Teoría de la agencia y sus aplicaciones en el mercadeo

Anne Maxwell’s (1994) critique of Ngahuia Te Awekotuku’s essays on ‘Makereti Papakura’, or ‘Guide Maggie’. Makereti was a tourist guide in Rotorua in the late 1800s and early 1900s. She later moved to England and, while a student at Oxford, wrote an ethnography, The Old Time Maori (1938), recounting the traditional Maori way of life of her own childhood and as taught to her by her grandparents and other Te Arawa

elders. Te Awekotuku recounts how Makereti performed/mimicked indigenous authenticity in her role as tourist guide. For example,

[the tour party] paused by the bubbling, gentle fountains of the dainty geyser, Papakura ... Hearing their guide’s name was Maggie - and even more incongruous (to them), Thom - they demanded that she tell them her “real” name, her “native” name, surely she had one. Unabashed, she contemplated the energetic little spring, and replied, “My name is Papakura. Maggie Papakura.” And so the story goes - she renamed herself; and gradually renamed her family (Te Awekotuku, 1986:vi).

Maxwell outlines Te Awekotuku’s own project as a reframing of Makereti’s assumption of authentic indigenous identity, from an act of compliance with colonial discourse, to one of resistance to ‘the appropriative gaze of the West’ (Maxwell, 1994:323). Further, Maxwell argues that Te Awekotuku claims to represent the ‘true’ Makereti in her account (Maxwell, 1994:322), a claim motivated by her own strategic political interest in making visible the role of Maori women in the historical struggle against colonialism and thus ‘gendering Maori nationalism’ (Maxwell, 1994:325).89 In this sense, Te Awakotuku’s strategy is compatible with Spivak’s (1987:197-221) analysis of the strategic use of essentialism to recover a subaltern agency. Te Awekotuku creates or claims an essential Makereti as a double political strategy, both against Pakeha domination and against the domination of Maori political struggles by Maori men.

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‘We are told so much about the activities of the Young Maori Party and men such as Pomare, Buck, and Ngata. They are forever described as well-meaning, earnest, philanthropic Maori men with a vision. Maggie is portrayed only as someone with a beautiful face and a glittering personality. Where is the equity in that? Whom can we as Maori women look back to, when we are shown one image of ourselves and men are shown another of themselves?’ (Te Awekotuku, 1991:148).

Despite her sympathy with Te Awekotuku’s politics, Maxwell is critical of her claim to represent the ‘truth’ of Makereti. In contrast, her own account of Makereti’s agency registers its ambiguity, at once seemingly complicit with colonialism and resistant to it but, either way, operating on its terms, her resistance an act of ‘reversing’ the political operations of colonial discourse. Although early in her paper Maxwell asserts, ‘[i]t is my premise that, far from being powerless victims, some indigenous women have been able to use their position within colonialist discourses to preserve the different cultural values of their own native communities’ (Maxwell, 1994:319, emphasis added), there is no evidence in the remainder of her paper of the political force of these ‘different cultural values’. She concludes that

[a]s a Pakeha feminist concerned with disrupting the way women’s views generally have been left out of dominant accounts of the New Zealand nation, I am interested in Te Awekotuku’s effort to improve the position of Maori women within their own communities by emphasizing the political dimension of their involvement in tourism over and above the sexual dimension. I find in her account of the tourist guide evidence of the indigenous woman’s agency. But where her strategy has been to present a narrative that uncovers the true or authentic thoughts of the Maori women who worked in the industry, mine is to show that these women’s subjectivities can only ever emerge from historical analysis as contested sites of the competing discourses of colonialists, Maori nationalists and indigenous feminists. According to this view, Te Awekotuku’s account has no more claim to truth status than the colonialist and nationalist accounts that preceded it (Maxwell, 1994:325).

Te Awekotuku certainly does use the language of truth and authenticity90 and indulges in romantic idealisation of Makereti’s Maori identity,91

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‘I think we can bring her back to life as she truly was, as she truly felt, as she talked, as she wrote’ (Te Awekotuku, 1991:153-4).

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For example, in describing Makereti’s burial place in England, Te Awekotuku (1991:154) states, in an argument we cannot be sure is her own or Makereti’s, that ‘[i]ntriguingly, it was a church that for many centuries before the arrival of Christianity had become a tribal focus for the Celtic goddess activity of the region and it was at that place she claimed that she felt most at home. The Mauri was there.’

but these are the tools of cultural politics. If Pakeha nationalists can use them, Maori nationalists can hardly be denied

them. The fact of epistemological contestation in understanding Makereti is not, in itself, an argument against Te Awekotuku’s account.

Maxwell’s own position

has been determined by the view that the Pakeha feminist’s attributing of authentic identity to the colonized serves to preserve her own privilege. Not only does it deny the damage that was done to Maori women in the historical phase of colonialism, but it denies the colonialism of the present. As long as Maori women suffer social injustices whose origins can be traced to the advent of European imperialism, then it behoves the Pakeha feminist to dismantle subjectivity. On the other hand, the critique of subjectivity should not be used as an excuse to ignore the views of Maori women (Maxwell, 1994:325-6).

While she does not ignore Te Awekotuku’s view, its juxtaposition alongside her own account of indigenous women’s subjectivity works to conflate their political projects. Both seek to ‘deconstruct’ colonialism, but Maxwell fails to acknowledge that this goal requires different political projects on the part of Maori and Pakeha. In her own work Maxwell is not engaged in deconstructing Pakeha women’s subjectivity, but Maori

women’s subjectivity. Her message is that the deconstruction of subjectivity is

universally ‘correct’.

In her critique of Te Awekotuku’s claim to truth, Maxwell ignores the complexity of Te Awekotuku’s Makereti. She does note that the Makereti of Te Awekotuku’s account is ‘politically tireless’ (Maxwell,1994:322-3), including in asserting the place of Maori women in her ethnographic account of traditional Maori life, but this does not register in her argument. Effectively, in Te Awekotuku’s account, there are two, intertwining aspects to Makereti’s agency. Makereti is seen to engage in essentialism as reverse discourse, performing the desired indigenous authenticity, using it to her own and her people’s advantage - making a living, then securing recognition in the Pakeha world and using that position to then write her own account of Maori culture, correcting the ‘“outrageous untruths” of “ignorant” [European] writers’ (Te Awekotuku, 1986:ix). In addition to her utilisation of a primitivist authenticity, Makereti is shown, firstly, as an active agent whose own life is one of Maori/Pakeha hybridisation and, secondly, as

drawing on autonomous Maori sources in writing her ethnography. She uses the difference/distance established by the colonial desire for a distinct and pure indigenous authenticity to protect an autonomous space in which Maori epistemologies can be developed. However, within that space Maori difference does not remain reducible to the characterisations of colonial fantasy. Finally, in addition to the image of Makereti’s dynamism and hybridity, Te Awekotuku says of contemporary Maori difference, ‘we are living at a time, now, where we are having to determine and define exactly what tradition is, retrospectively’ (Te Awekotuku, 1991:144). This is not an image of unadulterated and static originality.

Effectively, Maxwell’s anti-essentialist orientation means she only registers the play of indigenous agency in terms of resistance to domination, but cannot register the workings of indigenous agency as recovery. Thus, Maxwell exposes herself to some of the criticisms of anti-essentialist analyses. Benita Parry (1994a:177) for one, argues that the critique of nativist essentialism relies on a binarism of its own ‘where the coloniser is dynamic donor and the colonised is docile recipient’. In brief, the argument of reverse discourse assumes a singular (Western) epistemological terrain. The possibility of autonomous non-Western epistemologies is discounted, or at best ignored, and the resistant indigene reduced to purely operating on the terrain that has been imposed upon them. This critique parallels the criticism made of Bhabha for only being able to account for agency in terms of resistance. Andrew Lattas (1993), similarly, argues against the ‘Aboriginality-as-resistance’ model of indigenous identity, in favour of ‘Aboriginality-as-persistence’. Lattas argues that to deny Aboriginal Australians an autonomous otherness is to continue the colonial denial of Aboriginal agency:

The demand that Aborigines produce their popular consciousness along the lines of a social theory of identity is a request that they become conscious of themselves as purely relational identities; they are to be resisters without producing an essence for themselves. They are to situate themselves in opposition to Whites without fetishising themselves. They are to become a pure system of difference, an oppositional form that does not stabilise itself except through the subversion of the other. There is no positivity and content to this form of Aboriginality, it is a relationship of opposition responding to the terms

and agenda set yet again by white society (Lattas, 1993:247-8).

This is an important criticism of anti-essentialism, which highlights the way in which the genealogical tracing of native essentialism back to Western sources, such as I carried out in Chapter Two, works to universalise Western discourse while failing to recognise any autonomous indigenous difference. In other words, if indigenous essence is shown to be derivative of the West, the West remains the universal, its own claims to essence intact: ‘If resistance to the West is another move in the inventory of the West, the West can have no limits’ (Sayyid, 2000:263). Sayyid argues that this ‘logic of mirroring’ denies the unequal power relations between the dominant West and subordinate other, replacing them with a formal symmetry. S/he summarises the effects of this logic as follows:

First, it constructs the subordinate subject as an inversion of the dominant subject position. This obscures the possibility of any autonomy of the subordinate. The subaltern exists only as an effect of the hegemonic discourse ... the status of subalternity exhausts the subjectivity of the subordinated subject. Second, it erases the dimension of power from any relationship. A relationship of power is a relationship of unevenness. Symmetry, obviously, denies hierarchy or oppression. The logic of mirroring is based on the assumption that ... those who resist the hegemonic can do so only in the terms of that hegemony (Sayyid, 2000:263).

Makereti and Te Awekotuku are not unusual among Maori in combining the strategies of essentialism as reverse discourse and essentialism as autonomous difference. As Hauraki Greenland’s analysis of the development of Maori identity politics in the 1960s and 1970s suggests, the utilisation of reverse discourse involved the stereotyping of Pakeha as morally lacking (Greenland, 1984:89) and as ‘hedonistic, aggressive and materialist’ (Greenland, 1984:92). This operation of ‘reverse stereotyping’ provides insights into the limitations of reverse discourse as a basis for progressive cross-cultural relations. However, as has been discussed, it marked out a discursive space of Pakeha exclusion within which Maori ‘regeneration through autonomy’ (Greenland, 1984:96) could take place. Simultaneously then, Maori unity was also constructed on the basis of

both pre-colonial cultural sources and the shared experience of colonisation (Greenland, 1984:89).

Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999:73) acknowledges the idealisation involved in assertions of indigenous cultural authenticity, but argues that they remain politically crucial. Her own description of this cultural authenticity combines assertions of autonomy and difference, continuity and change:

[I]t does appeal to an idealised past when there was no colonizer, to our strength in surviving thus far, to our language as an uninterrupted link to our histories, to the ownership of our lands, to our abilities to create and control our own life and death, to a sense of balance among ourselves and with the environment, to our authentic selves as a people (Smith, 1999:73).

Smith and other Maori feminists have been integrally involved in the project of cultural regeneration and are clear in their assertion of a distinct and autonomous source/‘essence’ of Maori identity. Smith (1999:74), for instance, talking about indigenous people in general, argues that their conceptions of spirituality, which link them to the physical world, constitute an indigenous essence that is quite distinct from the individualist conceptions of essence within Western thought. As she concludes, these systems of thought stand outside the frame of Western thought, and as such:

are critical sites of resistance for indigenous peoples. The values, attitudes, concepts and language embedded in beliefs about spirituality represent, in many cases, the clearest contrast and mark of difference between indigenous peoples and the West. It is one of the few parts of ourselves which the West cannot decipher, cannot understand and cannot control ... yet (Smith, 1999:74).

Leonie Pihama outlines a dual project of deconstruction of colonial discourses (Pihama, 1994:39-40) and the development of indigenous Kaupapa M_ori theories which rearticulate ‘many notions that have been a part of Maori epistemologies over thousands of years’ (Pihama, 1994:37). Patricia Johnson and Pihama (1995) also set out a framework for autonomous Maori difference. Johnson and Pihama distinguish between what, in Pakeha terms, ‘counts as difference’ and ‘what differences count’ for them as Maori women. For Pakeha, they argue, what has counted as Maori difference has been

only those things, culture and biology, that distinguish the two peoples and that have been used in the service of Pakeha domination (Johnson and Pihama, 1995:80). For them as Maori women however, the differences that count are the inequalities in power between Maori and Pakeha and the ‘particular underlying essences’ of Maori identity -

mana whenua, mana wairua, whakapapa and mana t_ngata - which express the webs of relationships to land, spirituality and people, within which Maori individuals stand (Johnson and Pihama, 1995:84-5).

The strategic deployment of essentialised authenticity as reverse discourse is a powerful and important strategy of resistance but, on its own, not enough to ground a positive political project of cultural survival and recovery. That project requires the combination of the workings of reverse discourse with the assertion of an autonomous cultural source. In the next section I investigate the conception of that autonomous cultural source within contemporary Maori assertions of identity, in relation to the essentialist problematics of purity and stasis on the one hand and hybridity and dynamism on the other.