reciprocate accordingly. Several persons also mentioned the importance of being independent and self-sufficient. The crucial point is that most people expect others to look after themselves as well as they can; but if they cannot do that (for whatever reasons), friends, family and other significant others step in. This also ties in with the ideas of reciprocity, support and selfreliability discussed above. Aword that often came up in discussions on the place of benefits in friendship

138

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

was ‘networking’. ‘Networking’ and whakawhanaungatanga, or relationship building, are about establishing relations, but where ‘networking’ often carries an ambivalent or negative connotation, whakawhanaungatanga is usually framed in positive terms. In the following, Miriama explains why it is not tika (correct, appropriate) to ‘use’ whakawhanaungatanga as a means of receiving personal benefits: I know that lots of people have a network but that’s not a good friendship (…). What pisses me off (…) is that sort of whakawhanaungatanga networking in that they’re pretending like it’s tikanga [customs] but really it’s just (…) in their own interests (…). (Miriama)

Whereas whakawhanaungatanga is supposed to work to the benefit of all, networking is conceptualized by persons such as Miriama as a means for receiving personal benefits only. However, in practice the two are not easily distinguishable. In any case, the unease and discomfort that people experience when talking about the more instrumental and asymmetrical dimensions of friendship, and the strong emphasis on symmetry in New Zealand friendship conceptions stands in contrast to findings from other parts of the world, where social scientists have found a greater degree of overlap between friendship and patronage/clientelism (see chapter 1). The reluctance of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ to talk about the asymmetrical or strategic aspects of friendship may be explained in part by local value systems (see also, chapter 2), which favor ideals of generosity, humbleness and reciprocity (or utu), as well as loyalty and an attitude of polite reservation. For example, the notion of ma¯haki (humility, humbleness, modesty) is a sign of status, respect and dignity in Ma¯ori society. A pleasant person is therefore referred to as nga¯kau ma¯haki (a mild heart). Greediness, on the other hand, is not appreciated. In mainstream society, there also exists a sense of polite restraint or humbleness. However, Pa¯keha¯ as a group were sometimes characterized in negative stereotypes of being greedy, strategic and exploitative of their relationships, and Ma¯ori were sometimes described as manipulative and strategic in their group interactions. The picture of the strategically moving Ma¯ori group contradicts another stereotype: that of the non-organized, non-efficient Ma¯ori decision body. In fact, while decision-making processes in Ma¯ori groups can be a lengthy and confusing experience for an outsider, this does not mean that they are less effective. I often found that once an agreement had been reached, Ma¯ori groups move very quickly to put their decision into practice. In any case, friendships tend to be both emotionally fulfilling as well as strategic, depending on the contexts in which the relationship takes place and on the actors involved. A strict separation is therefore misleading.

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

139

6.2.7 How much is too much? Conflict and change Sooner or later conflict is bound to occur in all relationships. People not only conceptualize and practice friendship in different ways, they also experience interaction differently. Hence, individual tolerance levels of what is too much vary profoundly. For example, thirty-two-year-old Matua feels that to trust in a friend’s loyalties includes the overcoming of minor breaks of trust: I think trust sometimes even means (…) backstabbing them every once in a while, (…) but (…) fundamentally that’s sort of peripheral (…), that’s not what our relationship’s built on. It is built on something much deeper and stronger than that. (Matua)

But there is a fine balance between the kind of occasional backstabbing described by Matua and the breaking of trust that leads to a serious change in the relationship, or even to a break-up. Moreover, whereas for Matua saying certain things every once in a while may be acceptable behavior, other actors may find such friendship practices unacceptable. If friends differ too much in their friendship expectations and values, misunderstandings occur, trust is broken and feelings get hurt. When this happens, i. e., when conflict enters into the friendship, there are different ways of dealing with the situation. One popular tactic is to ‘pull out’ and to find more distance within the relationship. In general, conflict avoidance and balancing strategies such as ‘letting it go’, ‘getting over it’, or ‘don’t judge’ were strong themes in my data. Another strategy of avoiding conflict was the bracketing out of, or the talking around difference by focusing on connections and similarities. Bracketing out difference or conflict is also achieved by ‘taking a break’ from a friendship, by withdrawing for a while until things have sorted themselves out. This is a popular tactic that usually brings the desired results. However, sometimes conflict cannot be balanced out and problems need to be addressed. ‘Talking it through’ is usually an option, but its result depends on the case and on the personalities and preferences of those involved. ‘Agree to disagree’ is another common strategy that acknowledges difference. As for the frequency and severity of conflict, several Ma¯ori actors were of the opinion that wha¯nau values imply a greater degree of support, loyalty and whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense) in relationships, but also a greater degree of drama and problems. Whether this is the case or not is difficult to assess. Clearly, Pa¯keha¯ relations – inside and outside of the family – are also challenged by drama, breaches of trust, and the like. And in Pa¯keha¯ friendships, too, those involved go to considerable lengths to resolve issues. In any case, Ma¯ori talk about these dramas and problems in great detail and the resolution process is often lengthy since every wha¯nau member gets a

140

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

say. I often observed how a problem was turned up and around countless times as different viewpoints were laid out and measured against one another and I was never quite sure whether a solution was in sight – or not. For an outsider, this can indeed be a nerve-wrecking process. At any rate, the great majority of actors try to avoid conflict and accept differences, rather than wanting to negotiate it all the time. Nevertheless, serious conflict occurs, for instance, in case of major trust-breaking events such as disloyalty and lack of support in times of personal crisis, betrayal, lying and lack of reciprocity. In such instances, a friendship was discontinued, or it was relegated to a problematic relationship outside the sphere of trust. Sometimes, the strains of everyday life become too much for a friendship – even if everyone involved does his/her best to be a ‘good friend’ and to support one another. When this happens, actors may feel that they have discovered a formerly unknown or a new side in their friend. Sometimes this is experienced as a change in personality, at other times the friend is depicted as revealing her/his ‘true’ personality. The friend is revealed as someone unknown, a stranger who does not resemble the image of the friend from before. Whether or not a change of personality has in fact occurred is irrelevant as the former friend is now constructed as different and ‘other’. Friendships change – whether this involves drama or not. Even though longevity and stability are central friendship ingredients, in everyday practice friendships ties are in constant flux. Once the focal point of a friendship changes, the relationship itself usually changes, too; put to the test, it may ‘taper off ’ or end. ‘Losing contact’, ‘slipping away’, or ‘growing apart’ are all explanations for the (slow) dwindling (and replacement) of friendships. Some friendships are restricted to a particular life-period. They fill in a particular need and once this need is met, they may fade, while others grow stronger and become life-long ties. This is why, despite change or disenchantment, all of the persons I talked to in the course of my research defended the idea of friendship as an overall satisfying bond. The value of having social relations as such – with all the positive and negative experiences that go with them – constitutes the primary objective of friendship. 6.2.8 The more, the merrier? Friendship pattern and social network Going back to Friedrich Tenbruck’s (1964) contention that the modern person’s existence can only be stabilized in multiple relations which meet its diverse ways of being (see chapter 1), different friends, individuals, ‘sets’ or circles of them, respond to different needs and identities. A single actor may have a set of school friends, friends to go to the movies with, to go running, church friends, work mates, friends to discuss intellectual topics, friends to go partying with, etc.

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

141

Some people prefer to keep their circles of friends, and the social worlds in which they engage in, apart. The result is a social universe characterized by distinct friendship worlds which partly overlap and intersect, but which may follow rather different sets of rules and codes. Each of these figured worlds may be characterized by distinct speech styles, dress style and behavior, for instance. At special occasions such as weddings or birthdays, the worlds are sometimes brought together, something that may be experienced as difficult as ego needs to play in several worlds at once. Looking at people’s social networks and the place of friendship in them, I found that close family members and the most intimate friends are usually grouped together in regard to affection, sharing, disclosure and both emotional and practical support. In addition, I found dyadic and polyadic friendship ties associated with certain social spaces and groups, life-periods and social roles (e. g., childhood friends, university friends, church friends, sports friends, classmates, work mates, overseas friends, etc.). How many ‘friends’ and other relations a person identifies, and how big (or small) the social network of this person is, is linked to several factors. In my study, the most poignant influences are the amount of time available for sustaining friendships and the place of friends in comparison to family relations. Further crucial influences are personality type and personal preferences. While some persons prefer to maintain few but intimate friendships, others engage in an expansive web of social ties with persons of diverse backgrounds. The former tend to construct friendship in more exclusive terms than the latter. Matt is a good example for the first type: I enjoy having a very small group of friends (…), I hold them very close, (…) in contrast to (…) having a big large group of friends, (…) and being sort of relatively aloof within it. (…) I would rely very heavily upon (…) trust (…) and (…) I am in contact with my friend everyday (…). (Matt)

Age also plays a role here. To recap, in adolescence friendships constitute a prominent part of life and both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ youth often ‘hang out’ in groups of friends. In certain social milieus (e. g., in the music and arts scene) actors also tend to socialize in larger groups. Within these groupings they also maintain more intimate, dyadic relationships. Socialization plays an important role. Several actors explained that they do not need to keep in contact with friends all the time because they have their family to fall back on. In many cases, this was a pattern that other family members followed as well. Hence, the relationship charts of actors like Matt, who like to keep a comparatively small group of close friends, are often characterized by few but intimate relationships outside their nuclear family. In comparison to other actors, their charts are relatively neat. Matt, for instance, immediately knew who to include into his social universe – and who not to include. Fur-

142

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

thermore, he did not exaggerate the size of his network. This was not always the case. Sometimes, people greatly exaggerated the scope of their friendship universe, in other cases they were unsure whom to include as a friend (and whom not). In my research, I came across several persons who are extremely skillful at maintaining a large network of emotionally satisfying as well as useful relationships. They move in a complex web of social ties that they continually maintain and extend. Most of these people continually make an effort to establish new relationships. In terms of personality, they can be described as extraverted. They display interest in relationships with people of diverse backgrounds; socializing comes easily. The social universe of such relationship oriented people is characterized by a high number of casual and/or ‘dormant’ relationships, i. e., people they keep in loose contact with but who may eventually move closer in or out again. At the same time, they maintain close dyadic friendships. Thus, they do not have less intimate, less ‘deep’ relationships. In the ‘inner core’ one often finds stable long-term friendships. The social capital of their social universe is comparatively high. For most actors, a large social network constitutes a source of pride and a sign of social distinction. This is why some people exaggerate their social relations. From a Ma¯ori perspective, whakawhanaungatanga (the making of relations) is also a sign of social standing or of mana (authority, power, prestige). People who are successful in relationship building or whakawhanaungatanga also tend to maintain a greater number of cross-cultural relationships than others. Partly, this is a numbers game: The more social ties a person has, the more people s/he meets, the more heterogeneous her/his network and the more likely s/he is to engage in cross-cultural interaction (see also, chapter 1.2.3). This is particularly true of Pa¯keha¯, who – on the whole – engage in fewer cross-cultural friendships than their Ma¯ori peers. As members of majority culture Pa¯keha¯ do not have to move outside mainstream society as often as non-Pa¯keha¯. Consequently, they also engage less frequently and less intimately in friendships outside the confines of this world. Reversely, those who leave the figured world of Pa¯keha¯ society on a regular basis tend to have a greater number of cross-cultural relations (see also, chapter 7.1). I made another observation that may also play into this pattern of Pa¯keha¯ having less cross-cultural friendships than their Ma¯ori peers. The analysis of the relationship charts displayed a tendency for Ma¯ori to depict their social universe in a way that emphasizes group-membership and a relational conception of self and for Pa¯keha¯ to illustrate their social universe in a more individual-centered way. As I explained above (chapter 5.2.2), the charts served as an additional conversation impulse and as a visualization aid; instructions were semi-standardized but the interviewees were given maximal design flexibility. Even though I

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

143

purposefully left the design of their social worlds up to my interview partners, at the time of planning the research tools, I had imagined that most of them would jot down the names of the significant others in their lives. I anticipated that there may be some mixing of personal names and groups, but my findings display some interesting differences between the Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors in this study. Of the total number of relationship charts (N=58) filled out by Ma¯ori (N=26) and Pa¯keha¯ (N=32), 36 display names or initials of individuals. 28 of these individual-centered charts were filled out by Pa¯keha¯, 8 by Ma¯ori. Of the remaining 22, 15 (4 Pa¯keha¯, 11 Ma¯ori) included names of both individuals and groups, and 7 charts (all Ma¯ori) alluded to social groupings only (e. g., church, sports groups, family or wha¯nau, other kin groups, community). Figure 2 gives an overview of individual and group-centered relationship depictions by Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ ; Figures 3 to 6 display examples of relationship charts.

40 35 30 25

P keh

20

M ori

15 10 5 0 individual-centred

group-centred

mixed

Figure 2: Individual depictions of social networks by culture (N=58)

The circles in Figure 5 are color-coded in the original. The colors stand for distinct spheres of intimacy inspired by the Hindu concept of chakra. This is Katerina’s chart, who explained her depiction as follows: going outward, the red center stands for the root chakra and being a mother ; orange (water) for children; yellow (fire) stands for brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews; green (wind) represents the extended whakapapa (genealogy); blue (space) stands for change and for friendships. At the time she was designing the chart Katerina was

144

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Jane Luke TJ

Alex Mum Beth

Alex

„I“ Ange

James

Tim Michael

Figure 3: Individual-centered chart

acquaintances gym friends

friends of friends

touch 2 brothers friends 5 nephews 6 nieces Alex Linda Tuku work rugby friends 4 sisters friends Liz Dad bands Mum school friends work relations

„I“

Figure 4: Mixed relationship chart

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

Figure 5: Group-centered relationship chart

friends ropu (groups)

family

„I“ partner everyone

best friends

acquaintances negatives

Figure 6: Group-centered relationship chart

145

146

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

learning how to meditate. Her chart is a good example of how people borrow ideas and philosophies as they fashion their social universes. In any case, there is a clear tendency for Ma¯ori to draw up group-centered or mixed depictions and for Pa¯keha¯ to prefer an individual-centered way of presenting their social universe. This finding supports the argument of Alan Webster (2001:135) that there exist value differences between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ that may be explained with a more communal and family based ethos among Ma¯ori – at least in comparison to Pa¯keha¯. I need to emphasize at this point that I am of course aware of the dangers of popular clich¦s and cultural stereotypes of Ma¯ori as community-based and Pa¯keha¯ as individualistic. Such uncritical, exoticizing and static binary categories are neither appropriate (for they largely ignore the complexities of social life), nor do they constitute useful categories for critical social analysis (for they do not generate meaningful insights into the diversity of social practices). However, my findings clearly demonstrate that the idea of culture-specific modes of relatedness and being in the world cannot be simply disregarded as cultural stereotyping. Rather, it should be interpreted as a powerful means of self-representation and as a display of agency. This is not to deny that there exist diverse and changing ways of being in the world – whether one identifies as Ma¯ori, as Pa¯keha¯, or as something else. In chapter 5.2.2, I mentioned that a Ma¯ori woman criticized the charts for representing a Pa¯keha¯ world-view. The woman was Rahuia, a kuia (female elder) who has grown up within the structures of her wha¯nau, hapu¯ (subtribe) and iwi (tribe). Rahuia is not only very knowledgeable in regard to tikanga (customs) and te reo, she is also very involved in the running of the local marae (ceremonial center) and in local Treaty affairs. Rahuia’s refusal to fill out a chart is related to a more inclusive conception of relatedness that favors a relational view of the self. She emphasizes the importance of being connected to her ancestors and to her wider social environment and she places herself within a continuum of social relations that includes the human as well as the spiritual and natural spheres. This implies a decentered model of relatedness. In Rahuia’s own words: Today every Ma¯ori kid (…) they’ve been taught their whakapapa [genealogy]. Not the whakapapa from the mountain to the river to the marae [ceremonial center] to (…) the tree that made the waka [canoe], it’s their whakapapa from their greatgreatgrandfather to their chief to their father to their mother (…) but the real whakapapa for a Ma¯ori is the mountain to the sea (…) you come from the stars. (…) I’m not going to go and belittle my tupuna [ancestor] (…), which is the mountain and the tree and the birds by putting myself first. But today (…) they are being taught to say, “Taku ingoa… ko¯ Rahuia.” [“My name… is Rahuia.”] (…). (Rahuia)

Friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand: terminology, ideals, practices

147

What Rahuia describes here alludes to the shift that has occurred in the lifeworlds of Ma¯ori people over the past decades. The Ma¯ori renaissance has brought forward generations of confident and proud Ma¯ori women and men, girls and boys, who speak te reo, who know their whakapapa (genealogy) and who claim their Ma¯ori identity in an increasingly diversified society. Not surprisingly, the mechanisms of acknowledging ancestry and the ways of placing self vis-‚-vis others have been adapted and transformed; and whereas some Ma¯ori such as Rahuia continue to place themselves in a continuum with the wider human, natural and spiritual universe, others mix Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ ways of being in the world more readily, thereby creating new ways of recognizing their place in the world.

6.3

In a nutshell: friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand

My data support the idea of multiple intersecting types of sociality. Both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors, women and men of different ages, employ different relationship labels and ideas in diverse ways in order to emphasize relationship content or social context. To recap, when we deal with the idea of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand, we need to consider both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ terminology. Since English is lingua franca and first language of most actors in this study, the generic term of address to express friendship was ‘friend’. The generic Ma¯ori term for ‘friend’ was hoa and I found whakahoanga as a contemporary Ma¯ori translation for the English ‘friendship’. As I have argued, I take whakahoanga to be a more recent construction filling a lexical gap in te reo. ‘Mate’ was used synonymously with ‘friend’. Its use sometimes alludes to a local variant of ‘mateship’, i. e., a localized discourse associated with ideas of male loyalty, independence, resilience and camaraderie. Since I also found some more expressive, individual and flexible elements in the local conception of ‘mateship’, the New Zealand variant in certain respects resembles the idea of ‘neo-mateship’ found by Butera (2008) among Australian men (see chapter 2.1.2). However, I found some important limitations to this finding since several Ma¯ori actors, even though they used the term ‘mate’, preferred to conceptualize their relations under the notion of wha¯nau as a more inclusive and group-oriented social category than ‘friendship’ or ‘mateship’. As I argued, this may also be connected to culture-specific gender images that portray Ma¯ori women as wa¯hine toa, i. e., strong women of power. Finally, the term whanaunga (relative, relation) referred to both kin and non-kin relations. Like Tilbury (1999), I found a ‘standard story’ of friendship as a voluntary, symmetrical and affective bond that is connected to specific historical-cultural discourses. As I demonstrated, this ideal story varies significantly when put into

148

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

social practice and friendship practices are clearly marked along structural markers such as age, gender, culture, but also socio-economic background and ethnicity. Nevertheless, both Ma¯ori and English friendship terminology were associated with ideas of voluntariness, intimacy and autonomy, trust, reciprocity, a sense of stability, affection, understanding, care, support, disclosure, a sense of community and communication. For Ma¯ori, wha¯nau values were of particular importance: aroha (unconditional love, empathy, affection), whanaungatanga (sense of family connection), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), tautoko (support, prop up), a¯whina (help, assist), awhi (embrace, foster), wha¯ngai (feed, nourish, bring up), utu (reciprocity), and kotahitanga (unity, to stand as one). I framed Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ friendship experiences in terms of different figured worlds of friendship, i. e., as different “realms of interpretation and action” (Holland et al. 1998), with which actors interact and in which they position themselves. I showed that, even though ‘culture’ is often rhetorically rendered irrelevant, friendship practices display cultural homophily for most actors in this study (see in particular, 6.2.2). Furthermore, the idea of a more communitybased ethos among Ma¯ori and a more individualistic ethos among Pa¯keha¯ proved to be pervasive on the level of self-representations and identifications. Finally, the idea of ‘two worlds’ – te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯ –, which correspond with different conceptions of relatedness, emerged as an important structuring principle. Even though there is a great deal of overlapping, blurring and fuzziness between the different worlds, the insistence on Ma¯ori- and Pa¯keha¯specific conceptions and perspectives, especially by Ma¯ori actors, deserves closer attention if we are to understand New Zealanders’ everyday friendship worlds. In the next chapter I will trace out the idea of intersecting friendship worlds and the place that Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations take in these worlds in more detail.

7

Friendship worlds in practice

At the outset of my fieldwork in early 2007, I soon realized that Aotearoa New Zealand’s culturally diverse image does not easily translate into New Zealanders’ everyday friendship experiences.73 Even though many actors spoke of an increasingly diverse or ‘multicultural’ social fabric, especially in the cities where interactions with persons from a variety of ethnic and cultural backgrounds are possible, after further inquiry it was clear that in many cases this did not translate into interpersonal interactions on a more intimate level. Leaving aside 73 See also, Brandt (forthcoming).

Friendship worlds in practice

149

popular demonstrations of diversity in cultural festivals and other public events, individual social practices usually failed to live up to the idealized discourse. Taking into account social research findings, which indicate that members of different ethnic groups in countries such as New Zealand or Australia mainly interact on the market level with only minor implications for close personal relations (see also, chapter 1), this mismatch between lived experience and politicized representation is not entirely unexpected. However, there also seems to be a considerable discrepancy between the actors’ representations of themselves and of their relations with others as opposed to their actual cross-cultural friendship practices. To phrase this differently, a considerable number of persons portrayed themselves – and others – as having more and closer crosscultural friendships than they actually did. This exaggeration of cross-cultural relationships can be partly explained by social acceptance bias. As already indicated (see chapter 6.2.8), it reflects the positive value placed on cross-cultural relationships and – more generally – on having ‘good relations’. On the other hand, it reflects the idea of different historically grown worlds, te ao Pa¯keha¯ and te ao Ma¯ori, in which we find different worlds of friendship, worlds that are associated with the Ma¯ori and English terminologies and conceptions of relatedness or friendship discussed in chapter 6. How do individual Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors experience and frame their friendship worlds? Which part does Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction play in these worlds? What is the place of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ notions of friendship in them and which terminology do the actors draw on? How do the wider socio-political processes influence people’s friendship experiences? Are social boundaries reproduced, or can friendships provide a site for overcoming boundaries? If so, which ones? In the following analysis of case studies I explore these questions in more depth. I have organized my argument around three blocks. The first two I call ‘Pa¯keha¯ worlds’ and ‘Ma¯ori worlds’. In ‘Pa¯keha¯ worlds’ I refer to friendship experiences by persons primarily identifying as Pa¯keha¯, European, or as Kiwi/ New Zealander of primarily European descent. In ‘Ma¯ori worlds’ I discuss the experiences of actors who – in one way or another – identify as Ma¯ori. It is important to keep in mind that multiple identifications are the rule rather than the exception and that the different worlds are diverse and overlap in several significant ways. A third block addresses the important topic of the construction of difference in Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendship interaction and the handling of this difference in practice. I decided to organize my analysis in this way because it reflects the common thread in my empirical data. By relating back to individual and group identifications, I am hoping to avoid the pitfall of pre-defining group membership and difference at the expense of other social processes at work. As I will show, actors move about and handle their different worlds and types of social relations in strikingly flexible ways that enable them to creatively (re-)

150

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

construct themselves according to individual needs. And while some friendship worlds are relegated to either te ao Ma¯ori or te ao Pa¯keha¯, there are also those which transcend the duality of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds.

7.1

Pa¯keha¯ worlds

To recap, consistent with the principle of homophily the closest, most intimate friendships are usually situated within the same socio-cultural and -economical milieu. In the case of Pa¯keha¯ this effectively means that they tend to befriend other Pa¯keha¯ with whom they share important socio-demographic characteristics such as education, income levels, lifestyle, etc. Since Pa¯keha¯ move mainly in the figured world of mainstream society, the majority of Pa¯keha¯ actors I met in the course of my research engaged in relatively few or casual friendships with Ma¯ori (see also, chapter 6.2.8). This applies in particular in the urban areas. For many Pa¯keha¯ there is neither the need, nor a particular interest, nor the opportunity to engage in close cross-cultural friendships. Reversely, Pa¯keha¯ who engage in such friendships do so because they share certain socio-demographic characteristics and social spaces with their non-Pa¯keha¯ friends. I found this to be the case for friendships with Ma¯ori as well as with members of other groups, such as Pacific peoples or Asians. Apart from opportunity, notions of belonging and comfort play an important role in this context. Some of the Pa¯keha¯ in this study socialize mainly with other Pa¯keha¯, but they have one or two particularly close non-Pa¯keha¯ friends. As the analysis below will show, this is often the case when the non-Pa¯keha¯ part of the friendship engages in the figured world of Pa¯keha¯ friendship, or mateship, a world located within mainstream Pa¯keha¯ society. Other Pa¯keha¯ engage with non-Pa¯keha¯ friends on a regular basis, and a third group moves mainly in nonPa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. In the latter we find persons who identify as Pa¯keha¯ but who move comfortably in Ma¯ori and other non-Pa¯keha¯ spaces, in which they engage with the figured worlds of wha¯nau as well as those of ‘friendship’ or ‘mateship’. Often, these persons are part of a social environment that spans both te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯ and which thereby facilitates cross-cultural relationships. Some are involved in cross-cultural couple relationships or another cross-cultural family constellation; others have grown up or live in a social environment, pursue a lifestyle, a career, or simply have interests in areas in which cross-cultural relations are encouraged or taken for granted. In order to understand the workings of this dynamic, we need to have a closer look at individual friendship experiences within and across these different figured worlds. I will start with the absence of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendships, working my way towards more diversified Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds from limited cross-

Friendship worlds in practice

151

cultural interaction towards bicultural Pa¯keha¯ identities and the question of trans-cultural spaces in friendship. 7.1.1 I don’t have Ma¯ori friends! Friendship opportunities in Pa¯keha¯ society “I don’t have Ma¯ori friends!” This is what Linda, one of the Pa¯keha¯ actors in this study, exclaimed as she was reflecting on her social relationships and on her effort at establishing more intimate friendship connections with Ma¯ori. “I don’t have Ma¯ori friends!” is a statement that I encountered often – in varying forms of expression and in different contexts, and in particular by tertiary educated, middle-aged, middle class Pa¯keha¯ such as Linda.I will come back to her case a little later on (see chapter 7.1.3). I have already pointed out the importance of opportunity in friendship. As I described in chapter 6.2.2, people not only choose others whom they are attracted to and want to engage with as their friends, they choose them from among the social ties available within their respective social setting; and for many middle class Pa¯keha¯ in urban Aotearoa New Zealand these are usually other majority group members. Even where frequent interaction between Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori takes place, the relationships are often not experienced as particularly intimate. This lack of cross-cultural friendship building by Pa¯keha¯ can be explained with socio-economic factors, in particular with differences in income levels, but also with regard to education and schooling. Especially middle class Pa¯keha¯ feel that they only rarely move in social environments that allow them to connect on a more intimate level with their Ma¯ori peers. This applies to actors with relatively small social networks as well as to those with large ones. In the following, I will discuss the cases of Mike, Mel and the Parker family, all of whom feel that they do not have (m)any Ma¯ori friends. Mike: I never really ran into many Ma¯ori people When I first met Mike in 2007, he was in his early twenties and lived in a middle class neighborhood in Auckland. As he explained to me, he refers to himself as a Kiwi out of appreciation for New Zealand culture. This was not always the case. Only some years before our first meeting, Mike would have referred to himself as European. This was before he met his girlfriend Tina, who identifies as Ma¯ori. It was also before he started to attend te reo classes in an effort to learn more about Ma¯ori language and culture.74 In fact, he told me that it was this involvement with 74 People attend te reo classes for different reasons. For some full-time students, it is a course requirement and for some it may be an ‘easy pass’. Some also learn te reo because of its relevance in their family or work environment. Then there are those who want to learn in order to connect to New Zealand culture. For some Ma¯ori, learning te reo is also part of their effort at reclaiming their culture – a part of themselves they feel disconnected from. Finally,

152

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Ma¯ori language and culture which increased his awareness for the uniqueness of New Zealand culture, and which is why he now prefers to refer to himself as a Kiwi rather than a New Zealand European. Even though Mike looks back on some friendships with non-Pa¯keha¯, at the time of my research he did not have any Ma¯ori friends among his social relations. Mike attributes this to the social environment he grew up in. A lack of crosscultural social interaction and shared space is a very strong theme in my data. In chapter 6.2.8, I described Mike’s overall friendship network as rather smallscale. He does not usually take an active role in tracing out new friendships. Instead, he maintains a small number of relations within the social environment and the social ties available to him. He describes himself as “better in small groups” – even though he likes meeting people from different backgrounds: I like meeting people from different cultures, (…) the only reason I never knew much about the Ma¯ori [culture] is just, I didn’t have much contact, (…) it’s just what came my way, (…) and I (…) never really ran into many Ma¯ori people.

During childhood the social environment more or less determines the choice of social affiliations. Not surprisingly, persons like Mike, who grow up and live in a relatively homogenous middle class Pa¯keha¯ social environment mainly socialize with other middle class Pa¯keha¯ and build their friendships accordingly. Mike mainly uses the words ‘friends’ and ‘friendship’ to refer to his intimate relations outside the family. He does not use the word ‘mate’ very much but associates it with higher levels of disclosure and trust. Mike moves in the Pa¯keha¯ figured world of friendship. Since he met his girlfriend, and since he started getting more involved with te ao Ma¯ori in his everyday life, Mike also feels more aware of the Ma¯ori social worlds around him: I guess I was quite surprised that (pause), just there was so much (pause), Ma¯ori culture around that I never really noticed. Like there is a lot of people learning the language, and there is a lot people who spend time on the maraes [ceremonial centers] and that is quite a big thing for a lot of people (…).

Even though he has not (yet) established close friendships with Ma¯ori, Mike nowadays feels a new sense of being in the world; as a Kiwi he takes part in New Zealand culture which includes aspects of Pa¯keha¯ as well as Ma¯ori culture, but also Pacific Island and Asian elements, for instance. His surprise at discovering Ma¯ori culture all around him shows the boundedness of his middle class Pa¯keha¯ universe – a universe in which his family relations, his friendships and even his work mates ‘happen’ to be Pa¯keha¯. there is a growing number of non-New Zealanders, often exchange students, who want to learn about their host culture. For New Zealanders, te reo classes are generally free in an effort to make the language available to anyone who wants to have it. Most programs combine language classes with the promotion of Ma¯ori culture.

Friendship worlds in practice

153

In chapter 6.2.8, I argued that the lack of cross-cultural friendship among Pa¯keha¯ is partly a numbers game. One could be tempted to conclude that it is the smallness of Mike’s friendship universe that limits his cross-cultural interaction. As the next case will show, this is not a sufficient explanation for the lack of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendship building. Mel: such a diverse group of people Mel is a forty-five-year old Pa¯keha¯ woman living and working in Wellington. At the time of my research she was planning to move in with her Pa¯keha¯ fianc¦e, but she was still sharing a flat with a flatmate. Mel provides a good example for a person who maintains a large and diverse network of friendships, but who also has only very few Ma¯ori friends. Apart from one very old friend, her social network is very much focused on her work life, and most of her friends have been made through her work. Like Mike (and many others) she feels that friendships just ‘happen’. Mel’s friendships reflect the different work ‘stations’ in her life. She not only establishes friendships through working relations, but she succeeds at maintaining them even after she leaves a particular job, or a work environment. Her case provides a good example for the transformation of work relationships into friendships. In the case of asymmetrical work relations, the friendship may only develop after she has left a specific work-role. This is how Mel explained her changing work and friendship roles to me: In one job I was in a management role and some of them at the time were my staff (…). I mean we got on well and stuff but it’s kind of not appropriate in that sort of situation to be friends with your staff. But since I’ve left that particular role and some of the people (…) have become my really good friends. My best friend is someone who I met through a job seventeen years ago (…).

Some years ago, Mel was married to a man whom she describes as “very kind of anti-social”. As a result, she also did not have many friends at the time. She told me that after her divorce, she started to socialize more and established a large network of friendships. Mel works in quality management, a work that requires good social skills. It was her work that provided her with the opportunity to initiate new friendships after her divorce. Mel values her expansive friendship network – a network that she experiences as diverse. [My friends are] such a (…) diverse group of people (…) different ages, different backgrounds, different types of people.

By ‘diverse’ she refers to different kinds of personality and character, age, but also working environments and interests. Mel enjoys diversity because it ‘adds’

154

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

something, and because it makes life more interesting. However, she hardly has any Ma¯ori friends. This lack of Ma¯ori friends she explains with the lack of Ma¯ori in her working environments. Again, homophily constitutes the underlying pattern. A closer look at Mel’s friendships reveals that most of her close friends are in fact from similar socioeconomic and educational backgrounds, have worked in the same industries and are – for the most part – female. Interestingly, her male friends are more “ethnically spread”, as she worded it. They include “a really good friend who’s Samoan” as well as a couple of Ma¯ori friends. All of the male friends Mel refers to are ex-colleagues, more casual friends, whom she catches up with for “a very short coffee”, as she said. With these friends she mainly talks about work-related issues; no sharing of intimate feelings is involved – as opposed to her close friendships with her female friends. Thus, her friendships across social boundaries are more casual and allow more space for difference. Both Mike and Mel lack Ma¯ori friends because their immediate social environments are placed within the mainstream Pa¯keha¯ world. So what about people who live and/or work in more culturally diverse spaces? The following example of a family living in one of New Zealand’s most ethnically diverse neighborhoods serves to illustrate the important point that the setting alone is not enough to initiate sustainable cross-cultural friendships. The Parkers: family life in a multicultural community Living and moving about in different residential areas in Auckland and Wellington, I found that even though New Zealanders of diverse socio-cultural and -economic backgrounds interact and engage with one another on the streets, in shops, in caf¦s, at work and in public spaces in general, they also tend to mingle in relatively homogenous social groups. This also applies to ethnically diverse or so-called multicultural neighborhoods. I noticed that the residents in such neighborhoods generally face one another on friendly terms, and that they respect their respective religious affiliations, ritual and culinary practices; however, friendships are for the main part maintained within one’s own group. The Parkers are a Pa¯keha¯ family of five who live in such a multicultural neighborhood. At the time of my research two of the three adult children were living at the family home together with their parents, David and Angela. The Parkers are a tight-knit family. They see each other regularly, support one another and do activities together as a family. Angela is in her mid-fifties. She refers to herself and to her family as ‘Kiwis’. When I asked her to explain what she means by this, she specified ‘Kiwi’ to refer to “people who’ve been born here and lived here for many years, and with Caucasian roots, I think”. During my research, I spent a lot of time at the Parkers’ house, especially with Angela. Angela and I often sat down for a cup of coffee and a chat. We talked just

Friendship worlds in practice

155

about anything, about the neighborhood, about New Zealand affairs, our personal lives, and about how my research project fitted into all of this. Angela explained to me that even though she lives in a multicultural neighborhood, and even though the family is on friendly terms with most of their neighbors, the interaction usually does not extend beyond the level of ‘meet and greet’. In the immediate neighborhood live, among others, Pa¯keha¯, Ma¯ori, Pacific peoples, Koreans, Indians, and immigrants from the Middle East. Sitting at her dining table over a cup of hot coffee, Angela one day pointed out the adjacent neighbors to me: They’ve got extremely different lifestyles ‘cause they’re Muslims. (…) These guys, we have a reasonable relationship. Across the road (…), there’s another family that we know are Malaysian, Kiwi couple up here, (…) a dear old fellow, Fijian man back there that we see occasionally. But people keep to themselves, they really do.

The Parkers have strong Christian affiliations. Each family member regularly attends church and maintains most of her/his close friendships within the church network. Church groups, activities and community service go hand in hand with support networks, the establishment of friendships (between individuals and families) as well as intermarriage. The religious community functions as an important social structure that provides a sense of identity and belonging and from which come forth new unions as members fall in love, get married, establish friendships and help one another on a day-to-day basis. When the children were small, the Parkers lived overseas for some time. Even though they paid home-visits to Aotearoa New Zealand and tried to maintain their social relations at home, when the family returned for good, Angela found it difficult to re-settle and to re-kindle a friendship network. In particular, the church people provided entrance points for the establishment of new ties: I would’ve been utterly lost without [the church people]. Then it was neighbors, people that would respond to your efforts to make a friendship (…). Thought to get involved in (…) night classes (…), and that doesn’t [work], ‘cause your lives go in another direction as soon as you move out of the particular thing that you’re doing at the time.

Over the years, Angela established a new friendship network that consists of persons of similar background and age, with similar interests and values. Many of her and her husband’s friends are couples that they socialize with together as well as separately (usually divided by gender : women with women, men with men). Living in an ethnically diverse neighborhood, Angela engages in crosscultural friendships with at least one former neighbor, with church members and also with some work colleagues, but she, too, has only limited social interaction with Ma¯ori. Again, her immediate environment does not provide entrance points for establishing close friendships with Ma¯ori people. For even though her neighborhood is one of the most ethnically diverse residential areas

156

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

in Aotearoa New Zealand, Ma¯ori represent less than 6 percent of the permanent resident population. In part, Angela explains her lack of friendships with Ma¯ori with her problems at re-establishing her social network after living overseas. However, as she pointed out to me, her children’s social universes display a similar pattern, i. e., they lack in particular in friendships with Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples. This is the case even though they attended ethnically diverse schools, and even though they enjoy mingling with people of different cultural backgrounds. In the case of the youngest, Malcolm, this is particularly revealing, since many of his classmates at school were in fact Pacific peoples. As Angela told me, even though Malcolm and his classmates interacted in class, this did not lead to the formation of friendships because they did not share the same interests in sports: [A]lthough he mixed with these kids (…) in the school room, at lunchtime, he didn’t (…), because his interest was in playing soccer, most of those kids (…) play rugby or nothing at all, and so it was a social disaster for him (…).

The classes at school were academically streamed.75 Intersectionality between ethnic group membership and academic achievement meant that there were mainly Pacific students in Malcolm’s class. Faced with their son’s lack of friendships in class, the worried parents saw no other solution to the problem than to ask the teachers to let him change classes: “It’s fine for you to decide to stream them academically,” I said, “But school’s more than academics, (…) when [my son] steps out the door, he has (…) no friends (…).” [T]he minute they leave the school, they go to their own homes and their whole (…) lifestyle is around whoever they relate to, which could be a Polynesian church, for example, (…) and there ends your contact.

What Angela is describing here is not a lack of tolerance and openness towards others. Her social network clearly pays testimony to her openness towards establishing relationships with people of diverse backgrounds. Rather, her depiction alludes to significant social boundaries that cut across ethnic, cultural and religious lines. In fact, had Malcolm shared his classmates’ interest in rugby, the situation may have been a different one – as the example of Jonathan below will show (see chapter 7.1.3). But this wasn’t the case. Mike’s, Mel’s and Angela’s accounts touch on several important themes: First 75 Academic streaming is widely used in New Zealand secondary schools. The intersection between ethnicity and educational inequality means that there is considerable academic separation and the more advanced courses generally have fewer Ma¯ori and Pacific students. The Ministry of Education is attempting to address this achievement gap and several schools are nowadays abstaining from streaming their students. However, during my research many people mentioned this educational tool as effectively hindering them from engaging in Pa¯keha¯-Ma¯ori friendships.

Friendship worlds in practice

157

of all, they emphasize the importance of actors’ immediate social environment and the notion of shared social space for the formation of friendship. Secondly, they point to the importance of effort in establishing new social ties outside one’s usual social and work environment. Connected to this is a third aspect of successful friendship interaction: the need for another to respond to and to make a return effort in order for a relationship to evolve. A fourth point concerns the importance of shared interests or activities, which on their own do not necessarily suffice in order to establish sustainable relations outside a given social context. Not surprisingly then, actors tend to (a) stick to the immediate social spaces and groups available to them, and (b) to form their friendships with those who are the most responsive to their efforts at initiating friendship. Mike, Mel and the Parkers all move in the figured world of Pa¯keha¯ friendship, a world which does not usually provide for them the opportunity to crossover to, or to engage in Ma¯ori friendship worlds. And while they may tap into worlds outside of Pa¯keha¯ mainstream culture, they do not engage with te ao Ma¯ori in their day-to-day lives. Mike has recently caught a glimpse of Ma¯ori life around him and is starting to engage with this other world, Mel maintains some relations with Ma¯ori at the fringes of her social network, and Angela has some ties through the church she attends. However, on the whole, all of them feel that they do not have many Ma¯ori friends. What is more, the friendships with Ma¯ori that they have follow the norms of the Pa¯keha¯ friendship world known to them – rather than the figured world of wha¯nau, for instance. This is why, in their experience, cultural or ethnic salience is irrelevant in these friendships. In the next section, I will shed some light on those friendships between Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori in which taha Ma¯ori, Ma¯ori identity, and the Ma¯ori world do not play a role. For now, I will discuss Pa¯keha¯ perspectives on these friendships. In chapter 7.3, Ma¯ori perspectives (which are sometimes congruent, at other times divergent) will be discussed. 7.1.2 I have Ma¯ori friends, but… When te ao Ma¯ori is irrelevant Apart from Pa¯keha¯ like Mike, Mel and Angela who feel that they do not have (m) any Ma¯ori friends, several Pa¯keha¯ in this study have a ‘best’ or close Ma¯ori friend, even though their overall social universe reflects a predominately Pa¯keha¯ environment. The fact that the friend is Ma¯ori is usually described as irrelevant. There were different ways of explaining why this is the case: First of all, as already mentioned, ethnic or cultural affiliation is principally regarded irrelevant in friendship. Just like friendships ‘just happen’, friends ‘happen’ to be Ma¯ori, Pa¯keha¯, Samoan, German, Australian, etc. As the preceding analysis has shown,

158

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

this widely held belief is contradicted by the pattern of homophily in friendship making. Another explanation for the irrelevance of cultural affiliation is that even though the best friend is Ma¯ori, s/he either isn’t perceived as identifying strongly with her/his Ma¯ori ancestry and culture, or the Pa¯keha¯ friend feels that this ‘side’ of their friend has nothing to do with that particular friendship. Sometimes, a shared culture as New Zealanders or Kiwis is brought up to explain cultural similarity. In any case, cultural difference is constructed as irrelevant, or non-existent. As I already explained, this partly has to do with the importance placed on positive and harmonious Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction as well as with the idea of friendship as a private, symmetrical relationship among equals, in which structural markers should not play a restricting role. As actors over and again emphasized, their friendships are based on other things such as shared interests and similarity in lifestyles. I regularly came across assertions that the Ma¯ori friend is ‘just like me’, ‘normal’, or ‘no different’. However, the insistence on the irrelevance of difference also has to do with the existence of different worlds of friendship, some of which simply do not enter te ao Ma¯ori. In the following, I will discuss the perspective of Matt, a young Pa¯keha¯ father in his early thirties. Matt: we don’t talk about much other than what we share in common At the time of my research, Matt was living in Auckland with his Pa¯keha¯ wife Erin and their baby son. Looking back at his friendships over time, Matt – similar to Mike – observed that his choice of friends during his childhood was more or less predetermined by the middle class Pa¯keha¯ environment he grew up in. He provides a good example for someone who, upon entering the world of adulthood, made more conscious friendship choices. As he left his parental home to start university and to share a flat in another city, Matt established new friendships based on mutual interests and shared activities. His transition from being a high school student to a university student he describes as one of free will and choice: When you’re young, (…) it’s forced upon you. (…). Once you leave [school] (…) you’re basically expected to go flatting and go to university (…). And so from that stage, I think that’s when I started to value that free will and that choice. And I always had a really large circle of friends at university, but that was based on music and skateboarding.

What Matt describes here is typical for many middle class New Zealand households. Starting adulthood effectively means to leave home to go flatting and start university, or to enter work life. This transitory phase is often characterized by a search for self and for one’s place in the world. Friendship is an important part of this process as the actors share their first steps into adulthood,

Friendship worlds in practice

159

experiment with different paths of life and make important decisions regarding their future careers as well as personal lives. Upon entering the social network of university, Matt felt free to establish friendships based on his personal interests, namely music and skateboarding. Most of these friendships were with other young Pa¯keha¯ men – like him –, who moved in the same socio-cultural and economic environment. Nowadays, Matt is married to Erin, mother of their baby son. Matt still plays music and he still maintains friendships based on shared interests and activities within his immediate and wider socio-cultural and -economic setting. Since this setting is predominately Pa¯keha¯, most of his friends are also Pa¯keha¯. Nevertheless, at least two of Matt’s friends ‘happen’ to be (part-)Ma¯ori. When Matt told me about them, he was quick to add that even though they were Ma¯ori, or part-Ma¯ori, this did not play a role since their friendships focus on shared interests and values. This kind of statement was a recurrent theme in my research. I would like to add that this was especially pronounced among Pa¯keha¯ middle class actors who often felt uncomfortable to talk about any kind of difference in friendship. The fear of stereotyping plays an important role in this context. When I enquired – rather vaguely – whether Matt’s friends’ cultural affiliations ever come to the fore, he explained it like this: Will talks about it quite a bit because he is very white looking but his Dad is a Ma¯ori scholar. (…) I think he would check both boxes on the census form, but there is no aspect of what he does day to day that strongly identifies with Ma¯ori culture. And the same with Tim, Tim is very different. Tim looks Chinese, but I think he would more identify with tangata whenua [indigenous person], than his (…) Chinese ancestry (…). It is not something we discuss. (…) I suppose (…) we don’t talk about much other than what we share in common (…).

Matt feels especially close to Tim; Tim is part of his ‘intim’, as he calls it. What binds them together is their shared history, common interests, a similar sense of humor and the things they do together. Matt is interested in te ao Ma¯ori, in particular in Ma¯ori’s indigenous status. He finds it interesting when his friend Will talks about the Ma¯ori world and about Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations. Matt works with people of different social, cultural and economic backgrounds on a day-to-day basis, and he is aware of the intersectionality of social inequalities. His wife Erin speaks te reo; she has a relatively diverse social network and interacts with Ma¯ori in both her personal and her professional life on a regular basis. Hence, when Matt speaks of the irrelevance of cultural difference in his friendships with Tim and Will he does not do so because he is not aware of the existence of this difference in society. The Ma¯ori world simply does not play a particular role in his Pa¯keha¯ world of friendship.

160

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

However, there are also others who – by insisting on the irrelevance of difference – gloss over important power imbalances and who fall into the muchcited trap of the egalitarian myth of the 1950s. This is what a Pa¯keha¯ man in his fifties with a rural working class background told me about growing up on the South Island: We didn’t have any Ma¯oris there, but the Ma¯ori kids at school were just normal people.

Sometimes, when talking to people about my research, I came across statements similar to this one. Especially Pa¯keha¯ who grew up in the 1950s and 1960s, a time when the egalitarian myth was striving, often stated that whereas in the past, there was no problem and everyone got along, nowadays things were different. In fact, the person quoted above also told me that even though Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ kids used “to call each other names” back in the days, this was not experienced in a negative way ; he added that, nowadays, people said it had a racist connotation. Obviously, he did not think so himself – nor did any of the other Pa¯keha¯ present at this particular conversation. The point that this man wanted to get across was that relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ used to be good and were getting there again. In any case, he wished for relations to improve. His comment displayed insecurity in regard to how to deal with Ma¯oriPa¯keha¯ relations and how to assess their current state. Clearly, there were new rules regarding what was socially appropriate. I will come back to this point in chapter 7.2.4, where I describe how Katerina and a Pa¯keha¯ friend of hers exchange points of view on this matter. For the moment, I would like to take note of the fact that Pa¯keha¯ often experience their interaction with Ma¯ori as ‘normal’ or ‘the same’ as with Pa¯keha¯ because it takes place in the Pa¯keha¯ world. All actors insisted – in one way or another – on the personalized and individualized nature of friendship interaction. This also tells us something about the underlying conception of friendship: even though social boundaries and inequalities may be acknowledged, to regard them as the defining factors of a friendship would mean to somehow devalue, discount, or dishonor both the friends and the friendship. Cultural difference is regarded irrelevant because it violates the norms of the figured world of ‘friendship’, which implies an intimate relationship based on shared experiences, similarity, trust, understanding and mutual respect. Similarly, the idea of ‘mateship’ implies values like loyalty and community ; the acknowledgment of difference, on the other hand, violates the notion of the egalitarian myth so closely associated with traditional ‘mateship’. It is only when the boundaries between the ‘two worlds’ come to the fore, that they are acknowledged as impeding on friendships between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯.

Friendship worlds in practice

161

7.1.3 Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds – the Pa¯keha¯ experience The Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendships described so far tend to follow the rules and norms of Pa¯keha¯ society and the figured worlds of Pa¯keha¯ ‘friendship’, or ‘mateship’ respectively. This is the case because New Zealand society is for the most part a Pa¯keha¯ world – a world with which both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori engage as they go about their everyday affairs. In fact, as I will show in chapter 7.2, some Ma¯ori feel more at home in this mainstream world than in the Ma¯ori world, and their friendships are also situated within the Pa¯keha¯ world. In other cases, the Ma¯ori friend may have other friendships that are situated in te ao Ma¯ori and that follow the rules of the figured world of the wha¯nau, rather than the norms of ‘friendship’. As the case may be, the ‘Pa¯keha¯ part’ of such a friendship often remains rather oblivious to this and may be surprised to discover this ‘other world’, or ‘side’ of their Ma¯ori friend. I have already introduced Mel, who only maintains rather casual friendships with Ma¯ori. This is what she told me about the two sides of her work-friend Tuku: Mel: Tuku actually describes himself as someone who steps between the worlds of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. (…) [H]e’s quite fair skinned, and (…) he just sounds kind of like a Kiwi bloke. But then (…), like we had a po¯whiri [welcoming ritual] at work (…) and it’s just like he’s a completely different person. Agnes: What’s the difference? Mel: Pa¯keha¯ Tuku’s really kind of like laid back (…), but (…) he obviously really takes (…) the cultural side of things quite seriously and is very respectful of the (…) protocols (…), quite serious and proper which (…) he’s kind of not, you know, when he’s not doing that kind of thing (…).

When I asked Mel how she feels about her friend’s two different ‘sides’, she said she found it intriguing that he could do that without constantly drawing attention to his cultural identity, i. e., he could do so without constantly displaying his Ma¯ori identity. Mel also mentioned that Tuku works as Ma¯ori cultural liaison and that she feels safe to consult him when she feels insecure about proper behavior in Ma¯ori environments, for instance, when she has to interact at a marae (ceremonial center). This is an important point: Pa¯keha¯ actors often feel uneasy in Ma¯ori social contexts because they feel like they should ‘just know’ how to interact and behave properly. So even if they have the opportunity to engage in such environments, they may choose not to do so in order to avoid discomfort or embarrassment. The experience of going onto a marae (ceremonial center), for instance, especially the traditional ritual of encounter (po¯whiri) puts many people into a special emotional state ranging from excited anticipation to pride,

162

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

fear, or shame (e. g., for not knowing the codes of conduct, or for not knowing te reo). Before entering the unfamiliar ‘terrain’, Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori alike are usually rather self-conscious and the atmosphere can get quite tense. This may create discomfort. Some people therefore do not feel particularly motivated to go out of their way to visit a marae (ceremonial center) even if they get the opportunity to do so. However, most Pa¯keha¯ I talked to who had visited a marae, or who had entered other Ma¯ori spaces, almost always commented on the welcoming atmosphere. They told me that their initial discomfort was dispersed once they entered and were made comfortable by their hosts. Exceptions may occur when the occasion to come together is of a more political nature since the oratory and debate on the paepae (beam across the front of a meeting-house) can be rather fierce. In the case of Mel, her friendship with Tuku helps her overcome her insecurities and her lack of knowledge, and to engage more confidently with Ma¯ori in Ma¯ori spaces. She finds her friend’s bicultural competence “pretty amazing” and benefits from it. However, the discovery that a friend has this ‘other’ side may also invoke feelings of insecurity and a sense of being left out, or of not being part of the friend’s life-world. The next case study by Liz shows how a Pa¯keha¯ experiences such situations and how she herself started to get more involved with this ‘other’ world. Liz: there was this whole thing going on that I wasn’t a part of Liz is a Pa¯keha¯ professional in her early thirties. At the time of my research she was living in Auckland, but she had only very recently returned there after living overseas for several years. Liz is a good example for a young middle class professional who, after traveling and living overseas,76 tries to reposition herself both professionally and personally in-between her different life-worlds; part of her quest is to reconnect with her home country. Liz works in the media industry. Her work life often puts her into the company of Ma¯ori organizations and groups and therefore demands a comparatively high degree of cultural sensitivity. Her friendship network is very diverse in regard to ethnic affiliations, gender and age, but also in terms of religious affiliations and nationalities. It consists of friends from her time overseas, former flatmates, of 76 A substantial number of young New Zealanders (typically between their teens and thirties) go to live and work overseas for an extended working holiday. Often, they start their ‘overseas experience’ (short: OE) in London. There, they stay for some months, or longer ; they work and travel, some move on to other cities and countries. To do so requires some financial resources (at least to get the money for the flight ticket to Europe). Not surprisingly, many of these actors come from a middle-class background. However, there also exists a second group of people, who leave their home in search for better work and educational opportunities (often to Australia) and who may, or may not, return after some years.

Friendship worlds in practice

163

old school friendships and also some new ones that she has made since returning to Aotearoa New Zealand. When I first met her in 2007, she also maintained some casual friendships and work relations with Ma¯ori. While Liz has for many years had an interest in Ma¯ori culture, it was the experience of living overseas that made her reflect on being a New Zealander and on the part that Ma¯ori culture plays in this. Liz sees Ma¯ori culture as an integral part of her Kiwi identity. She shares this conception with others for whom the process of homecoming is linked to an increased awareness of and respect for the place of both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ culture and for Ma¯ori’s indigenous status as tangata whenua. In fact, it was her heightened awareness of what it means to be a Kiwi in conjunction with her work environment which eventually made Liz put her plan to learn more about Ma¯ori language and culture into practice. I’d been away for so long. (…) I had things when I was in London, like Kiwi things, (…) stuff that reminded me of home and I guess a lot of it was Ma¯ori stuff. And then, (…) I had an opportunity to be working with (…) bilingual scripts. (…) So that’s when I very first started looking for a [te reo] course and then (…), I just loved all of it, yeah.

I have repeatedly pointed out that the search of identity is a topical theme in Aotearoa New Zealand. There is a sense that New Zealand as a whole is still coming to terms with its identity ; for Pa¯keha¯ in particular this means to look at what makes them different from Europeans (usually meaning: British) culture. What they tend to find in regard to symbolic representations of a distinct Kiwi culture is what Liz describes here as the ‘stuff ’ she was decorating her flat with: symbols of Ma¯oridom such as the koru (a spiral shape symbolizing new life, growth, strength and peace), bone pendants, greenstone, but also inflatable Kiwi birds and pictures of wild beaches, Pohutukawa trees and bushland. Like Liz, many Pa¯keha¯ only discover their need to identify more closely with Ma¯ori culture as they travel abroad and try to position themselves as New Zealanders. Several people mentioned that they experience feelings of shame because of their lack of knowledge about ‘things Ma¯ori’. Their desire for cultural learning is often linked to the ideal of greater intercultural understanding and to the improvement of relations in society. However, in order to put their ideals into practice, they need to enter te ao Ma¯ori, and to do so most Pa¯keha¯ people have to make an active effort. In Liz’s case, the experience of working with a bilingual script was the opportunity to get more actively involved with Ma¯ori language and culture. The combination of opportunity, interest and effort is often decisive for actors to step out of their comfort zones, over and across boundaries. Once this initial engagement was established, Liz had the opportunity to also socially engage with Ma¯ori and to kindle new friendships. Through her engagement, she met lots of different people and made several friends; in fact, she even fell in love.

164

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

When Liz started to attend te reo classes and to engage more closely with te ao Ma¯ori, she realized that some of her Ma¯ori friends and acquaintances were also regularly engaging with this ‘other’ world, the Ma¯ori world – a world that she wasn’t (yet) a part of. This not only surprised her, but also made her feel on the outside – outside of that part of their personal lives as well as of that part of society. I was out with a friend (…), he’s Ma¯ori and we were with his two younger cousins (…). [W]e started having this conversation with the two younger cousins and they said they’d both been to ko¯hanga reo and kura kaupapa [Ma¯ori language education institutions] and they were fully fluent, and (…) it just really surprised me. (…) I guess I kind of felt like an outsider then. Like, there was this whole thing going on (…), that I wasn’t a part of because I’m not from that culture, [so] that I don’t necessarily see what is happening in that world. Even though I can see what’s going on in New Zealand I don’t see (…) what’s going on in the families, what’s going on in the communities.

The boundaries between the worlds suddenly became very clear to Liz. The friend that she went out with some nights before our interview had not known that she even had an interest and was involved in te ao Ma¯ori; consequently, he had kept it out of their friendship – until then. This is what made her feel on the outside. It also made her realize that she needs to more consciously make an effort in order to find access to the Ma¯ori world. The idea of belonging to a shared New Zealand or Kiwi culture that includes Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori as well as Pacific Peoples, Asians and everybody else is important to Liz. She refers to herself as a Kiwi, but she commented that the term is sometimes used in reference to Pa¯keha¯ only, or to non-Ma¯ori New Zealanders, which she does not agree with. In Ma¯ori contexts (e. g., in te reo class) Liz uses the term Pa¯keha¯. Like many others, she finds the ethnic category of ‘New Zealander of European descent’ or ‘European’ as provided by official census forms problematic: [I]t makes me feel kind of, I don’t know (…) [if] ‘excluded’ is the right word but like I’m not a Kiwi, (…) because it’s like, “Oh well you’re from somewhere else,” do you know what I mean?

The discomfort of being a Pa¯keha¯ comes to the fore here as Liz feels threatened in her right to belong. On the whole, Liz’s experiences as a Pa¯keha¯ in te ao Ma¯ori have been positive. She mentioned that the interaction in Ma¯ori environments is more based around values of wha¯nau (extended family) and manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others) as well as community – values that she cherishes in her personal life. Hence, she is aware of and participates in both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds of friendship. As she says, she appreciates the sense of “wha¯nau and belonging and being included” and she has felt welcomed and looked after ; but she also reflects on the fact that hers is an outside perspective,

Friendship worlds in practice

165

only, and she mentioned that from inside, it could also feel claustrophobic sometimes. For Liz, entering the Ma¯ori world more intimately by making friends and establishing meaningful social ties imbues her with a sense of belonging. She, too, can now move in both the Pa¯keha¯ and the Ma¯ori worlds. However, insecurities persist and she sometimes feels uneasy as a Pa¯keha¯ in the Ma¯ori world. For example, in the face of the high numbers of Ma¯ori who do not speak te reo, Liz feels uneasy when she discovers that she speaks (at least some) te reo, but that the Ma¯ori people around her do not. In these cases she abstains from speaking the language in order to accommodate the other person. As she told me, she does not want to feel as if she, a Pa¯keha¯, is taking something that is not hers to take. The importance of te reo as a means of empowerment comes to the fore here. Even though many Ma¯ori appreciate the learning efforts by Pa¯keha¯ such as Liz, there also exists some unease as to what people like Liz will do with their new knowledge and what place or part they will take in relation to Ma¯ori. “It’s fine for people to learn the language but what are they going to do with it?!”, is a frequent comment in regard to the problem of sharing cultural knowledge. Politics are an important factor here: They create sensitivities and insecurities in both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors and sometimes prevent them from stepping out and across. Fear of interaction as well as negative group stereotyping may thus inhibit the formation of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendships across boundaries. To step out and across involves extra-effort. But effort alone is not always enough for friendships across boundaries to be established. People who try to step out, but who do not succeed in actually establishing more intimate relations across boundaries, speak of both rewarding and disappointing, or at least ambivalent experiences. They try to connect with te ao Ma¯ori but find it hard to find access. Linda’s case illustrates this point very well. Linda: effort alone is not enough Like Liz, Linda77 attends Ma¯ori language classes, socializes with her classmates and tries to establish some closer connections. However, in contrast to Liz, she does not really succeed at establishing more intimate friendships – for different reasons. I already quoted Linda at the outset of chapter 7.1.1. She sounded a little at a loss when she told me, “I don’t have any Ma¯ori friends!” Her case exemplifies well the point that an outgoing personality and good social skills in combination with effort and shared space alone do not necessarily suffice in order to establish intimate or lasting friendships that go beyond existing social, cultural and/or economic boundaries. Her experiences demonstrate the entanglement of per77 See also my analysis in Brandt (forthcoming).

166

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

sonal relations with the wider socio-cultural setting as well as the complexity of friendship-making processes and friendship worlds. Linda lives in Auckland. She is in her early fifties and married to a Pa¯keha¯ man. She used to work as a teacher before becoming a full-time mother. As her children have grown more independent, she has started to rekindle some of her old friendships – with success. Her efforts to reconnect include sending e-mails and calling old friends on the phone as well as getting together face-to-face; a process that she has experienced as rewarding. Looking at her relationship chart, she told me that she wants her friendships to move ‘closer in’ again. Linda’s friendship network is diverse in that her friends are people from different phases in her life. Some have children, some are in a similar lifesituation, and others have made life-choices different to hers. However, almost all of her friends, and also her family members, are of a Pa¯keha¯ background that may be characterized as ‘liberal’, middle class, and educated. The principle of homophily further applies in regard to gender (most of her friends are women), age (most of them are roughly the same age as her), and socio-economic background (only one of her friends is “poor as a church mouse”), lifestyle and cultural values, to the social setting, in which these relationships were formed (college/university, flatting, children’s playgroups/schools), in regard to shared interests (e. g., going to the gym, visiting art galleries) and shared experiences/ history (e. g., being a parent, having family barbecues). Linda does not have any Ma¯ori friends but would like to establish some closer connections with Ma¯ori people. Linda has been learning te reo Ma¯ori for several years at different tertiary institutions. She invests time and effort in this undertaking as she sees in it an important step towards intercultural understanding, both on a personal and on a more general level. Like Mike and Liz, she attends te reo classes and engages with Ma¯ori people in order to gain greater insights into Ma¯ori culture, and thereby also into New Zealand culture. While personal growth is an important motivator for her, she also emphasizes the importance of establishing meaningful and positive relationships between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. In a way, her desire to learn te reo reflects the wider middle class Pa¯keha¯ discourse on the importance of positive cultural relations and understanding. It was a key event that eventually led her to enroll in a te reo course some ten years ago. The family had been invited to a big hui (assembly, meeting) because of her husband’s engagement with the Ma¯ori arts and writers scene. As Linda told me, the event itself was truly fabulous, but it was also frustrating – for she “didn’t understand all that was going on”. Her desire to understand and to be able to show her respect as well as to connect and to be a part is what initially made her want to learn te reo; it is also what keeps her at it. Linda engages with Ma¯ori people whenever she has the opportunity to do so.

Friendship worlds in practice

167

She enjoys her te reo classes, but also finds her lack of progress frustrating. She would like to find more opportunities to speak te reo in her day-to-day life; and she would like to establish friendships with Ma¯ori that go beyond a general level of friendliness – a wish that she finds difficult to put into practice. In fact, the only person she feels she established a friendship connection with in her te reo classes is another Pa¯keha¯ woman. Even though Linda is liked and well integrated in her classes, she feels a bit ‘on the outer’, something that she puts down to her age and to her different life-worlds: [T]here’s nothing I do, there’s nothing in my life that puts me in the company of Ma¯ori people apart from the class I go to (…). I don’t have Ma¯ori friends (…) my life has got a certain number of orbits and I move in those and it’s like I don’t have any Chinese friends either, (…) you’re quite limited.

The feeling of being limited to certain ‘life-orbits’ Linda also attributes to her urban environment, which makes it difficult for her to come into contact with non-Pa¯keha¯. Participating in Ma¯ori language classes is also an attempt to cross over this boundary. At this she feels only partially successful: Linda: I still feel, I still want to be in the club and I’m not in the club (…). And I’m not in the club because I’m not born into it and (…), all that stuff about whakapapa [genealogy], (…) I mean even if you learn the language, you’re still not Ma¯ori (…). You have a much greater sense of comfort in situations where there are Ma¯ori people or on the marae [ceremonial center] because you know so much more and you’re open to it, but you’re still not quite there. Agnes: Will you ever be?” Linda: (…) I think you can, I think you could be, but it would be, I think it’s dependent on forming relationships with Ma¯ori people actually.

In this case, the shared space of the classroom and the class community do not suffice for the formation of more intimate cross-cultural friendships to develop. Similar to Angela, who unsuccessfully tried to kindle new friendships by attending night classes, Linda finds it difficult to take her interaction with her classmates out of the confines of the classroom. Whereas a great number of persons simply stop their involvement with the Ma¯ori world at this point, Linda persists. She attends night classes, goes to language weekends and engages with Ma¯ori whenever she can. She is driven by a desire to learn and to understand, and she feels deeply attracted to Ma¯ori language and culture. In fact, it is her love and her positive experiences that make her continue her quest. Linda likes the ‘family culture’, the ‘group focus’, and the idea of whanaungatanga (sense of family connection) that she experiences in the Ma¯ori learning environment, a space that she feels is governed by Ma¯ori values, spirituality and the notion of wha¯nau, rather than Pa¯keha¯ values. There are

168

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

indeed many aspects about Ma¯ori spaces, Ma¯ori people and culture that Linda finds appealing. Most of these are things that she has always held close and which she would like to have more of in her own life. She imagines that Ma¯ori culture has something to offer to her personally, and to New Zealand society as a whole. What it has to offer, in her view, is a more comprehensive notion of interconnectedness based on the principles of whakapapa (genealogy) and of whanaungatanga (kinship in its widest sense). However, while these social mechanisms may create comfort and a sense of belonging for some, for others – those who cannot connect in the same way, those who are not Ma¯ori, or those who do not know their genealogy – they may also invoke more ambivalent feelings and discomfort. For Linda, there is also a more ambivalent side to it: In some ways, she says, learning about the other language and culture makes her feel more isolated, and different. In a cultural context where genealogical reckoning, or whakapapa, is an important way of relating to one’s land and peoples in material and spiritual terms, Linda, because of her inability to draw on these connections, sometimes feels disconnected and dislocated. Like in the case of Liz, being Pa¯keha¯ is experienced in this context as being ‘other’. Non-belonging emerges as much as a defining factor as belonging. This is where friendship comes in: Friendship as an intimate bonding is imagined by Linda as potentially providing her with a deeper level of interaction, and as a way of bridging the perceived divide between her own and the other culture. Cross-cultural friendship is thus ideally constructed as a space in-between – a space in which the actors are seen as capable of transcending cultural boundaries. The only problem is, Linda finds it difficult to find shared social spaces with Ma¯ori that would enable such friendships. Her case demonstrates that effort and opportunity alone are not enough to establish intimate friendships across boundaries. Difference in age and social milieu as well as her everyday social environment effectively hinder friendship building with Ma¯ori. In her case, the space of the classroom does not suffice to establish more lasting relations beyond a casual level of interaction. Furthermore, Linda is aware that, even if she succeeded in establishing such friendships, they would most probably remain peripheral to her main ‘lifeorbits’. Put differently, the figured worlds she engages in – with the exception of the figured world of te reo classes – are Pa¯keha¯ worlds; and even though she has some access to the Ma¯ori world, she does not have access to the Ma¯ori friendship worlds within it. The limits of the problematic notion of multiculturalism come to the fore here as the so-called ‘multicultural’ city Linda lives in fails to provide her with spaces of encounter with Ma¯ori people in which to cross-over. In fact, Linda thinks it might be easier to connect with Ma¯ori outside the city, in the more rural parts of the country, where people know each other on a face-to-face basis. This esti-

Friendship worlds in practice

169

mation is supported by other actors’ images of rural relations. However, as the next case of Louise shows, it is often not as simple as that. Social inequality structures and group membership also play a role in rural Aotearoa New Zealand – even if levels of familiarity are higher and face-to-face contact is more frequent. Louise: I think it was a group thing I found that even Pa¯keha¯ who grew up in areas with higher Ma¯ori proportions often report relatively few friendships that cut across Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ boundaries. In parts, this is because of social inequality structures. As described in chapter 4.7, Ma¯ori as a group continue to be more affected by social and economical inequalities than their Pa¯keha¯ peers. Consistent with the principle of homophily the intersection between socio-economics and ethnicity is also reflected on the level of social interaction. Hence, unless Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ belong to the same socio-economic group, only limited friendship interaction is to be expected. This is what Louise, a middle class Pa¯keha¯ woman in her mid-twenties, told me about growing up in the Bay of Plenty in the 1980s and 1990s, an area with a relatively high Ma¯ori population (Statistics New Zealand 2007a): I attended (…) a small primary school (…). And [the kids] were basically all little Pa¯keha¯ kids, but (…) we had, like, seasonal workers and they were often Ma¯ori (…). And then I moved (…) and we lived on this road, (…) there was a big marae [ceremonial center], (…), and the school bus came and picked us up first, (…) and the bus goes down to the end of the road and picks up about twenty Ma¯ori kids, and as the bus got further down there all the little Pa¯keha¯ kids (…) got really quiet (…) [W]e were quite intimidated (…) [I]t was really, like, sort of segregated, and it was bizarre (…). I think it was a group thing. (…) I can’t really describe it.

Louise’s account describes well the relative boundedness of group interaction and the lack of social permeability – even in regions with relatively high Ma¯ori populations – from a middle class Pa¯keha¯ perspective. In later years, Louise lost her timidness and nowadays she engages in both intra- and cross-cultural friendships with ease. One of Louise’s closest friends is Miriama, a Ma¯ori woman of the same age as her. I discuss her case in more detail in chapter 7.2.3. Through her friendship with Miriama, Louise learned that the boundaries between the Ma¯ori and the Pa¯keha¯ students were probably even more pronounced than she thought, i. e., that the school itself constituted a Pa¯keha¯ world, in which the rules of Pa¯keha¯ culture were practiced – rather than Ma¯ori ways of engagement. Louise’s experiences are shared by other middle class Pa¯keha¯ from this area who feel that their interaction with Ma¯ori was rather limited during their childhood because of socio-economic boundaries. Anna, for instance, told me that she felt that the Ma¯ori at school did not have the same socio-economic background as her and therefore somehow felt “removed” from her own life.

170

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Neither for Louise nor for Anna there was a lot mingling in rural Aotearoa New Zealand. Similarly, Beth, who comes from a different rural area with a higher Pa¯keha¯ population, feels that mixing and mingling is easier in the city, for it is in the city where she finds opportunities to cross over, a place where “you’re bound to bump into all sorts of people”. Her experience is very different from Linda’s. On the other hand, June, a thirty-two-year-old Pa¯keha¯ from the East Coast, describes her relations in Wellington as very different to those in her home town, where Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ mix more on a day-to-day basis: We all grew up together and went to school together and my parents had Ma¯ori friends and I hung out with their kids. (…) [W]hen I first got here, I was finding it quite hard to find these intercultural friendships at all.

I should add that the East Coast is one of the areas with the highest Ma¯ori population. For June, and other Pa¯keha¯ I talked to, this has meant that she grew up in an environment in which Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ friendships were a common occurrence, rather than an exception. This is why she moves comfortably between Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds. The popular image of rural Aotearoa New Zealand is characterized by cooperative face-to-face interaction and neighborly support; it is often associated with increased Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction and the irrelevance of cultural affiliation. According to my data, this image holds in certain pockets of rural Aotearoa New Zealand. I found significant regional differences depending on local socio-demographics and group membership. Furthermore, whereas local Pa¯keha¯ often described relations as friendly and cooperative, their Ma¯ori peers – even though they generally reproduced the idealized image of rural life – more often talked about discriminatory attitudes and socio-economic inequalities, between ‘white’ farmers and ‘brown’ workers, for instance. June is a working class child. As she told me, this is an important commonality between herself and many of her close friends. This could also explain why ‘back home’ she sees more interaction between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ than in the urban middle class Pa¯keha¯ environment she moves in nowadays. Both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori actors emphasized the importance of socio-economic group membership in friendship interaction and reflected on the intersection of ethnicity and socio-economics. They also supported the contact hypothesis of increased interaction leading to increased levels of tolerance and cooperation – at least on the personal level; but group stereotypes persist and the transcultural content of friendships between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ often ‘only goes so far’. Friendship usually stays within social, economic, as well as cultural boundaries, for these are the boundaries that define personal comfort zones and thereby friendship worlds. However, some actors engage in different worlds more comfortably. Social-

Friendship worlds in practice

171

ization often plays a role in this. Pa¯keha¯ actors like June, who were raised in environments where Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori interact on a day-to-day level, and where their relations are experienced as cooperative, friendly and positive, often feel more comfortable in Ma¯ori environments. The next case of Jonathan is an example for someone who interacts with Ma¯ori since a young age, and who feels comfortable to “swing in-between” both worlds in his day-to-day life. Jonathan: swinging in-between In contrast to the cases presented so far, Jonathan’s case78 shows how involvement in a particular activity from an early age facilitates the formation of crosscultural friendship. During our first audiotaped interview, Jonathan introduced himself as “a thirty-five-year-old white married male, born and bred in New Zealand”. As he later explained to me, he prefers to refer to himself as a ‘New Zealander’, rather than ‘Pa¯keha¯’, in order to emphasize the fact that he was born and raised in New Zealand and therefore belongs there. ‘Pa¯keha¯’ he finds an inappropriate label for himself because it can be used to depict any non-Ma¯ori person, including nonNew Zealanders. Again, the unease with the historically imbued category ‘Pa¯keha¯’ and its incongruity with personal representations of self are evident. Most of Jonathan’s friendships have come out of and are maintained through his involvement in sports, especially in softball, soccer and touch rugby. This involvement, in combination with an outgoing personality and his “willingness to help other people”, he feels has enabled him to develop a range of crosscultural friendships. Sports in particular are often cited as a space for crosscultural interaction and friendship building. I have already described that Angela’s son Malcolm found it difficult to establish friendships with his Ma¯ori and Pacific classmates because he was interested in soccer, but not so much in rugby. Certain sports are associated with certain groups of actors. Consistent with Angela’s account, Jonathan characterized soccer and cricket as Pa¯keha¯ dominated sports and softball and rugby as Ma¯ori and Pacific dominated. Each forms a figured world of its own, with different personage, norms, and rules of engagement, bound to specific times and in places. Jonathan’s case illustrates well how different worlds are experienced as relatively closed spheres. His involvement in softball and soccer has – throughout his life – led to relatively separate social groups and circles of friends, which sometimes overlap and intersect, but which stay more or less separate: In winter, Ma¯ori boys played rugby and softball in the summer. The white boys played cricket in the summer and soccer in the winter. So I used to swing between both sides (…). 78 See also my analysis in Brandt (forthcoming).

172

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

I developed heaps of friends in both directions. I look at my life now and (…) I just find it so easy to fit in either way.

This ‘swinging-between-both-sides’ Jonathan ultimately experiences in a positive way for it has enabled him to ‘fit’ into both cultures and to feel comfortable in either environment. The sport in this case provides a shared social space that allows for cross-cultural friendship through personal interaction. Effort is an important factor. In our conversations, Jonathan underscored his active pursuit of friendships. By his own account, he makes an effort because he finds friendships with a variety of persons rewarding. He talks about extension of knowledge and engagement in new practices and activities such as singing and dancing with his Pacific friends – activities he feels he could not or would not do with most Pa¯keha¯ friends. He also feels that his level of interpersonal understanding and his intercultural competence have increased through his involvement in friendships with people from different cultural and ethnic backgrounds. Jonathan clearly distinguishes rhetorically between his own cultural identity and his non-Pa¯keha¯, and non-New Zealand friends’ identities. He sees himself as different from Ma¯ori, Pacific peoples, Asians and South Americans. His images of the others are informed by media discourse as well as personal experiences and tend to reproduce certain cultural stereotypes. For example, he talks about Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples as being good rugby and softball players because of their large body sizes, as opposed to being good soccer players because of their relatively low attention span – a finding of a scientific study quoted in the media. He also mentioned a greater emphasis on singing and dancing in both Ma¯ori and Pacific culture and church as the focal point of Pacific peoples’ social activities. By calling himself a New Zealander, Jonathan represents himself as belonging to New Zealand, a place experienced and imagined by him. Despite perceived cultural difference, he constructs his friends as also belonging to this image of Aotearoa New Zealand. For him, a shared interest in the sport and shared belonging to the New Zealand sporting culture are important factors in the process of constituting self, other and the relationship with one another. Sport for Jonathan is a unifying force between individuals and groups. He even goes so far as to say that sport is the focal point of New Zealand culture. He perceives his friends as Ma¯ori, as Pacific Islander, Brazilian, Korean as well as New Zealander or Kiwi. Being Kiwi marks them as belonging to Aotearoa New Zealand – like Jonathan. Jonathan’s case demonstrates how a Pa¯keha¯, through his ongoing involvement in shared cultural spaces and group activities, establishes a social network that cuts across the different worlds of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori friendships. His example also shows how multiple identifications assist the formation of cross-

Friendship worlds in practice

173

cultural friendships. The perceived cultural differences between self and other are overruled by shared interests and a sense of shared belonging that is articulated on different levels (cf. Lovell 1998, Rose 1995): the sports team, the sporting community, and a macro-image of New Zealand culture. Jonathan’s reference to Aotearoa New Zealand as an imagined place and community reflects here the wider culture discourse and identity politics. However, even though he claims to swing comfortably in-between different worlds, his most intimate friendships remain within the Pa¯keha¯ world. The transcultural potential of his friendships is therefore limited. Together, the cases discussed above illustrate the complexity and dynamics inherent in the establishment and maintenance of friendships across cultural boundaries: The successful establishment of such friendships is dependent on a shared sense of belonging and comfort as well as effort and opportunity. The friendship experience itself is portrayed as being exciting and rewarding as a result of the actors’ difference. It is also described as opening up transcultural spaces for those who engage in them. But in practice, even though actors like Jonathan may belong to several groups and may therefore ‘swing in-between’ different worlds, the two worlds often nevertheless remain relatively separate and bounded spaces. Going back to the discussion in chapter 1.2.3, such friendships often stay within the realm of personal experience rather than challenge existing group stereotypes. However, there are also those friendships that go beyond the boundaries described so far. 7.1.4 Going beyond? Some Pa¯keha¯ experiences Pa¯keha¯ actors who maintain social relations with Ma¯ori and who engage in social environments of which Ma¯ori language and culture are an integral part are bicultural actors in the sense that they can claim to belong – to a certain degree – to both worlds, and that they can move more freely between these worlds. There are of course limits to, and different degrees of, this ability and only few Pa¯keha¯ would in fact describe themselves as bicultural. However, they talk about their involvement in different worlds, and their social practices reflect their acceptance and comprehension of both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ values and principles, which they make creative use of in their social interactions. They thus fulfill the basic requirements of Schwimmer’s (1968a) definition of the bicultural person (see chapter 4.6.1). In fact, measured against this definition, actors such as Linda or Mike, who are able to see the two sides or worlds – even if their engagement with the Ma¯ori world is limited – qualify as bicultural in a way. They do not, however, qualify as having bicultural friendship worlds. Some Pa¯keha¯ move more or less freely and unconsciously between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds in their day-to-day lives; many of them have a spouse or other

174

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

family members who identify as Ma¯ori. Often they were socialized in an environment and/or pursue a lifestyle or a career in which cross-cultural relations are facilitated or a given in everyday living. Examples include the more ‘creative’ arts and literature milieu, the world of media, but also certain political environments, the field of social work, sports, the health sector, etc. Most of these Pa¯keha¯ come from well-educated, urban, middle class backgrounds; they lead a culturally heterogeneous and – at least in part – transcultural lifestyle and form a variety of friendships both within and outside of what is perceived as mainstream Pa¯keha¯ culture. These Pa¯keha¯ engage with both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ on a regular basis because their personal worlds are situated in-between, or across, the two worlds. Because of this their friendships ‘happen’ with other Pa¯keha¯ as well as with Ma¯ori – and whoever else. Some of these people underscore the irrelevance of cultural difference in friendship. They make recourse to a particular value system based around humanistic ideals. An ‘open mind’ to difference and an interest in other persons, cultures and experiences are emphasized under such a perspective; a shared cosmopolitan ethos underscores the importance of being human and humanness becomes the friendship-defining factor – at least on the level of ideal. On the level of social practice, homophily remains the predominant pattern. In the following, I will discuss the experiences by Sarah, Julie and Deirdre, three Pa¯keha¯ women who stand at different points in their lives and who engage in both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori friendship worlds in their everyday lives. Sarah: moving in transcultural spaces Sarah is a middle class Aucklander in her mid-twenties with a strong interest in issues of social equality and social work. Sarah may be described as open, friendly and socially committed. She refers to herself as a Pa¯keha¯, which to her means “just a European white girl that’s grown up in New Zealand”. When I first met her, she was studying towards a tertiary degree and working in a school program for young people with drug and alcohol concerns. Because of the schools involved in the program, most of these youth have Ma¯ori and Pacific affiliations. Like Liz and Linda, Sarah also learns te reo and she also perceives Ma¯ori culture as positive and as different from Pa¯keha¯ culture. As she says, she mainly loves ‘the community aspect’ of it, i. e., the ideas of connectedness and of communal care of the figured world of the wha¯nau. As a result of her engagement with te ao Ma¯ori, she feels that she not only appreciates the values of wha¯nau more, but she has also started to incorporate wha¯nau values in her everyday life. Sarah’s friendship network reflects her diverse work and social environment. Her friendships are characterized by a relatively high degree of social, cultural as well as socio-economic diversity ; and this diversity is also characteristic of her friends’ friendships and of most of her family members’ friendships. However,

Friendship worlds in practice

175

growing up in a middle-to-upper class Auckland neighborhood, for Sarah this was not always the case. It was her social involvement that allowed her to enter into a more diverse environment and to engage in more ‘multicultural’ social ties. Her friends, or ‘mates’ (she is one of the young Pa¯keha¯ women who use the term ‘mate’ rather often), are of Pa¯keha¯, Ma¯ori, Malaysian, Italian, Indian, and Pacific descent; they include New Zealanders and non-New Zealanders, men and women of different sexual orientations. Most of them are in their mid-twenties, like Sarah. She met them at school and university, but first and foremost through her jobs and the organizations and groups she has been involved in. She describes her friends as similar to herself in regards to personality, lifestyle, interests, worldview and values. Sarah’s friends share her appreciation for Ma¯ori culture and language. Even though some people challenge her efforts at learning te reo, she says that ‘those kind of people’ are not part of her circle of friends. When I asked her what her response was to them, she said: I say because it’s a beautiful language and I appreciate it and it’s my interests and I think (…) that it’s a really beautiful culture that we need to embrace.

This statement points to an important limitation of Pa¯keha¯ engagement with te ao Ma¯ori: Not only is te reo regarded irrelevant by many Pa¯keha¯, learning it is often relegated to the level of personal interest. For Sarah and her friends, however, (and to Linda or Liz, for instance) Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ as well as Pacific and Asian cultures are an integral part of Aotearoa New Zealand. Cultural diversity is a part of Sarah’s everyday life; it is part of how she sees herself and how she constructs her social world. In her friendships, Sarah does not necessarily detect cultural differences, but her work with Pacific youth has made her aware of cultural differences between people who were born and raised in New Zealand and those who were socialized overseas. Some of Sarah’s friends have a Pacific background, but most of them have grown up in Aotearoa New Zealand. Her friend Sia, for instance, is of Indian, Tongan and New Zealand background. Since Sia was socialized in Aotearoa New Zealand, Sarah does not construct her friend as culturally different. The instances in which she detects cultural difference are few and relatively insignificant in regard to how their friendship works. Sarah and Sia share a common socio-cultural background and an identity as young, female, well-educated New Zealanders. She mentioned that they enjoy to “crack insider jokes” that play on Sia’s Indian heritage; and when Sia went to Tonga some time ago, she told Sarah about her experiences with her family and the kind of role expectations she was confronted with. But on the whole, Sarah feels that Sia and herself share similarities, rather than differences. Apart from different ethnic backgrounds, some of Sarah’s friends were so-

176

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

cialized in different socio-economic environments, differences that are now irrelevant because they share their current life-worlds. With her friend Erin, who identifies as Ma¯ori, Sarah sometimes talks about being Ma¯ori and being Pa¯keha¯, and about cultural relations in Aotearoa New Zealand. But the reason they do so is because of their engagement in youth development. To Sarah, living in a culturally diverse environment and maintaining friendships with people from different backgrounds is an enriching experience, but what counts in friendship are the particulars, such as lifestyles, world-views and values, something ‘fundamental’ that draws her and her friends together. Persons like Sarah, who maintain diverse friendships with people from different socio-cultural backgrounds, tend to do so within a social setting that is associated with a set of shared lifestyles and values centered on the idea of tolerance and a sense of openness towards difference. Socialization plays an important role since most of these actors talk about values instilled in them by parents or by other significant persons. Clash of cultural values and conflicting world-views are only experienced by Sarah in her work with Pacific and Ma¯ori youth, for example, when cultural explanations are used to justify certain behavior such as corporal punishment. However, this only happens in her role as a youth practitioner and within the figured world of youth development, a world that she experiences as very separate from her private world, and from her private relations: [W]e’ve got kids that come through who are highly Christian or Destiny Church (…) and I don’t agree with a lot of those values but (…) I don’t think that that influences the way that I am as a professional youth worker (…). I can’t enforce my views upon them (…).

In her friendships, Sarah tries to resolve conflict by talking things through as well as by agreeing to disagree. Agreeing to disagree works very well for her, she says, but there is a fine balance. If the disagreements outnumber the agreements, and/or the differences in perspectives and values become too great, this may influence the relationship and hinder deeper levels of intimacy. Whereas Jonathan stays in-between, Linda still feels on the outer and Liz is just starting to engage with both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds. For Sarah engaging within and across the different worlds is simply a matter of course. She organizes and attends marae (ceremonial center) sleep-overs as part of her job and social commitment; she learns te reo; she moves with ease and comfort in both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori environments and maintains friendships with Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori and anybody else with whom she ‘clicks’. As society is moving towards increased diversification and urbanization, the upcoming generations are being socialized in increasingly diversified social spaces; in these spaces they have the opportunity to establish friendships with other New Zealanders who may identify as Pa¯keha¯ or Ma¯ori, as Pacific Islander,

Friendship worlds in practice

177

Pasifika, as Asian, or Kiwi, New Zealander, European, or any combination of these. Seventeen-year-old Julie provides a good example for the new generation of Pa¯keha¯ who move easily in-between and across the different worlds and who have friendships in both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. Julie: a new generation? Julie is a seventeen-year-old Auckland girl of a middle class Pa¯keha¯ background. She generally refers to herself as ‘Kiwi’. I first introduced Julie in chapter 6.1.4, where I describe the use of kin terminology in friendship. Julie has two close Ma¯ori friends, Erana and Trish. Erana and Trish are cousins and grew up in a house next to Julie’s family. Out of their neighborly relationship developed a friendship that connects the members of both families in different ways. Julie feels that the three girls more or less grew up together, which is why they connect so intimately. As I mentioned, the girls refer to one another as ‘cousins’ and to their respective parents as ‘aunty’ and ‘uncle’. Julie comes from a family with so-called ‘liberal’ values and a cosmopolitan lifestyle. Most family members speak several foreign languages, travel a lot and have lived and worked overseas. Julie’s friendship network reflects this family background: Apart from Pa¯keha¯, she has close friends who identify as Ma¯ori, as Pacific peoples, and she has friends from Chile, France, Germany, and other places in the world. Homophily applies in regard to activities, interests, social environment and age. However, there is a slight age difference in regards to gender (the girls in her network are slightly younger than the guys), and gender also plays a role in terms of friendship activities (more talking and shopping with the girls and more ‘stupid stuff ’ with the guys). Since Julie’s family owns a house in the countryside, but permanently lives in the city, she has different circles of friends in the city and outside of it and ‘hangs out’ in different groups. For Julie, having a diverse friendship circle is a given, but I heard other family members comment on how unusual her social network was. When I asked her about it, she admitted that some people find her friendship network remarkable or unusual because of the high percentage of Ma¯ori and Pacific friends: [A] lot of people would be like, “Oh like how come you’re hanging out with the brown girls?” (…) not like in a racist way but (…) ‘cause obviously I’m not brown, but (…) they don’t treat me any different or anything, so I don’t feel weird hanging out with them.

Julie finds it difficult to find the right words here. On the one hand, she does not detect cultural or ethnic difference in her friendships. On the other hand, her account implies that there exists – at least for some people – the idea that the ‘brown’ girls hang out with other ‘brown’ girls and not necessarily with ‘white’ girls like Julie. When I asked her whether she felt that usually ‘brown girls’ do

178

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

indeed hang out with other ‘brown girls’, and ‘white girls’ with other ‘white girls’, she also expressed some ambivalence on the topic: They do, they’re like friends and stuff but just in, say, like lunchtime and that, not everyone will hang out together. But a lot of my friends like, it’s got really nothing to do ‘cause my school’s got so many different cultures, like, I have a Sri Lankan friend, a Muslim friend, (…) it’s just the way it kind of happened.

On the one hand, the school environment fosters cross-cultural interaction; on the other hand, it may lead to the kind of group separation described earlier. Furthermore, even though Julie’s social universe is highly diverse, on closer inspection it is also localized and divided into Pa¯keha¯ and non-Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. As she told me, in the rural middle class environment “up North”, where Trish and Erana live, she experiences fewer opportunities for cross-cultural interaction than at her school in Auckland, where her friendship circle is more diverse. Reflecting on her friendships and on why she and her family relate so easily with Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples, Julie concludes that her family shares a specific sense of humor “and stuff like that” with their Ma¯ori friends. Above all, however, Julie feels that it is because of her long-term friendships with Erana and Trish that she finds it so easy to relate to people from diverse backgrounds. And since friendships usually generate more friendships, her friendships with Erana and Trish also lead to more friendships with Ma¯ori. I was new this year (…) [and] my friend Jules who’s Erana’s and Trish’s cousin (…), she showed me around. That’s how I became friends with all those Roi, Malia and stuff (…).

Her new circle of friends around Jules, Roi and Malia Julie describes as similar in terms of attitude, values and behavior. As she told me, they are “the loud people” at school, those who “speak their mind straight up”. In chapter 1.2.3, I discussed the study of an Australian secondary school by Louisa Willoughby who found that friendship groups usually include persons who, instead of sharing the ‘correct’ ethnicity, share the group members’ interests and attitudes (Willoughby 2007:255). Julie is a good example of a Pa¯keha¯ who shares her Ma¯ori and Pacific friends’ interests, attitudes and values, and who therefore finds it easy to move in both her Ma¯ori and Pacific friends’ worlds as well as the world of Pa¯keha¯ friendship. Like Sarah, Julie finds her crosscultural friendships rewarding. She enjoys her involvement in her different worlds and appreciates learning new things, but these are ‘secondary’ or ‘additional’ benefits of her friendships. Her different friendship worlds follow different rules and codes of behavior. Julie feels that she acts differently within each world, for instance, in regard to humor and joking around. However, she is reluctant to attribute this to cultural difference. She feels that this is simply an expression of group interaction, rather

Friendship worlds in practice

179

than of ethnic or cultural boundaries. Ethnicity or cultural affiliations do not play a role for Julie, who – like all actors in this study – cherishes her friends for personal attributes. The only cultural differences she detects in her Pacific and Ma¯ori friends are related to difference in parenting and family rules. But as she was quick to point out, this is also related to different religious practices. Some of Julie’s friends are Mormons, so they do not drink alcohol or go partying, for instance. Her assertion that difference is irrelevant contradicts her earlier observation that ‘brown girls’ tend to socialize with other ‘brown girls’ and ‘white girls’ with other ‘white girls’. Furthermore, Julie admits that where she moves comfortably in-between different groups, others prefer to socialize along ethnic divides: [I]f you were like at a party (…) and there was a group of Ma¯ori or Polynesians that you didn’t know and a group of Europeans (…) and if you were European you’d probably walk over to the Europeans, and if you were Polynesian or Ma¯ori you’d walk over to the Polynesians and Ma¯oris.

Julie not only identifies Pa¯keha¯ as feeling insecure and uncomfortable in such situations, but also Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples. The behavior she describes is based on presumptions regarding ethnic group-membership and socio-economic boundaries. Julie crosses both of these boundaries in her everyday life. She is able to do so, because of her socialization and because of the experience of her friendships with Erana and Trish. This has enabled her, and her family, to enter into te ao Ma¯ori and to get deeply involved with it, from neighbourly support, to attending family reunions and staying at marae during funeral rites (tangihanga). Julie, Erana and Trish, as well as their siblings, parents, grandparents, etc. feel like family or wha¯nau to one another and treat each other accordingly. Her case exemplifies a new generation of New Zealanders who have grown up in and are therefore more comfortable to move in multiple social worlds. New Zealanders of different ages, gender, social, economic and cultural background, of different religious affiliations and education levels refer to this new generation – a generation that has benefited from the recent immigration influx as well as from the fruits of the Ma¯ori renaissance and the dismantling of the egalitarian myth. Such assertions support the contact hypothesis (see chapter 1.2.3) while at the same time reproducing the image of a diversified, multicultural society in which members of all groups interact easily with one another. I concur that there is this change in generation; a change that is accompanied by increased crosscultural friendship building, by increased bicultural competence as well as transcultural relationship practices. But – and there has to be a ‘but’ in light of the previous discussion – there are important limitations to this, as Julie’s classmates’ discomfort at mingling across group boundaries shows. Even if

180

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

individual actors move comfortably in-between, they nevertheless encounter these boundaries. This point is also supported by the next case. Deirdre: it’s more about not putting up barriers Deirdre is thirty-three years old and lives in Auckland. She is married to Aperama, whom I repeatedly quoted in chapter 6. Their small family is complete with their son, two-year-old Tai. At the time of my research, Deirdre was a fulltime mother. Because she lived overseas for several years, Deirdre has a wide social network of overseas friends who she stays in contact with via the internet. Deirdre’s friendship universe in Auckland is also highly diverse. It includes Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori as well as Burmese, Ethiopians and Zimbabweans. Similar to Liz, after having lived and worked in different overseas countries, Deirdre connected with the so-called ‘international community’ after her return to Auckland, in order to “not to be living in a cultural vacuum“, as she phrased it. For her, this was a natural process, rather than something that caused her ‘special’ effort: I don’t think it’s necessarily something I’ve sought out but rather (…) I think it’s more about not putting up barriers (…). Whilst acknowledging there’s difference I don’t see that as a negative thing, (…) or being a kind of a barrier.

Deirdre, too, emphasizes the importance of shared values and individual characteristics in friendship – regardless of structural markers such as ethnicity, culture, age, or gender. She also feels that the experience of being a foreigner is something that she shares with some of her friends because of her overseas experiences, and which makes her feel close to them. Deirdre has always enjoyed interaction with people from different backgrounds. In high school she had friends from Cambodia and Iran, for instance. However, as she also pointed out, in intermediate and primary school her friendships were less diverse because she lived in ‘very white’ neighborhoods. Deirdre believes that her socialization nevertheless played a role because of the values that her family instilled in her such as not “to discriminate against people based on what they looked like”. In high school Deirdre was part of the so-called ‘Ma¯ori cultural group’, which she thinks would nowadays be called kapa haka (Ma¯ori performing arts) group and she had a particularly close Ma¯ori friend for a while. But then she got involved in rowing and her friendships started to focus on rowing rather than kapa haka. Since Tai’s birth, Deirdre’s social universe has undergone some important changes: She regrets not being able to see some of her old friends as often as she

Friendship worlds in practice

181

would like to, but she has also made some new friends through Playcentre,79 La Leche League80 and through different parenting groups. Playcentre is an important social institution for her that not only connects her son with other children, but also herself and Aperama with other families; families who share values around parenting and early childhood education. For Deirdre, friends have provided her with a sense of family ; in contrast to her husband, she feels that she did not grow up with “a really strong sense of family”, or wha¯nau. The idea of having a sense of family is important to her, though, and she wants her son to grow up in an environment in which he experiences the sense of connectedness and the emotional security that she, like Aperama, associates with the idea of ‘family’ and wha¯nau. Playcentre is particularly important to her because it wants to provide the kind of family environment that she has in mind. However, when Deirdre told me about the place of Playcentre in her life, she also mentioned an incident that had happened recently and which led her to question her high esteem for ‘their’ Playcentre at least. Above all, the incident made her aware of cultural insensitivities within the Playcentre, which also led her to question the safety of this environment for her son. This is her account of what happened: Something happened at Playcentre just recently and I’m going, “What?!” (…). It was around the opening of the Centre and they wanted to have a Ma¯ori element to the day (…). So they asked me if Aperama could do a blessing and I checked with him and he said, “No, he couldn’t do a blessing, he’s not a Minister,” (…). And then (…) it became, it was my first experience of feeling what it was like to feel as in a culturally unsafe environment, that I didn’t want to be there (…). I said what Aperama could do and I also said, if they wanted someone to do a blessing (…) then (…) they’d need to ask someone else and then I sort of didn’t hear about it, anything (…). The next thing I know, a week before they’re saying, “Now seeing this is your particular area of interest, can you organize the opening?” I was like, “No, I don’t know anything about openings,” and (…) I was most annoyed about [it] being my particular area of interest. (…) [Then] I got a call from somebody else who, they wanted to get this kapa haka [Ma¯ori performing arts] group to come and perform (…) and then they said, “Oh, I know someone (…) who could maybe (…) do a blessing.” And I’m like, “Okay that’s fine,” but (…) I said, “Well, Aperama wouldn’t talk in that situation then because (…) the person will be older than Aperama. It wouldn’t be appropriate and stuff.” And they just really didn’t get it (…) but all along I had a weird feeling like this isn’t right for the Centre (…) there’s not (…) that knowledge at the Centre (…). It was really about entertainment, you know. That made 79 Playcentre is a parent-run early childhood and family education cooperative (www.playcentre.org.nz). Its philosophy is based on the idea of the family/wha¯nau as the fundamental unit in the community. Its slogan is ‘wha¯nau tupu nga¯tahi – families growing together.’ I found that the friendships originating in Playcentre often develop into life-long bonds. 80 La Leche League is an international breastfeeding support organization (www.lalecheleague.org.nz).

182

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

me just feel sick (…). Then I decided I just really didn’t want to be there, at all, and that was really hard because I went to Playcentre as a kid and Playcentre (…) well, it’s a whole philosophy about parenting and about community (…) and it’s a lot of the things I think are really important, it is that kind of environment I want to be in with Tai except for stuff like this. You know, and then I’m like (…), I thought it’s not safe for him to be there, it’s not safe for me to be there (…).

For Deirdre, who is used to moving between different cultural worlds, the incident was problematic because it made her realize that within what she had considered to be a culturally safe environment existed a lack of awareness of and sensitivity to te ao Ma¯ori. Even though the Playcentre committee was trying to act in culturally appropriate ways by integrating ‘a Ma¯ori element’, they lacked the knowledge to do so in an appropriate way. Since Deirdre’s family is bicultural, and since she, Aperama and Tai move between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds in their day-to-day lives, the task of organizing and enacting ‘the Ma¯ori element’ was handed over to them, something they felt uncomfortable with at different points in the process and which alienated Deirdre to the extent that she no longer wanted to be involved in it. As she said, she would have rather not had anything to do with Ma¯ori, than something that violates cultural norms. When she tried to communicate this to the committee members, she realized the barriers between her own bicultural life-world and the worlds of the committee members; this led her to question the safety of this environment for her son as well as for herself. In fact, the figured world of the Playcentre suddenly seemed to clash with the values of her family. Consequently, Deirdre wondered whether this world was indeed a suitable place in which to rear her son, and whether she and her family would (want to) establish close friendship ties within such an environment, and what this means for her son’s future path in life. Many young parents have similar experiences in their search for suitable care facilities for their children, of course. However, for Deirdre and Aperama, the search for a suitable environment for their son is also about integrating their bicultural life-worlds. Their experiences with the Playcentre reflect the boundaries between the two worlds and leave Deirdre questioning the values that govern a social environment that has been an important part of her life up to this point. The young parents’ search for a suitable learning and care environment that reflects their own values while at the same time combining te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯ also led them to different ko¯hanga reo (Ma¯ori language preschool). Similar to the Playcentre philosophy, ko¯hanga reo stands for a specific philosophy of early childhood education. As a total immersion environment it primarily caters for the needs of Ma¯ori children and is based on the idea of a wha¯nau learning environment. However, it is also open to non-Ma¯ori and its

Friendship worlds in practice

183

success has long exceeded the boundaries of Aotearoa New Zealand as it has been ‘exported’ to indigenous communities in Hawai’i and Rapa Nui as well as the Americas. At the time I left Aotearoa New Zealand, they had not (yet) found a ko¯hanga reo that was both nearby and to their liking. Playcentre seemed more convenient since it was in the neighborhood, but the incident around the opening led her to question the values of those involved in that particular Playcentre. The Playcentre incident led Deirdre to inspect the values that she and Aperama want for themselves and for their son. Like many others, the family tries to engage in both worlds and to take the best from each world. Deirdre wants to ensure that both worlds are part of her son’s everyday life. This is why te ao Pa¯keha¯ and te ao Ma¯ori have become much more visible to her than they used to be. Since the family lives in a predominately Pa¯keha¯ neighborhood, and since Aperama’s wha¯nau do not live in Auckland, she and Aperama feel that they have to make an active effort to integrate te ao Ma¯ori to the same extent as te ao Pa¯keha¯ in their life. To do so is a constant process of negotiation. In fact, Deirdre feels they create the kind of life that they want for themselves and for their son together ; and they do so by drawing rather flexibly on both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ values: For example, (…) we want Tai to go to ko¯hanga reo but we couldn’t find [one] (…). Okay, so what are we going to do at home to make up for that? [W]e want to have Playcentre but, you know, I’m feeling like I don’t want him to go to the Playcentre, Aperama’s like, “Oh no but (…) there’s been really good things about Playcentre,” (…) and so it’s like (…) negotiating (…) all those things and trying to see, you know, the value in things (…) and I mean, we’re both learning about stuff, you know.

For Deirdre, cultures and the values that are associated with them are alive and changing, rather than static. She feels that their place is negotiable and fluid so that when she feels uncomfortable with certain values or elements, she reminds herself and her husband that it is up to them to decide which parts of this world they want to take on in their lives. Being able to talk about and to negotiate values and traditions together with Aperama, Deirdre says, is possible because they both have an analytical approach, but it also has to do with reaching out, compromising, being flexible and with learning together. On the one hand, Deirdre regrets that Aperama’s wha¯nau do not live in Auckland; on the other hand, she acknowledges that it gives their small family more freedom to negotiate the two worlds on their own terms. The values she wants to instill in her son are those of a citizen of the world who doesn’t put up barriers and who retains his identity as Ma¯ori. Deirdre feels that social exclusionary mechanisms are on the rise in Aotearoa New Zealand. She sees both sides of the diversification process, so to say, co-

184

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

operative as well as exclusionary practices. She is highly aware of social inequalities and the privileges of middle class Pa¯keha¯ society, but feels that a lot of people around her are not aware of their privileges; that they reproduce old images of a class-free and egalitarian Aotearoa New Zealand rather than deconstruct the old myths. Friendships, however, she experiences as cooperative and inclusive. As the above analysis has shown, the ability to see the two worlds and to interact to a certain extend in both does not necessarily imply transcultural relations. People like Linda or Liz actively seek out Ma¯ori spaces and relationships; they appreciate these spaces and the culture(s) that they find in them because of their association with specific values and social principles (e. g., a more holistic perspective, a sense of relatedness and belonging, spirituality). In fact, te ao Ma¯ori is sometimes constructed as a kind of alternative lifestyle or social model that provides a different kind of life philosophy and a greater sense of spirituality than the figured worlds of mainstream Pa¯keha¯ society. Consistent with popular representations, whakapapa (genealogy), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others) and wha¯nau in particular are framed – by both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori – as cultural institutions that provide alternative spaces within Pa¯keha¯ society. In such constructions, imaginations of the other can be problematic, and in case of one-sided, excessively positive idealizations (e. g., of wha¯nau life) disappointment and conflict is bound to occur. However, Pa¯keha¯ like Liz or Linda, who reflect on their own motivations and place, hold more differentiated views of both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ culture; they recognize potentials and benefits as well as more ambiguous and problematic sides. The ability to see the two sides carries transcultural potential but it is important to differentiate between Pa¯keha¯ like Linda, Liz and Jonathan, who stay for the most part within the limits of Pa¯keha¯ figured worlds, and actors like Sarah, Julie or Deirdre for whom the engagement with and in-between different worlds is a common place. This is not to say that Liz, for instance, does not have the potential to create a more diversified social universe, nor is it to say that Sarah, Julie or Deirdre are unlimited in their interactions. Deirdre’s case in particular shows how Pa¯keha¯ actors who live in bi- and transcultural worlds and who maintain relationships in-between and across boundaries nevertheless encounter these boundaries in their wider social setting – especially if they critically position themselves as political actors. At the time of my research, however, it was these three, more so than the previous cases, who demonstrated the potential of going beyond the limits of the two worlds in their everyday practices.

Friendship worlds in practice

185

7.1.5 In summary: Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds The above analysis has shown that, while Pa¯keha¯ friendship experiences are heterogeneous, we also find some common patterns in them. Consistent with the principle of homophily, I found that Pa¯keha¯ move mainly in figured worlds within majority or mainstream culture, and that they tend to befriend others within these worlds; with them they share important socio-demographic characteristics, such as education and income levels, lifestyle, etc. In the great majority of cases these others are other Pa¯keha¯. Opportunity plays an important role: As many Pa¯keha¯ do not come across Ma¯ori in their day-to-day lives, they also do not befriend them (chapter 7.1.1). Reversely, those Pa¯keha¯ who engage in friendships with Ma¯ori share certain socio-demographic characteristics, social spaces as well as identifications with them (chapter 7.1.2). In many cases, these friendships stay within the boundaries of Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. When Pa¯keha¯ start to engage with Ma¯ori spaces, for instance by attending te reo classes, not only do different Ma¯ori figured worlds become more visible to them, but they also become aware of the limits of interaction across these worlds (chapter 7.1.3). People like Linda, who try to establish friendships outside of their main ‘life orbits’, encounter frustration as they realize the limitations of their engagement with the figured worlds of Ma¯ori friendship and wha¯nau. Even though Linda is acquainted with certain values and codes of behavior, the figured world of Ma¯ori wha¯nau is only accessible to her within specific spaces. Others, like Jonathan or Liz, succeed in establishing more intimate and durable ties that cut across Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds; they learn how to engage with these figured worlds that are new to them, and over time they engage comfortably in them. However, Liz was just starting to engage more intimately with Ma¯ori worlds, and Jonathan’s most intimate relations also stayed in the world of mainstream society. Even though ideally all actors felt that boundaries preventing close friendships between Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori do not exist, the analysis of the empirical data reveals that on the level of practice, boundaries prove to be pervasive – but not insurmountable. Nevertheless, only a few actors move beyond and integrate the dual worlds of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori (chapter 7.1.4). As the analysis shows, shared group membership and social space are important prerequisites for the integration of the two worlds. For some Pa¯keha¯ actors, boundaries really can be transcended in their day-to-day lives. However, every now and again even those who move comfortably in transcultural friendship worlds become aware of them. In Deirdre’s case, the barriers only become visible because of living in a bicultural family. Deirdre also was the most critical in regards to social exclusion mechanisms; most other actors emphasized increasing diversification and comfort in cross-cultural relationship building.

186

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

All in all, my data supports the idea that those Pa¯keha¯ who have grown up in more diversified social environments feel more comfortable to interact across ethnic or cultural boundaries and therefore tend to maintain more and more intimate cross-cultural relationships. This applies in particular to the younger generations. However, it is questionable whether this trend can be reduced to a theory like the contact hypothesis. The intersectionality of group membership and power relations suggests that the social dynamics around relationship building are more complex than that. In any case, notions of belonging and comfort, often in connection with socialization, play an important role in how people establish, maintain and experience their diverse social relations within – and across – different friendship worlds. As I will show in the following depiction of Ma¯ori friendship worlds, for Ma¯ori the dynamics of intra- and cross-cultural friendship making take a different shape than for most of their Pa¯keha¯ peers.

7.2

Ma¯ori worlds

Ma¯ori actors also tend to socialize with persons with whom they share a number of socio-demographic markers. However, whereas Pa¯keha¯ often have to make a conscious effort to engage in friendships with Ma¯ori, the latter, because of their minority status and fewer numbers, tend to interact in a Pa¯keha¯ dominated environment on a regular basis, especially in the urban areas. Not surprisingly, Ma¯ori are inclined to engage in a greater number of cross-cultural friendships.81 For most actors identifying as Ma¯ori, living in majority society is unproblematic. As they go about their daily business, meet family and friends their cultural identifications usually do not play a particular role. But where most Pa¯keha¯ are monocultural, many Ma¯ori conceptualize their everyday social worlds along bicultural lines: They talk about their Ma¯ori side and their Pa¯keha¯ side (taha Ma¯ori and taha Pa¯keha¯), their Ma¯ori friends and their Pa¯keha¯ friends, the Ma¯ori world and the Pa¯keha¯ world. The specifics of inter-group relations and culture discourse have led here to the co-existence of multiple worlds and notions of relatedness. Mainstream society and the urban environment within this society are usually experienced as Pa¯keha¯ spaces, i. e., spaces that follow the logic and norms ascribed to a Pa¯keha¯ ‘way’ and culture. In comparison, Ma¯ori spaces are more scattered, less pervasive and less visible. Within these different spaces Ma¯ori actors often engage in both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori friendship worlds – some of these correspond to the conceptions of ‘friendship’ and ‘mateship’ discussed above, others to the notion of the wha¯nau. Individual experiences and identifications play an important role in how 81 This also applies to intimate couple relationships (cf. Schäfer 2007, 2010).

Friendship worlds in practice

187

persons engage with others within and across the different worlds. As already mentioned above, some people identifying as Ma¯ori feel ‘more’ or ‘like’ a Pa¯keha¯ and mainly move within Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. Te ao Ma¯ori does not play a big role in these actors’ friendship worlds. Others have grown up in what they perceive as a Ma¯ori environment, and/or identify strongly with their Ma¯ori ‘side’. For them te ao Ma¯ori tends to play a bigger role in their everyday life and friendship experiences, and they may prefer to socialize with Ma¯ori. A relatively high number of Ma¯ori identify with several ethnic and cultural identities, even though they frequently choose to emphasize one above the other. Whereas for some their multiple identities may result in discomfort and a sense of fitting in with neither world, others construct their multiple identities as value-added rather than detracted and feel comfortable and ‘at home’ in both worlds. Depending on the kind of spaces these actors move about and engage with in their day-to-day lives, they, too, may maintain friendships mainly with Pa¯keha¯ and may mainly socialize in Pa¯keha¯ worlds; others move in both worlds but distinguish their Pa¯keha¯ and their Ma¯ori friendships and keep them more or less separate. An expression that I heard often in this context is that “the two worlds don’t mix too well”. Finally, there are those whose social lives can be described as more transcultural since they move (more) flexibly between and across different worlds – worlds that intersect and overlap in their personal experiences. As the actors move in-between their multiple worlds, biculturalism becomes part of their daily friendship experience. At the same time, however, they describe how, in their individual life-worlds and experiences, the two worlds can not only intersect but also collide. Despite this great heterogeneity, most Ma¯ori I met in the course of my research recognized the need to ‘stand on two legs’ in order to succeed in society. Going back to the discussion of biculturalism in chapter 4, actors identifying as Ma¯ori are almost always bicultural since they ‘see two sides of the question’ (Schwimmer 1968a:13). To what extent and how they do so, and how this influences friendship practices, I will explore in the following analysis. I will start with the experience of the dominance of Pa¯keha¯ culture and its implications for friendship making patterns in a Pa¯keha¯ world, followed by a section on the problem of belonging and non-belonging as Ma¯ori. Afterwards, I will discuss some creative ways in which actors handle their friendships within and across Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds. As I will show, strategies range from keeping to either the Ma¯ori or the Pa¯keha¯ world of friendship, to keeping separate worlds, to moving in-between and beyond the notion of different worlds. Lastly, I will discuss in more detail the idea of wha¯nau as a Ma¯ori figured world of friendship that emphasizes cultural distinctiveness and proximity.

188

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

7.2.1 Where are my Ma¯ori friends? Experiences in Pa¯keha¯ society Linda’s experience of the city as a predominately Pa¯keha¯ environment, in which she lacks the opportunity to establish friendships with Ma¯ori and to connect to te ao Ma¯ori, is shared not only by other Pa¯keha¯ but also by actors identifying as Ma¯ori. Consider what Katerina one day said to me as we were sitting at her workplace in central Auckland: And then it occurred to me: Where are my Ma¯ori friends? (…) It’s work or sleep, eh? So my work environment is very much a Pa¯keha¯ environment, so that’s why my friends here are Pa¯keha¯. I’ve got one Ma¯ori friend here and at home it’s wha¯nau [family], sadly lacking in the Ma¯ori friends but it’s just that I don’t have contact with them, oh I’ve got two Ma¯ori friends here actually.

The story is one among many : Outside the (immediate or extended) family environment of the wha¯nau Ma¯ori actors live, go to school, or work in Pa¯keha¯ environments in which they engage for the most part with Pa¯keha¯ actors. Sometimes, as in the case of Katerina, this means that their relationships with other Ma¯ori are more or less confined to the space of the wha¯nau, or family relations, whereas most of their day-to-day friendships are with Pa¯keha¯. The picture of being the only Ma¯ori in a room full of Pa¯keha¯ is a strong narrative. Especially in the city, upward social mobility and urbanization are important influences on how these Ma¯ori experience their immediate social environments and how they position themselves in it. I found that especially those Ma¯ori whose parents ensured that their children received a ‘good’ education in one of the ‘good schools’ in the city, often ended up in ‘all-Pa¯keha¯’ environments. This is because most of the well-resourced schools are private schools, and in the past many Ma¯ori families simply could not afford to send their children there unless they won a scholarship or found another way of raising the school fees. I need to add that there exist a growing number of Ma¯ori educational institutions, which – apart from providing Ma¯ori students with Ma¯ori learning environments – are renowned for their high academic standards. There also exist ‘good’ educational institutions with higher percentages of Ma¯ori students. As education as well as income levels among Ma¯ori are rising, so is the percentage of Ma¯ori students in schools counting as ‘good schools’. However, these are more recent developments that only some of the younger people that I talked to, or members of the so-called Ma¯ori ‘elite’ have enjoyed. In the case of those who have not benefited from these developments, the typical story goes something like this: “I went to such-and-such college/high school in town and there were hardly/no other Ma¯ori (or Pacific students) there. There were mainly Pa¯keha¯, in later years (with the increase in immigrants) also Asian students.” In chapter 7.1.3, I described how Louise realized that the school space itself was a Pa¯keha¯ environment and that Ma¯ori students such as her friend

Friendship worlds in practice

189

Miriama not only were very conscious of the Pa¯keha¯ness of the school, but that they also interacted on Pa¯keha¯ rather than Ma¯ori terms within this space. Statements such as “I didn’t have any Ma¯ori friends at school” or “We just had Pa¯keha¯ friends” are rather typical for the working-to-middle class Ma¯ori in my study. The interconnection between ethnicity and social inequality factors is salient here: Among other indicators, income and education levels correlate with ethnicity. Going back to my earlier point about the social environment setting the ‘grounds’ for the formation of friendship, Ma¯ori who feel like they have grown up, live and/or work in a Pa¯keha¯ environment also have social networks within which most (or many) of their friendships are with Pa¯keha¯. Tino’s case exemplifies this point quite well. Tino: I have mostly Pa¯keha¯ friends, but… Tino is in his mid-twenties, living and working in Wellington. He grew up at the East Coast, a place that several people characterized as providing more opportunity to engage in te ao Ma¯ori. However, his social universe is mainly placed within te ao Pa¯keha¯. Tino grew up in a Pa¯keha¯ neighbourhood. He also did not learn much te reo as a child and certain parts of his taha Ma¯ori he had to go back to and to relearn as an adult. Since Tino’s parents wanted their children to get a good education, they sent him to the English language part of school, instead of the Ma¯ori language part. As he told me, there used to be “quite a division” between the Ma¯ori language part and the English language part of school and where the Ma¯ori kids attended the Ma¯ori part, the kids from the wealthier Pa¯keha¯ families attended the English part. His account thus supports the much-cited conflation between ethnicity, socio-economics and education levels. Since Tino was in the English part of the school, his friends ‘happened’ to be Pa¯keha¯. But he was also friends with some of the Ma¯ori kids and when he changed to a school with a higher Ma¯ori population, he started to socialize a bit more with Ma¯ori. After high school, Tino went to Wellington to study. Wellington is where he started his adult life and where he maintains most of his important social ties outside his extended and immediate family, or wha¯nau. Tino’s cultural identification does not play a primary role in his friendships. Rather than identifying as Ma¯ori, he prefers to identify along tribal lines because this refers to places and people that he knows and feels connected to. In Wellington Tino’s friends are mainly Pa¯keha¯. They are young male musicians and writers, like him, and describe themselves as belonging to a distinct community based on the idea of shared human values and intercultural understanding. Value homophily and belonging are the main formative friendship factors. In our conversations the words ‘alternative’ and ‘bohemian’ came up at

190

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

some stage to describe this community. At least rhetorically, this figured world of writers, musicians and artists goes beyond the boundaries of Pa¯keha¯ versus Ma¯ori spaces. This supports the idea that the arts hold the potential to go beyond the limits of te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯ (cf. Holland et al. 1998; Schwimmer 2004). However, when Tino’s friends engage with the Ma¯ori world, he sometimes becomes aware of his Ma¯ori identity and cultural differences come to the fore. This is mainly because of an observed discrepancy between his personal experiences of growing up Ma¯ori and being Ma¯ori to what his Pa¯keha¯ friends construe as Ma¯ori. Some of Tino’s friends learn te reo and/or try to politically support Ma¯ori in society. He generally thinks of their efforts highly, but he also expresses more ambivalent feelings because, “it’s like the new hippie kind of thing almost, the new kind of activist thing embracing Ma¯ori culture for a lot of people”. In fact, as Ma¯ori culture is becoming more ‘hip’ and trendy, certain parts of this culture are also becoming more visible in society. But the increasing popularity of Ma¯oridom is taken note of with ambivalence by many Ma¯ori, including Tino. Furthermore, even though Tino and his friends often discuss issues such as biculturalism and multiculturalism, he is aware of the fact that they mainly mingle with other Pa¯keha¯ and that they lack more profound experiences of te ao Ma¯ori. Hence, for the most part his friendships remain within the limits of Pa¯keha¯ society and culture. Tino refers to his friends as ‘friends’ and ‘mates’; wha¯nau he only uses in reference to family relations, including some cousins with whom he maintains more friend-like relations. These cousins are the only close Ma¯ori friends he has in the city. Tino feels that the images that some of his Pa¯keha¯ friends have of te ao Ma¯ori do not match his own images, which are informed by his experiences of with his extended wha¯nau in the countryside; this world is informed by a rural working class environment in which singing and dancing, drinking as well as the cracking of dirty jokes take a center stage, and there is not so much intellectual debate: [E]ven though (…) [my friends are] really embracing Ma¯ori things (…), I always find that, if I kind of expose the real kind of Ma¯ori that I kind of grew up with, (…) it would kind of give them a [shock](…). Like (…) Prince Tuateka and stuff like that most Ma¯ori (…) families have in common (…). Prince Tuateka was this big kind of Ma¯ori guy that wore a Mexican hat and like told dirty jokes (…). That’s something that like a lot of nonMa¯ori people kind of don’t get (…). I feel that a lot of non-Ma¯ori people take Ma¯ori people, Ma¯ori culture quite seriously. But like if you go to a marae [ceremonial center] sometimes (…) the old people get up and talk in Ma¯ori, a lot of that talk is rude talk, dirty talk and stuff like that ‘cause that’s what gives them pleasure and makes everyone laugh (…). It’s funny (…) because like a lot of the non-Ma¯ori people I know (…), they’re only ever going to see (…) a distorted translation of it all (…).

Friendship worlds in practice

191

Boundaries emerge that Tino feels uneasy with – at least sometimes – and which cannot always be resolved. Fears of misrepresentation play an important role here as well as a feeling of not being able to share one’s Ma¯ori ‘side’ with Pa¯keha¯ friends. This is a strong theme in my data. Even though nothing is missing in his friendships with Pa¯keha¯, Tino would like to share his taha Ma¯ori, his Ma¯ori side, with them sometimes, by taking them to his marae (ceremonial center) in the countryside, for instance. However, since Tino feels quite comfortable in his present social universe, he does not actually think that this is going to happen. Moreover, he has learned from previous experiences that others do not always embrace more critical opinions about Ma¯ori people: I’m (…) not one to express my opinion in those things (…). I did once (…). I don’t want to generalize it (…) but I’d just been living at the Ma¯ori students hostel (…), they weren’t really welcoming and a lot of the other students in the hostel kind of felt that, too, (…) and (…) I kind of made that remark that I was kind of fed up with it (…). [And a Pa¯keha¯ friend of mine] was just like, “No, no, I think you’re wrong,” and he was like, “I had a Ma¯ori girlfriend once,” and this kind of stuff (…). And I couldn’t exactly say, like, “But I am Ma¯ori,” (…), what do you say to that? (…) I find these kinds of things real hard.

What Tino experienced here is not just a clash of experience. The incident also alludes to the problem of cultural authority and representation. He was sharing a personal experience and making a generalizing comment about the situation at the hostel, a Ma¯ori place that he was experiencing as hostile at the time. His Pa¯keha¯ friend disagreed with Tino’s estimation and tried to support or legitimize his view by pointing out his own experiences in te ao Ma¯ori – thereby challenging Tino’s authority on the subject. These kinds of situations, where personal experiences and group representations collide, very often create insecurities in both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors. As a result, people like Tino prefer to not express their opinion in order to avoid open conflict. Tino’s strategy for dealing with difference on such occasions is to accept it, although he would also like to show his friends his own perspective on Ma¯oridom. As he told me, he would like to introduce his friends to what he feels is the Ma¯ori world, as opposed to what his friends get introduced to. His strategy of resolving this tension is to focus on the similarities rather than differences between him and his friends. All in all, he thinks that such differences in experience are rather irrelevant in his friendships, which are based on other qualities and commonalities, mainly writing, music and something like a ‘young urban lifestyle’. Even though the community Tino is a part of on the ideal level transcends the dual worlds of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori, his friendships nevertheless stay for the most part within the Pa¯keha¯ figured worlds of ‘friendship’. This is why cultural difference is irrelevant or secondary. Tino’s account exemplifies well the significance of localized and contextual forms of identifications and belongings (cf.

192

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Lovell 1998). It also demonstrates the interwovenness of culture, class and gender and the great flexibility in which individual actors make sense of themselves and of their social universe. In the next section, I explore the ways in which individual Ma¯ori experience their bicultural identities and (dis-)comfort in more detail.

7.2.2 Taha Pa¯keha¯ vs. taha Ma¯ori? (Non-)belonging as Ma¯ori I often came across the observation that Ma¯ori actors described themselves or others as culturally ‘more’ – or ‘like’ – Pa¯keha¯. Some of these persons emphasized that they feel very comfortable in Pa¯keha¯ environments because of ‘having grown up Pa¯keha¯’, feeling or being ‘more Pa¯keha¯’ or ‘like a Pa¯keha¯’. In fact, several actors mentioned that they feel more comfortable in Pa¯keha¯ environments than in Ma¯ori spaces. Reversely, non-Ma¯ori actors such as Julie (see chapter 7.1.4) who engage comfortably on a regular basis in te ao Ma¯ori are sometimes described as ‘more’ Ma¯ori than Pa¯keha¯. What exactly makes someone ‘more’ of one or the other is usually unclear and in most cases popular group representations and stereotypes play into such assertions of similarity. When describing a Pa¯keha¯ ‘like’ a Ma¯ori or a Ma¯ori ‘like’ a Pa¯keha¯, this usually serves to emphasize similarity in habitus, thereby marking a person as belonging to the in-group. However, depending on who makes such assertions, with which motivations and in which contexts, things can get a little tricky. In any case, symbolic representations play a crucial role. The notion of being (like a) Pa¯keha¯ is often explicated with a lack of integration into Ma¯ori kin-structures, lack of knowledge of whakapapa (genealogy) as well as of te reo, lack of exposure to and observance of what is perceived as ‘traditional’ Ma¯ori customs and values, for instance, the observance of certain rules regarding tapu.82 The reasons for this are manifold. Urbanization is one factor among many (see chapter 4.3.4). It is important to point out that this idea of feeling (like a) Pa¯keha¯ can be framed positively or negatively ; and while it may be associated with identity crisis and sense of dislocation for some, this is not necessarily the case. For many of the people I met in the course of my research, their identification as Ma¯ori is irrelevant or unproblematic in regard to their sense of belonging and self; accordingly, they also do not feel the need to establish any social relations outside their usual Pa¯keha¯ social networks. Some even prefer not to identify as Ma¯ori at 82 Today, Ma¯ori who ‘are’ like Pa¯keha¯ are sometimes called ‘plastic Ma¯ori’. ‘Plastic Ma¯ori’ is a derogatory term for Ma¯ori who pretend not to be Ma¯ori or who turn their back on Ma¯ori culture in one way or the other. Another term that I have come across in this context is the word rı¯wai – potato: dark on the outside, but white on the inside.

Friendship worlds in practice

193

all, and are also not identified as such by their friends. They construct themselves as a part of mainstream society and they experience their friendships with Pa¯keha¯ as intra-cultural relationships that are based on a shared culture as Kiwi or New Zealanders. Especially in the city, Ma¯ori actors who identify as Ma¯ori but who have grown up, live and work in predominately Pa¯keha¯ environments may be more familiar with Pa¯keha¯ spaces than Ma¯ori spaces, and may feel more comfortable and at ease because of it. In regards to friendship this means that they might feel more comfortable with Pa¯keha¯ and therefore enter more friendships with Pa¯keha¯ – for different reasons. Others experience more ambivalent feelings, which eventually lead them to seek out their Ma¯ori ‘side’ and to purposefully connect with Ma¯ori on the level of friendship. Whether and how individual actors engage with and feel comfortable or ‘at home’ in Pa¯keha¯ or Ma¯ori worlds depends on several factors: individual and group identifications, personality, the wider social and family network, current living environment, individual motivations and interest, etc. Depending on individual experiences, social background and cultural affiliations, these actors tell different stories about how they experience themselves and their friendships – and whether they feel restricted to one world or the other. As the following case of Rua shows, in many cases, a combination of socialization, habitus and personality plays a role. Rua: I still don’t feel like I fully fit in Rua is twenty-five years old and has spent most of his life in Auckland. He is one of those people who identify as Ma¯ori but who feel that they have been brought up ‘the Pa¯keha¯ way’ in regard to knowledge of Ma¯ori language and customs as well as lifestyle. In fact, as he explained to me, apart from his involvement with his Ma¯ori friends and peers at university, he experiences his environment and his life as “pretty much Pa¯keha¯”. In general, Rua feels comfortable in both the figured world of Pa¯keha¯ society as well as the Ma¯ori world, but every now and again he feels at unease in the latter. Sometimes, Ma¯ori spaces feel unfamiliar and therefore more like a crosscultural situation to Rua: [A] lot of the times I don’t know (…) Ma¯ori protocols and customs (…) ‘cause (…) I’m coming from the Pa¯keha¯ environment (…). I guess that’s cross-cultural in a way ‘cause even though it is my culture I sort of don’t know it.

Rua identifies as Ma¯ori, an identity that is important to him. He tries to increase his cultural knowledge by surrounding himself with the Ma¯ori language, culture and people whenever he can. Similar to Tino, Rua grew up in a predominately Pa¯keha¯ neighborhood; he formed mainly friendships with Pa¯keha¯, and felt at ease in them. His school friendships followed the norms of Pa¯keha¯ society and

194

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

accepted Western-European friendship practices. He did not have many Ma¯ori friends before going to university because of lack of opportunity. Another factor he identified for his lack of Ma¯ori friends was his taste of music: ‘Cause I listen to Rock music and it seems every other brown person (…) that I meet listens to like R& B and hip hop.

For Rua, this difference in taste of music makes it harder to kindle friendships with Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples. Like Matt (see chapter 7.1.2), Rua feels that shared music culture is a decisive factor in close friendships. As he told me, his Pa¯keha¯ friends at school were not particularly open towards Ma¯ori culture and he even described them as making racist comments. But since they get on in other areas such as music, he does not find this too problematic. Rua simply leaves his taha Ma¯ori out of these friendships and does not express his opinion on the matter. As he repeatedly underscored, this does not affect the way he feels. When I first got to know Rua, he was just about to complete his university degree. Most of his friendships at the time were with Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples. Even though his course of study and the university are Pa¯keha¯ environments in his view, at university Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples became a major influence on his social activities and network. Rua’s university friendships are based on the Ma¯ori and Pacific spaces in university and on the activities therein. He learns te reo, comes along to kapa haka (Ma¯ori performing arts) and sports events, helps out at functions at the university marae (ceremonial center) and is involved in different programs offering services specifically for Ma¯ori and Pacific students. Rua refers to himself as a ‘loner’ who finds it relatively difficult to socialize, and he generally seems to accept the fact that friendships come and go without his doing. He often finds it hard to find topics for conversation, and more or less takes up the friendship opportunities that come his way. This is how and why his relationship network changed at university from engaging mainly in friendships with Pa¯keha¯ to establishing a social network of Ma¯ori and Pacific ties: Actually for the first few years of (…) uni I did (…) stick with my Pa¯keha¯ mates [from high school] (…) and [with] my classmates (…), they’re all Pa¯keha¯ as well. But I also started getting involved with (…) [the mentoring program for Ma¯ori and Pacific students] (…) and then, like once all my Pa¯keha¯ mates had sort of left uni then (…) I just stuck to them (…) so I sort of just stuck with (…) the mates that were still at uni.

I need to explain that even though university in general is constructed as a Pa¯keha¯ space,83 bicultural policy-making means that Ma¯ori (and Pacific) students are targeted by university policy. Just one ‘click’ on one of the large uni83 The aforementioned kaupapa Ma¯ori tertiary education institutions are an exception and constructed as Ma¯ori spaces.

Friendship worlds in practice

195

versities’ homepages takes the prospective or newly enrolled student to Ma¯ori mentoring programs and further support services catering for Ma¯ori students. Nowadays, Ma¯ori support services are available in most educational institutions, and several even have their own marae (ceremonial center) that serves as a center for Ma¯ori cultural life but is generally open to others as well.84 Over the past decades, separate Ma¯ori departments and subjects have developed within tertiary institutions (e. g., Ma¯ori Studies, Ma¯ori Development, Ma¯ori Media, Ma¯ori Business, or Ma¯ori Health), which specifically target Ma¯ori as a group and which respond to so-called Ma¯ori learning needs. The learning environment of the university thus offers Ma¯ori spaces of learning and interaction, in which specific cultural values are lived and promoted by those engaging in them. For people like Rua, who follow a rather passive friendship-making pattern, this Ma¯ori support network at university provides them with the opportunity to do just that: to establish relations. Rua’s self-description as a loner is reflected in his social network, which includes relatively few intimate friendships. His closest ties are with his brother and a Ma¯ori ‘mate’ from university. His relationship chart resembles a koru (a spiral shape symbolizing new life, growth, strength and peace) with his brother and parents closest to him, followed by flatmates, friends from university associations and groups, work mates and old school mates. His family is Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ ; so are his flatmates, but he thinks that one of them is ‘practically Ma¯ori’ because she displays ‘pretty hori’ behavior and a ‘rough’ humor. Hori is a derogatory term for Ma¯ori; used in contexts such as this one, it refers to a ‘poor’ social background, possibly with low education level and some degree of deprivation. It also implies some kind of ‘toughness’. The term has found its way into English dictionaries. Ma¯ori youth sometimes use it among themselves as a term of address. Most of Rua’s work mates are Pa¯keha¯, as are his old school mates. With the latter, he has lost touch. He would generally like to catch up, but mentioned that he gets ho¯ha¯ (bored, weary, annoyed) with the “idle chit chat stuff” involved in doing so. Through the Ma¯ori mentoring program and the Ma¯ori student organization he has entered into a new social network in which Ma¯oritanga (Ma¯ori culture) plays a prominent role. However, as already mentioned, Rua feels that his personal interests and preferences, especially his taste in music, preclude him 84 Most of the programs are open to non-Ma¯ori, but it depends on whoever is in charge and also on who is enquiring. A coordinator of such a program once told me that when they get international students who challenge the notion of biculturalism, for instance, he is a little wary to encourage them to join their program; he also mentioned that they have made very positive experiences with those who were keen to learn. Interpersonal dynamics and identification with the group’s philosophy thus play an important role in regard to whether outsiders are accepted into the group or not.

196

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

from connecting with his Ma¯ori mates more intimately. Since he does not share many of his Ma¯ori friends’ interests, he simply ‘tags along’. His friends play netball and softball, they like to talk about kapa haka (Ma¯ori performing arts) and they do not share his taste in music. Thus, even though Rua engages in the Ma¯ori spaces, and even though he identifies strongly as Ma¯ori and would like to connect more with te ao Ma¯ori, he feels he does not really fit in. In his perception, his upbringing, his individual likes and dislikes as well as his personality place him on the outer rim of the activities of his circle of Ma¯ori mates. Nevertheless, they are important to him, as is the connection to te ao Ma¯ori. This is why he would like to stay in touch with them in the future. Rua uses the words ‘friend’, ‘mate’ and hoa interchangeably, but he does not speak of his friendships with Ma¯ori in terms of wha¯nau. Even though he participates in Ma¯ori friendship worlds that his friends conceptualize in terms of wha¯nau and whanaungatanga (sense of family connection), Rua does not feel the same connection. Since he does not really feel part of the group, he also does not really feel part of that world. Put differently, his access to the Ma¯ori figured world of wha¯nau friendship is restricted. Rua’s case draws attention to a number of crucial points: First of all, it demonstrates well that personality and social skills play important roles in how and why someone engages in different friendship worlds. While Rua expresses an interest in being involved with Ma¯ori culture and language, he takes a passive role in the establishment and maintenance of his social relationships. For him, opportunity structures are a defining factor in regard to his social universe. Furthermore, his account demonstrates well how certain images of ‘culture’ are intermixed with individual as well as group characteristics and behavior, or habitus respectively : Being Ma¯ori – at least in this case – is not only associated with knowledge of te reo, of Ma¯ori values and customs, but also with a distinct taste in music (R& B, hip hop), specific sports (netball, softball) as well as certain ‘cultural’ activities (kapa haka). Not being able or wanting to participate to the same extent in these activities as his Ma¯ori friends excludes Rua from certain social spheres and gives him a sense of not fully fitting into the Ma¯ori figured world of wha¯nau friendship at university. This desire ‘to connect’ by those who feel – in one way or another – disconnected is partly the outcome of the socio-historical processes associated with urbanization described in chapter 4. Especially so-called ‘urban’ Ma¯ori in their twenties and early thirties actively seek to (re-)connect to family relations and ancestral places. They learn their genealogies (whakapapa), retrace their parents’ and grandparents’ steps over time and go back to their rural homelands to meet their relations. While their experiences are often ambiguous to the point of being painful encounters of self, some succeed in renewing relations to ancestral places and family members outside the city. Others emphasize their connections

Friendship worlds in practice

197

to places and communities within the city, for example, to the local neighborhood, to certain groups, or to urban marae (ceremonial center). These are the places where they meet other Ma¯ori and where they may – or may not – establish lasting relationships with others who had similar experiences, who may look for similar things and who often share a similar background. They do so because ‘it just feels right’ and because it is something that they have to do – sooner or later. ‘Connecting’ is thus conceptualized as something inevitable. I also met some persons who decided to learn about their Ma¯ori side, but who nonetheless choose to identify as Pa¯keha¯ or New Zealander. Whether and when someone claims Ma¯ori ancestry depends on a number of factors. Certainly, in some cases there may be material and social advantages involved, but it seems to me that this is not the sole motivator. For many, it is a meaningful search for a hidden or unknown part of themselves. They go on a personal ‘journey’ of selfdiscovery, which involves rewarding as well as ambivalent experiences. Apart from time and effort, the search for one’s Ma¯ori ancestry also brings with it social costs such as conflict within the family. I often heard that family members (especially siblings) cannot relate to this search for ‘roots’ and may even oppose it. In Rua’s family, he is the one who seeks out his link with te ao Ma¯ori, but it does not create tension with other family members. Nevertheless, Rua’s effort at connecting remains ambiguous for he still feels like he does not fully fit in. Fitting in, belonging and trying to ‘connect’ to different worlds and with different people within these worlds is a strong theme in my data. At first sight, looking at Rua’s account one could hypothesize that it may in fact be his passive friendship making pattern and his personality that prevent him from fitting in. This certainly plays a role, but it does not tell the whole story. The next case completes the picture. Rangi comes from a similar school environment and grew up in a similar neighborhood to Rua. For her, the university environment also led to a change in social network and provided her with the opportunity to ‘connect’ more intimately with te ao Ma¯ori. However, in contrast to Rua, Rangi may be characterized as relatively social, open and extraverted in her interaction with others. She therefore provides a good complementary example. Rangi: the friends that I’ve got now, they are all like me I first met Rangi at Ma¯ori language class where a mutual friend of ours introduced us. Still a teenager, she had just started university and was engaging actively in university life. Rangi works as a tutor, frequently speaks te reo in her day-to-day life and socializes with Ma¯ori students and staff. My initial impression of her was that she knows quite a lot of people who – like her – are very involved with Ma¯ori life on campus. I also met some family members who also seemed to be very involved in te ao Ma¯ori. Given this involvement, I was curious when Rangi told me about growing up

198

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

in a Pa¯keha¯ dominated environment and among Pa¯keha¯ friends. To me, it seemed like she socialized predominately with other Ma¯ori people, some Pacific students and the odd Pa¯keha¯ or Asian maybe, but mainly with Ma¯ori. Even though she is very open and welcoming to non-Ma¯ori like myself, my impression was that her main ‘life-orbit’ – to draw on Linda’s expression – is very much focused on Ma¯ori academic life. As I was to learn, this is indeed the case. However, it is a relatively recent development in her life, which is related to certain choices that she has made regarding her course of study as well as the kind of social relationships she is choosing to engage in. Previously, she had socialized mainly with Pa¯keha¯ and in a predominately Pa¯keha¯ environment. As she explained to me, growing up in a Pa¯keha¯ environment affected her (however subtly) in the ways in which she feels vis-—-vis Pa¯keha¯, Ma¯ori and Pacific peoples. As a high school student, socializing outside this Pa¯keha¯ environment was unfamiliar and therefore sometimes felt out of place. Like Rua, Rangi used to feel at ease in her school friendships with Pa¯keha¯ and in her social environment. Her friendships were based on school life, homework and shared interests and activities. Similar to Rua, who leaves his taha Ma¯ori out of his friendships with Pa¯keha¯, Rangi says she usually adapts to Pa¯keha¯ ‘ways’ when she is in a Pa¯keha¯ environment. But in contrast to Rua, she experiences adaptation as problematic and she expresses more ambivalence in regard to how she feels about interacting in the different worlds. Reflecting on how she feels about her friendships with Pa¯keha¯ at school, Rangi added that she also socialized with some Asians and international students and that she had “a couple of Ma¯ori friends”, who belonged to a separate friendship circle. In hindsight, Rangi feels that she needed to juggle two rather separate circles: Pa¯keha¯ friends and Ma¯ori friends. [T]here was a huge difference in what, like everyday things we would do (…). I had to juggle sort of my Ma¯ori friends and my Pa¯keha¯ friends (…). Yeah, I didn’t actually realize that, but yeah, there was a real difference.

Rangi entered these friendships with Ma¯ori towards the end of high school. Rather than integrating them into her established circle of friends, she kept two separate social groups – a common pattern according to my observations. As most actors do when they maintain different circles, or ‘sets’ of friends, Rangi adapted to each group’s norms and behavior. Today, te ao Ma¯ori and Ma¯oritanga (Ma¯ori culture) play central roles in Rangi’s and her family’s lives, but this has not always been the case. Rangi’s grandparents are of the generation who received punishment for speaking te reo at school and who did not pass the language on to their children. Accordingly, her mother belongs to the generation of Ma¯ori who – at some stage in her adult life – started to actively reclaim her Ma¯ori identity by learning te reo as well as

Friendship worlds in practice

199

Ma¯ori values and customs and by consciously pursuing a Ma¯ori way of life. As is sometimes the case, even though her mother’s partner is Pa¯keha¯, he too, actively immerses himself in the Ma¯ori world. After graduating from high school, Rangi chose to go to university and to study a Ma¯ori focused field of study. Not surprisingly then, her new relations and friends are Ma¯ori, rather than Pa¯keha¯. Ma¯oritanga (Ma¯ori culture) thus takes a central place in Rangi’s social universe. In chapter 7.1.2, I mentioned the shift that occurs during young adulthood as young New Zealanders leave the parental home and start to make their own lives. Moving from one social environment to another is often accompanied by the making of new friendship bonds and by a kind of ‘social inventory’. Crossculturally, in this life-phase questions of identity and social position play a crucial role in the ways young adults construct themselves in their wider social universe – and friendship is a big part of this (see also, 1.2.3). In my data, especially the transition from adolescence to adulthood constitutes an important passage, which holds the potential for personal and social innovation. Individual actors make choices about the social relations they engage in as well as the social identities that they construct for themselves. Current relationship patterns are evaluated, reconfirmed or altered; sometimes an entire social network is replaced with a new one. In the case of Ma¯ori actors trying to connect to te ao Ma¯ori, this often means that (childhood) friendships with Pa¯keha¯ are – more or less – being replaced with (adult) friendships with Ma¯ori. Choice is a crucial point here: Rangi not only decided to enter the university world, but specifically the Ma¯ori world within university. She quite consciously started to construct a social space of her own. Within this space she re-cast herself according to her wishes and needs, but also in response to the requirements of this new world. Rangi consciously chose to enter this world, and to engage only with particular people in this world: I know the ones to be around because they’re the ones that just are on to it and they get the work done (…), socially we all get on really well as well (…). There are (…) some friends (…), they still want to be in the party life and (…) even though I like being with those friends, but when it comes to academics, (…) I tend to exclude myself from those sort of people.

Her self-exclusion has led to minor tensions with some of her fellow students, which she regrets. However, she has found a Ma¯ori girl in her class who shares her interests and goals and who has become a good friend. With this new friend, Rangi discusses academic questions, but also the latest gossip. They get along academically as well as socially. Rangi’s old school friendships have been replaced with new friendships with Ma¯ori:

200

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

The friends that I’ve got now (…) they’re all Ma¯ori, they’re all like me, they’re all Ma¯ori, they want to be in [the same professional field] (…), so we’ve all got the same passion, therefore we all just (…) get along really well.

While she also enjoys being around non-Ma¯ori people, at this particular point in her life Rangi prefers to immerse herself in te ao Ma¯ori and to surround herself with Ma¯ori people. Homophily applies on several intersecting levels: in regard to ethnicity, to cultural affiliations, age, gender, education levels, but also academically (field of study), personally (knowing what you want/goals) and socially (interests, tastes and activities). While talking about this change of social universe, Rangi reflected on feeling more comfortable around Ma¯ori people and in a Ma¯ori environment than around Pa¯keha¯. She attributes this to the different kind of social norms and values that the Ma¯ori environment is governed by, i. e., the values of wha¯nau life. The idea of being in a wha¯nau environment is important to Rangi’s sense of comfort as a Ma¯ori – in university and in society in general. The wha¯nau she associates with comfort and belonging, a sense of home, of wanting to get to know one another and of knowing one another. This is why feeling ‘with wha¯nau’ refers to a deeper level of comfort and intimacy in Rangi’s intra-cultural friendships with Ma¯ori. I have already noted that Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds are associated with specific values and modes of interaction. Ma¯ori worlds are associated with a sense of wha¯nau and connectedness, greater emphasis on relationships and personal interaction; Pa¯keha¯ environments are often described as more individualistic and as less laid-back. However, as Rangi emphasizes, she feels empowered by her bicultural friendship experiences rather than restricted, and she feels that she got ‘the best of both worlds’. Rangi’s account reflects a high level of ambiguity. As she was reflecting on her social universe, she repeatedly noted that she was contradicting herself. Furthermore, when she told me about feeling more comfortable with one or the other, she seemed uncomfortable herself out of fear of evoking discriminatory stereotypes. To interpret Rangi’s depiction in such a way would certainly be a gross misrepresentation of her. As I mentioned, I have experienced her as an especially warm, welcoming and open person. At this point I should also mention that Rangi’s best friend85 is a Pa¯keha¯ girl from school days. With her she discusses everything. To her best friend Rangi feels a particular kind of closeness, like to a sister, and they call each other’s parents their second Mum and Dad. In her relationship chart, Rangi placed her best friend along with her mother, father and brother in the same circle as 85 I will come back to the special place of the ‘best’ friend in cross-cultural friendship below (see chapter 7.3.3).

Friendship worlds in practice

201

herself. As she explained: “I definitely consider them me.” Like Julie (see chapter 7.1.4), Rangi’s best friend easily socializes within te ao Ma¯ori; she is an integral part of her family and therefore part of both worlds – just like Rangi. Rangi’s example not only demonstrates well the existence of different levels of comfort in culturally constructed spaces, but also the fluidity and changeability of the construction of self in relation to such spaces. How and whether people construct themselves as belonging to a certain group, or a place, is not only dependent on how they are received by others in this space, but also by how they position and evaluate themselves in this setting. This is an active and neverending process of negotiation. Rangi, at this point of her life, has consciously chosen and taken on the Ma¯ori figured world of the university and she pursues her current friendships mainly within this world. She has constructed a new sense of self in relation to and in collaboration with others inside this environment. While her friendships reflect this process, they are also part of it and provide the social ‘arena’ in which to construct, de- and reconstruct herself and others. Her engagement with the Pa¯keha¯ worlds of friendship have for the most part been replaced with her engagement in the figured world of the wha¯nau as a culture-specific form of friendship. By engaging in this Ma¯ori world, Rangi actively (and also self-consciously) pursues, or follows, an image she has cast of herself (a successful young Ma¯ori woman in academia). In the process of doing so, she reaffirms this image, thereby becoming or being this person. What about those actors who find it more difficult to take the best of both worlds? Where Rangi expresses ambivalence, other actors clearly report on feeling uncomfortable, misunderstood, marginalized and ‘different’ – in the Pa¯keha¯-dominated social environment they grew up in and/or in te ao Ma¯ori. They talk about feeling ‘shy’, ‘embarrassed’, or whakama¯ (to be ashamed, shy, embarrassed) – for being too Pa¯keha¯, too Ma¯ori, or both. In particular the generation of Ma¯ori who are in their forties or older often talk about trying to be as Pa¯keha¯ as possible in earlier years. They grew up in a society in which the belief in interracial harmony was thriving, as was racism, and in which socio-economic inequality was often confused with ethnicity (see chapter 4). There thus exist clear inter-generational differences. As Katerina, who was born in the early 1950s, once told me: When I was a child we were rubbish, so we felt rubbish and we believed we were rubbish. My children don’t have that attitude. (…) Their close friends are Pa¯keha¯. (…) [T]hey haven’t known racism like we have, so therefore they haven’t got a defensive attitude (…). What they also, I think, seek are people who are unlikely to forget they are Ma¯ori (…).

Younger Ma¯ori like Rua or Rangi – even though some may feel disconnected as Ma¯ori – usually do not feel ashamed or embarrassed (as Katerina used to); on the

202

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

contrary, they often feel pride in being Ma¯ori. This is the outcome of the Ma¯ori renaissance. What Katerina, Rua and Rangi have in common is that, once they had the opportunity and the wish to do so, they immersed themselves with te ao Ma¯ori; and they reconstructed themselves and their social lives within new friendship worlds. The crucial point is that, whereas some actors choose to keep within the confines of the Pa¯keha¯ world familiar to them, others – at some point in their life – feel the need to ‘connect’ to their Ma¯ori ‘side’ and with other Ma¯ori people. The idea of connecting and belonging was in all cases linked to some process of identification and place making as Ma¯ori in society. The idea of place making is epitomized in the notion of tu¯rangawaewae (literally, ‘a place for the feet to stand’), which emphasizes the important connection of Ma¯ori to the whenua (land) and to whakapapa (genealogy). The custom of returning a child’s placenta to the land has seen a revival in recent years, which can also be linked to the Ma¯ori cultural renaissance. Nowadays, the land in which the placenta is buried can be the child’s ancestral lands or a place of significance to the family in the city. The main function of this custom is to bind a child to the homelands and to secure its birthright to belong. This is expressed in the notion of tu¯rangawaewae: a place to stand. It is the spiritual dimension of this relationship that is often referred to by Ma¯ori when the distinctiveness of their own in contrast to non-Ma¯ori notions of belonging – and being – is referred to. At this point, I should add that the cultural renaissance has in fact led to rather different groups of young Ma¯ori: On the one hand, there are those like Rangi and Rua who identify as Ma¯ori but who feel they need to learn the tikanga (customs), the language and about their tribal and genealogical connections to their home land and to their people. On the other hand, there are those who have grown up bilingually, who have strong connections to their homes, to the land and to the people, and who are relatively knowledgeable in regard to tikanga (customs). Very often, these young Ma¯ori grew up in places with high Ma¯ori populations, such as the East Coast. When they come to a city environment outside the sheltered confines of rural life within the wha¯nau, they often have to acquaint themselves with this new world. Ma¯ori mentoring programs at educational institutions, support structures at urban marae (ceremonial center) and the like help them to learn the rules of this Pa¯keha¯ figured world. From my observations, these young people relate to both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. However, most of them retain a Ma¯ori-centered social universe. In the next section, I will explore some of the ways in which different Ma¯ori actors, young and not-so-young ones, handle their different friendship worlds.

Friendship worlds in practice

203

7.2.3 Friendship in-between worlds – some strategies of engagement Both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ engage in different figured worlds in their day-to-day lives. Some of these worlds are constructed as Pa¯keha¯ spaces, others are constructed as Ma¯ori spaces. As I mentioned, Ma¯ori more often engage in both worlds than their Pa¯keha¯ peers, and they often experience their friendships within these spaces differently. Even though cultural difference was regarded irrelevant in regard to how people feel about a particular person, several actors detected significant differences between te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯ in regard to friendship interaction and values. They attributed this to different life-worlds, diverging conceptions of individual and community, relationship values and philosophies. As I will show, the strategies of ‘managing’ different friendship worlds vary individually ; they range from keeping to friendships with Pa¯keha¯ in Pa¯keha¯ spaces or with Ma¯ori in Ma¯ori circles, to those who keep separate friendship circles within different worlds, to others who mix their friendships and who move flexibly and comfortably in-between and across worlds. Habitus and bicultural competence influence how actors manage these different worlds, but physical markers (e. g., skin color) can also exert some influence on how easily someone moves inbetween – or not. Taking up some of the issues discussed so far, I will start with the case of Kahu who mainly mingles with Ma¯ori and Pacific people, and who sometimes feels a bit reluctant about having Pa¯keha¯ friends. Kahu: we know the difference Kahu is in his early thirties. Born in a rural area, he spent most of his school years in Auckland. At the time of my research he was living and working in Wellington. Like Tino, Rua and Rangi, Kahu went to primary and intermediate schools where the majority of students were Pa¯keha¯ and where he mainly socialized with Pa¯keha¯. This was simply a given of his social life and he never felt different or ‘other’. This changed when he entered high school, a place where his school mates were from a different ethnicity as well as from a different socio-economic background: [At high school] I started to get a better idea of who I was, and I went to a very much predominantly Pa¯keha¯ school. (…) [M]y school mates came mostly from the (…) wealthier suburbs and I was an out of zone student (…) from a more of a working class type suburb, and so not only did I not really identify with my school mates in terms of culture, I didn’t identify with them in terms of (…) social background either.

The difference in social background also played out in terms of school activities and interests. Kahu’s interests were in rugby and basketball; many of his school mates went yachting and skiing, and spent their vacations at their families’ holiday homes.

204

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

As the captain of the basketball team, Kahu feels he had a good relationship with most people; he mingled with Pa¯keha¯ school mates, as well as with “a small cultural group (…), which constituted Ma¯ori and Pacific Island peoples”. Nevertheless, he strongly felt a sense of difference. It was this sense of difference that made him stand up against discriminatory attitudes and racist behavior at school, which for the most part was directed against Asian students, not against Ma¯ori; and while he was recognized as different on the basis of his ethnicity, it did not play a role in his relationships. All in all, even though Kahu felt different, he certainly did not feel at the margins because of it. As the captain of the basketball team, he occupied a central social position and felt at ease in his relationships with the other students – regardless of group affiliation, or economic standing. However, Kahu’s school friendships were for the most part confined to the space of the school. Kahu, like many other Ma¯ori, at some point in his life felt the desire to connect more deeply with te ao Ma¯ori. Similar to Liz, living and working overseas made him want to connect more intimately with his home country : [Overseas] was the first time I realized how important it is to have that connection to the land (…). In Ma¯ori culture we have a concept called tu¯rangawaewae. When a child is born, their whenua, or the placenta, is actually buried in the land, (…) and that (…) gives a spiritual connection of the child to their land, which is why land is so important to Ma¯ori. And it draws them to that place (…), and the land tells the story (…) of their peoples.

I have already touched on the notion of tu¯rangawaewae (literally, ‘a place for the feet to stand’) and the significance of place in contemporary notions of Ma¯ori identity and belonging. A person is connected to her/his tu¯rangawaewae through whakapapa (genealogy). It is the place where s/he can claim to belong. When Kahu returned to Aotearoa New Zealand, he not only took up tertiary studies but he started to immerse himself in te ao Ma¯ori. Nowadays, Kahu not only identifies more consciously as Ma¯ori, the focus of his entire work life is on the promotion of Ma¯ori people; and his professional involvement with Ma¯ori also extends to his private life: [W]e try to live in a Ma¯ori way, we are who we are and we know the difference. Eventually I’d like to move closer to my homes (…) and be a part (…), be more involved in the everyday operations of the hapu¯ [subtribe], of the marae [ceremonial center], of my extended wha¯nau.

Kahu’s wife is a young Ma¯ori professional, like him. Outside their respective professional lives, they socialize as a couple. Since they are part of a religious community, many of their friendships take place within the church community. With these friends he identifies similarities on the grounds of shared interests and activities (e. g., playing cards, going to the movies, not drinking), values

Friendship worlds in practice

205

(e. g., religion), age, or family status (mainly married with kids). His most intimate relations are with his family and wife, followed by church friends, workcolleagues and the students he works with. Some of their friends, Kahu and his wife consider family, or wha¯nau. Kahu’s best friend, a Samoan, is such a person. Their friendship goes back to their childhood days in Auckland; with him he identifies a close family connection as well as cultural similarities. The ‘cultural connection’ Kahu identifies in cultural values such as tautoko (support), aroha (unconditional love, empathy) and manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), in the central place of the extended family and in social institutions such as tangihanga (funeral, rites for the dead). In fact, Kahu identifies a cultural difference in how he relates to different people depending on how they relate to these values and social institutions. This is linked to his heightened awareness of self as Ma¯ori and to the notion of wha¯nau as an indigenous model of relatedness. The Ma¯ori figured world of wha¯nau Kahu experiences as more intimate and affectionate than Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds. This is, he thinks, why Ma¯ori (as well as Pa¯keha¯) tend to “hang out in our own groups and our own environments”. I will come back to this point in chapter 7.2.4, where I discuss the notion of wha¯nau in more depth. Since Kahu’s social network and everyday work life are Ma¯ori centered, so are his friendship worlds. I need to emphasize that he does not preclude himself from establishing (more) friendships with Pa¯keha¯, but his focus on Ma¯ori life and identity means that Ma¯oritanga (Ma¯ori culture) and Ma¯ori people are currently a priority in his life. This is why his relations with non-Ma¯ori take place at the margins of his personal social universe. This was a strong theme among Ma¯ori who choose to focus both their private life and their professional career on the Ma¯ori world. Many of these actors are involved in the socio-political and economical advancement of Ma¯ori in society. They work in Ma¯ori groups with and for Ma¯ori people and they form their relationships within these settings. Not surprisingly, their friendship networks consist mainly of other Ma¯ori or of people who they conceptualize as culturally similar and/or who engage in te ao Ma¯ori on a regular basis; people who share their goals and who ‘understand’. Since friendships usually take place in people’s comfort-zones, some Ma¯ori actors choose to abstain or ‘steer away’ from close friendships with Pa¯keha¯ in order to avoid discomfort, conflict, or disappointment. A half-joking, “Just don’t have Pa¯keha¯ friends!” is a statement that I occasionally came across. A typical incident in which such a comment might occur is when Ma¯ori discuss conflicts they have experienced with Pa¯keha¯ among themselves; conflicts that they attribute to cultural stereotyping or ignorance. I need to emphasize that this does not necessarily imply group closure. Kahu, for instance, takes the opportunities available to him to meet and to relate ‘to anyone’, even though his current private

206

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

and professional life displays a strong focus on relationships with other Ma¯ori. Like him, many others also commented on generally being open to befriend ‘anyone’, even though their social network reflects social and cultural homophily. This holds for Ma¯ori as much as for Pa¯keha¯, Pacific peoples, Asians, etc. From my observations, I conclude that most of these actors readily interact with people regardless of ethnicity or cultural affiliation, but that the ties that they establish are not as intimate as others. This does not reflect a lack of openness or interest in such friendships; rather, it highlights the significance of shared sociocultural spaces and a sense of shared belonging in friendship. Actors like Kahu would surely be misrepresented if the characteristics of their social universe and their interest in the promotion of Ma¯ori were taken as a sign of closure and inward turning! Similar to Linda, for instance, Kahu thinks that Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ generally do not mix and mingle very much on a more intimate friendship basis, especially in the city. He attributes this to a lack of understanding and to difference in values and life-worlds: Kahu: I think in general (…) Pa¯keha¯ don’t understand Ma¯ori. Agnes: What don’t they understand do you think? Kahu: Ma¯ori ways, Ma¯ori humor, Ma¯ori customs, Ma¯ori families, a big difference between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ cultures. Ma¯ori are very collective, it’s not just about nuclear families, it’s about extended families whereas Pa¯keha¯, I don’t think it’s wrong to say that they are a lot more individual. (…) My experience in the cities (…) is that there’s not too much intercultural mingling (…). Pa¯keha¯ may have one or two Ma¯ori friends at work (…), but in general we sort of don’t mix all that much in private life. (…) I don’t think there needs to be too much (…) mingling. You don’t have to forget about our ways and start living other cultural ways but there needs to be a bit of mutual respect.

In order for mutual respect to develop, Kahu thinks that it would be beneficial if Pa¯keha¯ took the opportunities available to them: If they learned te reo, for instance, went to a marae (ceremonial center), attended a tangi (funeral), joined a kapa haka group (Ma¯ori performing arts), or if they made Ma¯ori friends, met their families and learned “what they are about”. The reason why Kahu thinks that Pa¯keha¯ have to step out and do these things is their monoculturalism; they are the ones lacking proficiency in both worlds. However, as he is quick to add, this also applies to Ma¯ori – like himself – who need to learn more about te ao Ma¯ori, and who may feel as awkward in Ma¯ori spaces as their Pa¯keha¯ peers. Kahu’s account supports my own observations as well as the experiences of Pa¯keha¯ actors such as Linda or Liz, who make an effort to leave their comfort zones and to do all of the things that Kahu refers to: to learn te reo, to visit marae, and to engage with Ma¯ori people. Kahu is aware of cultural difference in his interactions with others, but he

Friendship worlds in practice

207

describes it as playing out rather indirectly. He is aware of it, and makes sure that his friends respect it, but as long as there are sufficient commonalities to fall back on, it is irrelevant for him. The underlying basis for all of his friendships are shared values and mutual respect; and while he expects his friends to be aware of Ma¯ori issues and of him being Ma¯ori, this is not part of their particular friendship, or of being friends for that matter. This is an important point: In order to avoid friction, actors often choose to focus on the positive constituents of their friendship; they emphasize similarities and commonalities and try to avoid open conflict. In the case of Ma¯ori actors, I found this to be especially observable in their interactions with Pa¯keha¯ and in regard to ‘sensitive’ Ma¯oriPa¯keha¯ issues (e. g., land claims). This is not ‘just’ to avoid conflict; it is also done in order to protect a friend from discomfort. At the beginning of his studies, Kahu tended to “just be quiet” in discussions that portrayed Ma¯ori in a negative way because he “wouldn’t know how to respond to” such negative remarks. Nowadays this is different. Learning about te ao Ma¯ori has enabled him to discuss sensitive topics more comfortably with all of his associates. On the whole, however, he finds it easier to relate to other Ma¯ori who share his sociopolitical views as well as his cultural values, and he prefers to move in Ma¯ori social worlds governed by wha¯nau principles. For many Ma¯ori, a first step to increased confidence in social interactions with Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯ is a firm bicultural identity. The next case shows how a young Ma¯ori woman actively sets out to form new friendships in order to find her place in the world. Miriama: finding a niche I have repeatedly mentioned the problem of fitting in experienced by Ma¯ori who feel that they have grown up ‘like’ or ‘more’ Pa¯keha¯. Miriama’s case provides an interesting example because it shows well how she actively juggles, or manages, the different social worlds she is a part of. Her case demonstrates a change in friendship worlds from Pa¯keha¯-centered, to Ma¯ori-centered, and finally to dual worlds which sometimes intersect and cross over, but which stay largely separate. Miriama is some years younger than Kahu. She strongly identifies as Ma¯ori, and like Kahu, Rua or Rangi she did not have the opportunity to establish friendships with Ma¯ori during her high school years. Like them, she went to a ‘good school’ in the city where she socialized with Pa¯keha¯. Miriama’s parents are both Ma¯ori and she frequently underscored that fact that she ‘looks’ Ma¯ori in regard to physical characteristics. Furthermore, similar to Kahu, Miriama felt different on the grounds of socio-economics, too. Whereas her school friends were from a middle-to-upper class background, she lived in a working-tomiddle class environment. This combination made her feel different to her

208

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

school friends, a feeling that hampered intimacy in these friendships. But she seems to have experienced her sense of difference as more problematic than Kahu. Where Miriama felt at a loss, Kahu felt different, yet integrated. Similar to Rangi, Miriama felt the need to conform and act ‘like’ a Pa¯keha¯ in school; it was this adaptation that made her feel out of place as a Ma¯ori. Miriama’s case provides a very good example for the active search for new friends upon entering university. It was important to her to find some friends who were more ‘like her’, preferably other Ma¯ori girls who shared her social and cultural background as well as interests. However, in the beginning she found it hard to meet new people: I just came to uni and I didn’t really hang out with many people (…). Somehow I got involved with [the Ma¯ori student association] and they were going on a haerenga [journey, trip] (…) so they were like, “Come,” and I was like, “Ok.” (…) Because I was like, the whole semester I was thinking, “I’ve got to meet people, I’ve got to meet people,” (…) because I am really shy.

Miriama describes herself as shy, but also as trying to step out of her comfortzone. My own impression supports this depiction and I would describe her as a very open, friendly and approachable person who likes to interact with others and who is well received and liked in her private as well as her professional environment. In this, she resembles Rangi. However, and here she resembles Rua, Miriama found it difficult to connect with the kind of Ma¯ori people she was looking for. The Ma¯ori she initially met at university were not actually ‘like her’. The main difference to them she describes in terms of demeanor and habitus. Whereas she has been raised in a protective conservative environment, the Ma¯ori she met at university socialized differently to what she was used to: they liked to party and to joke around in ways she experienced as uncomfortable at times. She interpreted this as a difference in upbringing and values, but also in socio-economic background. Again, she felt like she did not belong, and out of her comfort-zone. Rangi, too, mentions Ma¯ori friends who “want to enjoy the party life”, but she quickly found others who are more like her. Eventually, Miriama also found some people ‘like her’ – in regard to age, gender, religious views, cultural affiliation, social background as well as personal interests, etc. She found a small group of tight-knit friends who still keep in contact today, some ten years later. Halfway through her studies, another shift in social setting and relationship network occurred: Miriama moved to Wellington. Again, she got involved with different groups, and again she successfully kindled new friendships. Some of these friendships are with Ma¯ori men and women of roughly the same age who share her socio-cultural background as well as her professional field. Her most

Friendship worlds in practice

209

intimate friends, however, are Pa¯keha¯. With them she shares personal interests, lifestyle and other experiences. Given her previous experience of discomfort and her long search for Ma¯ori friends, why did Miriama choose to surround herself with a circle of Pa¯keha¯ friends when she shifted cities, rather than trying to find a new circle of Ma¯ori friends again? Lack of opportunity is not the answer. In order to understand the dynamics at play, we need to look in more detail at the shift that occurred when she relocated from the city of her childhood to Wellington, the city where she feels she has found her ‘niche’ as an adult. Friends played a central part in finding this niche and in making the new place her home: [M]aking friends down here was really important (…) I think I probably could get quite lonely (…) if I didn’t have a network of friends around me. And when I first moved down that was the case. I mean, I had a couple of very old friends (…). They’d been down here for a little while (…) [but] Leni’s married and Awhina’s in a long term relationship with her boyfriend and they’ve kind of built their lives down here and (…) I couldn’t spend all my time (…) over at their place because it’s a bit different dynamic when it’s a couple, I think.

Miriama still sees her old friends regularly and counts them as close friends. She is grateful for their support, but nevertheless felt the need to find some more friends in the new city. At university she got into contact with fellow Ma¯ori students. With them she established some ties based around university life and professional advancement. Most of these new friends pursue careers in Ma¯ori focused fields and organizations – like Miriama. However, on the whole, these friendships remain within the confines of the academic field. At the time of my fieldwork, Miriama was just entering into the work force. Professional contacts and a functioning support network with other Ma¯ori were both personally and professionally desirable for her. They provided her with emotional stability and a sense of wha¯nau as well as professional contacts and career opportunities. Miriama’s closest friends are not part of this field. She met them through her involvement in a group of people who share an interest in European language and culture. In this group she met Louise, who I introduced in chapter 7.1.3. Louise and Miriama are of the same gender and age, they have similar interests and share the experience of having lived overseas. It was through Louise that Miriama found her new circle of Pa¯keha¯ friends. These friends are a group of people who met during their tertiary studies. Different constellations of persons used to flat together and there are some couple relations within the circle. Some dyads are closer than others and there are several ‘satellites’ who come and go on a more casual basis. Most people in this social network are tertiary educated and from a middle class background. Most are

210

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Pa¯keha¯ and Miriama is the only person identifying as Ma¯ori. Her closest friends are Louise and Julian. With them she feels completely comfortable and at ease. She meets one or both of them almost daily, alone or within the group. They are her confidantes and the persons who – apart from her family – know best what is happening in her life. With them Miriama can share anything, even ‘Ma¯ori things’. So what has changed? In her mid-twenties Miriama simply no longer feels the need to specifically befriend Ma¯ori. Other friendship constituting factors have become more important for her, for instance, her love for language and literature. At twenty-something she no longer feels the same desire ‘to connect’ to te ao Ma¯ori because she is already a part of it. She describes herself as more confident in her interactions with others than all those years ago when she first set out to meet some young Ma¯ori girls who were ‘like her’. She says she has ‘moved on’, feels more ‘at home’ and at ease – even when she is ‘the only brown face in the room’. Ethnic or cultural difference has become less relevant in her social universe since she has found a position in which she feels comfortable about being Ma¯ori, an identity that she embraces and cherishes. Since she no longer lacks that ‘part’ of herself, she feels free to establish relations based on other needs. Nevertheless, Miriama experiences her Ma¯ori and her Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds as rather separate, and she often hesitates to mix her different crowds of friends. She also feels that her friendships with Pa¯keha¯ mostly take place in Pa¯keha¯ spaces, i. e. in her Pa¯keha¯ friends’ world, and that her taha Ma¯ori does not play a particular role in these relationships. As she told me, she sometimes misses that part of herself in these friendships. On the other hand, she talked about wanting to explore her Pa¯keha¯ side and her Pa¯keha¯ ancestry a bit more (one of her great-grandparents was Pa¯keha¯), an ancestry that she finds difficult to ‘own’. When she told one of her friends about wanting to connect to taha Pa¯keha¯, she felt rather discouraged, for her friend (who grew up with a Ma¯ori and a Pa¯keha¯ parent) said that her Pa¯keha¯ connection was too removed to ‘really’ connect her. The complex dynamics of belonging as Ma¯ori and/or Pa¯keha¯ become very clear in this example. Miriama feels strongly about being Ma¯ori. Like Kahu, she is aware of her cultural identity and feels comfortable yet different when she is in a Pa¯keha¯ environment. In fact, apart from her most intimate friendships (with Louise, Julian and some others), she still experiences her relations with Ma¯ori as different to those with Pa¯keha¯. She also attributes this to cultural values and social upbringing. For example, Miriama and I often talked about difference in humor, and about being more ‘relaxed’ in the world of wha¯nau. Apart from laughing differently and at different jokes, Miriama says she also speaks differently. For example, around her close Pa¯keha¯ friends, who pay a lot of

Friendship worlds in practice

211

attention to language, who play language and word games and enjoy literature, she pays more attention to correct pronunciation and ‘good’ English, whereas with her Ma¯ori friends she uses more Ma¯ori terms, speaks both English and te reo and has an accent. This flexibility in language is a common occurrence among Ma¯ori actors who move between the worlds. I often observed, for instance, that actors switch from pronouncing Ma¯ori place names and terms with an English accent around Pa¯keha¯ to correct Ma¯ori pronunciation around Ma¯ori. I also observed that among Ma¯ori te reo takes an increasingly important role in conversation. Apart from different behavior and norms, Miriama also feels a deeper connection with Ma¯ori on the basis of shared ancestry and mutual understanding. This also has to do with negative experiences in her interaction with non-Ma¯ori. Similar to Kahu, Miriama feels that Pa¯keha¯ often ‘don’t get it’ and she hates the feeling of ‘having to explain’. When I asked her why she felt she needed to explain, she replied: ‘Cause I’m Ma¯ori and they got all these stereotypes I’m sure, yeah. I think fighting against those stereotypes is what I find sort of hard.

The stereotypes she refers to are popular negative images of Ma¯ori; ‘poor’, ‘drug addict’, ‘unemployed’, ‘dole bludging’ were some of the terms she used. The conflation between social inequality and ethnicity in such popular images is obvious. The experience of having to fight against negative stereotypes leads Ma¯ori like Miriama to exercise caution in their encounters with Pa¯keha¯ associates. Rather than constantly battling stereotypes, Miriama chooses to talk about certain problems (e. g., about wha¯nau issues) to certain people; often this means sharing with Ma¯ori, rather than with Pa¯keha¯. Miriama only feels able to connect on her Ma¯ori ‘side’ with her Ma¯ori friends as well as with her close Pa¯keha¯ friends. She is finding it difficult to pin down the make-up of the cultural connection, the ‘getting each other’ that enables her to do so, but to ‘get it’ is a prerequisite for connecting, and for close friendship to develop. Louise and Julian ‘get it’, as do some of Miriama’s other non-Ma¯ori friends, but most others don’t. This is why she does not like to mix the two worlds. But Miriama also holds on to friendships with Pa¯keha¯ in which she experiences unease or tensions based on what she understands as cultural ignorance or lack of empathy. She appreciates these friendships on the basis of other commonalities. If the tension gets too big, Miriama sometimes ‘takes a break’ until things have sorted themselves out. Some of her Pa¯keha¯ friends have commented on never meeting Miriama’s Ma¯ori friends; and her Ma¯ori friends have commented on her having mainly Pa¯keha¯ friends. Once, when she shared in a group of Ma¯ori a frustrating expe-

212

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

rience with one of her not-so-close Pa¯keha¯ friends, she was advised (half-jokingly) to simply not have such friends: Like, [my friend]’s like: “Don’t have Pa¯keha¯ friends.” (…) I just laughed. Because how hurt would my Pa¯keha¯ friends be, you know (…).

As she was reflecting on this, she wondered whether it had to do with her upbringing and with being ‘more colonized’. ‘Being colonized’ is associated with living a Pa¯keha¯ life. When Miriama reflects on these issues, she simply laughs and shrugs her shoulders. As she says, she actually does not care, as long as she and her friends know what they feel. Then she may just pick up the phone to call one of them – Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯. Miriama’s example demonstrates a number of important points: First of all, it displays well the flexibility in which individual actors construct their friendships; how they actively manage them and how they move between different figured worlds of friendship. Some of these worlds are part of te ao Ma¯ori, others are part of te ao Pa¯keha¯. In Miriama’s everyday life, they co-exist and sometimes intersect and overlap. It also shows the importance of multiple self-identifications and positioning. Even though popular group representations and images enter into individual life-worlds, and even though these images are being reproduced to a certain extent, they are also being deconstructed in social interaction. Miriama’s case also reveals the changeability of social networks and how the construction of self and other – in their relationship to one another – are inextricably linked to specific circumstances, places and times. Sometimes change is temporary. It may also be localized, for example, in the university environment. In other cases, it is a long-term transformation. As Miriama’s sense of self and comfort in her relations with others has changed, so have her priorities in life and in her friendships. Finally, Miriama’s case shows how individual relationships may run parallel, or crossways to group representations. Her example demonstrates the ambivalence inherent in the construction of difference and similarity – both on the personal as well as on the group level. Where Miriama and Kahu have actively sought out their taha Ma¯ori after socializing in predominately Pa¯keha¯ environments, the following two cases show the dynamics for actors growing up in predominately Ma¯ori environments. Hemi: I am a different person around both When I met Hemi in 2007, he was twenty-one years old and studying towards a Law degree in Wellington. He was actively engaged in the Ma¯ori Law Student Organization as well as in other social and political organizations on campus. His dedication is towards the advancement of Ma¯ori in society while at the same time fostering tolerance and social equality among New Zealanders (and non-

Friendship worlds in practice

213

New Zealanders) of all backgrounds. In fact, he struck me as a person who not only works hard and succeeds in his studies, but who engages with many different persons, who is outspoken in regard to his political views and who seems to move with great ease in-between his different life-worlds. As such, he provides a good example for the ‘new generation’ of highly educated, bilingual and bicultural Ma¯ori who succeed in Pa¯keha¯ society but whose focus is on te ao Ma¯ori. Hemi spent his high school years and childhood in a small rural town on the North Island, a place that he describes as having a very high Ma¯ori population; a close-knit community where everyone is somehow related to everybody else and everyone knows everyone else’s business. He described the town as ‘laid back’ and ‘lazy’ with a high proportion of people relying on state benefit and ‘low priority drugs’. Hemi and his sister were raised by a single mother ; he strongly identifies as Ma¯ori and he grew up with ‘some’ knowledge of te reo. In Wellington, Hemi feels he has ‘to polish up’ in regard to clothing style and general habitus. This, he says, creates some interesting dynamics in regard to his friendships. And while he feels that he has to adapt to all of his new friends in the ‘big smoke’, his relations with Ma¯ori are different to those with his Pa¯keha¯ friends: I’ve certainly had to fit in with my friends (…). As you may well know there aren’t that many Ma¯ori people in Law School (…) and it can be difficult at times, eh? (…) I have sort of two different groups. (…) I have (…) my Ma¯ori Law friends and I have my Pa¯keha¯ Law friends, and I am a different person around both (…).

Around his Pa¯keha¯ friends, Hemi feels he needs to adapt more than around his Ma¯ori friends. He attributes this to similar cultural but also socio-economic background: Generally, around my Ma¯ori [university] friends I can revert back to some of the ways that I was raised because many of them have been raised in similar circumstances. (…) I can use certain Ma¯ori terms, I can be more relaxed around them (…). I feel like I can practice more of my traditional sort of Ma¯ori ideas about whanaungatanga [kinship in its widest sense] and manaaki [to support, give hospitality to] and a big focus around food (…), and help (…). There’s a different focus with my Pa¯keha¯ friends (…). I have to be a little bit more conscious about how I speak, how I am, (…) what I think is the sense of sort of Pa¯keha¯ propriety and it can be quite, you know, (…) at times I can’t be as laid back with my Pa¯keha¯ friends.

In Hemi’s account the effort involved in friendships across boundaries becomes very evident. Having grown up in a Ma¯ori, rural working class environment, Hemi experiences the two worlds, i. e., the Pa¯keha¯ figured world of ‘friendship’ and the Ma¯ori figured world of wha¯nau, as different spheres of interaction that follow distinct rules and values. In chapter 7.1.3, I discussed Liz’s surprise at discovering the ‘other’, the Ma¯ori

214

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

world in the lives of some of her friends. Hemi – and many other Ma¯ori that I talked to – moves in his day-to-day life in-between different socio-cultural spaces, some of which are Ma¯ori, but the majority of which are Pa¯keha¯. These spaces often correspond with different ‘sets’ of friends. And while Ma¯ori are used to moving in-between, friendships with Pa¯keha¯ usually stay within te ao Pa¯keha¯. The two worlds only rarely intersect, unless a conscious effort is made to cross over or to enter the ‘other’ world. Like most tertiary institutions in Aotearoa New Zealand, Hemi’s Law School also has a so-called Ma¯ori room, i. e., a space modeled on the notion of the wha¯nau that is supposed to provide a culturally safe environment for Ma¯ori students. The Ma¯ori room is open to everyone and when I visited it, I enjoyed its welcoming atmosphere and the tea and food offered to me. Once, Hemi brought some of his Pa¯keha¯ friends to the room: I had (…) invited a couple of my Pa¯keha¯ friends to come into the Ma¯ori room. I took them in there and I said, ‘Oh well, sit down and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.’ And the first sort of thing that occurred to me was how surprised they were that I, you know, was willing to provide them with (…) a coffee. (…) I [also] found that they tended to be very uncomfortable being around so many dark skinned people who spoke differently to how they did outside that room. We joked in a very different way. (…) [A]fter taking my friend out I said, ‘Oh, were you okay? I could tell that you were a little bit uncomfortable’, and she told me that she (…) just wasn’t used to that.

In this example the separation of the two socio-cultural spaces becomes particularly obvious as existing social relations are reversed. The purpose of the Ma¯ori room is to cater to Ma¯ori students’ needs in the university environment and to make them feel comfortable. By inviting his friends into the Ma¯ori room, Hemi was reversing the social setting from a Pa¯keha¯ dominated to a Ma¯ori dominated one. His Pa¯keha¯ friends were surprised and felt uneasy because of the unfamiliar situation and the different behavioral and social norms. Awareness of cultural differentiae (Barth 1969) made them feel uncomfortable and ‘other’. Feeling comfortable, however, is an important quality in friendship. Hemi believes that many of his Pa¯keha¯ friends are not aware that their Ma¯ori friends often put up a kind of faÅade in their interactions in non-Ma¯ori spaces and that they tend to adapt to the figured world of Pa¯keha¯ society. And whereas he feels comfortable to bring any of his Pa¯keha¯ friends to the Ma¯ori room, he expressed some concern as to whether they would feel comfortable in this environment. Furthermore, as he said, he does not mind keeping these friendships within te ao Pa¯keha¯. Similar to Miriama, Hemi does not feel the need to do so since his friendships with Pa¯keha¯ are based on other commonalities. Even though Hemi generally feels more relaxed among his Ma¯ori friends, back in his rural hometown he also felt different sometimes. For, whereas he

Friendship worlds in practice

215

worked hard in school, and whereas his mother placed great emphasis on education, most of his friends and their parents did not share this priority. In fact, he feels that he was always a bit ‘on the fence’ and he always had these two different sets of friends, Ma¯ori friends and Pa¯keha¯ friends. Again, this was the result of moving in-between different socio-cultural as well as economic worlds – worlds in which being Ma¯ori is associated with poverty, soft drugs and low education levels, but also with manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), tautoko (support), aroha (unconditional love) and whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense), and where Pa¯keha¯tanga (Pa¯keha¯ culture) is associated with higher income levels, academic achievement and ‘proper’ social etiquette. Hemi, too, feels generally more relaxed with other Ma¯ori and he experiences those friendships as less regulated by rules, as more personal, and more intimate. Further differences he identifies, for instance, in regards to joking or humor (rougher jokes and more teasing among his Ma¯ori friends), host-guest interaction (open-house policy and manaakitanga among Ma¯ori, a different kind of hospitality among Pa¯keha¯), an emphasis on whanaungatanga (relationship building, sense of family connection) and community among his Ma¯ori friends and an emphasis on intellectual discussion among his Pa¯keha¯ friends. Ultimately, this results in different figured worlds of friendship; one located in te ao Pa¯keha¯ and the other (predominately) in te ao Ma¯ori. Furthermore, Hemi feels that the people in his two friendship worlds – even though they may exchange some polite words – do not really ‘click’. Because of it, Hemi is quite happy to keep them separate. Nonetheless, similar to Rangi, Hemi calls a Pa¯keha¯ his closest and oldest friend. They grew up in the same neighborhood and share a similar socioeconomic background. With this Pa¯keha¯ friend, Hemi can be completely relaxed and ‘himself ’. I will discuss this point in more detail in chapter 7.3.3. For now, I would like to note that while Hemi feels that he can ‘push the boundaries’ with some of his Pa¯keha¯ friends a bit further than with others, he nevertheless adapts to his two worlds of friendship on a day-to-day basis. But, as he told me, he also knows some Ma¯ori who are ‘just the same’, i. e., who do not adapt – no matter which environment they are in. Te Ahu is such a person. Te Ahu: I can be comfortable with anyone Te Ahu is a forty-two-year-old Ma¯ori who describes himself as having felt comfortable in making friends from an early age. He grew up in a small community on the North Island and went to school with Ma¯ori as well as Pacific peoples and Pa¯keha¯. At the time of my research he was living in Auckland. Te Ahu is Liz’s partner (see chapter 7.1.3). He is a musician and a radio presenter and has lived in Australia for several years. Most of his friendships are based on

216

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

the music, theatre and arts scene; work relations often become friendships and friendships lead to more work opportunities. I first met Te Ahu at a marae (ceremonial center) in Auckland. He came up to me to introduce himself and to have a bit of a chat in order to make me feel comfortable. Over the following months, I often observed him reach out to people – just as he had done at our first meeting. Later, he explained to me that this is also his way of probing trust: He offers his trust and his friendship at first encounter. If it is not respected, he withdraws. Te Ahu’s social network is comparatively large since he socializes easily and comfortably with people of different backgrounds and in different settings. He differentiates friendships on the grounds of intimacy, but also of context (e. g., old friends, gym friends, work friends, rugby friends, etc.). There is some overlap between these different groups of associates. At the same time as having a large network of casual ties, Te Ahu looks back at some very old friendships with people from his childhood days. Te Ahu’s relationship chart reflects the heterogeneity of his social ties. It includes in all spheres of intimacy persons of different ages, gender and socio-economic and cultural background. With his old friends Te Ahu keeps in contact via e-mail and the phone but also by regular home-visits. Earlier (see chapter 6.2.6), I quoted him as placing importance on socializing with people who are not only ‘nice’ or ‘good’ persons, but who display certain values and mannerism such as respect for the elders, humbleness and whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense). In regard to his friendships from ‘back home’, this includes having significant relations with his friends’ families. Most of these old friends are Ma¯ori. Over the years they have become a part of his extended family, his wha¯nau. Wha¯nau here refers to significant bonds of affection and support, in good and in not so good times: “good and highs, bads, lows, all that sort of thing.” Te Ahu maintains friendships with men and women and feels that they work differently in regard to how intimacy is being established (e. g., playing rugby with males friends and having coffee with female friends). In his view, since all friendships work along slightly different lines, they broaden one’s perspective and extend self. He calls a number of people from ‘back in the days’ his closest friends, with whom he shares deeply on an emotional level. They share activities, but they also talk about feelings, spirituality and life-philosophies. Connecting on an emotional but also on a spiritual level is an important quality for a close friendship to develop. As Te Ahu told me, shared values and mutual understanding are important to him, as is mutual respect for one another’s person and culture. His two closest friends in Auckland are male, and Pa¯keha¯ :

Friendship worlds in practice

217

One of the best friends I’ve got here in Auckland is a guy, he’s Pa¯keha¯. But (…) I guess he’s got similar values, even though he is Pa¯keha¯. There’s also an acknowledgment on the difference of our culture that we give each other a bit of a stick about. But within that acknowledgment of each other it’s respect, (…) respect for his European culture and my Ma¯ori culture as well, so. So I think it’s connecting, too, on a spiritual level. That’s very important.

For Te Ahu, family always comes first. When a friendship grows in depth and significance it transforms into a wha¯nau or family based friendship, in which partners and children are involved and in which the friend is brought into the intimate sphere of family life. Te Ahu thinks that his childhood in a large Ma¯ori family has enabled him to establish friendships easily. In his view, his family members are automatically friends because of the affective and intimate dimension of the wha¯nau relationship. Even though Te Ahu feels that Ma¯ori place particular value on wha¯nau values such as whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense), tautoko (support), aroha (unconditional love, empathy), and manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), he emphasizes that the differences between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ families should not be generalized since it comes down to the individual, and not to the group. This is how he explained cultural differences to me: Different cultures (…) feel, you know, different (…). Little intricacies (…), like Ma¯ori have their own way, their own slang, their own feel, their own timing, (…) but Samoan’s have got the same and Tongan’s have got the same, and European’s have got the same as well (…).

The little differences in feeling, timing, slang, etc., Te Ahu experiences as enriching. He appreciates these differences as he moves between different worlds and interacts with different people. He started learning some Samoan, speaks Ma¯ori and English and also makes an effort to learn the Tongan and Fijian way of greeting, for instance. Te Ahu feels particularly close to Polynesian cultures, but also to the Pa¯keha¯ culture. Nevertheless, meeting another Ma¯ori feels just a slight bit more comfortable. At this point I would like to note that Te Ahu describes his partner Liz as culturally Ma¯ori – in addition to her Pa¯keha¯ ancestry. He explained that she was Ma¯ori in his view because of the way in which she tries to learn te reo, and to engage with and in te ao Ma¯ori. Te Ahu feels that his friendships differ profoundly depending on the friendship context, the personalities involved and on the kind of friendship. He uses the words ‘friends’ and ‘mate’ as well as hoa in a very broad range to include his nieces and nephews, for instance. He says that the value of whakawhanaungatanga, of reaching out and establishing positive relationships, is a big part of his life, of his personality as well as of his culture. He reflects on his

218

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

friendships a lot and tries to be open to difference in his day-to-day encounters. In his view, what enables him to feel comfortable with different people, to reach out and to be open towards new people and new experiences is his own sense of comfort and confidence in self. Furthermore, he thinks that one chooses the kind of environment and the kind of people one wants to engage with, and that some people (artists and musicians, for instance) choose to engage in a more multicultural life than others. Conflict he tries to solve by means of talking about it; if the hurt is too deep or the other party is not prepared to talk the issue through, he withdraws and no longer puts time or effort into the relationship. Te Ahu’s social universe is centered around the music and arts scene as well as around his interests in sports. Spirituality, a common purpose in life, shared experiences and philosophies are the social glue that holds this universe together. Politics are not particularly important in regard to his social relations or how he positions himself. Te Ahu respects the viewpoints of politically active Ma¯ori such as Kahu or Hemi, but personally does not feel affected by politics. His friendship worlds are situated in both te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯. I have already mentioned that there is the possibility, especially for the arts, to transcend the duality of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds. Te Ahu’s social universe holds the potential for transcending this duality : In his day-to-day life, the ‘two worlds’ are often indistinguishable since he ‘is’ the same, acts the same and integrates all of his social relations, regardless of where they came from, what they identify with, or what they do. The next case shows how someone moving in-between and across the two worlds in a fashion similar to Te Ahu combines this with a strong political commitment and dedication to the advancement of Ma¯ori in mainstream society. Camille: you play it as it suits, really When I first met Camille, she was in her late forties and lived outside the boundaries of the city in a wha¯nau house situated within the structures of her extended family. She is the daughter of a Ma¯ori father and a European mother, who grew up mainly with her grandmother, a woman of English and Scottish descent who married a Ma¯ori man of high status. Her grandmother was an important attachment figure in Camille’s life. Camille juggles several different worlds and social roles in her day-to-day life: She is a single mother, daughter, tuakana (older sister), neighbor, kaitiaki (guardian) of the wha¯nau house, friend, student, researcher, teacher, advisor, etc. I was often impressed how well she manages to juggle her different responsibilities and roles while always having a kind word and a smile for the people around her. From an early age, Camille has found in her friendships a special sense of

Friendship worlds in practice

219

intimacy, warmth and understanding. Friendships are about unconditionality and about trust for Camille, an ideal that she tries to live up to in her interactions with friends. If she feels her own trust and loyalty has been broken or betrayed, she withdraws. Throughout her life, Camille has formed close and lasting bonds with people of different backgrounds; many of these ties persisted even though she left Aotearoa New Zealand as a young adult to live and work overseas for some years. During that time, she kept in contact by writing letters and by visiting, so that after her return she was able to pick up some of these old friendships for which time had not mattered. While consciously trying to maintain her overseas friendships, Camille now also made some new friends, mainly through her studies, through sharing flats and through different jobs. Even though she does not see most of her friends on a day-to-day basis, Camille feels that her friendships are the backbone that makes up the tapestry of her life. She makes a conscious effort to keep in contact with people. She calls them, writes letters and e-mails, sends photographs, remembers their birthdays and sends them Christmas cards. This is how she has succeeded in acquiring new friendships as well as maintaining her older ones – despite her many roles and obligations. She has a very diverse and far-reaching social network. Her friendships extend to the arts and music scene, to the political scene of the Ma¯ori renaissance as well as to her immediate neighborhood. It also includes family or wha¯nau relations, but rather than referring to her wha¯nau as friends, Camille prefers to refer to them in kin terms (e. g., ‘cousin’). Reflecting on the overlap between family and friends, Camille told me that friendships with wha¯nau tend to be more complicated since they involve certain role expectations and obligations that go beyond her idea of friendships as an interest-free and affective bond of unconditional love: [Friendships] are of their own volition. They’re not because of any other reason except that someone finds value in you and enjoyment and the ability to share, and share deeply as well. So there’s no vested interests, there’s nothing that they want, there’s nothing that obliges them to be your friend and there’s a freedom in that.

This has to do with her role as tuakana (older same sex sibling) but also with her active part in the Treaty claim settlement process. Camille has been involved in this process for several years and in different roles, for instance, as a Ma¯ori trust board member or in claim committees. As a result, her relations with wha¯nau (extended family) are often interlinked with her obligations in relation to wha¯nau, hapu¯ (subtribe) and iwi (tribe) interests as well as with issues surrounding the claim settlement process. In geographical terms, her friends are scattered throughout Aotearoa New Zealand and around the world. Camille is friends with men and women of different ages and different socio-economic as well as ethnic backgrounds and

220

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

cultural affiliations. Her friends are from different paths of life and therefore know different parts of her. This became very clear to her on her fortieth birthday, an event that brought together all of her friends; and while it wasn’t a problem, she felt that she was moving between different ‘clusters’ of people who had come together from her different paths in life: They all know you from different angles and different parts of your life (…) and they don’t necessarily know the same part of you (…) and so people clustered (laughter). I mean, (…) it wasn’t a problem, (…) everybody of course, you know, got on reasonably well for a couple of hours. It was no difficulty but it was difficult for me in a way to move from person to person.

The experience made her realize how different some of her friends are, but also that they in fact know different parts of her person. It took some effort on her part to juggle her different friend ‘clusters’, but she thoroughly enjoyed having all of them together for once, and for her fiftieth birthday she decided to bring them together again – this time a smaller group of people, her ‘nearest and dearest’. Camille feels a close connection to her wha¯nau and to Ma¯oridom. However, she also feels different to them since she has not grown up in the wha¯nau setting and because she feels that there is ‘another side’ to her. This ‘side’ is connected to her role and status within the community but also to the kind of socialization she received by her non-Ma¯ori grandmother, a woman steeped in the traditions and culture of colonial Britain. When I asked her about her self-identification, she laughed and replied: “A bit like liquorice allsorts.” She then went on to elaborate on the different threads, or puzzle pieces, that together form her life and thereby her notion of self. They include her childhood years with her grandmother, her years at boarding school, life with her father’s ‘new’ family, her year overseas as an international exchange student, study years, later her time with her mother and her ‘other’ family in Europe, different journeys to faraway places as well as wha¯nau relations back in Aotearoa New Zealand, her political commitment, the years as a single mother and her different jobs and occupations. This picture of different strands woven together encompasses her relationships within and outside the family : above all, her relationship with her son, followed by her grandmother, father, mother and siblings as well as lovers, partners and friends; with the wha¯nau, hapu¯ (subtribe) and iwi (tribe); with colleagues and associates as well as more ambivalent or negative influences. As she said, the different threads are like strings of a guitar that resonate at different times and places. At the time of my research, Camille’s life was very much focused on her son as well as on Ma¯ori’s political struggle. And while some of her friends are not particularly aware of this involvement, most of her intimate friends, especially those living in Aotearoa New Zealand, are also involved – in one way or another –

Friendship worlds in practice

221

in the struggle for greater social, political and economic equality between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ (and anybody else). In fact, many of these friends Camille has met through her involvement in the Treaty claim process; they are people with an interest in politics and with some sort of connection to te ao Ma¯ori. Kenneth, for instance, who is involved in the Ma¯ori arts scene, Ta¯ne who is an artist and carver, or Janet who is a journalist writing about contemporary social and political issues. Some of them are Ma¯ori, others are Pa¯keha¯. With these friends Camille relates on the level of shared interests, but also in regard to lifestyle. Camille’s identity as Ma¯ori is important to her ; however, not all of her associates and friends know that this is the case. In fact, because of her fair physical appearance she feels that many do not even know that she is Ma¯ori. As she say, she plays it ‘as it suits’. Camille also emphasized two other important points: Firstly, that people usually get along well on a one-on-one level, and secondly that Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ are not binary opposites in the experiences and life-worlds of most New Zealanders: But I do have some faith (…) in redefining what Ma¯ori means and probably therefore what Pa¯keha¯ means but I think that (…) it is actually perhaps acknowledging the complexity of peoples lives and life stories (…) [L]ots of people who live in New Zealand have so many threads to draw on. They may choose to draw on only a few and settle for that and then others choose to draw on more but it’s not that simple. It’s not black and white, it’s not you are this, you are that, it’s just not (…).

Being able to ‘play it as it suits’, in Camille’s case, is also connected to her being able to move comfortably in different worlds, some of which belong to te ao Pa¯keha¯, some to te ao Ma¯ori, some to both, some to neither. She did not learn te reo as a child and at the time of my research she was attending some te reo classes, but from what I was able to observe during my time in Aotearoa New Zealand, Camille is versed well enough to tackle most formal as well as informal situations. Furthermore, her knowledge of tikanga (customs) and of the claim process as well as her good relations with many kauma¯tua and kuia (male and female elders) means that Camille moves comfortably between committee and trust board meetings, all sorts of hui (gathering, meeting), hearings and formal receptions as well as school gatherings, wha¯nau celebrations, the world of academia, etc. Within these different figured worlds, she maintains relations of different intimacy and relevance. What enables her to do so, i. e., to engage flexibly within and in-between these different worlds, is her bicultural life world, a world steeped in te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯. However, in contradistinction to some other Ma¯ori, namely those who feel like the only ‘brown’ or ‘black’ face in the room, Camille’s physical appearance is relatively fair, which means that – at first sight – she is often taken

222

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

to be Pa¯keha¯. I have already touched on the importance of physical markers for gaining access to, or engaging flexibly in, different figured worlds. This also supports the point that the binary opposition of Ma¯ori versus Pa¯keha¯ is a construction that does not adequately represent individual identifications and experiences. Camille and I often talked about the implications of this. When I asked her during one of our audiotaped conversations, she told me about some of her experiences: [P]eople have said to me when I’ve worked on boards and things they’ve said, “But you’re so approachable,” (laughter) and I’ve often wondered what that really meant. (…) [M]y sense is that they feel comfortable in talking to me about some issue that they know I can reach a wider Ma¯ori arena for them. And (…) I understand that. Rahuia and I have got this joke (…) we’re sitting on the beach waiting for the DOC [Department of Conservation] staff to come along to bury this whale and as soon as they come on she says, “See every time, it happens all the time, as soon as the DOC person comes along they speak to you, they look for you, they speak directly to you, and they ignore us.” And I said, “Yeah but every time they go on a marae [ceremonial center] that I don’t belong to, they ignore me completely and they look at you.”

Whereas Camille is fair and blue-eyed, her cousin and friend Rahuia has a dark complexion and brown eyes. The two of them often joke about how they can strategically use other people’s presumptions to their advantage. In another conversation I learned the term ‘undercover Ma¯ori’ for Ma¯ori who ‘pass’ as Pa¯keha¯.86 Camille also looks back on some experiences of this kind: It’s very funny (…). You go off to some sort of dinner party and people start talking about Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations on whatever the issue is (laughter) (…) and then you drop the bomb, or you don’t. Whatever you choose to do, (…) it’s very interesting, yes, especially when I’ve been to people’s places where they don’t know me (…). It’s actually better to leave it alone and listen.

I have often come across stories similar to this one experienced by Ma¯ori who ‘pass’ as Pa¯keha¯. Most feel that it has certain advantages, especially the advantage of being able to accentuate one identity or the other in different contexts. However, there are also more ambivalent experiences, for example, when people feel treated ‘like’ a Pa¯keha¯ by other Ma¯ori. Some of these actors pay extra attention to ‘prove’ their Ma¯oriness, for instance, by being fluent in te reo or by getting involved in marae (ceremonial center) life. As already pointed out, popular representations and stereotypes of what represents a ‘good’ or a ‘real’ Ma¯ori are highly problematic. However, I observed that among younger generations, i. e., Ma¯ori in their teens and twenties, there 86 The concept of ‘passing’ has been discussed in American literature and culture studies. For ‘passing’ see, for instance, Wald (2000); for racial intermixing and boundary crossing see Tells and Sue (2009).

Friendship worlds in practice

223

seems to be a new, more diversified self-understanding in which such cultural markers seem to play a minor role. This is connected to the aforementioned shift observable among the youth, i. e., the shift towards more diversified and transcultural life-worlds. In particular, persons who identify as both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, who have grown up in cross-cultural family constellations, for instance, and who have a positive self-image feel comfortable in and move easily inbetween the two worlds in their everyday lives. Actors like Camille see in their multiple identifications a great strength and an important resource in their social interactions. Instead of feeling ‘partly’ Ma¯ori and ‘partly’ Pa¯keha¯, they see their multiple identities as a surplus rather than a deficiency. For these actors, cultural difference in friendships is unproblematic in the way that they maneuver easily and more or less unconsciously in-between boundaries. ‘Culture’, for this group, is usually just one aspect among many that may, or may not, play a role in their lives and friendships. Accordingly, the dynamics of wha¯nau and friendship may be experienced rather differently. Among the youth, this openness and flexibility is particularly observable. Youth is the time when friendship constitutes a central social relationship in people’s lives across cultures. The youth, in comparison to other age groups, is described as more open and as more involved with persons from a diverse range of backgrounds. This is attributed to changing population dynamics, especially in urban areas. In chapter 7.1.4, I discussed the cases of some young Pa¯keha¯ who build their friendships in-between different worlds. For young people identifying as Ma¯ori there have been major changes on a number of levels in recent years. Ma¯ori youth is associated with improved living conditions and educational opportunities, with a firm cultural identity, a positive self-image and the confidence to engage in both intra- and cross-cultural friendships. There is a wide belief that the younger generation of Ma¯ori can relate to and interact more easily with people from different backgrounds because they did not struggle with their own culture in the way the generation before them did. This is reflected in Rangi’s comment of “having the best of both worlds”, for instance, or in Kahu’s assertion that he feels comfortable even though he is aware of difference. The last case in this chapter exemplifies this young generation of bicultural actors who identity as both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. Josh: I’m easy either way Josh87 is in his twenties. He is a young father and lives in a relationship with a Pa¯keha¯ woman. Josh’s father belonged to the generation of Ma¯ori who were punished for speaking te reo at school. Even though Josh also says he was brought up ‘more Pa¯keha¯’ than Ma¯ori, he feels that his father exposed him and 87 See also my discussion of his case in Brandt and Heuser (2011).

224

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

his siblings sufficiently to Ma¯ori culture, “so that if we wanted to go back ourselves we could”. As an adult, Josh wants to connect more to his Ma¯ori side. Like many others, Josh makes a conscious effort to learn more about Ma¯ori culture and tradition by meeting wha¯nau relations, visiting ancestral places and by learning te reo and tikanga (customs). As the offspring of a Pa¯keha¯ mother and a Ma¯ori father, Josh – when asked – identifies as both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯. As he says, he does not want to choose one side over the other for he feels like a mixture of both. Like Camille, he feels that his fair physical appearance means that he can fit into both categories, Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯. Josh has neither experienced racism nor cultural identity crisis, and he reports on feeling very comfortable in his multiple worlds since childhood. Growing up, Josh’s family and the small town he lived in provided him with a social environment in which Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ interacted on a frequent basis. However, most of his childhood friends were Pa¯keha¯ and he only socialized with Ma¯ori on a more casual level. The reason for this he sees in different interests and life-goals. Whereas he was interested in sports, most of his Ma¯ori school mates were ‘mucking around’ and ‘sneaking behind bushes’ to have a cigarette. His two best mates, as he calls them, were a Pa¯keha¯ and a Ma¯ori. With them he shared his interest in sports and other ‘blokey stuff ’. In combination with an outgoing and open personality, this background nowadays enables him to easily form friendships. This is reflected in a heterogeneous social network that includes persons from a range of age groups, different gender, as well as religious and ethnic affiliations. Even though Josh gets along with a lot of people, he locates his most intimate friendships within his family. His closest friendships, he says, are those with his partner, his son, his siblings and parents. For Josh, family, or wha¯nau comes first. Wha¯nau he uses to refer to his Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ family relations. He employs the word whanaunga (relative, relation, kin) to refer to his extended family relations and to the Ma¯ori groups he is a member of (e. g., sports teams). Even though some of his close friends are ‘like’ family to him, he still refers to them as ‘friends’ or ‘mates’, rather than whanaunga or wha¯nau. For Josh, his identification as Ma¯ori is one among many and one that usually stays within the confines of tangihanga (burial ceremony), family celebrations, or Ma¯ori classes. In chapter 7.1.4, I quoted Deirdre who said that she and her husband Aperama feel free to take on only those parts of tradition and culture that suit them, thereby creating the kind of life that they wish to live. Josh, too, told me that he feels free to follow certain tikanga (customs) and not others. In his day-to-day life, he draws on the Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ values available to him that suit his current living situation. He tries to connect with his wha¯nau (extended family) in the country, he values the spiritual side (taha wairua) of Ma¯oridom and he feels free to connect with his taha Ma¯ori as suits – rather than constantly

Friendship worlds in practice

225

negotiating his multiple identities. This kind of approach is very typical among bicultural actors. Josh repeatedly underscored the irrelevance of cultural and ethnic affiliation – in friendship and in other relations. For him, friendship is solely based on individual traits, personal sympathy and affection as well as shared interests. When Josh talks of difference, it is rarely in terms of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, but in terms of New Zealanders and non-New Zealanders. Being both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ himself, and placing positive value on both identifications, in his experience Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ are not easily distinguishable categories but share major cultural characteristics and backgrounds. Shared experiences and background under the notion of a conjoint New Zealand or Kiwi culture based on shared history is a strong theme, especially among the younger generations, i. e., people in their teens and twenties. Culture, or cultural difference, becomes an individual trait, an issue of fluid and shifting boundaries between individuals. For Josh, the differences between his friendships with Ma¯ori and his friendships with Pa¯keha¯ are only marginal and highly context-dependent. For instance, he usually talks about tikanga (customs) and spiritual aspects with other Ma¯ori, more so than with non-Ma¯ori, and he feels that interaction in Ma¯ori households is less formal and more open. But he does not regard that as problematic and he finds that such generalizations do not hold in everyday social life and practice. This is what he told me about two of his close mates, who he describes as the ‘whitest Ma¯ori’ and ‘the blackest white guy’: Two of my good mates (…), one is the whitest Ma¯ori you’ve ever met and the other is the blackest white guy you’ve ever met (…). They’re good mates as well, the Pa¯keha¯ dude he’s like, hooks into seafood and he’s real Ma¯ori and he’s (…) talking to me like he’s a real Ma¯ori. And the other guy (…), he’s like twice my color, black as anything, won’t eat seafood, he’s real fussy and he like dresses immaculately. That’s real funny, eh? But that’s how they introduce each other, “This is the whitest Ma¯ori you’ve ever met,” “This is the most Ma¯ori white man you’ve ever met” (laughter).

I have already pointed out that group stereotypes are associated with habitus. Certain tastes for food, but also for music, or dress, type of speech, and behavior serve as cultural markers. They are the ‘cultural stuff ’ that makes someone Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯, respectively. I have also already mentioned depictions such as the one above, of Ma¯ori being Pa¯keha¯ and Pa¯keha¯ being Ma¯ori. Such assertions cut across boundaries and allow for shared belonging; by retaining the categories of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, however, they hold the potential to transform boundaries while simultaneously re-constructing and strengthening them. Like many other people that I talked to, Josh’s conception of ‘friendship’ and ‘mateship’ is highly personalized and individual-based. However, in his case, this is not only the result of his multiple identifications and bicultural life-

226

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

worlds, but also of prejudice. As he told me, he used to have a ‘slightly racist’ attitude towards Asian people, or the so-called ‘new’ immigrants. In Josh’s case, his prejudices were overcome as a result of personal interaction with fellow Asian students in the culturally diverse setting of the university. This is a good example for the complex workings of prejudice, and of how individual encounters, or ‘contact’, can in fact help to overcome discriminatory attitudes. As Aotearoa New Zealand’s social fabric is diversifying, these encounters become more numerous. Josh constructs cultural difference between a conjoint New Zealand culture that encompasses Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ vis-‚-vis the ‘new’ and ‘old’ immigrants, especially those who speak a different language and who have different religious affiliations. Nowadays, he finds this difference interesting and enriching, rather than irritating and ‘other’. The idea of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ forming the core constituents of New Zealand culture echoes in such reflections. This corresponds with a bicultural ideal of the ‘two founding nations’ of the New Zealand state under the Treaty, but without denying the importance of acknowledging ‘other’ groups and the notion of a ‘multicultural’ New Zealand. Difference – if detectable at all – is overcome by concentrating on shared commonalities. For Josh, as for other young biculturally socialized Ma¯ori, cultural boundaries run along very different lines than for the members of his parents’ or grandparents’ generations. Instead of feeling different, or ‘other’, these actors construct themselves as belonging to a bicultural and/or multicultural New Zealand, in which Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ spaces can do both, co-exist and merge. Bicultural life-worlds in combination with a positive self-image and outgoing personalities constitute important resources that enable the formation of a range of friendships (intra-, cross-, and trans-cultural). In order for close personal ties to be established, actors need to feel comfortable in their interaction with one another. Confident and outgoing biculturally socialized actors like Josh seem to maneuver in-between boundaries more easily than those who have grown up without these socio-cultural assets. This leads to flexible life-worlds and friendship universes, in which difference is actively and continuously negotiated within an ever-changing social universe. In sum, individual actors juggle their different social worlds in rather different ways – depending on intra- and inter-subjectivities, context and interests. What all of the cases discussed in this chapter have in common is the idea that friendship is a highly individualized or personalized social phenomenon that touches on the affective dimension as well as on conceptions of personhood, sociality and a wider philosophy of one’s place in relation to others in the world. This is why the idea of figured worlds is so compelling for the study of friendship. What the discussion also showed is that, while friendship, mateship and wha¯nau take different places in personal social universes, the notion of the wha¯nau was

Friendship worlds in practice

227

often associated with specific cultural values and ways of relating to the world that the English term ‘friendship’ seems to grasp only very insufficiently. Especially the first three accounts by Kahu, Miriama and Hemi emphasized the cultural ‘connection’ embodied in the Ma¯ori figured world of wha¯nau. In the following, I will elaborate on this point.

7.2.4 Wha¯nau and friendship – emotional connections and cultural belonging From the discussion so far it is clear that the notion of the wha¯nau, and to a lesser extent also whanaunga, in reference to non-kin relations reflect Ma¯ori-specific conceptions of relatedness that overlap with the notion of friendship in significant ways. In chapter 6, I repeatedly quoted the kuia (old woman, elder) Rahuia who feels that the wha¯nau and the values associated with it provide a more inclusive and relationship-centered framework in which to situate the idea of friendship or relatedness. Born in the mid-1940s, Rahuia spent most of her life in a rural Ma¯ori community. Nowadays, she is a central figure in community life; she has been the nurturer for several children who she looked after as wha¯ngai (foster children); and she has been a nurturer in the wider sense of the word within the wha¯nau and the community. Since the 1980s, Rahuia has been heavily involved in the Treaty claim settlement process. She is a wahine toa, a woman of great standing or mana (authority, power, prestige), whose life is deeply steeped in te ao Ma¯ori. For Rahuia, ‘friendship’ is a Pa¯keha¯ conception that only goes so far in regards to sharing, and connecting. As I already explained (see chapter 6.2.8), Rahuia places herself within a continuum of relations that include the human as well as the spiritual and natural spheres. Relations, from a Ma¯ori perspective, include all living beings as well as the ancestors, those who have been here before, and those who are yet to come. This decentered model of relatedness is contained in the notion of wha¯nau. The wha¯nau constitutes an inclusive social category that is used flexibly by the actors to refer to kin as well as non-kin relations with Ma¯ori, but also with non-Ma¯ori actors. In contrast to the English ‘friendship’ or ‘mateship’, reference to the wha¯nau – and to Ma¯ori idioms in general – serves to highlight a culturespecific perspective, or a ‘culturally charged’ context. When connections with ‘friends’, ‘mates’ or hoa are framed in wha¯nau terminology, they refer to a Ma¯ori-specific model of relatedness that is distinct from the Western-European conception of ‘friendship’ associated with Pa¯keha¯ society. This point is supported by Metge’s analysis: When people who are not linked by descent choose the word wha¯nau to describe themselves, they make a symbolic statement indicating that they have modelled

228

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

themselves upon the wha¯nau (…) and adopted its values as their own. When kinship connections are attenuated or absent, common aims and values become doubly important as means of binding people together. (Metge 1995:80)

Different friendships meet different needs. They reflect individual life-worlds and self-images. People like Rangi, Kahu, Miriama, or Hemi who construct their friendship worlds along almost bicultural lines, tend to practice their friendships with Pa¯keha¯ within the confines of the Pa¯keha¯ world of ‘friendship’; and while the values and norms associated with this world also have currency in their friendships with Ma¯ori, the latter are frequently described in terms of wha¯nau values. The figured world of wha¯nau friendship provides here important cultural spaces in which cultural identifications are (re-)produced. As I already explained, the main values associated with this world by the actors in this study are manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense), aroha (unconditional love, affection, empathy), the notions of tautoko (support, prop up) and a¯whina (help, assist) as well as awhi (embrace, foster), wha¯ngai (nourish, feed, bring up), utu (reciprocity), and kotahitanga (unity). Furthermore, the notion of shared ancestry through genealogy (whakapapa) was often referred to. It is important to keep in mind that, ultimately, the insistence on a different view of relatedness also serves to protect the idea of cultural distinctiveness. Toon van Meijl (2011) makes a similar point on the construction of the notion of aroha, which he translates as ‘love for kin’. Accordingly, aroha not only serves to distinguish Ma¯ori culture from Pa¯keha¯ or European culture, but there is also a strategic dimension to this (for example, when aroha is invoked to enhance commercial gain) (van Meijl 2011:273). However, these boundaries are also permeable, and in cross-cultural friendships they may be overcome. The following two case studies of Hine and Katerina demonstrate how, depending on individual experiences and identifications, the notion of wha¯nau provides a culture-specific framework under which friendships with Ma¯ori as well as non-Ma¯ori are subsumed. I have repeatedly quoted both Hine and Katerina in chapter 6; the following is a more detailed description of their respective social universes and of the place of friendship and wha¯nau within them. My own personal connections with both women go back to the year 2001, when I first came to Aotearoa New Zealand as an international student. Hine: it’s about links Hine is a thirty-two-year-old academic of Ma¯ori and Samoan descent. Like Te Ahu, Hine feels that her upbringing in a rural wha¯nau environment has fostered a general openness towards others. She places high importance on relationship

Friendship worlds in practice

229

building in general, and on friendship in particular. I got to know her as a very engaging and open person who reaches out to others and who comfortably moves in-between different worlds. Most of Hine’s friends are Ma¯ori, but she also has some Pa¯keha¯ and Pacific friends and she easily engages with many different people of diverse backgrounds in her day-to-day life. Hine shares Hemi’s experience of growing up in a rural town among Ma¯ori cousins and friends within a predominately working class background. Like him, she subsequently shifted to the city, where she maintains friendships with people of higher income and education levels and different life-worlds. However, while Hine is aware of differences in habitus, she generally feels and acts ‘the same’ in whatever world she engages in. For Hine, too, friendship is about human connections, mutual understanding, trust and respect; and even though most of her friends are Ma¯ori, for her, ethnicity has got “nothing to do with it”, but economics do (see also, chapter 6.2.2): Friendship’s built on economics as well. (…) I’m a colonized middle class, educated Ma¯ori. I’m so not middle class, yet, I’m still platinum in the ghetto. I can’t run around with Ma¯oris who, you know, went to the boarding school and they were wealthy (…). If there were more Pa¯keha¯ in the working class that I’m from, which is truck drivers and cleaners, but they’re not (…). I would have more Pa¯keha¯ friends if they were within the class that I was in, and as I grow up and as I come into my own (…) I suppose I will have more Pa¯keha¯ friends.

Hine clearly expects more cross-cultural friendship opportunities as she ‘moves up’ in society. Whether this indicates greater prospects for cross-cultural friendships in the middle levels of society is difficult to estimate. In any case, quantity does not necessarily indicate inter- or trans-cultural content. While cross-cultural friendships certainly exist on all levels of society, class only constitutes one friendship constituting factor among many. Hine’s friends from ‘back home’ are her most intimate and longest friendships, and even though she has a large social network in the city, her city friendships fluctuate more often as she changes life-orbits and social or professional environment. Hine feels that countryside relations are more blurred since professional as well as friendship ties more often intersect with family relations. Furthermore, she feels that the boundaries between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ are less clear-cut in the country since people share the same slang and habitus. She also pointed out that a lot of rural Pa¯keha¯ know at least some te reo. However, as the population is growing, things are changing – both in the city and in the countryside and relationship networks are being transformed. For Hine, and this was a central point in other cases as well, the whenua, or the land to which she belongs, plays an important role in regard to her sense of

230

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

comfort and belonging. Even though she feels at home in the city, her tu¯rangawaewae (a place for the feet to stand) is elsewhere; therefore she has a manuhiri (guest, visitor) status. As she told me, this is why her friendships back home seem to matter a lot more; and they feel ‘more real’. Hine’s friends back home are Ma¯ori; most of them are also her cousins, her wha¯nau. Her friends in the city are also Ma¯ori but, as she says, they are ‘different Ma¯ori’; a lot of them come from other regions of Aotearoa New Zealand and they have different iwi (tribe) affiliations. For Hine iwi (tribe) membership is significant, as is whether you can claim tangata whenua (local people, people of the land) status or not. This is something that connects her intimately to many of her Ma¯ori friends in the city. Furthermore, she feels that friendships work differently in the city and in the countryside: Whereas in Auckland, Hine meets her mates at the bar, dressed up nicely, or they go for a coffee, in the countryside they meet at their homes or at the pub where people wear gumboots and shearing shirts. People know her, and she knows them. This is also why she feels that her connections back home are ‘more real’. Homophily applies here on different levels: cultural identification, socio-economic status, rural background, manuhiri/ tangata whenua (guest/host) status, as well as shared interests, activities, tastes and values. Hine uses Ma¯ori and English friendship terminology, often interchangeably, to refer to her significant others (see chapter 6.1.3). When she talks about friendship, she talks very broadly about positive or friendly relations between individuals, but also between wha¯nau (extended family), hapu¯ (subtribe), iwi (tribe), or peoples. Like Te Ahu, she includes her nieces and nephews in her notion of friendship as well as other wha¯nau relations. The idea of a wider egooriented personal kin universe of whanaunga (relatives) comes to mind (see chapter 2.2.2). At the core of all of this lies a specific notion of relatedness modeled on the wha¯nau, one that is based on kotahitanga (unity), whanaungatanga (kinship in its widest sense) and on tangata whenua-manuhiri (guest-host) relations. Like Rahuia, Hine emphasizes the central idea of being embedded in a complex web of social ties that is expressed in the notion of whakapapa (genealogy): [F]or me the underlying, the glue in that whole scenario is about links, so if you dislike somebody, or if you chop them off, then you’ve disowned that whole whakapapa (genealogy) (…) [but] somewhere up the line, or down the line you’re gonna be linked (…). You can’t just chop the link (…). The collective, relationships are really important. Well, for Ma¯ori one thing does not ever, ever, ever, ever exist in isolation (…). [For example,] I’m Hine but my name (…) belongs to [my home town] (…). Not all people are like that but I am (…). I’m such an iwi-ist (…)

Friendship worlds in practice

231

Because I don’t exist in isolation to anybody else. I’m my father’s88 child, (…) and he is his father’s child and ultimately at the end of that (…), we’re from the land (…).

From this perspective, the individual is embedded in an intricate web of social relations that encompasses the living, the dead as well as those to come. Belonging is subsumed under the three ‘wh’, i. e., wha¯nau (extended family), whakapapa (genealogy) and whenua (land). This is a central point. What Hine is describing here goes back to Schwimmer’s (1990) observation of the pervasiveness of the principles of whakapapa (as an exclusive, vertical descent ethic that enables restructuring; literally ‘to place in layers’) and whanaungatanga (as an inclusive, horizontal kinship ethic that unites people; literally ‘the making of relations’). Hine’s relationship chart (see Figure 7 for an anonymized depiction) also reflects this inclusiveness of her social universe. Her ‘inner circle’ she termed ‘people’. It includes her ancestors as well as her immediate and extended family, her close hoa or friends and her animals. As she explained, they are people directly related to who she is and who she constructs herself as. She divided the circle in two halves, one half for those who have passed on but who she feels are walking with her all the time, and the other half for those who are still in this world. Spinning outwards in Hine’s chart we find ‘places’, i. e., significant experiences, the community, her iwi (tribe), hapu¯ (subtribe), her maunga (mountain) and her awa (water) by which she identifies herself. In the third circle she locates ‘practices’: school, work, sports, hobbies, food, and income. As she said, from a Ma¯ori perspective, all of this together describes the relations between herself (‘I’, or ahau) to her wha¯nau (extended family), her hapu¯ (subtribe) and her iwi (tribe); together they form the word awhi (to embrace, foster), i. e., one of the core wha¯nau values. After reflecting on the place of friendship within this model, Hine concluded that there exist indeed different conceptions of friendship: a Pa¯keha¯ version based on interpersonal affection, and a Ma¯ori version that is grounded in the wider social universe: Friendship, not only just in the term, is a Pa¯keha¯ concept because Ma¯oris have more enduring [relationships], relationships matter more and those relationships are stuff that doesn’t belong solely to you. (…) [F]riendships are something that Pa¯keha¯ have because they like somebody. I have a friendship with somebody because they meet those things [whakapapa, whenua, wha¯nau].

For Hine, the values associated with wha¯nau are pivotal for the understanding of a Ma¯ori perspective on the idea of friendship. The Ma¯ori figured world of wha¯nau encompasses practices and ideas relating to manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), wha¯ngai (to nurture, foster) and aroha (unconditional 88 She refers to her father since he is her link to te ao Ma¯ori. Her mother is of Pacific descent.

232

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Practices Places People

„I“

Figure 7: Hine’s relationship chart

love, affection, empathy) as well as tautoko (support), mana (authority, power, prestige), etc. – conceptions that cannot be easily translated into English terminology. And while Hine does not think this prevents Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ from having friendships with one another, she still believes that it frames their relationships in a particular way. For instance, Hine works in an environment in which Ma¯ori, Pa¯keha¯ and Pacific peoples work together on a day-to-day level. While the collaboration works well, she nevertheless detects significant differences in regard to communal versus individualistic interaction as well as work-styles. In the following she describes an example of how the notion of tautoko (support) can be misinterpreted by Pa¯keha¯ colleagues: [W]e were trying to get our report done yesterday (…) we’re sitting with the Admin, (…) there was four of us (…), we were just doing the tautoko stuff (…). Then the boss walks out and she says, “Oh, are you alright Rose, you’ve got all these people standing behind you breathing down your neck.” (…) She completely misread the situation. We were there because she, Rose, was helping us (…). It was a joke, but in the jokes you see the salient differences (…). [A]t the end of the day I thought, “That’s how foreign the idea of the collective is to Pa¯keha¯,” ‘cause she couldn’t even get that we were there to help (…). And what does it have to do with friendship, well a lot, because friendship for Ma¯ori (…) is support, it’s about the, “If we go over, we’ll all go over the waterfall.”

I already quoted a part of this story in the chapter on the importance of kotahitanga and communality. As I mentioned, Hine was half-joking, but she made

Friendship worlds in practice

233

the point that there are significant differences between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ ways of framing friendship. Hine has four Pa¯keha¯ friends. Like other New Zealanders she feels that Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ share many significant understandings and values. However, in order for her friendships with Pa¯keha¯ to work, she feels that her friends also need to respect her as an indigenous person of Aotearoa New Zealand, and they need to be aware of the fact that Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ are not equal in regard to power sharing, or socio-economic inequality factors. Since her status as tangata whenua permeates every aspect of her professional and her private life, it is also significant in regard to trust and intimacy in her friendships with others. For Hine, shared political, cultural and social values cut across ethnic boundaries. In her social universe, non-Ma¯ori can cross over the boundaries between friendship and wha¯nau just like Ma¯ori can – as long as they show some understanding and respect for the values associated with wha¯nau. In order for a person to enter into an intimate bond with Hine within her social universe, he or she may either come from within, as a part of the wha¯nau, or via the outer circles, i. e., via shared practices and places. Manaakitanga (hospitality, the extension of care towards others) and whanaungatanga (kinship in its widest sense) are the wha¯nau principles that allow for the possibility of strangers, or non-kin relations, to enter into the Ma¯ori world of wha¯nau. Both were very prominent in my research. Whereas whanaungatanga is identified as the domain of the self, or ‘us’, manaakitanga is associated with the domain of ‘others’, which may be temporarily included as ‘us’ by being cared for as manuhiri (guests) (cf. Gagn¦ 2004:180, Metge 1995). Manaakitanga and whanaungatanga reinforce commitment in the wha¯nau and imply responsibilities to wha¯nau members and other relatives. They also allow for strangers the possibility of temporary acceptance in the group, for instance, during celebrations and tangihanga (funerals) (Gagn¦ 2004:179). At the occasion of formal gatherings, the po¯whiri (ritual of encounter, welcome ceremony) ritually transforms the status of manuhiri (guest) to a tangata whenua (host) status (in a restricted sense) for the duration of the visitor’s stay. The outsider status is temporarily transformed into an insider, a wha¯nau status. Applied to friendship, an outsider or stranger is being welcomed as a guest, a manuhiri; over time this person becomes part of the wha¯nau, of the people. By becoming wha¯nau difference becomes irrelevant; it is ‘neutralized’, as Hine put it. When I enquired about falling out of or leaving the wha¯nau, Hine referred to the principle of ahi ka¯ (the burning fires of occupation). Ahi ka¯, or ahi ka¯ roa is a principle that refers to a title to land through occupation by a group who can trace back a connection to their ancestors, who lived off the land and who held (some) influence over it thereby keeping their fires burning. As Hine put it, while you cannot disconnect a friend from the universe of whakapapa (genealogy),

234

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

whenua (land) and wha¯nau (extended family), you may still withdraw from the friendship. Just like a fire that is no longer kept burning, friendships may grow cold. In principle, in friendships with non-Ma¯ori the connection through whakapapa (genealogy) is missing. Thus, – in principle – such a bond may be dissolved or ‘cut off ’. Just like manuhiri (guests) and tangata whenua (local people, hosts) are temporarily bound together as wha¯nau in the ritual of the po¯whiri, friendships between Ma¯ori (tangata whenua) and non-Ma¯ori (manuhiri) could, in theory, be framed as temporary. However, this violates the ideas of stability inherent in the notion of wha¯nau. Furthermore, this possibility was never acknowledged openly. Even if you leave the intimate sphere of the wha¯nau, you may still be ‘just a friend’. The idea of being linked by whakapapa and whanaungatanga is particularly significant for Ma¯ori actors like Hine who speak te reo, who know their whakapapa (genealogy) and who choose to identify strongly with Ma¯ori. People such as Rua, who may know only some parts of their whakapapa (genealogy), who feel more insecure and sometimes even at unease in te ao Ma¯ori, who haven’t grown up in an extended family, whose personality is less extraverted than Hine’s and who find it difficult to reach out to others, conceptualize their social universe in very different ways. For them, friendship may stay mainly within the Pa¯keha¯ world and within the realms of Pa¯keha¯ ‘friendship’. But there are also those who have – very pro-actively and consciously – retraced their taha Ma¯ori. They have accessed the figured world of wha¯nau and have taken on, or (re-)learned its values and principles. And while they have transformed its meanings in the process of engaging with this figured world, they have reconstructed themselves. The following example by Katerina shows how the figured world of the wha¯nau is also linked to processes of place making and belonging as Ma¯ori in mainstream Pa¯keha¯ society. Katerina: this is te ao Ma¯ori, my world Katerina89 is a Ma¯ori woman in her fifties for whom relationships take a center stage in life. She cherishes all of her friendships regardless of age, gender, socioeconomic or ethnic background, or cultural affiliation. Katerina lives in a small rural settlement near Auckland. She is married to a Ma¯ori man, with whom she has adult children and grandchildren. In her immediate neighborhood live other Ma¯ori families, most of whom are affinal wha¯nau relations, as well as Pa¯keha¯ families. Apart from her wha¯nau, the population in her wider neighborhood is predominately Pa¯keha¯, even more so than in her work environment in the city. At her workplace she spends most of her time. At the beginning of chapter 7.2.1, I quoted her as lacking Ma¯ori friends in her work environment. 89 For a shorter analysis of her case see also, Brandt and Heuser (2011).

Friendship worlds in practice

235

Katerina feels she was raised more or less like a Pa¯keha¯, that is, without knowledge of whakapapa (genealogy), of te reo, or of tikanga (customs). She grew up in her nuclear family far away from her extended wha¯nau relations. Like other Ma¯ori families at the time, her parents had decided to raise their children ‘the Pa¯keha¯ way’ in order to make them fit for life in society. As a child, being Ma¯ori for Katerina was associated with feelings of inferiority and encounters of racism. In later life, this led to personal identity crisis and subsequent search for cultural and spiritual healing. She talks of this search in terms of a personal journey.90 Reconnecting with her wha¯nau relations as well as to her ancestral places was a major part of this search. When I first met Katerina some ten years ago, she had enrolled in a te reo class as part of her effort at reclaiming her cultural heritage. Nowadays, she actively embraces and expresses her Ma¯ori identity, for instance, by wearing a moko, the traditional Ma¯ori tattoo. Katerina is positively identifiable as Ma¯ori, an identity she ensures is respected by others. Despite – or because of – this strong sense of cultural difference, and pride in being a Ma¯ori woman, Katerina nowadays interacts easily and comfortably in both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ environments. Her social network extends into the artistic and activist Ma¯ori scene, however, most of her day-to-day friendships are relationships with Pa¯keha¯ and non-Ma¯ori friends, or hoa at her workplace. Katerina maintains a number of cross-cultural friendships with New Zealanders of Asians or Pacific ancestry, for instance, but also with non-New Zealanders. While she contemplates the lack of Ma¯ori friends at her workplace, she enjoys mingling with people of diverse affiliations and backgrounds. Her cultural identification as Ma¯ori is important to Katerina in her relationships. As she says, she makes sure that people respect her culture and her person. This resembles Kahu’s or Hine’s accounts on the importance of being respected as a Ma¯ori. Like them, Katerina detects important differences between her friendships with Ma¯ori and those with Pa¯keha¯ : What is the difference? Probably a shared ancestry, I don’t mean like the same whakapapa [genealogy], I mean (…) shared effects of colonization. I mean I don’t have to explain to a Ma¯ori why I don’t speak te reo, for instance (…). Shared experiences from a Ma¯ori point of view, (…) a cultural binding, that’s the difference between my intimate friends who are Pa¯keha¯ and my wha¯nau friends who are Ma¯ori.

The notion of the wha¯nau as an indigenous model of social interaction and relatedness plays a central role in Katerina’s friendship worlds. Wha¯nau for Katerina may refer to several groups of persons: to her extended and immediate 90 I have elaborated on the idea of journeying in regard to cultural healing in my M.A.dissertation (Brandt 2006).

236

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

kin who she does not refer to as friends, to kin who she refers to as friends, to intimate friendships and to other groups that she is a member of but that do not necessarily fit the ‘friend’ category. ‘Wha¯nau friends’ in this context refers to both family members that are family as well as friends, and to Ma¯ori friends who are as close as wha¯nau. While she uses the term predominately in reference to relations with other Ma¯ori, she sometimes employs it to refer to her intimate relations with Pa¯keha¯. Similar to Hine, non-Ma¯ori friends who have displayed a certain degree of understanding and respect for Ma¯ori culture may thus be included as wha¯nau. Katerina goes one step further than most of the other people I talked to. She not only addresses her friends interchangeably as ‘friends’, ‘mates’, or hoa, some of her Pa¯keha¯ friends she also refers to in both Ma¯ori and English kin terminology : She calls them tuakana and teina (older and younger sister), koro (old man), ‘uncle’, ‘aunty’, or ‘sister’ and all of them together wha¯nau. She frames her relationships in Ma¯ori terminology and she teaches her friends the meanings behind these terms. For instance, she explained the principle of tuakana and teina (principle of seniority) to her mate Carin, whom she calls her tuakana (older same sex sibling) because she is older ; and she feels that their relationship has reached a greater level of intimacy because of it. In other cases she doesn’t explain, but ‘lets her actions speak’. By doing so, she tries to share her own lifeworld and her notion of relatedness with her friends. ‘Letting your actions speak’ refers here to the principle of demonstrating loving concern for people (arohanui ki te tangata) (see also, chapter 6.1.5). For Katerina, framing her relationships and her social world in Ma¯ori terms is part of her quest for self-determination as Ma¯ori. As she told me a decade ago, at some point she decided to no longer sit “in a Pa¯keha¯ world being a Ma¯ori”, but to sit in her world, which is te ao Ma¯ori; and it is te ao Ma¯ori because she is a part of this world.91 Like other Ma¯ori actors, Katerina in many ways keeps the two worlds apart. However, by teaching her Pa¯keha¯ friends about Ma¯ori relations and terminology, by introducing them to Ma¯ori music and chants, as well as crafts and arts, she also makes a conscious effort at deconstructing existing boundaries between herself and her Pa¯keha¯ friends. She enjoys doing this because she feels that together they reach a level of understanding that is often lacking in majority society, especially among her generation. Dialogue and participating in each other’s life-worlds through friendship is imagined here as potentially transcending boundaries and opening up new spaces for intercultural dialogue. Nevertheless, her friendship experiences with Pa¯keha¯ remain ambivalent. A good example of this is when she says that she does not have to explain to a Ma¯ori 91 In my M.A.-thesis I quote her under a different pseudonym (Brandt 2006:60).

Friendship worlds in practice

237

why she does not speak the Ma¯ori language (see the above quote). At the time, one of her Pa¯keha¯ friends had commented on her lack of knowledge of te reo. He neither knew of her past experiences and identity crisis, nor of her painful effort at learning te reo. What he had intended as a harmless joke, she experienced as a painful remark that – once more – confirmed for her a general lack of understanding among Pa¯keha¯ towards Ma¯ori. It is this lack of understanding that Katerina feels precludes her from connecting with (some) Pa¯keha¯ as intimately as with (some) Ma¯ori. She experienced the above-mentioned incident in emotionally difficult ways because it brought to the fore the conflict arising from her feeling of cultural difference, a feeling that is rooted in her upbringing ‘the Pa¯keha¯ way’ and her struggle of belonging as Ma¯ori as well as the experience of racism during her childhood. Not only did her friend touch an old wound, but the incidence re-confirmed her sense of being different as a Ma¯ori, thereby reinforcing existing cultural boundaries. In this instance, Katerina brushed aside the conflict by ‘getting over it’: I got over it (…) because I realized that he might have been having a bad day. There’s been a lot of pressure on him lately, (…) so I can forgive him his mistake, and I didn’t need to fight back. [He] doesn’t deliberately set out to hurt, he’s a good person (…).

Katerina trusts her friend enough to assume that he did not mean to cause her pain; by acknowledging that he’s been under pressure lately she contextualizes his remark and maintains her image of her friend as a good person who simply made a mistake. As she said, it comes down to the respective relationship and the individuals involved. They talked about it and the conflict was resolved. For Katerina, relationships are at the very core of te ao Ma¯ori. During one of our conversations she recited the proverb that I quoted in the introductory chapter : “He hono tangata, e kore e motu, ka¯pa¯ he taura waka, e motu.” This is how she explained it to me: A human bond cannot be severed; unlike a canoe rope, it cannot be severed.

This underlines, once again, the idea that human connections cannot be simply broken off. In the above-mentioned incident, Katerina retained her bond by means of communication. Communication is a strategy that is not employed very often, even though it actually resolves conflicts and creates greater understanding and intimacy among friends. In chapter 7.1.2, I mentioned that a Pa¯keha¯ man of Katerina’s generation described how there used to be ‘no difference’ between Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori kids when he was growing up. Many Ma¯ori do not challenge such assertions, even if they feel differently about Ma¯oriPa¯keha¯ relations. When I asked them, they often replied that they do not bother, because of the general lack of understanding and ignorance of such Pa¯keha¯. Katerina has learned to talk about certain issues with all of her friends, Ma¯ori

238

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

and Pa¯keha¯, as long as she feels that they are genuinely open and interested to do so. I remember one incidence very vividly, where Katerina and a Pa¯keha¯ friend of hers talked about the changing relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ : Her friend Donald said that – in his view – the relations between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ were changing. She agreed and added that whereas in her generation Ma¯ori usually had an inferiority complex and Pa¯keha¯ a superiority complex, today the picture had changed and Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ were more often ‘mates’. Donald was surprised and could not understand why someone like Katerina would have felt inferior in her youth. He said he had not felt that back in the days and she replied, “Yes, but you were Pa¯keha¯ and probably many Pa¯keha¯ who were sitting in my [school] classes didn’t feel that way.” Donald said he also did not understand why the actions of some Ma¯ori groups (he was referring to gang members) would have anything to do with colonialism. So Katerina explained to him that if you are stripped of your language and of your culture, then that is the result; that it takes time to recover and that the key to it all was education. Donald saw her point about education being a key ; however, when Katerina said that things would not improve ‘in five minutes’, he countered: “Why couldn’t it happen in five minutes?” He was expressing here a wish of many New Zealanders: that things would ‘move on’ and improve – sooner rather than later. In the end, Donald concluded that he could see ‘it’ a bit better now and they closed the discussion by agreeing that things were changing for the better and that the kids were mixing much more, whether they were Ma¯ori, or Pa¯keha¯, or Chinese, etc. Their discussion was interesting to observe since they had clearly never talked about such issues before. It was unusual in the way that taken-for-granted assumptions were challenged and exchanged by both parties, thereby providing one another with a deeper insight into personal experiences and life-worlds. However, this does not happen very often (in fact, my presence had sparked the conversation), and Katerina still exercises some caution in friendships with Pa¯keha¯. In another instance, Katerina decided to not take a close Pa¯keha¯ friend of hers to a family dinner in order to avoid possible miscommunication and friction: Well, I would like to think that she [her friend] wouldn’t have [offended] but (…) just a “you Ma¯ori” remark. If she says that to me, “you Ma¯oris,” I’ll just say, “you Pa¯keha¯,” don’t worry we’re friends, but if she was to say that in front of my [family] (…). They haven’t had an understanding of the relationship between us so they might take offence with that. (…) [I]t’s a fine balance.

Reflecting back on her decision, Katerina concluded that her friendship follows certain norms that she enjoys; norms that follow their own rules of engagement, but which her family may have taken offence with. Even if friendships work well,

Friendship worlds in practice

239

there often is some reluctance to mix different circles of them because of fear of conflicts and misunderstandings. In this case, Katerina felt that her relationship with her friend is ‘perfect as it is’, just like her relationship with her family. Rather than – quite unnecessarily – exposing people to a potentially uncomfortable situation, she decided to not mix the two. Katerina’s experiences demonstrate well the high degree of sensitivity in and fragility of cross-cultural relations in Aotearoa New Zealand. By calling her Pa¯keha¯ friends wha¯nau, Katerina tries to construct a sense of sameness between herself and her friends.Wha¯nau becomes here an important in-group marker. By framing her friendships with Pa¯keha¯ as wha¯nau, Katerina makes a significant effort at crossing-over a cultural boundary that continues to be problematic for her in terms of identifications and belonging. Nevertheless, her Pa¯keha¯ wha¯nau remains a potential source of friction and insecurity. As a result, certain aspects stay within her Ma¯ori wha¯nau. With them she discusses Ma¯ori land claims and the importance of decolonization and tino rangatiratanga (Ma¯ori sovereignty); they joke about the ‘bloody Pa¯keha¯’, attend hui (meeting, gathering, assembly) together and practice te reo. It is these intracultural relations, above all others, that provide her with a ‘safe’ environment, with emotional as well as material support and stability. As the two cases show, the primacy of the wha¯nau relation in contemporary Ma¯ori society is supported by the empirical data. Central qualities are manaakitanga (extending care to others), aroha (unconditional love, affection, empathy), the notions of tautoko (support, prop up) and a¯whina (help, assist) as well as awhi (embrace, foster), wha¯ngai (nourish, feed, bring up), utu (reciprocity) and the idea of kotahitanga (unity). Consistent with the findings of other researchers such as Schwimmer (1990), Metge (1995) or Gagn¦ (2004) whanaungatanga (sense of family connection) and whakapapa (genealogy) emerged as central principles that pervade Ma¯ori social universes. As the above analysis shows, the world of wha¯nau allows for a conception of friendship that centers on the interrelatedness of individuals and groups within their wider social, natural as well as spiritual universes. The notion of self within this world is ultimately conceptualized as relational. Certainly, a wha¯nau can also be dysfunctional and therefore detrimental to its members and this social institution is often over-idealized. Nevertheless, the importance attributed to being connected (for better and for worse) and the central value placed on relationships as such is wider, more inclusive and more pronounced in the idea of the wha¯nau than in the model of the modern nuclear family, or in the Western-European notion of ‘friendship’. The examples show how different actors employ different friendship semantics by means of which they position themselves in their wider friendship universe and by which they express a specific quality of their friendships. In the

240

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

case of Katerina and Hine, this may imply that they experience some of their friendships as wha¯nau, and others as ‘friendship’, i. e., as Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ variations of relatedness. 7.2.5 In summary: Ma¯ori friendship worlds As the analysis has shown, Ma¯ori life-worlds and friendship experiences are highly heterogeneous. Depending on self-identifications, socialization and opportunity, Ma¯ori, too, tend to socialize with persons with whom they share a number of socio-demographic markers. However, in contrast to their Pa¯keha¯ peers, for many Ma¯ori the dynamics of intra- and cross-cultural friendship making take a different shape. Whereas Pa¯keha¯ often stay within the confines of te ao Pa¯keha¯, most Ma¯ori interact – in one way or another – in both te ao Pa¯keha¯ and te ao Ma¯ori. For them biculturalism is part of their everyday existence; not surprisingly, this is also reflected in their friendship worlds. Ma¯ori, more often than Pa¯keha¯, speak of two separate worlds; their (dis-) comfort in either world depends on their socialization and on their self-identifications in everyday life. Especially Ma¯ori who live in the city and who have relatively high education and income levels report on maintaining mainly friendships within te ao Pa¯keha¯ and with Pa¯keha¯ people (chapter 7.2.1). I gave the example of Tino, who moves comfortably in te ao Pa¯keha¯ and who only rarely encounters culture based boundaries in his friendships. Many of these actors feel that they have grown up ‘more’ or ‘like’ a Pa¯keha¯. For some of them their different ‘sides’ can be problematic in regards to (non-)belonging as Ma¯ori, but not necessarily (chapter 7.2.2). Ma¯ori actors juggle their friendships differently in-between the ‘two worlds’. I tried to illustrate the range of possible ways of managing relations depending on factors such as sense of comfort, personality, or values (chapter 7.2.3). All of the Ma¯ori actors introduced in this chapter have felt some desire to ‘connect’ to te ao Ma¯ori and to learn about Ma¯ori language and culture, to meet other Ma¯ori people and to establish relationships with them. However, as the analysis has shown, they differ in regard to their level of knowledge, in terms of the place that Ma¯oritanga (Ma¯ori culture) plays in their life, in personality, as well as in the degree to which they feel comfortable in their interactions with others (in general and in specific settings). The cases of Kahu, Hemi and Camille exemplify a group of Ma¯ori who, in their adult life, have chosen a strong personal as well as professional focus on te ao Ma¯ori. These actors speak both English and Ma¯ori, albeit at different levels of fluency. Their course of studies is Ma¯oricentered, their workplace is Ma¯ori-centered, their social relationships are Ma¯ori-centered, etc. While this does not preclude friendships with non-Ma¯ori, intimate friendships are for the most part maintained within te ao Ma¯ori and in

Friendship worlds in practice

241

order for a non-Ma¯ori to enter the intimate circle, s/he has to comply to a certain extent with the norms and values of this figured world. This also applies to Hine and Katerina, who fashion their friendship worlds on the notion of wha¯nau, rather than ‘friendship’ or ‘mateship’ (chapter 7.2.4). For Hine and Katerina, both Ma¯ori and non-Ma¯ori can become wha¯nau if they bring with them some degree of understanding – for them as a person, but also for the Ma¯ori world in general. Kahu describes something similar. Since ethnicity and socio-economics intersect in Aotearoa New Zealand in significant ways, this also includes recognition of inequalities between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, as Hine repeatedly underscored. Wha¯nau becomes here an indigenous model of social interaction and cultural proximity or belonging. Then there are those like Te Ahu, for instance, or Josh, who easily move inbetween Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds but who do not pursue as purposefully the advancement of Ma¯ori people in their professional lives. In Te Ahu’s case, the idea of shared philosophies and world-views, of music and arts is paramount in his friendship interaction and supports the idea of the music and arts scene as transcending the bicultural ‘divide’. Josh, on the other hand, feels both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, anyway. His family is bicultural as is his friendship universe. Since he feels like both he does not detect much cultural difference at all. Some of the actors discussed in this chapter have grown up in the city, others in the countryside, some describe themselves as working class, others as middle class, etc. What all of them together show is that we find different types of sociality in Aotearoa New Zealand. We find the worlds of ‘friendship’ and ‘mateship’ that are more often than not constructed as part of te ao Pa¯keha¯, and we find a notion of friendship embedded in the idea of wha¯nau and the values associated with it. This notion of relatedness is wider than ‘friendship’, as it extends the domain of human-to-human interaction and the relation becomes the center of attention, not so much the individuals who engage in the relation. As the case of Katerina in particular has shown, the figured world of wha¯nau can be actively acquired and learned in the process of one’s life. The same applies to ‘friendship’ and ‘mateship’, of course. And while each of these worlds follows its own values and codes, they all overlap and intersect in significant ways. Among the younger generation, we again find increased cross- and transcultural interaction. A firm self-identity in most cases does not imply closure, but provides the self-assurance required to engage comfortably with anyone, anywhere. This is ultimately what enables friendship. As I have argued, ‘culture’ can be many things and difference can be constructed in countless ways, so what exactly constitutes an intra- as opposed to a cross-cultural friendship may be contested. In the next chapter, I will follow up on the relevance of cultural difference in Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendships.

242 7.3

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Which difference counts?

As we have seen, friendship is a highly flexible and context-specific social relation that varies considerably over time and place depending on the individuals who engage in it. My data supports the importance of homophily in friendship maintenance and formation; however, the construction of (perceived) similarity varies considerably. Furthermore, opportunity structures exert substantial influence on friendship making patterns. Similar to other studies, my research shows that friendship formation in Aotearoa New Zealand is structurally marked along age, gender and class, but also ethnicity and culture. The crucial point is that the construction of difference and similarity in friendship is highly dependent on self-identifications, social environment and discourse as well as lived experiences. As I argued, friendship is always tied up with intra- and intersubjectivities. Which part of her/his identity a person may choose to emphasize depends on the specific circumstances s/he is living in at a particular moment in time and place. Difference is both context-specific and strategic; “connections and differences are ‘crafted’ – are the outcome of intellectual and political effort” (Du Plessis and Alice 1998:xvi). This is reflected in a person’s friendship worlds. Which differences or connections a person experiences as relevant in her/his day-to-day life tells us something about the make-up of this life. It also gives important insights into how difference is negotiated. In the following, I will trace out the place and the handling of difference in more detail. Even though cultural difference is rhetorically rendered irrelevant by many Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors, as I already argued, on the level of practice it was the most poignant structuring principle. In some cases, the significance of cultural difference overlapped with other structuring principles, for instance, with gender or socio-economic milieu; in other cases, these ‘other’ aspects were even more significant. However, on the whole it is cultural difference, more so than ethnic, national, gender, age, or economic difference, that effectively makes a difference in my data in regard to how a person engages in different figured worlds of friendship, in regard to which terminology s/he employs, which notions of relatedness s/he draws on, and how s/he structures her/his social universe. In the last part of the discussion (chapter 7.3.3), I take up the special place of ‘best’ friends. As I argue, the most intimate friendships often provide significant spaces in-between, in which Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ friends can negotiate values and challenge each other in a safe environment.

Friendship worlds in practice

243

7.3.1 You either get them or you don’t! The (ir-)relevance of cultural difference To recap (see chapter 6), in friendship, difference and similarity is constructed along shared lifestyles, values and interests, or shared social and economic background. On the ideal level, both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ usually rhetorically render cultural or ethnic difference irrelevant. Like Tilbury (1999), I do not find ethnicity to be salient; however, I find that cultural affiliation plays a significant role in regard to the use of friendship terminology and conceptions, and shared social milieu and (sub-)culture play a role in friendship formation. On the level of practice, people’s social worlds display significant boundaries, which may or may not be perceived as problematic in regard to Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendships. Difference in socio-economic background and education is often more readily acknowledged than cultural difference. This applies in particular to those Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ who are from a lower socio-economic background and who have experienced social upward mobility. Several people reported on maintaining mainly friendships with Pa¯keha¯ because of being in higher stream classes at school, for instance. As ethnicity is conflated with socio-economics and education levels, Pa¯keha¯ as a group are described as different to Ma¯ori or Pacific Island people, but also to Asians, for instance. Last but not least, all actors acknowledge gender difference. However, even though I found significant correlations between gender homophily and perceived closeness, gender homophily is not perceived as problematic in most cases. Sexuality and sexual attraction are sometimes seen as tricky but in most cases this plays a minor role in regard to friendship practices. As already mentioned, in a way, the assertion that ‘culture does not play a role’ in friendship contradicts the ‘culture talk’ referred to in earlier chapters. As I argued, this has to do with the idealized nature of friendship (this includes ‘friendship’, ‘mateship’ as well as wha¯nau) as well as with the importance placed on positive and harmonious Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction. The importance of affection, mutual trust and support, of a shared New Zealand culture, common interest and lifestyles, bicultural family and friendship worlds, shared values, the ideal of human understanding and mutual respect and last but not least, the ideal of cooperative and friendly relations under the notion of bi- and/or multiculturalism were all recurred to by the actors in this study. A strong theme concerned relations in the city as opposed to rural places. As I discussed, especially in the more rural areas, harmony between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ is emphasized discursively. A conjoint rural New Zealand culture is referred to as binding people together in community life. Rural Pa¯keha¯ visit their Ma¯ori friends’ marae (ceremonial center), attend family gatherings, funerals, birthday parties and the like; some Pa¯keha¯ have a basic command of te reo and many meet in the pub, or at clubs. This is supported by my observations as well

244

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

as by my interviewees. Class, culture, gender, and rural versus city life are often conflated in New Zealand friendship discourse under the rather vague notion of a ‘shared background’. However, economic differences are also significant in rural life, for instance, in the case of relations between (predominately Pa¯keha¯) farmers or landowners and (Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯) workers. Still, while such asymmetrical work relationships may be described as friendly, most people do not consider them close friendships. During my research, I once got ‘stranded’ at the local pub of a small country town on the North Island. My car engine had blown up and I was stranded with a car boot full of my belongings and nowhere to go. I called my very dear friends in Auckland who told me to stay put until they could come for my rescue. It was a 500 km drive so I had a lot of time at my hands. I made use of it by chatting to the locals who came to the pub for fish and chips, a couple of drinks, or just chitchat. As the day came to a close, the local workers poured in for an after-work beer or two. Most of them worked on one of the four big local farms, and most were men. They asked me about my car and about my purpose, and when I told them, a lively pub conversation began on the nature of relationships in Aotearoa New Zealand – of the kind that I often observed in such a pub setting. The bottom-line of such conversations among rural workers is usually that ‘race’, or ‘culture’, does not play a role, but class does. At that particular pub, Adam, a Pa¯keha¯ sheep farm worker in his thirties told me that his two best mates were Ma¯ori and that “around here” ‘culture’ did not make a difference at all. When a friend or one of his family members dies, Adam, like many other rural Pa¯keha¯, goes to the funeral – whether it is a tangihanga at the marae, or a ceremony at the local church. He also goes and sees the family and he maintains his relations with the family. For Adam, it is his shared background as a worker that connects him with workers in Aotearoa New Zealand, but also overseas. For him, friendship is about mutual support and understanding – ‘no matter what’. Working together, drinking together, fighting together is the ‘stuff ’ that friendship is made out of according to Adam. He is a good example for the thriving of the idea of ‘mateship’ among working class males. Both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ workers, especially in the countryside, often confirmed his account to me. As I was moving between different places (rural and urban), I often noted that the popular image of cooperative rural relations is not only discursively reproduced but also practiced in day-to-day life. Nevertheless, I also observed that Ma¯ori workers in rural areas, too, adapt to their Pa¯keha¯ friends, for instance, by pronouncing Ma¯ori words with an English accent or by not commenting on some issues such as Treaty claims. The above discussion of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori friendship worlds not only shows their great heterogeneity but the flexibility in which ‘culture’ is constructed within these worlds by different actors. As I emphasized, just exactly what may

Friendship worlds in practice

245

be constructed as intra- as opposed to cross- or trans-cultural is highly debatable, and it certainly does not fit static group categories of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori. More so than being Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯, membership in certain ‘sub’-cultures was regarded significant in friendship, for example, certain music and arts scenes, or professional fields. While the actors used the term ‘culture’ in such a broad way, I believe that Bourdieu’s notion of habitus actually provides a more accurate depiction of what they are alluding to (see also, chapter 1). In any case, the intersectionality of class, ethnicity or ‘race’, culture, gender, lifestyles, etc. needs to be accounted for when considering the construction of difference and ‘culture’ in New Zealanders’ relationships. Many actors broke the defining characteristics of friendship down to mutual attraction and personality. “You either get one another or you don’t!” was a widely used expression. However, I also pointed out that there exist fears of misunderstanding, especially among Ma¯ori. As thirty-two-year-old Matua told me: The worst Pa¯keha¯ are those who think they get it but they don’t.

This is also a commonly heard expression. All in all, Ma¯ori more readily acknowledge cultural difference in their interaction with significant others, even if they regard other differences as more important. Furthermore, they tend to be more critical as to the perceived levels of closeness in Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ friendships. Nonetheless, there is an understanding that as long as you observe and respect difference, people get along rather well; and since friendships are ultimately based on personal attraction and shared values, they can cut across any kind of boundaries. On the level of practice, this means that actors balance difference. How they do this is the topic of the subsequent analysis. 7.3.2 ‘Making it work’ – handling difference in friendship In every friendship difference needs to be accommodated. This can be accomplished by means of acknowledging difference, by negotiating it, or by constructing similarity. It can also be achieved by means of ignoring conflict or glossing over differences. As the analysis of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ case studies has shown, the actors in this study tend to ignore or gloss over difference as well as conflict in friendship. Their motivation to do so is, on the one hand, the maintenance of positive relations, on the other hand, the display of respect for difference and the granting of relationship autonomy. As I showed, cross-cultural interaction is ultimately experienced as rewarding by most actors and it is seen as creating deeper levels of understanding and reducing anxieties. For some, cross-cultural friendships offer something ‘new’ and different that they want to ‘add’ to their lives.

246

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

Since friendship is an interactional accomplishment, adaptation – to the other’s ways and needs – is an integral part of it. Adaptation in friendship may imply finding shared topics of conversation, but also social environments. This is why actors practice their friendships differently in different spaces, and why Ma¯ori actors in particular adapt so easily to the different worlds they engage in. As I showed, some keep their Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ friendship worlds apart because there is ‘no need’ to mix, or they do so in order to avoid divergence. A recurrent theme in Ma¯ori accounts of potential conflict were political issues, in particular in regard to Ma¯ori’s indigenous status and the place of the Treaty, as well as the claim settlement process. Among friends, these topics are sometimes discussed, but not very often. The following account by Aperama is a good example: [W]e’re (…) watching the news and there’s this thing about Tame Iti and the Treaty of Waitangi (…), talking about (…) claims and stuff like that. And there was this Pa¯keha¯ girl sitting in the room, (…) future wife of one of my good mates, Ma¯ori mates. And (…) there was me and a few other Ma¯oris, (…) we were listening to this and she piped up and said this ridiculous thing about it. We just all looked at her and didn’t say anything and just turned back to the TV. No one said anything even though they all wanted to bite her head off. Yes. Yeah, you have to allow room.

Even though Aperama and his friends “wanted to bite her head off”, they did not say anything in order “to allow room”. As he explained, it was also about respecting the private space of her and her partner, where they were watching the news coverage. However, Aperama also explained that such divergent viewpoints effectively inhibit a closer bond. Not talking about certain topics may thus preclude a more intimate relationship; on the other hand, it allows him to at least maintain a friendly relationship. Mike uses a similar strategy in such situations. As the partner of a Ma¯ori woman he often feels caught in the middle of conflicting political viewpoints: I guess (…) controversial things like, the Treaty claims (…), on the one hand (…) my Mum quite often moans, “Oh, that’s not fair, they’re trying to get all that,” (…) and then on the other hand, I might have Tina’s Grandma saying, you know, “We should have all this. It should be like that,” (…) different people having different views (…) [and me] kind of, just trying to be neutral (laughter).

Mike, too, tries to evade conflict in such situations. Whatever the structural and/ or personal reasons for this strategy, one of the outcomes is that whereas many Ma¯ori actors detect a difference in their friendships with Ma¯ori and with Pa¯keha¯ (however vague or strong this difference may be), their Pa¯keha¯ friends often do not detect any difference. Unless they actively try to engage with the ‘other’ world, Pa¯keha¯ often stay ‘on the outer’. The cultural construction of spaces and

Friendship worlds in practice

247

behavior plays a crucial role here: language changes, behavior changes, food changes, music changes, the humor changes depending on who is around. The fragility of commonality as a basis for friendship is particularly salient in situations where one party is more comfortable and ‘at home’ than another. Discomfort and unease may be overcome by coming half-way. For example, one Ma¯ori interviewee told one of her close Pa¯keha¯ friends that she misses the physical closeness or ‘touch’ sometimes in Pa¯keha¯ environments, and the friend responded to her need by allowing for more physicality in the friendship. Reversely, Ma¯ori are often aware that other cultures feel uncomfortable in face of so much touching and kissing and sharing physical space. I often noticed that nonMa¯ori such as myself are accommodated in Ma¯ori spaces, for instance, by shaking hands instead of kissing, or by kissing instead of pressing noses (hongi). Ma¯ori often told me about ‘the little things’ that they observe, for instance, certain tikanga (customs) such as not sitting on a table, not placing a hairbrush on the table, or not cutting hair and nails at night. Some of these tikanga (customs) are fairly well known in mainstream society and people try to respect them in their interaction with Ma¯ori, others are not so well known. Sometimes, those who violate tikanga (customs) are gently corrected. This is especially the case in Ma¯ori spaces such as the marae (ceremonial center). What usually happens is that someone quietly approaches the person violating the tikanga (for example, the visitor who sits or leans on a table), and softly points out and explains the correct behavior. I observed this at many occasions. The idea is to educate, but also to foster mutual respect. I have also observed such corrective measures in other spaces, for instance, in a nightclub, where it resulted in conflict since the other part took offence. These are instances when the boundaries between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds become visible. But people differ as to the place that they give certain customs or norms. There is considerable variance in both the understanding and the observance of tikanga (customs) and whereas some explain and in a way ‘educate’ their friends and partners, others do not regard this as important. As Miriama said, the idea of ‘educating’ her friends feels a bit ‘plastic’, i. e., it violates her notion of friendship as a symmetrical affective relationship. ‘Educating’ may not only create asymmetry but also discomfort. Feeling comfortable, however, is an important quality in friendship. Since Miriama is sharing a flat with non-Ma¯ori people, she gives more priority to relaxed cohabitation rather than to tikanga. The following example by Beth shows how her own and her friends’ friendship values and modes of communication clashed in a particular instance. Even though she usually tries to ignore conflict, in this instance, Beth felt the need to raise the issue with her friends:

248

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

I was going to have dinner with some mates (…), Ma¯ori and Pacific Islanders (…), and they’ve just got really bad communication. And I cooked this massive (…) raw fish in coconut milk platter and then, just before I was supposed to go (…) I just texted one of my mates to see if (…) it was (…) still happening and she’s like, “Oh no it’s not.” (…) I’d spent all this money on, you know, making everyone’s food (…) and it really annoyed me. (…) I was like, “Okay, fine,” but then I did, I did tell her about a week later and her whole family apologized and I felt really bad ‘cause (…) I’d made this big issue about it. (…) Like, they’re really relaxed (…), so relaxed they’re almost horizontal (…) and (…), you know, it’s Ma¯ori time, it doesn’t even mean anything sometimes.

Her friends and her family were completely taken aback when they found out that they unintentionally had hurt Beth’s feelings. For Beth, talking about it resolved the conflict, but it did not dissolve the awkwardness of the situation because she feels that in the future her friends will make an extra effort for her, and this by itself feels a bit awkward. However, she also feels that they are more aware of each other’s needs and sensitivities now. And where Beth adapts by making allowances for ‘Ma¯ori time’ and being ‘more relaxed’, her friends adapt by accounting for her communication needs. Learning about the other as well as about oneself is an important part of friendship for many people. Actors like Linda or Liz want to learn about te ao Ma¯ori and to connect to this world. Especially learning te reo is often described as furthering an understanding of and for te ao Ma¯ori as well as for te ao Pa¯keha¯. Beth and her friends learned something about each other through this incidence. Learning can become a process of mutual engagement that fosters tolerance and creates spaces in-between in which individual actors negotiate different worlds. Thus, at least potentially cross-cultural friendships can provide here a space in which culturally sensitive topics or values can be successfully debated and negotiated. However, how difference is accommodated or negotiated depends on how it is constructed, of course. In New Zealand, where culture politics have generated feelings of insecurity and unease in terms of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations and identities, this can pose an obstacle to cross-cultural friendships and reinforce existing social boundaries. I mentioned the relevance of joking as a strategy that serves to playfully acknowledge difference and which establishes comfort, intimacy and common grounds. After the incidence described by Beth, she and her friends joked about it in order to show each other that their relationship had not been injured. By joking about it, they acknowledged each other’s needs, while also signaling that ‘everything is fine’. For many, a similar sense of humor is an important ingredient in friendship. Humor can be both a boundary marker and a bridge for overcoming boundaries. In any case, Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ make allowances and concessions for the other. By doing so, they are able to negotiate difference. A special space for the negotiation of difference is the relationship with the

Friendship worlds in practice

249

‘best’ or closest friend. Since this friendship is a special one, it deserves a subchapter of its own. 7.3.3 ‘Best friends’ – a special case The closest friend, the ‘best friend’ is often an old friend, a friend from school days, with whom one shares the same ‘background’, who knows one inside out and whom one does not even have to see very often in order to feel connected. A best friend is also someone who stays connected, even if the friendship changes. Furthermore, the best friend is a person who takes part in the everyday ‘dramas’ of life and/or who takes a genuine interest. This is why the best friend is often grouped together with close family members in terms of affection, sharing, disclosure and both emotional and practical support. In my discussion of Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori friendship worlds, the best friend was repeatedly referred to as an exception to the rule. For example, Matt’s best friend is Ma¯ori, but most of his other friends are Pa¯keha¯. Tino’s closest friends are Pa¯keha¯ and this does not play a role, except when they discuss Ma¯oridom. Louise mainly socializes with Pa¯keha¯, but her best friend is Miriama, and Miriama usually feels more relaxed around Ma¯ori, but her closest friends these days are two Pa¯keha¯. Similarly, Rangi feels more comfortable with Ma¯ori, except for the case of her best friend, a Pa¯keha¯. The list goes on. In Rangi’s case, her Pa¯keha¯ friend prefers to socialize with Ma¯ori and Pacific people, rather than Pa¯keha¯. Similar to Julie, Rangi’s best friend easily adapts to the rules of wha¯nau interaction and Ma¯ori friendship. This explains why she could become an integral part of Rangi’s family and therefore of both worlds. In other cases, the relationship with the ‘best’ friend provides a safe environment in which conflicting values and viewpoints can be negotiated through mutual engagement. In fact, ‘best’ friends are of particular interest for the understanding of Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relationships. Because of their high level of intimacy and trust, these relationships allow for a relatively high degree of difference and relationship autonomy. In the case of Hemi and his best friend David, for instance, their relationship not only accommodates difference but it allows for the emergence of a space in-between in which they playfully challenge each other and negotiate difference: Hemi calls David his closest, and oldest friend. They have grown up together in the same neighborhood and share a similar socio-economic background. He finds the friendship with his old friend refreshing because they joke about cultural stereotypes and challenge each other’s preconceptions outside politically correct boundaries. He feels that he can be completely open and honest about his views with David, views that differ profoundly from those of his best friend. Hemi describes David as a far right wing person that he usually would not

250

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

befriend. He appreciates his best friend because of their shared history, because they can speak frankly and because they can challenge each other in their beliefs. By challenging each other’s preconceptions, the two friends create in their friendship a space that allows them to playfully joke and to talk about their experiences and views openly outside politically correct boundaries. They construct a creative space in which they reconstruct each other according to their own rules and images. As Hemi explained: We like to sit and talk and sort of debate and joke (…). We make very (…) inappropriate jokes about each other’s race (…). I obviously can’t have that kind of relationship with many other people in the world.

What he alludes to her is the kind of joking behavior that creates complicity, and thereby intimacy (see also, chapter 6.2.4). Hemi’s old friendship with David allows for intercultural dialogue and discussion beyond socially defined boundaries and norms. This is what enables Hemi to be completely relaxed and ‘himself ’. Similarly, Louise and Miriama feel that their friendship is so intimate and safe that they can talk about anything including those issues that Miriama does not talk about with most of her Pa¯keha¯ friends, or that Louise does not dare to ask other Ma¯ori. In sum, close friendship can provide a space in which sensitive issues are being discussed. However, while such friendships may transform individual viewpoints and create greater intercultural understanding on the personal level, their integrative power on the wider societal level remains questionable since the best friend often remains a special case.

7.4

Not that simple: intra – cross – inter – trans

I organized my argument around two main ‘blocks’ that I call ‘Pa¯keha¯ worlds’ and ‘Ma¯ori worlds.’ As I argued, even though New Zealand society provides a culturally diverse social environment in which people interact on a day-to-day basis, and even though New Zealanders of diverse backgrounds recur on the ideal of a culturally diverse and egalitarian society, the rhetoric of cultural diversity cannot be easily translated into New Zealanders’ day-to-day friendship practices and experiences. The idea of ‘two poles’ around which everything revolves is still very much dominant in social discourse, and it is reflected in both Pa¯keha¯’s and Ma¯ori’s friendship worlds. Different actors experience these worlds differently ; and while some move easily in-between, others only have access to certain (parts) of these worlds. Ma¯ori friendship worlds tend to move in-between both Pa¯keha¯ and

Friendship worlds in practice

251

Ma¯ori worlds. The latter is often associated with distinct cultural values such as whanaungatanga (making relations, kinship in its widest sense), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others) and aroha (unconditional love, affection, empathy); it is also associated with specific places or localities. These places may be open for others, or not, and they are usually somehow designated as ‘cultural spaces’. They range from single rooms in educational institutions or at the workplace to separate social institutions; they include marae (ceremonial center) and urupa¯ (cemetery, burial ground), wa¯hi tapu (sacred site) in general, as well as the localities of ‘ethnic’ festivals and political gatherings. As I discussed, Pa¯keha¯ usually do not enter these spaces, unless they have Ma¯ori friends, family, or other concrete reasons to do so. Furthermore, many Ma¯ori also do not engage in these spaces in everyday life. After all, this is why actors such as Rangi, Rua, or Miriama went and searched for them at university. Hence, it is not surprising that Ma¯ori often experience their friendships with Ma¯ori different to their friendships with Pa¯keha¯. However, whether or not they detect cultural difference between themselves and their friends is variable – as is the inter- or transcultural content of these friendships. This depends on several, interwoven factors including socialization and self-identification(s). There is a clear shift in the younger generation towards more transcultural life-worlds. The youth is described as more open and more involved with persons from a diverse range of backgrounds. This is attributed to changing population dynamics, especially in urban areas, and to changing group-images. For young Ma¯ori in particular, there have been major structural improvements on a number of levels in recent years. As a result, Ma¯ori youth is associated with improved living conditions and educational opportunities, with a firm cultural identity, a positive self-image and the ability to engage in positive relationships with others. Similarly, Pa¯keha¯ youth are described as being more open to cultural difference in their relationships with others. In any case, the boundaries between the worlds are permeable and – if anything – fuzzy ; and what exactly is part of the Pa¯keha¯ and what of the Ma¯ori world, and who and what exactly is Pa¯keha¯ or Ma¯ori is debatable. Furthermore, as New Zealand’s social fabric is changing in an increasingly globalized world, identities are diversified and cultural boundaries are shifting. Multiple identifications are the rule rather than the exception and there are innumerous ways of being in the world – regardless of whether one identifies as Ma¯ori, Pa¯keha¯, European, Kiwi, and/or anything else. These multiple identities are nurtured in multiple relationships. The above analysis demonstrates well the deep entanglement of gender, socioeconomic and socio-cultural milieu in the formation of friendships: Even though these factors are hardly ever consciously reflected by the actors, they play a decisive role for the initial establishment and successful maintenance of close

252

New Zealand Friendship Worlds

friendships across all age groups. Because of their relatively informal and situational nature, difference and potential resulting tensions and conflicts can – certainly not in all cases, but remarkably often so – be ignored or bridged in friendships by means of focusing on other commonalities and similarities such as shared interests. Whereas in some cases the perceived difference between self and other can effectively impede on the formation of particularly intimate friendships, in other instances, friendship can offer a safe space in which boundaries and inter-group conflicts may be bridged and even transcended. This can happen through mutual engagement in each other’s worlds. However, since Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction is often confined to te ao Pa¯keha¯, only few friendships open up new spaces ‘in-between’, in which the actors may equivocally articulate self and other and potentially transcend both (cf. Bhabha 1994, 1996). Social life is dynamic and complex, so that the question of what is ‘intra’cultural and what is ‘cross’, where does ‘inter’ start, and what distinguishes it from ‘trans’ cannot be easily answered. The point that I was trying to convey in the above analysis of friendship worlds in Aotearoa New Zealand is the fluidity and changeability of these worlds. Within them the actors create different spaces through mutual engagement, spaces that may overlap and transcend certain boundaries, while creating new ones or redrawing others.

Part Four: Conclusion The logic of human relationships is not as simple as you think. Margaret Mead in a letter to Gregory Bateson, November 26, 194892

In this last part of my investigation into the place of friendship in Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ relations in Aotearoa New Zealand, I will weave together the different strands of analysis (chapter 8). Similar to a piece of flax weaving, together these strands create a larger piece of work that goes beyond its individual components. The weaving of New Zealand flax (phormium tenax) or harakeke is a popular metaphor that is often summoned to refer to relationships. The flax bush (te pa¯ harakeke) is one of the most distinctive native plants. It resembles growth and continuity and it is not only strongly associated with the wha¯nau, but also with Aotearoa New Zealand in general. It therefore provides a suitable metaphor for the subsequent discussion of the implications of my analysis for the study of friendship and for the understanding of inter-group relations in Aotearoa New Zealand. In closing, I point out the limitations of the results and consider some questions for future research (chapter 9).

8

Weaving it all together: the many worlds of friendship

At the starting point of my enquiry into the place of friendship in Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealanders’ lives stood a common belief: relationships are the glue that holds the world together. In part one (chapters 1 to 3), I traced this belief, or philosophy, through Western and non-Western thinking, from ancient Greece to contemporary Aotearoa New Zealand. Instead of delivering a rigid, clear-cut definition or typology of friendship, I argued for a notion of friendship that favors categorical openness and definitional flexibility (chapter 1). In the subsequent analysis of localized friendship conceptions (chapter 2), I traced out ‘friendship’ and ‘mateship’ as local Western-European variants of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand, and I explored the deep entanglement of friendship and kinship, which is particularly evident in Ma¯ori social life and values. As I argued, 92 Quoted in Caffrey and Francis (2006: xxi).

254

Conclusion

the idea of friendship in Ma¯ori society is inextricably linked to the notion of the wha¯nau (extended family) and the idea of a social universe of whanaunga (relatives, relations) that are connected vertically by whakapapa (genealogy) and horizontally by whanaungatanga (kinship in its widest sense). Drawing on the insights of chapter 1 and 2, in chapter 3 I laid out an analytical framework for a contextualized study that accounts for multiple, conflicting meanings and practices of friendship that are embedded in different social worlds. I argued that the notion of ‘figured worlds’ developed by Holland et al. (1998) and their associated theory of identity and culture provides a useful analytical tool for understanding people’s multiple and at times contradictory life-worlds, interactions and lived experiences. As I explained, figured worlds are “socially and culturally constructed realms of interpretation in which particular characters and actors are recognized, significance is assigned to certain acts, and particular outcomes are valued over others” (Holland et al. 1998:52). I argued that this approach is so compelling for the study of friendship – in Aotearoa New Zealand and elsewhere – because from such a perspective actors reproduce cultural knowledge and identity but also innovate, improvise and reconfigure their social and cultural lives in interconnected spaces. The idea of ‘friendship worlds’, which is modeled on the idea of ‘figured worlds’, emphasizes the openness, ambivalence and fluidity of actors’ social relations and opens up the possibility for a contextualized study of friendship and identity, which accounts for play, dialogism, agency as well as power relations. The model of ‘friendship worlds’ enabled me to show that while the idea of two worlds is reproduced in New Zealanders’ friendships, and while the actors are positioned within and in relation to certain of these worlds, but not others, they also actively fashion their lives and their worlds through their engagement with others. They enter some worlds, leave others, or play in them simultaneously. While I modeled the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ on Holland et al.’s (1998) notion of ‘figured worlds’, it ultimately reflects the findings of my (empirical and theoretical) analysis. In part two (chapter 4), I laid out the socio-historical background for the subsequent empirical analysis of New Zealand friendship worlds. Tracing out the social and historical processes that inform group relations until this day, I showed that the colonial heritage of the relationship between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ continues to structure culture discourses and identity politics, and that the construction of difference in contemporary Aotearoa New Zealand is inextricably linked to the idea of a multicultural society based on a bicultural national heritage. As I argued, this is not to deny that difference may also be constructed along other lines, but the analysis of the empirical material showed that the idea of ‘two poles’, around which everything revolves, is also evident in people’s social worlds. Part three (chapters 5 to 7), which I termed ‘New Zealand friendship worlds’,

Weaving it all together: the many worlds of friendship

255

constitutes the main section of this thesis. After specifying my methodological framework (chapter 5), I presented the empirical findings (chapters 6 and 7): In chapter 6, I evaluated New Zealand friendship terminology and the associated ideals and practices. I argued that we find a range of Ma¯ori and English terminology that corresponds to the idea of friendship. In this regard, I found ‘friendship’ and ‘friend’ to be the generic terms used by both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors. Besides these, the use of the word ‘mate’ as a form of address indicated a localized conception of ‘mateship’. Being associated with ideas surrounding male loyalty, independence, resilience, and camaraderie, but also more expressive and flexible elements, I concluded that the New Zealand variant of ‘mateship’ at first sight resembles the idea of ‘neo-mateship’ found by Butera (2008) among Australian men, but that there are important limitations to this finding: While several Ma¯ori men and women(!) use the term ‘mate’ rather extensively, they prefer to conceptualize their relations under the notion of wha¯nau (extended family) as a more inclusive and group-oriented category of relatedness, or friendship. Consistent with the findings in the literature discussed in chapter 2, in te reo Ma¯ori I identified hoa as the generic idiom for ‘friend’ or ‘mate’ and whanaunga (relative, relation) as a term that can be applied to both kin and non-kin relations. My data also support the great flexibility of the notion of the wha¯nau described by other authors, which explains why this kin category can be applied to kin as well as non-kin relations. Finally, in addition to the findings in the literature, which postulate the absence of a separate ‘friendship’ category in Ma¯ori society, I came across the term whakahoanga. After a thorough inspection of the use and meanings of this term, I concluded that whakahoanga is a relatively recent linguistic construction derived from the term hoa (friend, mate) that fills the lexical gap of ‘friendship’ in te reo. Overall, my findings support the idea of multiple, intersecting types of sociality. Both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors, women and men of different ages may draw on these relationship labels and ideas in different ways in order to emphasize relationship content as well as social context. Like Tilbury (1999) in her sociological study, I found a ‘standard story’ of friendship in Aotearoa New Zealand that favors a voluntary, symmetrical and affective bond. By linking the findings of my empirical data with the literature, I could show that this ideal conception is connected to the specific socio-historical and cultural discourses and that it varies significantly when put into social practice. I also confirmed that the patterns of friendship making by both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ actors reveal a strong tendency for homophily along culture and ethnicity as well as age, gender and socio-economical factors. In regard to contents, ‘friendship’, ‘mateship’ as well as wha¯nau and whakahoanga are associated with voluntariness, intimacy and autonomy, trust, reciprocity, some sense of stability as well as affection, understanding, support,

256

Conclusion

disclosure, a sense of community and communication. In te reo these qualities were framed in terms of wha¯nau values, first and foremost the idea of aroha (unconditional love, empathy, affection), whanaungatanga (sense of family connection), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others), tautoko (support, prop up), a¯whina (help, assist) and awhi (embrace, foster), wha¯ngai (feed, nourish, bring up), utu (reciprocity), and kotahitanga (unity, to stand as one). I demonstrated that, in everyday use, there is a great deal of overlapping and intermixing of Ma¯ori and English friendship terminology, and that the boundaries between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ values and norms are in practice fuzzy rather than clear-cut (cf. Gagn¦ 2004). However, the insistence, especially by Ma¯ori, on Ma¯ori-specific conceptions and practices and the assertion that ‘friendship’ is essentially a Pa¯keha¯ conception have to be taken seriously. As I argued, the idea of a more community-based ethos among Ma¯ori and a more individualist ethos among Pa¯keha¯ proved to be pervasive on the level of self-representations and identifications and is also reflected in social interaction patterns. My analysis supports here the close interrelation between language use and identity construction as well as socialization described by Kulick (1992) and other linguistic anthropologists. As we have seen, identity is construed as multiple, processual and situation-specific. Which part of his/her identity a person may choose to emphasize depends on the specific circumstances s/he is living in at a particular moment in time. Similarly, the choice to reject the notion of ‘friendship’ as a Western/Pa¯keha¯ concept is a political choice in a particular socio-political and economic setting, in which the need for self-determination is linked to the rejection of Western terminology. The crucial point is that the actors decide themselves which part of their identity they choose to emphasize, or “what difference counts” (Johnston 1998:36). In Aotearoa New Zealand, culture is used as a strategy for coping with postcolonial power relations and for safeguarding Ma¯ori interests (cf. Greenland 1991:92). This is evident in assertions of culture-specific friendship conceptions and in the persistence of the idea of ‘two worlds’ – te ao Ma¯ori and te ao Pa¯keha¯ –, which emerged as an important structuring principle in my data. In chapter 7, I explored how the idea of dual worlds corresponds to the idea of different friendship worlds. I looked at how individual actors engage in and experience their relations with people who they call ‘friends’, ‘mates’, or hoa; how they construct themselves and others in these relationships; and how this is linked to different friendship terminologies and conceptions. I argued that individual friendship worlds differ according to identifications, individual lifeworlds, experiences and socialization. Some of these figured worlds of friendship are located in the Ma¯ori world, others are located in the Pa¯keha¯ world, still others go beyond and transcend the

Weaving it all together: the many worlds of friendship

257

idea of ‘two worlds’. Ma¯ori actors often move in-between both Pa¯keha¯ and Ma¯ori worlds and maintain their friendships in both of them. How they do so varies greatly, as the analysis of the case studies demonstrated. Ma¯ori friendship worlds are often associated with distinct cultural values such as whanaungatanga (sense of family connection), manaakitanga (hospitality, extending care to others) and aroha (unconditional love, affection, empathy). They tend to be associated with specific places, and while these places may be open for others, they are usually somehow designated as ‘cultural spaces’, i. e., as part of te ao Ma¯ori. As I showed, Pa¯keha¯ usually do not enter these places unless they have Ma¯ori friends, family, or other concrete reasons to do so. In fact, Pa¯keha¯ who consciously make an effort at crossing over from te ao Pa¯keha¯ to te ao Ma¯ori may encounter significant boundaries that prevent them from connecting more intimately across the worlds. Reversely, Ma¯ori may encounter significant boundaries in their interactions with Pa¯keha¯ – along cultural, but also along economical or social lines. Finally, many Ma¯ori also do not engage in Ma¯ori spaces on a day-to-day basis. Hence, while some actors – Ma¯ori or Pa¯keha¯ – move easily in-between, others only have limited access to these worlds. Against this background, it is not surprising that the two worlds persist and that Ma¯ori often maintain rather separate friendship worlds, whereas Pa¯keha¯’s social worlds tend to stay within te ao Pa¯keha¯. The analysis of the empirical data thus showed that even though Aotearoa New Zealand provides a culturally diverse social environment in which people interact on a day-to-day basis, the rhetoric of cultural diversity is not easily translated into New Zealanders’ day-to-day social practices. In fact, the idea of two worlds is reflected in people’s personal relations and the popular rhetoric of cultural diversity does not quite match the rather limited cross-cultural friendship practice – at least where Pa¯keha¯ are concerned. However, whether or not actors detect cultural difference between themselves and their friends is highly variable – as is the inter- or trans-cultural content of their friendships. This depends on several factors including socialization and self-identification(s) (see chapter 7). I argued that the boundaries between the worlds are in practice permeable and fuzzy ; and that what exactly is part of the Pa¯keha¯ and what of the Ma¯ori world, and what exactly is a Pa¯keha¯ or a Ma¯ori is debatable. As New Zealand’s social fabric is changing, multiple identifications are the rule rather than the exception and there are innumerous ways of being in the world. These multiple identities are nurtured in multiple relationships. The above analysis demonstrated the deep entanglement of gender, socioeconomic and socio-cultural milieu in the formation of social relations: Even though these factors are hardly ever consciously reflected on, they play a decisive role for the initial establishment and maintenance of close relations across all age groups. I argued that opportunity constitutes a crucial influence in the friend-

258

Conclusion

ship formation process. For increasing cross- and trans-cultural interaction to ‘happen’, interaction in shared social spaces needs to be encouraged. These spaces need to be associated with an environment of comfort and trust in which actors of different backgrounds can meet on equal terms. Only then can they successfully establish those initial connections so essential for the formation of close personal relationships that go beyond the everyday ‘meet-and-greet’ interaction. For now, we find rather limited yet growing interaction across the boundaries of social, cultural and economic life in present-day Aotearoa New Zealand. Only few of the friendships discussed above (chapter 7) hold the potential to open up new transcultural spaces ‘in-between’ (cf. Bhabha 1994, 1996). Nonetheless, I detected a clear shift in the younger generation towards more transcultural lifeworlds. Increasing openness among the youth was explained with the changing population dynamics, especially in urban areas, and with changing group-images. In the case of Ma¯ori youth, the benefits of the Ma¯ori renaissance have led to improved living conditions and educational opportunities, as well as to positive cultural identifications. Ultimately, this facilitates their ability to engage in positive relationships with others. In combination with an increasingly diversified social environment both Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ youth tend to engage more readily in cross- and trans-cultural relationships than their parents’ or grandparents’ generations. This shows that a socialization in multiple socio-cultural settings and life-worlds not only goes along with multiple identities, but that it is a major contributor to acquiring the social skills required for the establishment of successful cross-cultural friendships in later life. But it does not stop here. The analysis shows that as Pa¯keha¯ engage with te ao Ma¯ori, they also take on certain values and ideals of interaction and relatedness. By doing so, they re-produce and transform these principles as well as themselves. The conception of friendship worlds underscores the idea of actors engaging with different worlds, which they simultaneously reproduce and change in the process. Applied to the idea of moving between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ figured worlds of friendship, this means that each world is transformed and changed by participation in one as well as the other. The dual worlds of Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ are thereby reproduced, but also playfully shifted. The idea of transdifference described in chapter 1 captures this constant blurring and redrawing of boundaries between Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ worlds. This is also why some people prefer to identify as a New Zealander or Kiwi. All actors emphasized the importance of belonging to Aotearoa New Zealand, and while Ma¯ori claim a special status and connectedness as tangata whenua (indigenous persons), all of them recognized the place of Pa¯keha¯ and the importance of establishing significant positive social relations with all New Zealanders – regardless of social, cultural, ethnic, economic, or religious back-

Weaving it all together: the many worlds of friendship

259

ground. As I showed, the idea of a conjoint culture as New Zealanders can – under certain circumstances – provide important points of reference that hold the potential to go beyond the dual worlds of te ao Pa¯keha¯ and te ao Ma¯ori. At the same time, social inequalities and the need, especially by Ma¯ori, to protect cultural distinctiveness remain important factors in this contested field of power relations. For friendships across cultural (and other) boundaries, this means that the actors have to find common denominators that go beyond the notion of ‘culture’ (e. g., lifestyle, values). This is where the potential of this study for the understanding of Ma¯oriPa¯keha¯ relations lies. I believe it is only if we understand how people engage with one another on positive and constructive terms that social integration and tolerance can be practiced to such an extent that the ideal image of a multicultural society modeled on a bicultural heritage can be approximated in people’s social lives. One of the important findings of this study is that even though existing structural inequalities and opportunity structures limit Ma¯ori-Pa¯keha¯ interaction, the patterns of social interaction are slowly changing and more and more New Zealanders are starting to ‘step out’ of the confines of the ‘dual’ worlds, thereby creating more diversified social spaces in which more diversified relationships can be practiced. This is also where the potential of this study beyond the New Zealand context lies. The New Zealand example shows how people in a postcolonial society deal with difference in their relationships in their day-to-day lives. In other postcolonial situations, even if there may not exist a Treaty, indigenous and nonindigenous populations also have to somehow reconcile their (post-)colonial heritage with the pressures and demands of present-day society. As globalizing forces are accelerating, social diversity is increasing in most parts of the world and the challenge of multiculturalism demands practical solutions. In conclusion, what are the theoretical implications for the study of friendship and identity? As we have seen, cross-cultural friendships in Aotearoa New Zealand are inextricably linked to processes of identity making and culture politics. Opportunity, effort, but also comfort and a shared sense of belonging have important political and emotional implications for the ways in which Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ establish self and other in their relationships with one another. I argued that friendship cuts across a variety of conceptions and practices of relatedness that are skillfully juggled by the actors depending on their respective environments, individual experiences and identifications. Friendships emerge as processual and contested phenomena that are lived in multiple ways in interconnected spaces. They constitute highly situational social constructs in which contesting conceptions of self and other are contextualized and (de-) constructed by the actors. The findings thus reflect recent theoretical develop-

260

Conclusion

ments favoring a dynamic conceptualization of culture and identity as processual, multivocal and polyphonous phenomena (see chapter 3.2). I would like to emphasize that friendships, because of their informal and voluntary characteristics, provide an interesting and under-researched site for the study of cross-cultural relations. Because of their great flexibility, they allow for a high degree in the construction of difference and similarity. Difference and potential resulting tensions and conflicts can – certainly not always, but remarkably often – be ignored or bridged in such friendships by means of focusing on other commonalities and similarities such as shared interests. As long as the actors succeed in establishing some common grounds between self and other, the open nature of the friendship category enables them to concentrate on these similarities thereby ignoring or rendering irrelevant potentially dividing factors (which are highly variable). Whereas in some cases the perceived difference between self and other can effectively impede on the formation of close friendships, in other instances friendship can offer a safe space in which boundaries and inter-group conflicts may be bridged and even transcended. This can happen through mutual engagement in each other’s worlds. However, as laid out above, in Aotearoa New Zealand the socio-historical specifics have led to a situation of postcoloniality in which close cross-cultural ties are not as easily established as may be inferred by some theorists. The process is not so much one of simply dissolving difference through the ‘automatic’ construction of hybrid spaces. Rather, it is one of almost playfully shifting and repositioning individual boundaries. The actors do so by drawing on their life experiences, which have equipped them with a particular kind of social sensibility that allows them to juggle these boundaries in constructive ways. The findings thus support Gupta and Ferguson’s (1992) argument for a historically grounded analysis of the production of difference in interconnected spaces and power relations. Above all, they support the idea that actors creatively fashion their lives in dialogue with a multiplicity of sometimes colliding, fractured voices and actions of others. Finally, as a social category that does not offer ascribed social roles, friendship frequently overlaps with other social categories such as the family. In order to understand how actors create such intersections and for what reasons, and how they construct identifications in the process, social research needs to acknowledge the inclusive, dynamic and multifaceted character of friendship. Especially research on cross-cultural friendships must take into account the processes of constructing difference, as well as sameness, through which new relationships and, ultimately, new social spaces may open up. This is why the claim of categorical openness is so essential for understanding the nature of this social phenomenon. It is also the reason why I put forward the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ as an innovative and dynamic analytical frame-

Implications for future research

261

work for the study of friendship. Friendship worlds do both, they simultaneously divide and relate people, and they depend upon interaction and intersubjectivity for perpetuation. Their significance does not derive from holding them ‘in mind’, but from re-creating them by working with others.

9

Implications for future research

Implications for future research arise from the strengths and limitations of the study : First of all, I cannot over-emphasize that the interpretations of the material are my own and are thus influenced by my personal biography, worldview, categories of thought, gender, age, education, class, my relation to the interviewees and many other factors. Another researcher, for instance, a New Zealander, might have interpreted the material differently. I therefore aimed for as much transparency of the research process as possible. Secondly, a qualitative approach drawing on ethnographic methods proved very valuable for understanding how people conceptualize and enact friendship, and how they distinguish it from other relationships. These methods are particularly suitable to uncover the delicate shifts of those in-between spaces in which actors maneuver in their personal relations with one another. I would like to strongly encourage further ethnographic endeavors in this growing field: the anthropology of friendship. I would also like to encourage the use of relationship charts, which I found to be a particularly useful supplementary tool. Furthermore, I would like to point out the great potential of the notion of ‘friendship worlds’ as a flexible and dynamic, yet manageable analytical framework by which to uncover the intricacies of social interaction and change. This framework is highly revealing of how people make sense of their social worlds, how they construct and imagine themselves in their friendships, and of the spaces and places that are relevant in their personal relationships. This allows for a contextualized study of friendship that also accounts for the existence of transnational and global interconnections, which exert increasing influence on people’s lives. Transnational ties were salient for several actors in this study. An investigation into transnational friendship networks would be a worthwhile endeavor that holds the potential to uncover social global forces and their interconnection with global and local identity making processes. Another exciting avenue worth exploring in more detail is the place of nonMa¯ori and non-Pa¯keha¯ people who make a life in Aotearoa New Zealand. When I first planned my research, I imagined including the perspectives of Pacific peoples, Asians and ‘other’ New Zealanders more systematically in my analysis. However, even though I collected data on these people’s friendship experiences,

262

Conclusion

in face of the great complexity and richness of my material as well as the lack of previous research in this area, a comprehensive analysis of all of these different life-worlds proved beyond the confines of this study. Going to the level of contents, an in-depth analysis of these actors’ experiences could also have important implications for the place of instrumental and asymmetric aspects in friendship. An exploratory analysis of my data on these groups points to the existence of further social categories that may be included in ‘friendship’, but which resemble very strongly ties usually subsumed under the label of patronage or clientelism. In any case, the transgressions between friendship and kinship as well as such other relations emerges as an interesting field that can further our understanding of human interaction and relations. Finally, I believe that an anthropological in-depth study of the place of emotions in the friendship conceptions discussed above could enlighten our understanding of culture- and gender-specific modes of sociality. My analysis revealed some interesting tendencies, especially among Ma¯ori men, to conceptualize friendship in rather emotional terms (at least in comparison with their Pa¯keha¯ peers) that are worth following up on.

Appendix

Appendix A: Map of Aotearoa New Zealand

Source of blank map: http://geography.about.com/library/blank/blxnew.htm

264

Appendix

Appendix B: The Treaty of Waitangi – Te Tiriti o Waitangi English Version Preamble HER MAJESTY VICTORIA Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland regarding with Her Royal favour the Native Chiefs and Tribes of New Zealand and anxious to protect their just Rights and Property and to secure to them the enjoyment of Peace and Good Order has deemed it necessary in consequence of the great number of Her Majesty’s Subjects who have already settled in New Zealand and the rapid extension of Emigration both from Europe and Australia which is still in progress to constitute and appoint a functionary properly authorised to treat with the Aborigines of New Zealand for the recognition of Her Majesty’s Sovereign authority over the whole or any part of those islands - Her Majesty therefore being desirous to establish a settled form of Civil Government with a view to avert the evil consequences which must result from the absence of the necessary Laws and Institutions alike to the native population and to Her subjects has been graciously pleased to empower and to authorise me William Hobson a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy Consul and Lieutenant Governor of such parts of New Zealand as may be or hereafter shall be ceded to her Majesty to invite the confederated and independent Chiefs of New Zealand to concur in the following Articles and Conditions.

Article the First The Chiefs of the Confederation of the United Tribes of New

Ma¯ori Version Preamble KO WIKITORIA, te Kuini o Ingarani, i tana mahara atawai ki nga Rangatira me nga Hapu o Nu Tirani i tana hiahia hoki kia tohungia ki a ratou o ratou rangatiratanga, me to ratou wenua, a kia mau tonu hoki te Rongo ki a ratou me te Atanoho hoki kua wakaaro ia he mea tika kia tukua mai tetahi Rangatira hei kai wakarite ki nga Tangata maori o Nu Tirani -kia wakaaetia e nga Rangatira maori te Kawanatanga o te Kuini ki nga wahikatoa o te Wenua nei me nga Motu-na te mea hoki he tokomaha ke nga tangata o tona Iwi Kua noho ki tenei wenua, a e haere mai nei. Na ko te Kuini e hiahia ana kia wakaritea te Kawanatanga kia kaua ai nga kino e puta mai ki te tangata Maori ki te Pakeha e noho ture kore ana. Na, kua pai te Kuini kia tukua a hau a Wiremu Hopihona he Kapitana i te Roiara Nawi hei Kawana mo nga wahi katoa o Nu Tirani e tukua aianei, amua atu ki te Kuini e mea atu ana ia ki nga Rangatira o te wakaminenga o nga hapu o Nu Tirani me era Rangatira atu enei ture ka korerotia nei.

Ko te Tuatahi Ko nga Rangatira o te Wakaminenga me nga Rangatira

The Treaty of Waitangi – Te Tiriti o Waitangi

265

Zealand and the separate and independent Chiefs who have not become members of the Confederation cede to Her Majesty the Queen of England absolutely and without reservation all the rights and powers of Sovereignty which the said Confederation or Individual Chiefs respectively exercise or possess, or may be supposed to exercise or to possess over their respective Territories as the sole Sovereigns thereof.

katoa hoki ki hai i uru ki taua wakaminenga ka tuku rawa atu ki te Kuini o Inga rani ake tonu atu-te Kawanatanga katoa o o ratou wenua.

Article the Second Her Majesty the Queen of England confirms and guarantees to the Chiefs and Tribes of New Zealand and to the respective families and individuals thereof the full exclusive and undisturbed possession of their Lands and Estates Forests Fisheries and other properties which they may collectively or individually possess so long as it is their wish and desire to retain the same in their possession; but the Chiefs of the United Tribes and the individual Chiefs yield to Her Majesty the exclusive right of Preemption over such lands as the proprietors thereof may be disposed to alienate at such prices as may be agreed upon between the respective Proprietors and persons appointed by Her Majesty to treat with them in that behalf.

Ko te Tuarua Ko te Kuini o Ingarani ka wakarite ka wakaae ki nga Rangitira ki nga hapu-ki nga tangata katoa o Nu Tirani te tino rangtiratanga o o ratou wenua o ratou kainga me o ratou taonga katoa. Otiia ko nga Rangatira o te Wakamineng a me nga Rangatira katoa atu ka tuku ki te Kuini te hokonga o era wahi wenua e pai ai te tangata nona te Wenua-ki te ritenga o te utu e wakaritea ai e ratou ko te kai hoko e meatia nei e te Kuini hei kai hoko mona.

Article the Third In consideration thereof Her Majesty the Queen of England extends to the Natives of New Zealand Her royal protection and imparts to them all the Rights and Privileges of British Subjects.

Ko te Tuatoru Hei wakaritenga mai hoki tenei mo te wakaaetanga ki te Kawanatanga o te Kuini-Ka tiakina e te Kuini o Ingarani nga tangata maori katoa o Nu Tirani ka tukua ki a ratou nga tikanga katoa rite tahi ki ana mea ki nga tangata o Ingarani.

266

Appendix

(signed) William Hobson Lieutenant Governor. (signed) William Hobson, Consul and Lieutenant Governor. Now therefore We the Chiefs of the Confederation of the United Tribes of New Zealand being assembled in Congress at Victoria in Waitangi and We the Separate and Independent Chiefs of New Zealand claiming authority over the Tribes and Territories which are specified after our respective names, having been made fully to understand the Provisions of the foregoing Treaty, accept and enter into the same in the full spirit and meaning thereof: in witness of which we have attached our signatures or marks at the places and the dates respectively specified. Done at Waitangi this Sixth day of February in the year of Our Lord One thousand eight hundred and forty. (Here follow signatures, dates, etc.)

Na ko matou ko nga Rangatira o te Wakaminenga o nga hapu o Nu Tirani ka huihui nei ki Waitangi ko matou hoki ko nga Rangatira o Nu Tirani ka kite nei i te ritenga o enei kupu, ka tangohia ka wakaaetia katoatia e matou, koia ka tohungia ai o matou ingoa o matou tohu. Ka meatia tenei ki Waiangi i te ono o nga ra o Pepueri i te tau kotahi mano, e waru rau e wa te kau o to tatou Ariki. Ko nga Rangatira o te wakaminenga.

Source: http://www.treatyofwaitangi.govt.nz/treaty/background.php#downloads [February 2006]

267

Short profiles of interviewees

Appendix C: Short profiles of interviewees synonym sex age (f/ m) Abedi m 22 Alan m 23

group* self-identification**

residence

Other A

Auckland city Auckland city

Amrita Amy Angela Ania Ann Anna Aperama Aroha

f f f f f f m f

22 20 55 22 21 23 37 50

A A P Other A P M M

Awhina Bai Beth Billy Bob Camille Champel Chandra Christine Deirdre Erin Fai Garth George Gillian Hamid Hemi Hine

f m f m m f f f f f f f m m f m m f

25 62 27 21 24 49 18 21 34 33 30 35 34 31 62 21 21 32

M A P A A M A A P P P M M P P A M M

James Jim Jing-Wie Jonathan

m m f m

62 26 21 35

P P A P

Josh

m

29

M

Joyce Julian Julie

f m f

63 25 17

P P P

African New Zealander Kiwi, Chinese-New Zealander, Kiwi-Asian Indian-Fijian New Zealander of Filipino origin Kiwi, New Zealander East European Chinese-Fijian New Zealander Kiwi, New Zealander Ma¯ori Ma¯ori, indigenous person, New Zealander Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander Chinese-Malaysian European New Zealander Chinese/Filipino-New Zealander Singaporean Ma¯ori, New Zealander, European Cambodian New Zealander Indian New Zealander Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Ma¯ori and Tongan New Zealander, Ma¯ori, takata¯pui Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Anglo-Indian Ma¯ori, New Zealander Ma¯ori with a Samoan heritage, tangata whenua Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander Chinese New Zealander, white New Zealander, Kiwi Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯, New Zealander, Kiwi Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Kiwi

June Kahu Katerina

f m f

32 32 54

P M M

New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Ma¯ori Ma¯ori, tangata whenua

Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland region Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Wellington region Auckland region Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city/ region Wellington city Wellington city Auckland region

268

Appendix

Continued synonym sex age (f/ m) Kerry m 36

group* self-identification**

Kihi Leanne

f f

21 32

M P

Lenitua Linda Liz Louise Mae

f f f f f

21 50 32 26 22

PI P P P A

Mark Matt Matua May Mel Mereana Mike Miriama Misty Moana

m m m f f f m f f f

24 33 32 41 45 22 23 26 45 21

Other P M P P M P M M PI

Nev Oneroa Rachael Rahuia Rangi

f f f f f

21 32 31 61 18

PI M P M M

Robert/ Rob Rosie Ross Rua Sarah Siosi

m

70

P

f m m f m

38 39 25 24 40

P P M P PI

Susan Tai Taione Tane

f m m m

37 23 43 20

P M PI M

Tania Te Ahu Tere Tim

f m m m

24 42 19 50

M M M P

M

residence

Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander, Auckland city Kiwi Ma¯ori Auckland city New Zealander South Island/ Auckland city Tongan Auckland city Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Auckland city Kiwi, Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander Auckland city Pa¯keha¯-European Wellington city Hong Kong Chinese New Auckland city Zealander German Wellington city Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Auckland city Ma¯ori Auckland city Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Auckland region Kiwi, New Zealander Wellington city Ma¯ori with a mixed heritage Wellington city Kiwi, New Zealander Auckland city Ma¯ori, New Zealander, Kiwi Wellington city Ma¯ori Auckland region Cook Island and Pakeha New Auckland city Zealander Tongan-Fijian Auckland city New Zealand Ma¯ori /Pakeha Auckland city Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Wellington region Ma¯ori, tangata whenua Auckland region Ma¯ori, indigenous person, New Auckland city Zealander European Auckland region Kiwi, New Zealander New Zealander Ma¯ori, New Zealander Kiwi, New Zealander, Pa¯keha¯ Kiwi, New Zealander, SamoanNew Zealander New Zealander Tribal affiliation, Ma¯ori Kiwi, Samoan/German Ma¯ori and European, New Zealander Ma¯ori New Zealander Ma¯ori, New Zealander Ma¯ori and Pakeha New Zealander

Wellington city Wellington city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Auckland city Wellington city Auckland city

269

Short profiles of interviewees

Continued synonym sex age (f/ m) Tina f 23

group* self-identification**

residence

M

Ma¯ori New Zealander with a Auckland city mixed heritage Troy m 23 P New Zealander Wellington city William m 45 P New Zealander Auckland city Wiremu m 31 M Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯ New Zealander Auckland city Note: All information refers to the time of the first interview. Pseudonyms were given to all interviewees.

* ‘Group’ refers to my classification into:

(P) Pa¯keha¯ : persons primarily identifying as Pa¯keha¯, as New Zealand European, as New Zealander/Kiwi of predominately European descent (M) Ma¯ori: persons primarily identifying as Ma¯ori, as equally Ma¯ori and Pa¯keha¯/Pacific People, as Ma¯ori New Zealander/Kiwi, as New Zealander of Ma¯ori descent (PI) Pacific Islander/Pacific Peoples: persons identifying as Pacific Islander/Pacific People/Pasifika, as New Zealander/Kiwi of Pacific descent, as Samoan, as Tongan, as Fijian, as Niuean, etc. (A) Asian: persons identifying as ‘Asian’ (e. g., Indian, Chinese, Filipino, Malayan, Cambodian), as Asian-New Zealander/Kiwi, as New Zealander/Kiwi of Asian descent (O) Other : persons identifying specifically as none of the above

** ‘Self-identification’ refers to the terms that interviewees referred to during formal interviews. The order of terms indicates a broad tendency in preferences.

270

Appendix

Appendix D: Questions for evaluating friendship and trust The following set of questions taken from the socio-moral interview developed by Monika Keller (1966) and colleagues was integrated into the formal interviews in order to obtain more targeted information in the conception of friendship and trust: Friendship concept: Importance of friendship – Why does one need good friends? – Do you think it’s necessary to have a very good friend? Why/Why not? – Do you think, friendship is important? Why? Differentiation – What is a good friend? – How do you know that you are best friends? What is the difference between a friend and a very good friend? Closeness – What makes two people become good friends / become closer and closer? – Can you be with your friend in some other way than you can be with others? Concept of trust: – What does it mean ‘to trust’ your friend/someone? – Is trust important? Why? – How do you trust him/her?

Relationship chart

Appendix E: Relationship chart

271

Glossary

A ahau – also: au; I ahi ka¯ – also: ahi ka¯ roa; the burning fires of occupation amicitia – Latin: friendship ao –see also: te ao; world Aotearoa – New Zealand; literally : land of the long white cloud a¯piti – friend, supplement; fight at close quarters aroha – unconditional love, affection, empathy, compassion arohanui ki te tangata – principle of showing loving concern for the other awa – river, water, sea awhi – help, support, assistance; to embrace, foster a¯whina – to help, assist H haerenga – journey, trip hapu¯ – sub-tribe; descendant; pregnant Hawaiki – legendary place of origin of the Ma¯ori hika – term of address hoa – friend, associate, companion hoa rangatira – spouse, partner hoa ta¯ne – husband, partner, boyfriend hoa wahine – wife, partner, girlfriend hoa whawhai – ally ; enemy, foe hoariri – literally : angry friend; enemy, foe ho¯ha¯ – bored, weary, annoyed ho¯honu – deep hononga – connection, relationship, link; joint, union hori – derogatory term for Ma¯ori; someone of a ‘poor’ social background hui – meeting, assembly, ceremonial gathering I i nga wa¯ o mua – the time before; the past iwi – nation, people, tribe, bone

274

Glossary

K kaitiaki – guardian kapa haka – Ma¯ori performing arts; singing and dancing in rows kare – also: kara; dear, term of address for a friend kauhanganui – tribal parliament kaupapa – plan, scheme, proceedings, topic kauma¯tua – elder, male elder kawa – customs of the marae ka¯wana – to govern ka¯wanatanga – governorship koha – gift, offering, contribution ko¯hanga reo – Ma¯ori language nest koro – grandfather, elderly man kotahitanga – unity, to stand as one, openness ko¯taretare – a person who lives on the generosity of one’s friends ko¯rero – to speak; oral ko¯rero o mua – also: ko¯rero tipuna, ko¯rero tupuna; oral traditions, history koroneihana – coronation koru – a spiral shape symbolizing new life, growth, strength and peace kuia – grandmother, elderly woman kura kaupapa – Ma¯ori language school M ma¯haki – humility, humbleness, modesty mahi – work mahi a nga¯kau – principles and values of acting towards each other and towards outsiders mahi tahi – the duty to work together for common good mana – authority, control; influence, prestige, status, power ; effectiveness; psychic force mana wa¯hine – powerful women; the strength of women manaaki – to show respect or kindness to manaakitanga – hospitality, extending care to others manuhiri – guest, visitor Ma¯ori – also: Maori; native, indigenous, ordinary Ma¯oritanga – Ma¯ori culture, Ma¯oriness, being Ma¯ori marae – ceremonial center, formal meeting ground marae a¯tea – courtyard in front of a meeting-house Matariki – the Ma¯ori New Year maunga – mountain mihi – to greet, acknowledge moko – tattoo N nga¯kau ma¯haki – a mild heart noho – to stay, stand, sit noho marae – marae stayover

Glossary

275

P paepae – beam across the front of a meeting-house Pa¯keha¯ – non-Ma¯ori, a person of predominately European descent Pa¯keha¯tanga – Pa¯keha¯ culture, Pa¯keha¯ness, being Pa¯keha¯ papaka¯inga – short: ka¯inga; settlement, home pararau – ‘slave’, dependent Pasifika – see: Tagata Pasifika philia – Ancient Greek: love, brotherly love, friendship Po¯neke – Ma¯ori term for Wellington pono – true, genuine, honest pounamu – greenstone po¯whiri – welcoming ritual, ritual of encounter R rangatira – ‘aristocrat’, chief, leader T Tagata Pasifika – Pacific peoples, Pacific Islander, person of Pacific descent taha – side taha Ma¯ori – the Ma¯ori side, Ma¯ori identity taha Pa¯keha¯ – the Pa¯keha¯ side, Pa¯keha¯ identity taha wairua – the spiritual side, spirituality, the spiritual sphere takata¯pui – close friend, homosexual Ta¯maki Makaurau – also: Ta¯maki-makau-rau; Ma¯ori term for Auckland ta¯ne – man, male tangata whenua – people of the land, indigenous peoples, host tangihanga – short: tangi; burial ceremony, rites for the dead tapu – under ritual restriction, sacred, holy, restricted, prohibited tata – close, nearby tautoko – support, prop up te ao Ma¯ori – the Ma¯ori world, Ma¯ori society te ao Pa¯keha¯ – the Pa¯keha¯ world, mainstream society Te Ika a Maui – the North Island te ko¯hanga reo – see: ko¯hanga reo te reo – also: te reo Ma¯ori; the Ma¯ori language Te Tiriti o Waitangi – the Treaty of Waitangi Te Wai Pounamu – the South Island Te Waka a Maui – The canoe of Maui; the South Island Te Whanganui-a-Tara – Ma¯ori term for Wellington teina (also: taina) – younger same-sex sibling, cousin of the same gender from a junior branch of the family tiaki – to guard, keep tika – right, correct, appropriate tikanga – customs, Ma¯ori values and ways of relating to the world tino rangatiratanga – sovereignty, Ma¯ori self-determination tipuna – see: tupuna

276

Glossary

Tiriti o Waitangi – Treaty of Waitangi tuakana – elder same-sex sibling, cousin of the same gender from a senior branch of the family tupuna – pl. tu¯puna; ancestor tu¯rangawaewae – literally : a place for the feet to stand W wa¯hi tapu – sacred site wahine – woman, female wahine toa – pl. wa¯hine toa; woman of standing, strong woman waiata – song, chant waka – canoe, boat wa¯nanga – school of precious learning; Ma¯ori-led tertiary institution WH whakaaro nui – literally : big thoughts; social values and principles whakahoa – make a companion of, associate with, to befriend; partnership whakahoanga – friendship; the making of friends whakama¯ – to be ashamed, shy, embarrassed whakamarumaru – to shelter whakangungu – to defend, protect whakapapa – genealogy ; an exclusive, vertical descent ethic that enables restructuring whakataukı¯ – proverb whakawhanaunga – to have a relationship whakawhanaungatanga – process of establishing relationships, relating well to others wha¯mere – family (transliteration from English) wha¯nau – extended family, family group, familiar term of address to a number of people whanaunga – relation, relative whanaungatanga – an inclusive, horizontal kinship ethic that unites people; kinship in its widest sense wha¯ngai – to feed, nourish, bring up; foster child wharenui – meeting-house wharepuni – sleeping-house wharekai – eating-house whenua – land, umbilical cord U urupa¯ – burial ground utu – reciprocity

References

Adams, R. G., and G. Allan. 1998. Contextualising Friendship, in Placing Friendship in Context. Edited by R. G. Adams and G. Allan, pp. 1 – 17. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Allan, G. A. 1979. A sociology of friendship and kinship. London: George Allen & Unwin. Allolio-Näcke, L., and B. Kalscheuer. 2005. Wege der Transdifferenz, in Differenzen anders denken. Bausteine zu einer Kulturtheorie der Transdifferenz. Edited by L. AllolioNäcke, B. Kalscheuer, and A. Manzeschke, pp. 9 – 13. Frankfurt/New York: Campus Verlag. Allport, G. W. 1954. The nature of prejudice. Cambridge, MA: Perseus Books. Anderson, B. 1999 [1983]. Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Appadurai, A. 1990. Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy, in Theory, Culture and Society. Edited by M. Featherstone, pp. 295 – 310. London: Sage. —. 1998. Globale ethnische Räume. Bemerkungen und Fragen zur Entwicklung einer transnationalen Anthropologie, in Perspektiven der Weltgesellschaft. Edited by U. Beck, pp. 11 – 40. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Aristotle. 1998. The Nicomachean Ethics, revised by J.L. Ackrill and J.O. Urmson. Oxford World’s Classics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bacon, F. 1983a. Of Followers and Friends, in Francis Bacon. The Essays. Edited by J. Pitcher, pp. 205 – 206. London: Penguin Books. —. 1983b. Of Friendship, in Francis Bacon. The Essays. Edited by J. Pitcher, pp. 138 – 144. London: Penguin Books. Ballara, A. 1998. Iwi: The Dynamics of Maori Tribal Organisation from c. 1769 to c. 1945. Wellington: Victoria University Press. Bank, B. J. 1995. Gender in Australia and the United States: From Feminization to a More Heroic Image. Gender & Society 9:79 – 98. Banton, M. Editor. 1966. The social anthropology of complex societies. London: Tavistock Publications. Barber, K. 2008. “Indigenous Rights” or “Racial Privileges”: The Rhetoric of “Race” in New Zealand Politics. The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 9:141 – 56. Barcellos Rezende, C. 1999. Building Affinity through Friendship, in The Anthropology of Friendship: Enduring Themes and Future Possibilities. Edited by S. Bell and S. Coleman, pp. 79 – 97. Oxford/New York: Berg.

278

References

Barth, F. 1969. Introduction, in Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural Difference. Edited by F. Barth, pp. 9 – 38. London: Allen & Unwin. Bauman, Z. 2001. Identity in the Globalizing World, in Identity, Culture and Globalization. Edited by E. Ben-Rafael and Y. Sternberg, pp. 471 – 482. Leiden: Brill. Beck, U. 1998. Vorwort, in Perspektiven der Weltgesellschaft. Edited by U. Beck, pp. 7 – 10. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Beer, B. 1998. Freundschaft als Thema der Ethnologie. Zeitschrift für Ethnologie 123:191 – 213. —. 2001. Anthropology of Friendship, in International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences. Edited by N. J. Smelser and P. B. Baltes, pp. 5805 – 5808. Kidlington: Elsevier. Belich, J. 1990. The Victorian interpretation of Racial Conflict. The Maori, the British, and the New Zealand Wars. McGill Queen’s studies in ethnic history 7. Montreal and Kingston/London/Buffalo: Mc-Gill-Queen’s University Press. Bell, A. 2004. ‘Half-castes’ and ‘White Natives’: The Politics of Maori-Pakeha Hybrid Identities, in Cultural Studies in Aotearoa New Zealand. Identity, Space and Place. Edited by C. Bell and S. Matthewman, pp. 121 – 138. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Bell, S., and S. Coleman. Editors. 1999a. The Anthropology of Friendship. Oxford/New York: Berg. —. 1999b. The Anthropology of Friendship: Enduring Themes and Future Possibilities, in The Anthropology of Friendship. Edited by S. Bell and S. Coleman, pp. 1 – 20. Oxford/ New York: Berg. Bentley, T. 1999. Pakeha Maori. The extraordinary story of the Europeans who lived as Maori in early New Zealand. Auckland: Penguin. Bernard, H. R. 2006. Research methods in anthropology: qualitative and quantitative approaches. Oxford: AltaMira Press. Best, E. 1952 [1924]. The Maori As He Was, 2nd edition. Wellington: R. E. Owen, Government Printer. Bhabha, H. 1994. The location of culture. London/New York: Routledge. —. 1996. Culture’s In-Between, in Questions of Cultural Identity. Edited by S. Hall and P. Du Gay, pp. 53 – 60. London: Sage. Biggs, B. 1968. The Maori Language Past and Present, in The Maori People in the Nineteensixties. Edited by E. E. Schwimmer, pp. 65 – 84. Plymouth: Blackwood & Janet Paul. —. 1998 [1969]. Let’s Learn Maori: A Guide to the Study of the Maori Language. Auckland: Auckland University Press. Blum, L. A. 1980. Friendship, alstruism and morality. New York: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. 1984. Distinction. A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Bourdieu, P., and L. Wacquant. 1992. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Brain, R. 1976. Freunde und Liebende. Zwischenmenschliche Beziehungen im Kulturvergleich. Frankfurt am Main: Goverts. Brandt, A. 2006. Mana Wahine – Feminisms, Maori Sovereignty and Lived Experiences of Maori Women. Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology, Berlin: Free University Berlin, unpubl. M.A.-thesis. —. forthcoming. Identity and Belonging in Cross-cultural Friendship, in Movement, Place

References

279

Making and Multiple Identifications. Edited by E. Hermann, W. Kempf, and T. van Meijl. Oxford: Berghahn. Brandt, A., and E. A. Heuser. 2011. Friendship and socio-cultural context. Experiences from New Zealand and Java/Indonesia, in Varieties of friendship. Interdisciplinary perspectives on social relationships. Edited by B. Descharmes, E. A. Heuser, C. Krüger, and T. Loy, pp. 145 – 174. Göttingen: V& R unipress. Breinig, H., and K. Lösch. 2002. Introduction: Difference and Transdifference, in Multiculturalism in Contemporary Societies: Perspectives on Difference and Transdifference. Edited by H. Breinig, J. Gebhardt, and K. Lösch, pp. 11 – 36. Erlangen: Universitätsbund. Brooking, T., and R. Rabel. 1995. Neither British nor Polynesian. A Brief History of New Zealand’s Other Immigrants, in Immigration and National Identity in New Zealand. One People, Two Peoples, Many Peoples? Edited by S. W. Greif, pp. 139 – 156. Palmerston North, NZ: The Dunmore Press. Brougham, A. F., A. W. Reed, and T. Kaaretu. Editors. 1996. The Reed Book of Maori Proverbs: Te Kohikohinga Whakataukii a Reed. Auckland: Reed Publishing (NZ) Ltd. Buck (Te Rangi Hiroa), P. H. 1954. Vikings of the Sunrise. Christchurch: Whitcombe and Tombs. —. 1958 [1949]. The Coming of the Maori. Wellington: Maori Purposes Fund Board, Whitcombe and Tombs Ltd. Budgeon, S. 2006. Friendship and Formations of Sociality in Late Modernity : the Challenge of ‘Post Traditional Intimacy’. Sociological Research Online 11. Bukowski, W. M., A. F. Newcomb, and W. W. Hartup. Editors. 1996. The company they keep: Friendship in childhood and adolescence. New York: Cambridge University Press. Buss, D. M. 1985. Human Mate Selection. American Scientist 73:47 – 51. Butera, K. J. 2008. ‘Neo-mateship’ in the 21st century : Changes in the performance of Australian masculinity. Journal of Sociology 44:265 – 281. Byrne, D. 1971. The attraction paradigm. New York: Academic Press. Caffrey, M. M., and P. A. Francis. Editors. 2006. To cherish the life of the world: selected letters of Margaret Mead. Cambridge: Basic Books. Calhoun, C. J. Editor. 1994. Social theory and the politics of identity. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Callister, P. 2004. Ethnicity measures, intermarriage and social policy. Social Policy Journal of New Zealand:109 – 140. Callister, P., R. Didham, and D. Potter. 2007. Ethnic Intermarriage in New Zealand. Official Statistics Research Series 1. http://www.statisphere.govt.nz/osresearch [April 2007]. Carrier, J. G. 1999. “People Who Can Be Friends: Selves and Social Relationships,” in The Anthropology of Friendship. Edited by S. Bell and S. Coleman, pp. 21 – 38. Oxford/New York: Berg. Carsten, J. Editor. 2000. Cultures of Relatedness. New Approaches to the Study of Kinship. Cambridge: Cambride University Press. —. 2004. After Kinship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chambers, D. 2006. New Social Ties. Contemporary Connections in a Fragmented Society. Basingstoke/New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Clammer, J., S. Poirier, and E. Schwimmer. Editors. 2004a. Figured Worlds. Ontological

280

References

Obstacles in Intercultural Relations. Toronto/Buffalo/London: University of Toronto Press. —. 2004b. Introduction: The Relevance of Ontologies in Anthropology – Reflections on a New Anthropological Field, in Figured Worlds. Ontological Obstacles in Intercultural Relations. Edited by J. Clammer, S. Poirier, and E. Schwimmer, pp. 3 – 22. Toronto/ Buffalo/London: University of Toronto Press. Clifford, J., and G. E. Marcus. 1986. Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. London: University of California Press. Cohen, Y. A. 1961. Social Structure and Personality. A Casebook. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Collier, M. J. 1991. Conflict Competence Within African, Mexican, and Anglo American Friendships, in Cross-Cultural Interpersonal Communication. Edited by S. Ting-Toomey and F. Korzenny, pp. 132 – 154. Newbury Park/London/Delhi: Sage. Cox, L. 1993. Kotahitanga: The Search for Maori Political Unity. Auckland: Oxford University Press. de Montaigne, M. 1909 – 14. Of Friendship, in Literary and Philosophical Essays. The Harvard Classics, vol. 32. Edited by C. W. Eliot. New York: P.F. Collier & Son. http:// www.Bartleby.com/32/ February 2010. Desai, A., and E. Killick. Editors. 2010. The ways of friendship. Anthropological perspectives. New York: Berghahn Books. Descharmes, B., E. A. Heuser, C. Krüger, and T. Loy. Editors. 2011. Varieties of friendship. Interdisciplinary perspectives on social relationships. Göttingen: V& R unipress. Devere, H. 2005. Friendship, in New Dictionary of the History of Ideas, vol. 2. Edited by M. C. Horowitz, pp. 844 – 846. Detroit: Charles Scribner’s Sons. —. 2007. Cross-Cultural Understanding in the Language and Politics of Friendship. Canadian Social Science 3:14 – 29. Diaz-Bone, R. 2006. Gibt es eine qualitative Netzwerkanalyse? Review Essay : Betina Hollstein & Florian Straus. Editors. 2006. Qualitative Netzwerkanalyse. Konzepte, Methoden, Anwendungen. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research [Online Journal] 8. http://www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/1-07/ 07-1-28-d.htm. [April 2007]. Didham, R., and R. Bedford. 2004. Peopling the Future, Interpreting the Changing Demography of New Zealand, in Tangata Tangata. The Changing Ethnic Contours of New Zealand. Edited by P. Spoonley, C. Macpherson, and D. Pearson, pp. 1 – 21. Southbank: Thomson Dunmore Press. Drechsel, P. 1998. Paradoxien interkultureller Beziehungen, in Interkulturalität – Grundprobleme der Kulturbegegnung. Edited by P. Drechsel et al, pp. 173 – 212. Mainz: Mainzer Universitätsgespräche, Sommersemester 1998. Driessen, H. 1998. Romancing Rapport: The Ideology of ‘Friendship’ in the Field. Folk. Journal of the Danish Ethnographic Society 40:123 – 136. Du Plessis, R., and L. Alice. 1998. Introduction: Feminisms, Connections and Differences, in Feminist Thought in Aotearoa New Zealand: Connections and Differences. Edited by R. Du Plessis and L. Alice, pp. xv-xx. Auckland: Oxford University Press. DuBois, C. 1974. The Gratuitous Act: An Introduction to the Comparative Study of Friendship Patterns, in The Compact. Selected Dimensions of Friendship. Edited by E. Leyton, pp. 15 – 32. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

References

281

During, S. 2000. Postcolonialism and Globalization: Towards a Historicization of their Inter-Relation. Cultural Studies 14:385 – 404. Dürr, E. 2010. Tidy Kiwis, Dirty Asians: Cultural Pollution and Migration in Auckland, New Zealand, in Urban Pollution. Cultural Meanings, Social Practives. Edited by E. Dürr and R. Jaffe, pp. 30 – 56. Oxford: Berhahn Books. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roninger. 1984. Patrons, clients and friends. Interpersonal relations and the structure of trust in society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ekholm Friedman, K., and J. Friedman. 2008. Historical Transformations: The Anthropology of Global Systems. Blue Ridge: Alta Mira Press. Elwert, G. 1994. Feldforschung – Vom literarischen Berichten zur methodisch angeleiteten qualitativen und quantitativen Forschung. Vol. 1. Skripten zu den Kulturwissenschaften. Frankfurt an der Oder. Featherstone, M. 1990. Global Culture: An Introduction, in Theory, Culture and Society. Edited by M. Featherstone, pp. 1 – 14. London: Sage. —. 2001. Postnational Flows, Identity Formation and Cultural Space, in Identity, Culture and Globalization. Edited by E. Ben-Rafael and Y. Sternberg, pp. 483 – 536. Leiden: Brill. Featherstone, S. 2005. Postcolonial cultures. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Firth, R. 1957. A Note on Descent Groups in Polynesia. Man 57:4 – 8. —. 1940. The Analysis of Mana: An Empirical Approach. The Journal of the Polynesian Society 49:483 – 510. —. 1959. Economics of the New Zealand Maori. Wellintgon: R.E. Owen. Fischer, C. S. 1982a. To Dwell Among Friends. Personal Networks in Town and City. Chicago/London: The University of Chicago Press. —. 1982b. What do we mean by ‘friend’? An inductive study. Social Networks 3:287 – 306. —. 2005. Bowling Alone: What’s the Score? Social Networks 27:155 – 167. Fleras, A., and P. Spoonley. 1999. Recalling Aotearoa: Indigenous Politics and Ethnic Relations in New Zealand. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Fong, E., and W. W. Isajiw. 2000. Determinants of Friendship Choices in Multiethnic Society. Sociological Forum 15:249 – 271. Forbes, H. D. 1997. Ethnic conflict: commerce, culture, and the contact hypothesis. New Haven: Yale University Press. Friedman, J. 1994. Cultural Identity and Global Process. London: Sage. —. 1999. Indigenous Struggles and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. The Australian Journal of Anthropology 10:1 – 14. Gagn¦, N. 2004. Maori Identities and Visions: Politics of Everyday Life in Auckland, New Zealand. Department of Anthropology : McGill University, PhD thesis. —. 2009. The political dimensions of coexistence. Anthropological Theory 9:33 – 58. Gareis, E. 2000. Intercultural Friendship: five case studies of German students in the USA. Journal of Intercultural Studies 21:67 – 91. Geerlings, W. 1981. Das Freundschaftsideal Augustins. Theologische Quartalschrift 161:265 – 274. George, G. 2009. History repeats when it comes to claims, in New Zealand Herald. APN Holdings NZ. http://www.nzherald.co.nz/garth-george/news/article.cfm?a_id=10& objectid=10583262 [November 2012]

282

References

Gergen, K. J. 1991. The Saturated Self: Dilemmas of Identity in Contemporary Life. New York: Basic Books. Giddens, A. 1991. Modernity and self-identity : self and society in the late modern age. Stanford: Stanford University Press. —. 1992. The Transformation of Intimacy. Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gille, Z., and S. ­. Riaon. 2002. Global Ethnography. Annual Review of Sociology 28:271 – 95. Girtler, R. 1984. Methoden der qualitativen Sozialforschung. Anleitung zur Feldarbeit. Wien/Köln/Graz: Böhlau Verlag. Glissant, Ê. 2005. Kultur und Identität. Ansätze zu einer Poetik der Vielheit. Heidelberg: Wunderhorn. Goodyear, R. K. 2009. The differences within, diversiy in age structure between and within ethnic groups. Statistics New Zealand. Grätz, T. 2011. Social-Anthropological Perspectives on Friendship in Africa, in Varieties of friendship. Interdisciplinary perspectives on social relationships. Edited by B. Descharmes, E. A. Heuser, C. Krüger, and T. Loy, pp. 355 – 375. Göttingen: V& R unipress. Grätz, T., M. Pelican, and B. Meier. 2003. Zur sozialen Konstruktion von Freundschaft. Überlegungen zu einem vernachlässigten Thema der Sozialanthropologie (Schwerpunkt Afrika). Working Paper Nr. 53. Greenland, H. 1991. Maori Ethnicity as Ideology, in Nga Take: Ethnic Relations and Racism in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Edited by P. Spoonley and C. Macpherson, pp. 90 – 107. Palmerston North: The Dunmore Press Ltd. Greig, A., F. Lewins, and K. White. 2003. Inequality in Australia. Cambridge: University Press. Gudykunst, W. B. 1985. An Exploratory Comparison of Close Intracultural and Intercultural Friendships. Communication Quarterly 33:270 – 283. Gudykunst, W. B., G. Gao, S. Sudweeks, S. Ting-Toomey, and T. Nishida. 1991. Themes in Opposite Sex, Japanese-North American Relationships, in Cross-Cultural Interpersonal Communication. Edited by S. Ting-Toomey and F. Korzenny, pp. 230 – 258. Newbury Park/London/Delhi: Sage. Guichard, M. 2007. Hoch bewertet und oft unterschätzt: Theoretische und empirische Einblicke in Freundschaftsbeziehungen aus sozialanthropologischer Perspektive, in Freundschaft und Verwandtschaft. Zur Unterscheidung zweier Beziehungssysteme. Edited by J. F. K. Schmidt, M. Guichard, P. Schuster, and F. Trillmich, pp. 313 – 342. Konstanz: UVK. Gupta, A., and J. Ferguson. 1992. Beyond “Culture”: Space, Identity, and the Politics of Difference. Cultural Anthropology 7:6 – 23. Hall, S. 1994. Rassismus und kulturelle Identität. Ausgewählte Schriften 2. Hamburg: Argument Verlag. —. 1996. Introduction: Who Needs Identity?, in Questions of Cultural Identity. Edited by S. Hall and P. Du Gay, pp. 1 – 17. London: Sage. —. 2002. Wann gab es das “Postkoloniale”? Denken an der Grenze, in Jenseits des Eurozentrismus: Postkoloniale Perspektiven in den Geschichts- und Kulturwissenschaften. Edited by S. Conrad and S. Randeria, pp. 219 – 246. Frankfurt/New York: Campus Verlag.

References

283

Hall, S., and P. Du Gay. Editors. 1996. Questions of Cultural Identity. London: Sage. Hannerz, U. 1996. Transnational Connections. Culture, people, places. London: Routledge Chapman & Hall. Hanson, A. 1989. The Making of the Maori: Culture Invention and Its Logic. American Anthropologist 91:890 – 902. Harr¦, J. 1966. Maori and Pakeha: A Study of Mixed Marriages in New Zealand. Wellington: Reed. Heady, P. 2007. Kameraden und Geschwister : Sympathie, Solidarität und Identität in sozialen Netzwerken, in Freundschaft und Verwandtschaft. Zur Unterscheidung zweier Beziehungssysteme. Edited by J. F. K. Schmidt, M. Guichard, P. Schuster, and F. Trillmich, pp. 343 – 368. Konstanz: UVK. Hein, K. 2006. Hybride Identitäten. Bastelbiographien im Spanungsverhältnis zwischen Latein-Amerika und Europa. Bielefeld: transcript Verlag. Herman, A. L. 1995. The Language of Fidelity in Early Modern France. The Journal of Modern History 67:1 – 24. Hermann, E., and B. Röttger-Rössler. 2003. Einleitung: Persönliche Handlungsmöglichkeiten und lokal-globaler Kontext, in Lebenswege im Spannungsfeld lokaler und globaler Prozesse. Edited by E. Hermann and B. Röttger-Rössler, pp. 1 – 23. Münster : Lit Verlag. Hermans, H. J. M. 2002. The Dialogical Self as a Society of Mind. Theory & Psychology 12:147 – 160. Hermans, H. J. M., and G. Dimaggio. 2007. Self, Identity, and Globalization in Times of Uncertainty : A Dialogical Analysis. Review of General Psychology 11:31 – 61. Herskovits, M. J. 1956. Man and his Works: The Science of Cultural Anthropology. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Hoey, D. 2004. There Will Always Be a Taupo: Some Reflections on Pakeha Culture, in Cultural Studies in Aotearoa New Zealand. Identity, Space and Place. Edited by C. B. S. Matthewman, pp. 188 – 202. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Höfer, R., H. Keupp, and F. Straus. 2006. “Prozesse sozialer Verortung in Szenen und Organisationen,” in Qualitative Netzwerkanalyse. Konzepte Methoden, Anwendungen. Edited by B. Hollstein and F. Straus, pp. 267 – 294. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Holland, D., W. Lachicotte, D. Skinner, and C. Cain. 1998. Identity and Agency in Cultural Worlds. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Holland, D., and J. Lave. 2001. History in Person. Enduring Struggles, Contentious Practice, Intimate Identities. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. Holquist, M. 2000. Dialogism: Bakhtin and his world. London: Routledge. Ikas, K., and G. Wagner. Editors. 2009. Communicating in the third space. New York: Routledge. Ip, M. 1995. Chinese New Zealanders: Old Settlers and New Immigrants, in Immigration and National Identity in New Zealand: One People, Two Peoples, Many Peoples? Edited by S. W. Greif, pp. 161 – 199. Palmerston North, NZ: Dunmore Press. Jackman, M. R., and M. Crane. 1986. “Some of my best friends are black…”: Interracial Friendship and Whites’ Racial Attitudes. Public Opinion Quarterly 50:459 – 486. Jacobson, D. 1973. Itinerant Townsmen, Friendship and Social Urder in Urban Uganda. Menlo Park, California: Cummings Publishing Company.

284

References

Jamieson, L. 1999. Intimacy Transformed? A Critical Look at the ‘Pure Relationship’. Sociology 33:477 – 494. Johnson, H., and B. Moloughney. 2006. Introduction: Asia and the Making of Multicultural New Zealand, in Asia in the Making of New Zealand. Edited by H. Johnson and B. Moloughney, pp. 1 – 10. Auckland: Auckland University Press. Johnston, P. 1998. Maori Women and the Politics of Theorising Difference, in Feminist Thought in Aotearoa/New Zealand: Connections and Differences. Edited by R. Du Plessis and L. Alice, pp. 29 – 36. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Kaaretu, T. 2001. Haka! The Dance of a Noble People. Auckland: Reed Books. Kahn, R. L., and T. C. Antonucci. 1980. Convoys over the life course: Attachment, roles, and social support, in Life-span development and behavior. Edited by P. B. Baltes and O. G. Brim, pp. 383 – 405. New York: Academic Press. Kaiwai, H., and K. Zemke-White. 2004. Kapa Haka as a ‘Web of Cultural Meanings’, in Cultural Studies in Aotearoa New Zealand. Identity, Space and Place. Edited by C. Bell and S. Matthewman, pp. 139 – 160. Oxford: University Press. Kalscheuer, B. 2005. Interkulturalität. Einleitung, in Differenzen anders denken. Bausteine zu einer Kulturtheorie der Transdifferenz. Edited by L. Allolio-Näcke, B. Kalscheuer, and A. Manzeschke, pp. 221 – 226. Frankfurt/New York: Campus Verlag. Kandel, D. B. 1978. Homophily, Selection, and Socialization in Adolescent Friendships. The American Journal of Sociology 84:427 – 436. Kapchan, D. A., and P. T. Strong. 1999. Theorizing the Hybrid. The American Journal of Folklore 112:239 – 253. Keesing, R. M. 1984. Rethinking Mana. Journal of Anthropological Research 40:137 – 156. Keller, M. 1996. Moralische Sensibilität: Entwicklung in Freundschaft und Familie. Weinheim: Beltz/PVU. —. 2004a. A Cross-Cultural Perspective on Friendship Research. ISBBD Newsletter Serial 46:10 – 11, 14. —. 2004b. Self in relationship, in Morality, self, and identity : Essays in honor of Augusto Blasi. Edited by D. K. Lapsley and D. F. Narvaez, pp. 269 – 300. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Keller, M., A. Brandt, and G. Sigurdardottir. 2010. “Happy” and “unhappy” victimizers: The development of moral emotions form childhood to adolescence, in The Development and Structure of Conscience. Edited by W. Koops, D. Brugman, T. J. Ferguson, and A. F. Sanders, pp. 253 – 267. Hove, UK: Psychology Press Ltd. Keller, M., and M. Gummerum. 2003. Freundschaft und Verwandtschaft – Beziehungsvorstellungen im Entwicklungsverlauf und im Kulturvergleich. sozialersinn 1:95 – 121. Kiefer, T. M. 1986. Institutionalized Friendship and Warfare Among the Tausug of Jolo. Ethnology 7:225 – 244. Killick, E., and A. Desai. 2010. Introduction: Valuing friendship, in The ways of friendship. Anthropological perspectives. Edited by A. Desai and E. Killick, pp. 1 – 20. New York: Berhahn Books. King, M. 1999. Being Pakeha Now. Reflections and Recollections of a White Native. Auckland: Penguin Books. —. 2003. The Penguin History of New Zealand. Auckland: Penguin Books. Krappmann, L. 1996. Amicitia, drujba, shin-yu, philia, Freundschaft, friendship: On the cultural diversity of a human relationship, in The company they keep: Friendship in

References

285

childhood and adolescence. Edited by W. M. Bukowski, A. F. Newcomb, and W. W. Hartup, pp. 19 – 40. New York: Cambridge University Press. Kudo, K., and K. A. Simkin. 2003. Intercultural Friendship Formation: the case of Japanese students at an Australian university. Journal of Intercultural Studies 24:91 – 114. Kulick, D. 1992. Language Shift and Cultural Reproduction: Socialization, Self, and Syncretism in a Papua New Guinean Village. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kuper, A. 1994. Culture, Identity and the Project of a Cosmopolitan Anthropology. Man 29:537 – 554. Lambertz, B. 1999. Stimmungsverläufe in Freundschaften unter Erwachsenen. Zusammenhänge und Veränderungen im Erleben von freundschaftsbezogenen Stimmungen bei Erwachsenen und Freundschaftspaaren. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Lazarsfeld, P. F., and R. K. Merton. 1954. Friendship as a social process: A substantive and methodological analysis, in Freedom and Control in Modern Society. Edited by M. Berger, T. Abel, and C. H. Page, pp. 18 – 66. New York: Van Nostrand. Lehmann, F. R. 1922. Mana. Der Begriff des “außerordentlich Wirkungsvollen” bei Südseevölkern. Veröffentlichungen des Staatlichen Forschungsinstituts in Leipzig. Institut für Völkerkunde, Reihe 1, Bd.2. Leipzig: Spamer Verlag. —. 1930. Die polynesischen Tabusitten. Eine ethno-soziologische Untersuchung. Veröffentlichungen des Staatlich Sächsischen Forschungsinstitutes in Leipzig. Institut für Völkerkunde, 10. Leipzig. Leontiev, A. N. 1978. Activity, Consciousness, and Personality. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall. L¦vi-Strauss, C. 1966 The Savage Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Leyton, E. Editor. 1974. The Compact. Selected Dimensions of Friendship. Toronto: Toronto University Press. Lovell, N. 1998. Introduction: Belonging in need of emplacement?, in Locality and Belonging. Edited by N. Lovell, pp. 1 – 24. London: Routledge. Macpherson, C. 2004. From Pacific Islanders to Pacific People and Beyond, in Tangata Tangata. The Changing Ethnic Contours of New Zealand. Edited by P. Spoonley, C. Macpherson, and D. Pearson, pp. 135 – 156. Southbank: Thomson Dunmore Press. Mahuika, A. 1992. Leadership: Inherited and Achieved, in Te Ao Hurihuri: Aspects of Maoritanga. Edited by M. King, pp. 42 – 63. Auckland: Reed. Malinowski, B. 1961. Argonauts of the Western Pacific. New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc. Marcus, G. E. 1995. Ethnography in/of the World System: The Emergence of Multi-sited Ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology 24:95 – 117. Marcus, G. E., and D. Cushman. 1982. Ethnographies as Texts. Annual Review of Anthropology 11:25 – 69. May, S. 2004. Accommodating Multiculturalism and Biculturalism: Implications for Language Policy, in Tangata Tangata. The Changing Ethnic Contours of New Zealand. Edited by P. Spoonley, C. Macpherson, and D. Pearson, pp. 247 – 264. Southbank: Thomson Dunmore Press. Mayring, P. 2000. Qualitative Content Analysis. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research [Online Journal]. http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/1089/2384 [January 2012]. —. 2004. Qualitative content analysis, in A companion to qualitative research. Edited by U. Flick, E. v. Kardorf, and I. Steinke, pp. 266 – 269. London: Sage.

286

References

McPherson, M., L. Smith-Lovin, and J. M. Cook. 2001. Birds of a Feather : Homophily in Social Networks. Annual Reviews of Sociology 27:415 – 444. Mead, H. M. 2003. Tikanga Maori. Living by Maori Values. Wellington: Huia. Mead, H. M., and N. Grove. 2003. Nga Pepeha a nga Tipuna: The sayings of the Ancestors. Wellington: Victoria University Press. Meier, B. 2003. Nähe und Distanz: Freundschaften bei nordghanaischen Migranten in Accra/Thema. Working Paper Nr. 53. Halle: Max-Planck-Institut für ethnologische Forschung. Metge, J. 1964. A New Maori Migration. Rural and Urban Relations in Norther New Zealand. London / Melbourne: Athlone Press / Melbourne University Press. —. 1976. The Maoris of New Zealand. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. —. 1995. New Growth from Old: The Whanau in the Modern World. Wellington: Victoria University Press. Meyers (Redaktion). 2001. Meyers Großes Taschenlexikon in 25 Bänden: B.I. Taschenbuchverlag. Mikaere, A. 1995. The Balance destroyed: The Consequences for Maori Women of the Colonisation of Tikanga Maori. M.Jur.Thesis, University of Waikato. —. 1998. Collective Rights and Gender Issues: A Maori Woman’s Perspective, in Collective Human Rights of Pacific Peoples. Edited by N. Tomas and T. Haruru Tai, pp. 79 – 99. Auckland: University of Auckland. Ministry of Health and Statistics New Zealand. 2009. Longer Life, Better Health? Trends in health expectancy in New Zealand, 1996 – 2006. Statistics New Zealand Mohanram, R. 1995. Postcolonial Maori Sovereignty. Women’s Studies Journal 11:63 – 94. —. 1999. Black Body: Women, Colonialism and Space. Australian Cultural Studies. Sydney : Allen & Unwin. Morry, M. M. 2007. Relationship satisfaction as a predictor of perceived similarity among cross-sex friends: A test of the attraction-similarity model. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships 24:117 – 138. Murrie, L. 1998. The Australian Legend: Writing Australian Masculinity/Writing “Australian” Masculine Journal of Australian Studies 56:68 – 77. Newcomb, T. M. 1961. The acquaintance process. New York: Holt, Reinhart and Winston. —. 1963. Stabilities underlying changes in interpersonal attraction. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 66:376 – 386. Ngata, H. M. 1995. English-Maori Dictionary : Pocket Edition. Wellington: Learning Media Ltd. Nötzoldt-Linden, U. 1994. Freundschaft: Zur Thematisierung einer vernachlässigten soziologischen Kategorie. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. NZPA. 2008. Largest ever Treaty deal ‘Treelords’ passes into law, in New Zealand Herald. APN Holdings NZ. http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1& objectid=10534220 [November 2012]. Ochs, E. 1988. Culture and language development: language acquisition and language socialization in a Samoan village. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ochs, E., and B. Schieffelin. 1984. Language Acquisition and Socialization: Three Developmental Stories and Their Implications, in Culture Theory : Essays on Mind, Self, and Emotion. Edited by R. A. Shweder and R. A. LeVine, pp. 276 – 320. New York: Cambridge University.

References

287

Ortiz, F. 1995. Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco and Sugar. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Pahl, R. 2000. On Friendship. Oxford: Polity Press. Pahl, R., and L. Spencer. 2010. Family, Friends, and Personal Communities: Changing Models-in-the-Mind. Journal of Family Theory & Review 2:197 – 210. Paine, R. 1969. In Search of Friendship: An Exploratory Analysis In ‘Middle-Class’ Culture. Man 4:505 – 524. Parsons, T. 1965. Full Citizenship for the Negro American? A Sociological Problem. Daedalus 94:1009 – 1054. Pelican, M. 2003. Interethnische Freundschaften in Nordwestkamerun: Ein Vergleich ethnischer und gender-spezifischer Konzepte und Praktiken. Working Paper Nr. 56. —. 2004. Frauen- und Männerfreundschaften im Kameruner Grasland: ein komparativer Ansatz. afrika spectrum 39:63 – 93. Pitt-Rivers, J. 1973. The Kith and the Kin, in The Character of Kinship. Edited by J. Goody. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Poata-Smith, E. S. T. A. 1996. He Pokeke Uenuku i Tu Ai: The Evolution of Contemporary Maori Protest, in Nga Patai: Racism and Ethnic Relations in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Edited by P. Spoonley, D. Pearson, and C. Macpherson. Palmerston North, NZ: The Dunmoore Press Ltd. —. 2004. Ka Tika A Muri, Ka Tika A Mua? Maori Protest Politics and the Treaty of Waitangi Settlement Process, in Tangata Tangata. The Changing Ethnic Contours of New Zealand. Edited by P. Spoonley, C. Macpherson, and D. Pearson, pp. 59 – 88. Southbank: Thomson Dunmore Press. Pomare, M., and J. Cowan. 1987a. Legends of the Maori (Vol.1): Southern Reprints. —. 1987b. Legends of the Maori (Vol.2): Southern Reprints. Putnam, R. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster. —. 2007. E Pluribus Unum. Diversity and Community in the Twenty-first Century – The 2006 Johan Skytte Prize Lecture. Scandinavian Political Studies 30:137 – 174. Rammstedt, O. Editor. 1992 – 95. Georg Simmel Gesamtausgabe. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Rata, E. 2005. Rethinking biculturalism. Anthropological Theory 5:267 – 284. Reinders, H. 2003. Interethnische Freundschaften bei Jugendlichen 2002. Hamburg: Verlag Dr. Kovac. —. 2010. Peers und Migration – zur Bedeutung von inter- und intraethnischen Peerbeziehungen im Jugendalter, in Freundschaften, Cliquen und Jugendkulturen: Peers als Bildungs- und Sozialisationsinstanzen. Edited by M. Harring, O. Böhm-Kasper, C. Rohlfs, and C. Palentien, pp. 123 – 140. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag. Reuter, J. 2004. Postkoloniales Doing Culure. Oder : Kultur als translokale Praxis, in Doing Culture. Neue Positionen zum Verhältnis von Kultur und sozialer Praxis. Edited by K.H. Hörning and J. Reuter, pp. 239 – 258. Bielefeld: transcript. Rex, J. 1990. “Rasse” und “Ethnizität” als sozialwissenschaftliche Konstrukte, in Ethnizität: Wissenschaft und Minderheiten. Edited by E. J. Dittrich and F.-O. Radtke, pp. 141 – 153. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag GmbH. Robertson, R. 1995. Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity, in Glo-

288

References

bal Modernities. Edited by M. Featherstone, S. Lash, and R. Robertson, pp. 25 – 44. London: Sage Publications. Rose, G. 1995. Place and Identity : A Sense of Place, in A Place in the World? Places, Cultures and Globalization. Edited by D. Massey and P. Jess, pp. 87 – 132. Oxford: The Open University. Roseneil, S. 2000. “Why we should Care about Friends: Some Thoughts (for CAVA) about the Ethics and Practice of Friendship,” pp. 28: ESRC research group on care, values and the future of welfare, workshop paper no. 22. http://www.leeds.ac.uk/cava/papers/paper22sasha.htm [June 2010]. —. 2004. Why we should Care about Friends: An Argument for Queering the Care Imaginary in Social Policy. Social Policy & Society 3:409 – 419. Ryan, P. M. 1997. The Reed Dictionary of Modern Maori. Auckand: Reed Publishing (NZ). Said, E. W. 1979. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Press. Salmond, A. 1975. Hui: A Study of Maori Ceremonial Gatherings, 1996 edition. Auckland: Reed Books. —. 1991. Tipuna-Ancestors: Aspects of Maori Cognatic Descent, in Man and a Half: Essays in Pacific Anthropology and Ethnobiology in Honour of Ralph Blumer. Edited by A. Pawley, pp. 334 – 347. Auckland: The Polynesian Society. —. 1992. Two Worlds: University of Hawaii Press. Schäfer, G. 2007. The Social Construction of Cross-Cultural Couple Relationships in New Zealand. Sites 4:85 – 111. —. 2010. Multiple Identifications, Movement and Place Making in Cross-Cultural Heterosexual Relationships in New Zealand. New Zealand Sociology 25:4 – 25. Schlee, G., and F. Trillmich. 2007. Verwandtschaft und Freundschaft im Verhältnis von biologischer, sozialer und handlungstheoretischer Rationalität, in Freundschaft und Verwandtschaft. Zur Unterscheidung zweier Beziehungssysteme. Edited by J. F. K. Schmidt, M. Guichard, P. Schuster, and F. Trillmich, pp. 369 – 394. Konstanz: UVK. Schlehe, J. 2000. Einleitung: Gender als transkulturelle Konstruktion, in Zwischen den Kulturen – zwischen den Geschlechtern. Kulturkontakte und Genderkonstrukte. Edited by J. Schlehe, pp. 7 – 16. Münster/New York/München/Berlin: Waxmann. —. 2008. Formen qualitativer ethnographischer Interviews, in Methoden ethnologischer Feldforschung. Edited by B. Beer, pp. 119 – 142. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag. Schwimmer, E. 1966. The World of the Maori: A.H. & A.W. Reed. Schwimmer, E. 1968a. The Aspirations of the Contemporary Maori, in The Maori People in the Nineteen-Sixties: A Symposium. Edited by E. Schwimmer, pp. 9 – 64. Auckland: Blackwood and Janet Paul Ltd. —. Editor. 1968b. The Maori People in the Nineteen-Sixties: A Symposium. Auckland: Blackwood and Janet Paul Ltd. —. 1974. Friendship and Kinship: An Attempt to Relate Two Anthropological Concepts, in The Compact. Selected Dimensions of Friendship. Edited by E. Leyton, pp. 49 – 70. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Schwimmer, E. 1990. The Maori hapu: a Generative Model. The Journal of the Polynesian Society 99:297 – 317. —. 2004. Making a World: The Maori of Aotearoa/New Zealand, in Figured Worlds. Ontological Obstacles in Intercultural Relations. Edited by J. Clammer, S. Poirier, and E. Schwimmer, pp. 243 – 274. Toronto/Buffalo/London: University of Toronto Press.

References

289

Scott, D. 1975. Ask that Mountain: The Story of Parihaka. Auckland: Reed/Southern Cross. Selman, R. L. 1980. The growth of interpersonal understanding: Developmental and clinical analyses. New York: Academic Press. Shirres, M. P. 1979. Tapu: Being with Potentiality for Power. Master of Arts in Anthropology, University of Auckland. Shweder, R. A., M. Minow, and H. R. Markus. 2003. Introduction: Engaging Cultural Differences, in Engaging Cultural Differences, The Multicultural Challenge in Liberal Democracies. Edited by R. A. Shweder, M. Minow, and H. R. Markus, pp. 1 – 15. New York: Russel Sage Foundation. Simmel, G. 1993. Psychologie der Diskretion, in Georg Simmel. Aufsätze und Abhandlungen 1901 – 1908. Band II. , Georg Simmel Gesamtausgabe. Edited by A. Cavalli and V. Krech, pp. 82 – 86. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Simmons, D. R. 1976. The Great New Zealand Myth: a study of the discovery and origin traditions of the Maori. Wellington: Reed. Sinclair, K. 1980. A History of New Zealand. London: Allen Lane, Penguin Books Ltd. Sissons, J. 1995. Tall Trees Need Deep Roots – Biculturalism, Bureaucracy and Tribal Democracy in Aotearoa-New Zealand. Cultural Studies 9:61 – 73. Smith, L. T. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. Dunedin: University of Otago Press. Smith, S. P. 1913 – 15. The lore of the Whare-wananga: Teachings of the Maori College on religion, cosmogony, and history. New Plymouth: The Polynesian Society. Spencer, L., and R. Pahl. 2006. Rethinking Friendship. Hidden Solidarities Today. Woodstock: Princeton University Press. Spickard, P., and W. J. Burroughs. 2000. We Are a People, in We Are a People: Narrative and Multiplicity in Constructing Ethnic Identity. Edited by P. Spickard and W. J. Burroughs, pp. 1 – 19. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Spoonley, P. 1986. Introduction: Being Pakeha – In Search of Ethnicity. Sites 13:1 – 5. —. 1988. Racism and Ethnicity. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Spoonley, P., C. Macpherson, and D. Pearson. 2004a. Introduction, in Tangata Tangata. The Changing Ethnic Contours of New Zealand, pp. i-xiv. Southbank: Thomson Dunmore. —. Editors. 2004b. Tangata Tangata. The Changing Ethnic Contours of New Zealand. Southbank: Thomson Dunmore Press. Statistics New Zealand. 2006. QuickStats About Education and Training. 2006 Census. Statistics New Zealand. —. 2007a. QuickStats About Bay of Plenty Region. Census 2006. Statistics New Zealand. —. 2007b. QuickStats About Maori. Census 2006 (revised 27 March 2007). Statistics New Zealand. —. 2007c. QuickStats About New Zealand’s Population and Dwellings. 2006 Census. Steven, R. 1989. Land and White Settler Colonialism: The Case of Aotearoa, in Culture and Identity in New Zealand. Edited by D. Novitz and B. Willmott, pp. 21 – 34. Wellington: GP Books. Strathern, M. 1988. The Gender of the Gift. Berkely/Los Angeles: University of California Press. Tenbruck, F. H. 1964. Freundschaft. Ein Beitrag zu einer Soziologie der persönlichen Beziehungen. Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie 16:431 – 456.

290

References

Thomas, N. 1996. Cold Fusion. American Anthropologist 98:9 – 16. Tilbury, F. 1999. Some of my best friends are Maori but…: Cross-Ethnic Friendships, Ethnic Identity and Attitudes to Race Relations in Aotearoa/New Zealand, Victoria University. Tilbury, F., and M. Lloyd. 2001. Friendship and Relationships in Everyday Life, in Sociology of Everyday Life in New Zealand. Edited by C. Bell, pp. 70 – 88. Palmerston North: Dunmore Press. Ting-Toomey, S., and F. Korzenny. Editors. 1991. Cross-Cultural Interpersonal Communication. Newbury Park/London/Delhi: Sage. Tolich, M., and C. Davidson. 1999. Starting Fielwork: An Introduction to Qualitative Research in New Zealand. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Trask, H.-K. 1993. From a Native Daughter : Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai’i. Monroe, Maine: Common Courage Press. Tylor, E. B. 1871. Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Language, Art, and Custom. London: John Murray. van Meijl, T. 2006. Multiple identifications and the dialogical self: urban Maori youngsters and the cultural renaissance. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.) 12:917 – 933. Walker, R. 1989. “Maori Identity,” in Culture and Identity in New Zealand. Edited by D. Novitz and B. Willmott, pp. 35 – 52. Wellington, NZ: GP Books. —. 1990. Ka Whawhai Tonu Matou: Struggle Without End. Auckland: Penguin Books (Ltd.). Webster, A. 2001. Spiral of Values: The Flow from Survival Values to Global Consciousness: An Interpretation of the New Zealand Study of Values. Hawera: Alpha Publications. Webster, S. 1975. Cognatic Descent Groups and the Contemporary Maori: A Preliminary Assessment. Journal of the Polynesian Society 84:121 – 152. Welsch, W. 1998. Transkulturalität. Zwischen Globalisierung und Partikularisierung, in Interkulturalität – Grundprobleme der Kulturbegegnung. Edited by P. Drechsel et al, pp. 45 – 72. Mainz: Mainzer Universitätsgespräche, Sommersemester 1998. —. 2002. Unsere postmoderne Moderne. Sechste Auflage. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. —. 2005. Auf dem Weg zu transkulturellen Gesellschaften, in Differenzen anders denken. Bausteine zu einer Kulturtheorie der Transdifferenz. Edited by L. Allolio-Näcke, B. Kalscheuer, and A. Manzeschke, pp. 314 – 341. Frankfurt/New York: Campus Verlag. Whyte, W. F. 1993 [1943]. Street Corner Society : The Social Structure of an Italian Slum. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wierzbicka, A. 2001. Australian Culture and Australian English: A Response to William Ramson. Australian Journal of Linguistics 21:195 – 214. Williams, H. W. 2000 [1844]. Dictionary of the Maori Language, 7 edition. Wellington: Legislation Direct. Willmott, P., and M. Young. 1967. Family and Class in a London Suburb. Boston: Random House. Willoughby, L. 2007. Interethnic relations: a case study of senior students at an Australian high school. International Education Journal 8:254 – 264. Wolf, E. R. 1986. Kinship, Friendship, and Patron-Client Relations in Complex Societies, in The Social Anthropology of Complex Societies. Edited by M. Banton, pp. 1 – 22: Tavistock Publications.

websites used

291

Woodward, K. 1997. Concepts of identity and difference, in Identity and Difference. Edited by K. Woodward. London: Sage/Open University Press. Wootton, D. 1999. Francis Bacon: Your Flexible Friend, in The World of the Favourite. Edited by J. H. Elliott and L. W. B. Brockliss, pp. 184 – 204. New Haven: Yale University Press. Wright, S. 1998. The Politicization of ‘Culture’. Anthropology Today 14:7 – 15. Young, M., and P. Willmott. 1957. Family and Kinship in East London. London: Routledge & Kegan. Young, R. 1990. White Mythologies: Writing History and the West. London: Routledge. Youniss, J. 1980. Parents and peers in social development: A Sullivan-Piaget perspective. Chicoago, IL: The University of Chicago Press.

websites used http://geography.about.com/library/blank/blxnew.htm [January 2012] (blank map) www.eth.mpg.de (Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle) www.grk-freundschaft.uni-freiburg.de (graduate group Friends, Patrons, Followers) www.lalecheleague.org.nz [November 2012] (La Leche League) www.maoridictionary.co.nz [November 2012] (Te Aka Online Dictionary) www.national.org.nz [October 2012] (Orewa speech) www.nzherald.co.nz [November 2012] (New Zealand Herald) www.playcentre.org.nz [November 2012] (Playcentre) www.stats.govt.nz [November 2012] (for current statistics) www.treatyofwaitangi.govt.nz [February 2006] (text of Treaty)