“Count yourself lucky, some can’t stop having babies”
“Some people just aren’t meant to give birth”
“The public health system isn’t here to help your kind reproduce, you know”
All of these things are from the mouths of health care workers in Aotearoa – I know, because they were said to me. No doubt a lot of folks would be surprised that I would “let” someone talk to me like that, and these days I wouldn’t, but when you’re young, and feel alone, feeling confused, vulnerable, powerless and embarrassed – when don’t have the tools to process what you’re hearing, and don’t feel like you’d be heard anyway, the safest, simplest thing to do is just shut down, go home and try to make it through to the end of that day.
Over the years that I tried and failed to have children, I thought so many times about whether I could have or should have done something different, maybe I was wrong, maybe I was cursed, maybe I didn’t deserve to be a Māmā, maybe I could have tried harder, maybe maybe maybe…
Then I started working in Māori health research and learnt about the systemic racism in our health sector, how it layered on top of systemic sexism and made wāhine and irawhiti Māori, especially when hapū, primary targets for very harmful treatment in the system. When I accepted a job offer to work with young wāhine navigating our maternal health system, I was determined to prevent others experiencing what I had. The young wāhine I had the honour to work with (some of whom I am still in touch with today) were so inspirational. Resourceful. Committed. Some scared. All incredible.
When I started working on that project, in 2010, suicide was the leading cause of death for young Māori Māmā under 20, and had been for at least three years (I hadn’t looked before that point). 15 years later, under both Labour and National governments, it is still the same. Over both of these governments, in my discussions with young Māmā and irawhiti (both through that study and in others), the systemic problems have existed – GPs who, upon confirmation of pregnancy simply hand the wāhine a list of midwives and a handful of leaflets, assuming they have the phone, or credit, or language necessary to navigate those calls. Midwives who are terrified of being blamed for all of the “problems” that occur with young Māori and Pasifica births. Young wāhine who call name after name on that list and are told repeatedly that the “books are full, sorry”… and so they wind up with the hospital maternity care team, who is different each time and so they have to tell their story again, and again. Parenting classes that are full of middle-class pākeha women who definitely don’t have to worry about busfares and absolutely make all their midwife appointments and undoubtedly know where they’re going to be living and raising their child next year.. and all have a particular side-glance that makes the word “slut” almost audible, even when they’re smiling. Māori midwives that are overwhelmed with clients that others won’t take on. Media and politicians that basically say the same thing, but in more words. A health system that rarely takes the broader whānau into consideration, and almost never considers the needs of the young father, or how to support their relationship. Teen Parent Units that simply don’t have room for the amount of young Māmās, and so education is cut short, affecting employ-ability, housing, health, and stability for both the parents and baby. An unforgiving mainstream school system that has no space for her when she can’t make it into the Teen Parent Unit (but was also the same education system that failed to provide adequate reproductive health education in the first place, because it was busy arguing with the health system about whose responsibility it was). A degrading, clunky benefit system that demands to know everything about her young relationship, and penalises her for telling the truth, but incarcerates her for telling a lie. The ever present threat (even in the maternity ward) of the state appearing, like a suited boogieman, to take her child from her arms, and all of this in a world that expects her to instantly, magically, exhibit the traits and decision making abilities of a fully grown adult, severely judging her for being anything other than that – and, well if we’re being completely honest, judges her anyway.
I would challenge anyone to balance all of that and not be in severe distress.
It’s a kaupapa that has remained close to my heart over the years, and what I have learnt since developing my research on the Doctrine of Discovery over the past decade, is that it is an experience that is of design, which is to say, it is a health system that was built upon assumptions of mental and physical health for European men. Worse than that, at these same foundations is science that was not only neglecting and ignoring Indigenous people, but intending harm towards Indigenous people. This harm was not intended for its own sake, but rather to retain power and privilege in the hands of European men. And worse still – all of this is taking place within a system that is built upon a premise that Indigenous people, and certainly Indigenous women, are not sacred in their own right – so naturally, this is in direct contrast to the whakapapa from whence we have come.
I’d like to say this behaviour is a historical relic, but commentary on Māori health by the current government, and their supporters, suggests it is very much still an active attitude today. Even when faced with clear evidence that racism is deeply entrenched within our health system, and that it would be not only more effective, but also more cost-effective, for Māori to design and run our own health system – the current government brandished our lives as electoral points. It condemned itself to a health model based upon Treaty injustice, and all the poor health impacts that go with it, confirming for us that Tiriti justice cannot happen in piece-meal, and is only sustainable through a whole-of-government Tiriti centered constitution. Like so many other measures (incarceration, income, housing and education), our suicide statistics are mirrored in the Indigenous peoples of so-called Australia, Canada, and the USA – across radically differing cultures, but all of which share one common denominator: colonisation. Consistently, across all of these contexts, the issue is longstanding and intergenerational – linked to trauma caused by colonisation. Consistently, across all of these contexts, Indigenous women have been targeted by a racist, sexist, ageist system. Consistently, across all of these contexts, Indigenous women and their whānau have been blamed as promiscuous, and the culture itself blamed for producing poor parents, consistently, across all of these contexts, colonial governments have used these fictions to justify taking children away and creating new cycles of harm and consistently, across all of these contexts, the colonial government has failed to really account for the role colonisation has played in the lives of Indigenous women and children, and actually do something about it.
So when I was approached to contribute towards the documentary “It Takes a Kāinga”, it was an easy yes. The more voices we have out there, affirming to our Māmā that they are not just right, but are incredible, exceptional testaments to Indigenous strength, reaffirming their sacredness and beauty – the more voices we have calling in their whānau to wrap around them, listen to them and believe in them, the more voices we have calling upon colonial governments to be accountable for their harm, the better. Media like this is exactly what we need right now, not just to expose colonial shittery, but to highlight Indigenous strength and beauty, and both are necessary while we still have colonisers wielding political power over our worlds. That’s not to say the coloniser should get all our energy. Wāhine and their partners have been very clear about what kind of support is missing:
- Support that is appropriate to their age, peer group, economic circumstances and culture
- Connections to other wāhine hapū of their peer group
- Support from older wāhine (their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers)
- Somewhere they can safely ask questions about sex, reproduction, their bodies, and raising babies
- Support that is inclusive of their partner’s needs
- Support for their whānau to be the best safety net they can be for Māmā and baby
- Continuity of care from the moment their pregnancy is confirmed
- Support well beyond birth, through to the first thousand days
- Support for them to pursue their aspirations through continued education and employment
And just overall, less judgement. See them for who they are, see the best in them, and trust in their potential. I have lost count of the number of times I have heard the importance of being a “trusted” service for Māori, for rangatahi and for Māmās – but young Māori Māmā are one of the most distrusted groups out there, and they feel it, and trust is not a one-way street. Māori Māmā are exercising sound critical judgement when they don’t trust the system – there is no historical or current basis to do so, statistically they are highly likely to have their children removed – even when they do everything right – and see their children placed into abusive state facilities. I wouldn’t trust the system either, and armed with that knowledge I doubt many others would.
But if sound support is received, if Māmās get the support they need, in the way that they need it, then incredible things can happen. Supporting young Māmās to reach their potential, not just as Māmās but as wāhine, is called “circuit breaker” support, because it interrupts intergenerational cycles of harm and injustice.
And while we should always continue to hold the system to account for its failings, and continue to call for better, more just systems, there are things we can do right now to look after our young Māmā better. Organisations that work with our young Māmā and their whānau – you can ensure that every single staff member (both frontline and admin) is aware of the colonial context, specific to the worlds of our young Māmā and their whānau, and act, and speak accordingly, you can build your own organisational policies around whānau-wide engagement and respecting the tapu of wāhine and tamariki. Parents, you can seek out ways to have appropriate discussions with your children about sex, reproduction, and whakapapa, you needn’t leave that up to schools – children who feel comfortable to have conversations with their parents about their bodies and relationships are far more likely to make empowered decisions, and far more likely to reach out for help when it’s needed. As a whānau, you can wānanga together and develop your own tikanga-a-whānau about how you will wrap around Māmā they are hapū. There are incredible resources out there, look into the research on Māori birthing, wāhine and parenting by Kuni Jenkins, Leonie Pihama, Naomi Simmonds, Ngāhuia Murphy and others – follow groups like Tupuna Parenting on Facebook. This system was never made to look after our wāhine or our babies, but we can wrap around them ourselves.