Noa’ia ‘e mauri, Talofa lava, Malo e lelei, Kia Orana, Ni Sa Bula Vinaka, Fakaalofa lahi atu, Fakafeiloaki, Fakatalofa atu, Halo, Mauri, Hai, Kia ora e te iwi <3
He hono tangata e kore e motu; kāpā he taura waka e motu – Connections between people cannot be severed, whereas those of a canoe-rope can. None of the treasures in this issue were created in isolation. We are beyond blessed to share the works of Indigenous creatives who bring their villages, whānau, history, atua and whakapapa with them.
These writers call community from the page; they celebrate, unpack and agitate. They are courageous and dedicated–writing into the late night, into uncertainty, writing the length of the bus ride home. There is an abundance here; no shortage of Indigenous voices worth amplifying.
The only shortage is in the pages we are allocated. So, we create our own.
2023 is the third year of Taumata Rau, and we are still only just beginning. As Moana and whenua-specific representation increases, so does the need to acknowledge the diversity of our voices and lived experiences. There are as many ways to be Māori and Pasifika–as there are Māori and Pasifika peoples. We are just as Indigenous waving our ili as we are peeling potatoes. This year, we are learning our reo, speaking up against injustice. We are leaning into community, bouncing back from burnout and serving with hanisi, alofa and intention.
When we speak, we are speaking through generations. Our words cut through the stereotypes we strive to surmount, and our kupu wānanga make sense of the mockery that has become of the places we call haukainga, whakapā wairua. We write, and we kōrero, release what we all hold back, wrap and confine into the crevices of our whare tūpuna. Here, it all spills out.
The fridge is packed just for you, so grab kawhe, grab your mates. Pull up, come through.
Faiak se’ea ma hanisiof, otirā tēnei ka tarea ngā mea whakamiha atu i te pou māngai whakawairua,
Hiwa Piahana & Ruby Macomber
