On the look-out for Maori journalists

Tu Tangata, Issue 33, 1 December 1986, Page 44

On the look-out for Maori journalists

by Alistair Morrison

PUBLICATIONS

Alistair Morrison, formerly of the NZ Times is a senior write for The Dominion.

WANTED: Journalist to assist the editor of Tu Tangata. Maori language and knowledge of tikanga Maori desirable. No appointment made. WANTED: Senior Pakeha journalist who has unpacked cultural bags or is prepared to. Applicants are now being considered. Not for the first time in his journalism career, Philip Whaanga, editor of TU Tangata, has had to compromise. With no pool of experienced Maori journalists to draw from he came up with a compromise advertisement for a

culturally sound Pakeha. The wording stirred more staid heads in Maori Affairs.

There was nothing new in that either. Whaanga was born with a spoon in his hand. His infectious humour has softened the edges of his stirring, and his developing identity as a Maori has given it direction.

The process began when Whaanga gave up life as a busker to unleash his joumlism training on Palmerston North. He joined a community paper as sole journalist and made use of the relaxed atmosphere.

“I could make mistakes there, which I did.”

But Whaanga made one too many; he joined the journalists union. The paper had never had a unionised journalist and it was not about to start. So Whaanga moved to the city’s other community paper where union members were less feared.

“Again it was nice and relaxed, and my mistakes were getting smaller by then.”

But not small enough. Whaanga wrote a story about a musician whose guitar had broken in transit. The manufacturer, who did not come out smelling of roses, took the matter up with the non-journalist managing editor.

“He freaked out and his first reaction was to retract the story and fire me.”

After consultation a compromise was reached. The story was not retracted but Whaanga was fired, though not without compensation.

So he took the logical step and married Anne. There followed a break from journalism as he pursued the joys of a mobile librarian and then studio photographer. But job offers soon put him back on the path and Whaanga moved to Napier where he combined his journalism and good singing voice for Radio New Zealand.

“Napier is my tribal area (Ngati Kahungunu). I landed there and the peo-

pie said how nice it was to hear a Maori voice on radio, especially one of our own.” Whaanga did not speak Maori but he received help and encouragement from his people in compiling items for news and the weekly Maori report.

“I wondered why the Maori report was put on at this ghetto time on Sunday. But I didn’t feel any awesome responsibility to represent my people. I just saw it all as news.”

With a family of two children and a third on the way, Whaanga took the male course and doubled his pay while halving his life expectancy by moving to Radio Pacific in Auckland. There he was put in charge of about four reporters on the two to 10 night shift.

In those days Radio Pacific placed an emphasis on ethnic programmes and Whaanga slotted in with the Maori people.

“I didn’t go to the station to serve the Maori people but as a journalist. I’d had some sort of brush with it in Napier so I worked the same way and did certain items. It opened my eyes to how ethnic groups were seen in this country.”

Whaanga spent eight months on the pressure shift before he came to his senses.

“They had another go-getter ready to bum out so I took over the 10pm to 6am shift.”

Whaanga thrived in this more relaxed atmosphere where he worked with the likes of controversial priest Felix Donnelly.

“I liked what they were doing on air; getting people to share and relate to the station as a friend. They had a real empathy with people and could cross the communication gap.”

But the battler in him emerged and Whaanga became union delegate. Then his approach to one battle gave the boss no room to retreat.

“All he could do was make an example of me.”

Whaanga accepted the compensation and joined the dole queue. He was plucked from it to act as public relations man for a fundraising effort at the Auckland Technical Institute.

Next they tapped his librarian skills. And then the call back to journalism loomed in an advertisement for the editorshop of Tu Tangata.

In September 1981 the bureaucrats at Maori Affairs got their first taste of Whaanga. They nearly fired him over the first issue.

It was election year so he planned an election special. Deadlines for copy were set and Ben Couch missed them.”

“Tough,” said Whaanga, “He misses out.”

“No he doesn’t,” said the bureaucrats,” he’s your boss.”

Whaanga got his first taste of humble pie and he hasn’t been hungry since.

‘l’ll be honest. I was unemployed and that was the pits. There was a Maori something in me but first of all I wanted a job (and, with four of his five children now bom, he needed one). I didn’t take on the cross of serving my people till later.”

Despite promises, Maori contributors were thin on the ground. Whaanga had to use his journalist contacts to get the issues he wanted covered. There is no doubt he built up a magazine that presented issues Maori people rarely read about, heard or saw in the mainstream media. But Whaanga quickly became dissatisfied.

“There were about five or six journalists who identified as being Maori at that stage, so nearly all of my writers were Pakeha writing about Maori. And it was important that Maori readers should be able to see their people doing things.”

“But I got sick of writing about Maori people rather than for Maori people. I was wakening up'to what it was like to be a Maori in New Zealand.”

That led to frustration at his own inability to communicate and Whaanga set forth to learn the Maori language. An intensive course and the search to improve his skills has given him what he describes as adequate conversational Maori. The energy surrounding this time was succour to an emerging spirit.

“In the midst of this, imagine what sort of articles were coming out, because I was made aware of what wasn’t happening in the wider media. I was one of those born again ones.”

Back at the magazine Whaanga’s religious zeal was tempered by reality. He was still stuck with relying on Pakeha journalists. The compromise was to build for the future, so Whaanga got heavily into promoting training for Maori journalists. Enter Gary Wilson of the Journalists Training Board. Wilson and Whaanga bullied and cajoled their way through the industry, exploiting every ounce of Pakeha conscience they could extract. The fruits of their efforts are born and maturing through students on established courses, but mainly through the separate training school for Maori journalists at Waiariki Community College, Rotorua. “Training is a very slow way of getting people through and I need stories now. I haven’t really solved that yet.” But Whaanga doesn’t want any Maori journalist. He says that Tu Tangata needs experienced Maori journalists

who can present a Maori perspective with authority. “There’s enough Pakeha media missing the point of the story without me getting into that too.” So how is Whaanga going to solve his dilemma? “It’s training. We have to hang in there for five or ten years until the people come through and gather the experience. Meantime we’ve got to look for senior Pakeha journalists who have unpacked their cultural bags and don’t get squeamish about taha Maori.” There are other hurdles to clear before the magazine can realise the potential he sees, and effectively serve Maori interests and the interests of the department. He lists more funding, more promotion, more commercial hustle, and independence from the department. Philip Whaanga isn’t short of challenges for 1987.