Treatment: Collision of Worldviews

Mythology: Brotherhood of Kauri & Tohorā

In the sea, the greatest of all ocean dwellers is the tohorā, the whale, and on land, the mightiest living thing is the kauri, the giant tree of the Northern forest ranges. Tohorā, specifically parāoa (the sperm whale) and kauri are bound together as brothers in Māori mythology. As the myth goes, the connection traces back to Tāne-Māhuta, god of the forest, and his brother Tangaroa, god of the sea. Their fraternity ensures that the kauri of the forest will always have a brother in the parāoa of the sea.

In every region of Aotearoa, iwi learn and pass on their unique version of the stories that connect all Māori to their collective past. The tangata whenua of Waipoua, Te Roroa, are kaitiaki of the kauri and the tangata whenua of Ngātiwai (iwi on the east coast of Northland who descend from Ngāti Manaia, one of the oldest lineages in te Taitokerau) are kaitiaki of the tohorā.¹²⁸ “Te Iwi o Ngātiwai.” Consequently, the Ngātiwai and Waipoua stories reveal different perspectives of the brotherhood. Together, their distinct narrations of the myth create the broader cultural history that gets passed down through generations.

I asked Hori Parata, leading tohorā expert and fiercely passionate Ngātiwai kaumātua, about the mythic connection while visiting his home in Onerahi. From his seat, he obliged. “Our whakapono, our story, talks about Io Matua Kore, the faceless parent, the beginning of all things. Down the line comes Papatūānuku and Ranginui. Papa and Rangi created all of those things that became the natural environment,” he said, and then went on to recite the separation of the parents and continued into the division of the natural world by the children of the gods. “After the separation of Papatūānuku and Ranginui, Tangaroa took the sea and Tāne took the land...Tāne became the parent of birds and trees...and eventually...he decided to make one kauri with legs on it. Our story with the whale and kauri comes from Tāne when he is making kauri trees he makes the whale. He finds that the whale kauri just wants to be in wet environments moving around to rivers and swamps and so he decides to give him to his brother Tangaroa, god of the sea,” Hori concluded.

And so, the kauri with legs became the whale with fins, and it was fitting that the giant of the forest and the giant of the sea should become friends. The whale would even wash itself ashore in moments of distress to communicate with the kauri. In one such time of need, as men increasingly felled kauri for its wood, the whale approached the coastline to prophesize the downfall of kauri by man and implore its friend to seek refuge in the sea. The whale said to the kauri, You do not know. They may be small and insignificant, but their harp greenstone axes will bite into you and their fire will burn you. Come with me while there is still time. The kauri refused to abandon the land of Tāne, so the whale devised another option. Let us change our skins, in order that we may remember each other, he pleaded.¹²⁹ A. W. Reed, “Kauri and the Whale,” in Māori Myths & Legendary Tales, 230-231. So the kauri and whale traded skins, sealing their connection from then on. This is why the kauri has smooth grey bark like its brother’s slick skin and is full of an amber resin like the sperm whale is full of oil. The physical similarities mark their underlying connection. A physical manifestation of their mythological bond.

Māori mythology tells us why whale strandings occur and why the connection is strongest in moments when the whale approaches the kauri in the space between land and sea. It begins in their earliest stories and involves a brother of Tangaroa and Tāne, god of war and father of men and women of Earth: Tūmatauenga. “During the time of creation, when all the children of the gods began to claim their territory, Tūmatauenga saw that all that was left was the land between the high tide mark and the low tide mark,” Hori shared. So it was that Tūmatauenga claimed the in-between space and warned his brothers against crossing his territory, for it was in that zone that the creatures of land and sea would die at his will. And as Hori has observed, “Whales will always strand in that area between the mean high water spring and the mean low-tide.” To this day, the intertidal zone is a dangerous territory for marine mammals. The courage of whales who cross the barrier to send a message to their brothers illuminates an unbreakable bond that Western science is incapable of defining.

New Zealand is considered the whale stranding capital of the world with more than 5,000 strandings on record since 1840, and a yearly average of 300 individual animals washing ashore a year. As the leading whale expert of Aotearoa, Hori Parata has seen over 500 of those strandings in his lifetime, and with each one, he contemplates the mythological link. “We are part of the Indigenous Whalers Association. It’s not just about killing whales, it’s the maintenance of cultural heritage. When we do our karakias while we work on the whale, we acknowledge Tūmatauenga, lord of the forest and sea,” he assured.

Through over 50 years working with whales, Hori spends nearly every day fighting to preserve the ways of his people. It’s arduous work and oftentimes undervalued. “I’m a Māori environmentalist,” Hori specified, “I’m struggling to reinstate our way of caring for the environment. Environmental work is like being cold, hungry and wet in the trenches all the time.” One way he hopes to do this is to cultivate his data and pass on that knowledge to the next generation. “My korero is to not take that korero to the bloody grave with you either. Take a look at your nephews and nieces, look really hard at them because you need to find one of them that is really hungry for the environment. You don’t just give it to them because you like this kid,” he warned.

Hori identified the role of the Crown as a major area for improvement in his field, specifically with respect to Māori harvest rights. Māori harvest rights over whales that have died in strandings have only been officially recognized by the New Zealand government since 1998 through a piece of legislation called the Marine Mammals Protection Act.¹³⁰ “Marine Mammals Protection Act 1978”; Rata Pryor Rodgers, “The Connection of Māori to Whales”; Alexander Gillespie, “Beached Whales” in “The Bi-Cultural Relationship with Whales: Between Progress, Success and Conflict” Hori criticized the legislation, noting, “It does not provide for the indigenous people. It puts us into the same class as everyone else.” Under the MMPA, for example, the whale belongs to Māori while it swims in the ocean and after it has died of stranding. In the intermediary time, as the whale strands itself and struggles between the high and low-tide mark of Tūmatauenga, it belongs to the government, which allows DOC employees to attempt a rescue, take photos and do general public interest.

The big question of today: Why do whales strand? After a lifetime working with them, Parata concluded that strandings don’t have a single cause. “There are so many things out there in the marine environment that are hurting them. They are getting hit by ships, they are swallowing bloody plastic. We do autopsies so that we can have some kind of record of why we think that whale died. Lots of times they are starving because the fishing boats are taking their food. There is a big rubbish dump down on the South Island, you’re talking tons of plastic and paper and chemicals and poisons in that dump as well. It’s horrible to think that that’s what is happening to those poor animals out there at the moment.”

While the environmental factors attributed to the Climate Crisis, like warming, more acidic waters and the overproduction of chemical and physical waste, do contribute to the strandings, there is also the unquantifiable mythological connection at work. After all, visits of the whale to kauri have recurred throughout history during moments of crisis. Just as the whale once beached itself to warn the kauri of men stealing its wood, whales today are stranding themselves along the shores of New Zealand. One may wonder if these whales have come to help their brothers face the devastating disease of Kauri Dieback.

Māori practitioners who wonder the same have started looking to the physical body of the whale for answers. “In Māori, we say that if you have twins and one gets sick, well the other one is likely to have the medicine. That’s where the thinking came to us,” said Hori, regarding their search for treatment in the whale body. “We aren’t saying that it is some ancient instruction from our ancestors. It’s just something that ourselves, as the tohungas of the tribe, see that white people are spending millions of dollars on phytophthora [research] and aren’t getting anywhere. At the same time, they are not listening to us about closing the forest down if it’s unhealthy,” said Hori, suggesting a rāhui to protect from Kauri Dieback.

As I write this text in 2020, with the novel coronavirus pandemic infiltrating nations across the globe and disrupting human life with no mind of borders, I find myself thinking about whales coming ashore to warn their brothers of dangers on the horizon – of Kauri Dieback firstly, but maybe also of a new danger to both the caretakers of kauri and those who are unaware of Kauri Dieback altogether. Perhaps the whales call to their brethren to warn of the consequences that a warming world may have for all natural creations regardless of if they swim in the ocean, grow in the forest, or live in a home on the coast.

Old Knowledge & New: Merging of Western Science & Mātauranga Māori

The ngahere pulses with mauri that flows through all matter, drives productivity and supports life. On November 13th, 2019, at a Komiti Kaitiaki gathering for the Warawara Whakaora Ake Report, I learned that there are two distinct worlds operating in the Māori Worldview: the Spiritual and Material. More, that the living-relationship to the forest that Māori spend their life nourishing creates the space where the spiritual and material worlds are able to coexist. Within that worldview, modern Māori operate in Whai Rawa or a Wellbeing Economy which focuses on cultivating their identity. Whai Rawa considers four well-beings:

• Wairuatanga/Spiritual
• Te Aotūroa/Environmental (ecological capital)
• Whanaungatanga/Socio-Cultural Kinship (tribe or family-based human capital as networks of people)
• Whaihuamana/Economics (physical financial, tangible and intangible capital)

Together, these well-beings amount to Māoritanga, the totality of Māori life.

In my first exchange with Kevin Prime, we talked about energy in a forest, both seen and unseen. Ever since, I came to see the divergence in holistic versus specific thinking take many forms. Māori view the wellbeing of plants and humans holistically, and unlike Western science’s obligation to replicate results prior to confirming data, Māori trust in nature, accept when it demonstrates an observable quality or response, and adopt that knowledge into their teachings moving forward. I asked about the difference between Western science and the Māori perspective. “In science they want to prove things again and again by measuring it, whereas Māori will only need to do it once and they believe...” Kevin responded. “If you don’t believe it straight away you are doubting the one who is giving you the knowledge. It’s like if you were in class and you don’t believe what the teacher is telling you...I suppose that is the basis of modern Māori learning. That’s probably the difference between science and Māori science. I guess you can call it science.”

A major space in which this divergence of worldviews appears is karakia. Māori use karakia with kauri because karakia gets to a higher level of language and communication than exists in most versions of everyday speech. Insofar as kauri are regarded as the children of Tāne and linked with creation mythology they are elevated to a pretty lofty spiritual stature. Often, the sublime transmission of karakia is needed to connect with a subject as mystically layered as kauri.

Kelly Kahukiwa introduced me to the intangible duality of kauri as we sat in the clearing on Mount Parihaka. “For kauri,” he explained, “there is a language on the skin and a language in the heartwood.” Māori have a saying for kauri that roughly translates to what’s going on inside is different from what you see on the outside. The same can be said for humans and religion and just as prayer has been used to negotiate what goes on underneath our pesky skin, karakia may be that tool for kauri. Karakia, Kelly continued, “is meant to penetrate the outside, uho, to get to the inside, iho. Te reo ta te uho kauri, Te reo ta te iho kauri – there is a language that’s out here and a language that’s in there, and the karakia is to go inside to remind us that we are the same. Even though we people tend to hide our inner creation.”

Kevin Prime believes in the complete power of karakia and openly uses it on his property to keep P. agathidicida at bay. “I tend to use karakia itself on its own,” he said, “because I believe it will work for just about everything.”

In 2019, Kevin ventured to aid a fellow Northland area suffering from Kauri Dieback Disease. His ancestor, going back 14 generations, came from Waipoua and he felt an urge to help protect their area. So, he approached the CEO of Te Roroa Group after a wānanga (meeting, seminar or forum to discuss and consider) at his marae, and offered to perform a karakia over the kauri in Waipoua. They set a date and debated over how many people should attend. Kevin preferred that no one be there, but Te Roroa Group wanted their trustees and various stakeholders to bear witness to the karakia. Though wary of the spectacle, Kevin agreed. He planned to do one prayer at sunset, just before the sun went down into darkness, and then one the next morning, before sunrise and just as the sun rose.

“What I saw the karakia as for was making a request to the unseen one,” Kevin shared. “I suppose what I called on them was for the germ to start there and built up the power to start the protection as a tiny, tiny piece right where we were in front of Tāne Mahuta and build up its energy to get larger and larger and kill this phytophthora and then drive it out and right up above the tree and then to spread way out over the whole forest so to continue to multiply. To spread over the whole forest and to drive out, to kill the phytophthora completely and to create a shield to hold all this epidemic that’s affecting the kauri. That was the evening. In the morning was the thanks and the praise to the unseen one for completing that.

“Now to me, to really show your belief we should not – and I did suggest it to them because I was a guest, we all were guests, there at Te Roroa – have used the foot baths. I said if we really believe it’s all working we should not use them. I was wanting them to say, ‘that’s ok, you go, don’t wash your feet.’ I felt that because I was in their rohe, their area, I had to abide by their rules. I wasn’t given that freedom, the ‘OK’...” his voice softened while he collected his memories, or perhaps, chose his next words.

“Personally, I wasn’t satisfied that it was completed properly...I felt it was half-pie. I’d have preferred that I went there myself, nobody else knew it was happening and I just did it and knew that it was gone. That’s the difference with karakia: you conjure it and you leave it. Your belief is enough to make it all happen and I felt that in that case. Whereas I know that on our place that it happens which is why it isn’t here. We haven’t got the phytophthora here, we haven’t got myrtle rust here, and I think it will stay like that. And we really push it out a lot further to all the Ngāti Hine boundaries wherever those are,” Kevin said.

While Kevin’s belief in the power of karakia is admirable, New Zealanders are using a spectrum of controls for Kauri Dieback to reduce the impact of the disease in infected trees. In addition to the disinfectants used against spores at hygiene stations, control tools to deactivate or kill the resting oospore stage of the pathogen by using temperature and p.H. are under investigation, as well as exploring biological or alternative treatments and genetic tolerance or resistance to the disease and its impacts.¹³¹ “Controlling the Disease.” For the latter, the Kauri Dieback Program Tangata Whenua Rōpū has co-funded The Healthy Trees Healthy Future Programme, a six-year collaborative research program run by Scion, which seeks out genetically resistant trees to breed and plant in infected areas in order to grow a healthy generation of trees and restore kauri areas.¹³² “Healthy Trees, Healthy Future.”

Another type of control, far from the karakia-only end of the spectrum, uses a chemical called phosphite. Phosphite has been used to reduce the impact of other phytophthora species on trees by temporarily boosting the trees’ natural defenses, thus helping them tolerate the disease more effectively. In 2017, a five-year field trial showed that phosphite trunk injections was successful as a treatment for trunk lesions of infected juvenile kauri by suppressing the activity of PA, though the studies were inconclusive regarding the longevity and necessary frequency of the treatment in order for it to appeal as a long-term control.¹³³ I. J. Horner, E. G. Hough, and M. B. Horner, “Phosphite for Control of Kauri Dieback: Final Report,” Executive summary (Havelock North: Plant & Food Research/Rangahau Ahumāra Kai, Ministry for Primary Industries/Manatū Ahu Matua, July 2017). In response, Auckland Council and Waikato Regional Council have implemented phosphite treatment programs in their respective regions, and further research is underway to address the questions posed by the field trial and investigate the effectiveness of injections in mature trees and spraying phosphite directly on kauri trunk lesions.¹³⁴ I. J. Horner, “Phosphite Large Tree Treatment Trials: Brief Report”; I. J. Horner, “Trunk Sprays and Lower Phosphite Injection Rates for Kauri Dieback Control – Brief Update October 2018.”

Unfortunately, many scientists, researchers and private citizens searching for a treatment are operating through a Western paradigm driven mindset, born in the 1880’s, of thinking singularly about the threats to kauri rather than recognizing the histories and accumulation of trauma over time, for example, the legacies of kauri being bled, burned and logged. As Hori stated, “In the Western paradigm...They don’t have institutional memory, they don’t want to remember all the stuff-ups they make all of the time.”

I wasn’t surprised to learn that some Māori oppose the phosphite control, calling it too invasive and even saying they can hear the kauri scream as men inject them with phosphite. Nor was I shocked that scientists guided by the Western paradigm have been unable to locate the cure for Kauri Dieback given that they often study the site of the problem rather than adopting the holistic mindset of looking elsewhere for its source.

According to Kelly Kahukiwa, “The trees themselves are calling for help from other directions and calling for people to look for information and spread the message for them.” Māori are reaching into their cultural arsenal to search for a treatment for kauri that expands past the realm of Western science. Considering the approach to finding treatments for the disease differs between scientists and indigenous practitioners, the path forward may be to mix the old ways with the new, indigenous methods and ancient stories with Western science and modern research, holistic faith healing with clinical experiments and data collection.

The holistic perspective, of considering outlying factors like species relations within an ecosystem as well as rituals, principles and methodologies of rongoā healing, is increasingly gaining consideration in KDB research. For, just as Peter Prime’s sore knees were a physical manifestation of the spooks in his childhood, the ailments of Kauri Dieback may be connected to origins beyond our data reserves. After all, the scientist asks How do we stop this? while the indigenous practitioner asks Why did the Earth make this? and What are we doing that she has to make this as an extreme measure? Traditional cultural knowledge merged with Western science may be capable of delivering the most comprehensive understanding of the natural world to date.

When we first met, Hori Parata recalled, “Our tūpuna said, trample anger beneath your feet for 150 years, go into their homes and their institutions so that you can understand how they establish their values and principles...” Many of his fellow Māori have followed this directive over the years and incorporated Western teachings and behaviors into their lives. Now, he cautioned, it is time for those Māori to take that Western knowledge and data and add it to their own reserve of knowledge and data that is specifically Māori, for, “When you don’t have any data of your own, you are a very poor person indeed, because if all you have to work on is their data, you’re in the shit already.”

According to Hori, having knowledge and data about the land is what sets Māori apart from the white fellows in government. “To be a true kaitiaki in your region, you must know the names of the pā sites and wāhi tapu,” he warned. He spoke of data in the same way he spoke of language and the need for his people to learn Te Reo – in terms of mana. “The key for me about mana is making sure that you’ve got their data and that you’re making your own on top of it. So that when they come to us about something, I can say well these are the things that we want you to pay attention to,” Hori instructed. His statement emphasized that tangata whenua and mātauranga Māori practitioners have the agency to use modern scientific concepts in conjunction with their traditional knowledge as they see fit.

In illustration of this, Nga Tirairaka o Ngati Hine, the environmental management arm of the Ngati Hine iwi, published an exploratory report outlining potential methodologies of rongoā that could slow the spread of kauri dieback and improve kauri health. The report builds on earlier cultural impact assessments conducted by Kauri Dieback Programme affiliates, and emphasizes that because kauri dieback will have a critical effect on tangata whenua and local stakeholders, the research and response to kauri dieback must come from local stakeholders and take their needs into account. Thus, a series of wānanga were held to gather input from local rongoā practitioners and assess the viability of various methodologies. From their findings, a comprehensive holistic response would include boosting the immunity of the forest/trees; carrying out remedial and physical interventions on at risk/diseased trees; and performing spiritual interventions. This research is ongoing and expanding.

These explorations of rongoā methodologies are designed with the safeguarding of mātauranga Māori and of the rongoā practitioners as the highest priority. This is best stated by the report’s author Tui Shortland (of Ngāti Hine & Ngāti Raukawa ki te tonga iwi), who wrote, “It is important to ensure that any work in relation to traditional knowledge, innovations and practices aligns to the [principles of the Kauri Dieback Programme] by empowering and respecting traditional knowledge holders and experts.”¹³⁵ Tui Shortland, “Rongoā (Traditional Medicine Practices) - Improving the Health of Kauri Forests”. Thus, most of the research currently being conducted in the ngahere is shielded from non-practitioners. As a non-Māori observer, I may discuss only the methodologies that I learned of from kaumātua. For instance, I learned from Hori of a rongoā based on kauri’s connection to parāoa, the sperm whale. Hori explained that the ultimate rongoā within the whale is ambergris, an oily substance that is created inside its stomach, made up of melted squid beaks. The high-grade whale oil has healing properties that are intended to disrupt the life cycle of the zoospore in KDB. Meanwhile, Māori medicinal expert Tohe Ashby has been investigating another treatment measure – applying a mixture of whale fat and bone to the infected tree as they deliver karakia.¹³⁶ D’Angelo Martin, “Traditional Māori Medicine Could Be a Cure for Kauri Dieback.” The trials using Ashby’s methodology show promise, and medicinal experts like Ashby have urged scientists to consider the viability of their research in future funding opportunities. According to Hori, “Even though it’s still early days with the trials we are doing with rongoā, it’s looking ok. And if it does work, we’ll be glad about that.”

Slowly, the message has been received and sperm whale oil is gaining ground as a potential treatment measure, along with seaweed and ash and bio controls such as manuka, rahurahu, harakeke and other native plant extracts. In fact, Kevin Prime mentioned that a doctor and researcher from Wellington introduced him to ambergris in October, 2019, indicating that the methodology had already circulated through Western scholarship. The doctor, Dr. Monica Gerth, works toward merging Western data with mātauranga Māori in her microbiology research regarding P. agathidicida.

This investigation with ambergris occurs as other followers of tikanga Māori pursue their observation that certain natives provide a buffer zone that protects kauri from P. agathidicida. As I mentioned, while Kevin is adamant that the karakia on his property has kept P. agathidicida at bay, he did admit that the generous planting of natives, like kawakawa or red matipo, alongside kauri seedlings also helped to keep Kauri Dieback at bay. The species relationship is not measured in data but that has not prevented him from sharing his observations with his Pākehā neighbors and Western practitioners like Dr. Gerth. In fact, his observation excited Dr. Gerth, whose mātauranga-guided microbiology research into KDB buzzes with the potential of the intersection of knowledge and includes introducing the zoospore stage of phytophthora to various native plant roots. Kevin has even sent Dr. Gerth kumarahou roots and kawakawa roots from his property in Northland to test. “She has been exposing the phytophthora, not the spore but the next stage, the stage when they can swim, to water from the kawakawa. She said that it seems to attract the phytophthora, it swims toward it, and as it arrives it explodes. So that has been encouraging to us as we have observed over time that where there is kawakawa growing there doesn’t seem to be any kauri dieback,” Kevin shared.

Education & Community Engagement

Part of what makes Kauri Dieback Disease controls effective is the educational messaging that explains what the disease is, how the disease works, how people and animals spread the disease, and how human intervention and behavioral changes can prevent its spread.

Much like the 20-second hand washing tutorials and mask effectiveness infographics that were created to educate people on the coronavirus, kauri dieback protection messaging has projected a simple narrative. Hygiene stations across Northland are equipped with step-by-step instructions using carefully vetted icons to display how to brush footwear, inspect for soil, and disinfect with spray, while forest walkways are dotted with equally crafted signage reminding visitors to stay on the track and off of kauri roots. If the novel coronavirus protection message is stay clean and stay home, the Kauri Dieback prevention message is equally direct: stay clean and stay on the path.

Te Roroa Ambassadors

No matter how clear the infographic, human-to-human communication usually prevails as the most effective tool of persuasion when it comes to increasing awareness of and shifting attitudes toward kauri dieback compliance. In the Waipoua forest, the Te Roroa Ambassadors, now called Kauri Protection Ambassadors (KPA), serve a vital role in maintaining the health and longevity of kauri forests by educating the public. Ambassadors work daily in Waipoua to tell stories of the legendary kauri, introduce people to P. agathidicida, and explain how following protocol and properly utilizing hygiene stations helps protect the precious taonga species. The visitors they engage with include Māori and Pākehā from nearby townships, international and domestic travelers, artists, scientists, backpackers, and students from the South Island to Northland. They are people who know the forest deeply alongside people who have no inkling of the ancient knowledge that pulses through the forest creatures and kaitiaki of the region alike.

The KPAs offer a gift of their knowledge to each visitor. A bit of the forest that the visitor can carry back to wherever they call home. A gift that they can ruminate on and one that is, according to Hugh, “The gift of being part of an exchange of energy, wisdom, ancient knowledge. The gift of witnessing these living giants, but also of being present to the great challenges that the forest is experiencing.”

A common story Kauri Protection Ambassadors share is that of Tāne, the father of the forest, and his role in the separation of Papa and Rangi and his creation of the creatures that populate the land and forests of Aotearoa. After all, as tangata whenua of Waipoua, the home of the great living kauri giant, they are best positioned to do so. Perhaps the most compelling for visitors is when KPAs share like stories from Māori mythology while standing at the feet of Tāne-Māhuta, for it acts as a positive form of messaging that emphasizes the significance of the species rather than a negative method that uses the threat of pathogen as the driving force. Regardless, each visitor provides a blank slate, an opportunity for the KPA to share their perspective and communicate what their efforts are in place to protect. In the case of Kauri Dieback, their words provide the cultural context necessary for a comprehensive acceptance of protection guidelines. They communicate the spiritual origins that kauri symbolize within and beyond the forest ecosystem and, in doing so, can better convey the importance of preventing a disease that threatens the future of the precious taonga far more effectively than the curated signs on the boardwalk around them.

I have listened to Kauri Protection Ambassadors tell the story of Tāne and explain the services kauri offer their fellow forest dwellers. I have also listened to questions that visitors ask the KPA on duty, What is the deal with the walkways anyway? Look how far away the tree is, it’s been alive so long how could humans possibly be strong enough to kill it just by walking on its roots? I even listened to one Englishman describe a visit back in the 1980s, long before the walkways and protections were in place, during which he was permitted to walk right up and touch the bark of Tāne Mahuta. The KPA on duty responded, with rhythmic efficiency, with an explanation of the historical shifts that have occurred since the 1880s, let alone the 1980s, that have culminated in a need for protections like walkways to safeguard the forest.

In every circumstance, the KPA delivered sincere responses, in as much detail and with as much accuracy as possible. As I observed, for the most part, forest walkers usually learned something about the role kauri occupy in Māori culture and the reasons behind the safety protocol. All said, the Kauri Protection Ambassadors lend credibility to the notion that human delivery of Kauri Dieback Disease information is the most effective way to ensure people form a small connection to the forest, so that they may internalize the information and change their behaviors accordingly to comply with controls.

Connectivity Conservation

“Our mission is for kauri to flourish from the mountains to the sea, with the belief that when it does, we too will flourish, for without the healthy ecology that kauri represents, we are lost.”

– Kauri Ki Uta, Kauri Ki Tai or “The Kauri Project.”¹³⁷ “Home.”

A growing community in New Zealand now recognizes that science and mātauranga Māori stand side-by-side in a braided web of practices and that creative engagement and the arts are intrinsic to expressing the historical and contemporary relationships between people and the landscape. They also recognize that finding the solution to an epidemic like Kauri Dieback Disease requires a collaborative response that utilizes every realm of knowledge.

With human-to-human involvement at the forefront, Kauri Ki Uta, Kauri Ki Tai or “The Kauri Project” (TKP) creates a space where concepts of art, science and cultural knowledge intersect. TKP responds to the relationship between people and landscape through a multi-disciplinary program of community engagement that emphasizes the link between art, science at mātauranga Māori in order to address KDB and conservation issues arising from the disease, such as biodiversity collapse.¹³⁸ “Purpose.” With a similar mission to Te Roroa Kauri Protection Ambassadors, TKP operates with a belief that comprehensive cultural engagement, when paired with conservation practice, stimulates “a deep emotional connection essential for the public broadly to understand, and respond to, the messaging around kauri dieback, including the important necessary behavior change of hygiene (cleaning shoes and equipment when entering the forest), respect for track closures, etc.”¹³⁹ “Purpose.”

Since The Kauri Project was initiated in June of 2013, its members have developed an engagement program that places art alongside science and cultural knowledge to promote awareness of KDB and biodiversity, and the significant role that kauri plays in the ecology, history, economy and cultural landscape of Aotearoa. As a collective which focuses on the unique and threatened indigenous kauri forest ecology and celebrates the cultural history tied to it, The Kauri Project acknowledges the distinctive roles present in all realms of the environment. Rather than drawing lines of segmentation, it seeks to incorporate the abilities and views of scientists, iwi, artists, researchers, communicators and community activators in its work to reach a combined goal of kauri preservation.¹⁴⁰ “Purpose.” See section “Art, creativity, mātauranga, science and community.” So, in September, 2014, The Kauri Project’s Charitable Trust was established with members holding a repository of knowledge regarding art, community engagement, and both iwi and scientific perspectives. The seven member board of trustees includes: Jack Craw, Eamon Nathan, Will Ngakuru, Hamish Coney, Sophie Jerram, Ariane Craig-Smith and Chris McBride. The latter two members are the Project’s co-curators and co-producers and undertake the Trust’s public activities.

One of the Trust’s main objectives is advancing the knowledge and understanding of kauri in order to facilitate the species’ protection and advance environmental knowledge and understanding both in New Zealand and overseas. In order to do so, TKP acts as a connector between Western scientists and researchers, artists, iwi and communities – all of which historically have clashed when trying to communicate and share resources within a forest, or larger natural environment. The development of exhibitions, installations, hui, seminars, film, music, writing, workshops and alternative media outlets has been TKP’s main avenue for educating and encouraging public awareness.¹⁴¹ “Projects.” It was through its creative engagement artery with the help of a man named Eamon Nathan that I connected to The Kauri Project.

In addition to acting as a member of the board of trustees for The Kauri Project, Eamon is the Pou Manatū General Manager of Reconnecting Northland (RN), the first large-scale ecological restoration program in Aotearoa New Zealand. RN was founded to reconcile “a land divided by economics, pests, endemic flora and fauna, and ideology fueled by government and tribal leadership.”¹⁴² “Whenua Ora, Wai Ora, Tangata Ora.” Modeled on connectivity conservation – a concept that recognizes that habitats and species function best as part of a large, interconnected network that is maintained and protected for nature by involving people – Reconnecting Northland responds to the challenge of fragmentation by building a path of connections, from the individual to the highest levels of Crown and tribal leadership.¹⁴³ “Our Story - the Origin of Connectivity.”

Recognizing the intersection of connectivity conservation and this project, I reached out to Eamon to discuss his work with Reconnecting Northland in collaboration with The Kauri Project in the Waipoua forest. We met in Whangārei, with Reconnecting Northland’s Connectivity Activator Celia Witehira and Programme Administrator Sian Leith to discuss the connections between kauri ecology, Māori and Pākehā ideologies, and the economic and cultural history of Northland. Afterward, I was keen to learn more about networks of creative engagement that merge science and mātauranga, so Eamon linked me up with TKP’s co-curators and co-producers Ariane Craig-Smith and Chris McBride.

Under the supervision and curation of Ariane and Chris, The Kauri Project has reached across Northland. By forming networks of creatives and scientists involved with kauri research, they have staged symposiums and seminars, organized field-trips, held research collaborations and retreats, commissioned artworks and exhibitions and produced a community wide poster series, all while building lasting connections between iwi and hapū, artists, activists, educators, government officials, environmental groups and the general public.

During the months I spent in Northland, The Kauri Project was engaged in Te Kura o Te Kauri “The School of the Kauri.” Te Kura o Te Kauri is an outreach and education project in the form of a travelling classroom environment. The classroom, which uses the previously developed ‘Lab in a Box’ travelling shipping container as its base, traveled around Auckland and Northland areas, where Kauri Dieback is most threatening, educating children about kauri forest ecology and the pathogen.

Te Kura o Te Kauri’s main goals are to “encourage kaitiakitanga of our forests, give hands-on experience with both Western and mātauranga Māori approaches to the science of a healthy forest, and engage the senses through art, sound, and virtual reality technology.”¹⁴⁴ “Our Mission.” The program’s principal investigators are Dr. Monica Gerth and Dr. Wayne Patrick, though it relies on fellows, students, research assistants, artists, teachers and local iwi to adapt its varied curriculum to integrate mātauranga Māori.¹⁴⁵ “Science Leaders.” Kelly Kahukiwa, is involved with the program as well. With his background as the vision holder and project leader for Te Reo Ngaro o te Rākau – The Hidden Voices of Trees Project, he joins Ariane Craig-Smith as an Arts Leader for Te Kura o Te Kauri.¹⁴⁶ “Arts Leaders.”

The School of the Kauri made three stops in Northland beginning on October 13th, 2019. The first stop was in Whangārei, the second in the Waipoua Forest and the third in an area called Woodhill.¹⁴⁷ “Te Kura o Te Kauri Tour, 2019.” In each location, there was a connectivity point person to bridge the gap between Te Kura o Te Kauri and the local community.¹⁴⁸ “Regional Engagement Leaders.” Te Kaurinui Parata, Kauri to his friends, was the connectivity point person for the project in Whangārei and also happens to be Hori Parata’s 23 year-old son. Kauri is called after the first whale his father named and in keeping with his genealogical connection to the sea, he had recently left University and returned to Whangārei to study whale tikanga and carving, another traditional cultural trade of Ngātiwai iwi. I met Te Kaurinui in early October, 2019, because as the connectivity person in Whangārei, he facilitated a Te Kura o Te Kauri planning meeting I attended at the Hihiaua Cultural Centre (fig. 29).

On October 13th, 2019, I first saw the industrial size shipping container-turned-classroom sitting on a patch of grass adjacent to the Hihiaua Cultural Centre. On the center’s sleek wooden deck were six pastel-colored bean bag chairs arranged in a circle. A group of people stood mingling, mostly shaded from the afternoon sun by the rafters above. They were Jack Craw, Ariane Craig-Smith, Chris McBride, Dr. Monica Gerth, Abi Suscy, Dr. Lauren Waller and Fiona Douglas. Eamon Nathan attended as well, though he wasn’t present at the start of the session.

As Whangārei’s connectivity advisor and the facilitator of the gathering, Kauri led the group, each one of us sitting in the bean bag circle, through a go-around of introductions, some brief scheduling, and then prompted the module presentations. Having no role in the modules – I had been invited by Ariane and Chris in a gesture of goodwill– I remained respectfully taciturn during the meeting, listening intently to the module presentations and expertise of those leading them. I would meet Kauri for breakfast a month later, joined by Hugh, to learn more about the cultural context that tethers the kauri to the whale, and the pair to his Ngātiwai community. But at the meeting in Whangārei, the modules dominated the discourse.

The modules ran the gamut from science lab work to cultural storytelling and education to art projects. For example, in one module, located inside the shipping container, Dr. Lauren Waller introduced microbiology (a field used in KDB research) to the students by having them use microscopes to view petri dishes packed with microorganisms including fungi, slugs, beetles, worms and soil samples. Another module, replicating the water cycle, simulated the suction of water from the soil into kauri roots by way of soaking celery stalks in water tinted with blue and green food coloring. It was pitched by Dr. Gerth’s research assistant Abi Suscy, who hoped to expand the module into a discussion of the water cycle within the entire forest ecosystem and the importance of moisture levels in the spread of phytophthora. Abi later told me that the module got scrapped for timing reasons during the Whangārei stop.

Weaving in a different realm of knowledge, Ariane Craig-Smith’s module merged native forest ecology with artmaking by guiding the students through a printmaking technique called cyanotype. The children placed samples of native plant species on a solution-coated paper and left them to expose in sunlight to create blue cyanotype prints. Her module was also part of a collaborative artwork, for the individual cyanotypes from each session were pasted onto one large hand-drawn silhouette of a kauri tree, which incrementally amassed the prints from all three project stops in Northland. The source material and synergistic nature of her module facilitated a discourse about the responsive network of native flora and fauna in kauri forest ecology. It also emphasized a key part of the program’s mission: to educate local students about the kauri tree as a species, as part of Northland’s ecosystem, as part of all of Earth’s natural systems and then more specifically about P. agathidicida and the threat it poses to kauri.¹⁴⁹ “Our Mission.”

Since there were many moving parts with the modules and most of the days were fully scheduled with school groups, I didn’t expect to be able to see the program in action. However, on October 23rd, 2019, the Waipoua session had a school cancellation and it became open-to-the-public. When Hugh and I arrived, there was a group of five children fiddling with headsets in front of the Waipoua visitor center where the Virtual Reality module was set up. They each sat on the multi-colored bean bags, arranged in a circle just like they were at the Hihiaua Cultural Centre.

The VR module offers a virtual trip into Waipoua in order to explain what phytophthora does to kauri. At one point, the tour dives below ground to explore the kauri’s fragile root system, adjusting the scale and perspective to the microscopic level to show the phytophthora spores swimming around the roots. The video discusses the basic components and functions of the disease and concludes with a narration of the safety controls to protect kauri. The last bit is delivered as the video reveals Tāne-Māhuta, replicating the same vantage point that one has while standing on the raised boardwalk in front of the living giant just down the road. The children were floored with the VR module, though Hugh and I did notice that they were less amazed by the technology than we were. They emerged from their virtual tour bursting with questions for the connectivity point person in Waipoua, a man named Conrad Marsh.

Conrad is a Te Roroa Kauri Protection Ambassador whom I had met a few times prior in Waipoua. Like other millennial Māori in their early thirties, Conrad was born in Northland but left for Auckland in adolescence. He explained the years away as a time of disconnection, during which he experimented in making it financially and engaging in city life. Once he achieved the success he set out for, Conrad quickly tired of the lifestyle. He began to identify the hole within himself as his lost connectivity. After following one line of his whakapapa up to Waipoua, he decided to make his return, and soon began working with Te Roroa Group.

After the session, Conrad asked me if he could introduce me and Hugh to a young woman named Danielle Johnson. Danielle was a PhD candidate conducting anthropological research on how climate change affects indigenous women living in the Kaipara Catchment. Heni Matiu (Jane Matthews), the Tourism Manager and Environs Support for Te Roroa Group, had mentioned Danielle’s research to me when we met for tea earlier that month.

Jane was unable to attend the Te Kura o Te Kauri stop in Waipoua and had enlisted Conrad to make our introduction. Danielle was staying up at the Pananawe marae in the Waipoua Settlement in a building that used to be a kaupapa Māori school. Conrad offered to lead us into the Settlement, so once the last student departed, Hugh and I followed his blue Subaru onto the Waipoua Settlement Road and rattled our way toward the marae.

When we arrived, Danielle was nowhere to be found. So Conrad, a gifted orator, filled the time with a tale. Before then, I had the pleasure of hearing a few of his stories. First of Tāne separating Papa and Rangi while he stood on the boardwalk in front of the living giant, and then of how each bird in the forest first earned its name and appearance while he addressed a group of people in Trounson Kauri Park. But while sipping tea inside Danielle’s adopted home later that evening, I finally heard him tell the story of the kauri and whale. Though he told the Waipoua version, he insisted that the true story came from Ngātiwai.

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Notes

128. “Te Iwi o Ngātiwai,” Ngātiwai Trust Board, accessed October 6, 2020.


129. A. W. Reed, “Kauri and the Whale,” in Māori Myths & Legendary Tales, 230-231.


130. “Marine Mammals Protection Act 1978,” Pub. L. No. 1978 No 80 (1978).
     Section 3H of the Marine Mammals Protection Act of 1978, added via a 1998 amendment put forth in the Fisheries (Remedial Issues) Amendment Act of 1998, provided for Māori representation in the population management plan, which would pave way for Māori- Crown joint plans for harvesting whales. Before this amendment, it was illegal for Māori and Pākehā to harvest material from a stranded whale without prior permitting, ignoring the historic relationship between Māori and the whale. For more information, see
     Rata Pryor Rodgers, “The Connection of Māori to Whales” (Supervised Project Report, Christchurch, University of Canterbury, 2017), and
     Alexander Gillespie, “Beached Whales” in “The Bi-Cultural Relationship with Whales: Between Progress, Success and Conflict” (FRST Research Programme, University of Waikato, 1999).


131. “Controlling the Disease,” Kauri Dieback Programme, accessed December 16, 2020.


132. “Healthy Trees, Healthy Future,” Scion Research, accessed December 16, 2020.


133. I. J. Horner, E. G. Hough, and M. B. Horner, “Phosphite for Control of Kauri Dieback: Final Report,” Executive summary (Havelock North: Plant & Food Research/Rangahau Ahumāra Kai, Ministry for Primary Industries/Manatū Ahu Matua, July 2017).


134. I. J. Horner, “Phosphite Large Tree Treatment Trials: Brief Report” (Havelock North: Plant & Food Research/Rangahau Ahumāra Kai, Ministry for Primary Industries/Manatū Ahu Matua, April 2019).;
     I. J. Horner, “Trunk Sprays and Lower Phosphite Injection Rates for Kauri Dieback Control – Brief Update October 2018” (Havelock North: Plant & Food Research/Rangahau Ahumāra Kai, Ministry for Primary Industries/Manatū Ahu Matua, October 2018).


135. Tui Shortland, “Rongoā (Traditional Medicine Practices) - Improving the Health of Kauri Forests” (Nga Tirairaka o Ngati Hine, Kauri Dieback Programme, 2016)


136. D’Angelo Martin, “Traditional Māori Medicine Could Be a Cure for Kauri Dieback,” Stuff, June 4, 2019, sec. Environment.


137. “Home,” The Kauri Project, accessed March 15, 2020.


138. “Purpose,” The Kauri Project, accessed May 1, 2020.


139. “Purpose,” The Kauri Project.


140. “Purpose,” The Kauri Project. See section “Art, creativity, mātauranga, science and community.”


141. “Projects,” The Kauri Project, accessed May 1, 2020.


142. “Whenua Ora, Wai Ora, Tangata Ora,” Reconnecting Northland, accessed March 10, 2020


143. “Our Story - the Origin of Connectivity,” Reconnecting Northland, accessed May 1, 2020.


144. “Our Mission,” Te Kura o te Kauri, accessed December 13, 2020.


145. “Science Leaders,” Te Kura o te Kauri, accessed May 10, 2020.


146. “Arts Leaders,” Te Kura o te Kauri, accessed May 10, 2020.


147. “Te Kura o Te Kauri Tour, 2019,” Te Kura o te Kauri, accessed May 10, 2020.


148. “Regional Engagement Leaders,” Te Kura o te Kauri, accessed May 15, 2020


149. “Our Mission,” Te Kura o te Kauri.

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