Even through the glitchy window of a Zoom call, you can hear the love in Prof Kura Paul-Burke’s voice as she talks about Ōhiwa Harbour.
Her eyes brighten as she shares a story from when her young daughter would accompany her out on the harbour as she did her research.
“She was 3 or 4 years old, and she’s sitting in the dinghy with me. My husband’s in the water diving. I’m recording and taking GPS statistics. And my daughter is sitting in front of me with her life jacket on, blowing bubbles and singing to the seals.”
And that’s how all of Paul-Burke’s children grew up — on the quiet swell of the harbour — as did the professor herself, her father, and their whānau for generations before them.
The professor’s work features in the short film Turning the Tide: Mātauranga-led restoration, which screens next week in Dunedin as part of the Ocean Film Festival. On the surface, Turning the Tide tells the story of Ōhiwa Harbour, and how a science breakthrough saved a dying population. Below the surface, Turning the Tide is driven by the work of a marine ecologist who uses the knowledge of her hapū, her ancestors and her connection to the harbour to restore ecological imbalance. But if you stepped out of the water entirely, you would find that Turning the Tide is actually both a celebration and a timely reminder of how knowledge can be power, and a lesson in how those who have that power decide which knowledge will be valued.
Directed by Magnolia Lowe, the 12-minute film, Turning the Tide: Mātauranga-led restoration, follows a group of University of Waikato doctoral and undergraduate students, who collaborate with local iwi to both research and restore the population of green-lipped mussels in Ōhiwa Harbour, Bay of Plenty. When the study began in 2007, the mussel population was at 112 million. By 2019, the researchers had witnessed it drop to a terrifying 80,000. However, by integrating mātauranga Māori (place-based scientific knowledge of the environment), and prioritising the voices of those who knew Ōhiwa best, the researchers were able to find an innovative and successful solution. But Ōhiwa is not just a marker of research and statistics. To marine ecology professor Kura Paul-Burke, it’s a part of her childhood and family.
“When you talk about nature, you talk about it as something separate from ourselves. But if you look at the world, everything fits like pieces in a puzzle,” she says.
The harbour is a vital part of who she is, something that nourishes her, and brings her safety and peace. And in return, she strives to give back to it.
“If Ōhiwa Harbour is healthy, then I am too. Not only physically, because I can then get food to feed myself, my children and my grandchildren. There’s a sense of wellness and well-being that comes from the intangible goodness of knowing she [Ōhiwa Harbour] is doing good.”
And it’s this connection to the harbour that allowed for the success of her research. This is the foundation of mātauranga Māori — the scientific knowledge or way of understanding the world in te ao Māori. The knowledge system is intricately woven from and shaped by the wisdom passed down by generations of tāngata whenua. Centuries of profound awareness has accumulated to become extensive knowledge of the environment. However, this science has faced many challenges within academic spaces.
Prof Paul-Burke laughs when asked whether marine science courses mentioned mātauranga Māori when she first began studying. It’s an empty laugh that comes with a pained smile.
"There were no Māori lecturers. The integration of mātauranga Māori at universities, polytechs, higher education institutions and even science institutions ... None."
"If Māori were present, we weren’t there as the academics or scientists. We were there in other roles, maybe like administrative roles."
This didn’t change once she began working on postgraduate research, either.
"For over a decade, I never talked about the science that we did. I never talked about the methods that we used. For 10 years, I just didn’t talk about it out loud."
So, how did she get approval to use mātauranga Māori in her work? The answer is profoundly simple, but it’s gut-wrenching to comprehend.
"I went to conferences, as you do, but I never presented. I just listened and learned. I never talked about it because I was always the only Māori person in the room."
There’s no self-pity in her description, just a quiet seriousness.
Paul-Burke describes how she would put her head down, keep working and researching, despite feeling far beneath her peers and co-workers. That feeling of being at the bottom manifested in fear.
"If I talked out loud, would there be even more barriers?" she asks.
It is clear she is still searching for an answer to that question, unsure how things might have gone if she had acted differently.
"We had enough barriers, as it was. We couldn’t get funding. So, we voluntarily did it all ourselves, with the iwi. We’d scrape together $200 here, $2000 here."
Despite being told by many scientists that "mātauranga Māori is not real science", Paul-Burke recognises the similarities with the Western tradition.
"Both approaches aim to better understand the natural world that we all live in. Both are well established and include teaching and learning techniques. Both mātauranga Māori and mainstream science are systematic and seek to solve. And the spaces where they don’t come together ... that’s where the innovation is."
In Turning the Tide we can see this very innovation, plain and clear. The integration of the two sciences is evidently vital in not only the research, but also the solution to restoring the mussel population.
The film is a culmination of many things, all of which hold meaning for Paul-Burke, and goes beyond just the science success.
Firstly, all of the researchers in her project are wāhine Māori, and all whakapapa to the Ōhiwa Harbour (including her now-grown-up daughter). She says that throughout the research and filming process she was grateful to get to know such a strong group of women, who are all powerfully passionate about using mātauranga Māori and Western science to improve their environment.
Paul-Burke loved leading a group of young researchers. With a giggle, she says her favourite part of working with her team is the "wāhine eye-roll", that’s followed by "ugh, nan". Classic.
More seriously, though, she says her generation’s job is to smooth the path for those who follow.
"I’m old, so I know some of the potholes and I can fill them in, so that when you walk on them that part is smooth. You’ll find your own potholes, too."
It is an understated euphemism when talking about breaking through institutional racism.
"It’s quiet underwater." Her voice is soft, yet there’s a clear, deep passion. "It’s quiet on the surface. You can tell when it’s time to do something, when the harbour gets noisy. There’s a tohu. There’s an environmental sign that a change is taking place.
"Everyone looks at monitoring science. You look at something and say ‘Oh, it’s getting bad. Oh, it’s getting badder. Oh, no, it’s the baddest.’ But at what point do we actually cross that threshold and say ‘So, what am I going to do?’."
She reflects on the cost of delaying action, globally.
"When people look back at the 21st century, the story of our ocean is filled with human stupidity. The inability of us as humans to really recognise the cost of a declining world and the continued exploitation of our oceans, not only for ourselves but our descendants and the continuation of the human race ..."
She pauses and searches for the right word, then shrugs.
"It’s stupid."
Turning the Tide is much more than just an example of successful ocean restoration. It represents the desire for a healthy ocean, the innovation that can occur when barriers are broken down, and the celebration of mātauranga Māori taking its place in the academic world.
"Ōhiwa is a powerful, tangible exemplar of bringing together different knowledge systems to better our world," the professor says. "It doesn’t matter the name of your knowledge system, because honestly, the ocean doesn’t care. Change is slow, but we just put our head down, keep working hard, and try to honour and hear the wisdom of our ancestors."
— Seren Stevens is a University of Otago Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka humanities intern at the Otago Daily Times.
- The screening: Turning the Tide: Mātauranga-led restoration screens at Rialto Dunedin on Thursday from 6.30pm as part of the Ocean Film Festival. The festival brings together a selection of short ocean films from all over the world, from Africa to Europe, Oceania and the Americas.
