Keywords

“This is very colonial curriculum”, I said to my colleagues. We were discussing the content of (a)dance course and I was frustrated. I had recently migrated to New Zealand to start working as a lecturer at the University of Otago. Looking back now I think I was way too confronting and defensive. Plus, I was just beginning to understand the historical-political context of racism and the ‘bicultural’ identity of the nation. However, at that time a glaring discrepancy was that there was no Māori or Pacific Island dance in the syllabus. When I asked why, I was told it’s because we don’t have the skills and students get those subjects in other classes. However, the curriculum included dances which the tutors including myself were unqualified to teach. I had questions about the curriculum decision- making process. Why were some dances included and others not? Over the years, I have continued to raise the debate and explore how to develop the programme in culturally relevant ways and particularly how to integrate Māori epistemologies into the curriculum and my own teaching.

In July 2012, I invited the founder, dancer and choreographer Jack Gray (Ngati Porou, Puhi and Te Rarawa) of the Atamira Dance Company, an internationally acclaimed and nationally celebrated Māori Contemporary Dance Theatre. He spent a week working with three of our male students, who showed a special interest in dance. With Gray they explored Māori contemporary approaches to dance and issues of masculinity. The residency with Gray developed choreographic material that the students and I would develop toward a performance.

Above are tensions, observations, and aspirations I have had working at the University of Otago as a Lecturer for the Dance Studies Programme in the School of Physical Education, Sport and Exercise Sciences. Exploring the complexities of the intercultural dance education, this chapter reflects upon a project carried out and funded by the Dance Studies programme housed in the School of Physical Education, Sports and Exercise Sciences located at University of Otago in Aotearoa/New Zealand; and examines the challenges and potentials of integrating Māori perspectives into dance education. How these perspectives can invigorate dance pedagogy and stimulate critical-cultural-gender understandings is considered. The politics of asserting indigenous worldview within education extend beyond the parameters of dance pedagogies and the New Zealand context. Dovetailing into global education conversations, this study provides insights into the following: the intricacies cultural diversity, the problems arising from multicultural tokenism, the need to confront official school knowledge and curriculum; and the importance of recovering indigenous meaning and realities within postcolonial societies.

Conceptual encounters between Māori and Western paradigms of dance and dance education struggle with incompatibility. Not to mention, the philosophies and approaches of dance education imported from England and then later United States brought particular ideologies and practices. Dance education is a western construct that can often clash with indigenous Pacific understandings and aesthetics of dance (see Ashley 2013). Another postcolonial conundrum is that indigenous dance in New Zealand and worldwide have experienced deliberate oppression during early colonial-Christian missionary times. Eurocentric models of dance described as creative and contemporary have become a norm across the globe. While, efforts toward intercultural dance education come with challenges, reflections and strategies that address the erosion of our ethnospheres are needed; each culture and landscape is a branch of the human imagination, poet anthropologist Wade Davis (2007) says.

Currently there is minimal research on the integration Māori perspective into dance education literature; however there are artists, scholars and educators making contributions in this regard such as: Gaylene Sciascia, Tanemahuta Gray, Janinka Greenwood, Liz Melchior, Cathy Livermore, Cat Ruka, and Louise Potiki Bryant; also the workshop Tu Moves held at the New Zealand School of Dance and the dance summer intensives hosted by the dance companies Okareka and Atamira Dance Company should be acknowledged. This reconnaissance recruited three third-year male Physical Education students with Māori heritage to participate in the residency with Jack Gray. Members of the local Māori community made contributions to the project as well. Katrina Potiki Bryant (Ngāi Tahu), who developed Toi Ora, a practice that fuses physiotherapy concepts with traditional Māori habits of posture, alignment and rākau/warrior stick skills. In addition, kaumatua/tribal leader Huata Holmes (Ngāi Tahu) was consulted about relevant southern Māori cosmologies. The dance piece was named Tama Wātea by theatre practitioner Rua McCallum, (Ngāi Tahu), who attended a rehearsal and gave the young men feedback on their performances. “Tama is the word for boy, but the word wātea contains several metaphors” alluding to time, space, knowledge, and women, said McCallum in an email correspondence. These partnerships guided the development of choreography performed at 2012 Tempo Dance Festival and in particular the show Tertiary Colours.

Ruminating about this dance pedagogy is done through reflecting upon what I observed from watching the students work with Gray and what I learned from local iwi/tribe consultation. The research is written from my perspective as a Pacific Islander of Guam/Guāhan-African- American born in the United States and viewpoint as a dancer, dance anthropologist, and dance educator. Participant- observation field notes were logged and excerpts of dance sessions were video recorded. Student reflections about the residency were collected but are not featured in this paper. Key authors such as Hokowhitu (2004a, b, 2008), Burrows (2004), Broomfield (2011), Cheesman (2009), Risner (2007a, b, 2008), Whitinui (2010), Royal (2007, 2009, 2010) and others will be considered to deliberate the postcolonial context and pedagogical possibilities. Below is a description of the social history of dance education -the milestones and issues unique to New Zealand.

1 A Brief Social History of Dance Education: The Challenges and Opportunities

Dance education “has a long tradition of expert practitioners and dedicated advocates that dates well back before the emergence of mass schooling and far into antiquity” (Robinson 2015, xvi) across many cultures. However, the social history narrative of dance education in Aotearoa/New Zealand often begins when the subject was transplanted from England and established as a part of a Physical Education (PE) curriculum (Buck 2007; Bolwell 2009). Starting in the 1900s, many of the PE teachers from England and other European countries trained in Laban techniques and Swedish gymnastics employed to teach. The transferred dance curriculum focused on folk dance and was gender specific (Ashley 2012; Buck 2007; Hong 2002). One of these teacher migrants was Phillip Smithells, the first dean of the School of Physical Education, Sport and Exercise Science at the University of Otago in 1948. A strong advocate for dance, and creative arts, Smithells argued all learning was kinesthetic (Smithells 1974). He founded the first New Zealand modern dance company and implemented a ‘Māori inclusive curriculum’ at the University of Otago (Bolwell 2009; Booth 2013). However, decades later this effort was dubbed tokenistic. Hokowhitu (2004b) and Burrows (2004) note Smithells’ use of Māori movement and rhythm was divorced from a holistic philosophy and was not tikanga/correct cultural practice. While Smithell’s approach was culturally inappropriate, his effort and interest created an important platform within the PE programme for stimulating critical debates and much needed reforms.

However, as Renner (2011) has stated, navigating bicultural and multicultural diversity is still a huge challenge for dance education because many teachers lack confidence in Māori skills and knowledge (see also Bolwell 1998). Tolich (2002) would argue this problem has to do with ‘pākehā paralysis’ or how many European New Zealanders shy away from studying Māori culture for fear being labelled wrong or disrespectful. He argues this situation needs to be critically examined and suggests there need to be in place cultural protocols and safety for pākehās who do want to engage with things Māori. This is particularly important for teachers who need to be adept cultural brokers with regards to curriculum and teaching. Without these efforts, academic programmes and schools might be perpetuating ‘pāhekā paralysis’. On-going professional development in Māori worldview could bring about a “renewed look at our heritage”, which is important for teacher education, Renner states (2011). Another requirement is a rethinking of curriculum in ways that is sensitive to diversity and respectful of the unique place of things Māori, Burrows (2004) urges; and adds, disciplines such as dance within PE have the ability to interrogate dominant theories and practices. However, I want to add that dance studies need to go beyond confronting hegemonic thinking in PE toward becoming more culturally responsive to Māoritanga/Māori culture and viewpoints. This is dilemma that has been going on since Smithells’ time; it’s old baggage.

Many changes have occurred since the Smithells’ era. Gaining momentum in the 1980s, advocacy for dance across the industry was occurring and in the year 2000 dance became a part of the arts curriculum and deemed a unique discipline (Hong 2002; Whyte et al. 2013). At this time, the dance subject was no longer just a part of the PE curriculum and became a mandatory subject for primary schools. After the curriculum success of 2000, there was some disappointment with the 2007 curriculum revision by the Ministry of Education that reduced the definition of dance to one paragraph (see Cheesman 2009). Weary of the implications of the paring down of the description of dance and cultural identity; Cheesman also feels strongly more time exploring dance in teacher education is necessary. Other issues indicated by recent research states there is very little dance being taught in the schools by generalist teachers. Authors are concerned about sustainability of dance, teacher’s lack of dance and cultural competence and funding limitations; there is a need for pedagogical collaborations, and ongoing professional development for teachers (Ashley 2012; Melchior 2011; Renner 2012; Snook 2012; Snook and Buck 2014).

Dance is also included in the Māori performing arts curriculum, Nga Toi Roto Te Marautanga Aotearoa and taught as a separate subject from the arts such as dance in the schools (Whyte et al. 2013). This subject kudos both Māori and dance content, however, the silo curriculum model does have consequences. For example, Bolwell (1998) calls for more interdisciplinary and intercultural links between subjects so teachers can see the how individual subjects feed into one another. Research found that a significant number of teachers did not see the importance of kapa haka/Māori group dance (Whitinui 2010). Recommendations made by Whitinui, include collaborations between schools, teachers and Māori communities to identify schemes for incorporating Māori language, culture and customs as a valid part of the curriculum. Implored from his research is a need to ensure teacher education strengthens the transactional potentials between subjects and Te Ao Māori. Kopytko (2006) would agree and has suggested school partnerships with community-based cultural dance festivals for bringing about innovative pedagogies that demonstrate the country’s bicultural/multicultural identity, knowledge and skill-sets.

Both Whitinui and Kopytko suggest cross-cultural pollinations that make way for sharing “decision making power” with local iwi/tribes (Hokowhitu 2004b: 76). Dance education is implicated in the need to address issues of equity and a striving to fulfill the legal obligations we have as a bicultural nation (Bolwell 1998; Burrows 2004). Additionally, East (2014) reminds us that the national, bicultural dance identity of New Zealand is young, evolving and learning to consolidate. The above research signals a demand for culturally- rounded teachers in New Zealand.

Over the last few years there have been improvements towards integrating Māori dance viewpoints into the Dance Studies curriculum at the University of Otago but it is still quite minimal compared to the ideological influence of Rudolf Laban and Gymnastics. While Jack Gray’s residency was short term and extra-curricular, it did jump-start my thinking about Māori approaches to dance education; in addition to providing some strong male role modeling for the dance students. Gray is a luminary of the Atamira Dance Company, a cultural think and performance tank for issues of indigenity and dance. Snook and Buck (2014) talk about how “dance education artists” contribute to professional development in dance for teachers; moreover, dance experts such as Gray can also help to support and develop possibilities for integrating Māori perspectives of dance into curriculum. Gray and other company members are important educational facilitators for exploring intercultural dance knowledge and making. Their mission reads, “our work embodies the essence of our unique landscape shaped by the cultural identity of our people and their stories”. The company is described as reflecting “a multitude of performance styles and techniques… (and) cultural upbringings and influences have also had their effect” (Werner 2008, p. 290). Māori worldviews, Western theatre aesthetics and other cultural perspectives explicitly guide the creative processes, performances and their teaching.

Te Ao Māori perspectives unearth different epistemologies of dance (Cruz Banks 2009; Royal 2007), it can also challenge pigeonhole thinking about dance and the social world. Māori worldviews activate spiritual and political dimensions of dance and enunciate problems of gender dichotomies (Cruz Banks 2013; Hokowhitu 2014; Royal 2007, 2010). For example, the social construction of gender in Western European culture often perceives dance as a ‘female art form’; and this has interrupted male participation because boys often fear the labels: effeminate or gay (Risner 2007a; see also Soriano and Clemente 2010). Risner notes how the homophobic prejudice and social stigmas discourage both heterosexual and homosexual male dancers. Calling for a critical examination of models of masculinity and gender roles in dance, Risner says we need to look at how dance education might perpetuate what Pollack calls ‘gender straightjacketing’ or narrow perceptions of masculinity (in Risner 2007b, 2008). Broomfield (2011), says we need pedagogical interventions that “offer students critical perspectives… that challenge stigma and prejudice” (p. 128). Dance education needs to foster different consciousness about what it means to be human (Risner 2007b).

Risner (2007a) does acknowledge that not all nations or cultures view dance as inappropriate male activity. However, I would add that this point needs more than recognition because cultural counterpoints can be poignant informative material for thinking about dance. Viewing masculinity from other cultural standpoints presents important strategies for confronting gender norms (see Kerr-Berry 1994). Intercultural contrasts can expose the way gender is a socio-cultural product, and that gender and culture should not be inspected separately.

The following is a portrait of the Tama Wātea dance project illustrating my discoveries into Te Ao Māori perspectives of dance and masculinity.

2 Project Tama Wātea

On day one, I welcomed Jack Gray to our school and invited the students to introduce themselves. My inspiration for bringing them together was to provide the young male dancers with an opportunity for professional development and help them set intentions and goals for their practice. I wanted to expose them to different ways of thinking about and generating movement. The three male student participants were recruited from my dance education course. Two of them self-identified as Māori and one was not so sure about his Māori genealogy. The students had slim training in ‘contemporary dance’ but two of them had strong kapa haka/Māori performing arts backgrounds. All showed a passion for learning dance.

Gray’s week long residency included four workshops that were three hours long. The students volunteered their participation; and this was a big responsibility for it added to their University course load. Gray facilitated playful workshops that welcomed laughter and introduced them to a wide range of dance and performance tools that included breathing, walking, partnering/contact work, and choreographic exercises. The sessions culminated into solo dances the young men composed based on conversations and their kinetic experiences. I did some observing, filming and dancing with them.

On the second day, the boys seemed less nervous and looked like they were starting to enjoy the physical research. An exercise that stood out to me was one that involved learning to move in unison while improvising and using peripheral vision. It felt like a game. The task went like this. One person would step out of the room until invited back into to identify who was the guiding dancer. The rest would stand in a cluster, Gray would non-verbally assign one person to be the movement leader and he danced with them. Moving as one, the group slipped, undulated, flicked, and crept with a sense of solidarity and connection. Similar to the contemporary dance exercise known as flocking, however, this exercise was about making it invisible who was directing the movement. It meant you had to maintain a collective focus and constant sensing of the group spirit. When it was my turn to identify the lead dancer, I realized it was not that easy. The young men displayed an ability to move seamlessly as a collective. I asked Gray about the purpose of this exercise and this is what he said:

The exercise was just about how peripherally we can own our wairua. Even though not necessarily leading there's a whole range of presence indicators – ie: keeping eyes centered, following spirit by feel and energy, translation and interpretation in the moment. We're able to do these things. (Gray 2013, email conversation). Later he elaborated, “By 'own' I mean feel instinctively assertive and to trust these ways of "keying" into that space of indigenous awareness” (Gray 2014, email conversation)

Turukei Pere (1997) translates wairua as a spiritual dimension “that governs and influences the way one interacts with other people and her or his environment” (p. 16); it is spirit, soul that exists from birth to beyond death (Moorfield 2011). In 2009 Gray commented that working with wairua is what makes the Atamira Dance Company unique and counting through a dance was not necessary for them (Cruz Banks 2011). Recently he said to me when Dolina Wehipeihana was creative producer, this was the norm and part of the chemistry of the original dancers and choreographers of the company. Gray (Informal email conversation, 7 February 2014) wrote, “the conscious incorporation of wairuatanga as a cultural value is realised through our tikanga practices – prayer, ritual, song, story and acknowledging our ancestors” (email correspondence). Learning how to activate and utilize this wairua is fundamental to Māori knowledge, and for making sense of the customs; it is believed that youth need to be spiritually nurtured in ordered to be prepared for healthy adult lives (Moko Mead 2003; Durie 2011).

On the last day of the residency, the young men worked on their solos, they all seemed focused and kept reviewing their notes; the room was quiet. Working individually in separate corners of the room, I was impressed with their diligent inquiry and the moments of uninhibited movement exploration. One student, moved in the middle of the room rolling his body like water, shifting his torso, arms swinging above his head in a circle, body shifting in different directions; he moved from his hips. He glided, covering little space as his hand curved, and swivelled with momentum; and his head tilted away from his long extended right arm. He stopped, body stiffened and awkwardly found his way to the floor, dragging his body with his hands, he curled and paused incrementally until he was standing. His energy changed, he found his sternum, arms flung open and relaxed, from his hips up into his chest, the middle body rippled, face open and bright, he looked in awe.

While the boys continued to work, Jack reminded them “Be clear about what you are expressing. Don’t forget stillness, a beginning, middle and end, character and changes of energy”. I was touched by the innocence of their movement studies, and noticed their bodies had softened since the first day. They looked vulnerable and strong. I also sensed fear but they were confronting apprehension as they danced.

For most of their sessions, I left Gray in charge and I would pop in from time to time; thinking it might be beneficial to give the boys private time with him without a female in the mix. Dance Studies currently has no male dance lecturers, and I think this might make it a bit intimidating for some interested male students to study dance beyond the compulsory first year dance curriculum.

During project Tama Wātea, I spoke with Kaumatua Huata Holmes, a respected elder and orator of the Otago, Ngāi Tahu tribe. I shared with him my interests in the Tāne mahuta creation story as a springboard for exploring masculinity with my students. Tāne mahuta is the courageous son of Ranginui (Father Sky) and Papatūānuku (Mother Earth) who brought light and life. Holmes said, “that story is unique to the North Island, down south we have a different one”. He went on to tell me about Tuterakifanoa (Tu), who dug out lakes, valleys and harbours and clothed the earth with plants and creatures prior to the coming of mankind. Footnote 1 He sent me something to read prepared by Waitaki Valley Community Committee with contribution from the Te Maiharoa family via email. When I told him I wanted to explore ideas of Māori masculinity, he said to me that a concentration of masculinity is “out of balance” and that male energy feeds from the feminine. Pay attention to Tu’s helpers in the story Holmes emphasized. In this cosmology, male energy is not in conflict with female energy. Tuterakifanoa is an amalgam of energy. He suggested, “Tu might provide a clue to the kind energy you might want to create in the dance.” Rua McCallum also advised in an email “male energy can never be separated entirely from female because we as humans contain the energy of both even though we are born either male or female”. After the Gray residency, we developed upon the choreography composed with him and used the imagery of the Tuterakifanoa story to explore movement quality, intention and character. However, that part of the pedagogy is not discussed in the scope of this paper.

Holmes’ and McCallum’s comments above interrupt the dominant discourse about gender identified by Risner (2007a, b) and Broomfield (2011), and provide another worldview of masculinity that debunks the dichotomy of feminine and masculine. Holmes analysis of the Tuterakifanoa cosmology contrasts status quo notions of masculinity. This is particularly relevant because Māori men are often stereotyped in the media as macho and aggressive (Hokowhitu 2004a, 2008). Colonial genealogy of masculine pigeonholing in New Zealand has taken a toll on Māori identity. However, Holmes’ point about the feminine and masculine ‘not being in conflict’ challenges the dominant paradigm and discourse. Learning to live beyond these Western constructs of manhood is vital to bring forth tikanga Māori values such as wairua (spirit), aroha (love) and manaakitanga (support and concern for others) (Hokowhitu 2004a).

Reconceptualising masculinity in culturally plural and relational terms transforms dominant archetypes and can yield what Jolly (2008) calls ‘moving masculinities’ that divest colonial constructions of the indigenous man. For example, Te Ahukaramū Charles Royal’s (2007, 2009, 2010) research and revitalization of whare tapere or Māori houses of storytelling, music, dance and games fell out of use in the early nineteenth century and is undergoing a revival (see also Potiki Bryant 2014); a central theme is to balance the attributes of masculine and feminine in dance. Jack Gray has been a key participant and an associate choreographer for whare tapere research and performances, writes this trajectory provides an opportunity to embody a different kind of masculinity through the mythical paragon Tanerore. He says, unlike common Māori male haka/dance qualities of anger or intimidation, Tanerore is not to be feared for he radiates warmth, illumination, and strength. The tradition seeks to enliven more fluid expressions of femininity and masculinity that offer somatic tools for developing indigenous Māori theatre and performing arts.

Whare tapere research invigorates analytical trajectories of gender. In the culturally diverse societies we live in, it is important to teach “a reflexive view of dance from different cultures” (Ashley 2013, p. 5)”. This is why our interpretations of dance need to be world rounded (Foster 2009). However, Norridge (2010) warns that often-intercultural discussions on dance tend to be reduced to conversations about ethnic identities. The above scholars call for conceptualising different worldviews of dance and dance education to provoke intercultural paradigm shifts for teachers and students.

Conversations with Holmes, McCallum and Gray, as well as the observations and participation in workshops introduced me to epistemology of masculinity and dance. Through the Tama wātea project I discovered qualities and definitions man and woman as two parts to a whole; and dance was conceptualised as a spiritual journey, a ceremony and the embodiment of authentic self.

The following is an additional description of the dance residency.

For the last hour of the workshop, they performed their work and Gray accompanied their dances with percussion. They presented their solos consecutively as if it was one dance; and live music added texture to their movement. You could see the dancers interacting with the drumbeats passionately. The space felt very charged up and I found their choreographies riveting, and even the boys seemed astonished by their dancing.

Dancer one commences in the middle of the room in a squatted position, his head bowed down as he unfolds onto his back, slowing extending his legs and arms, slogging his body, arms flop and swing relaxed against the floor as he moves to the wall and flips over onto his belly in sync with the drumming. He pushes up to standing and plunges against the wall as if frightened. He skips with the beat of the drum while contracting his centre, swinging head side-to-side as he travels to the other side of the room. Dancer two also starts in the middle of the room on the floor, with is torso resting on his thighs, his face is buried. The rhythm matches his energy, slow and tense. He undulates his body slowly and suddenly stretching out one leg and one hand stiffly and repeats this three times with audible breath and then holds the position. Then slowly glides his arms across the floor and as drum thumps become more fluid, he spirals up to standing. Dancer three, begins in the far corner of the room, he coiled on his side, and its silent. His arms and legs gently uncurl and curl and the music begins. Top arm sways open and feet extend. Rolling onto his back, he suddenly sits up, and exhales as arms and legs extend. As he lays carefully back down on the floor, head vibrates. He pivots toward the wall and climbs it with his feet and pushes his body away and slides onto his belly. His hand tucks in and then motions fluidly away and back in a circular pattern, eyes follow and head undulates. He does this with the other arm and then repeats as he plants his feet firmly on the floor, head lifts up and one arms sweeps over his head as the drumbeat becomes more pronounced. Both hands swish down the length of body, down the thighs and one leg as he smoothly stands up as the rhythm crescendos. Once upright, he quickly hangs over his supple body, pulls up through his hands and a strong ripple pops out of his chest.

As the final dancer concludes, the last drumbeat is played. We all remain quiet. With his eyes, Gray motions all of us towards him, and we hongi and naturally move into a circle formation.

Hongi is vital element to Māori ceremonies; and involves the touching of noses to sniff and exchange the breath of life. A common practice within Māori ritual encounters, hongi normally marks the end of speeches (Moko Mead 2003) but in this case it concluded the dancing. Reflecting about the above moment, Gray said “I wanted to recalibrate the sheer intimacy of what was shared by the dancers”; they demonstrated an acute sensitivity to wairua. The sharing of their life force was as visible as speaking” (email correspondence).

3 Evolving Aotearoa/New Zealand Dance Education

Project Tama Wātea provided opportunities for students to engage in dance experiences that were guided in Māori philosophies of wairuatanga/spiritual dimension of life. Based on observations of the above compositions, the students transcended dominant qualities of masculinity; they made expressions of gentleness to strength visible. All three choreographies unfolded like a koru/fern, subtly and spiraling out from the center. As they emerged from their cocoons, they embodied an unleashing of life, emotions, conviction and power. An ownership of their mana/authority/spiritual power was revealed full force in their dancing. I was really impressed with the performance skills the students were developing with Jack Gray.

His didactic tools borrowed from Māori values and ways of doing things in addition to Western theatrical dance. Being a contemporary dancer trained in ballet, Western contemporary techniques, as well knowledgeable in kapa haka, whare tapere, and tikanga Māori, Gray’s approach bodes well for fostering models and intercultural dance education relevant to dance education in Aotearoa/New Zealand.

My observations of the pedagogy get me wondering about how Western theatrical concepts that dominant dance education such as how Laban’s ‘dance elements’ can interact with Te Ao Māori perspectives in deep meaningful ways. For instance, by centralising the practice and awareness of wairuatanga/spiritual dimension in his teaching, how might Gray’s pedagogy conceptually inform and guide understandings of dance, dance teaching, somatic experiences, dance analysis, definitions of techniques, choreography, community experiences, collaborations, and performance for cultivating a culturally relevant dance education? If dance can grow more equal encounters between Māori and Western knowledge, it will undoubtedly aid the nation in what East (2014) calls the ‘evolutionary journey’ of dance in Aotearoa.