Tessa Keenan reflects on how te ao Māori is a queer utopia built for takatāpui inclusion.

Since before Tūtānekai spoke openly of his love for his hoa takatāpui Tiki, and far before Whakaata Māori aired the first indigenous queer TV show in the world, takatāpui have been an integral part of thriving Māori communities. Te ao Māori is a queer utopia. Tikanga accommodates and shapes our queer uri, and when we are prevented from living under it our wairua has less space to flourish. The whakapapa of homophobia on these shores begins with Cook, not Te Kore. And as such, the reclaiming of takatāpuitanga begins in response to the colonial laws he made space for. Colonial law and norms are the bringers and enablers of hatred against takatāpui. Wider recognition, practice, and centering of tikanga is a mighty tool by which we can increase the wellbeing and support of takatāpui. On the flip side, this means we will only be truly decolonised when queerphobia doesn’t exist. 

He takatāpui ia. He, she, they, or however else the person identifies. Our language and tikanga, without any colonial intervention, are systems built for takatāpui inclusion. As a basic example, whakapapa confirms a person’s place in their community, their mana and belonging. There is no doubt of the rights and responsibilities that come with your whakapapa. A person’s gender identity or sexuality does not change their whakapapa. Because of this, whakapapa is the root of acceptance for takatāpui, and all of te iwi Māori for that matter. 

We all know tikanga is an integrated system that isn’t easy to separate out. Nevertheless, I liked reading the Law Commission’s recent publication Ia Tangata.^[1] The paper included whakaaro from pūkenga on the experiences of transgender, non-binary, or intersex Māori, and on tikanga and mātauranga Māori in this space more generally. The pūkenga emphasised the high relevance of mauri, tapu, and mana to takatāpui, as well as whakapapa. Under tikanga, a person’s mauri must be acknowledged and respected. So must the tapu that supports that mauri, and the mana they get from their whakapapa and mauri. As you can imagine, our pre-colonial communities had strong legal and spiritual foundations from which to include and support takatāpui.

To deny a person’s mauri and wairua, or to force them to deny it to themself, is an act that disrespects their whakapapa and creates a detrimental imbalance. Back in the day, there would be huge consequences if you did such a thing. 

With colonisation came the introduction of the first laws to explicitly attack our tikanga, te reo Māori, and queer people. Certain sex acts that were commonly practised by queer men (‘buggery’) were first criminalised when the English Laws Act 1858 was passed, and all English laws dating from 1840 were deemed to apply in Aotearoa. In 1893, the law extended to criminalise all sexual relationships between men, and this was not undone until just under 100 years later, in 1986. On a broader level, the introduction of the colonial legal system forced people to be legally gendered (for example, on their birth or death certificates, and when getting married). Sexuality and gender were, and still are, put under the microscope in colonial law. Only in 2013 was marriage between couples that weren’t made up of one ‘woman’ and one ‘man’ legalised in Aotearoa.

Compared to our tikanga, it is clear that colonial law is premised on intrusion into an individual’s privacy. It doesn’t make any sense, and I can’t see any justification for why this should matter more than whakapapa, the wellbeing of our communities, and allowing a person’s wairua to be expressed. 

Our language and tikanga were severely endangered by the colonial regime, and our current government is furthering this. I don’t need to hammer home the effects of colonial laws, we carry the consequences with us today. But I think a less talked about goal of the introduction of colonial laws is to turn Māori communities against their own people, by infiltrating inclusive spaces with queerphobia. This was a step to distance us from our tikanga - to lose sight of the harmonious legal system passed down from our tūpuna. By singling out people as ‘different’ or ‘wrong’, the coloniser can undo the collective strength our tūpuna lived with. 

Perhaps this is a reason why Māori have been at the forefront of advocating for queer rights in Aotearoa. We know the evil goals of colonisation, and are guided to live against them by our tūpuna. For example, Carmen Rupe was the first openly transgender woman to run for mayor of Wellington, and Georgina Beyer was the world’s first openly transgender woman MP. Ngahuia te Awekotuku and Lee Smith were leaders in the queer rights space, and reclaimed the word ‘takatāpui’ as part of that. As I’ve said already, to be takatāpui is not a new thing.

For many people, though, oppressive colonial laws have forced them to choose which social movement to align with; to be Māori first or queer first. That’s just part of the necessity of banding together to fight the oppressor. This often does the opposite of creating safety for takatāpui: the Māori space can be rife with queerphobia, whilst the queer space can be Pākehā-centric and racist. In our times, it is hard to bridge this divide that colonisation has forced and continues to force upon us. The modern use of takatāpui has also been reclaimed in this categorical context. Dr Elizabeth Kerekere describes the modern use of the kupu ‘takatāpui’ as … “emphasis[ing] Māori cultural and spiritual identity as equal to — or more important than — gender identity, sexuality or having diverse sex characteristics.”^[2] This definition compares a person’s “Māori cultural and spiritual identity” to their “gender identity, sexuality or having diverse sex characteristics” because people best understand identity as being made of multiple, separate compartments.

I think that ‘takatāpui’, viewed through the lens of tikanga, pushes beyond sectionality. Takatāpui identity is only truly understood from within te ao Māori. As such, our tikanga and mātauranga is a sanctuary for our identities. We don’t need to define who we are - we already know it. 

Our generation is equipped with an increased knowledge of intersectionality and pride in our Māoritanga. The tikanga and reo we live by and look after is flexible and becoming less tainted by the colonial norms that sought to undo it. When Angitū bring the whare down at Te Matatini, Pere Wihongi and Tuhoe Tamaiparea flex their mataora, swish their piupiu, and swing their poi. Through tikanga, we have no doubt about who they are and where they belong. That to me, is a queer utopia we need to protect.

Ngā kupu āpiti - Notes

[1] Te Aka Matua o te Ture | Law Commission Ia Tangata (NZLC PP53, 2024).

[2] Elizabeth Kerekere “Part of The Whānau: The Emergence of Takatāpui Identity” (PhD Thesis, Te Herenga Waka | Victoria University of Wellington, 2017) at 25.

Author: Guest Author

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