Leki Jackson-Bourke and his cousin Eunique Cabrini Ikiua, who is also a key advocate for the Niuean language.
The history of the Pacific communities who refuse to be squeezed out of Central Auckland is celebrated in the new season of docu-series Still Here. One of its subjects, Leki Jackson-Bourke, reflects on his Niuean identity and how that fits into a pan-Pacific city.
Auckland - the largest Polynesian city in the world. The birthplace of Polyfest, the Pasifika festival and the home of the Pan-Pacific identity.
For years, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the place I call home, Tāmaki Makaurau.
On one hand, it’s the one-stop cultural shop where you can get almost anything and everything from the Pacific. On the other, it’s one of the most critical and cut-throat environments for children of the diaspora to explore their cultural identities.
I grew up in Grey Lynn, central Auckland, as a first-generation New Zealand-born Tongan, Niuean, Samoan who couldn’t speak any of his languages. In my earlier years I rejected the thought of even trying. I held tight to the shame and stigma of not knowing my language and I was insecure in my identity and my lack of understanding around how to properly navigate cultural spaces respectfully as a young Pacific person.
To further complicate things, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be.
Am I Tongan? Am I Samoan? Am I Niuean? Do I introduce myself as all three? Or do I just pick one out of convenience? People who are of mixed Pacific heritage often prioritise one culture over the other. Sometimes, it’s just easier.
Many NZ-born Pacific Islanders will relate to the struggle of having to navigate two worlds at the same time and for some of us the responsibility is even greater when you belong to more than one island community.
Then we have the Pan-Pacific identity, where we mish-mash everything together and we just call it “Pacific”. But it makes me think, what even is “Pacific” anymore?
The term Pacific in New Zealand generally references people who come from the regions of Melanesia, Polynesia and Micronesia. I know from experience that my friends from the Micronesian and Melanesian communities don’t like calling themselves Pacific.
On multiple occasions they spoke about feeling excluded from the Pan-Pacific buzz and the same could even be said for some of our smaller Polynesian island communities.
Everybody knows Samoans and Tongans are the majority. They are probably the most visible of our Pacific nations and they are well-represented in multiple Pacific spaces. When we think of the word Pacific, it’s easy for the general audience to automatically associate everything with Samoa or Tonga.
Do we blame Samoans and Tongans for taking the limelight? Absolutely not. I love my Samoan and Tongan communities equally and I embrace and uplift the wonderful work we’ve done to keep our cultures alive here in Aotearoa. But it does pose the question: where does it leave the rest of our moana nations?
In recent years, I’ve come to realise my role and responsibility to my Niuean community.
Niue. The forgotten sibling.
Niueans, Tokelauans and Tuvaluans are a few of the smaller communities that make up the Pacific demographic of Auckland. But can you even tell the difference? To people outside of our communities, we look and sound the same. Same, same, but different.
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a minority within the minority in Auckland? That’s sometimes how we feel as Niueans. It’s tiring when we have to explain to people how Niueans are different from neighbouring Polynesian islands.
No, we don’t wear woven mats; yes, we do eat taro; no, we don’t have traditional tattoos; yes, we do go to church. Then it gets even more complicated when we dive into the nitty gritty of language, traditions, protocols and cultural hierarchy. So many similarities, yet so many differences. And sometimes we don’t know how to answer.
This is where it gets scary.
More than 30,000 Niueans live in New Zealand, compared to 1600 who live back on the island itself. The majority of NZ-born Niueans can’t hold a conversation in Vagahau Niue (the Niue language). Then on top of all of that, when we get lumped in with everyone else under the “Pacific” umbrella we begin to lose the nuances and intricacies of Niue culture because sometimes it’s easier to blend in rather than stand out.
This pressure can be overwhelming for young Niueans trying to belong so it’s no wonder why many of them don’t put in the effort. Maybe they’re of mixed heritage and find it easier to focus on one culture. Or maybe they’re insecure, like I was when I was younger.
Whatever the reason is, one thing is clear: we need our young people to stop hiding. It is our responsibility to keep our culture alive in Aotearoa and we owe it to our ancestors. It’s the biggest fight of our generation and we must engage. Through my journey of culture, I’ve come to realise that the struggles and sacrifices of those before me will always outweigh my own personal insecurities.
There is power in language and culture and we need to shine and let the world know that we exist.