Fri 18 Nov 2016 In: Our Communities View at Wayback View at NDHA
Thirty years ago those starting to work with Māori affected by HIV at the start of the epidemic in New Zealand faced some remarkable challenges... particularly invisibility. A magic moment at the 2014 Hui Takataapui The regular Hui Takataapui, the latest of which gets underway today, is one of the manifestations of the difficulties faced thirty years ago and the determination of a small group to reach out in an effective way to people affected by HIV, at the time the world's scariest health epidemic. The numbers of Māori men with HIV were likely small. The first cases of AIDS, then an almost unavoidable and generally fatal condition created by HIV, in New Zealand were identified in 1983. It wouldn't be until 1987 that the first confirmed case of AIDS in a Māori man would be reported. But the logic of the epidemic made it obvious that there were Māori men already living with HIV, whether they knew it or not, and that there would be people around them negatively affected by the condition. The Te Roopu Taukoko Trust had been established to reach out to, and educate, people affected by HIV, even those such as whanau who had not themselves contracted the virus, says the Trust's Rex Perenara-Heremia, who credits the NZ AIDS Foundation and particularly its then-Executive Director Warren Lindberg with encouraging and assisting the group to establish itself. The NZAF was funded by the government to work with Māori, particularly those with HIV needing support, but it had few if any resources to reach out into Maori communities. Te Roopu managed to scrape together $8,000 for a proposed physical presence in the main centres and needed to advertise both its intention and for part-time staffers, particularly in the Māori language. And right there was the first hurdle. In commonly used Māori language there really was no word for being gay. Eventually, after consultations, they settled on a term steeped in the legend of Tutanekai. “Tutanekai had an intense relationship with his slave, Tiki.” says Perenara-Heremia, “something less than what we would now call a gay relationship but something more than a friendship.” In that context the word 'takataapui,' meaning an intimate companion of the same sex, was used and the Te Roopu Taukoko folk settled on that. It remains in increasingly widespread usage to this day. Word was put out nationally that a 'hui takataapui' would be held in Plimmerton, Wellington and all 'gay' or 'takataapui' Māori men with an interest in HIV work were invited to attend. “It was a small group pulling it together and, to be honest, it was mostly spearheaded by Māori lesbians, not so much by gay men,” Perenara-Heremia remembers. “The problem was that gay Māori men were just too frightened to come out.” Indeed, an attempted gathering at Chrissie Witoko's coffee bar in Central Wellington, centred on a desire by the Te Karere TV programme to interview some gay/takataapui Māori men about HIV, attracted just two gay men other than the Te Roopu Taukoko people themselves... and even those two refused to allow their faces to be shown. After the first hui, to which “hardly any, maybe fifteen” men turned up, paying a registration fee to help cover costs and with no funding support available for out-of-towners , it was decided to start with an office in Auckland and it was hoped to employ on a part-time basis a gay/takataapui man to reach out to, and work with, those affected by HIV. The position was advertised and the number of applications received was... zero. Not a single gay/takataapui man wanted to be associated openly with homosexuality or HIV. In the end, says Perenara-Heremia, the organisation reached out through social worker networks and eventually two straight men put their hands up. “Gay Māori men just refused to acknowledge the need at the time,” he says. And the reason for that, he says, was “they generally still hadn't come out.” Despite the examples of what were predominantly gay pakeha men and women fronting up publicly during the hard-fought Homosexual Law Reform Campaign just eighteen months or so earlier, Māori men remained in hiding. Sexually, “they still had that 'hiding in the bogs and night-time parks' mentality.” On the marae, Perenara-Heremia recalls, “those who were known to be non-straight, whose mannerisms or attitudes marked them out as different to the rest of their male whanau were commonly and openly referred to as 'sissies.' There was no perception of 'ordinary' men being gay.” The 'sissies' were not accorded an equal status with their straight peers. “They were considered as separate, but acknowledged for the specific roles they played on the marae such as helping with the running of the Marae.” In historical times they were able to interact between warring factions. Perenara-Heremia feels their roles were to some degree analogous to the Samoan concept of fa'afafine and its equivalents throughout the Pacific. But gay men who did not embrace a feminine persona “kept their heads down... and that was still happening in the 1980s. There were no 'butch' gay guys openly participating in any gay organisations,” he recalls. But he also noticed that openly gay takataapui Māori men rarely interacted sexually with each other. “90% of any interaction was with otherwise apparently straight men,” he says. And such liaisons, even when they went further than one-night stands, were extremely furtive. “To some degree there was openness, even affection, but only in protected, very safe, spaces.” And, Perenara recalls, in his experience more openly gay Māori men rarely sought out sexual hookups with other gay Māori men. The preference of most was to look outside the Maori milleu, generally to pakeha men. But eventually that started to change. That first office in Auckland was in the St Stephen's Arcade on Karangahape Road. It was largely volunteer-resourced with a little cash available for the likes of petrol money. “The only people who worked for us were those who had a real passion for our aims,” Perenara says. Arrangements were set up in other main centres. For instance, the NZAF provided space in Wellington and appointed a takataapui man connected to Te Roopu as receptionist and part-time counsellor. “In fielding enquiries he could work out those who would be better handled through Māori-focussed agencies. He knew who to send them to for support and advice,” Perenara says. “For takataapui his was a really important, and respected, job.” From that determined but fragile start, the periodic Hui Takataapui continued, with some putting a brave face on it by calling them intimate but, Perenara admits, they were very small gatherings. Eventually the NZAF would act on the increasing importance of heading off any establishment of HIV in the takataapui community, which thus far had luckily been spared the worst of the epidemic which was decimating sections of the broader NZ gay community. They embraced then more or less took over running the hui. With the Foundation's greater resources it began to grow and become more respected in Maori circles. A high point was in 2014 when the Māori king lent his personal support to the event being held in Tainui territory. Bit by bit the numbers attending have increased from the tiny gatherings of those early years until this weekend almost 200 takataapui will be gathering at an Otara, Auckland, marae for the 2016 Hui Takataapui, when the theme will be helping takataapui to openly claim their rightful place in Māori society. Jay Bennie - 18th November 2016