Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research 9811667780, 9789811667787

Table of contents :
A Note on the Book’s Cover Image
Contents
Notes on Contributors
List of Figures
List of Tables
1 Introduction
Introducing the Editors
The Field of Peace and Conflict Studies
Decolonising Academic Research
Indigenous Research
PACS and Indigenous Research
What Is Covered in This Book?
References
Part I Indigenous Epistemologies, Methodologies and Method
2 Decolonizing Peacebuilding Research in Africa Through Indigenous Knowledge Systems: Experience of Igbo-Speaking Group of Niger-Delta Region, Nigeria
Introduction
Coloniality and Western Dominance in Peace and Conflict Research
Decolonization Through Indigenous Knowledge System
Theoretical Contributions in Decolonizing Peacebuilding
Decolonization of Peacebuilding
Indigenous Philosophy for Peacebuilding in Igbo-speaking Communities
Traditional Practices of Peacebuilding in Igbo-speaking Communities
The Challenges of Indigenous Methodology for Peacebuilding in Africa
Conclusion and Recommendations
References
3 Restoring Balance and Harmony to Peace and Conflict Studies: Engaging Indigenous Paradigm Research in Collaborations of Integrity
Indigenous Worldviews and Peace
Re-centering Indigenous Worldviews Within Peace and Conflict Studies
Collaborations of Integrity Between Indigenous and Non-indigenous Peoples
References
4 Affirming an Indigenous Approach Within Peace and Conflict Studies
Introduction
Indigenous Epistemology
Indigenous Epistemology and Kaupapa Māori Research
Waitaha First Nations People
Kaupapa Māori Potential Approach Utilising Pūrakau | Indigenous Narratives
Conclusion
References
5 When an Indigenous Researcher Sees, Speaks and Writes: The Experience of Palestinian Research in Israel
Introduction
The Duty to Speak and Write
Indigenous Researcher in Conflictual Context: Cons and Pros
Indigenising Peace and Conflict Research
Conclusion
References
6 Liming and Ole Talk: A Site of Negotiation, Contestation and Relationships
Introduction
Liming and Ole Talk
The Limes
Brooklyn Lime, New York—Caribbean Islanders
New Jersey lime—Caribbean Islanders
River Lime, Arima, Trinidad and Tobago
Processes and Characteristics of a Lime
Addressing Conflict in the Caribbean
Discussion
References
7 Exploring Indigenous Peace Traditions Collaboratively
Introduction
Background Information
Māori Traditional Domains of War and Peace
Portrayals of Māori Warrior Culture
Etic, Emic and Etmic Research Approach
Indigenous Peace Traditions of Aotearoa
Waitaha: Peace Marches of 1877 and 2012
Kelli Te Maihāroa (Waitaha tūturu, Ngāti Rārua Ātiawa, Taranaki, Te Ātiawa, Waitaha Tai Whenua Trust Board)
Moriori and ‘Nunuku’s Law’
Maui Solomon (Moriori, Ngāi Tahu and Pākehā, General Manager for Hokotehi Moriori Trust, Barrister, and Indigenous Advocate and Adjunct Professor, Simon Fraser University, British Columbia)
Parihaka: The Home of Passive Resistance
Maata Wharehoka (Ngāti Koata, Ngāti Kuia, Ngāti Toa, Ngāti Tahinga, Ngāti Apakura, Ngāi Te Rangi, Kaitiaki of Te Niho o Te Ātiawa Meeting House at Parihaka)
Conclusion
References
Part II Peace Education and Indigenous Research
8 Beloved Community: Teacher Reflection on Hawaiʻi-Based Teaching and Learning Framework, Nā Hopena Aʻo (HĀ), and Possible Implications for Decolonisation in Peace Studies and Peace Education
Introduction
Nā Hopena Aʻo (HĀ): A Framework for Teaching and Learning
“See Failure as an Opportunity to Learn Well:” Finding HĀ in the Writing Process as a Researcher
Guts on the Table: “Tell the Story of Your Names, All of Your Names”
Guts on the Table: “Tell the Story of Your Community”
Strengthened Sense of Belonging
Strengthened Sense of Responsibility
Strengthened Sense of Excellence
Strengthened Sense of Aloha
Strengthened Sense of Total Well-Being
Strengthened Sense of Hawaiʻi
Guts on the Table and Conclusion: “Tell the Story of Your Gifts”
References
9 The Path of Education in Mexico Goes Back to Its Roots
The Construction of Genuine Peace, the Objective of the Zapatista Movement
Features of the Dominant Perspectives of Indigenous Education in Mexico
The Zapatista Educational Project and Its Pedagogical Radicalism
Concluding Remarks
References
10 Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa: Decolonising Research in a Space for Peace
Introduction
Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa: The Space for Peace
Indigenous Research in Te Ao of Rongomaraeroa/NCPACS
Epistemology and Methodologies
NCPACS Research Epistemologies and Methodologies
Research by Indigenous Researchers
Māori and Pasifika Researchers
Asian Researchers
African Researchers
Middle-Eastern Researchers
Research for and with Indigenous Peoples
Indigenous Methodologies
Challenges for Doctoral Students Undertaking Decolonising Research in PACS
Benefits for PACS of Indigenous Research
Conclusion
Bibliography
Part III Indigenous Perspectives on Peace Development and Peace Processes
11 Decolonising the (Indonesian) “Peace Concept” in West-Papua
Introduction
The Concept of Peace in Indonesia-Papua Relationship
Peace Culture of the Indigenous Papuan Tradition
Decolonising the Concept of Peace
Conclusion
References
12 Indigenous Conflict Resolution: A Samoan Perspective
Introduction
What Is Peace?
Harmony Between Humans and the Cosmos
Harmony Between Humans and the Environment
Harmony Between Fellow Humans
Harmony Between Humans and Self
Gerontocracy
The Self
Boundaries and Sacred Spaces
O le Ifoga
Conclusion
Bibliography
13 Treaty Making (Makarrata) and an ‘Invisible’ People: Seeking a Just Peace After ‘Conflict’
Coming Together After Conflict
International Developments on (a) Peoplehood and (b) Self-Determination
Peoplehood
Self-Determination as a Substantive Right at International Law
Entrenching Good Faith Requirement in Treaty Making
Treaty Yeah and Treaty Nay: Domestic Opposition to Treaty
Australian Law and the Exhaustion of Domestic Legal Remedies
CANZUS States: The Erosion of Indigenous Treaty Rights
Domestic Legal and Political Options
In Aotearoa
In Australia
Treaty Under the Australian Constitution?
Domestic Treaty Processes
Sources of Treaty Content
The Grammar of Peace: Future Tense, Past Imperfect!
Conclusion
14 Appreciative Accompaniment and Storywork: Bridging Peace and Conflict Studies and Indigenous Research
Introduction—Why Accompaniment?
Indigenous Peoplehood and Storywork
Appreciative Storywork and Institutional Decolonization
Forms of Accompaniment
Mutual Accompaniment
Decolonization in the Philippines
Lumad Justice, Advocacy, and Peacebuilding
Accompaniment in Mindanao Community Development and Peacebuilding
Discussion
Modes and Tensions in Indigenous Social Movements and PACS
Multi-paradigmatic Accompaniment, Epistemological Pluralism, and JustPeace Ethics
Conclusion
Ways Forward
Bibliography
Part IV Conclusion
15 From Decolonisation to Ethical Restoration
Decolonisation as a Concept for Peace and Justice
Indigenous Peoples Speaking the Truth of Their Own Power
Indigenous Epistemologies, Methodologies and Method
Coloniality and Critical Theory for Research in the Niger-Delta Region of Nigeria
Indigenous Worldviews and Eco-Relationality for Cherokee and Indigenous Australians
Indigenous Epistemology and Kaupapa Māori for Exploring Peace Traditions of Waitaha of Aotearoa
Insider Research with Palestinian Activists Using Constructive Grounded Theory
Contesting and Maintaining Relationships Through Liming and Ole Talk of Trinidad and Tobago
Collaborative ‘Etmic’ Research Sharing Knowledge of Indigenous Peace Traditions in Aotearoa New Zealand
Peace Education and Indigenous Research
Hawai’ian Teaching and Learning Framework of Nā Hopena a’o (HĀ)
The Zapatista Educational Project for Peace in Mexico
An Educational Space for Peace for Indigenous Research in Aotearoa New Zealand
Indigenous Perspectives on Peace Development and Peace Processes
West Papuan Indigenous Peace Concepts
Samoan Indigenous Conflict Resolution Processes
Treaty-Making for Indigenous Peoples in Australia
Accompanying Indigenous Peacemakers in Philippines
From Decolonisation to Ethical Restoration
Peace
References
Index

Citation preview

Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research Edited by Kelli Te Maihāroa Michael Ligaliga · Heather Devere

Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research

Kelli Te Maih¯aroa · Michael Ligaliga · Heather Devere Editors

Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research

Editors Kelli Te Maih¯aroa Otago Polytechnic Dunedin, New Zealand Heather Devere The National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies University of Otago Dunedin, New Zealand

Michael Ligaliga School M¯aori & Pacific Indigenous Studies University of Otago Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand

ISBN 978-981-16-6778-7 ISBN 978-981-16-6779-4 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover credit: Kelli Te Maih¯aroa, Art by Rua Pick This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

A Note on the Book’s Cover Image

HAERE KI TE MAUKA—GO TO THE MOUNTAIN Hokia ki mauka kia p¯urea koe e k¯ahau a T¯awhirimatea Return to your mountain to be cleansed by T¯awhitimatea. This pou stands as a reminder of the teachings of Te Maih¯aroa, Ariki Tohuka, and the last Waitaha prophet of Te Waipounamu, the South Island of Aotearoa New Zealand. In winter 1879, prior to the eviction from their M¯aori village at Te Ao M¯arama, Te Maih¯aroa ascended the sacred mountain Mauka Atua beside ¯ Lake Ohauiti on a visionary quest. His twelve disciples waited below. Upon reaching the summit, he received a moemoe¯a kite (vision) to move his people living at Te Ao M¯arama, to the ancient Waitaha k¯aika (settlement) of Korotuaheka, at the Waitaki River mouth. There Te Maih¯aroa continued his teachings of peace. This pou is placed firmly into the whenua to continue the legacy of Te ¯ Maih¯aroa, watching out across Lake Ohauiti to the sacred mountain that challenged his mind, body and soul. Through his exhortation to ‘never shed blood’, Te Maih¯aroa taught us the old ways of walking in ultimate peace, even in the face of adversity. This pou stands as our reminder: We are Waitaha and we follow in the footsteps of Roko Marae Roa, the Atua of Peace.

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Contents

1

Introduction Kelli Te Maih¯aroa, Michael Ligaliga, and Heather Devere

1

Part I Indigenous Epistemologies, Methodologies and Method 2

3

4

5

Decolonizing Peacebuilding Research in Africa Through Indigenous Knowledge Systems: Experience of Igbo-Speaking Group of Niger-Delta Region, Nigeria Ferdinand O. Ottoh Restoring Balance and Harmony to Peace and Conflict Studies: Engaging Indigenous Paradigm Research in Collaborations of Integrity Polly O. Walker Affirming an Indigenous Approach Within Peace and Conflict Studies Kelli Te Maih¯aroa When an Indigenous Researcher Sees, Speaks and Writes: The Experience of Palestinian Research in Israel Nijmeh Ali

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41

57

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CONTENTS

6

Liming and Ole Talk: A Site of Negotiation, Contestation and Relationships Camille Nakhid

7

Exploring Indigenous Peace Traditions Collaboratively Kelli Te Maih¯aroa, Heather Devere, Maui Solomon, and Maata Wharehoka

Part II 8

9

10

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105

Peace Education and Indigenous Research

Beloved Community: Teacher Reflection on Hawai‘i-Based Teaching and Learning ¯ and Possible Framework, N¯a Hopena A‘o (HA), Implications for Decolonisation in Peace Studies and Peace Education Kalika Kastein

131

The Path of Education in Mexico Goes Back to Its Roots Lucía Elena Rodríguez McKeon

159

Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa: Decolonising Research in a Space for Peace Heather Devere, Michael Ligaliga, and Kelli Te Maih¯aroa

173

Part III Indigenous Perspectives on Peace Development and Peace Processes 11

Decolonising the (Indonesian) “Peace Concept” in West-Papua Cahyo Pamungkas

12

Indigenous Conflict Resolution: A Samoan Perspective Michael Ligaliga

13

Treaty Making (Makarrata) and an ‘Invisible’ People: Seeking a Just Peace After ‘Conflict’ Asmi Wood

195 215

231

CONTENTS

14

Appreciative Accompaniment and Storywork: Bridging Peace and Conflict Studies and Indigenous Research Jeremy Simons

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269

Part IV Conclusion 15

From Decolonisation to Ethical Restoration Kelli Te Maih¯aroa, Michael Ligaliga, and Heather Devere

Index

307

329

Notes on Contributors

Nijmeh Ali is a political and academic activist with a Ph.D. in Peace and Conflict Studies from the University of Otago in New Zealand. Her research focuses on the power of resistance theory in exposing the ‘power of powerless’ and the capacities of oppressed groups in creating genuine social change, particularly among Palestinian activists in Israel. From 2014 to 2018, Nijmeh was a researcher at the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago. She previously earned a B.A. from Haifa University and M.A. from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Heather Devere is Director of Practice at Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa/National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago. She has written widely on issues related to the politics of friendship, Indigenous peace traditions and peacebuilding, peace journalism, restorative justice, and social justice. Her Ph.D. is in Politics from the University of Auckland and her thesis was on women’s attitudes to civil rights issues. As a P¯akeh¯a New Zealander, Heather works in collaboration with Indigenous M¯aori and Moriori colleagues to facilitate research publications. Kalika Kastein is a Ph.D. Candidate at Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa/National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago in Aotearoa. Kalika worked as a certified Elementary and Special Education teacher in Hawai‘i. She earned her Master of

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Science in Education from Johns Hopkins University in the U.S. and also holds a Master of Arts in Peace Studies from International Christian University in Japan, which she undertook as a Rotary Peace Fellow. Michael Ligaliga is a Lecturer at Te Tumu the School of M¯aori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies at the University of Otago, teaching contemporary Pacific Island issues, Indigenous leadership and peace and conflict in the Pacific. He is the first Pacific Islander to graduate with a Ph.D. from Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa/ the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies. Dr. Ligaliga has written on Fa’a Samoa and domestic violence, the treaty of friendship between New Zealand and Samoa, and Indigenous conflict resolution. Previously he was with Brigham Young University in Hawaii where he was the Interim Director of the David O. McKay Centre for Intercultural Understanding. Camille Nakhid is an Associate Professor of the School of Social Sciences at AUT University in Aotearoa New Zealand. She is from Trinidad and Tobago and has been involved in a number of community organisations in New Zealand. Camille has a doctorate in education from Auckland University. She was the chair of the inaugural Auckland Council Ethnic Peoples Advisory Panel and is currently the chair of the Migrant Action Trust. In 2018, Camille received a New Zealand Order of Merit award for services to education and the community. Ferdinand O. Ottoh holds a Ph.D. in Political Science and is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Political Science, University of Lagos in Nigeria. He is a scholar in International Relations and Strategic Studies with many years of teaching and research. He has published in local and international journals, contributed chapters in books published locally and internationally on conflict and security management, the Boko Haram insurgency, French intervention in Mali, and human rights in Nigeria. He has participated and presented papers in local and international conferences. He is an alumnus of West Africa Peacebuilding Institute. Cahyo Pamungkas is a Researcher of conflict studies, at the Centre of Areas Studies, the Indonesia Institute of Sciences. His master of science degree in Sociology is from the University of Indonesia. His Ph.D. is from Radboud University Nijmegen, the Netherlands, on Ethno-religious Conflict in Indonesia and the Philippines Program. He has conducted studies on the relationship between ethno-religious groups in Southeast Asia and Eastern Indonesia, mainly Maluku and Papua. In 2005, he

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received Asia Public Intellectual fellowship from the Nippon Foundation. Between 2005 and 2008, he was assigned by the Institute to study the separatist conflict of Papua and became co-author of ‘Papua Road Map’. Lucía Elena Rodríguez McKeon holds a Ph.D. in Education, is a member of the National System of Researchers of Mexico (SNI) and faculty member at the National Pedagogical University (UPN) where she coordinates the Graduate Program on Management of Coexistence at School of Violence, Human Rights and Culture of Peace with the support of the Human Rights Commission of the City of Mexico. Her research interest includes diversity, human rights, culture of peace, and education for citizenship. She has coordinated the design of intervention programs on contexts of cultural differences and migration with UNICEF and has published on violence in schools. Jeremy Simons has worked as a trainer, consultant, and researcher with interests in Conflict Transformation, Restorative Justice, and Appreciative Inquiry. He has a Ph.D. in Peace and Conflict Studies (2021) and an M.A. in Conflict Transformation (2002). From 2002 to 2008 he helped set up one of the first large-scale, school-based restorative discipline programs in the USA. Born and raised in the Philippines, Jeremy lived in Mindanao from 2008 to 2017 where he worked as an advocacy accompanier with ‘Tri-Peoples’ peace activists (Indigenous Peoples, Muslim, and Christian). His recent research has focused on intersections of Indigenous, transitional and restorative justice, peace processes, online harm, and polarisation. Maui Solomon (Moriori, K¯ai Tahu, P¯akeh¯a) is chair of the Hoketehi Moriori Trust, co-chair of the Aotearoa Peace and Conflict Studies Trust, and an Adjunct Professor at Simon Fraser University in Canada. A barrister and Indigenous Peoples advocate, he has also been a key legal and political advocate for the recognition of the customary and Treaty rights and identity of his own Moriori people of R¯ekohu (Chatham Islands) and M¯aori tribes in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Maui has been active in international Indigenous Peoples issues including the Convention on Biological Diversity, the World Intellectual Property Organisation and is a past President of the International Society of Ethnobiology. Kelli Te Maih¯aroa (Waitaha, Ng¯ati R¯arua, Te Atiawa) has a background in education and social services, focusing on bicultural responsiveness

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

and kaupapa M¯aori initiatives. At Otago Polytechnic, Kelli has a leadership role in Te K¯ahui Whet¯u. An active member within her wh¯anau, Iwi and local M¯aori community, Kelli is a mokopuna of Te Maih¯aroa, the last southern M¯aori tohuka (expert tribal specialist). Dr. Te Maih¯aroa’s Ph.D. from the University of Otago in Indigenous Studies and Peace and Conflict Studies is a study of the peace traditions of her own M¯aori tribal community. Kelli was a co-editor of Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Polly O. Walker is of Cherokee descent. Professor Walker serves as the Director of the Baker Institute for Peace and Conflict Studies, and the Elizabeth Evans Baker Professor of Peace and Conflict Studies at Juniata College in Pennsylvania. Her research and practice focus on Indigenous/Settler conflict transformation, Indigenous Knowledge systems, and the role of the arts and cultural work in transforming conflict. Her doctoral degree is in conflict transformation from the Department of Social Work and Social Policy, University of Queensland, and she has worked in peacebuilding in Vanuatu and the Solomon Islands. She is a director of the Peace and Conflict Studies Institute of Australia. Maata Wharehoka (Ng¯ati Tahinga, Ng¯ati Koata, Ng¯ati Apakura, Ng¯ati ¯ Toa, Ng¯ati Kuia) is Kaitiaki/Guardian of Te Niho o Te Atiawa marae at Parihaka Papak¯ainga in Aotearoa that maintains the peace traditions of its leaders Te Whiti and Tohu. She held a Practice Fellowship at Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa/National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago. Maata, who is a expert weaver and specialises in tikanga (cultural rituals) related to birth and death, received a Te Waka Toi Award in 2015 for a lifetime of service to M¯aori arts. Asmi Wood is a Professor of Law at the Australian National University (ANU) in Canberra. Asmi Wood gained his Ph.D. in 2011 that looked at the use of force by non-State actors under international law. He received the Vice Chancellor’s Award for Teaching Excellence from The ANU in 2010 and the National Neville Bonner Teaching Award in 2015. The ANU named him the Indigenous Alumnus in 2020. Before commencing work at the ANU, he worked in private practice and in government, both in Australia and overseas. He is the Interim Director of the National Centre for Indigenous Studies and a Barrister and Solicitor of the Supreme Court of the ACT.

List of Figures

Fig.2.1 Fig. 14.1

The map of Igbo-speaking people of Delta region, Nigeria Just Peace Ethics (Sawatsky, 2009)

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List of Tables

Table 10.1 Table 12.1 Table 14.1

Gender and indigeneity The connection between land and the body Dynamics in development partnerships

176 219 288

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa, Michael Ligaliga, and Heather Devere

The importance of Indigenous knowledge has only relatively recently been highlighted in peace and conflict studies (PACS). In this book, we focus on some of the work of scholars within the field of PACS who are investigating issues related to Indigenous Peoples. Included in this volume are contributions from both Indigenous and non-Indigenous

K. Te Maih¯aroa (B) Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] M. Ligaliga School M¯aori & Pacific Indigenous Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] H. Devere The National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_1

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researchers using a variety of Indigenous and non-Indigenous theories, methodologies and methods. We argue that Indigenous perspectives are essential for ensuring that PACS research, learning and teaching are relevant, respectful, accurate, non-exploitative, meaningful and transformational of Indigenous lives in line with the pursuit of social and cultural justice. We seek to demonstrate how Indigenous knowledge informs the discipline of PACS, conferring legitimacy within this field and affirming Indigenous ways of knowing and being. We also acknowledge the challenges that Indigenous perspectives put forward to the academic institutions and Western canons. In order for the direct, structural and cultural violence of colonisation to be overturned, this call to action requires resistance, determination, perseverance and solidarity. An ongoing issue is how this might be achieved via peaceful means of resistance, which upholds the spirit of collaboration and cooperation. This demands an awareness of Indigenous knowledge systems, conflict resolution, dialogue and relationship building. Embedding Indigenous knowledge systems within the peace and conflict studies field requires research that is itself decolonised, so that further exploitation is not perpetrated while seeking to resolve the violence that has accompanied colonisation.

Introducing the Editors The three editors of this volume have worked together on issues related to Indigenous research particularly in the field of Peace and Conflict Studies at a University in the South of Aotearoa New Zealand’s South Island/Te Wai Pounamu. We introduce ourselves according to the tikanga/customs of the Indigenous Peoples of Aotearoa, M¯aori and Moriori, and of the Pacific Island of Samoa. Dr. Kelli Te Maih¯aroa Ko Aoraki r¯atou ko Pukeone, ko Taranaki o ¯ ku mauka ariki. Ko Waitaki r¯atou ko Motueka, ko Waitaha o ¯ ku awa tapu. ¯ Ko Waitaha r¯atou ko Ng¯ati R¯arua, ko Te Atiawa, ko Taranaki o ¯ ku Iwi. E toru k¯a u ¯ kaipo: ko W¯anaka r¯atou ko Motueka, ko Ng¯a Motu o ¯ ku turakawaewae. Ko K¯ati R¯akai te hap¯u. Ko Te Maih¯aroa te ariki rakatira me te poropiti. Ko Te Maih¯aroa te wh¯anau. Ko Jay, r¯atou, ko Ben, ko Josh, ko Isaak, ko Jake a¯ku tamariki.

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Ko Kelli Te Maih¯aroa t¯oku ikoa. My ancestral mountains are Aoraki Mount Cook, Pukeone and Taranaki. My sacred waters are Waitaha, Waitaki and Motueka. ¯ Waitaha, Te Atiawa, and Ng¯ati R¯arua, are my tribal affiliations. My three ancestral homelands are W¯anaka, Motueka and New Plymouth. My primary hap¯u is K¯ati R¯akai, named after our founding tipuna R¯akaihaut¯u. Our chiefly leader and prophet was Te Maih¯aroa. I am blessed with five sons are Jay, Ben, Josh, Isaak and Jake. My name is Kelli Te Maih¯aroa. I have a background in education and social services, with a focus on bicultural responsivity and kaupapa M¯aori initiatives. At Otago Polytechnic my role is the Kaihaut¯u, Te K¯ahui Whet¯u: Capable M¯aori, responsible for working with Iwi M¯aori throughout Aotearoa, and as a mentor on the Doctorate of Professional Practice programme. I am a mokopuna/descendant of Te Maih¯aroa, the last southern M¯aori prophet and tohuka (expert tribal specialist). I specialise in the area of M¯aori educational initiatives, cultural revitalisation, and Indigenous research and Indigenous peace traditions. I co-edited with Heather Devere and John Synott the book on Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2017). Vaivaimalemalo Dr. Michael Ligaliga Tulouna lau tofa Luatua ma lou gauta ala. Tulouna oe le Faletolu. Tulouna oe le aiga o Sa Tilialo. Afio mai Tilialo o le Sa’o o Sa Tilialo. Afioa mai le Ma’upu tasi i lau Afioga a Nonumalo. Afifio mai alo o Sina ma Patea ma Futialo. Susu mai alo o Malietoa o Sapa’u ma Lei’ataatimu. Afio mau lau Afioga Pula. Afifio mai ou Ma’upu o Faalogou ma Taitu’ave. Tulouna oe le Usoalii. I introduce myself in the language of my inheritance. As a Samoan, we drink from the wells that were dug before us. This is my fa’alupega or honorifics of the chiefs and orators that are custodians to these chiefly titles. I am the custodian of the Vaivaimalemalo title from the village of Saleimoa. These oratory dialogues pay respect and give reverence to my

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ancestors of the past, my responsibilities of the present, and the futural obligations that inform my future. I am a lecturer at Te Tumu, School of M¯aori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies, University of Otago. I am the first Pacific Islander to earn a Ph.D. in Peace and Conflict Studies from the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago. My wife Faalima hails from the villages of Saleaula and Solosolo. We have been blessed with two children—Joanie and Leahcim. Dr. Heather Devere Ko Maungawhau te Maunga. Ko Hauraki Gulf te Moana. Ko P¯akeh¯a te Iwi. Ko Heather Devere toka ingoa. No Tamaki Makaurau ahou. I introduce myself according to the M¯aori tradition to acknowledge the land on which we stand. My introduction identifies me as non-M¯aori (P¯akeh¯a) of European heritage and Auckland in the North Island is my home. I have one son named Daniel. I am humbled to have been invited by my Indigenous colleagues to participate in this volume. As Director of Practice in Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa/The National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, I have had the privilege to learn from many Indigenous students, and to participate in collaborative work that includes bringing together three of Aotearoa’s Indigenous peace traditions, Moriori, Parihaka and Waitaha with Maui Solomon, Maata Wharehoka and Kelli Te Maih¯aroa (Devere et al., 2019). Michael Ligaliga and I have written on the concept of friendship within the treaty between Aotearoa New Zealand and the island nation of Samoa (Devere and Ligaliga, 2013).

The Field of Peace and Conflict Studies Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) as a university discipline clearly emerged from out of a Western academic context. The discipline developed in response to the devastation of the Second World War and the conviction that this should never be repeated (Bright and Gledhill 2018). There were two main academic strands from which the discipline emerged. One group was of primarily US-based researchers with a background in quantitative science keen to put in place ‘hard-nosed peace research’. According to Bright and Gledhill (2018, p. 182), this first group believed that ‘developing a scientific understanding of violent

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conflict’ would bring about changed ‘perceptions about the nature of war and, ultimately, bring about reforms that would facilitate the peaceful management of conflict’. The second group of scholars, mainly from Europe, agreed about the aim of constructing peace studies, but they were not willing to set aside the normative assumptions. They argued that scholars ‘should also aim to identify and expose socio-political structures that cause suffering and prevent individuals from realizing their full potential’ (Bright and Geldhill, 2018, p. 182). Definitions of peace and conflict studies are wide-ranging. The study of peace and conflict has been identified as ‘a core area of investigation in political science, international relations and cognate disciplines’ (Bright and Gledhill, 2018, p.128). There are many journals devoted to publishing articles related to peace and conflict studies that cover some of the wide range of approaches. For example, the Journal of Peace Research encourages a ‘wide conception of peace’ but focuses on the causes of violence and conflict resolution. Formerly the Pasifica Review on Peace, Security and Global Change, now without the reference to the Pacific, Global Change, Peace and Security claims to address the ‘difficult practical and theoretical questions posed by a rapidly globalising world’. Focusing mainly on conflict violence and insecurity it also considers ‘the conditions and prospects for conflict transformation, peacekeeping and peacebuilding’. The Journal of Peace and Development provides a forum for ‘critical thinking and constructive action at the intersections of conflict, development and peace’. Peace Review defines peace research broadly, and asks for articles that ‘explore peace, conflict, human rights, development, ecology, culture and related issues’. The Journal for Peace and Justice Studies ‘particularly encourages contributions arising from the Judeo-Christian intellectual tradition’, but also ‘welcomes submissions from any perspective which seeks to build a just society and promote peace’. Their disciplinary focus includes philosophy, theology, social and political theory and public policy. The Journal of Peace and Conflict Studies defines their mission as: … committed to the interdisciplinary explorations of conflict resolution, peace building, humanitarian assistance, and other mechanisms that seek to prevent and control violence. PCS is also interested in articles focusing on social change and nonviolence, including such areas as sustainable development, reflective practice, action research, human rights, peace education

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and intercultural relations. (https://nsuworks.nova.edu/pcs/accessed 3 March, 2021)

The field of PACS is seen as cross-disciplinary, interdisciplinary or multidisciplinary, drawing on previously established academic fields including politics, international relations, psychology, sociology, anthropology, history, theology, education, ethics, religion, law, management studies, health studies and communications. Around the world there are ‘hundreds of research institutes, academic departments, and professorial chairs in peace and conflict. Each year, thousands of students pass through academic programs that focus on peace and conflict studies’ (Bright and Gledhill, 2018, p. 128). PACS has been characterised by Uppsala University’s Department of Peace and Conflict Research as ‘a young discipline that addresses crucial issues in a troubled world’. Their research is concerned with such questions as ‘Why are there armed conflicts? How do we reach a durable peace?’ Their teaching focuses on ‘building the foundations for understanding the context of these key issues’ (pcr.uu.se). While it is described as ‘a young discipline’, PACS has become very popular globally. In addition to Uppsala, there are many programmes named for the discipline of ‘Peace and Conflict Studies’ such as at the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago, New Zealand (that built on the Swedish model); University of Sydney, Australia; the University of Alberta and the University of Waterloo in Canada; Nova Southeastern University in Florida, the University of Utah, and Juniata College, Pennsylvania, in the USA; Bradford University in the UK; the Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies in Cambodia; University of Dhaka in Bangladesh; the University of Haifa in Israel. Alternative names of teaching and research programmes also include ‘international peace and conflict resolution’ (University of Washington, DC); ‘peace and conflict resolution’ (University of Hawaii); ‘peace, justice and conflict studies’ (Goshen College, Indiana); ‘peace and justice studies’ (Tufts University, Medford, Massachusetts; University of Manitoba); ‘peace studies’ (Marquette University, Wisconsin; McMaster University, Ontario, Canada; Banaras Hindu University, India); ‘conflict resolution’ (AUT University, Auckland, New Zealand; the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada); ‘intercultural peace studies’ (BYU Hawaii); ‘human security and peacebuilding’ (Royal Roads University, British Columbia, Canada); ‘conflict, peace and security’ (the Universitat

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Oberta de Catalunya in Spain); ‘peace research and development’ (Asian Academy for Peace Research and Development, Nepal). The UN mandated Universidad para la Paz (University for Peace) in Costa Rica offers several MA degrees related to peace such as peace education; gender and peacebuilding, international peace studies, environment, development and peace. As part of the Western canon of peace and conflict studies topics have included: conflict prevention, conflict management, conflict and dispute resolution, conflict transformation, peacemaking, restorative justice, nonviolent resistance. Nonviolence and peaceful interaction can be explored at the level of personal (faith and values), interpersonal (relationships between individuals), community (ethnic and religious groups) and international (between states, nations, conglomerates) (www.upeace.org). There have been various critiques of the Eurocentric Western nature of peace and conflict studies. The discipline has been found to be ‘highly gendered’, with a strong bias among male scholars to study violence, war, and conflict, rather than peace (Bright and Gledhill, 2018; Boulding, 2000; Reardon, 1993). Feminist scholars have introduced concepts such as intersectionality into peace studies (Confortini, 2010; McLeod and O’Reilly, 2021; Väyrynen et al., 2021). There has been a move towards multiculturalism, and a critique of the ‘liberal peace’ paradigm that has excluded local voices (Chandler, 2010; Richmond and Mac Ginty, 2015; Sabaratnam, 2013). There have been attempts to introduce ‘hybrid’ forms of peacebuilding (Ghunta, 2018; Nadarajah and Rampton, 2015). There has been a trend of a move from empiricist positivism to more of a dialogical approach (Lottholz, 2018). Disability Studies offers a critique of peace and conflict studies for ignoring the biggest group affected by violent conflict (Francis, 2018). The field of Peace and Conflict studies has been found to be ‘silent’ on racism (Azarmandi, 2018). But there has also been a ‘resurgence of interest in Indigenous, traditional and customary approaches to peace-making in the context of civil wars’ and proposals that ‘traditional and Indigenous approaches to peacemaking and reconciliation can offer a corrective to the failings of the Western peacemaking model’, (with a warning against the temptation to ‘romanticize’ these approaches) (Mac Ginty, 2008, p. 139).

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Decolonising Academic Research These calls to reform peace and conflict study have been advanced within the wider demand that academia more generally should be decolonised. ‘Decolonisation is a term mostly associated with the “undoing” of colonisation’ (Moeke Pickering, 2010, p. 26). There is a significant debate within the academic literature over the terminology with regard to the actions and influences of the European and Western powers around the globe (Acharya and Buzan, 2010; Bhambra et al., 2018; Eun, 2019; Hutchings and Jenny Lee Morgan, 2016; Jones, 2006; Makaere, 2015; Pihama et al., 2019; Rodríguez, 2018; Spring and Brauch, 2021). Maldonado-Torres (2016, pp. 67–78) distinguishes between colonialism, neocolonial, internal colonialism, the postcolonial, coloniality and decoloniality. As he explains (2007, p. 243), the processes of colonialism have produced coloniality that is: maintained alive in books, in the criteria for academic performance, in cultural patterns, in common sense, in the self-image of peoples, in aspirations of self, and so many other aspects of our modern experience. In a way, as modern subjects we breathe coloniality all the time and everyday. (cited in Azarmandi, 2017)

Some scholars see that critical theory can help advance the cause of Indigenous scholars. For example, in the 2008 Handbook of Critical and Indigenous Methodologies, the editors (Denzin, Lincoln and Tuhiwai Smith) frame their purpose as ‘seeking a productive dialogue between Indigenous and critical scholars’. They name this merger of Indigenous and critical methodologies critical indigenous pedagogy (CIP) which: …understands that all enquiry is political and moral. It uses methods critically for explicitly social justice purposes. It values the transformative power of indigenous, subjugated knowledges. It embraces the commitment by indigenous scholars to decolonize Western methodologies , to criticize and demystify the ways in which Western science and the modern academy have been part of the colonial apparatus. (Denzin et al., 2008, p. 2)

The decolonising project is itself debated with some commentators now wanting to take the ‘colonial’ out of the terminology. One significant approach is what Nakhid (2021) have labelled ‘affirming methodology’.

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Unlike a decolonizing methodology that remains tied to a colonial discourse against which it seeks to argue its relevance, an affirming methodology originates from within the worldviews, realities and practices of the people from whom knowledge is sought and shared.

In this book, we are continuing to use the terminology of decolonisation as a specific challenge to the discipline of peace and conflict studies. Despite the criticisms that we need to move past a perspective to exclude colonisers as part of the focus, we see that the decolonising project is useful for placing peace and conflict studies within this current debate and for making the intangible visible. We also argue that there are aspects of peace and conflict studies that relate very closely to values that are embedded within Indigenous cultures, and it is unconscionable that there is so little acknowledgement in regard to the importance of Indigenous knowledge. Our project has radical roots, unapologetic for advancing Indigenous epistemologies and knowledge systems, as a modest attempt to help shift the focus of academia towards a broader cultural perspective, understanding and inclusivity. We are also not advocating for a hybridisation of peace and conflict studies by the incorporation of Indigenous methodologies into the field. Instead we advocate that, by starting from Indigenous epistemologies and framewords, one can adopt a critical emancipatory lens towards the multiple and diverse ways in which peace has been lived, modelled and taught within Indigenous communities. This in turn encourages an open-hearted and empowered approach towards identifying what Indigenous groups have been sharing with the wider world; that the entire focus and emphasis of peace and conflict studies can be re-imagined, re-newed, re-invigorated, re-named and reframed. We are also hopeful that we will soon be able to dispense with trying to ‘decolonise’ academia as Indigenous worldviews related to peace become the starting point, integrated and embedded within this field rather than tagged on as an afterthought or clip on.

Indigenous Research A comprehensive definition, and one of the most cited descriptions of ‘Indigenous’, as outlined by José R. Martínez Cobo (1981) for the United Nations, was also the working definition for Peacebuilding and the Rights of the Indigenous Peoples (Devere et al., 2017, p. 181). This

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includes the right of Indigenous Peoples themselves to define what and who are Indigenous Peoples. This states: Indigenous communities , peoples and nations are those which, having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of the societies now prevailing on those territories, or parts of them. They form at present non-dominant sectors of society and are determined to preserve, develop and transmit to future generations their ancestral territories, and their ethnic identity, as the basis of their continued existence as peoples, in accordance with their own cultural patterns, social institutions and legal systems. This historical continuity may consist of the continuation, for an extended period reaching into the present of one or more of the following factors: (a) Occupation of ancestral lands, or at least part of them. (b) Common ancestry with the original occupants of these lands. (c) Culture in general, or in specific manifestations (such as religion, living under a tribal system, membership of an indigenous community, dress, means of livelihood, lifestyle, etc.). (d) Language (whether used as the only language, as mother-tongue, as the habitual means of communication at home or in the family, or as the main, preferred, habitual, general or normal language). (e) Residence in certain parts of the country, or in certain regions of the world. (f) Other relevant factors. On an individual basis, an Indigenous person is one who belongs to these Indigenous populations through self-identification as Indigenous (group consciousness) and is recognized and accepted by these populations as one of its members (acceptance by the group). This preserves for these communities the sovereign right and power to decide who belongs to them, without external interference.

Naming academic research as ‘Indigenous’ can only be justified if it is recognised as such by Indigenous groups. There is some debate about whether non-Indigenous researchers can ever be counted as undertaking Indigenous research as a non-Indigenous person focused on research interests ‘on’ rather than ‘with’ or ‘led’ by Indigenous people. There is a long history of exploitation of Indigenous groups by researchers on Indigenous Peoples (Battiste, 2002; Kawagley, 1995) with M¯aori being exploited as one of the most over-researched people in the world, with the benefits of the research seldom reflected within Indigenous communities (Tuhiwai Smith, 2006, 2021), While Indigenous researchers are often currently working in Westernised, non-decolonised academic settings, there have been partnerships,

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friendships, allyships and collaborations established with non-Indigenous researchers whose work is considered to be assisting in the decolonising process. We have included some of those researchers in this book. We advocate, following the call from Professor Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2012) that, if the research is not conducted by Indigenous researchers, it should be with and for the benefits of Indigenous communities . Most nonIndigenous researchers, working in this way, acknowledge that they feel humbled to be able to be involved with this research, and that they themselves are indebted to the Indigenous peoples for sharing of their knowledge. More and more Indigenous researchers are taking the lead in research that concerns them, and less and less do they rely on the expertise of non-Indigenous scholars. However, the decolonisation of research has been very slow to reduce barriers for Indigenous people to access and lead in these spaces, and unfortunately, there is still a long way to go.

PACS and Indigenous Research The renowned M¯aori lawyer and scholar, Moana Jackson (2017, p. vi) believes that the knowledge and practices of Indigenous Peoples can make a very significant impact in the area of peace and conflict studies: Indigenous Peoples have … possessed profound understandings of the metaphysics of peace and its moral imperatives to honour and restore any damaged relationships. That is why in the M¯aori language there is no word for ‘enemy’. Instead those with whom one might be in conflict were called ‘hoariri’ or ‘angry friend’, and the highest aspiration, both individually and collectively, was to be at peace with one’s friends.

The discipline of peace and conflict studies, in particular, requires Indigenous knowledge for the discipline to gain respectability and refocus away from its colonial heritage. There are a relatively small number of studies in PACS that have used an Indigenous lens. The International Peace Research Association (IPRA) established a Commission for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples at a conference in 1996. The focus of the Commission has been recognition of First Peoples. For many years the highly respected Professor John Synott was the Convenor for the Commission and he was responsible for initiating the 2017 volume on Peacebuilding and Indigenous Rights. This included chapters on the Indigenous Peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand, Australia, Canada, India, Sweden, Taiwan

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and Timor-Leste. One of the editors, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa is Indigenous M¯aori and descends from the Waitaha People for whom she undertakes research with and for her people. Indigenous scholars wrote on M¯aori (Te Maih¯aroa and Wharehoka), Moriori (Solomon) in Devere et al. (2017), Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People (Wood, 2017), the Fisher River Cree Nation (Ansloos, 2017); Indigenous communitiesin India, including the Lotha Naga Tribe (Serto & Lotha, 2017). Other Indigenous communities covered in the book are Canada’s Indigenous Peoples (Verwaayen, 2017); the Indigenous Peoples of Taiwan (Shih, 2017); the Indigenous Peoples of Bolivia (Belmonte, 2017); Indigenous people in the Purumunda community in the state of Odisha in India (De, 2017); the Adivasi movement also in Odisha (Ambagudia, 2017); Indigenous peacebuilders in Timor-Leste (Close, 2017); and the Sami People in Sweden (Árnadóttir, 2017). Professor Polly Walker’s work on decolonising conflict resolution has also been an inspiration for us, and we are very honoured to have a chapter from Professor Walker in this current volume. In a Special Issue of the American Indian Quarterly on the ‘Recovery of Indigenous Knowledge’, Walker’s (2004, p. 527) article states: The discipline of conflict resolution perpetuates ontological violence, the suppression and silencing of Indigenous ways of conceptualizing and experiencing the world. In most practice, research, and training, Western problem-solving models of conflict resolution are promoted as appropriate for all cultures, including Indigenous peoples, Indigenous worldviews are marginalized through Westernization, which includes any process used to shape things through a Western mode.

Walker (2019, p. 299) argues that Indigenous ceremonial peacemaking could ‘inform wider processes of peacebuilding’ and requires ‘the development of respectful and reciprocal relationships and collaborations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples’. There are several studies of particular Indigenous conflict resolution methods and processes. The 15th Session of the Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues at the UN in 2016 was devoted to ‘Indigenous Peoples: Conflict Resolution, Peace and Resolution’ (United Nations, 2016). The documentation notes that ‘although indigenous peoples are overrepresented as victims in conflicts, often they have not been considered as stakeholders in transitional justice mechanisms or in peace process negotiations and

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accords’. Watson-Gegeo and White’s edited volume (1990) on conflict discourse in Pacific societies uses the metaphor term ‘disentangling’, rather than conflict resolution or dispute management, concerned with the process rather than the outcome; Huber (2007) investigates the way mediation takes place around the medicine wheel by Indigenous groups in Canada; Shook (1985) reports on Ho’oponopono and mediation in Hawai’i; Stewart-Harawira (2009) considers Indigenous diplomacies; Cohen et al. (2011)advocate for creative conflict transformation ; Wilbur et al. (2001) relate the process of talking circles in North America and Canada; Yazzie (1994) discusses traditional Navajo dispute resolution. Babu Ayindo’s (2017) Ph.D. research specifically investigated decolonisation in three different communities , in Nigera, Mindinao and Parihaka in Aotearoa, looking at how the arts are used in peacebuilding. There is very little in the academic literature that focuses specifically on Indigenous research methods related to peace and conflict studies, although within these studies, different methodologies may have been referred to within diverse texts. That is the gap that this book seeks to start to address. We invited participation in this volume, and have received input from scholars in different parts of the world, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous. Their contributions will be of great interest to not only develop a broader, richer global viewpoint of Indigenous perspectives, but also offer a depth, richness and expansion of resources, literature and references within this field of study.

What Is Covered in This Book? The focus here is on research with, by and for Indigenous Peoples in an effort to assist in the decolonisation of the peace and conflict studies discipline. In this volume, we include the work of scholars from Aotearoa New Zealand, Australia, Caribbean, Hawaii, Mexico, Nigeria, Palestine, Philippines, Samoa, United States and West Papua. The perspectives included in the volume are Palestinians in Israel; Hawaii’s Indigenous Peoples; West Papuans colonised by Indonesia; Cherokee descendants; the Ylny people from Arnheim land in Northern Australia; M¯aori and Moriori of Aotearoa New Zealand; Samoan and Pasifika peoples; the Lumud people of Philippines; and the Igbo speakers of the Niger Delta in Nigeria. The findings together from these diverse Indigenous perspectives will identify lessons learnt to further the decolonisation of peace and conflict studies and Indigenise this academic field.

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Three interlinked themes provide the organisational framework for the contributions: The first covers Indigenous epistemologies, methodologies and methods where Indigenous researchers examine how Indigenous knowledge and practices have been used to decolonise peace-related research and Indigenous or Indigenist research. The chapters related to this theme argue that Western dominance in peace and conflict research has been ineffectual in resolving violent conflict and that Indigenous perspectives can help to restore balance and harmony. To counter colonisation, responsive research methods are strategically targeted to uplift and highlight Indigenous narratives in an effort to develop the knowledge and understanding of others as culturally located people. While we acknowledge the benefits of investigating and sharing this knowledge, and the value of collaboration as research allies, we also note the impact of the struggles and successes are different experiences for Indigenous researchers and non-Indigenous researchers. The second part focuses in particular on research on learning and teaching about peace (peace education) whether in tertiary settings, in schools or communities, by incorporating Indigenous knowledge perspectives. Authors in this section provide examples of education that goes back to the Indigenous roots, that allow silenced voices to be heard, that re-examine colonial models and that engage with Indigenous communitiesto allow pathways to peace. Peace development and peace processes form the third section of the book where different Indigenous approaches are presented, focusing on Indigenous rights, movements and transformative justice. Investigating different concepts of peace and traditional models of conflict resolution, treaty making, restorative justice and peacebuilding, these chapters demonstrate challenges to and enhancement of global and local peace processes. The connective themes linking all of the chapters are discussions of transformation, cooperation, hopefulness, and the importance of relationships and communities.

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of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 155–165. Ansloos, Jeffrey (2017) Peace Like a Red River: Indigeneous Human Rights for Decolonising Reconciliation. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 65–75. Árnadóttir, Gurún Rós (2017) Who Is Sami? A Case Study on the Implementation of Indigenous Rights in Sweden. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 143–154. Ayindo, Babu (2017) Arts, Peacebuilding and Decolonization: A Comparative Study of Parihaka, Mindanao and Nairobi, PhD Thesis, Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin. Azarmandi, Mahdis (2017) Colonial Continuities: A Study of Anti-Racism in Aotearoa New Zealand and Spain. Doctoral Thesis, Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin. Azarmandi, Mahdis (2018) The Racial Silence within Peace Studies. Peace Review. 30:1, pp. 69–77. Battiste, Marie (ed) (2002) Reclaiming Indigenous Voices and Visions. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Belmonte, Fabiola Vidaurre (2017) Right to Justice and Diversity of the Indigenous Peoples of Bolivia. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 77–85. Bhambra, Gurminder K., Kerem Nisancioglu and Dalia Gebrial (2018) Decolonizing the University. London: Pluto Press. Boulding, Elise (2000) Cultures of Peace: The Hidden Side of History. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. Bright, J. and J. Gledhill (2018) A Divided Discipline? Mapping Peace and Conflict Studies. International Studies Perspective. 19:2, May, pp. 128–147. Chandler, D.C. (2010) The Uncritical Critique of ‘Liberal Peace’. Review of International Studies 36:S1, pp. 137–155. Close, Sophia (2017) Indigenous East-Timorese Practices of Building and Sustaining Peace. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 131–142. Cohen, Cynthia E., Roberto Gutiérrez Varea and Polly O. Walker (eds) (2011) Acting Together: Performance and the Creative Transformation of Conflict. Oakland, CA: New Village Press. Confortini, Catia Cecilia (2010) Feminist Contributions and Challenges to Peace Studies. International Studies.

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Richmond, Oliver P. and Roger Mac Ginty (2015) Where Now for the Critique of the Liberal Peace? Cooperation and Conflict. 50:2, pp. 171–189. Rodríguez, Clellia O. (2018) Decolonizing Academia: Poverty, Oppression and Pain. Fernwood Publishing: Black Point, Nova Scotia. Sabaratnam, Meena (2013) Avatars of Eurocentrism in the Critique of the Liberal Peace. Security and Dialogue. 44:3, pp. 259–278. Serto, Leban and Mhonyamo Lotha (2017) Indigenous People’s Struggles for Dignity and Peacebuilding in Northeast India. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 117–127. Shih, Cheng-Feng (2017) Pursuing Indigenous Self-Government in Taiwan. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 41–50. Shook, E. Victoria (1985) Ho’oponopono: Contemporary Uses of a Hawaiian Problem-Solving Process. Honolulu: University of Hawai’I Press. Spring, Úrsula Oswald, and Hans Günter Brauch (2021) Decolonising Conflicts, Security, Peace, Gender, Environment and Development in the Anthropocene. Springer. Stewart-Harawira, Makere (2009) Responding to a Deeply Bifurcated World: Indigenous Diplomacies in the 21st Century. In J. Marshall Biers (ed), Indigenous Diplomacies. Palgrave Macmillan. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2006) Researching in the Margins Issues for M¯aori Researchers. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples. 2:1, pp. 4–27. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2012) Decolonising Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (2nd edn). London: Zed Books. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2021) Decolonising Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (3rd edn). London and New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. United Nations (2016) Indigenous Peoples: Conflict, Peace and Resolution. 15th Session of the Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. https://www. un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/2016/Docs-updates/Concept-noteConflict-discussion-FINAL.pdf (Accessed 21 March 2021). Väyrynen, Tarja, Swati Parashar, Élise Féron and Catia Cecilia Confortini (2021) Routledge Handbook of Feminist Peace Research. Routledge. Verwaayen, K.J. (2017) World Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in the Canadian Context: A Study of Conservative Government Rhetoric and Resistance. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 29–40.

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Walker, Polly O. (2004) Decolonizing Conflict Resolution: Addressing the Ontological Violence of Westernization. American Indian Quarterly. 28:3/4, Special Issue: The Recovery of Indigenous Knowledge. Summer/Autumn. Walker, Polly (2019) Indigenous Ceremonial Peacemaking The Restoration of Balance and Harmony. In Handbook of Research Promoting Peace through Practice, Academia and the Arts. Justice Studies Publication. Watson-Gegeo, Karen-Ann and Geoffrey M. White (eds) (1990) Disentangling Conflict Discourse in Pacific Societies. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wilbur, J.R., M. Wilbur, M.T. Garrett, and M. Yuhas (2001) Talking Circles: Listen or Your Tongue Will Make You Deaf. Journal for Specialists in Group Work. 26:4, pp. 368–384. Wood, Asmi (2017) Confluence of the Rivers: Constitutional Recognition of Australia’s First Peoples. In Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (2017) (eds) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham: Springer, pp. 89–103. Yazzi, Robert (1994) ‘Life Comes From It”: Navajo Justice Concepts. New Mexico Law Review. 24 Spring, pp. 175–190.

PART I

Indigenous Epistemologies, Methodologies and Method

CHAPTER 2

Decolonizing Peacebuilding Research in Africa Through Indigenous Knowledge Systems: Experience of Igbo-Speaking Group of Niger-Delta Region, Nigeria Ferdinand O. Ottoh

Introduction In the last three decades, different regions in Africa continent have been enmeshed in political crisis and civil strife. It is indicative of the troubled peace and reconciliation of epistemologies derived from the Euro-North America model (Munemo, 2016: 141). The new movement for a shift in the Africa knowledge production in the area of peace and conflict studies is in recognition of the failure of the Western methodology of conflict resolution. Despite the end of colonial rule, African states continued to be influenced by former colonial powers in many areas of scholarship,

F. O. Ottoh (B) Department of Political Science, University of Lagos, Lagos, Nigeria e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_2

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including the methodology of conflict and peace studies and knowledge production. African experts in the field of conflict studies employ Western tools of methods, analysis, and theories, thereby sidelining traditional conflict resolution mechanisms. This has not laid a strong foundation for sustainable economic and political development that will engender peace and has served to weaken political and socio-economic interests. In Africa, conflict-management models formulated by the West are applied through the various international agencies and institutions, international civil society. African scholars and researchers were inclined to employ the Western methodologies because according to Munemo (2016: 144). ‘they suffer from epistemic crisis’. By discarding Indigenous methods of conflict resolution, African conflict remains unabated because of the wholesale application of the Western method of conflict resolution. Africa is confronted with the challenges of decolonization of peace research through an Indigenous approach. The reason is that research on Africa has been dominated by scholars who imbibed the ideology of Western pedagogy thereby showing a bias against the Indigenous peace approach. The crux of this research is to elucidate the epistemological foundation of African philosophy that recognizes the place of human beings in peacebuilding. In African societies, there are various methods of acquiring knowledge through rational, empirical, mysticism, different from the ways knowledge is acquired by the West, essentially through research. African epistemology is consistent with metaphysics to understand the nature of forces and their cosmic interaction. We argue for a shift in research focus in the area of peacebuilding to recognize traditional mechanisms as an alternative. The chapter analyzes the following in subsequent sections: linking coloniality with Western dominance in peace and conflict research, decolonization and Indigenous knowledge systems, theoretical contributions in decolonizing peacebuilding, decolonization of peacebuilding, Indigenous philosophy of peace and conflict resolution in Igbo-speaking communities, traditional mechanisms for peacebuilding in these communities, the challenges of Indigenous methodology for peacebuilding in Africa, and the conclusion and recommendations.

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Coloniality and Western Dominance in Peace and Conflict Research Coloniality is an analytical tool to explain the origins of the modern world. It engages with the long-standing distribution of power that emerged as a result of colonialism, which defines culture, labor, intersubjective relations, and knowledge production well beyond the limits strictly of colonial administration (Munemo, 2016: 139). The concept offers a way of understanding the challenges of the Indigenous approach to peace and conflict research in Africa. The colonial pattern of power that determines knowledge and identity continued after the independence of African states. Despite the end of colonial rule, African states continue under the suzerainty of the West in the area of knowledge production. Coloniality of knowledge is part of the manifestation of colonialism in different areas of knowledge production. It is seen in the Euro-America monopolization of knowledge to the neglect of Indigenous knowledge rooted in the culture and cosmology of the people. The Indigenous people of Africa have glorified the knowledge produced from Europe and America without questioning the authenticity of such knowledge and has amounted to mental and intellectual colonialization. Arguably, endogenous and Indigenous knowledge has been relegated to the background. As Ndlovu-Gatsheni argues, Western knowledge is irrelevant knowledge because it only disempowers the colonized people rather than empowers them (Munemo, 2016: 141). Colonizing knowledge is a form of imperialism faced by Indigenous peoples that is rooted in the Enlightenment period (Smith, 1999: 58). The knowledge gained through colonization has become the basis for colonization ‘of the mind’ as described by Ngugi wa Thiongo (Smith, 1999: 59). The agency for imposing Western knowledge is through colonial education which was from missionary or religious schools and later by public and secular schooling (Smith, 1999: 64). Educational institutions are agents of assimilating and subjugating colonized peoples in a systematic and at times in a violent way in a bid to prevent Indigenous knowledge from evolving from their own cultures.

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Decolonization Through Indigenous Knowledge System Decolonization is the careful application of the knowledge received from any source. It does not mean or is not meant to be a total rejection of all methodological and theoretical tools of inquiry used and acquired from Western knowledge. It is about understanding theory and research from our perspective to suit our purposes (Smith, 1999: 39). Therefore, knowledge acquired from the West does not mean that these ideas are superior. The Indigenous approach occupies a central place in intellectual inquiry. Decolonization goes beyond a struggle for independence or selfgovernment to mental freedom. It is a conscious attempt to extricate oneself from ideological and psychological encumbrances from Europe and North America. It connotes freeing Africans and other ex-colonial people from the intellectual and overbearing influence of the Western scholarship in the field of conflict and peacebuilding. The concept of decolonization of knowledge recently popularized by the Peruvian Sociologist, Anibal Quijano (2000) links the coloniality of power in the political and economic spheres with the coloniality of knowledge (Andraos, 2012). It challenges the dominance of Western knowledge by recognizing Indigenous knowledge systems in the area of peace and conflict studies hitherto neglected by Western scholars. It seeks to establish justice for hitherto disregarded epistemologies (Dreyer, 2017). Decolonization of knowledge is neither about de-westernization nor refusing Western science or knowledge system as a whole, but rather a detachment from ‘commitments to notions of an epistemic enemy’ (Gordon, 2010). Achille Mbembe describing a possible African approach toward the decolonization of knowledge writes: The western archive is singularly complex. It contains within itself the resources of its reputation. It is neither monolithic nor the exclusive property of the west. Africa and its diaspora decisively contributed to its making and should legitimately make foundational claims on it. Decolonizing knowledge is therefore not simply about de-westernization. (Mbembe, 2015)

It emphasizes the appropriation of any sources of knowledge to achieve relative epistemic autonomy and epistemic justice for ‘previously unacknowledged and/or suppressed knowledge traditions’ (Oliver, 2019). It

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is, therefore, about recognizing those unincorporated or marginalized forms of knowledge. In the words of Walter Mignolo (2007: 450) ‘decolonizing knowledge is about delinking which should ultimately lead to epistemic shift’ and foregrounds ‘other epistemologies, other principles of knowledge and understanding’. Epistemological decolonization reflects the historical mechanisms of knowledge production and its colonial and ethnocentric foundations. This is crucial in handling the ‘asymmetrical global intellectual division of labor’ in which Europe and North America not only act as teachers to the rest of the world, but also have become the ‘sites of theory and concept production’, ultimately ‘consumed by the entire human race’ (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2017: 71). What is termed Indigenous knowledge is simply ‘systems and processes for acquiring, verifying, and applying empirical data reflected in all scientific paradigms’ (Smith et al., 2016: 138). Historically, Indigenous knowledge has been assumed to be primitive and therefore has no empirical scientific base. However, its strength lies with the fact that Indigenous peoples knew their environment intimately through accumulated observation over long periods and across several generations (Smith et al., 2016). It is the local knowledge that is unique to a given culture and acquired by local people through the accumulation of experiences, informal experiments, and intimate understanding of the environment in a given culture (Lawal and Orunbon, 2020: 41). Indigenous knowledge represents the continual existence of Indigenous people, their aspirations to independent existence in terms of thought patterns, and process. Indigenous knowledge is grounded in traditional values, practices, and philosophies. For instance, the Indigenous knowledge of the Igbo-speaking people of Niger-Delta is embedded in proverbs, story-telling, folk tales, etc. Critics may argue that there is a lack of empirical data to support this claim, but with a contextdriven approach Indigenous research helps to bridge this gap. Traditional Africa tribal communities are endowed with a rich body of historical knowledge. The elders, healers, medicine people, seers, artists, builders, grandmothers, hunters, etc. are the custodians of Indigenous knowledge in Africa.

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Theoretical Contributions in Decolonizing Peacebuilding Theories are unique tools for diagnosing problems in research. There are theories that we can use to dissect peacebuilding through Indigenous mechanisms and not from ‘imperial eyes’ borrowing the expression of one writer. Smith (1999) contends that theory is important for Indigenous people as it helps to make sense of reality, enables us to make assumptions and predictions about the world in which we live. It contains within method or methods for selecting and arranging, for prioritizing and legitimating what we see and do (Smith, 1999: 38). Critical theory established by the Frankfurt school of thought is a social philosophy that is a reflective assessment and critique of society and culture to reveal and challenge power structures. Critical theory is distinct from problem-solving theory because of its concern with human emancipation. It questions as well as removes various forms of domination that inhibit human freedom, social justice, and equality (Tom, 2011). The sociological perspective of this theory explains the liberation of human beings from the circumstances that enslave them (Horkheimer, 1982). Modern critical theory is represented by a second generation of the Frankfurt School. Notable among these is Jurgen Habermas who argues that social problems are influenced and created more by social structures and cultural assumptions than by individual and psychological factors (Jones, 1999). Critical theory addresses issues such as culture, customs, tradition, history, and local contexts that can enhance human emancipation and lead to sustainable peace. Its concern about human emancipation is to attest to society’s commitment to restoring relations and social harmony through reconciliation, cleansing ceremonies, appeasing the ancestors, etc. This is contrary to the liberal peace approach that is concerned primarily with building effective institutions on the assumption that peace will trickle down from the top to the bottom. This theory questions the old order, professing a new order that is based on human emancipation. Human emancipation relates to the recognition of human beings as free beings who can, therefore, exercise freedom and self-determination under conditions of oppression. Critical theory identifies local knowledge, responses, and understandings that offer alternatives to prevailing liberal peacebuilding initiatives focusing on the state and international institutions rather than on local actors in peacebuilding.

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In decolonizing peacebuilding, there is the need to identify the preferences, capacities, responses, and agency of the people in the peacebuilding process, by looking at a research methodology that allows for direct participation of the agency, that is, the people speaking for themselves in peacebuilding initiatives relevant to their local needs. In this vein, indepth information on local actors’ experiences, beliefs, viewpoints, values, and feelings about post-war peace intervention are analyzed qualitatively. Social constructivist theory believes that knowledge is constructed through interaction with others. A person lives in society and therefore comes to understand it. These ideas and beliefs are socially constructed. Constructivism deals with the issue of structure and agency involved in the construction of our social world. Thus, in our social world, ideas and beliefs, images and discourses, signs, and signals of the people are created. Identity and norms are important ingredients for the decolonization of knowledge that constructivists emphasize. In decolonizing knowledge systems imposed on Africa and the rest of the global South by the West, there is the need to understand the social reality in peacebuilding and conflict transformation. The combination of critical and social constructivism theories provides a better explanation of how Indigenous knowledge is constructed in the area of peacebuilding. In peacebuilding, the Igbo-speaking group of the NigerDelta region of Nigeria adopts community-based and human-centered models for restoration and transformation of conflict and peacebuilding.

Decolonization of Peacebuilding The concept of peacebuilding is based on an understanding of negative or positive peace as conceived by Johan Galtung (1969) in his seminal work. Negative peace is the absence of violence while positive peace promotes reconciliation and peaceful coexistence based on human rights, social, economic, and political justice. In this context, peacebuilding is building of positive peace, that is, institutionalizing justice and freedom, addressing the root causes of conflict to prevent a return to war (McCandless et al., 2007: 47). Peacebuilding refers to the process aimed at strengthening the capacity of societies to promote positive peace. The former United Nations Secretary-General, Boutros Boutros-Ghali defines peacebuilding as actions taken to support structures, strengthen, and consolidate peace to avoid a relapse into conflict in the future. It

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encompasses a range of processes, approaches, and stages needed to transform conflict situations toward a more sustainable peaceful relationship, and development before and after conflicts (Aubyn, 2018: 1). It involves the full range of initiatives, measures, and activities aimed at preventing, reducing, and transforming conflicts and developing institutions, attitudes, and relationships that promote sustainable peace and development (Aubyn, 2018: 7). Liberal peace is about building peace within states based on liberal democracy and market-oriented principles or economic systems. The underlying principles of liberal peace are multiparty electoral democracy, constitutionalism, rule of law, good governance, human rights, security sector reform, civil society, gender equality, economic reforms, and privatization (Aubyn, 2018: 8). This is a top-down approach with state-centric strategies that does not address everything needed for peace. In contrast, traditional peacebuilding is the promotion of peace through social order by invoking spiritual powers or deities which have an influence on the parties in conflict. It takes into consideration the local potential for conflict transformation, which emphasizes restorative justice, social harmony, healing, and reconciliation, as the basis for reestablishing social order and solidarity among the people. In countries, such as Mozambique and Sierra Leone, traditional healing and reconciliatory practices were used to reintegrate combatants, particularly child soldiers to be part of the society again (Murithi, 2006: 15). In Rwanda, after the 1994 genocide, the traditional justice and reconciliation system are known (as Gacaca was established to judge some of those accused of perpetrating all kinds of atrocities against the people). The Gacaca system is organized based on the involvement of the local community (Murithi, 2006). The Ubuntu principle in peacebuilding practiced in most countries in Eastern, Central, and Southern Africa recognizes the humanness in us. It promotes generosity, hospitality, friendliness, caring, and compassion. The idea behind this worldview is that ‘a person is a person through other people’ (Murithi, 2006: 17). Ubuntu sheds light on the importance of peacemaking through the principles of reciprocity, inclusivity, and a sense of shared destiny between peoples. It provides a rationale for sacrificing or letting go of the past desire to take revenge for past wrongs. This was the spirit in which reconciliation was carried out after the end of apartheid in South Africa. While there were some problems with the incorporation of these indigenous peacemaking processes, the principles accorded with the values of the communities.

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Indigenous Philosophy for Peacebuilding in Igbo-speaking Communities The Igbo-speaking communities of the Niger-Delta region of Nigeria are found in Delta State. Popularly known as the Anioma people, they occupied the North-East of Delta State overlapping West of the Lower Niger River in Delta State. There are nine Local Government Areas as shown in the Fig. 2.1. There are general principles that guide peacebuilding in African societies as exemplified in the practice of Ubuntu as mentioned earlier. The principles are geared to finding solutions to Africa’s problems that the African Union has reaffirmed. It is a worldview that emphasizes oneness and common humanity and communalistic life, consensus building, interconnectedness, and collaboration. In Igbo-speaking communities, Ubuntu can be translated as ‘anyi bu ofu’ (we are one) and igwe bu ike (our unity is our strength), ‘nwanne di na mba’ (I am because of you, and whatever happens to me you will be affected). Literally, in the local

Fig. 2.1 The map of Igbo-speaking people of Delta region, Nigeria

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adage ‘adu a na wa ibe’ means that no matter the differences we may have the strong bound that exists among us or groups cannot be broken. This philosophy of ‘anyi bu ofu’ is also linked to the adage of ‘adu a na wa ibe’. All these are expressions of collective personhood, the invocation of images of group support, solidarity, cooperation, love, and care. ‘Anyi bu ofu’, like Ubuntu, speaks to the essence of our common humanity. The phrase that a person is a person through other people is translated as ‘igwe bu ike’. In the process of peacebuilding in Igbo-speaking communities, proverbs are used to convey a message of peace. Proverbs are rooted in African philosophy. As the famous novelist, Achebe in Things Fall Apart, puts it: ‘Proverb is the palm oil with which words are eaten’. Proverbs are not just signs of oratory but they convey deep meaning and send a faster message in the settlement of the dispute. They are words of elders that are hardly ever able to be disputed by the young ones. Some of the sayings used for reconciliation are: A soft answer turns away wrath; it is with a sweet tongue that the snail walks over thorns; familiarity is friendship; forgiveness is a tunic for friendship; ultimate triumph comes from justice; if you destroy due to anger, you bury because of the smell; tolerance is a necessity for communal living; foolishness complements wisdom; a brother’s provocation does not cut deep into the heart; let us bury the hatchet (Egenti and Okoye, 2016).

Traditional Practices of Peacebuilding in Igbo-speaking Communities The traditional practices of peacebuilding in Africa and the Igbo-speaking people of Niger-Delta are grounded in the values, practices, and philosophies of Indigenous knowledge. The principles, values, and philosophy of Indigenous methods of peacebuilding are traditionally congruous and culturally relative to some traditions and belief systems (Ogaji, 2013). Thus, the aim is to achieve reparation or compensation, restitution, and reconciliation and not retribution. The institutions for the maintenance of law and order place a high value on communal life and maintaining positive relations within the society. The conflict resolution process could take place at the level of the family, village, between ethnic groups or intergroup. Among this group, conflicts are resolved through the institution of elders’ council. The various communities in this area are endowed with a rich body of historical tribal knowledge, elders play major roles in building

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peace and resolving conflicts. The elders are trustees of customary practices, which have sustained conflict resolution and management in the communities. The elders’ council serves as a mediatory and reconciliatory body. In principle, the proceedings for settlement are led by the eldest person in the Council of Elders and the red-cap chiefs. For the communities where a King is regarded as the head of the community, then such a dispute is decided in his palace with elders and traditional titled people. It should be pointed out that various communities developed mechanisms for resolving conflict and promoting reconciliation and peacebuilding to heal past wrongs and maintain social cohesion and harmony. For instance, Illah (a community in the Oshimili North local council area of Delta State), has an institution known as Ogbeala-ani–In-Council, which mediates on sensitive issues that involve the mysterious death of someone in the town or conflict between two villages. The constitution of Ogbeala-ani–In-Council (King-In-Council) or village or town councils and their legitimacy of interventions in conflict situations are significant. The Ogbeala-ani–In-Council is communal in character in the sense that the entire community is involved at various levels in trying to find a solution to a problem that poses an existential threat to the survival of the people and social cohesion. The Ogbeala-ani–In-Council is not a court system in the strict sense, but rather a mediation process. It aims to reach a mutually agreeable solution, rather than mete out punishment. The process of peacebuilding begins with fact-finding by a group set up by the Council when a complaint is brought before it. This fact-finding mission ascertains the facts of the conflict with both parties in the conflict. At the preliminary stage, the fact-finding team will hear from the parties. If the perpetrator does not admit any wrongdoing it will be the basis for taking the matter to Ogbeala-ani-Council for further deliberation. The perpetrator is expected to demonstrate genuine remorse or show interest in reconciliation. They will ascertain the genuine desire of the perpetrator to ask for forgiveness and the willingness of the victim to show mercy. The elders often use their experience and accumulated knowledge passed from one generation to the next, emphasizing restorative and transformative principles for the resolution of conflict rather than punitive approaches. The last aspect of the practice of peacebuilding is for the parties to commit themselves to reconciliation. The parties would be encouraged to embrace peaceful coexistence and work toward healing the wounds of the wrong done by a person. However, at times it is difficult for the victim to forgive and the perpetrator to accept the verdict of the

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Council of elders. The elders rely on the age-grades (the youth group) to enforce its decisions and monitor the peace process based on negotiated terms. The wisdom of this process lies in the recognition that it is not possible to build a healthy society without peace and addressing the past wrongs which will be acknowledged and brought to the open so that truth of what happened can be determined and social trust and solidarity are renewed through the process of forgiveness and reconciliation. True reconciliation, healing and forgiveness lead to reintegration and rehabilitation of the perpetrator. Most importantly, the remorsefulness and attitudinal change showed publicly precedes compensation. This act of compensation is not seen as retributory but a way of restoring social harmony, that is, it is restorative justice that reinforces the remorsefulness of the perpetrator. For effective conflict management and transformation, the parties in conflict must be satisfied in the process of administering justice. What is most discernible is that the process allows for consensus building and collaboration, especially conflict of high magnitude. Oath-taking is resorted to if one or both parties are not ready to shift their position or maintain their innocence. An oath is simply the invocation of the gods or deity to bear witness to the truth of what one says or does in the presence of the gods or ancestors. When two parties are unable to reconcile their differences, the elders may resort to taking them to the deity to swear. The fear of possible consequences of falsely swearing to oath may deter the parties from continuing with the conflict. In these communities, just like most African societies, there existed villages or community deities. For instance, among the Aro people in Imo State in the Southeastern part of Nigeria, the long ‘juju’ of Arochukwu is so dreaded by the people that no one wants to be taken to swear to it. It is the belief that ‘god’ will punish the person who may be lying or the wrongdoer. If for any reason, the parties agreed to oath-taking, the conflict is assumed to have been resolved thereafter. The peacebuilding process in the case conflict between two communities crystalizes with the exchange of visits by the leaders of the communities in conflict. The exchange of visits or meetings serves as a symbolic turning point in the relationship between the parties or communities and their corporate rapprochement as the case may be (Braimah, 1998). This mechanism has been institutionalized in most African societies. This exchange of visits signals the end of the conflict and confidence building as an aspect of peacebuilding.

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The application of supernatural forces is a practice among many Africans. The recognition of the world of ancestors is an extension of the world of living and supernatural beings. Reconciliation and restoration of the order are impossible without the spiritual world (Huyse, 2008 cited in Boege, 2011: 439). The god/earth goddess as the deity is believed to have the power to impose decisive rightful judgments in controversial cases within or between communities. This exercise is usually carried out by the Chief Priest who is believed to see beyond the ordinary man and to be able to communicate to the spirit world and the ancestors. To invoke the power of the god or ancestors, kola, drinks, and food are shared and prayers are offered and other sacrifices are made. This is an indication that the conflict is resolved with divine sanction such as death or affliction of incurable diseases from the spirit world (Otite, 1999). This process will generally lead to disarmament, and demobilization of the parties in conflict, especially conflict between communities. Similarly, the secret societies in Africa generally contribute to resolving conflict through extra-judicial means. This is usually through ritual performance, the invocation of the gods, or deities to intervene in the conflict. They can also carry out the cleansing exercise for those involved in warfare. It is an aspect of reintegration into society after committing war atrocities. The various communities in the Igbo-speaking areas adopt this method as part of the peacebuilding process. The group known as ‘ndi dibie’ (medicine men) belongs to this group of a secret society. Their role is very crucial in addressing a critical issue that cannot be resolved by elders. They can foretell the future through a mystic way and prevent pending doom that is likely to befall the community. The Umuada, a group of married women, plays an important role in peacebuilding. The Igbo ethnic group both in the South East and NigerDelta regions places a premium on women. The voice of women is not suppressed when it comes to conflict resolution. They are poised to bring parties in conflict to a round table to resolve their grievances. They can go as far as laying a curse on anyone who does not want the community to be at peace. In Africa it is considered an abomination to see women naked in public. This act when carried out by women means that certain people have gone against the norms of the land or defied women’s intervention in the peace process, and then subsequently women would place a curse by going naked in the public. This role of women in Igbo-speaking area is comparable to that of Women of Mano River in peacebuilding during Liberia and Sierra Leone wars (Ottoh, 2018).

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The Challenges of Indigenous Methodology for Peacebuilding in Africa Research on peace and conflict is a very strategic component of peacebuilding. Research is about seeking knowledge and truth. The new wars in Africa are destructive and cataclysmic that have made traditional mechanisms for conflict resolution or prevention ineffective when the entire societies are engulfed. This was the case in the Niger-Delta resource conflict involving groups of militants and the Nigerian state. The Indigenous method would not have addressed the issue of power relationships and their effects on resolving the conflict. At the same time, Western methodology was not sensitive to the cultural environment of the conflict. The greatest challenge scholars face in promoting Indigenous knowledge in the field of peace and conflict studies is the application of these knowledge systems in resolving complex conflict and in peacebuilding in post-conflict societies. Besides, it is difficult to translate this knowledge for modern people and to convince them that this knowledge has practical efficacy in resolving conflict. Again Indigenous knowledge has been diluted with modernity and it is not contained in the curriculum of universities in the field of peace and conflict studies. European founders of the social sciences embraced the core values of science and from the onset adopted Western methodologies . Grounded in science, the social sciences have remained useful and relevant to the understanding of Africa’s problem (Erinosho, 2008). However, science is universalistic rather than particularistic and African researchers have not re-examined the ontology and epistemology of Indigenous knowledge in peacebuilding. The argument we advance is that Western research methodologies cannot be sacrificed at the altar of traditionalism, but rather for us to see how Africa peace research can benefit from Western practices and epistemologies. It is foolhardy to think of inventing methodologies that are distinctively African that are not grafted in the principles of science in order to solve the myriad of problems confronting Africa today. African peace research methodologies must be rooted and grounded and pass the litmus test of science (Erinosho, 2008). The argument is that research methodology in the current political and social context cannot be free from the influence of western disciplines of knowledge that have defined what counts as research within academic institutions, science organizations, etc. Equally, it is wrong for the West to assume that their

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institutions of conflict management and resolution can be transferred to Africa without any modification or without considering the cultural environment of conflict.

Conclusion and Recommendations This chapter has demonstrated the need for the decolonization of peacebuilding through Indigenous knowledge using the example of the Igbospeaking group of the Niger-Delta region, Nigeria. Decolonization of knowledge concerning peacebuilding in Africa will enable us to understand social reality. The task before us is for a shift in our geography of reason in the knowledge production in the area of peace and conflict studies. The adoption of the Indigenous peacebuilding model is based on several reasons namely: quick dispensation of justice, which save time and money; it promotes peace, restorative justice, and reconciliation which helps for the sustainability of peace; the victim can receive compensation or restitution; it encourages consensus building and preserves the relationship; it encourages local ownership of the peace process; it allows for win–win solutions which satisfy the parties. People are familiar with their cultural dictates and therefore it is easier to come to grips with responsibilities that emanate from them. It is in this context that Western methodology is inefficacious to peacebuilding. The application of Western models of conflict resolution is seen as incongruent with the culture of the people. In the same vein, the use of the traditional model alone may not help to address complex conflicts. Some issues cannot be handled through traditional approaches to peacebuilding, such as disarmament, security sector reform. The hybridity and complexity of new wars that are transnational demands a multi-dimensional approach and should not be exclusively left in the hands of local people. The Igbo-speaking group has well-developed social institutions understood by the people and respected. These institutions operate based on principles of social cohesion, harmony, participation, transparency, peaceful coexistence, respect, and tolerance, among others. These are well cherished and internalized by the community over the years. They are contextualized to capture their collective knowledge and experiences that yield positive results. However, traditional practices such as rituals, cleansing, and trial by ordeals are not in tandem with modern Christianity. The African justice system is against the rule of natural justice

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and the fundamental rights of the party who is presumed to be guilty. In modern legal jurisprudence, the African customary law contradicts the doctrine of repugnancy which was introduced during the colonial days. The study points out that Euro-North America’s dominance in knowledge production for peace and conflict studies has not resulted in building sustainable peace hence, the call for indigenous knowledge systems in peacebuilding in Africa. This new movement is the right step in decolonizing peacebuilding through Indigenous knowledge systems. The chapter makes the following recommendations: African scholars can learn from the experiences of the new movement for alternative paradigms for understanding and undertaking knowledge creation that has emerged from the West by developing theoretical and practical skills toward the development of new paradigms for research that will serve African’s human development and build a solid foundation for sustainable peace. African universities should develop their curriculum to reflect the Indigenous methodologies for peace and conflict resolution. The chapter recommends that research attention should be redirected to the combination of Indigenous and Western approaches for conflict resolution, prevention, and sustainability of peace. Furthermore, institutions involved in peace and conflict studies should include Indigenous approaches in their curriculum. The involvement of local actors who are knowledgeable in local conflict is a novel development that is worthy of further research.

References Andraos, M.E (2012). Engaging Diversity in Teaching Religion and Theology: An Intercultural, Decolonial Epistemic Perspective. Teaching Theology and Religion 15(1). 3–15. https://doi.org/10.11114.1467.9647.2011.00755. Aubyn, F.K (2018). Overview of Recent Trends in African Scholarly Writing on Peacebuilding, Social Science Research Council Working Papers, African Peacebuilding Network (APN) Working Papers No. 21. September. Boege, V (2011). Potential and Limits of Traditional Approaches in Peacebuilding. In Austin, B, Fisher, M & Giessmann, H.J (eds.) Advancing Conflict Transformation. The Berghof Handbook 11. Opalden/Tramington Hills: Barbara Budrich Publishers. www.berghof-handbook.net. Braimah, A (1998). Culture and Tradition in Conflict Resolution. In Garuba, C (ed.) Capacity Building for Crisis Management in Africa. Lagos: Gabumo Publishing Company Ltd. p. 166.

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Dreyer, J (2017). Practical Theology and the Call for the Decolonization of Higher Education in South Africa: Reflections and Proposals. HTS Theological Studies 73(4). 1–7. https://doi.org/10.4102/hts.V733i4805. Egenti, M.C., & Okoye, A.N. (2016). On the Role of Igbo proverbs in conflict resolution and reconciliation. Journal of Religion and Human Relations 8(2). 55–68. Erinosho, L (2008). Methodological and Philosophical Issues in Social Science with Reference to Nigeria/Africa. A Paper presented at the Maiden Edition of the African Universities Social Science Faculty Seminar Series Held at the Faculty of Social Sciences, University of Lagos, Lagos, January 30. Galtung, J (1969). Violence, Peace, and Peace Research. Journal of Peace Research 6(3). 167–191. Gordon, L.R (2010). Fanon on Decolonizing Knowledge. In Hoppe, E.A & Nicholls, T.N (eds.) Fanon and Decolonization of Philosophy. Lexington Books. p. 13. Horkheimer, M (1982). Critical Theory: Selected Essays. New York: Continuum Publishing. Jones, R.W (1999). Security Strategy and Critical Theory. London: Lynne Rienner Publishers. p. 2. Lawal, R & Orunbon, N.O (2020). Resolving Conflict in Africa Traditional Society: An Imperative of Indigenous System. African Journal of History and Archaeology (AJHA) 4(1). 41. Mbembe, A (2015). Decolonising Knowledge and the Question the Archive. McCandless, E, Bangura, A.K, King, M.E., & Sall, E (eds.) (2007). Peace Research for Africa: Critical Essays on Methodology. Ethiopia, Addis Ababa: University for Peace. Mignolo, W.D. (2007). Delinking. Cultural Studies 21(2–3). 449–514. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09502380601162647. Munemo, D (2016). Coloniality, and the Challenges to African Solutions to African Conflict Problems. In Muchie, M, Gumede, V & Oloruntoba, S (eds.) Regenerating Africa: Bringing African Solutions to African Problems. Pretoria: Africa Institute of South Africa. Murithi, T (2006). African Approaches to Building Peace and Social Solidarity. A paper presented at an International Conference on Strategies for Peace with Development in Africa: The Role of Education, Training, and Research, hosted by the University for Peace and the African Union, held at Addis Ababa, June, 12–14. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S (2017). The Emergence and Trajectories of Struggles for an ‘African University’. The Case of the Unfinished Business of African Epistemic Decolonization. Kronos 43(1). 51–77. [71]. https://doi.org/10. 17159/2309-9585/2017/V43a4. S2CID 149517490.

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Ogaji, O.J (2013). The Viability of Applying Alternative Dispute Resolution Processes in the Niger Delta Conflict. A Thesis submitted to School of Law, University of Warwick, Coventry, the U.K. for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Oliver, B (2019). Decolonization, Identity, and Neo-colonialism and Power. Phomimon 20(1). 1–18. Otite, O (1999). Aspects of Conflicts in Theory and Practice in Nigeria. In Otite, O & Albert, I.O (eds.) Community Conflicts in Nigeria: Management, Resolution, and Transformation. Lagos; Spectrum Books Ltd. pp. 338–339. Ottoh, O.F (2018). The Women of Mano River Union: A Discourse on the Role of Civil Society in the Sustainability of Peace. In Lindsberg, C (ed.) Africa Rise Up: Perspective on African Renewal. Johannesburg: Real African Publishers. pp. 317–340. Quijano, A & Ennis, M (2000). Coloniality of Power: Eurocentrism and Latin America. Nepantla: View from the South 1(3). 540–541. Smith, L.T (1999). Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London: Zed Books. Smith, L.T, Maxwell, T.K, Puke, H, & Temara, P (eds.) (2016). Indigenous Knowledge, Methodology and Mayhem: What is the Role of Methodology in Producing Indigenous Insights? A Discussion from Matauranga Maori. Knowledge Cultures 4(3). 131–156. Tom, P (2011). The Liberal Peace and Post-Conflict Peacebuilding in Africa: Sierra Leone, A Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the University of St. Andrews. http://research-repository.st-andrews.ac.uk.

CHAPTER 3

Restoring Balance and Harmony to Peace and Conflict Studies: Engaging Indigenous Paradigm Research in Collaborations of Integrity Polly O. Walker

Osiyo. Tsi Tsalagi. Nvkwh tohi:yada idehesdi.

Greetings, I am of Cherokee descent, a member of the Cherokee Southwest Township and it is my life goal that we may live together in peace, in balance and harmony with the flux of the cosmos. I am currently living and working in the homelands of the Onyata’a: ka, the People of the Standing Stone, the Oneida Nation. I pay my

P. O. Walker (B) Baker Institute for Peace and Conflict Studies, Juniata College, Huntingdon, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_3

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respects to their elders past and present, and to their ongoing contributions to peacemaking through the Haudenosaunee Great Law of Peace. I am writing this chapter in the time of a global pandemic in which the most recent mutations of the virus threaten the world with catastrophic rates of illness and death. I also acknowledge that many Indigenous teachings emphasize eco-relationality in which the natural world is a living agent in a vast network of relationships, a powerful force in restoring balance to human and more than human relations (see Boege & Shibata, 2020). An ancient story of eco-relationality shared by Cherokee elders and knowledge holders tells of a time when the great Animal Council visited diseases upon humans because of humans’ disrespect toward their relationships with the natural world. In response to the Animal Council decree, the Plants also met to consider the situation, and committed to provide remedies for each disease sent by the Animal Council, stating that humans grapple with understanding their place in the web of creation, and that they therefore needed to survive to learn that lesson (Nvwati Herbals, 2021). It is with intent that I begin this chapter with a story of humans’ disregard of relationality and responsibility with the natural world. Disrespect of the eco-relationality central to Indigenous peoples and their worldviews is one of the ways in which Peace and Conflict Studies colludes with settler colonialism in marginalizing Indigenous peoples, their knowledge systems and their approaches to peace. In this chapter, I will explore the eco-relationality inherent in Indigenous worldviews. In the next section, I discuss the ways in which Indigenous peoples are working to disrupt the hegemony of Western approaches to peace by recentering their eco-relational paradigms. I then go on to highlight the work of the Indigenous Education Institute in establishing collaborations of integrity that reduce epistemic violence toward Indigenous people through recentering Indigenous peoples and their research paradigms. I pose some recommendations for decolonizing Peace and Conflict Studies and then conclude with some complexities that remain to be addressed.

Indigenous Worldviews and Peace Indigenous peoples and their worldviews continue to be marginalized within Peace and Conflict Studies. Johan Galtung (1990) was one of the first Peace and Conflict Studies scholars to criticize the ways in which

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the hegemony of dominant Western worldviews has shaped conflict resolution scholarship and practice. Galtung identifies “a human-over-nature conceptualization of relations to nature” as one of four central characteristics of Western worldview (p. 313). In contrast to this human-centric focus, many Indigenous worldviews and the approaches to peace arising out of them are characterized by eco-relationality in which humans are engaged in relationships of respect and reciprocity with the natural world, ancestors, generations to come and other humans (see Cajete, 2000; Meyer, 1998; Vaai, 2019). When a human/natural world hierarchy is identified within Native1 worldviews, humans are considered to be the younger relations to other beings (Belt, personal communication, July 24, 2011; Martin, personal communication, April 15, 2009). Disrespect of this network of relationships is seen as an underlying factor in Native conflict analysis (Yazzie, 2004), and efforts to maintain, repair, or renew relational networks are integral to Indigenous processes of transforming conflict and building peace (Brigg & Walker, 2015). I have argued previously that decolonizing Peace and Conflict Studies involves (a) respect for, and understanding of, Indigenous worldviews that have been marginalized through colonization and (b) acknowledgment of Indigenous approaches to conflict resolution as a body of knowledge that predates Western conflict resolution (Walker, 2004). In the 20 years that have passed since I shared this analysis, some significant works have addressed these issues (see Stewart-Harawira, 2009; Devereet al., 2017), yet a great deal remains to be done in order to address the violence of settler colonialism and to recenter Indigenous peoples and their worldviews within the field. In exploring Indigenous worldviews and the peacebuilding arising out of them, I will be drawing primarily on the work of Indigenous scholars in Turtle Island, (North America) and Australia, continents where I have lived and worked throughout my life, and where I have been guided by generous Indigenous elders and knowledge holders. There are thousands of Indigenous peoples around the world, and I make no claim to address all Indigenous worldviews as a singularity. There are however shared patterns across many Indigenous peoples’ worldviews, such as those in what Cajete (2000) and Little Bear (2000) call the “Native Paradigm.” Other Indigenous researchers such as Stewart-Harawira (2009) describe 1 I use the term Indigenous when referring to a range of first peoples in a range of countries, and Native when referring to first peoples of Turtle Island (North America).

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the paradox of difference and commonalty among Indigenous worldviews, as well their potential to contribute to building peace: “…there is no single or essential Indigenous ontology or cosmology. This is not disputed by Indigenous scholars. There are nonetheless similar sets of beliefs and principles that have been passed down through and articulated by Indigenous leaders and scholars and are, I contend, highly relevant to the development of international and local diplomacies today” (pp. 209– 210). Mohawk scholar Taiaiake Alfred (2009) also comments on the diversity of Turtle Island’s Indigenous peoples, while noting a common commitment to “a world view that values autonomy but also recognizes a universal interdependency and promotes peaceful co-existence among all the elements of creation” (p. 14). One might describe the common patterns across many Indigenous worldviews as being place-based and grounded in eco-relationality. In Cherokee worldview, land is a living relative and has agency in peacemaking. Our Cherokee elders speak of how those who were forced to join the ethnic cleansing known as the Trail of Tears said goodbye to the mountains of Shaconage as they were leaving, mourning the loss of their oldest relations. They also describe the strength that arises from the natural world as a force that sustains and supports Cherokee people to move toward balance and harmony. In a gathering where he shared an emergence story of the Cherokee people near the Kituwah Mound, Cherokee language speaker and knowledge holder Tom Belt stated: “We know who we are. We know where we are. And we know what time it is” (personal communication, July 14, 2011). It is my understanding that Cherokee identity, emplacement, and responsibility arise out of kinship relationships with the natural world, providing a foundation from which to work toward balance and harmony. Other Indigenous peoples also emphasize the agency of a living natural world. Mary Graham, senior Kombumerri woman of the Gold Coast in Australia, describes the centrality of the natural world within Aboriginal worldview, and the ways in which eco-relational identity and informed agency arise out of Place: “Place is a living thing…Place underpins inquiry in the deepest ontological sense, inasmuch as, from an Indigenous point of view, it is the fundamental existential quantifier: it informs us of where we are at any time, thereby at the same time informing us of who we are” (Graham, 2010, pp. 4–5). Potawatomi botanist Robin Kimmerer (2020) emphasizes the agency and epistemology of the natural world, explaining that in Indigenous worldview “land is identity, sustainer, connection to

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ancestors and descendants, a library generating and sharing knowledge, healer, inspirited community and our home, and to which humans have a responsibility to engage with the land as sacred and plants as our oldest teachers and relatives.” In building peace, Indigenous peoples are not seeking a static state of peace within this extended network of relationality, rather they are moving toward a dynamic balance that is in harmony with the flux of the cosmos (see Graham et al., 2010; Maryboy et al., 2020). These approaches to peace resonate with the tenets of Indigenous paradigms, as Blackfoot Scholar Leroy Little Bear (2000) explains: (The Native Paradigm) is comprised of and includes ideas of constant motion and flux, existence consisting of energy waves, interrelationships, all things being animate, space/place, renewal, and all things being imbued with spirit…Renewal is an important part of the Native American paradigm. From the constant flux, Native Americans have detected certain regular patterns, be they seasons, migration of animals, or cosmic movements. (pp. x–xi)

Tapping into the flux of the cosmos is dialogical. In growing up in the White Mountain Wilderness of New Mexico, listening to the natural world, participating in Native ceremonies, and in working with Indigenous knowledge holders in several countries, I have experienced the “tapping into” the flux of the cosmos as not always being humans who are seeking or reinvigorating relationships with the natural world—sometimes the dialogue is initiated by a call from the natural world that evokes a response from humans. Many other Indigenous peoples emphasize this mutual call and response. In collaboration with MakMak knowledge holders Amico, Daiyi and Deveraux, Deborah Bird Rose (2002) describes the reciprocal communication between Aboriginal Australians and the natural world and its role in building peace: In Aboriginal English, the word ‘country’ is both a common noun and a proper noun. Peoples talk about country in the same way that they would talk about a person: they speak to country, sing to country, visit country, worry about country, grieve for country and long for country. People say that country knows, hears, smells, takes notice, takes care, is sorry or happy. Country is a living entity with a yesterday, today and tomorrow, with consciousness, action, and a will toward life. Because of this richness

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of meaning, country is home and peace; nourishment for body, mind, and spirit; and heart’s ease. (p. 14)

This movement toward dynamic balance is also evidenced in many Native nations’ traditional structure of having both War Chiefs and Peace chiefs to ensure that a warlike mentality did not prevail (see Maryboy et al., 2020; Conley, 1997). Indigenous terms for peace are also embedded in, and arise out of, eco-relationality. Altman and Belt (2009) explain that in the Cherokee language, the word for peace is based on the root word t¯ ohi, “the proper or normal state of the world” (p. 13). Cherokee conceptualizations of peace are based on balance in relationships, moving in a fluid way in harmony with the cosmos, within an eco-relational paradigm. “Nvkwh t¯ ohi: yada is the Cherokee word for peace, in which one is in harmony and balance within oneself and with all of one’s relations in the natural and spirit worlds” (Altman & Belt, 2009, p. 15). Kinship relationships with the natural world are not metaphors for Indigenous peoples; they are lived realities in which Land is seen as a close relative, often as Mother (see Meyer, 2008). Just as many human mothers teach their children ethics and responsibility, in Indigenous worldviews the natural world guides humans toward balance and harmony. Respect and reciprocity toward relationships with the natural world also provide a framework for conflict transformation within human relations, as Graham (1999) explains: “The land, and how we treat it, is what determines our human-ness. Because land is sacred and must be looked after, the relation between people and land becomes the template for society and social relations” (p. 182). Indigenous worldviews emphasize the agency of the natural world in human lives, including in Indigenous Paradigm research. Graham (2010) explains, “To the Aboriginal mindset phenomena are received, and if there is one rule it is to ‘behold’ or ‘regardez.’ The Dreaming Law is creator, informer and guide – the world reveals itself to us and to itself – we don’t ‘discover’ anything” (p. 5). However, many non-Indigenous scholars continue to elide conceptualizations of the natural world as alive and relational. In his seminal text Native Science, Tewa scholar Gregory Cajete (2000) maintains that a living cosmos is one of the tenets of Indigenous science that is most challenging for Western paradigm scholars to acknowledge and engage. I would further argue that by obscuring the eco-relationality of Indigenous worldviews, the human-centric emphasis

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of Peace and Conflict Studies remains a focal point of settler coloniality’s marginalization and suppression of many Indigenous peoples and their approaches to peace.

Re-centering Indigenous Worldviews Within Peace and Conflict Studies One aspect of decolonizing Peace and Conflict Studies is to develop, support, and engage processes that recentre Indigenous peacemaking processes which arise out of Indigenous worldviews. The Mawul Rom Project is an Indigenous initiative that recenters the peacemaking ceremony belonging to the Yolngu people in East Arnhem Land, on the north coast of Australia. It brings together non-Indigenous and Indigenous Australians to learn peacemaking, mediation, and reconciliation from Yolgnu elders. The project is designed to assist Australians in developing understanding and skills needed to work effectively and respectfully with Aboriginal peoples in cross-cultural conflict resolution in Australia (“CDU and Mawul Rom,” 2010). The Mawul Rom program arises out of Country and is an example of recentering the eco-relational worldview of the Yolgnu people within the settler colonial state of Australia. I participated in the Mawul Rom project in 2007. In the following section, I share only information which Yolgnu knowledge management protocols authorize me to share: that which is already in the public domain or that which I have specific permission to share. Rev. Dr. Djiniyini Gondarra OAM (2008) and Chair of the Mawul Rom Project, describes the ways in which the Mawul Rom ceremony is designed to effect reconciliation and conflict transformation through ecorelationality: We need to break down some of the barriers. The Mawul ceremony is a practical way. People come as strangers…..from different places. Every day as they come to the special place, something changes, just by sharing something. There is a special place called the molk. This sand sculpture represents a spear, a symbol that the spear must come inside us, to cut away the things that are coming between people. It is a place for meditation, to share food, to think about their life - practically as well - and share the food together. They sit silently, thinking about their life. The clapstick is

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going and it is a sign. The clapstick was speaking about the spirituality of the land.

Gondarra (2008) explains that the Mawul Rom Program recenters Yolngu dispute and conflict resolution processes to create a cultural fit for Yolngu people. It is a Place-based way, as he explains, of “connecting people through proper ways – genetics, spirit and the land.” In contrast, whitefella (Balanda) law in Australia is seen to damage relationships among Yolngu people, family, and clan groups. Gondarra explains that Mawul Rom participants are expected to bring themselves into full engagement with the ceremony, becoming part of a cross-cultural healing process. Through Gondarra’s invitation, participants are invited to enter into the responsibilities of eco-relationality and its foundational role in Aboriginal peacebuilding. Graham (cited in Graham et al., 2010) describes the mutually constitutive relationships between the natural world and humans that characterize Aboriginal worldviews: Land has a particular and privileged status in Aboriginal philosophy. This status is usually designated through the English language terms ‘Place’ and ‘Country’. For Aboriginal people, these terms signal that land is not inert or inactive. Place is both a source and companion; it participates in reciprocal relationships with humans. It is a vehicle for the authentic explanation of how and why things come into the world. Meaning too enters the world through Place. The relationships established in this way provide a balance among spheres of social action, with Place as the point of origin. Balance and rebalance is achieved when Place is used as an ontological compass… (p. 79)

My experiences at Mawul Rom strengthened my understanding of the ways in which the natural world (Place) participates in reciprocal relationships with humans. One night, I was sleeping on the ground beside the fire we kept in the women’s camp, the bright arm of the Milky Way combing the sky above our heads. As I fell into sleep, in my dream state, I heard a Yolgnu woman singing a lament: “We do not eat the bark of the stringybark tree.” And another women’s voice joined in: “Oh, but it is so lovely to the taste.” I was puzzled about the meaning of these phrases and the strong emotion expressed in the women’s song. The next morning, I sought out Rose Gondarra, and asked for guidance on how to engage respectfully with the message that came to me. In response, she took me into the bush where she taught me to peel the bark from

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a stringybark tree, pulling away the outer layers to reach the tender pink bark. Rose then instructed me to boil the inner bark in a billycan over the fire for an extended period of time and then to drink the tea brewed from the stringybark. She went on to explain that indeed Yolgnu people do not eat the bark of the stringybark tree, but for years they had boiled the inner bark to make a drink that restored energy levels and stamina. She also explained that they had gotten out of the practice of making the tea, and she wanted to return to it, that this restoration of balance and wellbeing was exactly what was meant to happen in the ceremonies held through the Mawul Rom Project. This experience of eco-relationality with Country, of call and response, provided a strong foundation for me to continue learning the peacebuilding processes of Mawul Rom. Unknown to Rose, or others in the camp, I had a health condition that impaired my stamina. Immediately before I had boarded the plane for the trip to Elcho Island, I had received a concerned phone call from my physician informing me that my thyroid levels were dangerously low and stating that I should not go on the trip. Nevertheless, through a network of eco-relationality I was supported to continue learning Yolngu peacebuilding: through the ancestors’ song of the stringybark tree and the knowledge held by Rose, senior Yolngu woman, who interpreted the meaning of the dream and taught me to harvest bush medicine in the proper manner. Through this vast network of relationships that extended through Country, I was supported to move toward balance and harmony.

Collaborations of Integrity Between Indigenous and Non-indigenous Peoples Decolonizing peace and conflict studies requires recentering Indigenous paradigm research, pedagogy, and practice, as seen in the Mawul Rom Program. It also requires building collaborations of integrity, of engaging Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in ethical and respectful ways of approaching an issue through “two-way seeing” (Lee, 2021), a form of epistemological pluralism that respectfully engages Indigenous and Western ways of knowing. There are a number of Indigenous scholars who are decolonizing Western research and practice through collaborations of integrity that juxtapose both Indigenous and Western paradigms to create clearer and deeper insights. These collaborations of integrity are disrupting the epistemic violence of settler colonialism which endeavors

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to assimilate or destroy Indigenous Knowledge systems. As Potawatomi botanist Robin Kimmerer (2020) explains, bringing Indigenous and Western paradigms into dialogue creates a “mutualism of knowledge” that benefits all. Creating collaborations of integrity between Indigenous and Western scholars also requires re-centering Indigenous worldviews within those collaborations. Many non-Indigenous scholars have had limited exposure to, and understanding of, Indigenous paradigms due in part to the epistemicide of settler colonialism (see De Santos, 2014). Re-centering Indigenous paradigms within Peace and Conflict Studies addresses these power imbalances and also draws on particular strengths of Indigenous worldviews which include a philosophy in which “all perspectives are valid and reasonable” (see Graham, 1999). Maryboy et al. (2012) maintain that Indigenous Knowledge should be centered in collaborations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars, in part because Indigenous paradigms create space for, and support engagement with, a diverse range of views: In environments that bring together Native and Western knowledge, it is fruitful to let the Native worldview guide the collaborative process. As a holistic, emergent approach aimed at inclusion and balance of voices, the Native paradigm naturally creates an equitable environment that allows for multiple perspectives. This approach also serves to help right the historical imbalances between Indigenous and Western paradigms by spending time immersed in Native ways of knowing. Finally, while Native partners are well aware of Western protocols, there is often a much steeper learning curve on the side of Western partners, especially those with little or no experience in Native cultures and worldviews. (p. 91)

The concept of “collaborations of integrity” was created through The Indigenous Education Institute (IEI) which is an Indigenous-led, notfor-profit organization dedicated to the preservation and contemporary application of Indigenous knowledge systems. IEI’s work focuses on collaborations that engage both Indigenous and Western science to support linguistic and cultural diversity across their respective knowledge systems. IEI’s mission and goals stress the ways in which we can move toward balance and harmony by building on Indigenous knowledge which emphasizes sustainability and stewardship of the earth and the cosmos. IEI’s collaborations of integrity decrease the epistemic violence

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that many Indigenous peoples experience when their worldviews are marginalized, appropriated, or silenced. In exploring IEI’s work on the Cosmic Serpent Project, which supported collaborations of integrity in museums featuring Indigenous peoples, Maryboy et al. (2012) position their work as addressing epistemic violence, emphasizing the importance of addressing the ways in which colonization has negatively impacted Indigenous knowledge systems. They also explain the ways they center Indigenous paradigms within their research and practice. For example, the Diné Cosmic Model that forms the foundation of the Cosmic Serpent Project arises out of the order and interrelationships within the natural world. The authors emphasize eco-relationality within their epistemology, explaining that “traditional knowledge is place-based, and comes from the land and the location to the sky” (p. 17). In creating and supporting collaborations of integrity, Maryboy et al. (2012) also stress the importance of bridge-builders, knowledge holders with deep understanding of both Western and Indigenous knowledge, who “acknowledge the integrity of both systems and are recognized as exemplary leaders by both Indigenous communities and Western scientists” (p. 30). Worldview shifts (Goldberg, 2009) that enhance understanding of, and respectful engagement with, Indigenous Knowledge are an integral part of redressing epistemic violence toward Indigenous peoples. Astrophysicist Isabel Hawkins (cited in Maryboy et al., 2012) describes the worldview shifts regarding eco-relationality that have occurred among non-Indigenous scholars involved in IEI collaborations, and which are necessary to engage ethically with Native worldview: Native “science is observational; it is a science of experience and relationship to all living things….and also something we do not normally account for, which is a relationship with the land itself, with the mountains, the rivers, etc. It is a holistic relationship with all things. We gained awareness that humans can be deeply interconnected with everything in our planet, we need to regain that connection with the broader world.” (p. 71)

IEI’s collaborations of integrity with Western scholars and practitioners are not only disrupting epistemicide, they are also engaged in conflict prevention. One current collaboration involves Native astronomers and Western astrophysicists resisting the colonization of space. Venkatesen et al. (2019) note that wealthy individuals and nation-states are in a

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race to claim planets and interplanetary space for their own interests. They are engaging in protest and persuasion that acknowledge both past, present, and potential injustices of colonialism: “The policies of colonialism/imperialism have had a strong impact on indigenous communities worldwide and the preservation of IK (Indigenous Knowledge) practices. Without consistent international regulatory and ethical standards, we are in danger of expanding such policies rooted in the mindset of colonialism to a truly cosmic scale” (p. 1037). Building on IEI’s work in decolonizing Western science (see Venkatesen et al., 2019), I might recommend the following themes for decolonizing Peace and Conflict Studies: 1. Develop sustainable, long-term collaborations of integrity involving Indigenous peoples and non-Indigenous scholars and knowledge holders, drawing on the inherent conflict transformation potential of Indigenous worldviews (see Maryboy et al., 2020). 2. Engage with eco-relational methodologies: Acknowledge the value of Indigenous multi-generational and oral knowledge as well as knowledge “derived from direct experience with the natural world” (see Maryboy et al., 2012, p. 20). 3. Support programs that sustain, revitalize, and restore Indigenous languages, without which many concepts of Indigenous Knowledge cannot be clearly expressed nor fully engaged. 4. Recentre Indigenous Paradigm Research that is characterized by the following tenets: (Walker, 2015) a .More than five senses inform research b .Research is based in reciprocity among a vast network of relationships including the natural world, ancestors, and generations to come. c .Methodologies are characterized by movement and flux. d .Spirituality is integral to research. e .Research is informed by the agency of the natural world (see also Hart, 2010; Meyer, 2008; Smith, 1999; Wilson, 2001; Wilson et al., 2019) A great deal of work remains to be done to decolonize Peace and Conflict Studies. In addition to the foundational and significant conflict transformation taking place through initiatives such as the Mawul Rom Project

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and IEI’s Cosmic Serpent and Native Universe, decolonizing processes must also address the complex and painful issues of restitution and reparation of lands that have been forcefully appropriated from Indigenous peoples (see Tuck & Yang, 2012). These messy challenges must be meaningfully and sustainably engaged to decolonize Peace and Conflict Studies (Walker, 2020). As scholars within Peace and Conflict Studies engage with decolonizing the field, it is crucial to also remember the numerous ways in which non-Indigenous researchers have perpetrated violence toward Indigenous peoples and their knowledge systems. Frequently when Indigenous peoples have shared Indigenous knowledge with non-Indigenous researchers, Indigenous data and analyses have been appropriated, commodified, and/or assimilated as raw data into Western analyses, thus distorting and obscuring the peoples and knowledge systems from which the data arose (Cajete, 2000; Maryboy et al., 2012; Smith, 1999). Collaborations of integrity minimize the risk of appropriating Indigenous knowledge, yet patterns of settler coloniality are so deeply pervasive within academia, those involved must continually be on guard against perpetuating epistemic violence toward Indigenous peoples. Future collaborations of integrity within Peace and Conflict Studies will need to address the direct, structural, and cultural violence Indigenous peoples continue to experience. These collaborations cannot occur through isolated academic research. They must be based in collaborations of integrity between Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars and practitioners that recenter Indigenous worldviews and the eco-relationality inherent within them. I conclude by returning to this moment of devastating losses due to the global pandemic in which Indigenous peoples are disproportionately affected. An example of the extent of this impact can be seen in news reports this morning which describe the traumatic losses Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island are suffering due to the virus. Current death rates for Native peoples in the United States are twice that of the white population, the highest rate in this country (Lakhani, 2012, January 5). These losses are devastating to the Native peoples of Turtle Island, who are grappling with the loss of loved ones, many of whom are full Native language speakers, and the resulting fragmentation of Indigenous knowledge contained within Indigenous languages (Rodriguez-Lonebear, cited in Lakhani, 2012, January 5). Tribal leaders

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across the US maintain that Native communities ’ underlying inequalities and poor health infrastructure that have exacerbated the effects of the virus arise out of “the US government’s failure to comply with treaty obligations promising adequate funding for basic services in exchange for vast amounts of tribal land” (Lakhani, 2012, January 5, para. 33). It is time for scholars and practitioners to decolonize Peace and Conflict Studies by engaging in collaborations of integrity to address Indigenous people’s calls for justice and transformation. As Grandfather Leon Secatero, Cañocito Band of Navajo stated (personal communication, 2004), it is time for all five-fingered ones to join together, to respectfully share knowledge, and to move in the direction of balance and harmony.

References Alfred, T. (2009). Peace, Power, Righteousness: An Indigenous Manifesto. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Altman, H. M. & Belt, T. (2009). T¯ ohi: The Cherokee Concept of Well-Being. In L. Leffler (Ed.), Under the Rattlesnake: Cherokee Health and Resiliency (pp. 9–22). The University of Alabama Press. Boege, V. & Shibata, R. (2020). Climate Change, Relocation and Peacebuilding in Fiji: Challenges, Debates, and Ways Forward. Policy Brief 97. Japan: Toda Peace Institute. Brigg, M. & Walker, P. (2015). Indigeneity and Peace. In O. Richmond, S. Pogodda & J. Ramovi´c (Eds.). The Palgrave Handbook of Disciplinary and Regional Approaches to Peace (pp. 259–271). New York: Palgrave McMillan. Cajete, G. (2000). Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence. Santa Fe, NM: Clear Light Publishers. CDU and Mawul Rom launch pioneering Master’s Program. (2010). http://ext. cdu.edu.au/newsroom/a/2010/Pages/110318-CDUandMawulRom.aspx Conley, R. (1997). War Woman: A Novel of the Real People. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. De Santos, B. (2014). Epistemologies of the South: Justice Against Epistemicide. NY: Routledge. Devere, H., Te Maih¯aroa, K. & Synott, J.P. (Eds.) (2017). Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Springer International Publishing. Galtung, J. (1990). International Development in Human Perspective. In J.W. Burton (Ed.), Conflict: Human Needs Theory. (pp. 301–315). London: Macmillan Press. Goldberg, R.M. (2009). How Our Worldviews Shape Our Practice. Conflict Resolution Quarterly, 26(4), 405–431.

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Gonderra, G. (2008). Mawul Rom Project. downloaded on April 13, 2012 from http://www.mawul.com/images/mawulPdfs/cultural_healing_an_justice.pdf Graham, M. (1999). Some Thoughts About the Philosophical Underpinnings of Aboriginal Worldviews. Worldviews, Environment, Culture, Religion, 3(2), 105–118. Graham, M. (2010). Understanding Human Agency in Terms of Place: A Proposed Aboriginal Research Methodology. Unpublished paper. Graham, M., Brigg, M. & Walker P. (2010. Managing Conflict through Place and Relatedness’ In R. Bleiker & M. Brigg, (Eds.). Mediating Across Difference: Indigenous, Oceanic and Asian Approaches to Conflict Resolution (pp. 75–99). University of Hawaii Press. Hart, M.A. (2010). Indigenous Worldviews, Knowledge, and Research: The Development of an Indigenous Research Paradigm. Journal of Indigenous Voices in Social Work, 1(1), 1–16. Kimmerer, R. (2020, August 20). The Fortress, the River and The Garden: A New Metaphor (or symbiosis between indigenous and scientific knowledges. (Webinar) IEI Series, A Sense of Place: Indigenous Perspectives of Land and Sky, http:// indigenouseducation.org/multimedia/ Lakhani, N. (2012, February 4). Indigenous Americans Dying from Covid at Twice the Rate of White Americans. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2021/feb/04/native-americans-cor onavirus-covid-death-rate Lee, A. (2021, January 29) “Two-Eyed Seeing: Navajo (Dine) Indigenous Astronomy & NASA Moon to Mars” (Webinar). Native Skywatchers Series, https://nativeskywatchers.com Little Bear, L. (2000). Forward. In G. Cajete (Ed.). Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence. (pp. ix–xxii) Santa Fe, NM: Clear Light Publications. Maryboy, N., Begay, D. & Nichol, L. (2020). Paradox and Transformation. International Journal of Applied Science and Sustainable Development, 2(1), 15–24. Maryboy, N., Begay, D., Peticolas, L., Stein, J. & Valdez, S. (2012). The Cosmic Serpent: Bridging Native Ways of Knowing and Western Science in Museum Settings. Friday Harbor, WA: IEI Publications. Meyer, M.A. (1998). Native Hawaiian Epistemology: Exploring Hawaiian Views of Knowledge. Cultural Survival Quarterly, Spring, 38–40. Meyer, M.A. (2008). Indigenous and Authentic: Hawaiian Epistemology and the Triangulation of Meaning. In N.K. Denzin, Y.S. Lincoln & L.T. Smith (Eds.), Handbook of Critical and Indigenous Methodologies (pp. 217–232). Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications. Nvawati Herbals. The History of Medicine According to Cherokee Legend, Downloaded from https://nuwatiherbals.com/traditions/the-history-of-medicineaccording-to-cherokee-legend/ on January 24, 2021.

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Rose, D.B. (2002). Country of the Heart: An Australian Indigenous Homeland. Canberra, NSW, Australia: Aboriginal Studies Press. Smith, L. T. (1999). Decolonizing Methodology. London: Zed. Stewart-Harawira, M. (2009). Responding to a Deeply Bifurcated World: Indigenous Diplomacies in the Twenty-First Century. In J.M. Beier (Ed.), Indigenous Diplomacies (pp. 207–233). New York: Palgrave McMillan. doi:https:// doi.org/10.1057/9780230102279_13 Tuck, E. & Yang, K.W. (2012). Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor. Decolonization, Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 10–40. Vaai, Upolu Luma (October, 2019). “We are Therefore We Live”. Pacific EcoRelational Spirituality and Changing the Climate Change Story. Policy Brief 56. Japan: Toda Peace Institute. Venkatesan, A., Begay, D., Burgasser, H.I., Kimura, K., Maryboy, N. & Peticolas, L. (December, 2019). Nature Astronomy, 3(12), 1035–1037. www.nature. com/natureastronomy. Walker, P. (2004). Decolonizing Conflict Resolution: Addressing the Ontological Violence of Westernization. American Indian Quarterly, 28(3&4), 527–549. Walker, P. (2015). Indigenous Paradigm Research. In D. Bretherton & S.F. Law (Eds.), Methodologies in Peace Psychology: Peace Research by Peaceful Means. Christie, D. series editor. (pp. 159–175). New York: Springer Publications. Walker, P. (2020). Decolonizing Peace Studies: Moving toward Settler Responsibilities for Colonialism. The Peace Chronicle. Summer. Peace and Justice Studies Association. https://www.peacejusticestudies.org/chronicleissue/summer-2020/ Wilson, S. (2001). What Is Indigenous Research Methodology? Canadian Journal of Native Education, 25(2), 175–179. Wilson, S., Breen, A. & Dupré, L. (2019). Research & Reconciliation: Unsettling Ways of Knowing through Indigenous Relationships. Toronto: Canadian Scholars. Yazzie, R. (2004). Navajo Peacemaking and Intercultural Dispute Resolution. In C. Bell & D. Kahane (Eds.), Intercultural Dispute Resolution in Aboriginal Contexts (pp. 107–115). Vancouver, BC: UBC Press.

CHAPTER 4

Affirming an Indigenous Approach Within Peace and Conflict Studies Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa

Introduction In¯a kei te m¯ohio koe ko wai koe, i anga mai koe i hea, kei te m¯ohio koe, kei te anga atu ki hea | If you know who you are and where you are from, then you will know where you are going. Ko Aoraki r¯atou ko Pukeone, ko Taranaki o ¯ ku mauka ariki These are my ancestral mountains Ko Waitaki r¯atou ko Motueka, ko Waitaha o ¯ ku awa tapu These are my sacred waters ¯ Ko Waitaha t¯uturu, ko Ng¯ati R¯arua, ko Atiawa o ¯ ku iwi These are my tribal affiliations Ko W¯anaka r¯atou ko Motueka, ko Ng¯a Motu o ¯ ku whenua These are the lands that call me home Ko Te Maih¯aroa te wh¯anau K. T. Maih¯aroa (B) Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_4

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I belong to Te Maih¯ aroa family Anei he k¯akano tapu o Waitaha I am a sacred seed of Waitaha Ko Kelli Te Maih¯aroa t¯oku ikoa My name is Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa

Indigenous Epistemology This chapter is derived from an Indigenous epistemological approach, where the voices of First Nations People are authentically placed: ki uta ki tai, from the land to the sea, eternal protectors for the whenua land and moana sea. As M¯aori are the Indigenous people of this whenua, but remain a minority within our own county, it is essential to maintain and advance m¯atauraka M¯aori within academia, to reclaim the spaces that our people always occupied through whare w¯ananka traditional learning. This decolonial approach honours the experiences of M¯aori as Indigenous Peoples who have been colonised, and to this day, continue to be colonised, where M¯aori have had to advocate and fight for the right to hold onto our M¯aoritaka, M¯ aori culture, ways of knowing and being. The being comes from the confidence of knowing the internal self, the knowing comes from the knowledge that we hold the solutions to our challenges, that our t¯ıpuna remain at our sides, as we face our cosmic destiny, interweaving our past, present and future. Kia whakat¯omuri te haere whakamua, I walk backwards into the future with my eyes fixed on my past. Indigenous epistemology investigates how philosophical questions and research can formulate and contribute towards the dynamic, multifaceted and often complex lives of Indigenous Peoples. Several authors argue that Indigenous epistemologies and methodologies have arisen as a consequence of the worldwide Indigenous Peoples movement as an anticolonial discourse aimed to advance Indigenous knowledge (Denzin, N. & Lincoln, Y., 2014; Sandoval, 2000). Therefore, Indigenous epistemology can be viewed as a foundation of the political, social, cultural, and philosophical domains of Indigenous Peoples lives, including decolonised research practices (Tusco & Flaherty, 2016; Adebeyo et al., 2014; Denzin et al., 2008; Tuhiwai Smith, 1999). For Indigenous People who have been colonised, the process of shedding foreign ways of thinking, knowing and being can be a mindfilled and tedious process. For the writer, this involved a (re)turn and

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(re)discovery of Indigenous epistemologies, to explore the philosophies and cultural, social, political realities that our t¯ıpuna dreamt of, whilst also navigating the university system in an effort to highlight Indigenous way of knowing within peace studies. The world is slowly waking up to the idea that Indigenous Peoples have much to offer, both as a way of living harmoniously with Papat¯ u¯anuku Earth Mother, but also to heal the environmental, social and cultural destruction that has been caused by colonisation and consumerism. The slow process of indigenising the education system, continues to highlight how entrenched colonial thinking is embedded within the systems that continue to maintain and perpetuate systemic racism, including educational centres for peace, conflict and justice. For too long, Indigenous voices have been passed over or ignored, and most often it is only at times of crises, that non-Indigenous people consider other perspectives and ways of living and doing (Chomsky et al., 2010). Indigenous epistemology is closely connected to the symbiotic relationship between wairua, moana, whenua, takata humans and all creatures of this world. M¯aori hold similar metaphysical views, encompassing Papat¯u¯anuku and the ancient customs and beliefs that worshipped her. M¯aori revere Papat¯u¯anuku as a breathing, living organism, where M¯aori are not philosophically separated from the natural world, humanity and nature (Henare, 2001). M¯aori academic Professor Ranginui Walker identified the commonality between Indigenous cultures and shared universal beliefs of the sacred relationship with Mother Earth, including the mindset that the resources she yielded to human beings should be treated with reverence, love, respect and responsibility (Walker cited in Marsden & Royal, 2003, p. 34). M¯aori and Indigenous First Nations knowledge is therefore derived from these deep and sacred relationships, interconnected with higher consciousness and universal awareness. These symbiotic bonds are often not being recognised by non-Indigenous people around the globe, yet the traditional Indigenous ways of views of living and being may be the only hope for human survival (Chomsky et al., 2010). Social interactions include relationships with animals, fishes, birds, plants, trees, water, and other people, spirits of those who have died, spirits of all created beings, as well as the Creator spirit and the grandfather and grandmother spirits. Each interaction requires its own set of protocols

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and practices based on particular history, knowledge, understanding and experience. (Cree, in Denzin & Lincoln, 2014, p. 5)

Indigenous community leaders and academics continue to challenge academia as to the relevance, meaningfulness and benefit to their communities, with a critical humanitarian lens focused on ethical and moral issues such as freedom and rights related to race, gender and class, and democracy. Over the past two decades, Indigenous academics have continued to challenge and critique Western knowledge as the ‘one and only’ form of valid and legitimate information (Absolon & Willet, 2005; Brown & Strega, 2005; Pihama et al., 2015; Pihama, 2001; Tuhiwai Smith, 1999; Wilson, 2008). This includes critiques on how knowledge is created, produced and socially shaped to maintain the status quo of inequitable outcomes for Indigenous Peoples (Battise & National Working Group on Education, 2002; Bishop & Glynn, 1999; Denzin & Lincoln, 2014; Smith, 2006). This movement is evident in the emergence and proliferation of Indigenous epistemologies and methodologies (Sandoval, 2000), including the arguments of African American, Chicano, Latina/o, Native American, First Nation, Hawaiian, African, and M¯aori scholars, among others. (Denzin & Lincoln, 2014, p. 7)

Throughout the colonised world, research has operated as a colonial tool to classify, objectify and dehumanise ‘the other’ by the dominant and powerful conquerors. In her seminal work, Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999, p. 1) argues vehemently that research is probably one of the dirtiest words in the Indigenous world’s vocabulary. When mentioned in many Indigenous contexts, it stirs up silence, it conjures up bad memories, it raises a smile that is knowing and distrustful. Brown and Strega (2005) identified that Indigenous communities can often be minimised, ignored, misconstrued or devalued by those that are in commanding positions of authority and control to remain in power. Peace, conflict and justice studies can play an important role within the decolonisation space, in an effort to achieve social, cultural and moral justice.

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Indigenous Epistemology ¯ and Kaupapa Maori Research The reconnection of First Nations Peoples through the global Indigenous revitalisation movement of the 1970s and 1980s resulted in a heightened political consciousness for M¯aori (Bishop et al., 2010; Bishop, 1998; Ranganui, 1989). Indigenous epistemology aligns with the localised kaupapa M¯aori response to the cultural and political renaissance of this era, in that Indigenous standpoints challenge Western notions of what constitutes legitimate and valid knowledge systems. The nexus of this word, ‘kau’ is to ‘disclose or appear for the first time, to come into view’ (Marsden & Royal, 2003, p. 66) and ‘papa’ refers to the foundational groundwork from which it is derived. Leonie Pihama (2001, p. 191) stated that M¯aori have always been theorists, ‘engaged with our world and constructed theories as part of our own knowledge and ways of understanding our experiences’. As cosmic epistemologists, M¯aori operated and continue to operate from an in-depth framework of seeking knowledge, understanding of humanity and seeking enlightenment (Henare, 2001). In relation to research and academia, kaupapa M¯aori can be viewed as a M¯aori approach, a theory, methodology, method, paradigm, framework and praxis (Tuhiwai Smith, 2016;Tuhiwai Smith 2008, 2006, 1999; Smith, G., 2003, 1995). Kaupapa M¯aori is a dynamic framework that can be applied to multiple research contexts, primarily focused on advancing M¯aori aspirations and an approach to Indigenise ways of doing, being and knowing—for M¯aori, by M¯aori, with M¯aori and in M¯aori. Professor Graeme Smith (1995) outlines that kaupapa M¯aori is associated with ‘being M¯aori’, M¯aori principles and philosophies, assumes M¯aori validity and legitimacy, values the importance of M¯aori culture and language and is focused on the struggle for M¯aori autonomy and cultural wellbeing. The repositioning and reclamation of M¯aori values at the centre of all research activities with and for M¯aori, provides a momentum that draws on the messages of the past to illuminate future possibilities (Walker, 1984). In relation to rangahau M¯aori M¯ aori research, Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999, p. 120) identified seven core M¯aori research values: 1. Aroha ki te tangata | A respect for people 2. Kanohi kitea | The seen face, that is present yourself to people face to face 3. Titiro, whakarongo, k¯ orero | Look, listen, speak

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4. Manaaki ki te tangata | Share and host people, be generous 5. Kia t¯upato | Be cautious 6. Kaua e takahia te mana o te tangata | Do not trample over the mana of people 7. Kaua e m¯ahaki | Do not flaunt your knowledge Battise and National Working Group on Education (2002) states that Indigenous knowledge systems are more than a counter narrative to Western systems in relation to building resilience, self-reliance and significance of Indigenous heritage, philosophies and educational processes. This rejuvenated way of thinking relocates the power, control and selfdetermination back within M¯aori communities, to ensure that cultural authenticity, integrity and identity are maintained (Smith, 1995). In relation to the reclamation of knowledge, power and control, Bishop (2004, 1998) asserts that Indigenous people must be involved in decisionmaking throughout the research process from initiation, representation, legitimacy, through to the benefits and accountability to serve the research communities. Smith (2003) positions kaupapa M¯aori as a theoretical vehicle to move away from deficit theorising, reactive perspectives and what he terms ‘the politics of distraction’ to create a shift’ (p. 2) away from an emphasis on reactive policies towards an emphasis on being more proactive; a shift from negative motivation to a positive motivation. Kaupapa M¯aori affirms m¯atauraka M¯aori as a gift, to be shared and returned to the people of origin; the knowledge given and created belongs with the people who offered it. In an effort to right some of these past wrongs and create a sense of cultural safety and affirmation within a research setting, research must be perceived as beneficial to the research community itself. This approach requires engagement with, and an ongoing commitment to the Indigenous community, with the ultimate goal of supporting cultural autonomy and Indigenous self-determination (Denzin & Lincoln, 2014). The work must represent Indigenous persons honestly, without distortion or stereotype, and the research should honour Indigenous knowledge, customs, and rituals. It should not be judged in terms of neo-colonial paradigms. Finally, researchers should be accountable to Indigenous persons. They, not Western scholars, should have first access to research findings and control over the distribution of knowledge. (Denzin & Lincoln, 2014, p. 6)

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Waitaha First Nations People The people from the Pacific Nations are extraordinary explorers and navigators of Te Moana Nui a Kiwi, the great Pacific Ocean. It has been said that the efforts of Pasifika and M¯aori navigators of the southern most parts of the world, is one of the greatest feats of humankind (Crowe, 2018; Irwin, 1998, n.d.) The author derives directly from one of these great navigators, R¯akaihaut¯u who captained the Uruao waka and brought with him the Waitaha people, the first people to settle Te Wai Pounamu, the South Island of Aotearoa New Zealand around 850 AD (Tau, 2008; Carrington et al., 2008; Mitchell & Mitchell, 2004). The Indigenous autoethnographic story of who I am and from whom I descend, reflects a mixing of a new colonial world with the ancient Waitaha culture of a millennium. As a direct descendant of the great navigator R¯akaihaut¯u (Graham, 1922) andTe Maih¯aroa, the last M¯aori prophet of Te Waipounamu (Mikaere, 1988) this Indigenous epistemology lays the whakapapa for the writer’s doctoral journey as an Indigenous insider, writing from the whenua that was consecrated almost 1200 years ago R¯akaihaut¯u. The thesis focused on the history of Te Maih¯aroa and Te Heke The Migration, one of the first Indigenous passive resistance protests in Aotearoa against colonial ruling forces in the mid-nineteenth century. Te Heke (1877–1879) was led by Te Maih¯aroa, paramount chief whose authority and leadership represented a beacon of hope for M¯aori as a prophet during the early colonial years of the mid-late nineteenth century (Elsmore, 1999; Mikaere, 1988). Born in the late eighteenth century, Te Maih¯aroa experienced first-hand the cultural clash between M¯aori world views, agents of the British Crown and early European settlers. Aotearoa was settled as a British colony in 1840, when Te Tiriti o Waitangi the Treaty of Waitangi was signed by the British Crown and over 500 M¯aori chiefs. This resulted in M¯aori becoming a minority within our own country and a tipping of political power once the first colonial Parliament was established in 1854 (Orange, 2011, 2004). The government ‘took whatever land it occupied and wanted … a source of bitterness to the present day’ (Sinclair, 1991, p. 20). Moana Jackson (2016) reiterates that colonisation of Indigenous peoples is the abusive process of imposing colonial institutions, values and beliefs. Colonisation caused an attack on M¯aori society across multiple domains: muskets, invasion, raup¯at¯u (land confiscation), alcohol, disease and the imposition of colonial ideologies

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such as Christianity, outlawing M¯aori cultural practices, denial of te reo M¯aori M¯aori language and forced assimilation (Pihama et al., 2015). As a leader during these times of unprecedented change, Te Maih¯aroa did not sign Te Tiriti o Waitangi, as he adhered to his strict Waitaha covenant, which morally prevented him from the idea of selling Papat¯u¯anuku Earth Mother. In 1848, a group of Ng¯ai Tahu leaders sold 13, 551, 400 acres of land for $2,000 pounds acres in the Kemp Deed purchase in 1844 (Mikaere, 1988). Te Maih¯aroa and other rakatira at the time, understood that the land sold in that transaction went from the East Coast to the foothills of the Southern Alps (Mikaere, 1988). Survey maps at the time of Te Tiriti show no interior mapping of the South Island (Te R¯unanga o Ng¯ai Tahu, 2017). As a response to ongoing Treaty breaches by the Crown and settlers, Te Maih¯aroa turned his back on the encroaching colonial world, in an effort to protect his language, culture and whakapapa genealogy from early European influences. He led his people into the hinterlands of the South Island, through the Waitaki Valley to establish a M¯aori village at Te Ao M¯arama, the World ¯ arama. Te Heke (1877–1879) was potenof Light , known today as Om¯ tially the first (and maybe the only) passive resistance M¯aori movement in Te Waipounamu. Te Maih¯aroa firmly believed that physical occupation of ancestral land would assert M¯aori ownership of unsold land. After two ¯ arama), they were considyears of peaceful living at Te Ao M¯arama (Om¯ ered squatters and then evicted and alienated by the Crown from their own unsold land. Te Maiharoa led a group of Arowhenua whanau (and many others) on a journey by foot to the inland site of Omarama to establish a semipermanent settlement in protest of loss of lands and access to traditional gathering sites. The peaceful sit in eventually resulted in complaints from run-holders and arrests were made as the protesters were forced to vacate. The journey to Omarama recognises the objections by our ancestors in regards to the sale of any lands and resources beyond the local foothills in the region. (Te Hapa o Niu Tireni and Te Ker¯eme, n.d., p. 2)

One of the primary motivations to undertake a doctoral thesis within the field of Peace and Conflict was to highlight the peaceful history of the Waitaha people, a small southern tribe that has been marginalised, firstly by European colonial rule, and more recently by the Crown through the Waitangi Tribunal institutional processes. The historical landscape of

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Aotearoa is written predominantly through a colonial P¯akeh¯a lens, largely ignoring M¯aori histories and realities. This colonial bias has been reinforced over the last thirty years, fuelled by the book and film ‘Once Were Warriors’ (Duff, 1990; Tamahori, 1994) which highlights M¯aori gang and intergenerational violence. This view was compounded by Lea and Chambers 2007 and Lea et al. 2005 who hypothesised that the monoamine oxidase (MAO-O) gene may be a ‘warrior gene’, linked to increased aggression, risk-taking and criminality. This view is juxtaposed to Waitaha history, where there are no war artefacts over the 1200 year occupation of Te Wai Pounamu. As a mokopuna grandchild of Te Maih¯aroa, the author inherits the responsibility to uphold the mana prestige of Waitaha t¯ıpuna. As a mother of five grown sons, sharing ancestral and contemporary history through documenting elders and wh¯anau experiences is a bid to record and preserve not only living history, but the peaceful actions of upholding this kawa protocol . Therefore this kaupapa M¯aori approach is also a decolonial tool to record and revitalise Waitaha peace histories within Te Waipounamu.

¯ Kaupapa Maori Potential Approach ¯ Utilising Purakau | Indigenous Narratives Kaupapa M¯aori theory, methodology and methods were utilised within the writer’s doctoral thesis: Why t¯ıpuna used rakim¯ arie peaceful living to claim and maintain ahi k¯ a burning fires of occupation during early colonial contact and does it hold validity and relevance for wh¯ anau today? At the University of Otago, this was one of the first Doctorate of Arts thesis produced as a ‘PhD within Publications’ thesis. As a University Lecturer, this enabled the writer to publish early into the thesis journey, consisting of a book chapter within 18 months, followed by two journal articles and a manuscript. The thesis comprised one book chapter: Kaore Whakaeheke Toto/ Do Not Shed Blood; two published journal articles: Retracing Ancestral Footsteps and Te Ara o Rakim¯ arie the Pathway of Peaceful Living and an unpublished manuscript entitled Exploring Indigenous Peace Traditions Collaboratively.1 The inspiration to document the contemporary wh¯anau experiences of Te Heke (2012) began when the researcher uncovered in archival records

1 A version of this manuscript is published in this volume XX.

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two wh¯anau photos at Te Ao M¯arama in 1878, assigned the title Te Heke ¯ arama. After archival discovery of Ki Te Ao M¯arama The Migration to Om¯ two photos that were previously unknown to the wh¯anau, interest grew around who the t¯ıpuna were and what they were doing. At the same time the writer was part of an organising committee that invited wh¯anau to join us in a 135 year commemorative walk retracing the trails of Te Heke (1877–1879). This prompted an exploration of contemporary Indigenous research methods for wh¯anau to self-record their upcoming journey experiences, in an effort to preserve these experiences for future generations. This informed the foundation for doctoral studies, fuelled by an interest to preserve living history, alongside discovering historical archival accounts of Te Heke (1877–1879). Linda Smith (1996) positioned kaupapa M¯aori within the beliefs of rakatirataka (chieftainship, rights to exercise authority, ownership, attributes of a chief) and mana motuhake (separate identity, autonomy, self-government) elevating the mana (prestige) of M¯aori through selfdetermination and control over one’s own destiny (M¯aori online dictionary). She identified three interconnected principles of kaupapa M¯aori: partnership with the Crown, self-determination, and M¯aori autonomy and control over resources, including cultural and intellectual property. All three of these principles were reflected in the book chapter Kaore Whakaeheke Toto/ Do Not Shed Blood (Te Maih¯aroa, K., 2015) which explores the historical background context of Te Maih¯aroa and Te Heke (1877–1879). It sets the scene for mana M¯aori, upholding the mana of being Waitaha, and the struggle to maintain authority and autonomy over ancestral land at Te Ao M¯arama. Waitaha have been focused on both of these principles of rakatirataka and mana motuhake, after being absorbed by the Crown, without discussion or consent into the Ng¯ai Tahu Settlement Act (1998). In an effort to highlight the views of Waitaha elders, this collaborative chapter with kaum¯atua gave the opportunity for the elders to provide share their perspectives and future dreams for Waitaha. This p¯ur¯akau also provided a space to sit with the elders and gather a shared view of what the future might hold for Waitaha. As the text was co-constructed with kaum¯atua, this p¯ur¯akau is extra special as our u¯ poko spiritual head Rangim¯arie Te Maih¯aroa passed away soon after completing the chapter. Creating a p¯ur¯akau that will be a taoka treasure for future generations to look back on and reflect whether his descendants live up to his future hopes, dreams and aspirations. The opportunity to co-create a piece of writing is also an expression of rangatiratanga self-determination, where

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Waitaha elders are able to exercise their own agency, sharing their truth and upholding their own mana motuhake, separate identity from P¯akeh¯a and Ng¯ai Tahu. As it was written by Waitaha, for Waitaha, with Waitaha, it also locates Waitaha as the primary focus and navigators over our own personal narratives and future positioning. The Te Ara o Rakim¯ arie the Pathway of Peaceful Living journal article documented twenty five years of peace building by Aunty Anne Sissie Te Maih¯aroa Dodds in North Otago (Te Maih¯aroa, K., 2017b). Through her ancient whakapapa, Anne is able to claim and maintain uninterrupted ancestral occupation of Te Waipounamu, particularly around the North Otago region for almost 1200 years. This p¯ur¯akau was compiled from an ‘interview as a chat’ (Bishop, 1995) with Anne, which naturally formed a twenty five year life story focused on cultural, political and environmental activism. It highlights the close relationship that Anne has with Iwi connections throughout Aoteroa and her North Otago community. In many ways this article documents the efforts that Anne, her brothers and younger generation have undertaken to uphold the mana and integrity of Waitaha in this area. It provides a peace activist’s road map for future generations to follow in an effort to protect Papat¯ua¯nuku and connection with their Waitaha identity. One of the pou pillar of this article is her political efforts to have Waitaha recognised as a separate Iwi, which includes Anne being a Treaty of Waitangi co-claimant with the writer. This p¯ur¯akau recorded the energy and dedication that one individual can make as a tribal leader, supported by her wh¯anau and community to uphold the mana of her t¯ıpuna within her rohe tribal boundary. The second journal article Retracing Ancestral Footsteps (Te Maih¯aroa, K., 2017a) was the genesis for the entire thesis started in December ¯ aramataka 2012 set out to follow the ancestral 2012 when Te Heke Om¯ route of Te Heke (1877–1879). Regenerating this peace tradition some 135 years later, provided a research opportunity of inviting wh¯anau to record their personal experiences in a wh¯anau journal/diary. The kaupapa M¯aori method of p¯ur¯akau allowed wh¯anau to record their own journey, which was collated and compiled at the end of Te Heke (2012). This method provided the opportunity for wh¯anau to write whenever and whatever motivated, inspired or challenged them on this four day / five night trek. Their individual experiences were compiled of the unfolding events of each day, and contributed towards a larger collective picture of this commemorative occasion. The transcripts were anonymised and represented in full, in that they were not added to or changed, the mana

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prestige of their words spoke for themselves. This in turn served to uphold the wh¯anau participants’ autonomy, cultural and intellectual control and property. The fourth component of the PhD within Publications is an unpublished manuscript titled Exploring Indigenous Peace Traditions Collaboratively, co-written with two Iwi leaders Maata Wharehoka, Kaitiaki of Te Niho Marae at Parihaka, Taranaki; Adjunct Professor Maui Solomon; myself on behalf of Waitaha and my PhD supervisor Dr. Heather Devere from the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies. Each Indigenous author wrote about the history of their own peace traditions, working closely with our ally, advocate and champion Dr. Devere who provided an overall framework for the paper to weave together. Much of this work was undertaken in a journey to R¯ekoh¯u, the Chatham Islands, where we were hosted by Maui and Susan Solomon and visited the historical Moriori sites. Although not everyone knew each other prior, the collegial connections grew from being Guest Lecturers at the National Centre for Peace and Conflict in Dunedin, where Maui Solomon is a founding member and Maata Wharehoka was a Professional Practice Fellow. In this article, each peace tradition outlines the historical links between each Indigenous tribe and the Crown, the breaches of human rights, and the contemporary encounters that each peace tradition and the people that uphold these face. It provides an overarching view of how p¯ur¯akau can be both unique to different tribal people and geographic areas, but share common threads of self-determination, autonomy, peace based identity and hope for the future.

Conclusion The decolonial process of (re)-searching our traditional past for key messages of the future to advance the health and wellbeing of our Indigenous People is not something new. There is healing on this pathway from the scars of colonisation, that reminds us that we are peaceful warriors, not worriers, able to navigate our way towards the light out of the negative darkness and hopelessness. So what role could Peace and Conflict studies play in the decolonisation of the academy in reshaping the injustices of the past to achieve equity, justice, transformation, peace and healing for M¯aori? Here, the author argues that academics must step up to be the critique and conscious of society, to call out racism and demand systemic changes to ensure that M¯aori voices are heard at the forefront of all that

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we do. For we know that when we uplift our people at the bottom rungs of the socio-economic ladder, that everyone benefits. For Indigenous academics (of which there are very few), working in the field of peace, conflict and justice, there is a moral calling to revive, regenerate and live the ancestral dreams of a prosperous future for our people, taking lessons from the past and drawing on the best of this bicultural and multicultural world to ensure that our not only have access to participate in society at all levels, but prosper and flourish. One of the founding principles of a kaupapa M¯aori approach is that it has a transformational effect for M¯aori, to be solution focused and improve M¯aori lives. To date feedback from wh¯anau and members of the North Otago community has been positive, expressing gratitude for recording and preserving Waitaha and local history, which was also one of the primary drivers for this research. For the writer, the most valuable part of this doctoral journey is that it was undertaken with kaum¯atua and wh¯anau, recording and documenting experiences and aspirations for future generations. This enabled Waitaha to take control of our own stories, recording our own p¯ ur¯akau to reflect our own experiences. It is also a socio-political move to preserve Waitaha tikaka and kawa. Sharing historical accounts through an Indigenous lens, reclaims the position of the storytelling, for far too long the tales have been told by colonisers. The adoption of kaupapa M¯aori methodology is one such antidote. The use of kaupapa M¯aori enabled the writer to undertake authentic peace-based research with Waitaha, by Waitaha and for Waitaha. Te Heke (2012) provided an opportune moment in time to record wh¯anau experiences over this inaugural recreation trek, offering a snapshot of wh¯anau encounters and happenings over this event. These p¯ur¯akau are treasured by wh¯anau today, and will be even more so as descendants in time come to look back on these photographs and writings as precious taoka. It enabled the researcher to gather the stories in real time, preserve these stories as part of a commemorative event, and preserve these experiences for future generations. Similarly, the kaum¯atua collaborative book chapter and journal article on Anne Te Maih¯aroa’s twenty five years of peace building within her North Otago community is research with wh¯anau, by wh¯anau and for (but not exclusively) wh¯anau. The writer has been approached and thanked by several North Otago community members for recording Anne’s life and community efforts. Each of these three pieces of writing made a contribution towards unearthing, preserving and revitalising

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Waitaha values, practices, customs and beliefs. The manuscript Exploring Indigenous Peace Traditions Collaboratively is now published within this book in an effort to not only highlight and promote peace traditions within Aotearoa, but to also draw together Indigenous leaders in this field and lay the pathway for others to join us. And what does this mean for colonial institutions that maintain the power and status quo? In Aotearoa, M¯aori academics and allies have been vocal across the disciplines to advance M¯aori and Indigenous epistemologies, philosophies, theories and methods. One way is to look for opportunities for Indigenous academics to work collaboratively within peace and conflict studies, to draw strength from and support each other’s voices in this space. Indigenous voices have largely been overlooked within the academy of Peace and Conflict, with the author being the first kaupapa M¯aori Doctoral graduate in this field and the third M¯aori graduate. Without M¯aori academics visible in this field, the opportunity to contribute towards research, learning and teaching that will make a difference to M¯aori communities, continues to be dominated by voices that can only speak about M¯aori or on behalf. To do so ignores the lived realities of M¯aori lives, M¯aori potential and the opportunity for Nationhood building. Research for social justice expands and improves the conditions for justice, it is an intellectual, cognitive and moral project (Tuhiwai Smith, in Denzin & Giardina, 2016, p. 369). Indigenous people will continue to advocate and contest for the right to determine our own future and maintain control over our own destiny. This requires bold and courageous leadership at all institutional levels to eradicate racism and lead transformational change across all institutions to achieve equity, justice and peace for all. Decolonisation is a struggle that cannot be left to up to Indigenous communities alone. To remain disinterested in the success of Indigenous People lives is to choose the oppressive status quo. Fly the decolonial flag of empowerment and emancipation, for that is where freedom for all exists.

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Adebeyo, A., Benjamin, J., & Lundy, B. (2014). Indigenous Conflict Management Strategies: Global Perspectives. Lanham: Lexington Books. Battise, M., & National Working Group on Education. (2002). Indigenous Knowledge and Pedagogy in First Nations Education: A Literature Review with Recommendations. Ottawa: National Working Group on Education. Bishop, R., O’Sullivan, D., & Berryman, M. (2010). Scaling up: The politics of potential. In American Educational Research Association (AERA) 2010 Annual Meeting: Understanding Complex Ecologies in a Changing World. Conference held at Denver, Colorado. Bishop, A. R. (2004). Freeing ourselves from neo-colonial domination in research: A kaupapa maori approach to creating knowledge. In N. Denzin, & Y. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of Qualitative Research (3rd Edition). Sage Publications. Bishop, R., & Glynn, T. (1999). Researching in Maori contexts: An interpretation of participatory consciousness. Journal of Intercultural Studies, 20(2), 167–182. Bishop, R. (1998). Freeing ourselves from neo-colonial domination in research: A Maori approach to creating knowledge. Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(2), 199–219. Bishop, A. R. (1995). Collaborative research stories: Whakawhanaungatanga (Doctoral thesis, University of Otago, New Zealand). Retrieved from https:// ourarchive.otago.ac.nz/handle/10523/531. Brown, L., & Strega, S. (eds.). (2005). Research as Resistance: Critical, Indigenous and Anti-oppressive Research Approaches. Toronto: Canadian Scholar’s Press. Carrington, A., Tau, T. M., Anderson, A., & Te R¯ unanga o Ng¯ai Tahu. (2008). Ng¯ ai Tahu: A Migration History: The Carrington Text. Wellington: Bridget William Books. Chomsky, N., Meyer, L., & Alvardo, B. (2010). New World of Indigenous Resistance. City Lights Books | Open Media Series. Crowe, A. (2018). Pathway of the Birds: The Voyaging Achievements of M¯ aori and Their Polynesian Ancestors. University of Hawaii Press: Hawaii. Duff, A. (1990). Once Were Warriors. University of Queensland Press St Lucia: Australia Denzin, N., & Lincoln, Y. (2014). Introduction: Critical methodologies and indigenous inquiry. In N. Denzin, Y. Lincoln, & L. Tuhiwai Smith (Eds.), Handbook of Critical and Indigenous Methodologies. Los Angeles: SAGE. Denzin, N., Lincoln, Y., & Tuhiwai Smith, L. (2008). Handbook of Critical Indigenous Methodologies. Los Angeles: SAGE. Elsmore, B. (1999). Mana from Heaven: A Century of M¯ aori Prophets in New Zealand. Auckland: Raupo Publishing.

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Pihama, L. (2001). T¯ıhei mauri ora: honouring our voices: mana w¯ ahine as a kaupapa M¯ aori theoretical framework. Dissertation Research Space: University of Auckland. Ranganui, W. (1989). The Treaty of Waitangi as the Focus of Maori Protest. Kawharau, 263–279. Sandoval, C. (2000). Methodology of the Oppressed: Theory Out of Bounds. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Sinclair, K. (1991). Kinds of Peace: Maori People After the Wars, 1870-85. Auckland: Auckland University Press. Smith, G. (1995). The dialectic relation of theory and practice in the development of kaupapa M¯aori Praxis. In L. Pihama, S. J. Tiakiwai, & K. Southey (Eds.), Kaupapa Rangahau: A Reader. A Collection of Readings from the Kaupapa Rangahu Workshop Series. Smith, G. (2003). Kaupapa Maori Theory: Theorizing Indigenous Transformation of Education & Schooling. NZARE/AARE Joint Conference: Auckland, NZ. Smith, L. T. (1996). Ng¯ a aho o te kakahu matauranga: The multiple layers of struggle by Maori in education(Doctoral dissertation, ResearchSpace@ Auckland). Smith, L. T. (2006). Researching in the margins issues for M¯aori researchers a discussion paper. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples, 2(1), 4–27. https://doi.org/10.1177/117718010600200101. Smith, L. T. (2008). Building a research agenda for Indigenous epistemologies and education. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 36(1), 93–95. https:// doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1525/aeq.2005.36.1.093. Tau, T. M. (2008). The discovery of islands and the stories of settlement. Thesis Eleven, 92(1), 11–28. http://dx.doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1177/072551 3607085042. Te Hapa o Niu Tireni and Te Ker¯eme. Accessed 27 June 2021. Retrieved from: https://arowhenua.org/resources. Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2015). Kaore Whakaheke Toto: Do Not Shed Blood. In J. Pims & P. Dhakal (Eds.), Nonkill Spiritual Traditions (Vol. 1., pp. 97–112). Center for Global Nonkilling. Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2017a). Retracing Ancestral Footsteps. Te Kaharoa, 10(1). https://doi.org/10.24135/tekaharoa.v10i1.158. Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2017b). Te Ara o ¯ Rakim¯arie: The pathway of peaceful living. Te Kaharoa, 10(1). https://doi.org/10.24135/tekaharoa.v10i1.151. Te R¯ unanga o Ng¯ai Tahu. (2017). Kemp’s deed, Te Kereme 1848, June 12. Accessed 27 June 2021. Retrieved from: https://ngaitahu.iwi.nz/our_sto ries/kemps-deed-1848/. Tuhiwai Smith, L. (2016). Choosing the margins. In N. Denzin, & M. Giardina (Eds.), Qualitative Inquiry – Past, Present and Future: A Critical Reader. London and New York: Routeledge.

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Tuhiwai Smith, L. (1999). Decolonising Methodologies. Research and Indigenous Peoples. London & New York: Zed Books Ltd. Tuso, H., & Flaherty, M. (eds.). (2016). Creating the Third Force: Indigenous Processes of Peacemaking. Lanham: Lexington Books. Walker, R., unpublished, in Marsden, M., & Royal, C. (2003). The Woven Universe: Selected Writings of Rev. M¯ aori Marsden. Otaki, NZ: Estate of Rev. M¯aori Marsden. Walker, R. (1984). The genesis of maori activism. The Journal of the Polynesian Society, 93(3), 267–281. Retrieved June 27, 2021, from: http://www.jstor. org/stable/20705873. Wilson, J. (2008). Alan Duff: Brown Man’s Burden? British Review of New Zealand Studies, 17 , 115–142.

CHAPTER 5

When an Indigenous Researcher Sees, Speaks and Writes: The Experience of Palestinian Research in Israel Nijmeh Ali

Introduction While conducting my PhD field research in Israel, I had to obtain a second1 approval to conduct the study. This time it was not from an ‘official’ source; instead, it was from my own mother who was worried about my work. Every time I attempted to conduct moukableh, an interview, she would say three things: ‘do not say anything’, ‘be careful’ and ‘I’m relying on you’. Afterwards, she would make sure that I was ‘clean’— using her words—and uploaded the collected materials to the university’s secure cloud. Overcoming both my mother’s fears and the Israeli security questions at the airport in Tel Aviv were essential for conducting the 1 The first was the official ethics approval from the ethics committee at the University of Otago, New Zealand.

N. Ali (B) University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_5

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interviews. ‘Academic work in peace studies’, but without mentioning the conflict aspect, served as an appropriate answer for both parties. However, as a Palestinian in Israel, the feeling of living under a ‘big brother’ is not new. It has become a reality of daily life. ‘They know everything’ and ‘they are watching’ have been the most popular utterances during my lifetime. Researching my backyard brought questions related to the process of producing knowledge, the struggle for the ‘truth’, and the most credible or trustworthy knowledge that should be recognised, particularly in endless conflictual contexts when research plays a significant role in constructing power relations when knowledge can be considered as a critical element for oppression, and, at the same time, for liberation. This chapter, therefore, reflects the personal experiences of an Indigenous researcher writing a study in a context of conflict, through discussing issues related to the significant place of an Indigenous researcher in decolonising knowledge and exposing hidden power structures; arguing that ignoring the essential role of the Indigenous researcher led to the system-maintaining approaches that dominate Peace and Conflict Studies; which in turn harms the efforts of dismantling oppressive power structures.

The Duty to Speak and Write In the shadow of erasing historic Palestine from the maps, textbooks and political agreements, the struggle for place becomes fundamental in the Palestinian resistance project, not only for the Palestinian people but also as part of the worldwide effort of Indigenous people to reject and resist disappearance. Furthermore, research is a significant space of resistance in which to establish a ‘place’ within which to speak. The role of scholars and intellectuals in this matter has been discussed in revolutionary texts by writers such as Gramsci (1971) and Fanon (1963, 1968), and in feminist and Indigenous literature, where the role of researchers committed to producing knowledge that documents social injustice and recovers suppressed knowledge is to help create spaces for the silenced voices to be expressed and listened to. This contributes to challenging racism, colonialism and oppression (Smith, L.T., 2013). Thus, the power of research and researchers to legitimise or deny knowledge should be explicitly recognised. During most of Israel’s history, Israeli social sciences were perceived to be an integral part of the state-building process (Haidar, 1987). The

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production of knowledge was directed at and coupled with the hegemonic political and ideological discourse in Israel, which played an essential role in justifying the establishment of Israel on the remains of the Palestinian society (Kimmerling and Migdal, 2003; Pappe, 2006). My academic studies at Israeli universities, exposed me to the oppressive power of this ‘politicised knowledge’, for example, when my professor asked me to write about how the Zionist movement was the best thing that happened to the Palestinians. Referring to the modern Zionist project, as ‘Blooming the Desert’ was the correct answer that should be written to pass. This was the denial of my existence as a Palestinian. Knowledge production in Israel, in accordance with modernisation theory, is only one side of the coin. For me, like many Palestinians in Israel, I witnessed another kind of knowledge that emerged outside of institutionalised academia. Various modes of textual expressions, such as stories, poetry and songs were the counterknowledge that reshaped my political consciousness. The struggles of daily life constructed, negotiated and pushed my borders all the time and the idealistic pictures in textbooks were grey in reality: public transportation, workplaces and every contact reflected the power relations in Israel. This situation, to use academic jargon, reflected colonialism in practice. Singleton and Straits (2010) identify that one of the core elements for choosing a research topic lies in the personal values of the researcher, which in turn reflects his or her sense of commitment and interest. For this reason, the decision to study my own context had its roots in my individual and collective identity as a member of an indigenous, marginalised and oppressed group, as a Palestinian citizen in Israel, and as an activist. Because research with Palestinians in Israel in general has aimed at keeping them silent and in accord with modernisation theories, there is an urgent need to conduct independent and open research. A need to create a free space to think, criticise and construct ideas. Even more importantly, at the personal level, it is an opportunity to face up to internal censorship, as someone who belongs to the oppressed group, that had developed during my thirty-three years of living in Israel. By doing this, I acknowledge the legitimacy of a revolt against Israeli academic hegemony and personal suppression. My field research was an eye-opening and mind-broadening experience, not only regarding its content but also regarding the power of the ‘self’ as a space of research. In this case, the researcher occupied two categories, first, as an instrument for providing

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actual, real and genuine knowledge, and second negotiating this knowledge, asking questions, taking things outside of the comfort zone and exploring hidden corners. Being an insider or local researcher has a remarkable advantage; it enhances the ability to identify marginalised, subjugated and silenced views in oppressive contexts; whereby speaking and writing are hidden or encapsulated.

Indigenous Researcher in Conflictual Context: Cons and Pros Being part of the research context has both advantages and disadvantages. A significant advantage of being an insider or local researcher is the ability to possess information such as knowledge of the local language and cultural symbols and values. In a conflict context, power structures constantly reshape the use of language, in the form of specific expressions that are used to signify words or names. Being a local researcher who lived in the context for many years allowed me to understand the hidden meanings behind words such as Jamaa, (Arabic for ‘group’), Khawaja (Turkish for ‘others’ or ‘strangers’), and Awlad amna (Arabic for ‘our cousins’). These words have hidden meanings only familiar to members of the Palestinian community. They are used mainly to describe Jewish people and authorities. Another point that should be emphasised is to avoid the use of leaders’ names, to protect those affiliated to or supporting a specific leader, especially if the leader is on the Israeli blacklist, such as Hasan Nasrallah who is described in the interviews as ‘the Sheck from the North’. In addition to the capacity of reading the context, language has a significant place in studying specific topics. It is not simply knowing Arabic. Rather, it is being able to differentiate types of Arabic, which represent and expose hidden links. There are many accents in Arabic which denote geographical origins, such as differences between cities and villages, and the north, centre and south of the country. These differences are more evident in slang expressions. Having a general knowledge of the language is not sufficient. To access in-depth information and internal power structures that could contribute to constructing genuine knowledge, it is also essential to speak the language ‘culturally’ and politically.

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In contexts of conflict, pre-knowledge, including the ability to identify a risky situation that should be avoided, is essential. I met all the interviewees in safe areas that had been chosen by them, yet, the volume of their voices would noticeably drop while they were speaking about issues that they judged sensitive in terms of security. Furthermore, pre-knowledge, as a result of being familiar with the context, supported my decision to adopt constructivist grounded theory, where the researcher is not ‘tabula rasa’, and can see beyond the words. Also, in the case of my study on Palestinian activists, being an insider researcher and also an activist increased the level of awareness and sensitivity towards the dynamics of the political and social context, and this contributed to the process of exploration by reaching deeper levels. At the same time, prior knowledge and understanding can also be viewed as a disadvantage or a limitation in that it may trap the researcher in his or her assumptions, and this can prevent the researcher from approaching the research with fresh eyes and ideas. Thus, new insights concerning what is still hidden from understanding, cannot always be gained. In the case of Israel, which is characterised as a society in which change and uncertainty are the norms, this obstacle should be approached from another angle by asking the question of what happens to a researcher who is part of his or her field of study in a dynamic, diverse and unstable context. In such a case, Kacen and Chaitin (2006) assume that the researcher will experience the same changes, at least to some degree, that face the research participants. While I was conducting the field research, the Israeli authorities began mass arrests of activists who were members of one of the active political parties within the Palestinian community in Israel. As a result, some participants who were supposed to take part in this research decided not to participate. Others, who chose to participate in the study, despite the political circumstances, were sceptical and stuck in their interviews to general slogans, avoiding breaking these down into details. In addition to that and as an activist, I argue that an Indigenous researcher can challenge his or her own context, escaping what outsider research view as cultural sensitivity. In the case of research on the Middle East, I escaped the accusation often directed at outsider researchers of being an ‘orientalist’. If I challenged taboos it was seen to be more legitimate in the eyes of the locals. Sometimes, just since it was being written by ‘one of them’. Another complexity that should be acknowledged is the potential that because of the researcher position as an ‘insider’, the interviewees may

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have, even unconsciously adopted self-censorship in order to give an account that they perceive as being socially and politically desirable among the community. To avoid this situation, trust building and conducting interviews face to face are essential. Seeing and knowing the person who is going to embrace their words in a theory, is fundamental for creating a sense of trust, particularly in a conflictual context. I found it very helpful to indicate to the participants that everything they were saying was necessary, and this encouraged them to be more open regarding the information they were providing. A further important factor that seemed to be very significant for creating honest and free communication arose when I introduced my research at the beginning of each interview was the fact that this study was being conducted in New Zealand and not Israel. The activists felt more secure and were more motivated to share their knowledge without feeling intimidated, and with less censorship towards the Israeli and the Palestinian power structures. Even further, some of them regarded this interview as part of their activism, to place their narrative and opinions in academic research. Another decisive advantage of researching my own context is the enormous capability of being able to understand and to be sensitive when participants shared their fears, confusions and emotions. At the end of the day, I was listening to people’s stories and experiences, something that did not prevent some participants from breaking down emotionally during the interview. Researching unstable and conflictual areas means working in a risky environment that can put the researcher in physical danger. Lee (1992) and Creswell (2002) have noted that qualitative research is enhanced by undertaking ‘prolonged engagement’ in the field. Working in a risky location may harm this engagement and turn it into a difficult, if not impossible, mission, particularly if the researcher feels in danger (Daniel, 1996). This challenge should be taken into consideration for both insider and outsider researchers. However, in the case of the present study, being an insider researcher who has been engaged in and part of real life in Israel, has formed the basis of my field research, and seemed to provide a satisfactory answer to this challenge. First, being an insider researcher enhanced the sense of confidence because of the pre-information or field knowledge that allows him or her to identify risky situations. Second, it enhances the consideration of selfknowledge and personal experiences as raw data for research. This leads to the notion of the researcher as an instrument. As Rossman and Rallis (1998, p. 38) have noted, the biography of the researcher shapes the

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research project in many ways, and it is through the biography that the researcher ‘makes sense of the setting and how the people she studies make sense to her’. Gergen and Gergen (2003), in their discussion of the significant role of the relational aspect in postmodern qualitative research, point out that there is always a relationship between the researcher and the participants, the researcher and his or her audience, and the researcher and society. In other words, the qualitative researcher cannot be a ‘tabula rasa’; as Holloway (2015) states, researchers choose their research topics out of interest and sometimes out of commitment. In my case, I was attached to Holloway’s view, which opened the door for me to contribute to efforts to make an academic contribution to real life, something that could remove academia from its ivory tower, and at the same time, contribute to a common platform for theoreticians and practitioners. Padgett (1998) draws our attention to the ability of the researcher as an instrument to demonstrate creativity. Yet, there is an initial need for the researcher to maintain distance and manage his or her emotions, in addition to the ability of being flexible and reflexive, or ‘going with the flow’ (Padgett, 1998, p. 41). However, because of the emotional involvement that results from engagement in the field research, Padgett notes that this is not an easy mission. He suggests that we ‘practice bracketing’ (ibid.), meaning to put aside our previous understanding and emotions to allow for the flow of new emotions and interpretations of the topic under research (Kacen and Chaitin, 2006). In other words, Padgett’s suggestion can pave the way for constructing a new engagement that can enhance the insider researcher’s experience of discovering new hidden links. While I have focused on the difficulties that the insider or local researcher faces in researching his or her conflictual backyard, Kacen and Chaitin (2006) believe that it is also essential to acknowledge the positivity of change and conflict in understanding changing and transforming processes and their impact on individuals and societies. Thus, a researcher who is in the middle of such action may have a lot to offer not only to his or her local society and to other audiences from other places, but also to the researcher’s identity and his or her position within the society and within the research area. An Indigenous researcher, therefore, has the ability to provide an insider’s view of reality (ibid.), something that can increase the degree of authentic knowledge and which emphasises the value of honesty in research.

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Feasibility is also recognised as a significant element in research design (Marshall and Rossman, 2014). Thus, situating the study in the researcher’s country enabled spending a significant amount of time in the field due to the free accommodation and familiarity with the location, especially in unstable contexts. It also allowed the researcher to use personal networks to identify and contact research participants. Knowing the languages of the location, both Arabic and Hebrew, in addition to the mentality and the actual context, creating a sense of trust and a high level of mutual understanding between the researcher and the participants, and all these elements motivated the participants to take part in the research. This trust is very important, particularly when it comes to activists who live under the authority of Israeli law. On the other hand, this grassroots knowledge helped the researcher to ask deep, complex and sensitive questions, which led to the developing of further questions. Field research was chosen as the methodological approach because I believe it is the most appropriate method for conducting both resistant research, and research on resistance. It allows ‘disobedient’ researchers, who try to challenge the existing theories of knowledge to conduct a study using different methods which allow marginalised and oppressed groups to have a voice and input into the research carried out on them. Thus, it is very important to present the significant role of an Indigenous researcher, not only for the research process but also for building trust between the target group and the academic institution which ‘played a very significant role in upholding Western intellectual superiority’ (Anthony, 2001, p. 222), when the disciplines of Western knowledge were used as a platform for dismissing or denying the existence of Indigenous knowledge.

Indigenising Peace and Conflict Research Recent theoretical contributions to the field of conflict have demonstrated the centrality of reconciliation as a theoretical and moral framework for the understanding of protracted and ongoing conflicts, particularly those related to settler-colonial movements and indigenous people (Kymlicka and Bashir, 2008), and this is applicable to the Palestinians in Israel. Reconciliation, in this sense, invites the powerless to speak in order to seek satisfying results, and in this way, acknowledge the importance of the powerless in reaching a stable and just peace. Yet, the main question is how we can do it practically in research?

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In addition to the critical place of the Indigenous researcher, I reached to the conclusion that indigenising Peace and Conflict Studies require indigenising methodology. These two conditions would contribute tremendously to decolonising, and de-systematising configures of power in Peace and Conflict Studies—by giving power to the oppressed and by challenging conservative approaches of solving and managing conflicts. To ensure an indigenising process in research, I believe that researchers must choose a research paradigm that reflects their beliefs about the nature of reality, since ‘subjecting such beliefs to an ontological interrogation… will illuminate the epistemological and methodological possibilities that are available’ (Mills et al., 2006, p. 2). Believing that we are all influenced by our history, existing power structures and cultural context, which shape our awareness and determine the way we view the world and understand the meaning of truth, I found myself attracted to constructivism as a research paradigm that questions the existence of a separate objective reality. Instead, ‘realities are social constructions of the mind, and that there exist as many such constructions as there are individuals’ (Guba and Lincoln, 1989, p. 8). Denying the existence of an objective reality presumes a relativist ontological position (Guba and Lincoln, 1994). Epistemologically, constructivism stresses the subjective interrelationship between the researcher and the participant, and the construction of meaning (Hayes and Oppenheim, 1997; Pidgeon and Henwood, 1997). Researchers become part of the research rather than remain purely objective observers. Their viewpoints should be acknowledged as an inescapable component of the research outcomes (Appleton and King, 1997; Guba and Lincoln, 1989). In other words, this approach introduces a broader picture of the phenomenon under study. This is very helpful in bringing readers close to the research, particularly in dynamic, changing contexts such as Israel, and for those who are not familiar with the topic, by making the reader aware of the different elements which are an integral part of the research phenomenon to be studied. This involves a sensitive balancing act that demands from the researcher attention to details and using participants’ accounts to ensure a degree of visibility in the text so that the connections between analytical findings and the data from which they are derived is more transparent and logical (Fossey et al., 2002; Jones, 2002). Making such connections clear emphasises the vital role of the researcher as a contributor to the reconstruction of the final grounded

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theory model. Thus, a local researcher can have significant input in viewing and determining these connections. Localism, in this sense, not only means geographical context but is also part of the phenomenon under study, which in this case, seems to be beneficial in recognising complexities. Being an insider researcher can also be a double-edged sword that might detract from the ability to identify connections which seem to be not important for understanding the researched phenomena. To solve this complexity, the researcher must be aware of his or her ethical obligations to ‘describe the experiences of others in the most faithful way possible’ (Munhall, 2001, p. 540). Since my personal philosophical stance informs the significant active role of the researcher and suits the background of a local and engaged researcher, the constructivist-interpretative paradigm which assumes a relativist ontology (many possible realities), a subjectivist epistemology (understandings are constructed by the researcher and research participant) and naturalistic (non-experimental) methodologies (Denzin and Lincoln, 2013, pp. 26–27), supports adopting constructivist grounded theory as the most appropriate methodology for indigenising research. The advantage of constructivist grounded theory is its ability to make meaning from the data, and translate participants’ experiences into readable theoretical interpretations. This methodology also promotes grassroots knowledge, which can, in turn, generate new ideas and theories.

Conclusion I view my life in Israel as a ‘border’. Being a border, in my understanding, goes beyond geographical and territorial separation. It is the acknowledgement of the ‘self’ as an independent space. It is also the way that I understand my existence while observing, witnessing and being part of a trapped reality. Living in an ongoing oppressed and conflictual context highlights the significant role of an Indigenous and activist researcher in conducting research, from logistics and approaching participants, exploring ‘hidden’ oppressed structures, and building a sense of trust and empathy that enhances the cooperation of the participant. This is not to underestimate the ‘outsider’ as a researcher; instead, our attention is drawn to the potential contribution of Indigenous researchers to enriching the field of Peace and Conflict Studies and releasing it from the stain of ‘system collaborator’ (Jackson, 2015, p. 21). Therefore, ignoring the essential role of the

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Indigenous researcher leads to the maintenance of approaches that have dominated Peace and Conflict Studies hampering efforts to dismantle oppressive power structures. As a Palestinian, the concept of ‘peace’ has a negative connotation of accepting an obedient position, when the Israeli occupation, in reality, continues to control Palestinians’ lives and territory, using the cover of ‘protecting the peace’. More than this, the peace process is viewed as an ‘American-Israeli conspiracy’ that aims to break the resistance spirit of the Palestinian people and get them to accept the position of oppression and obedience, demanding from the Palestinians an obligation to keep silent. Indigenising Peace and Conflict Studies creates a space to explore meanings of narratives through the eyes of those who are not in power. Those who see things from a different angle, not through the lens of the dominant one. Taking into consideration the place of the indigenous researcher, particularly in conflictual contexts, such as the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, challenges crucial gaps in the field of Peace and Conflict Studies, such as approaching peace in a ‘technical’ way, adopting a problem-solving approach, and believing that a prolonged conflict can be solved when leaders sign a peace agreement. Finally, to end this chapter, I view indigeneity beyond the historical heritage of culture, authentic food, exotic colours and lifestyles. In this sense, indigeneity means a research approach that should be recognised to bring values of justice in our journey after researching the ‘truth’.

References Anthony David, Smith. Nationalism: Theory, Ideology, History. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2001. Appleton, Jane., and Lindy King. “Constructivism: A Naturalistic Methodology for Nursing Inquiry.” Advances in Nursing Sciences 20, no. 2 (1997): 13–22. Creswell, John W. Educational Research: Planning, Conducting, and Evaluating Quantitative. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2002. Daniel, John S. Mega-Universities and Knowledge Media: Technology strategies for Higher Education. London: Kogan Page, 1996. Denzin, Norman., and Yvonna Lincoln. “Introduction: The Discipline and Practice of Qualitaitve Research.” In The Landscape of Qualititve Research (4 th ed), edited by Denzin and Loncoln, 1–42. California: Sage, 2013. Fossey, Ellie, Carol Harvey, Fiona McDermott, and Larry Davidson. “Understanding and Evaluating Qualitative Research.” Australian and New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry 36 (2002): 717–32.

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Fanon, Franz. Black Skin, White Masks. Translated by Charles Lam Markmann, New York: Grove Press, 1968. Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. Translated by Constance Farrington, New York: Grove Press, 1963. Gergen, Kenneth J., and Mary Gergen, eds. Social Construction: A Reader. London: Sage, 2003. Gramsci, Antonio. Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, Edited and Translated by Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith. New York: International Publishers, 1971. Guba, Egon, and Yvonna Lincoln. Fourth Generation Evaluation. London: Sage, 1989. Guba, Egon, and Yvonna Lincoln. “Competing Paradigms in Qualitative Research.” In Handbook of Qualitative Research, edited by N. Denzin and Y. Lincoln, 105–117. London: Sage, 1994. Haidar, Aziz. “The Palestinians in Israeli Social Science Writings.” Near East Cultural and Educational Foundation of Canada; Washington, DC: International Centre for Research and Public Policy, no. 9, 1987. Hayes, Richard, and Ramona Oppenheim. “Constructivism: Reality Is What You Make It.” In Constructivist Thinking in Counseling Practice, Research and Training, edited by T. Sexton and B. Griffin, 19–41. New York: Teacher Collage Press, 1997. Holloway, J. “Resistance Studies: A Note, a Hope.” Journal of Resistance Studies 1, no. 1 (2015): 12–17. Jackson, Richard. “How Resistance Can Save Peace Studies.” Journal of Resistance Studies 1, no. 1 (2015): 18–49. Jones, Susan. “(Re)writing the Word: Methodological Strategies and Issues in Qualitative Research.” Journal of College Student Development 43, no. 4 (2002): 461–473. Kacen, Lea, and Julia Chaitin. “The Times They are a Changing: Undertaking Qualitative Research in Ambiguous, Conflictual, and Changing Contexts.” The Qualitative Report 11, no. 2 (2006): 209–228. Kimmerling, Baruch, and J. S. Migdal. The Palestinian People. A History. Cambridge, MA; London: Harvard University Press, 2003. Kymlicka, Will, and Bashir Bashir, eds. The Politics of Reconciliation in Multicultural Societies. Oxford, UK; New York: Oxford University Press, USA, 2008. Lee, SK Jean. “Quantitative versus Qualitative Research Methods—Two Approaches to Organisation Studies.” Asia Pacific Journal of Management 9, no. 1 (1992): 87–94. Marshall, Catherine, and Gretchen.B Rossman. Designing Qualitative Research. New York: Sage, 2014.

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Mills, Jane, Ann Bonner, and Karen Francis. “Adopting a Constructivist Approach to Grounded Theory: Implications for Research Design.” International journal of nursing practice 12, no. 1 (2006): 8–13. Munhall, P. “Ethical Considerations in Qualitative Research.” In Nursing Reserach: A Qualitatuve Perspective, edited by P. Munhall, 537–549. Sudbury, MA: Jones and Bartlett, 2001. Padgett, Deborah K. “Does the Glove Really Fit? Qualitative Research and Clinical Social Work Practice.” Social Work 43, no. 4 (1998): 373–381. Pidgeon, N., and K. Henwood. “Using Grounded Theory in Psychological Research.” In Doing Qualitative Analysis in Psychology, edited by N Hayes, 245–273. Hove, UK: Psychology Press, 1997. Pappe, Ilan. The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine. Oxford: Oneworld Publications Limited, 2006. Rossman, Gretchen B., and Sharon F. Rallis. Learning in the Field: An Introduction to Qualitative Research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1998. Singleton, Royce A., Jr., and Bruce C. Straits. Approaches to Social Research, 5th ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010 Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. Zed Books Ltd., 2013.

CHAPTER 6

Liming and Ole Talk: A Site of Negotiation, Contestation and Relationships Camille Nakhid

Introduction In a country with many different ethnicities , religions, histories, cultures and festivals , Trinidad and Tobago is home to a diversity of ideas, behaviours, beliefs and values. The people of Trinidad and Tobago are known for celebrating each other’s festivals, eating one another’s food, and marrying across religious, cultural and ethnic lines. These factors typically have not been an obstacle to the socialization that occurs among the residents of the country . Xenophobia, however, features prominently about six months prior to the national elections, and there are rabid and bitter displays of all that is worse about the country during this time. The ideologies and practices of colonialism, slavery and migration had lier combined to shape culture and cultural practices (Collier et al., 2011).

C. Nakhid (B) School of Social Sciences and Public Policy, Auckland University of Technology, Auckland, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_6

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Classism and colourism, usually the predictors of whom one marries and with whom one associates, are more insidious than ethnocentrism but take a back seat during election time in favour of the racially prejudiced attitudes of those from mainly Indian and African heritage but also including other ethnic groups. These voices, though few, are loud, and echo violently across the land. The voices dissipate soon, if not immediately, after the elections are over, and classism and colourism are restored as the principal reasons for discrimination, and the citizens of Trinidad and Tobago return to their pelau1 and callaloo.2 Race divisions exist between Trinidadians of African, Indian, and European ancestry though religion and class have made these divisions less absolute. The stereotypes given to each of these groups contribute to how we rationalize the divisions (Deosaran, 1987). In Trinidad and Tobago, while culture and ethnic identity may be sources of conflict, we need to consider other intersectional identities such as gender, class, religion and place of residence (LeBaron, 2003; Avruch, 1998). How do suchbitter rivalries among our most populous communities during elections fade without any seemingly lasting impact, no different perhaps from the impact of a policy change by the government? Minor amendments to our festivals or holidays are likely to reverberate far longer throughout the nation. However, the offensive vitriol that emanated from the mouths of our folk is remembered, not because of an intent to hold these words against the speakers or to seek revenge or retaliation, but because they become immortalized in our ole talk and limes. During one or other of the ubiquitous limes that would have occurred anywhere in the country following the particularly contentious and xenophobically framed Trinidad and Tobago 2020 election, the topic of politics would have likely come up, and the ole talk about what took place during that time would have begun. As the year was also impacted by the COVID 19 pandemic, ole talkers would have attempted to relate the two events to craft a story unique to the storyteller. At each lime, we would have heard many different interpretations of the event, and the ole talk would have been in the third person so that whatever xenophobic and racially prejudiced statements or actions took place could not be attributed to the ole talker as ‘dey jus tellin you what happen’.

1 A Trinidadian/Caribbean dish made with rice, peas and meat. 2 A traditional Trinidadian dish made with dasheen/taro leaves.

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Liming and Ole Talk Liming can be a spontaneous , informal gathering of people to talk and to perhaps eat and drink, or an arranged get together with food and drink where the host expects that invited limers (persons who lime) might be accompanied by other guests. Liming is an activity focused on relaxation where limers can speak freely about their experiences or where they might renew relationships . Ole talk can take place at any time in any setting though it is suited to the flexible , unstructured nature of a lime. In ole talk, ole talkers go between different topics asking and answering questions, absent of a hierarchical structure, and intent on understanding the lives and perspectives of their fellow limers (Fernández Santana et al., 2019; Nakhid-Chatoor et al., 2018). Liming and ole talk have forever been a site of negotiation, contestation and relationships in Trinidad and Tobago. Liming is a result of the cultural tapestry that formed Trinidad and Tobago. Although there are no formal or written rules around how a lime should be conducted, there is an expected observance of the protocols and behaviours that we inherently know ‘when we come to lime’. Authors wanting to associate liming simplistically with having a good time, and limited to being just a social activity, do so because of their lack of understanding of what it entails, or because they would prefer that it remain at a reductionist level so as not to reveal their own level of understanding. Clarke and Charles (2012, p. 304) observe that liming ‘transcends gender, class, social, ethnic , religious and regional boundaries’. Though some authors have attempted to marginalize liming by associating it solely with low-income groups and those of predominantly African heritage, these have primarily been non-locals trying to understand a culture and a place without being steeped in its ancestry , traditions or worldviews. For the rest of us, liming is as complex as it is simple. We know what it can do and what it cannot. There is no pretense at making the lime more than it is or limiting it to what we understand it to be. Any attempt at such pretense will easily be recognized and ridiculed. Liming expands to fit the needs and the function desired by the limers. Ole talk usually takes place in a lime though it can occur outside of one (Nakhid-Chatoor et al., 2018). It is more than idle conversation. It can be filled with humour or used to discuss events or to inform of the latest happenings. Ole talk allows for the gathering and sharing of knowledge in

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a manner that helps us better understand our world and the world around us in ways that are familiar to us (Nakhid et al., 2019). The potential of liming as a site of negotiation or a cathartic strategy speaks to the nature and value of a lime. As Caribbean Islanders, we ought to value rather than minimize this cultural interaction and localized form of communication because it is ours to use. In liming, there is a set of factors that mitigate against conflict as well as those that are likely to aggravate emotions and tensions. This chapter looks at liming as a site of negotiation , contestation and relationships. The historical and cultural factors that enable these processes, and the characteristics of liming and ole talk that lend themselves to conflict resolution , are discussed. First, research on liming and ole talk, carried out by the author, is used to illustrate the different negotiated interactions and relationships that can take place in a lime.

The Limes Brooklyn Lime, New York—Caribbean Islanders During this lime in a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, the limers arrive at different times. They introduce themselves to one another without the host needing to do so. There is no prayer said before the food is eaten. The limers ole talk while they eat, as people help themselves to the food and catch up with one other. Separate conversations take place independent of the main ole talk. This is an all-female lime with Caribbean people from different Caribbean islands . The women are fashionably dressed but this is not unusual for Caribbean Islanders . There was a lively discussion taking place about whether a lime was a gendered space, and several of the limers held firm views on the subject. Depend on the situation. Sometimes you just want space ( from your husband or boyfriend or girlfriend). But what I notice about West Indian men, they hardly hang anywhere with their females . Caribbean men doh like going out with their women.

An ole talker referred to a situation where men and women were together playing Dominoes. This was questioned by one of the limers who was surprised that such an event would happen: ‘How long ago was that ?’ The speaker insisted that ‘in her day’ that is what happened. The woman suggested that maybe it was generational because she sees limes now as

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a more segregated and gendered space. Another limer said that whether or not a lime became gendered depended on the event and the type of interactions that took place. One of the limers wondered if there were times when men and women did lime together. There was general agreement about that, for example, at family events though that would ‘be an entirely different conversation’. The discussion was not resolved but the ole talkers found a point on which they could all agree. The ole talk then turned to the differences between liming and hanging out. The energy to debate and dialogue was assisted by the food and drink which were plentiful. The ole talkers noted that a lime is ‘functional, comfortable, relaxed, happy, conversations where not everyone is going to agree’ and there ‘might be a little tension without anger’. The expectation that there may be tense moments and disagreements is part of a lime and limers come prepared for that. Though there may be times, as a limer pointed out, where if the matter looked unlikely to be resolved or that the lime was going to ‘turn sour, a limer might say “you know what, I think I need to go home” and dey jus go. But that is okay too’. New Jersey lime—Caribbean Islanders Wine is served as the host waits to show off the different fruit wines he has, including a pineapple wine. A variety of Caribbean drinks are offered, and it is suggested that alcohol should be added to the sorrel. A prayer is said before the food is served as ‘everybody hungry’. Ole talk centres on what makes a ‘real corn soup’—whether it is cornmeal dumplings or plain flour dumplings. Limers serve themselves although the hosts ensure that late arrivals are seated and fed. The eating of food seemed to play many roles—to ease tension, to provide breaks in the ole talk or to serve as a resting period during times of silence, either more widely as a group or for an individual wanting some distance from the lime while still being part of it. Communication was very pronounced in the way that the limers looked at the speaker while simultaneously guiding the food into their mouths—the tilt of the head; the deliberate pausing of the spoon near the mouth; the resting of the spoon on the bowl while still holding on to the spoon; the concentrated pretence on the food perhaps to avoid saying something that would provoke an argument; the way in which the mouth was wiped with the napkin. These were all behaviours familiar to the limers and which the main speaker would have recognized, and would have known what each

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gesture meant or what the limer was trying to convey without verbally interrupting. The ability to speak without words is learnt and passed on through the cultural practice of liming. An argument arose about how particular values held by Trinidad and Tobago society impacted on people’s opportunities and made Caribbean Islanders want to leave the region for the US. One of the limers suggested that it was because of the perception of the US as a wealthy country that held opportunities for Caribbean Islanders. Another limer spoke about his ability to work online as a person residing in the US, something that he may not have been able to do living in the Caribbean. The ole talk turned towards the disloyalty of Trinbagonians to local people and products. The discussion started when one of the limers mentioned a book that had been written by a Canadian woman about Trinbagonian dialect and words. ‘We will wait until someone come over and say “shining bush tea is good because”, and if it is a foreigner, they will say “great”, they will take it off the bat. But if it is ah local bush lady who will tell yuh “you should use shining bush tea”, we respond with “you is not a doctor?” ‘In our value system, when it come to local stuff, we move away from Eric Williams (former Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago) when he was pushing “buy local”. All yuh remember “buy local”? All yuh remember Best Village? And all yuh remember when you use to feel de pride comin up inside yuh when one village went up against de other? Siparia versus Barataria? But we have moved away from that sense of self. We have a poor sense of self and that is why other people are valued more than ourselves ’. It is common for another lime to take place away from the main area. This breakaway lime can be just as vocal and may cause the main ole talk to cease as the limers’ attention is directed towards it. A lime generally goes quiet when a limer speaks to personal and emotional experiences, or if the points being made are unique or new to the rest of the limers. Empathy is displayed by the rest of the limers during emotional moments as they nod their heads knowingly or respond with expressions of ‘eh eh’ or ‘eh heh’, or by their many questions which indicate their interest in the new knowledge that is shared. River Lime, Arima, Trinidad and Tobago The lime is on the bank of a river. Verbal consent to record the lime is given by the limers. Those under 16 years of age who are present do not take part in the ole talk as ethics approval does not cover them. One young

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woman that I am looking at questioningly looks around at the other limers and says ‘I lookin like I under 16?’ Everyone laughs. She is in her midtwenties. The limers seem hesitant at first and decline my offer to sit on the benches. It looks as though they want to be able to walk away if the ole talk holds no interest for them. I also remain standing so that I am at eye level with most of the limers. Some children sit on women’s laps, others wander in and out asking for their plates to be filled or refilled. The concreted area on the riverbank where the lime is being held provides shelter, seating and a cooking area. A ‘cook off’ is also taking place at the lime. People walk back and forth to check on the cooking and the children. There are over 40 people. As the limers discussed the essentials of food and alcohol to a lime, those taking part in the ole talk with me were all seated. A person in his late 40’s lamented that a new addition to a lime was the mobile phone. He said, ‘A lot ah people come on ah lime an three-quarter ah de time dey talkin away on dey phone. And dey come on ah lime?’ The speaker was quite a large man who agilely used his arms, hands and head to emphasize his points. Although the rest of the limers were women in their 20’s and 30’s, the man’s presence did not appear to dominate. When the women wanted to interrupt the man as he spoke, they simply did, and spoke simultaneously with him, talked over him, or talked him out into silence. This was not done disrespectfully, and the man showed no ill will or resentment when this occurred. Limers know that everyone must be given the opportunity to speak and to do so without intent at bitterness or offense. The man was also aware that no offense was meant and did not seem offended by the interruption. Structured and organized turn taking is not a natural or common feature of a lime. If a limer surmises that their views have not been heard, aired or supported, they will make several attempts to get their arguments across until one or other of the limers might respond with a laugh, ‘hush yuh mouth nuh’ or ‘we done hear yuh’. Usually this works to let the speaker know that they have been heard and it is time to move on. Humour typically accompanies such remarks so that the situation remains cordial. A very loud and lengthy debate began when one limer put forward that one should never talk about politics in a lime, ‘when some people limin, dey could make it serious and want to talk about politics. When dey talk about politics, dat does mash up a lime’. This prompted the male limer to analyse the behaviours of the country’s politicians and their propensity to ‘steal yuh money’. The limer who had argued that politics did not belong in a lime spoke about the levels of education in Trinidad and Tobago. She

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said that education was not working for the poorer working class because of the way it was structured, and thus the youth in this sector of society resorted to selling drugs to get money. The male limer responded that these were not the people responsible for the drug problem in Trinidad and Tobago but ‘de people who have de education and de money who running de drug show’. The woman responded that the children of these people were not affected by the drugs and that there were no drug dealers walking around those neighbourhoods; therefore education was needed to let the poorer citizens know about the risks of becoming involved in drugs, and that there were other alternatives. The male limer rubbed his belly in agreement and as a response. The other limers sensed that there was nothing they could add to the conversation and indicated their agreement by nodding their heads. It was also an acknowledgement that the two speakers had valid even if initially opposing views which eventually converged to them both wanting the same outcomes for the poorer youth in the country. The male limer was obviously a performative polemicist and used to holding the floor. However, he was also aware that he needed to concede space if he wanted to be listened to and to be respected for his views. Someone called out ‘food ready’, and everyone knew that the ‘ole talk done for now’. Liming helps us move forward. Existing problems and issues or rising tempers can always be placated by someone saying ‘leh we lime an talk bout it nuh?’. It is difficult for even the most disgruntled to resist the opportunity to eat and drink with the expectation that there will be plenty of humour. Responding to the invitation to lime affirms that the limers with whom the issues prevail will be willing to negotiate and restore any broken relationships. Declining the invitation or simply not showing up indicates that the limer is not ready or willing to resolve the issue and that the lime would have been a ‘sour’ lime. In that case, all those concerned would have agreed that the option to decline the invitation was the correct one. A lime then, is not only a site of negotiation , contestation and relationships but indicates an approach to conflict resolution and the willingness on the part of limers to enter into ole talk and discussions with the aim of moving forward. Even if matters are not resolved at that lime, the disputing limers have met and may decide that they could meet for another lime when ‘de time right ’.

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Processes and Characteristics of a Lime The term liming, though originating in Trinidad and Tobago, has made its way around the Caribbean region, adapting to the specific cultural mores of each of the Caribbean islands and translated into the language appropriate to the Spanish, French and Dutch speaking descendants in the Caribbean, and among the Caribbean diaspora in many countries around the world (Nakhid & Farrugia, 2021). Liming as an activity and a concept illustrates the multiculturalism of the twin islands while linking the other island nations through its familiar practice. Liming does not require people to know each other prior to meeting as the fundamentals of liming are standard and known, though the processes and characteristics of a lime may vary between each lime (Fernández Santana et al., 2019). In a lime, people get to know each other and about one another. Generally, there is no obligation to take part in a lime nor is confirmation of attendance necessary. Limers can also bring guests with them without notifying the other limers or the hosts. There is also no set time to make an appearance or to leave. Late arrivals are usually introduced if they are new to the other limers but the conversations that might be taking place continue and the late comers may be brought up to speed with the ole talk if they wish. Although there are known and natural orators, liming does not inhibit other limers from taking charge of the conversations or challenging and questioning the main speaker. Food, drink and music act as ‘sensory memories’ for those Caribbean people away from the region or even their home nation (Fernandez, 2020). There is always enough food even for those ‘unexpected’ limers and most often people bring food and drinks to ‘put on the table’. Food seemed to ease the process of sharing and debating knowledge. While food was always appreciated and praised—at least in the presence of the host and other limers—this is not the case with music. Music choice and preference are always highly contested areas and many a DJ and host have had to deal with the criticisms of their playlists, most of it being good-natured posturing. Food, including drink, and music showed commonalities as well as differences and symbolized how limers dealt with more controversial topics. Humour is a significant feature of a lime. In situations where differences might lead to tension, the introduction of humour by the limers served to defuse the situation and give the limers an opportunity to step

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back or change direction. Although this may not have resolved the situation, it has maintained relationships , protected the wellbeing of the other limers, and respected the space provided by the hosts. Through humour, a contentious point can be made that is softened by the laughter to minimize the possibility for offence to be taken (Dalzell & Victor, 2014). Limers know that self-deprecating humour shows the speaker’s humility and an attempt to sustain relationships that were under threat of being broken. Humour is what facilitates the communication and helps to disentangle us from embarrassing situations in which we have found ourselves, whether this is a remark that we have made or an action that we may have taken (Anzaldúa, 1987). As Fernandez observes, the use of humour makes ‘the process of role negotiation’ easier and facilitates consensus (2020, p. 77). Given the diversity of the Caribbean region, the universal language of humour helps to turn conversations and tensions around (Henke, 2004). Though the nature of each lime depends on the dynamic of the limers, the type and amount of humour is gauged to reflect and accommodate this dynamic. Addressing Conflict in the Caribbean To address issues of conflict in Trinidad and Tobago today, we could take the same approach that Greene took in the 70s to understanding race. According to Greene (1974, p. 1), ‘We are not concerned with what anthropologists mean by race, but only with what people in Guyana think the word means when they encounter it in their daily lives’. Similarly, if we are to understand and resolve conflicts in Trinidad and Tobago, or by extension, in the Caribbean, we need to identify what we believe to be problematic for us and a threat to the harmony of our world from our views and perspectives, and to those with whom we come into contact. If we identify our own problems, then it is more likely that effective resolution strategies would come from our own ways of living, communicating and engaging. Former Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago, Honourable Eric Williams, who led the country to independence and then to becoming a republic, advocated for the country to claim its past and determine its political future (Collier et al., 2011). Trinidad and Tobago, despite being a well-resourced nation due to its natural gas and oil reserves still faces problems of drug trafficking, domestic violence, sex stereotyping and high unemployment rates for

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women. The way in which the country addresses these issues are influenced by the different colonial histories and the country’s ‘complex cultural identities’ (Collier et al., 2011, p. 141). Trinidad and Tobago and the Caribbean region have sought new ways to resolve disputes and have established a number of mediation centres aimed at learning and developing ways to manage conflict. Community mediators have been created as the region recognizes that ‘valid and relevant community experiences’ (Collier et al., 2011, p. 142) are necessary if we are to develop effective conflict resolution models. Burgeoning rates of crime , unemployment and domestic violence led to the establishing of the Mediation Centre and Family Court (Barrow, 1998). However, there is little research on how conflicts arise in Trinidad and Tobago or the methods employed to deal with communication and conflict management (Lazarus-Black, 2008). The hegemonic gender ideologies embedded within organizations such as the mediation centres and Family Court have made it difficult for the country’s Domestic Violence Act to be enforced. There is also the perception that domestic violence is a private matter and gender hierarchy is a natural phenomenon (Collier et al., 2011). Collier et al. (p. 145) argue that the historical contexts that gave birth to the unique diversity of the peoples of Trinidad and Tobago calls for ‘more nuanced approaches to understanding the relationships’ among the country’s residents. In a study on how respondents resolved conflicts, the authority and power of adults, professionals , parents and teachers were seen as having the potential to influence others thereby limiting the voices of younger persons (Collier et al., 2011). Respondents also identified a number of behaviours as well as nonverbal and verbal messages that they considered ‘wrong’ or ‘right’ depending on the situation. The respondents indicated that verbal and nonverbal messages carried important cues for understanding status in the relationships between each other. They described having to negotiate the dynamics of domination and oppression and their own personal relationships so that there was mutual respect and no one was advantaged over the other. Respondents noted that context was important in conflict resolution and was influenced by individualistic or collectivistic tendencies. It is known that all ‘Trinis lime’ regardless of age, race , gender , religion , ethnicity or socio-economic status though they may not have the same liming spot or necessarily lime with one another (McClish, 2016). McClish believes that a certain level of energy is required for a lime to

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be considered ‘sweet’. This is not always the case, however, as at times limers may have quiet reminiscences or thoughtful reflective lapses in their conversations, or are simply just relaxing. McClish (2016, p. 13) has identified some distinguishing characteristics in gendered limes and notes that male-only limes rely on a ‘competitive verbal ritual’ to affirm their equality with one another whereas this was less prominent in female-only limes where a more conversational style existed. Liming allows for communication , independence and freedom. Limers, through the act of liming, demonstrate their independence by engaging in social interactions in which they manage their own voice and freedom in contrast to the hierarchical manner of address and communication in their daily lives. There are a number of aspects central to a lime that make it an ideal site for negotiation. A lime offers the space to ‘let go’ of one’s fears, boredom, anxieties and to ‘free up’ oneself from anything that might bring a person’s mood down (McClish, 2016). A sweet lime is one where the limers get what they want, whether it is to feel invigorated, have a good time, rest and relax, be informed, or argue and gossip. The host is conscious of the importance of this and is aware that their reputation depends on ensuring that the lime meets the needs of the limers. Liming, according to Clarke and Charles (2012), creates social networks and relations and builds social capital. Strong networks based on family and friendships, and weak networks based on acquaintances ensure trustworthiness, social cohesion , collaboration and commitment . Reciprocity is a characteristic of strong social relations and helps to ensure that limers do not remain entrenched in their position as they give opportunity to other limers to have their concerns raised and addressed (Burt, 1997). The social capital arising from these social relations puts the responsibility for resolving conflicts on all limers present as there is little or no hierarchy or hierarchical structure . Liming allows for the confirmation of societal norms as well as the challenging of these norms, all the while intending to maintain social relations and trust. Liming enables the taking down of your ‘guard’ and trusting the safety of the lime and the limers. Alcohol is not the main reason behind a lowering of one’s guard but it does help in some ways to eliminate inhibitions around speaking. Liming, though regarded as an informal network (Clarke & Charles, 2012), does have a set of well-established procedures though one would not consider them to be formal processes. However, these established procedures assist in the facilitation of ideas, the negotiating of roles and

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responsibilities, and the resolving of conflicts. The expected norms of liming save time in explanations and add to its acceptance as a way of engaging in what may be controversial issues. Familiarity with the unwritten protocols and characteristics of a lime acts to unify the limers and facilitate cooperation as it places every limer on the same level with a similar understanding of how the lime will progress. Behaviours and opinions are openly voiced and are transparent to all limers. Bias through taking sides is frowned upon and lowers the tone and the willingness of the limers to continue with a particular topic or the lime itself. If the lime does turn sour, the host bears that responsibility along with the instigator, neither of whom will want to carry that reputation. It is often at this point that food acts as a mediator as it gives the limers time for self-reflection or to allow for emotional distance if needed.

Discussion Liming in its many forms and with its many formats, locations and reasons is used as a site and a strategy for ‘coping with adversity’ (Fernandez, 2020, p. 61). There is no expectation that a problem will be fully resolved at a lime, and other more minor issues may be discussed instead during a particularly contentious lime to help limers regain focus, dignity and place . Controversial issues may be returned to at some point in a lime but the context and environment will be carefully ascertained before this is attempted. Liming, as a site of negotiation , contestation and relationship, is underutilized as such. A practice that has been forged out of the cultural rainbow of histories, ethnicities and religions and so common to the lived experiences of Caribbean peoples encompasses much of what is needed to initiate negotiation, resolve conflict or restore relationships. For Caribbean people, many of whom are familiar with the practice of liming, their own forms of communication have similarities and national differences to those of liming and ole talk. The intended outcomes are the same—to share knowledge, to negotiate and to build and sustain relationships using the legacies of our histories and the creation arising from our diversity. Most conflict arises from a lack of or poor communication. Resolving conflict requires that we communicate, and the ways in which we communicate can contribute to resolving tensions and mediating sites of conflict. The more at ease we feel during our interactions, the more likely we are to cooperate. The less threatened we feel, the less likely we are to

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be defensive. In an environment where the protocols and processes of communication are a natural and understood way of how we talk ‘our bizness ’, we know we are engaging in our own created and accepted space. In Trinidad and Tobago , liming happens everywhere and is for everybody. Inherently, we have come to think of a lime as a place to relax, build relationships and find community. Within a lime, we are responsible for the wellbeing of one another, whether we use humour, food or drink to ensure this wellbeing. There is also the capacity of a lime to ‘turn sour’. This does not discredit liming as a site of negotiation but rather attests to the openness of a lime and the limers to allow tensions to arise and to be addressed. To employ what is natural in our world to address the issues we face and which brings us our sense of community and belonging is more likely to be effective, lasting and make those involved committed to working through contested and challenging spaces . Liming, with ole talk as a communicative form that embodies humour, knowledge, reprimand and connections, offers as much as we want it to offer and much more than what it is known to be. This cultural practice reminds us that our world, as problematic as it may seem at times, also provides us with the solutions we need and which are present in our own community and society.

References Anzaldúa, G. (1987). Borderlands/ La Frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books. Avruch, K. (1998). Culture and conflict resolution. Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace. Barrow, C. (1998). Introduction and overview. In C. Barrow (Ed.), Caribbean portraits: Essays on gender ideologies and identities (pp. xi–xxxviii). Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle Publishers. Burt, R. S. (1997). The contingent value of social capital. Administrative Science Quarterly, 42, 339–65. Clarke, R., & Charles, R. N. (2012). Caribbean liming: A metaphor for building social capital. International Journal of Cross Cultural Management, 12(3), 299–313. Collier, M. J., Parsons, R. J., Hadeed, L., & Nathaniel, K. A. (2011). Problematizing national dimensions: Community members’ views of conflict management in Trinidad and Tobago, West Indies. The Howard Journal of Communications, 22(2), 140–162.

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Dalzell, T., & Victor, T. (2014). The Concise New Partridge Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English. Routledge. Deosaran, R. (1987). Some issues in multiculturalism: the case of Trinidad & Tobago in the Post-Colonial Era. Caribbean Quarterly, 33(1–2), 61–80. Fernandez, A. (2020). Sharing our way: A study of Caribbean identity using liming as culturally affirming research methodology. A thesis submitted to Auckland University of Technology in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy (PhD), New Zealand. Fernández Santana, A., Nakhid, C., Nakhid-Chatoor, M., & Wilson, S. (2019). Liming and Ole Talk: Foundation for a culturally relevant Caribbean methodology. Caribbean Studies Journal, 47(1), 99–123. Greene, E. (1974). Race vs politics in Guyana. Institute of Social and Economic Research, University of the West Indies. Henke, H. (2004). Ariel’s ethos on the moral economy of Caribbean experience. Cultural Critique, 56, 33–63. Lazarus-Black, M. (2008). Vanishing complainants: The place of violence in family, gender, work and law. Caribbean Studies, 36(1), 25–51. LeBaron, M. (2003). Bridging cultural conflicts. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. McClish, C. L. (2016). Good liming in Trinidad: The art of doing something. Liminalities, 12(4), 1. Nakhid, C. & Farrugia, C. (2021). Affirming methodologies in two African diasporic contexts—The sharing of knowledge through liming and ole talk among Caribbean Islanders in Aotearoa New Zealand and the practice of sharing with Sydney-based Africans. Peabody Journal of Education, 96(2). Nakhid, C., Mosca, J. & Nakhid-Schuster, S. (2019) Liming as research methodology, ole talk as research method—A Caribbean methodology. Journal of Education and Development in the Caribbean, 18(2). https://www.mona.uwi. edu/soe/publications/jedic/article/624 Nakhid-Chatoor, M., Nakhid, C., Wilson, S., Fernandez Santana, A. (2018). Exploring liming and ole talk as a culturally relevant methodology for researching with Caribbean people. International Journal of Qualitative Methods. https://doi.org/10.1177/1609406918813772 Wendell DeRiggs, A. (2009). Reflections and ole talk. London: Hibiscus.

CHAPTER 7

Exploring Indigenous Peace Traditions Collaboratively Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa, Heather Devere, Maui Solomon, and Maata Wharehoka

Introduction Aotearoa New Zealand has gained a reputation as a peaceful country, judged as the second most peaceful county in the vision of Humanity, 2018 Global Peace Index, second only to Iceland. The global view of Aotearoa as a peaceful nation is somewhat at odds with the image

K. T. Maih¯aroa (B) Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] H. Devere National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand M. Solomon Hoketehi Moriori Trust, Simon Fraser university, R¯ekohu/Chatham Islands, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_7

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of M¯aori, the Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa, who have often been portrayed only as warriors. The dichotomy between these perceptions sets the scene for tension between the neocolonial dominance of foreign values and the consequences of such oppression. Colonisation has long been an instrument of domination, perpetuated through the lens of ‘European-based culture with its own distinct practices, ideologies, justification, myths and lifestyle’ (Jackson, 2007, p. 168, as cited in Bargh, 2007). With M¯aori primarily perceived as having a ‘warrior culture’, M¯aori peace traditions have received little scholarly or national attention, with the exceptions of some authors working in this field (Binney, 1995; Binney, 2012; Binney & Chaplin, 2011; Binney et al., 1979; Buchanan, 2018, 2011, 2009; Devere et al., 2016; Elsmore, 1999, 1998; Karena, n.d.; King, 1989; Keenan, 2015, 2009; Mikaere, 1988; Riseborough, 2002, 1993, 1989; Scott, 2014, 1975, 1954; Smith, 1990, 2001). Historically, M¯aori are amongst the most ‘over-researched’ people in the world, mostly by ‘outsiders’, through ‘imperial eyes’ framed within Western paradigms (Smith, 1999). As such, our collaborative research team set out to challenge dominant discourses, through sharing the peace histories of Moriori and M¯aori tribes that have been kaitiaki (guardians) of this treasured knowledge for centuries.

Background Information M¯ aori Traditional Domains of War and Peace In order to understand the tribal context of the domains of war and peace, it is important to begin with a brief overview of the M¯aori deity Rongomarae-roa (atua/god of peace) and T¯u-mata-uenga (atua/god of War). T¯u-mata-uenga, the god of war, was omnipotent in the art of weaponry and warfare. Traditionally, supremacy in combat was mana enhancing and a warrior that was able to defend his people acquired the highest level of prestige, honour and status. Equally, as essence of T¯ u-matauenga was honoured through tribal warfare, hostilities between warring tribes were settled under the auspicious of Rongo-marae-roa, the atua of

M. Wharehoka Parihaka Papakainga, Taranaki, New Zealand

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peace. Peace was established and maintained through karakia, ceremonial prayers, elaborate rituals and peace chants (Hiroa, 1949, p. 455). On a marae, the traditional domains between war and peace are clearly delineated through the p¯owhiri process. The domain of T¯ u-mata-uenga is the marae a¯tea in front of the whare or meeting house. Warriors who returned from battle would pass through a ritual to make them noa (no longer tapu or sacred), which enabled them to resume a state of peace, as was required of those entering into the whare. The marae ¯atea is also where manuhiri or strangers are given the opportunity to introduce themselves and make their intentions known. Visitors are challenged, and the p¯owhiri or traditional greeting takes place. One of the first exchanges is the wero, when a warrior(s) from the marae positions a ‘taki’, a challenge, which can be either picked up as a sign of coming in peace, or rejected as a challenge to war. The marae a¯tea is the space where raruraru, or disputes, are aired, and where the physical elements of T¯awhirim¯atea, god of the weather, can remove any disturbances. The whare or meeting house is the domain of Rongo, the atua of peace (also called Rongo-marae-roa-a-Rangi or Rongo-ma-Tane or Rongo Hirea), who presides over the entrance of the whare (Hiroa, 1949). As the deity responsible for peace, Rongo represents the humanitarian elements of emotions, generosity, sympathy, respect, care and manakitanga or hospitality. The physical movement of entering into the wharenui, (the act of being sheltered inside the body of a t¯ıpuna or ancestor), relies on the mutual agreement to obey the covenant of peaceful interaction and hospitality within the wharenui (Keane, 2013). Portrayals of M¯ aori Warrior Culture There were two major periods of sovereign or civil wars between the M¯aori and P¯akeh¯a during the mid-1840s and the 1860s. During these periods of intense conflict, M¯aori warriors were seen to be ‘proud and warlike’, ‘masters of bush fighting’ who ‘built sophisticated defence forts’ (Knight, 2013). Historian James Belich (2015, 2010, 1993, 1986, 1982, 1979) wrote extensively on M¯aori Warfare and credits Northern M¯aori with ‘inventing trench warfare’. The recent Gallipoli Exhibition (2016) of World War One at Te Papa Museum in Wellington, New Zealand, also acknowledges these defensive measures as deriving from M¯aori battlefields.

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The link of dissention has arisen between tribal warfare and violence within contemporary society, as reflected in Alan Duff’s 1994 controversial novel Once Were Warriors ; a piece that divided commentators, with some describing it as a ‘watershed in social realism in New Zealand (and M¯aori) writing’ (Macdonald, 1991). A competing view by Wilson (2008) claims that the film’s version ‘commodified the novel’s images of the M¯aori as a marginalised, broken race grasping at the remnants of its heroic warrior heritage in the death-driven rites of black power gangs, and in the psychologically disturbing domestic violence […]’. The Honourable Tariana Turia, also condemned the ongoing negative portrayal of M¯aori as a consequence of colonial oppression which is ‘spiritually and psychologically damaging’ (Turia, 2000). Whilst history portrays M¯aori as highly skilled tribal warriors and brave soldiers in the 28th M¯aori Battalion, a media frenzy exploded in 2006 with a contemporary re-creation of the M¯aori ‘warrior image’ based on controversial research led by Lea et al. (2005). The data of the research was assembled by combining the earlier Deoxyribonucleic Acid (DNA) testing of 2,156 individuals (Caspi et al., 2002), with DNA from 46 M¯aori males (Lea et al., 2005). It was hypothesised that the monoamine oxidase (MAO-O gene) is a ‘warrior gene’, and may be linked with the M¯aori population for risk-taking, aggression and criminality (Lea et al., 2007, 2005). These contentious findings were disputed in a report by Merriman and Cameron (2007), which further examined the scientific evidence behind these links, finding that it lacked scientific rigour. Whittle (2009, 2010) alleges that Lea and Chambers (2007) used attention grabbing tactics such as ‘warrior gene’, which in turn fuelled media reports with headlines such as ‘M¯aori are genetically wired to commit acts of violence’. The ethical responsibility of geneticist researchers is further discussed by Perbal (2013), a view earlier raised by Hook (2009, p. 5): It is one thing for newspapers to promote their fetishes but it is another for scientists to be the source of speculation and fantasy about the nature of M¯aori (‘Warrior gene’ blamed for M¯aori violence, 2006; M¯aori’s attack ‘warrior gene’ claim, 2006). The nature of M¯aori and its relationship to violence is not the issue any more than the nature of P¯akeh¯a is the issue that underlies their apparent propensity towards colonisation, war and genocide.

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Moana Jackson (2009, p. 10) claims that the ‘notion of a warrior gene as a scientific fact is based on a scientific cultural lie, that certain races of people were born to be violent, to fight and to kill’. He asserts that this ‘cultural lie’ was created to explain why the colonial explorers were unable to find ‘Eldorado, the City of Gold’ and therefore risked funds for further explorations. Jackson (2009) states that M¯aori could equally be labelled as gardeners, poets, singers and lovers. Historically, settler colonialism has manufactured, and continues to perpetuate, the ‘savage warrior’ myth in order to justify centuries of colonisation (Godfrey, 2015). Hegemony of the dominant discourse transgress as long as the cultural lies and myths remain unchallenged. As we are reminded by Okeroa (2013), ‘the glories of the hunted are always told by the hunters, or, until the lions get their own historians, the glory of the hunted are always told by the hunters’.

Etic, Emic and Etmic Research Approach As previously alluded to, research has historically been ‘done to’ M¯aori, and conducted ‘by outsiders, informed by another world-view’ (Williams 2010, p. 107). Jackson (2009) proposes that research has often been undertaken through a colonial lens from different intellectual traditions. Williams (2010, p. 109) adds that an outsider’s perspective or ‘etic’ view, ‘lacks that special “insider” understanding gained from prolonged exposure to a culture and can, therefore, lead to misinterpretations or even omissions of evidence’. In regards to M¯aori research, Williams also highlights the ‘etic’ pitfalls of research errors and misunderstandings by outsiders, particularly in interpreting and analysing M¯aori material such as waiata (songs and chants), whakatauk¯ı, (proverbs) whakapapa (genealogy), as well as manuscripts and published sources. The ‘emic’ or insider approach ‘is often claimed to be somewhat subjective, since it offers an insider’s view on the subject’ (Williams, 2010, p. 114). Williams (2010, p. 117) states that whakapapa is the ‘backbone of M¯aori epistemology’, but he cautions that it can also be embellished, inconsistent and even deliberately falsified. Essentially, the ‘emic’ standpoint, can be accused of being too close to the subject and lack objectivity. In order to address this imbalance, Williams (2010) recommends that research methodologies adopt and incorporate both the etic (outsider’s view) and the emic (insider’s approach). He proposes a hybrid of these competing perspectives, by creating a third domain for the study of New Zealand M¯aori traditional topics, and suggests an ‘etmic’ approach, which

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‘entails a familiarity with the strengths and shortcomings of both perspectives […]’ (Williams 2010, p. 108). The amalgamation of both the ‘emic’ and the ‘etic’ material to create an ‘etmic’ perspective, draws on a broader worldview. In order to avoid misunderstandings, William (2010, p. 122) proposes that ‘[…] such a model should include […] the perspective of the modern-day descendants of the research subjects’. As such, we have adopted an etmic lens for our collaborative work. Coordinated by a P¯akeh¯a academic based at the Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa/National Centre for Peace and Conflict (NCPACS) at the University of Otago in Dunedin, the etic approach provides an opportunity for the research to be located within academic literature, and delivered as conference papers to national and international audiences. The emic (insider) approach is achieved through sharing Indigenous peace traditions by a member of each iwi (tribe) or community, who also hold key roles for keeping the peace traditions and knowledge alive in their r¯oh¯e (tribal area). This position asserts the repositioning of ‘M¯aori as the researched’ to ‘M¯aori as researchers’ (Wilson, 2001, p. 216). This etmic approach draws on the strengths of an etic lens, coupled with the emit depth of insider knowledge. The adoption of Williams’ (2010) suggested etmic (insider/outsider) research method, enabled the authors to draw on our strengths as peace advocates and activists, whilst also coming together on a collective platform to highlight Indigenous peace traditions of Aotearoa within national and international academic circles. This combined approach also seemed to be a suitable ‘cultural fit’ for M¯aori and P¯akeh¯a academics and iwi representatives to work together collaboratively. Influenced by Bishop’s (1999) bicultural approach and commitment to both Te Tiriti Treaty partners, this research group identified synergies between Bishop’s (1999) suggested research considerations and Williams’ (2010) etmic perspective. For example, this research was jointly initiated as a result of previously developed bicultural relationships, interconnected through a shared focus on peace education at the NCPACS. Not all of the four members had met prior to agreeing to write collaboratively in an effort to share these peace-based messages. As a collective, through email communication, we ensured that all four authors were involved in this research project. From conceptualisation, to writing and editing, through to the dissemination of the final piece of work, all parties were equal participants and benefactors. Each author

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made a contribution to the combined text, choosing how and when to engage in this co-joint process. This research aimed to enhance positive outcomes for M¯aori people, and to educate the P¯akeh¯a community by sharing the hidden history of M¯aori peace traditions. Each Indigenous author lives within their r¯oh¯e that they write about, and had the blessing to be the m¯angai, or mouthpiece for the people they represent. Although the work has been largely coordinated by Dr. Devere, a Senior Lecturer at the University of Otago, a lack of hierarchy is achieved through a transparent, collaborative research process. The conceptual thinking, writing and editing of this work is also undertaken in the same cooperative spirit, with each author being named on the publications and papers presented on behalf of the collective group at conferences. Whilst we agree with Williams (2010, p. 108), that ‘etmic’ might be ‘an awkward neologism’, we feel that we have contributed to the knowledge available to other researchers. By drawing on insights and deep understandings from an ‘insider’ perspective, these P¯akeh¯a and Indigenous scholars are also able to profile the peace histories into an accessible form for an ‘outsider’ academic audience. The emic approach is established through Indigenous scholars recounting peace traditions unique to their people and r¯oh¯e. All four academics play an active part in the regeneration of these peace cultures today.

Indigenous Peace Traditions of Aotearoa Indigenous cultures throughout the world have their own unique peace traditions distinctive to their worldviews. The attention of this chapter is focused on Indigenous peace traditions of Aotearoa, taking into consideration the distinct differences of tribal traditions and unique histories of each iwi, particular to that r¯ohe. Synergies were found within the etic/insider approach, where the three Indigenous narratives are threaded together to embrace the holistic, spiritual way of thinking and being, where the spiritual connections between peace and war are considered interrelated. Narratives of peace traditions in Aotearoa have been passed down orally, recounting the peace abiding way of being of the Waitaha of Te Waipounamu (South Island), Moriori peace covenant and tradition of R¯ekohu (Wharekauri or Chatham Islands), and peaceful resistance by the people of Parihaka in Taranaki in Te Ika a Maui (North Island)

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that challenged the land confiscations that epitomised nineteenth-century New Zealand. Each narrative is told by the Indigenous researcher most intimately connected to that tradition, and interweaves both the Indigenous oral history and written material from P¯akeh¯a and M¯aori writers. In keeping with the etmic approach, this includes incorporating both insider and outsider knowledge and approaches. Waitaha: Peace Marches of 1877 and 2012 ¯ Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa (Waitaha t¯ uturu, Ng¯ ati R¯ arua Atiawa, ¯ Taranaki, Te Atiawa, Waitaha Tai Whenua Trust Board) Waitaha were the first people to inhabit Te Waipounamu after migrating from the Pacific homeland of Te Patu nui o Aio. The eponymous ancestor is R¯akaihaut¯u, who was the captain of the Uruao waka, landing in Wakat¯ u Nelson around 850 A.D. R¯akaihaut¯u is credited with carving out the majestic Southern interior lakes and mountains and imposed the whakapapa genealogy into this landscape (Tau, 2008). As he strode through the South Island, R¯akaihaut¯u established occupational rights for Waitaha through ahi k¯a (ancestral fires), the ignition of sacred fire lighting ceremonies. Waitaha originate from a peaceful tribal history, rejecting warfare, as evidenced by the absence of war artefacts from this period of occupation. Waitaha are considered the ‘kaitiaki o Rongo’, the ‘caretakers of the Peace God, Rongo-marae-roa’ and have been also been described as the ‘carriers of ancient wairua’ or spirit (Te Maih¯aroa, 2013). Te Maih¯aroa was born near the end of the eighteenth century in a small village named Te Waiateruati, South Canterbury. He followed the ancient wisdoms of his mother’s people, the sacred ariki (high born) Waitaha line. He practised M¯aori tikaka (M¯aori customs and protocols) and as a young man acquired the skill of matakite (prophesy). Te Maih¯aroa was known as the last tohuka (expert priest) in Te Waipounamu, which involved upholding the role of spiritual protection of the southern tribes of Waitaha, K¯ati M¯amoe and K¯ai Tahu during the nineteenth century, the period of early colonisation (Mikaere, 1988). His spiritual expertise was vast, and after being witnessed publicly, his mystical accomplishments were recorded in local newspapers by reporters and historians (Beattie Collection, 1939–1945; Mikaere, 1988). Through the signing of Te Tiriti o¯ Waitangi (The Treaty of Waitangi) in 1840, Aotearoa became a British colony in 1840, which M¯aori assumed would provide a more peaceful settlement period (Tau, 2008). In 1848,

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Southern M¯aori sold eight million hectares of land to the Crown (known as the ‘Kemp Deed’ purchase) for a total of 2,000 pounds; a farthing per hectare (Mikaere, 1988). The signing K¯ai Tahu tribe soon realised that the Crown would not fulfil the tribe’s expectations of sufficient native reserves, schools, hospitals and access to mahikakai (traditional food sources), nor prevent Europeans from encroaching on M¯aori land (Mikaere, 1988). Te Maih¯aroa strongly held the view that as kaitiaki of Papat¯u¯anuku, tribal land was a resource to be nourished and cared for, not sold off in exchange for money, which he deemed ‘blood money’ (Te Maih¯aroa, R., 2013). Whilst the Crown believed that the Kemp Deed purchase included the majority of Te Waipounamu, Te Maih¯aroa held the position that land sold by the later tribe of K¯ai Tahu only encompassed the land from the East Coast to the base of Southern Alps (Mikaere, 1988). Te Maih¯aroa championed M¯aori as the Indigenous and rightful legal owners of the land from the Alps to the West Coast, concluding that only physical occupation of the island’s interior by Waitaha was needed to provide cultural isolation and uphold tino rakatirataka (absolute sovereignty) to retain tribal land (Mikaere, 1988; Beattie Collection, 1939–1945). The spiritual teachings of M¯aori prophets provided a counter-narrative to the newcomers’ god, which seemed to deliver bountiful benefits to Europeans (Elsmore, 1999, 1998). Te Maih¯aroa’s vision for his people was to create a new home where they could preserve M¯aoritaka (M¯aori values), living autonomously from European influence and missionary interference (King, 1996). In June 1877, Te Maih¯aroa led 150 of his people on Te Heke Te Ao M¯arama (The Migration to Enlightenment) from Temuka to the ‘Promised Land’ of Te Ao M¯arama, the World of Light, (commonly known today as Omarama, a trek of 181 kms). But as ‘Te Heke’ (The Migration) moved inland, it was soon realised that European settlers had established themselves throughout the land, often without M¯aori permission (Mikaere, 1988). M¯aori had erroneously presumed that the Crown would protect their interests and honour the Treaty by only selling Crown purchased land, as opposed to using other divisive means (Mikaere, 1988). Te Ao M¯arama, the ‘Promised Land’, soon became home as M¯aori established an isolated and peaceful life, complete with sod cottages, a whare r¯unaka (council house), gardens and employment on local farms. However, after only one year European landholders surrounding the M¯aori village started complaining to the police that M¯aori had weapons,

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their dogs were worrying sheep, and that M¯aori were ploughing what was considered ‘European’ land for crops. Te Maih¯aroa and his people denied these claims as ‘false’, rebuffing them in Parliament (Mikaere, 1988). The situation engaged national attention, and parallels were drawn with Parihaka tribal leaders Te Whiti o Rongomai and Tohu K¯akahi, who had previously adopted the stance of passive resistance with peaceful protests, such as ploughing the fields of illegally confiscated land (Elsmore, 1999, 1998; Mikaere, 1988; Riseborough, 2002, 1993, 1989). Colonisation— the political domain of European rules, laws and enforcement—were foreign concepts to M¯aori and were heavily weighted against them (Elsmore, 1999, 1998). The Native Affairs Minister at the time, Mr John Sheehan, stated that the claim made by Te Maih¯aroa was illegitimate, issuing an ultimatum ¯ arama by the end of 1879. that they must vacate the M¯aori village at Om¯ A build-up of militia outside the village soon began, and on 11 August 1879, Te Maih¯aroa was informed that they were trespassing and were to be evicted immediately. Te Maih¯aroa commanded his people to maintain peace at all cost; to vacate the village, and return to Korotuaheka, an ancient Waitaha village at the mouth of the Waitaki River (Beattie Collection, 1939, 1945; Mikaere, 1988). As they left their ‘Promised Land’, the people witnessed the destruction of their houses and crops by militia who employed ‘scorched earth tactics’ to ensure that nothing remained. At his resting place of Korotuaheka, Te Maih¯aroa prophecised a successor, later thought to be T. W. Ratana: ‘Tamaiti-iti-rawa ka puta mai I roto I a maunga Taranaki, mana I whakaoti aku mahi ki a Ihoa – A very little child will come forth from under Mount Taranaki, he will finish my work for Jehovah’ (Elsmore, 1989, p. 231). Te Maih¯aroa, our ancestor, remains in our hearts and minds as our spiritual guide and peaceful leader. His prophecy was for our people to ¯ arama, his vision of the ‘Promised Land’, to fulfil ‘Judaic return to Om¯ Law of Return’ (Ruka, 2012). Through Te Heke 1877, the migration for peace, Te Maih¯aroa kept alive ahi k¯a roa (the eternal sacred fires) of Waitaha, and asserted moral ownership within the interior hinterland. To celebrate 135 years since the original ‘Te Heke’, in December 2012 the Te Maih¯aroa wh¯anui (family and friends) retraced much of the original ¯ arama. The journey route from the mouth of the Waitaki Valley to Om¯ ¯ named ‘Te Heke Om¯aramataka 2012’ followed the sacred footsteps of our ancestors to remember their strength, courage and motivation for undertaking the peaceful migration. The four-day walk covered 135 kms,

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from the sea to return to the mountains, each kilometre corresponding with a year that had passed since the original trek. The experience of retracing the social, cultural and physical steps of our t¯ıpuna (ancestors) is one that cannot be erased from our body, memory or consciousness. The time spent in preparation, the journey itself, and reflection, has provided us with bountiful gifts from this significant occasion. Some have requested that Te Heke becomes a bi-annual event as a peace march to preserve not only the memory of our t¯ıpuna, but also to remember our own heart, spirit and dream of a brighter future. Moriori and ‘Nunuku’s Law’ Maui Solomon (Moriori, Ng¯ ai Tahu and P¯ akeh¯ a, General Manager for Hokotehi Moriori Trust, Barrister, and Indigenous Advocate and Adjunct Professor, Simon Fraser University, British Columbia) The abandonment of warfare and killing is an ancient covenant that has been handed down from the earliest Moriori ancestors to have settled on R¯ekohu and Rangihaute. Our kar¯apuna (ancestors) tell us that the covenant was reaffirmed and passed from one generation to the next: ‘It was passed down to Mu and Wheke, and from them and their descendants down to Rongomaiwhenua, and from him to his descendants Nunuku, Tapata and Torea. You may continue to fight; but the meaning of his words was, do not kill’ (1894 transcript). By forbidding the taking of human life and placing their weapons of war upon the t¯uahu (the sacred altar), Moriori entered into a t¯ ohinga or covenant with their gods. From that time forward, power over life and death was removed from the hands of man and placed into the hands of their gods. Fighting became ritualised and upon the first blood being drawn fighting was to cease. The leader, Nunuku Whenua reaffirmed the covenant of peace some 600 hundred years ago. As a people, Moriori have continued to honour that covenant to this day, despite the greatest of provocations including the invasion of their islands in 1835 by Ng¯ati Mutunga and Ng¯ati Tama, two M¯aori tribes from northern Taranaki on mainland New Zealand. Tradition tells us that the knowledge of the peace covenant was passed from father to son during a baptismal rite or ceremony known as a t¯ohinga. The old weapons of war which had been placed on the t¯uahu were removed and handed to the child. An explanation was then given to the child that the weapons were once used for fighting and could

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kill another human being. By placing the weapon back on the T¯uahu, the child was symbolically renewing the covenant for the next generation and completing the t¯ohinga ceremony. This covenant of peace was reaffirmed at a large gathering of Moriori at Te Awapatiki on the east coast of R¯ekohu in early 1836, to decide what response they would make to the invasion of their Island home in 1835. Whilst the young men urged resistance, the elders Tapata and Torea insisted that the people hold fast to the teachings of Nunuku. As they said, the covenant was a spiritual pact entered into with their gods. To break that covenant would represent a betrayal of their gods and a loss of mana for them as a people. Instead, they offered peace, friendship and sharing of the Island’s resources, as was their custom. Despite the great suffering and loss that Moriori endured as a consequence of this decision, their legacy of peace and hope lived on. For this current generation of Moriori it has become the rallying point for our people. A beacon of light and inspiration that has guided us in reclaiming our culture and identity as a people—our identity as the first peoples of R¯ekohu. The covenant has been renewed at subsequent auspicious occasions, such as the opening of K¯opinga Marae (2005), the blessing for the World March for Peace and Non-Violence (2009), and at the inaugural Me Rongo Congress for Peace, Sustainability and Respect for the Sacred (2011). Me Rongo is a Moriori term meaning ‘in peace’. It is used as both a salutation and affirmation. The word ‘rongo’ also embodies other vital ingredients for peaceful living, as rongo means ‘to listen’. Me Rongo implies that in order to be in peace, one must also listen, and listen deeply and respectfully. This listening is not just amongst people but also incorporates a deeper listening to the rhythms and sounds of the living systems of which we are a part. In May 2010, a gathering was convened in Tofino Canada as part of the International Society of Ethnobiology’s 12th International Congress. The Tofino gathering was conceived as a stepping stone in the lead up to the Me Rongo Congress planned for November 2011 on R¯ekohu. The Tofino gathering was held in an Indigenous centre and named Hishuk-ish tsa’walk which is a Tla-o-qui-aht expression meaning ‘everything is one’. The session, entitled ‘Peace, Sustainability and Respect for the Sacred’, brought together elders and other experts from around the world who have traditions in peace keeping/making as an integral part of their philosophy. It focused on the importance of the preservation and transmission of inter-generational knowledge of ‘living in country’ as the

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Aboriginal peoples’ of Australia say, and the maintenance and promotion of retention of the local language(s) and cultural practices of the communities that sustain this knowledge. At its heart was an understanding of the importance of the sacred/spiritual/wairua traditions—as an expression of the thread that binds people together with their natural worlds, and which provides the basis for living in a mutually respectful and mutually enhancing relationship of humans, plants and animals. In addition to providing a collective forum for learning about peace traditions and the importance of being able to practice cultural continuity, the session examined ways in which the modern world may come to a better understanding of how this sacred knowledge or knowledge of the sacred is critical to humankind (re)learning how to live ‘in connection with’ rather than increasingly ‘disconnected from’ our planet and planetary systems. At the opening of the Me Rongo 2011 Congress the covenant was renewed and reaffirmed by all delegates. In renewing this ancient covenant of peace we are conscious that peace is as precious and much needed today in the modern world as it was for our ancestors. The challenge left to us by our kar¯apuna is whether we can learn to live together peacefully and share what we have, respecting each other and the environment that we live in. The path we are currently on worldwide of violence, selfishness and over-exploitation of our precious natural resources is not sustainable. This ceremony, whilst honouring the vision of our ancestors, is also a small but important contribution to the efforts being made by peoples and organisations the world over to make our planet a more peaceful and sustainable place in which to live. On 13 November 2011, the delegates of the inaugural Me Rongo Congress who came from all over the world, ratified the Me Rongo Declaration (2011, p. 3): We are convinced that the Moriori message of peace is something to be proud of and is worthy of sharing with the rest of the world, as an unbroken commitment over countless generations to peacekeeping, and as a beacon of hope. Moriori history on R¯ekohu demonstrates that it is possible to consciously and successfully change from a culture that accepted occasional warfare and killing to one of peace and the outlawing of killing.

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Parihaka: The Home of Passive Resistance Maata Wharehoka (Ng¯ ati Koata, Ng¯ ati Kuia, Ng¯ ati Toa, Ng¯ ati Tahinga, Ng¯ ati Apakura, Ng¯ ai Te Rangi, Kaitiaki of Te Niho o Te ¯ Atiawa Meeting House at Parihaka) Parihaka a place of peace, a place of conflict, a place of justice. Freedom of the oppressed. Ancient M¯aori history tells of a strong feudal justice system that managed conflict between neighbouring tribes with warfare, agreement, exchange and peace. Land was the economic base and territorial boundaries were clearly marked by rivers or streams providing a distinct line of demarcation, with areas often taken and returned following disputes. Shared tribal ownership of land encouraged unions and liaisons within the tribe. This process kept families and land connected, with tribal strength resting upon this social system. The signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840 was to provide partnership for two nations—M¯aori and P¯akeh¯a, the Indigenous people of Aotearoa and the British. The partnership initially appeared amicable, but M¯aori soon realised their needs were no longer being met. Protection for M¯aori was lost and they no longer had sovereignty over their lands. M¯aori had not long abandoned strategic warfare amongst themselves and were ill-prepared for the alienation of land. By then, it was well known that the musket appeared more powerful than their atua. After the first event of war between the British and Taranaki M¯aori at Te Kohia on 18 March 1860, the subsequent wars north of Parihaka in 1863, and the bombardment by the British ship Niger of their pa site in Tarakihi in 1864, Te Whiti and Tohu remedied their loss by moving hinterland, taking their families to a place of safety where they could not be further attacked. Parihaka was built inland to the west beneath the lofty and beloved mountain Taranaki. Te Whiti o Rongomai and Tohu K¯akahi led a community of approximately 3000 people. Many tribes had been displaced by the invasions of M¯aori land for the purpose of meeting the needs of settlers, who in many cases had been promised land by the government for their participation in regimental activity. Reverend Riemenschieider, a Lutheran minister who had come to Warea near Parihaka in 1846, introduced Te Whiti and Tohu to new house building skills and extended their biblical knowledge. Houses at Parihaka were built in close proximity to each other, small in size and of ancient native style made from the resources readily available on the land. This lifestyle contributed towards

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social survival and was a forum for large communal discussions held on the marae ¯atea (forecourt). They established monthly meetings on the 18th day of each month, using the forum to strategize resistance to land alienation and assimilation. By 1867, Parihaka was a well-established and sustainable community. A pan tribal refugee population strengthened the numbers at Parihaka and it became the largest community in Aotearoa. The settlement depended on the discipline and resolute organisation that was provided by Tohu and Te Whiti, and served as a refuge for the displaced and dispossessed. The growing population at Parihaka generated a strong environment inspired by the Christian philosophy of faith and goodwill to all humankind. By 1880, the government began building a road to Parihaka. Telegraph lines were installed to aid communications and a lighthouse was erected on the coast directly in line with Parihaka. This completed an opportunity for invasion. During the establishment of the road, altercations occurred when the armed constabulary pulled down the fences of Parihaka during construction, leaving M¯aori crops exposed to wandering stock and horses. Te Whiti and Tohu launched a protest campaign as an alternative to warfare, which became the lasting symbol of Parihaka. This required the men to lay down their weapons of war, instead sending them to repair their fences and to plough the land that was taken by the government for settlers. When surveyors plotted out the land for settlement, Parihaka men were sent to remove the survey pegs. When fences were erected, the Parihaka men cut them down. With their masterful minds, familiarity with the English language, Christianity, the spirituality of their ancient atua (gods) of the M¯aori, and cosmology, Tohu and Te Whiti debated and argued their position over land. Their knowledge of the bible is said to be attributed to Minirapa Rangihauake who was released by the northern tribe of Ng¯a Puhi. Minirapa became a Wesleyan Minister, returning to Taranaki in 1842, where he taught Te Whiti and Tohu the bible and how to read and write English. Te Whiti and Tohu were able to move between the different traditions with great ease and without conflict. However, the Settlement Act 1863 permitted the confiscation of land without compensation and the government were consistent and persistent in their confiscation of land that was owned by Taranaki Iwi and under the administration of Parihaka. Discussions with P¯akeh¯a leaders and the peaceful resistance campaign was perceived as a threat to the government and resembled activities that had been undertaken by the Pakakohi people, South Taranaki, for which

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they were imprisoned in 1868. The men of Parihaka continued to display courage, wisdom, and followed instructions, knowing full well that they would be replaced when they were arrested. They were imprisoned, often without trial, and if there was a trial, they were subjected to further and harsher treatment either in transit to prison, whilst in prison or on work placement. In 1878, the first group of prisoners were taken from Parihaka ¯ to Otepoti Dunedin, far off in the South Island where they experienced imprisonment and forced labour in extreme weather and bitter cold. Over a period of twenty years, over 500 men were incarcerated for removing survey pegs, pulling down fences and ploughing their own land. The invasion of Parihaka by a force of 1,600 on 5 November 1881 tells of the courage and resilience of the people inspired by two great leaders. Te Whiti relied upon his uncle, Tohu, to translate visions and dreams and to make sense of events, and one dream was interpreted as prophesising that a canon would not be fired against Parihaka. Te Whiti said to the people of Parihaka ‘patu te hoa riri ki te rangimarie’, Fight the enemy with peace. On the day of the invasion, the women sat in silence, confronting the three canons aimed at the village. The children were sent to the fore, making the enemy feel welcome to Parihaka by providing manaakitanga (hospitality). They fed their enemy and gave them drink. In response, the armed troops forcibly arrested Tohu and Te Whiti and other men, destroyed the village, and removed more than 1,500 occupants to other parts of Taranaki. (Riseborough, 2002, 1993, 1989; Smith, 2001). Soon after their return from prison in 1883, Te Whiti and Tohu continued to rebuild and develop their community. The infrastructure was well suited to the cultural needs of M¯aori with modifications, including its own banking system, economic base, as well as a health and welfare system. Justice was an element within the community that was dealt with by a council of elders who made the decisions regarding punishment and admonishment. However, the incarceration continued. When Te Whiti returned to Parihaka six months after being incarcerated in 1886, the two leaders ¯ had decided that Tohu should remain in Otepoti Dunedin with the prisoners. Opposition occurred from those who favoured Tohu, dividing the people of Parihaka. The philosophy of the Holy Trinity is represented in the three feathers used by the Te Whiti o Rongomai followers and those ¯ of the Te Atiawa tribe. This symbol had been used to reflect peace and harmony. However, the people who followed Tohu rejected this symbol, choosing to follow Te Pore, represented without feathers. The followers

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of the two leaders began to gather on separate days: Te Whiti on the 18th and Tohu on the 19th of each month. So, whilst the two leaders continued, and whilst Parihaka remained loyal to the philosophy, there was division amongst its followers with some 128 years passing without reconciliation. More recently, however, a very young movement called Toopu Tikanga vested two years into healing Parihaka. The people of Parihaka are now working towards ensuring that their history is told, and that their philosophy of peaceful living is continued. The history of passive resistance at Parihaka is beginning to be seen as a lesson throughout the world. Kororia ki te atua, I runga rawa Maungarongo ki runga I te mata o te whenua Whakaaro pai ki te tangata katoa. Rirerire Hau Pai Marire Glory to God on high. Peace on earth. Goodwill to all mankind

Conclusion Indigenous peace traditions in Aotearoa are now being told by the tribal people that have whakapapa and a history as kaitiaki (guardians) of this knowledge. This chapter relates how an etmic research process was used to trace the historic significance of three iwi peace traditions in Aotearoa as a vehicle for carrying this knowledge for future generations. Kelli Te Maih¯aroa, whose great grandfather Te Maih¯aroa was a prophet of the Waitaha people and Arowhenua Movement, tells of Te Heke, The Migration—a non-violent protest aimed to bring attention to the land issues for Waitaha, K¯ati M¯amoe and K¯ai Tahu. Her research continues with wh¯anau participants in the re-enactment of Te Heke and gathering stories of the elders to ensure that the knowledge of this peaceful tradition can be passed on to future generations. Maui Solomon, whose heritage includes Moriori, tells of a peace tradition going back to the leader Nunuku Whenua, who determined that the Moriori people would never kill another human. The Moriori maintained this tradition even in the face of an invasion, an occupation, slavery and slaughter. Whilst their people were almost wiped out, the descendants of their steadfast ancestors are researching and rejuvenating the kaupapa or culture of non-killing,

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and are seeking to identify more Moriori descendants and to continue the teaching of peace. Maata Wharehoka, the Kaitiaki or Guardian of the Te Niho o Te Atiawa meeting house, Parihaka, relates the story of Aotearoa’s (and possibly the world’s) first passive resistance against the armed forces of government. The settlement of this pan-iwi group was torched and almost destroyed when the men of the village were arrested and imprisoned for their acts of passive resistance. The village has survived, and uses regular dialogue and face-to-face meetings to rebuild a peaceful settlement, and is starting a process of reconciliation with the families of the invading soldiers to demonstrate the power of working for, and by, peace. Heather Devere, Director of Practice at the National Centre for Peace and Conflict ¯ Studies at the University of Otago in Otepoti Dunedin considers herself as P¯akeh¯a. She teaches Indigenous peace traditions, peace education and conflict resolution. She is an active and valued member of the Parihaka Network Nga Manu Korihi, R¯ekohu Working Group and Rongo Mau. Until recently, the peace traditions of Aotearoa New Zealand remained largely invisible to the world of academic research and in public awareness. In the past, knowledge about the Indigenous people of Aotearoa has concentrated on M¯aori warrior traditions, to the extent that researchers have contentiously claimed to have found a M¯aori warrior gene. This chapter does not attempt to investigate or challenge such research, but instead turns the lens on the unique peace traditions in Aotearoa. This chapter highlights the concept of the etmic approach, including etic and emic perspectives, that was adopted for this collaborative research to expose ‘perspectives missing from the view of the coloniser’ (Williams, 2010, p. 115). The three very different peace traditions from different regions of Aotearoa are revealed in narratives about Waitaha in Te Waipounamu, Moriori on R¯ekohu, and Parihaka in Te Ika-a-Maui, with all three traditions having arisen in response to the events that have caused pain and loss to their communities. This contrasts with the dominant warlike stereotypes of M¯aori. The peaceful teachings of all three traditions relate back to the philosophy, teachings, vision and cosmology of Indigenous people in Aotearoa, and share commonalities with other Indigenous peoples elsewhere. As more peace traditions of Aotearoa come to light, it is expected that they will continue to reveal valuable messages for future generations on the ability of people to live in harmony with each other and sustainably with Papat¯u¯anuku, Mother Earth.

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Buchanan, R. (2018). Ko Taranaki Te Maunga. Wellington, New Zealand: Bridget Williams Books. Buchanan, R. (2011). Why Ghandi Doesn’t Belong at Wellington Railway Station. Journal of Social History, 44(4), pp. 1077–93. Buchanan, R. (2009 ). The Parihaka Album: Lest We Forget. Wellington, New Zealand: Huia Publishing. Caspi, A., McClay, J., Moffit, TE., Mill, J., Martin, J., Craig, IW., Taylor, A., & Poulton, R. (2002, August 2). Role of Genotype in the cycle of Violence in Maltreated Children. Science, 297 (5582), pp. 851–4. Chathams. (n.d.). Retrieved from: http://www.chathams.com/ Collings, M. (2009). The Warrior Gene Hypothesis: Questioning the Science. MAI Review, 2, Peer Commentary. Davis, D., & Solomon, M. (n.d.) ‘Moriori—Origins of the Moriori people’, Te Ara—the Encylopedia of New Zealand. Retrieved from: https://teara.govt. nz/en/moriori/page-1 Devere, H., Te Maih¯aroa, K., Solomon, M., & Wharehoka, M. (2016). Regeneration of Indigenous Peace Traditions in Aotearoa New Zealand. In H. Devere, K. Te Maih¯aroa & J. Synott (Eds.), Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Switzerland: Springer International Publishing. Devere, H., Te Maih¯aroa, K., Solomon, M., & Wharehoka, M. (2017). Regeneration of Indigenous Peace Traditions in Aotearoa New Zealand. Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (pp. 53–63). Cham: Springer. Devere, H., Te Maih¯aroa, K., Solomon, M., & Wharehoka, M. (2019). Tides of Endurance: Indigenous Peace Traditions of Aotearoa New Zealand. abOriginal, 3(1), 24–47. Devere, H., Te Maih¯aroa, K., & Synott, J. (Eds.). Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Switzerland: Springer International Publishing. Duff, A. (1994). Once Were Warriors. Queensland, Australia: University of Queensland Press. Elsmore, B. (1985). Like Them That Dream: The M¯ aori and the Old Testament. Moana Press. Elsmore, B. (1989). Mana From Heaven: A Century of Maori Prophets in New Zealand. Moana Press. Elsmore, B. (1999). Mana From Heaven: A Century of M¯ aori Prophets in New Zealand. Reed. Elsmore, B. (2000). Like Them That Dream: The M¯ aori and the Old Testament. Books. Elsmore, B. (2011). Like Them That Dream: The M¯ aori and the Old Testament. Libro International.

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Elsmore, B. (2012). Mana From Heaven: A Century of Maori Prophets in New Zealand. Libro International Elsmore, B. (2015). Like Them That Dream: The M¯ aori and the Old Testament. Libro International. Elsmore, B. (2020). Mana From Heaven: A Century of Maori Prophets in New Zealand. Flaxroots. Godfrey, M. (2015, August 22). Warrior Race? Pull the Other One. Etangata.co.nz. Retrieved from: https://e-tangata.co.nz/cpmment-and-ana lusis/warrior-race-pull-the-other-one/ Hiroa, T. R. (1949). The Coming of the M¯ aori. The Departmental Gods. Wellington: M¯aori Purposes Fund Board. Hokotehi Moriori Trust. (n.d.). About Moriori. Retrieved from: www.moriori. co.nz Hook, G. (2009). ‘Warrior Genes’ and the Disease of Being M¯aori. MAI Review, 2, pp. 1–11. Jackson, M. (2016). Foreword in Devere, H., Te Maih¯aroa, K., & Synott, J. (Eds.) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Switzerland: Springer International Publishing. Jackson, M. (2009, October 27). Once were Gardeners [Video file]. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfAe3Zvgui4 Karena, T. (n.d.). Reclaiming the Role of Rongo: The Pacifist Traditions of Parihaka. Unpublished manuscript. Retrieved from: https://www.otago.ac.nz/ ncpacs/otago668627.pdf Keane, B. (2013). Marae protocol—te kawa o te marae—Mythology and history of marae protocol’, Te Ara—The Encyclopaedia of New Zealand. Retrieved from: http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/marae-protocol-te-kawa-ote-marae (accessed 9 February 2021 Keenan, D. (2009). Wars Without End. The Land Wars in Nineteenth Century New Zealand. Auckland, New Zealand: Penguin Group. Keenan, D. (2015). Te Whiti O Rongomai and the Resistance of Parihaka. Wellington, New Zealand: Huia Publishers King, M. (1996). Maori: A Photographic and Social History (Second edition). Auckland, New Zealand: Reed Publishing. King, M. (1989). Moriori: A People Rediscovered (Revised Edition). Auckland, New Zealand: Penguin. Knight, I. (2013). The New Zealand Wars 1820–1872. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. Lea, R. & Chambers, G. (2007). Monoamine Oxidase, Addiction, and the ‘Warrior’ Gene Hypothesis. Journal of the New Zealand Medical Association, 120,, pp. 5–10. Retrieved from: https://www.nzma.org.nz/data/assets/pdffile00 09/17838/Vol-120-No-1250–02-March-2007.pdf.

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Lea, R., Hall, D., Green, M., & Chambers, G. (2005). Tracking the Evolutionary History of the Warrior Gene in the South Pacific. Paper presented at the Molecular Biology and Evolution Conference, Auckland, New Zealand. Macdonald, Finlay. (1991, Febrauary 25). The New Zealand Listener (pp. 30– 32). Memorandum to Establish a Centre for Peace and Conflicts Studies in Aotearoa New Zealand between the Aotearoa New Zealand Peace and Conflict Studies Trust and the University of Otago, 2007. Me Rongo Declaration. (2011). Retrieved from: www.converge.org.nz Merriman, T., & Cameron, V. (2007). Risk-Taking: Behind the Warrior Gene Story. Journal of the New Zealand Medical Association, 120, pp. 59–62. https://www.nzma.org.nz/data/assets/pdffile/0009/17838?Vol-120-No1250-02-March-2007.pdf Mikaere, B. (1988). Te Maih¯ aroa and the Promised Land. Auckland, New Zealand: Heinemann Publishing. Okeroa, M. (2013, July 4). Personal Communication with Kelli Te Maih¯aroa at Wellington, New Zealand. Pataka Exhibition panels: The Moriori of Rekohu—T’chakat henu, People of the Land, curated by Bob Maysmor. Perbal, L. (2013). The ‘Warrior Gene’ and the M¯aori People: The Responsibility of the Geneticists. Bioethics, 27 (7), pp. 382–87. Retrieved from: https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1467-8519.2012.01970.x Riseborough, H. (2002). Days of Darkness. Auckland, New Zealand: Penguin Group New Zealand Limited. Riseborough, H. (1993). Parihaka and the Historians, Parihaka: Te Noho o Te Ati Awa Parihaka Seminars no. 1. Riseborough, H, (1989). Days of Darkness: The Government and Parihaka, Taranaki 1878-1884. Wellington: Allen and Unwin/Port Nicholson Press. Ruka, P. (2012, December 12). Written Communication to Kelli Te Maih¯aroa. Scott, D. (2014). Parihaka Invaded. Wellington, New Zealand: Bridget Williams Books. Scott, D. (1975). Ask That Mountain: The Story of Parihaka. Auckland, New Zealand: Reed/Southern Cross. Scott, D. (1954). The Parihaka Story, Auckland, New Zealand: Southern Cross. Smith, A. L. (1990). Ko Tohu Te Matua: The story of Tohu Kakahi of Parihaka. Master of Arts thesis, University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. Smith, A. L. (2001). Taranaki Waiata Tangi and Feelings for Place. (Doctoral thesis, Lincoln University, Christchurch, New Zealand). Retrieved from: https://researcharchive.lincoln.ac.nz/handle/10182/2137 Smith, L. T. (1999). Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, Otago, London and New York: Zed Books/Otago University Press.

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Solomon, M. (2018, August 19). The Moriori Renaissance: A Living Identity and Culture. National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies; Tangata Whenua Series, University of Otago. Open Public Seminar at Dunedin Campus. Tau, T. M. (2008). The Discovery of Islands and the Stories of Settlement. Thesis Eleven, 92(1), pp. 11–28. Retrieved from: https://doi.org/10.1177/072551 3607085042 Te Maih¯aroa, R. (2013, April 4). Personal Communication with Kelli Te Maih¯aroa at Om¯arama, New Zealand. Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2015). K¯aore Whakaheke Toto (Do Not Shed Blood). Spiritual Traditions, 97. Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2017a). Te Ara o¯ Rakim¯arie: The Pathway of Peaceful Living. Te Kaharoa, 10(1). Te Maiharoa, K. (2017b). Retracing Ancestral Footsteps. Te Kaharoa, 10(1). Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2019). K¯ a p¯ akihi k¯ a whakatekateka a waitaha The plains where the waitaha strutted proudly Titiro ki muri, kia whakatika ¯ a mua, look to the past to proceed to the future: Why t¯ıpuna used rakim¯ arie peaceful living to claim and maintain ahi k¯ a burning fires of occupation during early colonial contact and does it hold validity and relevance for wh¯ anau family today? (Doctoral dissertation, University of Otago). Turia, T. (2000, August 31). Psychological Society Conference. University of Waikato. Retrieved from: www.nzhearld.co.nz, 12.07pm Thursday. Vision of Humanity. (n.d.). Global Peace Index 2018. Retrieved from: www.vis ionofhumanity.org Whittle, P. M. (2010, August 13). Health, Inequity and the Politics of Genes. New Zealand Medical Journal , 123(123). Whittle, P.M. (2009). Darwanism and the nature of M¯aori. MAI Review, 3, Article 2. Williams, J. (2010). Towards a model for Indigenous research. In B. Hokowhitu, N. Kermoal, C. Anderson, M. Riley, A Petersen, I. Altamirano-Jimenez, & P. Rewi (Eds.), Indigenous Identity and Resistance: Researching the Diversity of Knowledge (pp. 107–24). Dunedin, New Zealand: Otago University Press. Wilson, C. (2011, December). Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. Book review in Social Policy Journal of New Zealand, 117, pp. 214–217. Wilson, J. (2008). Alan Duff: Brown Man’s Burden. British Review of New Zealand Studies. 17, pp. 115–142.

PART II

Peace Education and Indigenous Research

CHAPTER 8

Beloved Community: Teacher Reflection on Hawai‘i-Based Teaching and Learning ¯ Framework, N¯a Hopena A‘o (HA), and Possible Implications for Decolonisation in Peace Studies and Peace Education Kalika Kastein

He ali‘i ka la‘i, he haku na ke aloha. Where peace is, there love abides also. (Pukui, 1983, p. 143)

K. Kastein (B) National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_8

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Introduction This work received support from the Ke‘ena Ho‘ona‘auao Hawai‘i1 [Office of Hawaiian Education] as they gifted their direction, ideas, and time. I am also thankful to Matt Matahaere at Te Whare W¯ananga o ¯ akou [University of Otago] for providing encouragement and guidOt¯ ance. As I write from my office in Aotearoa in the rohe of Te R¯unaka o ¯ akou in Te Waipounamu and the takiw¯a of K¯ai Tahu, K¯ati M¯amoe me Ot¯ Waitaha hoki, I also thank them for their care of this land. ¯ A Framework for Teaching and Learning N¯ a Hopena A‘o (HA): N¯a Hopena A‘o is an educational framework created by the Hawai‘i Department of Education in collaboration with community partners in 2015 and is composed of six tenets: Belonging, Responsibility, Excellence, Aloha, Total Well-Being, and Hawai‘i, creating the acronym ¯ in Hawaiian “BREATH,” which forms the translated abbreviation, HA, ¯ (Qina‘au, 2016). N¯a Hopena A‘o, or the HA framework, alludes to the concept of sharing breath and an environment of reciprocity where all may ¯ is inspirational, as thrive. For peace studies and education contexts, HA it provides ways of understanding and exploring our identity, our stories and those of our communities, as well as our strengths and gifts. ¯ As an educator experiencing and attempting to implement the HA framework in my classroom, I observed the revolutionary way in which ¯ was introduced in its pilot year. The framework was introduced to HA teachers face-to-face and was explained as a guiding framework not just for students, but for everyone interacting with the school system (Kim & Worchel, 2018; Montgomery, 2017). We were not mandated to carry ¯ but rather gifted it. When Jessica Worchel, who at the time out HA, was the N¯a Hopena A‘o Special Projects Manager, told those of us at Na‘alehu Elementary that the Department of Education was interested ¯ the offer felt to see how both teachers and our students adapted HA, untraditional, a counter to the hierarchical, top-down approach that tends

1 M¯ aori and Hawaiian words are not italicised in this chapter. Italicisation constitutes a form of visual othering since, for many, the terms “are not foreign to us, they are our norm” (Johnson-Nokise, 2020, p. 7). This text treatment is also in line with the work of other academics (Devere et al., 2020) and international publication standards (AlterNative, n.d.).

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to dominate conventional school policy. The interaction with the depart¯ engendered ment through the Ke‘ena Ho‘ona‘auao Hawai‘i around HA trust, showing both teachers and students, as capable experts on our classroom and community, and with that gift came the feeling of responsibility to implement it well. “N¯a” denotes a plurality, and “hopena” signifies a conclusion or result (Qina‘au, 2016). “A‘o” is defined as teaching and learning in the Hawaiian language (Meyer, 2001; Qina‘au, 2016). Meyer (2001) remarked that in the word “a‘o,” “even the sound of the word infers reciprocity” (p. 132). “A‘o” also forms, as Meyer reminds, “part of the word for ‘taste,’ as if ‘tasting’ experience is a large part of understanding it” (Meyer, 2001, p. 132). “A‘o” marks a fundamental difference in culture and ideals, since it embodies more than just the western notion of student outcomes, but opens up those outcomes to the entire community involved in educating the child (Qina‘au, 2016). The inclusion of “a‘o” is arguably an effort to dismantle some of the hierarchy of the Western, colonial education system, replacing it with community accountability, with the goal that the framework is “being nurtured at every level” (Kim & Worchel, 2018, p. 16). Under “a‘o,” students have not only much to learn, but much to teach others, and the educational community and the Department of Education is also bound up in the learning process. Students can engage in the teaching process with instructors because, as Burgess (2013) says, “your children can be your best teachers if you let them” (p. 20). ¯ “See Failure as an Opportunity to Learn Well:”2 Finding HA in the Writing Process as a Researcher ¯ framework, “Strengthened Sense of Excellence,” the “E” Within the HA in the BREATH acronym, lists that strengthening excellence includes the ability to “see failure as an opportunity to learn well” (Lupenui et al., 2015). I thought about this as I was composing the first draft of this ¯ framework chalchapter, and realised that it failed to capture how the HA lenged the system and built community. I share this story of my failure in ¯ framework. the hope that it provides a window into the spirit of the HA

2 See HA ¯ framework (Lupenui et al., 2015).

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I envisioned this writing as connecting education and peace studies theory to my practice, and in another large part being for my ‘ohana [family]. However, after constructing the first draft, my partner felt that it was my own research endeavour. I certainly was not writing for my ‘ohana if my closest family member felt that the very abstract seemed like research that was just for me, nor was I embodying the principles ¯ in my work. I sent the draft to the Ke‘ena Ho‘ona‘auao Hawai‘i, of HA and they also asked me to rewrite the chapter, confirming that my voice was absent in that initial writing. In citing so much, I had not added anything to the conversation, risked treading on the intellectual property of K¯anaka Maoli [Native Hawaiians] and lacked vulnerability, hiding instead behind the words of others. I am indebted to the work of the Ke‘ena Ho‘ona‘auao Hawai‘i because their honest feedback pointed out critical areas I had overlooked in my first draft. Ka‘anohiokal¯a Kalama¯ specialist, met me on Zoom amid the Macomber, N¯a Hopena A‘o (HA) pandemic to share her wisdom, and both she and Kau‘i Sang, the director of Ke‘ena Ho‘ona‘auao Hawai‘i, gave the gift of their time in reading my work. They wisely advised that my writing was not being true to my story ¯ framework. as an educator who used the HA Brayboy (2005) argues against the notion that theory is separate from stories; instead “locating theory as something absent from stories and practices is problematic” (p. 426). Chasing imaginary objectivity has erased work within Indigenous communities where stories often form and shape theories. For researchers to ignore stories and their positionality then paints an incomplete picture not only of theory but also communities. Similarly, in dominant educational systems, stories are often ¯ framework reimagines deemphasised by a dominant status quo. The HA education in Hawai‘i by uplifting the stories of students, teachers, staff, families, and communities. The advice given directed me to consider Puanani Burgess’ work on the beloved community. Beloved community is a philosophical concept from the early twentieth century that was popularised by Dr Martin Luther King Jr. and has been used by other social activists, like bell hooks (1995). With her work, hooks (1995) ties creating a beloved community with the act of divesting from harmful structural practices that promote racism and inequity. Instead, she encourages investment through knowing our identity and community because “beloved community is formed not by the eradication of difference but by its affirmation, by each of us claiming

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the identities and cultural legacies that shape who we are and how we live in the world” (hooks, 1995, p. 265). As an outline for this chapter, I borrow Burgess’ (2013) practice of Guts on the Table to remind myself to be truthful and vulnerable as I ¯ as a peace educator. Guts on the Table is organise my stories about HA an exercise that Burgess (2013) uses in her work in Building the Beloved Community, in which she asks participants to: “(1) tell the story of your names, all of your names, (2) tell the story of your community, however each participant defines ‘community’ and (3) tell the story of your gifts” (Burgess, 2013, p. 13). Even with the name, Guts on the Table, I am reminded that it is not easy to be vulnerable, a point which Burgess (2013) addresses in saying, “I don’t call it when we start the process, because I don’t want to make people nervous. I tell them later” (p. 31). In naming guts in the practice of Guts on the Table, the word alludes to the Hawaiian word for guts or na‘au. Na‘au refers not just to physical innards, but also to our “mind, heart, [and] affections” embodying aspects “of the heart or mind” including “mood, temper, [and] feelings” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986). ¯ framework hung on our classroom wall by the The six parts of the HA door. When I walked in to turn on the lights in the morning, or when ¯ framework was visible throughout my students left the classroom, the HA the day. What follows is a recounting of mo‘olelo that remind me of ¯ Elements of HA ¯ are interrelated, and each story certain aspects of HA. potentially touches on multiple tenets. My colleagues and I were part of the pilot phase and were learning about the framework, gaining a deeper understanding of it.

Guts on the Table: “Tell the Story of Your Names, All of Your Names”3 Echoing the writing of Burgess (2013), as well as others (Devere et al., 2020; Trask, 1991, 1996), I want to clarify who I am. My name is Kalika Anne Kastein. I was named Kalika, which means “rosebud.” My middle name is Anne (“with an e”) because my mom adored the feisty heroine in the book Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery. My last name,

3 This and the following headings for Guts on the Table are structured after Burgess’ (2013) practices for building beloved community.

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Kastein, is Estonian and means “chestnut tree,” from the Latin castanea. It is a constant reminder of my father and his side of the family, especially my paternal grandparents, Hilja and Leo who fled the small Baltic country of Estonia. I grew up in a multi-generational household raised by both my parents and grandparents. Although my father spoke Estonian with my grandparents, my siblings and I grew up only speaking English. Over time, I have become more aware of how society affirmed the aspects of my identity which conformed to the dominant group, while devaluing anything outside of that. I am haole4 [not K¯anaka Maoli; foreign]. I grew up within the continental United States. I benefitted and continue to benefit from systems of white supremacy. As someone who is an immigrant to Hawai‘i (Trask, 1991, p. 1205) and with a settler, colonial heritage, I cannot ever fully comprehend the pain felt from the continued exploitation, strategic genocide, land theft, military occupation, as well as linguistic and cultural assimilation forced on K¯anaka Maoli. In discussing a framework which was designed for everyone within the public-school system in Hawai‘i by K¯anaka Maoli and centred on Hawaiian epistemologies, I enter this space tentatively. I strive to be aware of how I benefit from whiteness through continued colonial violence, and how I have absorbed and internalised settler values that have allowed me to navigate colonial spaces, such as those within higher education. Unfortunately, it is often the case that when non-indigenous, and specifically white people, enter discussions of decolonisation, we often serve to further colonise the space. Especially in academia, white people tend to be the ones who benefit most even from conversations about decolonisation, further exacerbating “the problem of whites telling, once again, the stories of people of color” (Pulido, 2002, p. 45). Additionally, research that employs Indigenous epistemologies, or ways of knowing, can be inappropriately used as a shield, perceived incorrectly as an “inoculation that prevents one from conducting dodgy research” (Te Punga Somerville, 2011, p. 65). On the other hand, there is the practice of haole and p¯akeh¯a paralysis (Tolich, 2002), in which white researchers avoid writing about Indigenous groups, frameworks, or

4 Terms like west, western, Eurocentric, haole, settler, colonial, as well as colonialism and coloniser, are words often used by scholars within Hawai‘i (Kaomea, 2001; Kawakami et al., 2007; Meyer, 1998; Reyes, 2013; Trask, 1998, 2000) to describe the dominant system since the illegal overthrow of the monarchy in 1893.

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epistemologies, creating a research silence which ignores and suppresses Indigenous stories. ¯ framework to peacebuilding through This chapter connects the HA a decolonising approach, although I am aware of the inadequacies of this term. Graham Smith (2003) avoids using the word decolonisation, arguing that it is a reactive term that “puts the coloniser at the center of attention” (p. 2). In contrast, Smith prefers to use conscientisation or consciousness-raising, as it “puts M¯aori [and Indigenous people] at the center” (Smith, 2003, p. 2), which has been noted by other scholars as well (Cote-Meek, 2014; Hokowhitu, 2010). However, due to the frequency with which the term “decolonisation” is still used among some Indigenous academics and peace reseachers (Pictou, 2020; Pihama, 2011; Simpson, 2017; Smith, 1999/2012; Te Maih¯aroa, 2019), and specifically among academics in Hawai‘i (Kaomea, 2001; Reyes, 2013), I also use the term here. I hope to share my learning journey through these mo‘olelo, as I work on “decolonising the bits” of myself (Pihama, 2011, p. 55). ¯ system as a teacher who I hope to contribute to knowledge of the HA experienced it during the pilot years, with acknowledgement of the ways in which I am still a part of the violence that colonialism exerts. However, this writing is a collective effort and I am indebted to the community for providing consultation.

Guts on the Table: “Tell the Story of Your Community” Strengthened Sense of Belonging ¯ states that to know others, we first must be able to know ourselves. HA In doing so, we can be more successful in our relationships and be open to new ideas and people because we are first grounded in our history and identity. In my teaching reflection notes, I saw this connection in action through my practice: The more I am aware of my prejudices, the more effective I can be at reaching all my students, no matter where they are at or what their background might be. In the coming years as a teacher, I hope to develop more strategies for student self-exploration, as I believe this will help me be more responsive and will create a classroom environment where my students are more attune with themselves.

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And although I could see this connection at that time, it was by no means easy. I have found I am continually discovering aspects of myself, especially as a peace researcher, that reveal parts of my positionality. There is no such thing as neutral or objective research or education. Education is inherently political. Part of being able to research or teach effectively is to be reflexive, and to engage in the process of reflexivity, that is, to consider how our backgrounds, values, beliefs, and culture affect our research process and likewise how we teach. In this, I am still a learner, trying to be aware of areas where I still need to grow. I still struggle with being sensitive to my students’ situations that are so different from what I experienced at ages six and seven. In one instance, our school curriculum showed jail bars for the long “a” sound. I instinctively said under my breath, “Oh that’s scary,” before immediately feeling guilty. One of my students has a father in jail, and I knew that my words hadn’t been sensitive to their situation. I am still learning how to be culturally aware of the needs of my students in the classroom.

I wished I could have swallowed the words that had come tumbling out of my mouth. As someone who has not had any immediate family members incarcerated, I had imposed judgement. Our openness to learning about identity and being critical of our values, rather than showing defensiveness, is one tangible step we can take towards fostering a sense of Belonging. A sense of Belonging is not just controlled by teachers or those in ¯ framework encourages all members of the school authority. The HA community, including students, to know themselves, and in doing so to grow their sense of Belonging beyond our classroom and into the community. I met up with one of my colleagues, and we planned for our classes to jointly create artworks as a part of the OneWorld Classrooms Art Exchange programme. We were lucky to have a visit from one of their staff from Boston who happened to be in the area and gave a talk about the different schools involved. Classmates excitedly waved to one another as our classes crammed together in one room to listen to the talk, with desks pushed back to allow spaces for everyone. Seeing our students together gave the classroom a different feel, as they learned about the art exchange, where their art was going, and some examples of global classrooms that had participated. Our students then worked together over

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a few afternoons making art that they felt exemplified where they were from. Students signed their works on the back and titled them. Even after our artwork was neatly packaged and sent off, we continued to meet for joint classroom activities when our schedules allowed. My colleague’s classroom developed a class book showing why they were proud of being from the Ka’¯u area of the island, and her students’ excitement inspired me to ask if we could do something like that in our classroom. Following their request, I worked with them, and we wrote and illustrated a book of local legends. Our curriculum unit did not have any information on legends from Hawai‘i, so the book put what we were learning in context. Both classrooms donated copies of their respective books to the school library. I reflected in my notes on this connection that ties our identities and sense of Belonging together with our ability to contribute to our communities: Advocacy requires that students feel empowered not only in their skills but also in their identities. To enact change in communities and effectively lead, students must understand who they are and feel confident in their abilities. I wanted to highlight for my students a pride in their culture and place so they could better empathise and understand others. I also wanted them to feel pride in a finished product and empowered when they shared what they learned. … In Hawai‘i the framework of N¯a Hopena A’o, students strengthen and hone their existing abilities and to truly be community contributors. To be able to connect my students’ background to the place we live, continued discussion with our community members and our global partners serve to develop awareness and understanding of all cultures.

When pieces of art from the exchange finally arrived from around the world, we displayed them in our classrooms, talking about each piece with our students. There was artwork from all over the globe with notes on the back from the students that made them, describing their pieces. The artwork was split between the classes and hung on lines in the classroom. At the end of the school year, students took the pieces home. Somewhere in classrooms on different continents, I knew our artwork was there as well. In peace studies and peace education, engaging and strengthening our sense of Belonging through positionality and reflexivity can improve our work. Through positionality, we seek to understand the many facets of our identity. In reflexivity, we concentrate on reflecting on

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our understanding of knowledge as our worldview shapes it. It is through understanding ourselves, our history, and place within the community that we can more compassionately approach others. Strengthened Sense of Responsibility In January of 2017, I attended a Teach for America training session where those of us who were teachers with the organisation experienced another ¯ We gathered in front of the Ka’¯u Plantation House in Pahala, facet of HA. opening the gathering by chanting E H¯ o Mai,5 an oli [chant] that is traditionally chanted by students before learning begins. The oli was familiar as it was also part of our school culture and routine. For me, E H¯ o Mai sets a tone, instilling a sense of kuleana [responsibility]. ¯ specialist, led After the oli and introductions, Jessica Worchel, the HA ¯ ¯ our group in the facets of HA. She showed us the HA wheel, a circle that looked like a spider’s web divided into six parts and woven with dotted lines marked with numbers, each slice of the circle labelled with one of the six tenets. She asked us to mark where we felt we were at the start of the day on the six points, assessing our current levels. We measured each of the areas, revisiting the wheel at the end of the day to mark where we ended. There was space on the back where we were instructed to add our reflections on how our understanding had improved.6 Assessment for learning gives space for mo‘olelo, going beyond just reporting a summative score or test data; instead, it “addresses other quantitative and qualitative data, and even encompasses a great deal of anecdotal and descriptive data” (Siedlecki, 2012). This is the approach ¯ has taken with assessment to subvert power structures. In asking that HA students also to assess themselves and their teaching and learning, and ¯ gives in asking teachers to evaluate their teaching and learning, HA ¯ space to reflect. HA reminds us of our responsibility and role within our community. In a strength-based, rather than a deficit-based mindset, methods of assessment become more than a red grading mark telling us how we have 5 The oli, “E H¯ o Mai,” was composed by Edith Kekuhikuhipu‘uoneo‘naalikiokohala Kan¯aka‘ole for her hula class, H¯alau O Kekuhi, and sung by students at the start of class (Kamehameha Schools, n.d.). 6 See the OHE Hub—HA ¯ at: https://sites.google.com/k12.hi.us/ohehub/n%C4%81hopena-a%CA%BBo-h%C4%81?

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failed or succeeded. Instead, assessment for learning and strengthening a sense of Responsibility shows us how we connect to the work we are doing and how we are holding ourselves accountable for the goals that we set. In peace studies and peace education, we acknowledge that schooling can be violent (Standish, 2019) in large part because of how it is has functioned to assimilate groups to a dominant narrative and standard. ¯ however, counters this narrative, asking us to deeply consider our HA, evaluation methods, and making us active in the teaching and learning process. Strengthened Sense of Excellence One day while I was preparing some of our block manipulatives for our daily counting, one of my students groaned in response to my pulling out the box. Acknowledgement of our shortcomings and seeing them as a chance to improve is a part of strengthening Excellence within the ¯ framework. I finished the lesson, and later that day was thinking HA about why my routine had sparked that response. In reflecting, I hoped to understand what could be done better. The next day I moved the location for our daily counting to our class garden, weather permitting, which engaged students more. I asked students to help count our seedlings which had begun peeking through the soil. We decided to count the number of plants, leaves on the plants, and even our weeds as we pulled them. The students kept a record of the garden’s progress in their notebooks so we could observe how it changed. The garden was a space that we had created and planted together. Because of that, it was special, with all of us feeling a sense of pride in that space. Pride we felt despite planting what we assumed were watermelon seeds from an unmarked package, which instead surprised us by turning out to be small black-seeded gourds! Another opportunity presented itself when I left some of my classroom mail on a table at the back of my classroom. A bright coloured materials catalogue caught one of my student’s eyes: “Whoa! Look at all the toys!” said one, which then drew in the others. They flipped it open to the manipulatives sections and were excitedly pointing out the ones they preferred. I turned to them thoughtfully, “You know, I think we can try to learn to write letters and ask someone if they would help us get some of these math toys for our classroom.” Shouts of “Yes!” and “Really?” bubbled up from the excited group. That afternoon I added letter writing

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into my upcoming lesson plans and sought out how to request donations for classroom supplies, deciding on the DonorsChoose programme, a non-profit online platform that allows teachers in high-needs communities to crowdfund for classroom materials. I wrote up a brief proposal which I later edited and posted to our classroom’s DonorsChoose page: Bright eyes and curious minds enter into our classroom every day. I am a K-1 Special Education teacher in a rural school in Hawai‘i. My students are brilliant, vivacious, and despite obstacles in their lives, are not letting anything stop them from achieving their dreams. Because our enrollment is small, we don’t always have enough funds for purchasing extra materials. My students have worked to create this DonorsChoose page so that they can have the materials that they believe belong in our classroom. While we’ve been resourceful, counting everything from leaves on our plants in the garden to days on our calendar, my students sat down the other day to write letters about the math materials that they felt we needed in our classroom. Beyond just practising counting items, they wanted manipulatives that would feel like play, but still help them in reaching the math goals they set for themselves at the beginning of the year.

Through this process, students had a say in their learning, providing input on what made it relevant and interesting to them. Creating spaces where teachers and students can work on problem-solving together are critical ¯ framework. With the parts of strengthening Excellence within the HA ¯ framework, strengthening Excellence means initiating ideas, exempliHA fying creativity, and using imagination to solve problems (Lupenui et al., 2015). Working together, the students and I then created a proposal for materials for their classroom. Since they were relatively young, I modelled an example on the board, showing them how letters and emails have a greeting, body, and closing. They wrote their messages on large, lined paper, and I then typed up their responses and posted them on our project page: Each student in my class helped choose which items they felt would be the most engaging. Here is what they said: Dear donors, I like key matching because I like unlocking. Aloha, I. Dear donors, I want count and compare because it is so cool. Mahalo, R.

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Dear donors, I want counting cars because they have people in them. Love, O. Dear donors, I like the rocket numbers because it is fun. Mahalo, T.

I made a note to myself after seeing my students’ letters to make sure to consult them in the coming years about how we spent our classroom funds. It was inspiring to see what fascinated my students and what they valued. Just as when we as teachers had been approached by the Depart¯ during the pilot year, and ment of Education about implementing HA that act had felt different and transformative, I found that principles like ¯ encouraged shifts in power, expectations, responExcellence within HA sibility within both myself and my students. The project to write letters gave my students responsibility by acknowledging and giving space for their ideas. I began to see for myself how the classroom as a place of shared space and ownership was crucial; it was one thing to read about how classroom ownership was necessary in my teaching curriculum, and ¯ framework could another to see how reflective practice around the HA lead to excitement around learning. I let my students know that there was a chance we might not reach our goal for funds. It was my first time using the DonorsChoose platform, and I had no idea how likely it would be that our project would attract funding. I saw other teachers on the platform still looking for items for their classroom and knew it was possible that we would only get partial funding or none at all. I finished off the rest of the letter describing the project and posted it on 5 February 2017. These items are math manipulatives that will be used to reinforce my students’ understanding of numbers through counting and comparing size. We will also use these manipulatives to start learning basic addition and subtraction. Donating to this project will help my students see that activism around needs in a community is worthwhile. My students just learned to write this year and are still learning the power of the written word. As my students wrote about what they believed our classroom needed, I was so proud of them for daring to dream and being willing to make a difference in their classroom community. I hope you are too!

I then showed my students what it looked like on the webpage during class. They practised their reading by reading their letters aloud from the

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project page. Although my students and I were hopeful that the materials would receive funding, if the project ended here, I would have still considered the project a success. Something had changed from that initial groan I heard as I pulled out that math manipulative box in our class the month before, both in myself and in my students. Just a few weeks later, on February 19, we received our first donation for the project. I told my students, but managed expectations, reminding them that we needed to try to reach our goal for all the manipulatives to arrive. However, it felt like a victory. My students now saw that their pens had power and that regardless of age, writing could initiate change. Two days later, on February 21, a final donor gave the rest of the amount needed to purchase all the math manipulatives my students had chosen. The team at DonorsChoose then took the list of items the students had created and purchased them using the donors’ funds. We waited expectantly, and when the boxes finally arrived, I kept them aside so that we could open them together. I wrote to the donors describing my students’ reactions: The day that the boxes of manipulatives arrived from Lakeshore, my students were ecstatic. They rushed over to the boxes and asked, “Are these the math toys we asked for?” As each item came out of the box students recalled which ones they had written a letter for and proudly declared that they would play with that math toy first. Since that special day, my students have asked if they can write more letters because they saw the impact of their words and were empowered. You have made such a difference in acknowledging and listening to the voices of my young learners. We had the opportunity to use math manipulatives in some of our end of the year IEP assessing which made it more fun for the students. And every time those toys are taken out, they are handled with such care and pride because my students have a stake in how they came to our class. You recognised the voices of six and seven year-olds, something that is so rare in our schools and communities. Words cannot express my thanks!

Students worked on writing, editing, and were invested when the materials arrived. They wrote letters thanking our donors, and had been a part of the whole process despite their young age. A strengthened sense of Excellence required ownership through my students using their gifts and having the space to do so, which deepened their sense of Responsibility. On my part, I tried to strengthen my sense of Excellence in evaluating my

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own practice, and through aiming to self-reflect on how I could improve my teaching. In my notes, I thought back on how this project inspired me to engage more in project-based learning: In supporting students with finding solutions to problems in our community, students could see growth over time, and they could also remember the learning as a continuous experience… when integrating advocacy into education, students are able to have some say in addressing the problems and issues that surround them.

The atmosphere in the classroom changed when I was willing to cede the traditional role of the teacher in making decisions for the classroom. When decision-making around what manipulatives we should have was collaborative, it pushed us towards a new environment in which there were important forms of investment in our classroom space. Excellence was a continual process in our classroom. It was inclusive as we saw that what needed to change required our ideas and talents to work towards a solution. Decolonising methods within peace studies and peace education as well as within other fields, require us to critically reflect on who is at the table in making decisions and finding solutions. Strengthening Excellence is contemplative, as we question not only our typical responses to challenges in our community but inquire into why things can be done through being open to subverting traditional decision-making processes and uplifting the strengths of our communities. Strengthened Sense of Aloha Little gestures made by experienced teachers to less-experienced colleagues working on their certification were genuine acts that were not required, but rather time and mentoring gifted freely. These acts, for me, were filled with a sense of Aloha. Aloha, while there is not a direct translation into English, embodies concepts like mercy, compassion, and love (Pukui & Elbert, 1986) and had also once been described to me on a deeper level as a force connecting us together, through the alo [presence] of h¯a [breath]. Sense of Aloha among teachers came from a belief in wanting all students to succeed, not just the students in their classrooms, as well as a deep love of teaching. As we shared supplies and methods, my colleagues were the source of the first ways I began to feel connected to my community. These small acts of kindness led us to

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form genuine friendships, talking about more than just our curricula at the end of the day, checking in on each other after the weekend, house sitting when someone went out of town, or sharing bitter melon, figs, or lilikoi from our home gardens. We continued to converse about practice, but in forming friendships that went beyond the classroom, there was a deepening of the sense that we were connected and looking out for one another. My colleague lent our classroom her Zoo-phonics set and took time during planning periods after school to show me how the system worked. The system had a series of chants for sounds in the alphabet, and the cards were colourfully decorated with various animals. I was so thankful for how she showed me Aloha through her empathy and guidance. In teaching using the Zoo-phonics method that my colleague recommended, I saw how my students loved the rhythm of the chants and the cartoon animals on the cards, and quickly becoming experts on the different chants and sounds. I would see them hum a chant when coming across a letter that they had previously struggled to sound out. Impressed by the progress made, I asked my students if they would like to teach Zoo-phonics to the preschoolers at our school. With my students feeling confident in the task, we began to make a Zoo-phonics book to bring to the preschool classroom. My students worked on the pages after they had completed their work for the day, writing the letters and integrating colourful animals as well as the chant. I noted that: Students at the beginning of the year were practising handwriting standards by writing the letters and the names of the Zoo-phonics characters that went with them. It was interesting to see the progression in the book as my students mastered their letters and their writing became quicker and more fluent. Each student was assigned a different letter to focus on and then became the “expert” in that letter. Students would share the letter they worked on as they lined up at the end of the day during our reflective period by the door…students progressed to producing better letters when writing and including more details in their work.

I consulted the preschool teacher and arranged a time for my students to present the book as well as to teach the chants. We agreed on a time, and my students were jittery and smiling, carrying the book to the preschool classroom. As they stood in front of the preschoolers, they were shy, but with some encouragement proudly presented their

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book, easily remembering the chants that they had become experts on, and their nerves dissolved. The preschool teacher and I watched as her students tried parts of the chant in small groups led by my students. My students had continued the cycle of mentoring that had initiated Zoophonics in the classroom: my colleague had taught me, I had taught my students, and my students had then taught the preschoolers. As my students proudly finished and presented their book, the preschool teacher accepted the book from them, promising to put it in the class library and my students beamed as they received a round of applause from the preschoolers. Just as my colleague gave her time and shared what she knew in teaching me about Zoo-phonics, my students were encouraged to share their knowledge. I wrote about the experience in my reflections at the time: My students became mentors and presenters to a Pre-K class and assisted them with phonics skills. The project was an opportunity to apply their phonics skills yet tie in the project with advocacy so that the upcoming class of Pre-K students felt confident and prepared with their letters and sounds. Students grew in their confidence…they were then, in turn, able to give more of themselves to the surrounding community because they felt they had something to offer…Many of my students receive speech services, [and] the fact that they had something to contribute orally to another class was such a positive opportunity and gave them much more confidence interacting with people they don’t know, and speaking in front of a group.

The experience guided my students to spread positivity, to be connected and welcomed into another classroom and to practice sharing their knowl¯ shows edge just as my colleague had reached out to work with me. HA us that maintaining relationships in our community often happens when we act without promise of any sort of reward. Likewise, scholarship within the field of peace studies and peace practice, including concepts like encounter theory (Standish, 2021), reinforce humanising, connecting aspects of peace and conflict studies theory. Strengthened Sense of Total Well-Being While I was teaching summer school, some of my students noticed the withering plants in the untended garden beds that had been overlooked with no one at the school to look after them. Inspired by what they had

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learned the previous year with the garden teacher, they suggested that we renovate them. I recorded some of this in my notes at the time: Gardening allows us to come in touch with nature…Students noticed that there was a need for replanting in one of the garden beds near the walkway to the cafeteria. This year, our school was unable to fund a garden teacher as they had in previous years. My students’ curiosity about what would happen with the garden bed was then developed into an action plan.

The garden beds had been neglected. The beds likely would only be kept growing by classes that decided to continue gardening that next year. I was pleasantly surprised to see how connected students felt to gardening at the school, wanting it to continue even after the original teacher had stopped the programme. We collected some leftover supplies with the administration’s permission and cleaned out the beds. In the garden, I saw Total Well-Being grow as we connected with the ‘¯aina [land]. The fresh air on our faces and sun on our backs as we planted seeds, monitored the progress of our plants, watered and pulled weeds took the weight of the day not just off students, but also myself. In that space, we could relax, hearing the breeze and the occasional bee buzzing by. As we worked, the students commented on how they would surprise the other students when the school year resumed as there would be a garden that had flourished over the break. The work of these sixth-grade students (ages 11–13) inspired me to continue tending a garden space with my younger students in kindergarten through first grade (ages 5–7). I wrote some notes about the project as we were still working on it at the time: This project is still ongoing (through the end of the year). When I undertook a similar project with 6th grade (ages 11–13) …this summer, they were not only excited to tend the garden but enjoyed taking fruits and seeds home to their families to continue planting there. We have received compliments on our K-1 (ages 5–7) garden from numerous staff this year, including the principal. My students are the first to remind me if we have forgotten to water during the day. They are used to the routine of watering the plants before they walk into class and [a student has used] …the garden [as a place] to calm down more than once this semester. Overall, the garden has been a positive force that my students created in the community and has resulted in a transformative change in themselves.

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The garden required too that we develop a schedule to keep the project going. Being outside, pulling weeds, and carrying water pails was good for our physical fitness, teachers, and students alike. In my case, my students were keen on promoting the garden as a part of their development. I believe that sometimes it is through listening to students that some of the most effective lessons and school projects can come about. In the context of peace research and peace education, it is worth asking ourselves how Total Well-Being impacts our work. Are we caring for our bodies, mentally and physically? Further, Total Well-Being considers not just our own well-being, but also the well-being of our communities. Just as my students that worked the garden over the break wanted to gift the school vibrant garden beds, Total Well-Being is something that can be considered in our everyday work, as we ask how what we are doing will benefit our larger community. Strengthened Sense of Hawai‘i I typed up the following in my reflection notes for a mini-unit I taught that enhanced not only my students’ sense of Hawai‘i but also my own. During 6th grade [ages 11-13] Extended School Year (ESY) for three students receiving special education services, many of them were working on goal work. Still, I found none of them had practised writing a fiveparagraph essay or doing research on informational texts. I created a culturally responsive mini unit on ki‘i pohaku, and students did a deep reading of their curriculum text on petroglyphs.

However, the process by which this unit developed was not instantaneous. There was a warm, sluggish humidity in the room as I planned lessons for that class of sixth-grade summer school, I saw that one of the readings was on petroglyphs and I stopped mid-page. I had personally seen petroglyphs recently. I attended a community meeting with a fellow teacher on the proposed construction of a new sewage treatment centre in our community. The meeting had started with proposals for a site with both sides giving pros and cons of the various locations in the community. My friend and I had been astounded that one of the sites proposed had been adjacent to ki‘i p¯ohaku [petroglyphs] on makahiki grounds. I had not even realised there were makahiki grounds in our community. Makahiki is a four-month festival that starts in October (Pukui & Elbert, 1986) or

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the Hawaiian month of ‘Ikuwa (Naone, 1995, 1996). The festival marks a change in seasons in Hawai‘i, of which there are two: kau [dry season] and ho‘olio [wet season] (Naone, 1995, 1996). The period honours the god Lono, the god of peace, fertility, and cultivation. It is celebrated both with sports and religious festivities and traditionally a ban or taboo on war during that time (Walk, 2013). We left with a part of the group from the community centre to examine the makahiki grounds. As we walked with the group to the grounds, I was stunned how close they were to the school. These makahiki grounds behind our elementary school are the Kahua ‘Oloh¯u grounds. We started our walk along the semi-circle, raised area which one of the people in our group described as a kind of stadium seating that dipped down into a wide flat area. In the flat open space, traditional games such as “heihei k¯ukini (racing), mokomoko (boxing), h¯ak¯ok¯o (a wrestling style similar to sumo), p¯uhenehene (a skilled-game of deception), and k¯ onane (a board game most resembling chess)” would have been played (Walk, 2013). As we trekked across the field, it was not long before we came across scattered stones with petroglyphs carved into them. It was so powerful to see these stones, and I could not help but picture the grounds bustling with people. All of us there were struck by the power of this space, and most of us felt there should not in any way be a sewage treatment plant put in nearby. One of the ways we can continue to remember history and protect cultural sites is by retelling stories about them. Our textbook made no mention of petroglyphs in Hawai‘i. As teachers, it is up to us to make sure that our curriculum is relevant to our student’s contexts. Further, ¯ framework, with its visible reminders posted on our walls and in the HA our planning materials, reminded us to strengthen our sense of Hawai‘i in ourselves and our students. In planning for the reading, I asked our principal if we could take our summer school class over to see the ki‘i p¯ohaku at the makahiki grounds. I researched some of the ki‘i p¯ohaku on our island, where they were and what the carvings looked like so I could ask students if they had come across any others and we could talk about the typical features. I also engaged the special education teacher in our class who I co-taught with as she grew up in the community and lived near the makahiki grounds. As we set out on our small field trip behind the school, the learning was tangible and memorable as we saw the rocks in person. The special education teacher shared stories with us, speaking

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from her own experience about what the area used to be like, as well as how the small town had both changed and in other ways stayed the same. In class, we talked about how ki‘i p¯ohaku served to record events. Some of the students had seen petroglyphs at Pu‘u Loa where ki‘i p¯ohaku are etched with pictures of people, turtles, and tiny puka [holes] scatter much of the p¯ahoehoe [smooth lava rock] with each puka made for a piko [umbilical cord], marking a birth. After this mini-unit, one of the students was able to share with us that he has petroglyphs on his family’s land near the local makahiki grounds. The subject matter was interesting because it was culturally responsive, but the experience of studying the local rocks and then making our own ki‘i p¯ ohaku brought a new level of importance to old artifacts in the area.

Students also typed up and printed their writing. In my reflection notes, I described how we became creative at the end of the mini-unit: In addition to reading and writing about glyphs and ki‘i p¯ ohaku, students were tasked with designing their own modern glyph or image that they would then carve into a block of black playdough emulating the volcanic rock here in Hawai‘i. Students did draft drawings of a proposed image and were able to share and get feedback from peers.

After looking at so many different ki‘i p¯ ohaku, it was energising to see students carving into the playdough with their ideas. Their creativity was powerful and evidence of how they were inspired by the ki‘i p¯ohaku we had seen at the makahiki grounds and our reflections on other ki‘i p¯ ohaku across the island. From how the lesson was developed to how it was implemented, I can see how important our connections to the community outside of school are, and how they enabled this lesson to develop. Our sense of place is enhanced when we are open to understanding the stories connected to where we are. I had not expected to learn something during that community meeting that would be useful for my class, but realised that the organic ways that we connect even in small settings can have a profound impact on how we work and exist in our community. There was an extremely relational aspect in centring our lessons with a sense of place, as it tied us not only to the land but to each other. Within peace studies and peace education, teachers in tertiary classrooms and peace educators can look to bring the community to the classroom and the classroom to the community.

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Guts on the Table and Conclusion: “Tell the Story of Your Gifts” What are gifts? Burgess (2013) notes that our gifts go beyond any position we have held or skill set that we have acquired. My gift is that I am a connector, and I can connect people and ideas, which is a large part of why I became a teacher. My gift is part of why I feel excited to greet a room full of students when I teach or why I love the feeling of putting thoughts down on a page. A community that acknowledges gifts allows us to approach not only ourselves with grace and positivity, but also to approach others with that same compassion. As Burgess (2013) says, with our gifts come kuleana as our strengths and gifts are a call to action. Like many people, I sometimes struggle to see my gifts positively, perhaps in part because dominant schooling tends to be deficit-based, telling us what we do not know rather than encouraging and strengthening our gifts. While I was in teacher training, one of my mentors encouraged me to rethink how we give corrections in the classroom, and to make sure that for every correction that was given, I should try to focus on at least three affirmations once the issue had been remedied, to focus on students’ gifts and strengths. I know how one critique can eat away, and how important positive words can be in maintaining our relationships while learning. The ¯ is that difference in educating from a strengths-based mindset like HA there is a greater focus on seeing what we can do. We all have abilities that can strengthen through practise and the support of our communities. Likewise, owning our mistakes becomes part of that process in building a beloved community, because as hooks (1995) describes, “like all beloved communities we affirm our differences. It is this generous spirit of affirmation that gives us the courage to challenge one another, to work through misunderstanding, especially those that have to do with race and racism” ¯ remind us that concepts like Excellence (p. 272). Frameworks like HA strengthen when we are willing to admit where we have fallen short and to grow from this position. Gifts are relevant to peace education and peace research in strengthening bonds through teaching and recognising the strengths within our communities in the face of systems that are often violent and oppressive. As Burgess (2013) says in her community-building framework: “tell the whole story, not just the uwe wale no story (the story of tragedy, oppression, victimisation), but also tell the story of when you helped, healed,

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gave joy” (p. 23). It can be all too easy to become jaded, only seeing the negative, rather than the potential in our communities to effect change. ¯ are just one set of stories among many told These mo‘olelo about HA from one point of view. Further, no story here is about just students, ¯ places us teachers, or community; instead these mo‘olelo show how HA in relationship to each other through teaching, learning, and discovery together. This idea of togetherness is something Burgess (2019) writes about in a poem on k¯akou, a Hawaiian word that means “everyone,” referring to the concept of all of us and alluding to community: So, when we think of who are the citizens of Hawai‘i nei, how do we include all of us, / How do we hear and see and include what they know and need? / Let us give thanks to the people, our ancestors, who understood and embraced the / Fundamental idea of k¯akou. (Burgess, 2019, p. 21)

¯ is the fundamental idea of k¯akou: a teaching and At the centre of HA learning framework for all of us: teacher, student, staff, administrator, family member, and community member. In beloved community, k¯akou is what connects us with a shared hope, because “in a beloved community, solidarity and trust are grounded in profound commitment to a shared vision” (hooks, 1995, p. 272). For academics, our writing embodies k¯akou when it can be a gift to our communities. To do that I believe we must remain grounded in our communities, seeking to go beyond an essential ability to “gather stories and retell them in productive and respectful ways”—instead exemplifying our interrelationship (Fitzgerald, 2004, p. 235). ¯ framework is itself a gift that cannot belong to By nature, the HA any single person or institution as it embodies a “collective WE, rather than the individual” (Qina‘au & Worchel, 2017, p. 5). Engaging with ¯ may take different forms in various schools and communities. HA ¯ HA is Hawai‘i-specific; its goals and outcomes are not like other federal or national policies, intended to be administered uniformly across a system. ¯ For those working, researching, and studying within peace studies, HA is not a model to be transplanted, but rather a framework to examine ¯ proposes that our education systems, developed by and for Hawai‘i. HA learners, classrooms, families, schools, and communities all have individual ¯ places ways needs in a shift away from a generalist, dominant system. HA of knowing in Indigenous communities in a place of power.

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Breath, just like knowledge, is not something locked in the four walls ¯ is not a blanket of an institution: it exists within our communities. HA approach or a one-size-fits-all way to go about teaching or learning. It is ¯ is connected, also by and for the educational communities in Hawai‘i. HA woven within our existing community framework and ways of being. ¯ differently. In these mo‘olelo, there Each school implements parts of HA were often other things at work, other methods I had read about, or which colleagues had suggested which impacted my implementation. As ¯ worked in tandem with I planned lessons, I often thought about how HA other parts of our school community such as our curricula, the assessment standards for teachers, suggestions by colleagues, and other aspects of my ¯ not only encouraged new practice and ways of doing teacher training. HA things, it also reaffirmed and strengthened what was already there that was working well. Moreover, in some of these mo‘olelo, I can see how more ¯ was at work, often as different parts of HA ¯ were than one part of HA being engaged and strengthened. ¯ but also to other experiences, These mo‘olelo are connected to HA, mentors, and frameworks from my school community. One of the bene¯ is the promotion of varied implementations fits in a framework like HA that are responsive to different settings. I hope that these personal stories ¯ serve to inspire those working within peace studies, research, about HA and practice in how we build the beloved community. These communitydesigned initiatives show that it is possible to introduce decolonising methods that promote critical reflection within large educational systems and institutions. ¯ invite us in and embody community peaceMovements like HA building. I opened this paper with the ‘¯olelo no‘eau, “He ali‘i ka la‘i, he haku na ke aloha” which translates as “Where peace is, there love ¯ invites us to abides also” (Pukui, 1983, p. 143) because I believe HA tap into expressions of love for ourselves and our community through its six parts: Belonging, Responsibility, Excellence, Aloha, Wellbeing, and ¯ that we Hawai‘i. It is through holistic community approaches like HA, uncover within our own communities, strengths with which we can begin to reimagine our systems and institutions beyond coloniality in a way that exemplifies a beloved community.

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licschools.org/DOE%20Forms/HA/H%C4%80-lights%20Edition%202%20S eptember%202018.pdf Lupenui, C. K., Sang, D. K., Seward, H., Lee, H., Walk, K., Benioni, K., Kawai‘ae‘a, K., Albert, L., Duarte, M. P., Zeug, M., Morris, M., & III Kahumoku, W. (2015, November). N¯ a Hopena A‘o Statements ¯ BREATH . https://www.hawaiipublicschools.org/DOEForms/NaHope HA: naAoE3.pdf Meyer, M. A. (1998). Native Hawaiian Epistemology: Sites of Empowerment and Resistance. Equity and Excellence in Education, 31(1), 22–28. https:// doi.org/10.1080/1066568980310104 Meyer, M. A. (2001). Our Own Liberation: Reflections on Hawaiian Epistemology. The Contemporary Pacific, 13(1), 124–148. https://doi.org/10. 1353/cp.2001.0024 ¯ Online Orientation. Hawai‘i Department of Montgomery, P. (2017). HA Education. https://youtu.be/HkhydyFXaiA Naone, K. L. (1995). The Hawaiian Moon Calendar and the Ways of the Practitioners (Kahuna). Na Po‘e Hawai‘i Magazine, 1–3. Pictou, S. (2020). Decolonizing Decolonization: An Indigenous Feminist Perspective on the Recognition and Rights Framework. South Atlantic Quarterly, 119(2), 371–391. https://doi.org/10.1215/00382876-8177809 Pihama, L. (2011). Keynote: A Conversation about Kaupapa M¯aori Theory and Research. In J. Hutchings, H. Potter, & K. Taupo (Eds.), Kei Tua o Te Pae Hui Proceedings: The Challenges of Kaupapa M¯ aori Research in the 21st Century (pp. 49–55). New Zealand Council for Educational Research. ¯ Pukui, M. K. (1983). ’Olelo No’eau: Hawaiian Proverbs & Poetical Sayings. Bishop Museum Press. Pukui, M. K., & Elbert, S. H. (1986). Hawaiian Dictionaries. University of Hawai‘i Press. https://wehewehe.org Pulido, L. (2002). Reflections on a White Discipline. The Professional Geographer, 54(1), 42–49. https://doi.org/10.1111/0033-0124.00313 ¯ McREL InterQina‘au, J. (2016). BOE Policy E-3: N¯ a Hop ena A‘o (HA). national. https://www.hawaiipublicschools.org/DOE%20Forms/HA-ArticleJuly2016.pdf ¯ Year 1 in Review. Qina’au, J. & Worchel, J. (2017). N¯ a Hopena A‘o (HA): Hawai‘i Department of Education. https://www.hawaiipublicschools.org/ DOE%20Forms/HAYear1.pdf Reyes, N. A. S. (2013). ‘Ike K¯u‘oko‘a: Indigenous Critical Pedagogy and the Connections Between Education and Sovereignty for ka L¯ahui Hawai‘i. H¯ ulili: Multidisciplinary Research on Hawaiian Well-Being, 9, 205–227. Siedlecki, J. (2012, May 12). Education Testing Assessment of Learning Versus Assessment for Learning. Michael Susan Dell Foundation. https://www.dell.

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org/insight/education-testing-assessment-of-learning-versus-assessment-forlearning/ Simpson, L. B. (2017). As We Have Always Done: Indigenous Freedom Through Radical Resistance. University of Minnesota Press. Smith, G. H. (2003, December 17). Kaupapa M¯aori theory: Theorizing indigenous transformation of education & schooling. Paper presented at the Kaupapa M¯aori Symposium, New Zealand Association for Research in Education/Australian Association for Research in Education Joint Conference, Auckland, New Zealand. Smith, L. T. (2012). Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (2nd ed.). Zed Books Ltd. Original work published in 1999. Standish, K. (2019). Undigenous: Be Quiet and Know Your Place. Diaspora, Indigenous, and Minority Education, 13(2), 123–128. https://doi.org/10. 1080/15595692.2019.1585344 Standish, K. (2021). Encounter Theory. Peacebuilding, 9(1), 1–14. https://doi. org/10.1080/21647259.2020.1811192 Te Maih¯aroa, K. (2019). K¯ a p¯ akihi k¯ a whakatekateka a waitaha: Titiro ki muri, kia whakatika ¯ a mua, look to the past to proceed to the future [The plains where the waitaha strutted proudly: Why t¯ıpuna used rakim¯ arie peaceful living to claim and maintain ahi k¯ a burning fires of occupation during early colonial contact and does it hold validity and relevance for wh¯ anau family today?] (Thesis, Doctor of Philosophy). University of Otago. OUR Archive. http:// hdl.handle.net/10523/9818 Te Punga Somerville, A. (2011). Neither Qualitative nor Quantitative: Kaupapa M¯aori, Methodology and the Humanities. In J. Hutchings, H. Potter, & K. Taupo (Eds.), Kei Tua o Te Pae Hui Proceedings: The Challenges of Kaupapa M¯ aori Research in the 21st Century (pp. 62–66). New Zealand Council for Educational Research. Tolich, M. (2002). Pakeha “Paralysis”: Cultural Safety for Those Researching the General Population of Aotearoa—Ministry of Social Development. Social Policy Journal of New Zealand Te Puna Whakaaro, 19, 164–178. http://www.msd.govt.nz/about-msd-and-our-work/publications-resources/ journals-and-magazines/social-policy-journal/spj19/pakeha-paralysis19-pag es164-178.html Trask, H.-K. (1991). Coalition-Building between Natives and Non-Natives. Stanford Law Review, 43(6), 1197–1213. Trask, H.-K. (1996). Feminism and Indigenous Hawaiian Nationalism. Feminist Nationalism, 21(4), 906–916. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3175028 Trask, H.-K. (1998). Colonization. Peace Review, 10(3), 383–384. https://doi. org/10.1080/10402659808426173

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CHAPTER 9

The Path of Education in Mexico Goes Back to Its Roots Lucía Elena Rodríguez McKeon

Just a few decades ago, an Indigenous movement known as the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN), rose to remind us of the everlasting claim for justice and dignity as a condition to build genuine peace in our country. On the first day of January 1994, we woke up to the news that thousands of Indigenous people had revolted and were taking over the iconic city of San Cristóbal de las Casas, located in the state of Chiapas, in southern Mexico. The outbreak of this armed conflict shook the optimism of those who had the illusion that Mexican society lived in peace, because the issues related to the Indigenous population’s integration had been solved, posing new narratives about the mainstreaming of plurality in our country. The emergence of the outbreak positioned the demand for the construction of such positive peace in our country fuelled the public debate, in order to solve historical grievances. Centuries of oppression

L. E. Rodríguez McKeon (B) Universidad Pedagógica Nacional, Mexico City, México

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_9

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silenced over time, came back to the present to question those old forms of integration, historically imposed, that denied the right of Indigenous populations to a dignified life. With their actions, the Indigenous members of the Zapatista movement said “enough!”, reinstating old demands that proclaimed their right to build a world where we all fit, as a condition for the construction of genuine peace. The Zapatista experience has contributed significantly at various levels to reflection on battles fought by Indigenous peoples in Latin America and other areas of the world. In this chapter, we aim to analyse the core attributes of the Zapatista educational project and identify some of the elements that give it meaning, within the framework of its proposal to build genuine peace. This discussion is increasingly relevant in current times in Mexico, when the country is immersed in an escalation of violence that seems to have no end and old strategies do not help solve problems of such complex depth. In less than two decades, the culture of violence has become widespread, with thousands of persons missing and killed in the midst of the fight against drug trafficking, and more and more cases of violence against women, and femicide. Therefore, it is urgent to build other paths at all levels of social and political life in order to stop this process of dehumanization, by developing a culture of peace that is nourished by the roots of alternatives built deep within our land. Based on a decolonial perspective, the genuine Zapatista peacebuilding proposal is a positive project entailing a radical transformation of society and individuals and emphasizing the work of a new education that rescues community forms for the development of said objective. In this account, we will take stock of the main contributions of the Zapatista educational project as part of a broader endeavour related to genuine peacebuilding in order to eradicate structural violence. We will outline the epistemology and the values that sustain it, its purposes, the new educational content and pedagogical methodologies, as well as the main achievements and the challenges to be faced. In seeking to understand the way in which an educational project aimed at constructing true peace becomes a reality, some of its supporting principles and strategies are identified.

The Construction of Genuine Peace, the Objective of the Zapatista Movement In light of criticism regarding authoritarian and hierarchical models that restrict peace to the simple act of cease-fire, the genuine peace proposal (GPP) of the Zapatista movement represents an alternative to

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the hegemonic thinking concerning peace, by expanding its purposes and developing new mechanisms from other epistemologies and ways of understanding the world. Considering it far beyond a simple cessation of hostilities and/or a mere stabilization process, the Zapatista peacebuilding goal assumes the challenge of transforming the violent structures that have prevented the Indigenous population of our country from achieving dignified living conditions. In this respect, the Zapatista proposal is an integral part of the search for positive peace, which is only built if the issues that have historically generated conflict, i.e. lack of justice and dignity, are solved. The demand for justice is strengthened by the Indigenous demand for autonomy as a condition for peace. The Zapatismo acknowledges the Indigenous communities’ right to construct themselves as collective subjects capable of self-determination outside the State. This questions the old peace contracts that contained in themselves the seeds of violence, as they relied on pastoral forms of integration based on guardianship by the State, which inserts the current system’s old structure in the complex problem of thinking the unthinkable. A nodal aspect of the mechanisms that characterize GPP construction processes underlines the need to promote processes that ensure that transformation dynamics are carried out from the bottom up, from the particular and located. This perspective highlights the importance of focusing on the construction of local peace processes based on one’s own needs and culture. It criticizes and confronts the imposing nature of neoliberal proposals that maintain that peace is built from the top down, by people outside the communities. Against the logic of liberal, decontextualized and superficial peace, that preserves hierarchies and leading roles from the outside and reproduces power relations that accentuate inequalities, the counterpoint of the local1 nature offered by GPP’s construction has several implications in practice. On the one hand, this strategy promotes that conflicts are considered according to the context and perspective of local actors, who assume a leading role in the development of participatory processes linked to the daily dimensions of life. On the other hand, its capability to demand 1 Emphasizing a local approach does not mean that the Zapatista communities are isolated. The local view is always considered with regard to the global view. This involves acknowledging how macro-political and macroeconomic developments come into tension with contextual social, political, economic and material processes and elements.

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acknowledgement of their cultural and political rights, as well as to determine and manage the distribution of resources more fairly through the varied self-government spaces for political participation that are built within the communities, is strengthened. Framed in the demand for autonomy, it is worth noting that by opening up the spaces for local participation and developing from the bottom several initiatives in production, health and education issues, including places to build new networks and pacts between communities,2 the Zapatistas are reinforced as local peace actors who develop a sense of subordinate local agency3 as the, basis of the Zapatista transformation project. In this regard, the experience trains them as the main players in the development of a radical democracy political action that not only holds onto, but also insists on building new realities, in the multiple community projects in which wills are combined. By assuming the role of builders of genuine peace with dignity and justice, the development of new visions and forms of appreciation of themselves as collective subjects capable of transforming themselves, others and the environment, is fostered and achieved. This process promotes the reconfiguration of new features in their processes of identification as Indigenous subjects, who are confronted with the contents of traditional identities that, historically shaped as part of an integration policy based on crossbreeding or mestizaje, have imposed an image of themselves as minors incapable of making decisions and building their own future.4 When spaces of freedom and creation with respect to the image of oneself are opened, other forms of belonging are made possible, by

2 This issue has been very relevant as a response to article 27 amendments referring to the forms of organization of collective property of ejidos and liberalisation of land’s ownership that put an end to the traditional forms of management characteristic of Indigenous communities (Harvey 2011). 3 Following the Subordinate Peace Theory approach, this meaning refers to the processes where actors who have been marginalised from pacification processes, build themselves as agents of their own peace-construction by developing their capacity for action to respond to their subordinate interests (Richmond 2013 cited by Giménez 2015, p. 14). 4 Being tied to this identity as an effect of power (Foucault 2003), justifies the need to be protected by the Catholic Church and the State, through strategies of pastoral dominance which will perpetuate the impossibility of being acknowledged as valid interlocutors who participate in society as subjects with dignity and rights.

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stressing the political and cultural management of differences mechanisms that operate following power models in order to legitimize the naturalization of territorial, racial, cultural and epistemic hierarchies for the re-production of dominating relationships (Quijano 2001 and Mignolo 2003 cited by Giménez 2015). In this regard, as Giménez (2015) points out, the Zapatista approach to genuine peace takes the discussion about peacebuilding into another sphere, leaving behind the discussion that narrows the margins of an ontology of otherness that differentiates between what is western/liberal and their “others”.

Features of the Dominant Perspectives of Indigenous Education in Mexico In educational terms, the challenge of developing practices that strengthen the capacity of girls, boys and adolescents to see themselves as collective subjects of transformation in order to assume the task of peacebuilding in the above mentioned sense, implies transforming a series of practices ingrained in the discourse of Indigenous education in Mexico. The educational challenge of promoting genuine education is enormous, especially if we find that the emergence of this discourse is hampered by the existence of such pedagogical discourse that, historically constructed around a specific way of valuing difference, has given meaning to educational practices directed towards our own and towards others. From this perspective, education for the Indigenous labels them according to their difference as the other; while in mainstream education, there has been little commitment to include intercultural approaches that raise the need to value cultural and ethnic diversity in our country. In this context, what are some of the features characteristic of the Indigenous pedagogical discourse that are opposed to the Zapatista educational proposal for true construction? Tensioned between assimilationist conceptions and other conceptions of an Indigenous nature, education aimed at Indigenous people has had little space and has been trapped between two visions. On the one hand, the educational model of Castilianization is fuelled by the ideology of crossbreeding. Based on stigmatizing and thus exclusionary approaches, the integrationist nature of Castilianization considers that “Indigenous peoples lack culture and, consequently, elements that enable their creative engagement in order to improve their conditions and the conditions of society as a whole”, as Yañez (1988, p. 117) suggests; therefore, it

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is better to impose the language and elements of Western culture as the basis of education. On the other hand, the presence of a folklorist tendency within the classic indigenist approach, when the State characterizes the cultures of others, the Indigenous, as essentialized entities with little dynamism in their identity creation-recreation process. This glorifies native cultures and ennobles the Indian who died in the past, leaving intact the current structural and cultural mechanisms that replicate the existing asymmetries between the Indigenous population and the majority society in our country. In this regard, the educational project has tended to focus narrowly on the Indigenous population of Mexico as heirs of the prevailing and constitutive notions of these two educational approaches. Even though these approaches are perceived as exclusionary, paradoxically they represent both sides of the same coin, since they share a homogenizing vision of culture, based on the type of educational intervention fixated on difference and the creating impassable borders in terms of identity, as referred to below: a. The imprint that seeks assimilation: the other is seen as identical to me. We tend to see the other, the indigenous, from ourselves, our own perspective; through this lens, the other is assimilated and integrated into a coherent Eurocentric system that is put together based on what has been called the European world system dating back to the sixteenth century and which has nurtured educational efforts with a view to “civilize”. From this perspective, the other is seen in terms of a deficit of citizenship; therefore, the objective is to save them. This is the Christian approach to conversion, which today, using the language of globalization, we would call reconversion. Considering the above, there is no chance of making the other visible as a subject of law. The other is seen as a minor, incapable of making decisions, so the act of ascribing the right and legitimacy that grants the power to decide for the other is justified. The other is not recognized, let alone seen as capable of building for their future. It is the mentality of the protector that does what is necessary for the sake of him/her (the other).

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b. The essentialized treatment of the difference as the legitimation of a non-being in the world, in my world. According to this approach, differences are recognized, but naturalized; they are fixed and when necessary reinvented in order to maintain the stigma. The reason for the difference is imputed to other: “Indians are poor because that’s the way they are”, ergo “because they are incapable of getting out of poverty.” In other words, any historical explanation about the asymmetric construction of differences is eliminated by blaming the other for the difficulty of achieving integration. The consequence of this argument is that there is no responsibility regarding the difference, and far less regarding the disparity that has been hidden behind it, in order to legitimize the apparent inexistence of spaces where it is possible to build what is shared. Consequently, rights are summed up mostly in the right to the difference, although this discourse perversely conceals the intention to sustain disparity for the sake of—supposedly—respecting the difference. Delving into the above, what is shared is of no interest, nor is there a genuine interest in the construction of a we, where the difference in its complexity is an attribute of its richness. On the contrary, the recreation of homogeneity within cultures is proposed, considering the latter as universes of meaning that are ahistorical and enclosed in themselves and therefore, disconnected from other cultures. The path for building a sense of community with the other in these separate worlds can only be followed on the basis of a logic of democratic homogenization where the other has to cease to be in order to have a place in a world other than his/her own. If routes are approached this way, the educational device has no other possible paths than biculturalism or assimilation, which only legitimize an unjust social order, an issue that inevitably blocks the possibility for the discourse of peace as proposed by Zapatismo to emerge. Caught in both visions, the challenge of building an education that contributes to develop genuine peace processes involves transforming Indigenous education’s purposes and strategies, as well as rethinking the role of the educational institution and the teaching figures in these processes.

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The Zapatista Educational Project and Its Pedagogical Radicalism According to the Zapatistas, to find an education alternative to the educational model historically promoted by the State, is one of the core mechanisms that mobilize the construction of genuine peace. Assumed as unsubdued pedagogy (Medina 2015), the Zapatista educational project is embedded in the struggle to find new ways of managing pedagogical work, based on the critique and reformulation of Latin American pedagogies that, along with several social movements, are built in Mexico and throughout the continent. According to Pinheiro (2013, pp. 300–302), the Zapatista educational project is radical, as it becomes a collective voice of the resistance, which denounces the legacy of five hundred years of exploitation and degradation of the territory and the peoples of Latin America and the Caribbean. At the same time, it becomes an emergency space for another episteme, essential to give meaning to the construction of an alternative political project. Nourished by the critique of the neoliberal capitalist economic project, this episteme raises a new vision that pursues the acknowledgement of the difference articulated to the achievement of an equality and non-exclusion condition. This allows the Zapatista educational project (PEZ) to transcend its pedagogical-didactic sense, to assume an ethical–political dimension that affects the recreation of publicness, by becoming an institutive political historical force, for the emergence and consolidation of an emancipatory political and social project. Articulated with a series of actions that are carried out in a comprehensive manner by the Zapatista communities, aiming at building good living, the PEZ brings up for discussion a new way of understanding education, which categorically transforms the homogenizing and assimilationist sense that has historically characterized the pedagogical tradition of Indigenous education in our country, which is also debated with the pedagogical discourse of intercultural education built from the official orbit in recent times: “[…] disguises the unilateralism and repeats the usual pattern: a policy for indigenous people from the mestizo and not an equitable exchange action between cultures and diverse linguistic communities ” (Barriga 2004, pp. 36–37). In contrast with the narrow view of interculturality generated by the officialdom, the radical nature of the Zapatista education proposal poses

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the construction of an interculturality sustained on a critical rationality of a decentralized nature, traversed by the worldview of Indigenous peoples such as the Tsotsil, Tseltal, Tojolabal and Chol, that acknowledges the existence of a great plurality of ways of perceiving time and space, opposed to the unilinear sense characteristic of the indigenist educational rationality, based on an ordering concept of progress and civilization typical of neoliberal rationality. The struggle for autonomy is the distinctive mark of the Zapatista educational project that manifests itself in several ways in its educational management and in its pedagogical orientation. On the one hand, the manner in which the Zapatista communities have assumed the complex task of organizing the construction of an alternative educational system, setting aside those teachers who are members of the official system, is remarkable. This was reported by Baronnet (2015, p. 51) when gathering testimonies of the Zapatistas: […] Discreetly and with their own resources, the Zapatista Rebel Autonomous Municipalities (Marez) have established around 500 schools serviced by the ‘promoters of autonomous education’ who belong to the EZLN support bases. In promoting their own education system, the first task of the four Marez in the Selva Tseltal area (Caracol de Resistencia Hacia un Nuevo Amanecer), carried out in the 1995–2001 period, was firing and replacing ‘official teachers’ with youth support bases who are trained along the way. At first, the autonomous communities expressed in practice their full rejection of the education that ‘speedy backpack’ teachers gave to boys and girls since they believe that ‘official education does not align with our indigenous environment’, according to Valdemar, a Tseltal leader from Marez ‘Ricardo Flores Magón’ interviewed in April 2005.

On the other hand, their approach has gone deep in the construction of an alternative pedagogical discourse, by discarding official educational programmes to define their own educational contents, based on the decision of the communities regarding their significance in relation to their needs, interests and values. But that is not all. In assuming that peace is an action that leads to emancipation, as long as it can be autonomously built by the subjects for themselves, the PEZ strengthens the task of building themselves as individual and collective subjects in several senses, within the everyday school experience. The educational goal of training in autonomy acquires a pedagogical centrality in the educational proposal, which irremediably

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distances it from the educational purposes of the official Indigenous education provided in our country, by placing at the center processes of acknowledgement and dignification of their native cultures. Their traditions, knowledge and cultural practices take full prominence in the classrooms beyond the folklorising sense, and young Indigenous promoters teach mainly in Tseltal, Tsotzil, Chol and Tojolabal, in their defence of communicating in Mayan languages as a pedagogical and political objective aimed at claiming the importance of keeping their cultures alive, because through them it is possible to preserve the way of explaining and understanding the world in their own language. However, this task of acknowledgement, far from promoting the reification of the traits of an essentialized identity that remains unchanged over time, opens the door for questioning the cultural myth itself, by raising critique over certain Indigenous traditions of their own that, associated with their identity, are stigmas arising from power dynamics. Against the pedagogy of identity, the idea is, as Sousa de Santos (2010) proposes, to decolonize knowledge in order to reinvent power. The work of acknowledgement and dignification of one’s own, opens the possibilities of responding to the question who are we? in another way. Thus, educational work is articulated with a process of identity mobilization, which is nourished by the denaturalization and criticism of the contents of stigmatizing classification that has been imposed and has left the Indigenous Mayan people of the Chiapas area tied to the imaginary of an identity as minors, incapable of making decisions neither building a future horizon, thus contributing to the decolonization of the discriminatory school culture. A feature that discerns the configuration of these new collective identities is connected with the acknowledgement of themselves as subjects of law, with the right to assert their difference. Thus, another learning fostered through training in autonomy is the experience of being appreciated as subjects with dignity, who demand to be treated as subjects of law. This is widely cherished in the Zapatista communities, as stated in another fragment of Baronnet’s work (2015, p. 53): The promoters of education teach traditional dancing, poetry, how to speak loud and clear, they talk a lot about rights, they know what the government is doing and they organize some great dances [...] When there is a checkpoint and soldiers start asking questions, such as: “Where are you going?” and “Why are you going?”, children answer: “Why are soldiers

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interested? Why is the army there? I’m going to visit my family and I’m on the road and you’re not going to block it for me; you have no right to do that”. You see, children are already expressing themselves; they already know directly how to defend themselves. They are learning many things. (interview with Valdemar; May 2005, Marez “Ricardo Flores Magón”)

Living the experience of assuming themselves as subjects of rights, strengthens the development of their agency capacities as collective subjects, the capacity to assume their right to build a project for a communal future, as part of their responsibility in building the time to come; this is stated in the following fragment of a Zapatista communiqué (EZLN 2020): [...] for us Zapatistas men, us Zapatists women, Zapatistas menwomen, community life is not something that happens only in the present. It is, above all, what will come. Community life is something that is built today, but it is built for tomorrow. Thus, community life is something that is inherited.

All of these features are combined in the proposal offered by this other school that is Zapatized in that it is amalgamated with a set of social practices that are lived and cherished in Zapatista communities (Giménez 2015). This experience contributes to the development of a daily educational experience different from that lived in official schools in terms of strengthening a new Zapatista political culture, and at the same time fostering new ways of conceiving the processes of construction of knowledge (Pinheiro 2013). Facing the false illusion of the neutrality of traditional schools that proposes a separation of communality, at the Zapatista school, walls that cause estrangement from what is learned, from what is lived, are brought down, by interweaving the link broken by traditional education between its work and what is needed in the communities. The educational locus that is set up in the Zapatista school, favours an ethical–political experience, situated in the space and time of the natural, socio-cultural and territorial context in which they live, focused on socializing and learning the Zapatista principles of good living and developing problem-solving skills ranging from the acquisition of knowledge about how to look after trees to the protection of the environment. Also, it becomes a public space useful to understand their past, explain the present and build the future, drawing from the debate of what we are, what we

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have been and what do we want to be (Pinheiro 2015; Giménez 2015; Baronnet 2015). This alternative educational practice specially emphasizes the dialogical character of learning and communication, following the teachings of Paulo Freire (1970), who affirms that dialogue is a relationship we enter into and not something we do or use. “Dialogue is constantly created in the act of undertaking it, and each time we create it, it is different ”. Within this framework, building speech becomes a central axis of Zapatista education. In the face of the unredeemed prescriptive zeal of an educational system intended to dictate what is considered necessary for others as a way to establish the intercultural ideal, in the Zapatista school the centrality of the speech itself is put forward as a way to construct a critical interculturality. Language allows the exercise of collectively telling their own stories to build themselves and the world; to explore the polarities in experience in order to find the true speech, by understanding “similarity and difference, good and bad, right and wrong , presence and absence, past and future, real and imaginary” (Egan 1997). This involves building and using their own speech to the depth that this implies, so that no one speaks and decides for them. Speech is an action of resistance, but also creates the possibility of building genuine peace, in a new world, where we all fit, as the purpose of an autonomous education.

Concluding Remarks This chapter had the purpose of analysing the Zapatista educational proposal with regard to its connection with the construction of a genuine peace project. Drawing from the review of the main features that give meaning to this pedagogical experience, emphasis is placed on its ethical– political dimension that, connected with the construction of autonomy, is openly opposed to the principles that have historically articulated the official indigenist education tradition, favouring the development of agency capacity to undertake the task of building a future where all fit, by assuming themselves as subjects of law, entitled to assert their dignity in the difference.

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References Barriga, Rebeca (2004). “La interculturalidad en tres preguntas.” In: Corona, Sarah and Barriga, Rebeca (Coords). Educación Indígena: en torno a la interculturalidad. Guadalajara, Universidad de Guadalajara, Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana. Baronnet, Jorge (2015). “El movimiento zapatista y la educación para la autonomía.” In: Medina, Patricia (Coord.). Pedagogías Insumisas. Movimientos políticos-pedagógicos y memorias colectivas de educaciones otras en América Latina. México, Universidad de Ciencias y Artes de Chiapas, Juan Pablos Editor, pp. 49–72. De Souza, Boaventura (2010). Descolonizar el saber, reinventar el poder. Montevideo, Ediciones Trilce-Extensión Universitaria. Universidad de la República. Egan, K. (1997). The educated mind: How cognitive tools shape our understanding. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. EZLN (2020). https://enlacezapatista.ezln.org.mx/2020/10/09/quinta-partela-mirada-y-la-distancia-a-la-puerta/ Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogía del Oprimido. México, Siglo XXI. Foucault, Michel (2003). Historia de la sexualidad, vol. 2: El uso de los placeres. México, Siglo XXI. Giménez, Jaime (2015). “Autonomía indígena y construcción de paz sin el Estado: la paz híbrida y subalterna en los territorios zapatistas de Chiapas.” Quito, FLACSO. Tesis de Grado. Gutiérrez, Raúl (2011). “Dos proyectos de sociedad en los Altos de Chiapas. Escuelas secundarias oficial y autónoma entre los tsotsiles de San Andrés.” In: Baronnet, Jorge; Mora, Mariana and Stahler-Sholk, Richard (Coords.). Luchas “muy otras”. Zapatismo y autonomía en las comunidades indígenas en Chiapas. México, CIESAS, Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, Universidad Autónoma de Chiapas, pp. 237–266. Harvey, Neil (2011). “Más allá de la hegemonía. El zapatismo y la otra política. In: Baronnet, Jorge; Mora, Mariana and Stahler-Sholk, Richard (Coords.). Luchas “muy otras”. Zapatismo y autonomía en las comunidades indígenas en Chiapas. México, CIESAS, Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, Universidad Autónoma de Chiapas, pp. 163–194. Mignolo, Walter (2003). Historias locales/Diseños globales: Colonialidad, conocimientos subalternos y pensamiento fronterizo. Madrid, AKAL. Medina, Patricia (Coord.). Pedagogías insumisas. Movimientos políticospedagógicos y memorias colectivas de educaciones otras en América Latina. México, Universidad de Ciencias y Artes de Chiapas, Juan Pablos Editor. Pinheiro, Lia (2013). “Pedagogías alternativas. El movimiento de los Sin Tierra y el Movimiento Zapatista.” In: Gómez, Marcela and Corestein, Martha. Reconfiguración de lo educativo en América Latina. Experiencias pedagógicas alternativas. México, UNAM.

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Pinheiro, Lia (2015). “El principio de la autonomía y la praxis de la libertad en la Educación Rebelde Autónoma Zapatista.” CISMA, Revista del Centro Telúrico de Investigaciones Teóricas (6), 3° año, pp. 1–36. Quijano, Aníbal (2001). “Colonialidad del poder, eurocentrismo y América Latina.” In: Lander, Edgardo (Comp.). La colonialidad del saber: eurocentrismo y ciencias sociales. Perspectivas Latinoamericanas. Buenos Aires, CLACSO, pp. 202–246. Richmond, Oliver (2013). “Peace formation and local infrastructures for peace.” Alternatives: Global, Local, Political 38 (4), pp. 271–287. Yañez, Consuelo (1988). Estado del arte de la educación indígena en el área andina. En La Educación, Revista Interamericana de desarrollo educativo. N°.102, 1988 I-II.

CHAPTER 10

Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa: Decolonising Research in a Space for Peace Heather Devere, Michael Ligaliga, and Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa

Introduction Doctoral students in a peace and conflict centre based in a University near the bottom of Te Wai Pounamu, the South Island of Aotearoa New Zealand have been responsible for several studies related to Indigenous research that have enhanced the field of PACS. As a background

H. Devere (B) The National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand M. Ligaliga School M¯aori & Pacific Indigenous Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] K. Te Maih¯aroa Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_10

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to this chapter, we begin by outlining the bicultural framing of the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies/Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa (NCPACS) at the University of Otago, Dunedin and introduce fifteen doctoral studies that provide a lens into Indigenous ways of learning and make a contribution to the decolonising of the discipline of Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS). More details about each study being conducted at NCPACS follow a general discussion about epistemology and methodology. Having summarised the different Indigenous methodologies, we look at some of the challenges for Indigenous researchers as well as benefits brought to academia by their work. We reflect on whether NCPACS has provided them with a ‘space for peace’.

Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa: The Space for Peace This M¯aori name was gifted to NCPACS at the University of Otago in Aotearoa New Zealand. Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa refers to a place where the focus can be on peace. NCPACS was established with an endowment from the Aotearoa Peace and Conflict Studies Trust to the University of Otago in 2009. The University is based on the land of the Ng¯ai Tahu/ K¯ai Tahu iwi (tribe) and a Memorandum of Understanding outlines that relationship in terms of a partnership approach. This MoU charts a consultation process for research undertaken under the auspices of the University that might have an impact on or interest for M¯aori / Moriori. In another Memorandum of Understanding signed between University of Otago and the Aotearoa Peace and Conflict Studies Trust there is a clear commitment to the donors for the peace centre to be bicultural and to work in conjunction with three named Indigenous peace communities of Aotearoa—Waitaha, Parihaka and Moriori (Memorandum of Understanding 2007). However, engagement with tangata whenua (M¯aori people of the land) has taken a long time, resulting in minimal progress being achieved and over a decade later NCPACS can still not be identified as an authentic bicultural centre. In part this is because NCPACS originally aligned itself, not with the peace traditions of Aotearoa, but with the Scandinavian origins of the academic discipline of PACS. International connections took precedence over engaging with the flaxroots peace traditions of Aotearoa and local tangata whenua. While NCPACS and the University have only inched forward in addressing issues with Indigenous Peoples, over the last decade many of the scholars and practitioners who have joined NCPACS as doctoral

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students have contributed in significant ways to drawing together the elements of PACS and Indigenous Research. We are showcasing some of this research that reflects the histories and cultures of Indigenous groups globally to acknowledge their contributions and to demonstrate how their work has provided opportunities for others to learn from it. The three authors of this chapter have been involved with NCPACS in different capacities. Dr. Kelli Te Maih¯aroa was invited into the Centre as a mana whenua representative of the Waitaha iwi, who have more than a millennia of peace keeping traditions in Te Wai Pounamu and studied for her PhD partly at the Centre, and partly through the Indigenous studies school of Te Tumu. Dr. Michael Ligaliga is a Samoan New Zealander, who completed a postgraduate diploma, a masters and a PhD. Both are now academics teaching Indigenous studies. Dr. Heather Devere is a P¯akeh¯a (New Zealander of European descent) faculty member of NCPACS and supervised the PhD theses of many of the students included in this chapter (including both Te Maih¯aroa and Ligaliga) whose doctoral studies bring PACS and Indigenous Studies together.

Indigenous Research in Te Ao of Rongomaraeroa/NCPACS1 While NCPACS itself is not yet recognised as a bicultural centre, research, particularly by PhD students, links peace and conflict studies and Indigenous research, and we present here some of that scholarship. There is diversity in topics, regional focus, academic approaches, methodologies, theoretical frameworks, ethnicity of the researchers and disciplinary background. In some cases, the research follows Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s kaupapa M¯aori framework (Smith 2012); in others the Indigenous method is inspired by a kaupapa Maori approach; sometimes another Indigenous method emerges from engaging with Smith’s seminal work; and other Indigenous methods emerge independently of her work. These combine with a raft of Western methods and academic approaches and include academic activism and social media; collaborative conversations; insider/outsider/emic/etic; participation action research;

1 We will use the two names interchangeably, acknowledging that decolonising the Centre might lead to the preference of the Indigenous name, while knowing that the Centre is most known by its English acronym.

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Table 10.1 Gender and indigeneity

Gender

Indigenous

Non-indigenous

Total

Female Male Total

5 6 11

3 1 4

8 7 15

anti-racism; decolonisation; constructivism; grounded theory; appreciative inquiry; autoethnography; interviews; content analysis; narrative and storytelling. In this chapter we briefly outline fifteen doctoral studies that forge the link between peace and conflict studies and Indigenous studies. The researchers (see Table 10.1) comprise eleven Indigenous researchers (five female and six male) and four non-Indigenous researchers (three female and one male). Two Indigenous M¯aori from Aotearoa, one male one female; one male Samoan New Zealander; one Indigenous Palestinian woman; one Indigenous woman from Myanmar; one Indigenous Indonesian male; one Indigenous Kenyan male; one Indigenous Nigerian male; one Indigenous woman from Afghanistan; one Indigenous male Fijian; one Indigenous Indian women from Italy; one German/Iranian woman; a white male from the Philippines; a white woman from the United States; and a white woman from Aotearoa. Ten have graduated with their doctorates and their theses are available through the University of Otago library, and five are at various stages of completing their theses. Those investigating aspects of their own ethnic culture include M¯aori, Samoan, Palestinian, Myanmar, Kenyan, Nigerian, Afghanistan, Fijian and Indian. Those investigating the culture of another were Kenyan (Aotearoa and Philippines), white Philippino (Lumad), Iranian (Aotearoa and Spain), white American (Guhan/Guam and Northern Marianas), New Zealand P¯akeh¯a (M¯aori and Indian). Epistemology and Methodologies Epistemology is about identifying how we know what we know, exploring where knowledge comes from, distinguishing what makes the difference between knowledge and opinion, ascertaining how we can tell the difference between truth and error and recognising how we evaluate the world and society around us. Knowledge for Indigenous cultures comes from long histories of engaging with natural surroundings, often with

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an intense spiritual connection to the land. This cumulative wisdom is intergenerational, passed down often orally through stories, songs, ceremonies, legends, proverbs, rituals and customs. The knowledge is not only irreplaceable, but also insightful, dynamic, cyclical and holistic. Methodology is the justification for using particular methods or the rationale for the research approach. It concerns the principles that guide the research practice and why we use particular methods rather than others to discover new knowledge, or to communicate knowledge that is unfamiliar in particular academic or research communities. It is about how data is collected and the reasons for the use of the chosen research tools. There has been criticism of the way in which Western, Eurocentric researchers have justified their intrusion into Indigenous communities where insincere and often harmful relationships are developed in order to benefit the researcher who sometimes appropriates Indigenous knowledge for their own advantage. In contrast, Indigenous methodologies ‘seek to regenerate Indigenous ways of knowing and research, and craft educational spaces for Indigenous Peoples by Indigenous Peoples. They are always ‘people- and place-specific’ (Smith et al. 2019, p. xi). According to Wilson (2008, p. 77) indigenous research methods do not necessarily differ vastly from other research methods, as they may include ‘focus groups, surveys, archival research, and other tried and true methods of social science’. What distinguishes Indigenous research is the theories that guide them. What is most important and meaningful ‘is fulfilling a role and obligations in the research relationship’. Indigenous theory relates to unpacking colonisation, exploitation and discrimination. It is concerned with the importance of building and sustaining relationships, genuine consultation, humility and respect, ancient wisdom and intergenerational transfer of knowledge. The relationship with land and the environment is intrinsically intertwined in the sustainability of relationships and the community that has shared responsibility as caretakers and guardians. In connection with the focus of peace and conflict studies is knowledge about conflict resolution, everyday peace building; understandings of violence, passive and active resistance; and commitment to forgiveness, restitution and restorative justice. NCPACS Research Epistemologies and Methodologies All the PhD studies contain to a greater or lesser extent elements of Western methodologies and epistemologies. Dr. Nijmeh Ali (2017) whose topic was Palestinian Resistance in Israel used grounded theory and resistance theory. Exploring women’s resistance in Guhan (Guam) Sylvia Frain

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(2017) employed media theory and resistance theory. Tonga Karena is currently incorporating resistance theory into his thesis that looks at the different forms of peace in the M¯aori language and the teachings of Parihaka’s peaceful community using interviews and textual research. Dr. Babu Ayindo (2017) from Kenya, did a comparative case study of art as peacebuilding in Kenya, Mindinao in the Philippines, and the Parihaka Indigenous M¯aori community. Dr. Dody Wibowo (2020) from Indonesia applied case study methodology to look at peace education in schools in Aceh. Dr. Mahdis Azarmandi (2017) used critical theory and racist theory to enquire into anti-racist groups in Aotearoa and Spain. A comparative analysis of peace education in Afghanistan under three different regimes is the topic of Dr. Hafiza Yazdany’s (2019) thesis. She used content analysis and Standish’s Peace Education Curriculum Analysis (PECA) framework developed at NCPACS (see Standish and Talahma 2016). David Whippy is also using the PECA framework and content analysis to examine the opportunities of peace education in Fiji. Dr. Monica Carrer (2018) used ethnography and discourse analysis to investigate everyday peace in India. Dr. Janine Joyce’s (2014) study used interviews and ethnographic research to explore spirituality and peace for M¯aori in Aotearoa and Shaj Marg communities in India. Khin Khin Lwin, who is currently researching the role of women peacebuilders in Myanmar, is using peer group conversations. Jeremy Simons (2021) used appreciative inquiry and autoethnography to report on the restorative justice processes of the Lumad community in the Philippines. Obinna Nweke, whose fieldwork in the Niger Delta was cancelled due to COVID, is conducting his interviews online and using surrogate interviewers. Research by Indigenous Researchers M¯ aori and Pasifika Researchers Two of the M¯aori researchers who have engaged with doctoral studies at Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa incorporate kaupapa M¯aori methodology. Dr. Kelli Te Maih¯aroa, one of the authors of this chapter, prefaces her thesis with an incantation or karakia by R¯akaihaut¯u, her ancestor or t¯ıpuna and leader of the ancient Waitaha iwi or tribe. Her exploration of the history of her own wh¯anau/family and iwi is for her people, with part of the research process designed to create new memories for present and future wh¯anau, from the perspective of the wh¯anau. Thus,

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her work follows closely the decolonising intent, process, and methodology of Smith’s model as she demonstrates the connection between current iwi and their ancestors who maintained rakim¯arie/ peaceful ways of living in the face of aggressive colonial oppression. Te Maih¯aroa devised new methods for wh¯anau participating in a 2012 peace walk or heke to share their experiences and thoughts through wh¯anau journals about observed links to the ancestral Te Heke in the nineteenth century. She has also conducted interviews and storying with three kaum¯atua or elders of Waitaha, including Anne Te Maih¯aroa Dodds (a respected Waitaha leader whose peacebuilding efforts over 20 years have maintained Waitaha’s messages of peace), and describes other collaborative work on peace traditions of Parihaka and Moriori. Tonga Karena, who is part of the Parihaka community is fluent in te reo, the M¯aori language. His ancestors faced land grabs by the then New Zealand government and an invasion by British militia with a series of passive and active resistance. Karena is working to set the history of his people within a framework of resistance theory. Having started to write in English, he is now completing his thesis in te reo M¯aori. As an expert M¯aori linguist and orator, Karena will be relating the stories of older people in the community about the peace and resistance teachings that have been passed down from their elders. This gives authenticity and provides affirmation that the language of M¯aori of Aotearoa can sit alongside English as an official language of academia. Karena has written an important piece, in English, that defines the different conceptions related to peace (rongo) within the M¯aori language (Karena 2017). Two of the researchers at NCPACS are from other islands located in the Pacific. Dr. Michael Ligaliga, also one of the authors of this chapter, is New Zealand Samoan and is himself a titled Samoan high chief. Having been colonised by Germany and then handed over to Aotearoa New Zealand as part of war recompense, faa Samoa, the Samoan culture, has become disrupted by colonial influences. With his knowledge of the intricacies of the Samoan language and his contacts with decision-makers in Samoa, Ligaliga was able to conduct discussions with high-level officials on issues surrounding domestic violence in the Pacific island nation, using traditional methods of talanoa and faafaletui. Talanoa, according to Vaioleti (2006, p. 1) is: a personal encounter where people story their issues, their realities and aspiration [that] allows more mo’oni (pure, real, authentic) information

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to be available for Pacific research than data derived from other research methods.

In contrast to talanoa (a form of open discussion), faafaletui is used for discussions of a more serious nature with selected elders. David Whippy is Fijian, but presently based in Hawai’i. Whippy’s focus is on peace education as a peacebuilding mechanism, and he draws from the peace education literature to consider a possible model for Fiji ‘built on Fijian principles, that informs curriculum within the Fijian education system’ to set the foundations for ‘a sustainable culture of peace for future generations’ (Whippy, n.d.). British colonisation of Fiji and the colonial imposition of a segregated education system, has been followed by instability in governance, three different constitutions, and four separate coups d’etat. Applying concepts such as t¯a and v¯a (time and space) and different perspectives represented by Fijian totems that refer to behaviour and social group relationships and interactions, Whippy explores three academic spaces, ika (the fish) valued for sustenance and impact on many islands and peoples; manumanu (the animal or insect) cherished because of its close proximity to the land, and kau (the tree) planted and progressive. He will combine Talanoa and Veivosaki-Yaga methods to gain knowledge from relevant experts and education authorities in Fiji. Veivosaky-Yaga is a method developed for Indigenous Fijians to encourage ‘worthwhile discussion of serious topics’ (Tagicakiverata and Nilan 2018, p. 545). Because of COVID, Whippy will be experimenting with online Talanoa and Veivosaki-Yago to conduct the research from Hawai’i. Asian Researchers Students from Asia are also adding to the corpus of Indigenous doctoral theses. Another project that focused on peace education is that of Dr. Dody Wibowo from Indonesia. When he conducted his research, the people of Aceh were still working on the implementation of a peace agreement after years of conflict between the Aceh separatist movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka) and the Government of Indonesia. As a peace education practitioner, Dr. Wibowo has conducted in-service training for teachers as part of their professional development activities His study is of three schools where teachers have received peace-related training, have school policies aligned to a culture of peace, and use conflict management

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models. Dr. Wibowo’s (2020) qualitative case study, based on observations and interviews, as well as a document review and analysis, showed how important the combination of training, school culture, the school environment and relationships between teachers is to ensure effective teaching and practice related to peace education. Several years ago, Khin Khin Lwin came to Aotearoa from Myanmar to study at NCPACS. While back in her home country to do fieldwork, a military coup and ensuing massive civilian protests have trapped her there, preventing her return to Aotearoa to complete her thesis. We want to acknowledge the contributions that Khin Khin Lwin has made already to the field of peace and conflict studies and the efforts she is making to progress her studies in extreme circumstances. Her doctoral research involves women peacemakers and peacebuilders who had been working to enhance Myanmar’s democratic development, prior to the coup. As a woman who had herself been training other peacebuilders, Lwin had been incorporating a form of participation action research or peer group conversations, using training sessions to allow the women to explore their own journey to contributing to positive peace in their own country. The people of Myanmar continue to resist the military overthrow, using creative non-violent tactics, worthy themselves of a separate thesis. Dr. Monica Carrer, of mixed Indian-Italian heritage, conducted her fieldwork using an ethnographic approach in a remote part of India, inhabited by a large number of Indigenous Adivasis. She was accompanied by her mother, fluent in the language of the people they visited. Staying with local civilian groups involved in the Maoist conflict in villages in Junglemahal, rural West Bengal, Dr. Carrer (2018) looked at how violent conflict and peace were ‘part of ordinary people’s everyday lives’. She conducted in-depth interviews with local inhabitants, activists, Indigenous leaders, members and former members of a Maoist party, and state representatives active at the local level. She found a wide range of actions people took during the conflict ranged from cooperating with armed groups to leading nonviolent resistance strategies, but also providing community support and social engagement. Using Critical Discourse Analysis, she was able to identify how local discourses often contradicted those of the state. Local people, Dr. Carrer found, ‘emerged from this analysis as relevant political actors who sought to influence the dynamics and outcomes of the conflict’.

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African Researchers Dr. Babu Ayindo’s 2017 doctoral thesis combined perspectives from Africa (Kenya), Asia, Philippines and Australasia as he examined the role of art in decolonising peacemaking and peacebuilding. A citizen of Kenya, Dr. Ayindo, is an artist, and like Khin Khin Lwin, is also an experienced peacebuilder and teacher. With in-depth knowledge and experience of both Kenya and the Philippines, Dr. Ayindo included in his thesis some Indigenous arts and peace practices in Aotearoa. Based at Parihaka (Taranaki) for some of his field research, Dr. Ayindo was welcomed into the community where he lived according to the M¯aori tikanga of Parihaka that has upheld a peaceful tradition despite provocation by the Crown and a militia invasion at the end of the nineteenth century, as well as contemporary ‘post’ colonial struggles. According to Ayindo’s study (2017, p. 3) Indigenous knowledge about peace and nonviolence ‘is encoded in stories, oratory and other unwritten art forms’ and he drew on the work of Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s kaupapa M¯aori (2012), Polly Walker’s indigenous analysis (2011), Poka Laenui from Hawai’I (1993) and Virgilio Enriquez from the Phiippines (1986) using in-depth interviews, creative processes and celebrations, observation and focus group discussions. Another Indigenous African perspective is provided by Obinna Nweke from Nigeria through his work looking at the dilemmas of reintegration and everyday survival tactics of former Niger Delta militants who had been involved in a long running violent conflict in the Delta. His fieldwork was to be conducted in villages and creeks where the community was struggling to reintegrate the former militants. COVID19 stopped Nweke, just as he was returning to Nigeria, and he was forced to remain in New Zealand. But Nweke found a way of conducting his semi-structured interviews at a distance through surrogate interviewers, using both English and Pidgin English. Interviews revealed some of the coping strategies deployed by and narratives used by the ex-combatants, such as hustling as an alternative livelihood strategy, as well as reflecting on concepts of home. He gives examples of descriptions of what they see as peace, such as ‘peace means sleeping in your house’. Nweke (in press) provides an insight into the issues for reintegration of ex-militants who fought against the State ‘from the creek’ and who now have to navigate the dilemmas of returning home.

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Middle-Eastern Researchers Middle Eastern perspectives have been provided by Dr. Nijmeh Ali and Dr. Hafiza Yazdany. From Afghanistan, Dr. Hafiza Yazdany was confronted by the reality of researching in a country at conflict. Originally for her doctoral studies she had planned to return from New Zealand to Afghanistan to interview teachers and officials about changes to the educational curriculum that included objectives to include peace education. However, the University of Otago refused her permission to undertake research in her own country as she would be unable to obtain travel insurance for her journey. In the event, Dr Yazdany had to go home due to illness, but was still denied permission to carry out her fieldwork in Afghanistan. Eventually, she managed to locate some old textbooks in the Dari Language that enabled her to conduct a content analysis using Standish’s PECA framework (Standish and Talahma 2016), so she could complete her PhD without conducting interviews in Afghanistan. Reviewing textbooks from three regimes that included the Islamic Republic government, the Islamic State government (Mujahedeen) and the government by the People’s Democratic Party (communist), she has located a lot of propaganda and what might be called ‘war education’, but encouragingly also some progress towards peace education under the current government, although this is minimal (Yazdany 2019) and currently under threat as another potential regime change looms in light of the withdrawal of international troops and other personnel. An Indigenous Palestinian who is also an Israeli citizen, Dr. Nijmeh Ali was also working in a conflict situation as she examined resistance among Palestinian activists in Israel. Dr. Ali was able to convince the University ethics committee to allow her to return home for her fieldwork. The realities of being a Palestinian in Israel are explored by Dr. Ali who called herself a ‘border’ captured between different identities that included being an activist woman and an academic as well as the various labels such as ‘Israeli Arab’, ’48 Palestinian’, ‘Arab in Israel’ and ‘Palestinian in Israel’ (Ali 2017, p. 13). Her writing is partly ethnographic and draws on resistance theory, indigenous studies and political science. Aware she was being watched by Israeli security, her thesis also became ‘research as resistance’, reflecting ‘the personal experiences of the researcher writing a study on resistance in a context of conflict’ (p. 131). The hidden political agents that she engaged with were important to ‘open the door to exploring politics from the “bottom up”… bringing

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underground voices to the forefront’ (p. 133). Ali’s chapter in this volume explores her research in more depth. Research for and with Indigenous Peoples While Dr. Mahdis Azarmandi is German/Iranian, her work is focused on two of her adopted countries, Spain and Aotearoa New Zealand, engaging with anti-racist activists and groups. Her New Zealand-based research was with mainly non-M¯aori groups working to combat racism against the Indigenous M¯aori population, who focus on upholding Te Tiriti, the Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840 between the British crown and M¯aori chiefs in which a partnership was agreed, but has not been upheld. She draws on critical race and decolonial theories and finds not only racism in the European Spanish context, and in the colonial islands of Aotearoa, but also calls to account the discipline of Peace and Conflict Studies for its ‘racial silence’ (Azarmandi 2017, 2018). Dr. Azarmandi makes clear that while peace scholars argue that ‘direct violence is often rooted in structural violence, yet much scholarship continues to focus on the causes and effects of direct violence rather than interrogating how to address structural violence’ (Azarmandi 2018, p. 70). Another PhD study that included M¯aori perspectives was Dr. Janine Joyce’s (2015) thesis on human spirituality and the coming together of people in peace, seen through two lenses, one of which was the multicultural global Sahaj Marg community of Raja Yogic practitioners in India to which Dr. Joyce belonged, and M¯aori perspectives of some colleagues and their whanua/families in the community in which Dr. Joyce resided, the region of Ot¯akou and where the University of Otago is located, the land of Waitaha and Ng¯ai Tahu iwi. Living and working in these communities, Dr. Joyce explored the experiences of ordinary women and men involved in spiritual practices, ‘in order to understand the phenomenon on “heart” and any implications for outer peace’. She used constructivist grounded theory and methods and M¯aori-centred research perspectives, finding convergence of themes within both groups, such as connectedness, existential inner reality, transcendence, mauri/energy and aroha/love. Dr. Sylvia Frain’s thesis was with and on behalf of some of the Indigenous CHamoru and Refalawasch women of the Marianas Archipelago, and US territory and military base in the Pacific Ocean. Dr. Frain, who is from the United States was visiting her mother on the island of

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Guå’han/Guam when she was asked by some activist women to look at what was happening to resist the US militarisation of the Marianas Archipelago. She found that social media was the format used especially by young Indigenous women, so this became the medium for her participation action research. While strategies of resistance are ‘based and sustained within ancient matriarchal systems and matrilineal genealogies, they use the technology of the twenty-first century, including Facebook, Instagram and YouTube to indicate their resistance’ (Frain 2017). Her own thesis became a written form of academic activism in solidarity with others ‘writing and working for decolonisation and demilitarisation’, and provided also visual data as part of her methodology. The phrases included in the title of her thesis ‘Fanohge Famalåo’an’ and ‘Fan’tachu Fama’lauan’ in CHamoru (one of the Indigenous languages of the Marianas) means ‘women rising’ as the Indigenous women in the islands of the Archipelago continue to resist in ‘fluidarity’ with others across the globe. Jeremy Simons is also a US citizen, but has lived for 20 years in the Philippines and worked for many years with organisations that liaise with Lumad peacebuilders in Mindanao. In collaboration with Indigenous Lumad leaders, activists, customary practitioners and allies, Simons uses various forms of storying (saysay) and historicising (kasaysayan) to appreciate recent Lumad engagements with formal government-rebel peace processes. He incorporates ‘ethical accompaniment’, defined as a ‘process of liberation psychology’ to engage with local groups and help decolonise and empower communities affected by war (Simons 2021), as well as a modified process of ‘appreciative inquiry’ that is a ‘practical strategy for conducting ‘participatory-collaborative inquiry’. The goal is acting in partnership to achieve the 4-D’s: Discover, Dream, Design and Deliver. Lumad understandings of transitional and restorative justice practices highlighted in his research can add to the conventional peace and conflict studies approach to justice post conflict. Indigenous Methodologies In summing up the Indigenous research by the above doctoral scholars, we can see that the kaupapa M¯aori methodology developed by Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2012) specifically as a ‘Decolonising Method’ is prominent. Her seminal model is referred to explicitly by Te Maih¯aroa, Karena, Ayindo, and Azarmandi. This is a holistic approach to research that

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allows Indigenous researchers to draw on their own traditions and cultures to develop appropriate Indigenous methods of research. Pacific methods incorporate the rituals and processes for community engagement in discussions that include Talanoa, Fafaaletui, and Veivosaki-Yago as employed by Ligaliga and Whippy. Peacebuilding activities and relationship building that create a safe environment for Indigenous groups in their own communities are common as a basis for the research methods in the work of Lwin, Ayindo and Wibowo. Making contact with hardto-reach Indigenous communities provides challenges for scholars such as Carrer and Nweke who both identify among these groups everyday peace practices. Working with groups that are using resistance to oppression, Ali, Karena, Azarmandi and Frain clearly identify oppression, discrimination and racism. Modern technology is overlaid onto Indigenous methods in the work of Frain, Nweke and Whippy. For Frain this was in response to the way in which young women conducted their resistance, but for both Nweke and Whippy this has been necessitated by the COVID pandemic. Researchers had to work in areas where violent conflict has impacted on their research include Yazdany, Ali, Simons and Lwin, who have had to adjust their research to protect themselves and their participants. Joyce, Simons and Frain, who are non-Indigenous from the lands that they write about, were invited by the Indigenous groups with whom they had relationships prior to their doctoral studies, to include them in their research. Challenges for Doctoral Students Undertaking Decolonising Research in PACS Creating and maintaining respectful and mutually beneficial relationships between researchers and Indigenous communities (even when the researcher comes from the community) is of utmost importance, especially as Indigenous peoples have often been mistreated and misled by academic researchers, both in the distant and recent past (Smith 2012; Wilson 2008; Tuck and Guishard 2013). However, while there are calls for PACS to become decolonised and to be more sensitive to Indigenous issues, there are few Indigenous scholars in leadership positions who are able to mentor, guide, protect and encourage students of colour. In fact, white privilege continues to be a factor that impacts negatively on many Indigenous students as the importance of their work is undervalued by academics promoting those who are like themselves. There is

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resistance from many non-Indigenous academics who see the decolonisation movement as direct criticism of their own work. These academics are often unfamiliar with Indigenous knowledge, epistemologies and methods and feel threatened by students who have more knowledge in these fields. Often this resistance to Indigenous knowledge takes the form of undermining, ignoring and diminishing rather than any direct challenge. In addition to white privilege, the Indigenous students from nonEnglish speaking backgrounds face considerable challenges. They come to a country in the South Pacific, that is at a significant distance from anywhere else, to a city with values closer to those of Scotland than anywhere in the Pacific and far colder, they have to write in a language that is not their first language and the economic challenges are significant, as students are often relying on grants and scholarships that permit minimal degrees of comfort, and are insufficient for supporting a family. In addition, restrictions on travel by the University, even before COVID, have meant that many were unable to return to their home country to carry out fieldwork; or have been stuck there during their fieldwork because of natural disasters, illness, family bereavement and violent conflict. Other challenges come from the responsibilities Indigenous researchers have to their own communities. The requirement for genuine consultation is both time-consuming and often contradictory. The pressure to act as representative of their people, carrying with them their hopes and dreams for the future, is often intense. Their intimate involvement with the participants and the topic of their research can be not just unsettling but traumatic. For non-Indigenous researchers, the challenges come from being an outsider, without innate Indigenous knowledge and culture. Building respectful and trusting relationships is a long-term process and is often greeted with suspicion because of the instrumental nature of developing relationships in order to do the research. Misinterpretations due to language and terminology issues can lead to false findings. Lack of knowledge about rituals, customs and protocols can be seen as ignorant or disrespectful. In addition, non-Indigenous researchers are somewhat freed in many ways from the cultural responsibility and ties to Indigenous communities of interest, unlike Indigenous researchers who are bonded to these kin-based relationships (Smith et al. 2019).

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Benefits for PACS of Indigenous Research Aotearoa New Zealand is seen as a world leader in Indigenous research. M¯aori-led project and strategically positioned M¯aori scholars undertaking research with wh¯anau or iwi are held up as an example of decolonising work that is organic, collective and action-based (see, for example, Zavala 2013). However, even within a peace centre situated in Aotearoa New Zealand, there has been little evidence of Indigenous content embedded within the curriculum, apart from the work of doctoral students. As Walker (2020) notes, little attention has been paid to the voices of Indigenous Peoples in the PACS field. ‘The long histories of Indigenous peacemaking, diplomacy and conflict management were not evident in peer reviewed journal articles, nor within the general conversation within the field’. For the integrity of the field of PACS, she urges more real engagement with Indigenous peoples and their cosmologies, ‘disrupting the colonialism of the dominant paradigm of Western research and practice’. The PACS research of the doctoral students briefly outlined in this chapter contributes to the integrity of the field. Without indigenous perspectives, worldviews, knowledge, ancient understandings and recent scholarship, the field of PACS is lacking. The discipline can be informed about the impact on Indigenous societies of Western and euro-centric solutions to conflict. The field can learn about alternative ways of peacemaking and peacebuilding and reasons for resistance to Western models. The effect of colonisation on generations of Indigenous Peoples can be presented by those who understand the ramifications and can illustrate this with specific examples. Power structures within academia need to be altered to allow for more equality and diversity. In a field that needs to know more about relationship building, Indigenous knowledge is vital. So the knowledge that is unique to diverse cultures is readily made available to those from monocultural and homogenous backgrounds. Accessing knowledge from diverse language traditions provides a rich resource for further research.

Conclusion The field of PACS is diminished by the paucity of literature that relates to Indigenous research. By presenting here the work of doctoral scholars at the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies (NCPACS) at the

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University of Otago, we highlight some research that is helping to fill that gap in the PACS literature. Based at Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa, the M¯aori name for NCPACS, the work of these students provides a diversity of theoretical and methodological approaches, locations, cultures and languages. Research includes Palestinian resistance to Israeli encroachment, resistance to militarisation by the women of Guhan/Guam in the Marianas Archipelago, and resistance to British colonial invasion in Aotearoa New Zealand. Peacebuilding is explored as art and performance in Kenya, Mindanao and at Parihaka, and as group conversations and everyday peaceful activities in Myanmar, India and Nigeria. Possibilities for peace education are discussed for Afghanistan, Fiji and Indonesia. Researchers were working in languages such as Arabic, Dari, Philippines dialects, M¯aori, Fijian, Samoan, Indonesian, Burmese and English. Indigenous researchers experience many challenges working in an English language University based on a Scottish educational model, in the far south of the Pacific. As people of colour, Indigenous researchers face overt and covert discrimination and racism. In addition, dealing with economic hardship, lack of role models and mentors, as well as little knowledge or awareness from supervisors either about these challenges or about the content and approaches appropriate for Indigenous research increases the complexities of their studies. Other challenges include the extensive consultation and feedback to their own Indigenous communities, and often in the field of PACS, real physical danger of working in conflict areas, with a need to protect both themselves and those participating in their research. Their research brings unprecedented benefits to the field of PACS where Western researchers have little knowledge or access to most Indigenous methods such as kaupapa M¯aori, Talanoa, Faafaletui, VeivosakiYaga, African storytelling, Saysay and Kasaysaya. The field will advance through incorporating rich knowledge of long traditions of peacemaking. Throwing off colonisation is likely to be slow. But painstaking and rigorous work from Indigenous scholars is starting to pave the way towards decolonising the discipline.

Bibliography Ali, Nijmeh A. (2017) The Hidden Potential of the Palestinian Resistance in Israel: A Grounded Theory Study on Resistance among Palestinian Activists

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in Israel. Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga of Ot¯akou, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Ayindo, Babu (2017) Arts, Peacebuilding and Decolonization: A Comparative Study of Parihaka, Mindanao and Nairobi. Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga of Ot¯akou, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Azarmandi, Mahdis (2017) Colonial Continuities: A Study of Anti-Racism in Aotearoa New Zealand and Spain. Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga o Ot¯akou/University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Azarmandi, Mahdis (2018) The Racial Silence Within Peace Studies. Peace Review, 30:1, pp. 69–77. Carrer, Monica (2018) Peace, Violence and the Everyday in the Maoist Conflict in Junglemahai, India. Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga o Ot¯akou/University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John Synott (eds) (2017) Peacebuilding and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Enriquez, Virgilio G. (1986) Philippine World View. Singapore, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Frain, Sylvia (2017). Fanohge Famalåo’an & Fan’tachu Fama’lauan: Women Rising Indigenous Resistance to Militarization in the Marianas Archipelago. Thesis, Doctor of Philosophy, University of Otago. Retrieved from http:// hdl.handle.net/10523/7486, 2 May 2019. Available as a free Ebook: https://www.guampedia.com/fanohge-famalaoan-and-fantachu-famalauan/. Galtung, Johan (1964) An Editorial. Journal of Peace Research, 1:1. Joyce, Janine (2014) Human Spirituality and Coming Together in Peace: Looking Through Two Lenses. M¯aori and Sahaj Marg Raja Yoga, Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga of Ot¯akou, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Karena, Tonga (2017) Reclaiming the Role of Rongo: The Pacifist Traditions of Parihaka. Paper presented at the conference ‘Rethinking Pacifism for Revolution, Security and Politics’, University of Otago, Dunedin New Zealand. https://www.otago.ac.nz/ncpacs/otago668627.pdf. Karena, Tonga and Mahdis Azarmandi (n.d.) Parihaka as Keeping and Building Peace: A Kaupapa M¯aori and Feminist Analysis of M¯aori Nonviolent Resistance as Tribal Nation Building. Unpublished Paper. Laenui, Poka (1993) The Rediscovery of Hawaiian Sovereignty. American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 17:1, pp. 79–102. Ligaliga, Michael Fusi (2018) Faa Samoa: Peacebuilder or Peacebreaker? Understanding Samoa’s Domestic Violence Problem: A Peace and Conflict

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Perspective. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Memorandum of Understand to Establish a Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies in Aotearoa New Zealand (2007). Nakhid, Camille, Josh Mosca, Shani Nakhid-Schuster (2020) Liming as Research Methodology, Ole Talk as Research Method—A Caribbean Methodology. Development in the Caribbean, 18:2. https://www.mona.uwi.edu/soe/public ations/jedic/article/624. Nakhid-Chatoor, M., C. Nakhid, S. Wilson and A. Fernandez Santana (2018) Exploring liming and ole talk as a culturally relevant methodology for researching with Caribbean people. International Journal of Qualitative Methods. https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1177/1609406918813772. Nakhid-Chatoor, Margaret, Camille Nakhid, Shakeisha Wilson and Anabel Fernandez Santana (2018) Exploring Liming and Ole Talk as a Culturally Relevant Methodology for Researching with Caribbean People. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 17, pp. 1–10. Nweke, Obinna (in press) A Long Way from Home: The Niger Delta Creeks and Spatial Dimensions of Reintegration. Special issue on Space for Peace of the Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding. Simons, Jeremy (2021) Lumad Husay (Indigenous Conciliation): Decolonizing Justice and Re-storying Culture in Mindanao, Philippines. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai (2012) Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London and New York: Zed Books. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai, Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Lang (2019) Indigenous and Decolonizing Studies in Education: Mapping the Long View. New York and Abingdon: Routledge. Standish, Katerina and Rula Talahma (2016) Looking for Peace in the National Curricula of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Peace and Conflict Studies, 23:2. Tagicakiverata, Isimeli Waibuta and Pam Nilan (2018) Veivosaki-yaga: A Culturally Appropriate Research Method in Fiji. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 31:6, pp. 545–556. Te Maih¯aroa, Kelli (2019) K¯a P¯akaihi Whakatekateka a Waitaha: The Plains where Waitaha Strutted Proudly. Unpublished PhD thesis in Indigenous Studies and Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga of Ot¯akou, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Tuck, Eve and Monique Guishard (2013) Uncollapsing Ethics: Racialized Sciencism, Settler Coloniality, and an Ethical Framework of Decolonial Participatory Action Research. In T. M. Kress, C. Malott and B. Forfilio (eds), Challenging Status Quo Retrenchment: New Directions in Critical Qualitative Research (pp. 3–27). Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing.

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Vaioleti, Timote M. (2006) Talanoa Research Methodology: A Developing Position on Pacific Research. Waikato Journal of Education, 12, pp. 1–15. Walker, Polly (2020) Decolonising Peace Studies: Moving toward Settler Responsibilities for Colonialism. The Peace Chronicle: The Magazine of the Peace and Justice Studies Association. Walker, Polly (2011). Creating a New Story: Ritual, Ceremony and Conflict Transformation Between Indigenous and Settler Peoples. In C. Cohen, R. Varea, and P. Walker (eds), Acting Together Performance and the Creative Transformation of Conflict: Vol. I. Resistance and Reconciliation in Regions of Violence (pp. 224–251). San Francisco: New Village Press. Wendell DeRiggs, A. (2009). Reflections and ole talk. London: Hibiscus. Wibowo, Dody (2020) The Role of School Culture in Teacher Professional Development for Peace Education: The Case of Three Schools in PostConflict Aceh, Indonesia. Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Ware W¯ananga of Ot¯akou/University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Wilson, Shawn (2008) Research as Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Blackpoint NS, Fernwood Publishing. Yazdany, Hafiza (2019) Peace Education in Afghanistan: A Comparative Study of Conflict and Post-Conflict School Textbooks. Unpublished PhD thesis in Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Whare W¯ananga of Ot¯akou, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Zavala, Miguel (2013) What Do We Mean by Decolonizing Research Strategies? Lessons from Decolonizing, Indigenous Research Projects in New Zealand and Latin America. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education and Society, 2:1, pp. 55–71.

PART III

Indigenous Perspectives on Peace Development and Peace Processes

CHAPTER 11

Decolonising the (Indonesian) “Peace Concept” in West-Papua Cahyo Pamungkas

Introduction “Peace,” like many theoretical terms, is difficult to define. However, we often recognise it by its absence (Webel and Galtung 2007: 6). The definition of peace, which is generally adopted, refers to the work of Johan Galtung (1967) who distinguishes between “negative peace” and “positive peace.” Negative peace is a situation characterised by the absence of war or other forms of large scale violent conflict. “Positive” peace denotes the simultaneous presence of many desirable states of mind and society, such as harmony, justice, and equity. Peace as a means and end undergoes setback in conflict periods and, in other eras, develops to be capable of attaining justice (Webel and Galtung 2007: 7). The term positive peace follows a peace notion that requires the elimination of oppression and

C. Pamungkas (B) The Indonesian Institute of Sciences, Jakarta Selatan, Indonesia

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_11

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tyranny or the conception of justice obtained by realising justice (Safi 2001: 31).1 Researchers of critical conflict and peace studies acknowledge that violent conflicts are constantly deplorable but always produced and reproduced in social systems. Power relations are not only located in conflict sites but also in the production of knowledge itself (Hagmann 2014). Therefore, the author seeks to review the concept of peace constructed by a post-colonial state to control and govern an area which it possesses. Moreover, he attempts to free up the concept of peace by referring to the aspirations of Indigenous communities that are seen by the state as traditional, cultural, and pre-political.

The Concept of Peace in Indonesia-Papua Relationship The use of peace concept, in reality, refers to scientific or official definitions that are supported by the national State of Indonesia.2 Nevertheless, the sense of “peace” is always born from particular social and political contexts. Such contexts are defined in terms of power relations and contested among social agents involved in the conflicts. From Bourdieu’s perspective (1991), the word peace conceals motives and interests in dominating subordinate groups, or on the contrary, among dominated groups to free themselves from the dominant groups. The author

1 The notion of peace has been developing in social and humanistic studies, particularly in Anthropocene studies. We see, for example, that the concept of peace does not only takes into account the harmony among social groups but also among humans and their environment (Oswald Spring 2000: 235) but also it is a continuous piece in coexistence with sustainable development (Brauch 2009: 69). 2 The literature of peace categorises ways of attaining peace or, more precisely, “peacebuilding” into the liberal, illiberal, and hybrid sorts. Liberal peace is a strategy for making peace employing democratisation and economic reforms. Illiberal peace is the one that manages internal domestic conflicts of a country by putting emphasis on internal process and adopting clientelism and norms of order which base on repression, contrary to norms of freedom and liberal equality. In short and medium terms, such a strategy is capable of creating a stable politics, minimise violence by continuously controlling conflict areas (Smith 2020: 42–43). In Smith’s eyes (2012), the post-1998 political reform in Indonesia combines liberal and illiberal peace or creates a hybrid peace in dealing with Papuan conflicts. In her most recent article, Smith (2020) indicates that Indonesia, in the time of Joko Widodo, has shifted to making use of illiberal peace, shown by the repressive approaches used on several occasions.

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investigates decolonising the Indonesian concept of peace which does not accord with the idea of “Papua the land of peace” in the minds of Indigenous Papuans. The idea of peace from the official Indonesian perspective is the condition in which Indigenous Papuans are no longer demanding their independent West Papua State. This Indonesian concept operates by employing military operations, muting expressions of liberty, and imposing a capitalistic form of development.3 Such divergent conceptions of peace are based on differences in interpreting the political status and the history of the integration of Papua.4 The aspiration to establish a West Papuan State is based on the following views: Indigenous Papuans are of Melanesian race and should be a country among other Melanesian countries, rather than an Asian country; Indigenous Papuans are predominantly Christian so that they have importantly different beliefs from the mostly Muslim Indonesian population; Indigenous Papuans reject being integrated into Indonesia; the integration of Papua into Indonesia through the so-called Act of Free Choice in 1969 imposed on Papuans the Indonesian government as the colonial power (Kivimäki 2006: 5). 3 Violent conflicts in Papuan Land, which is today named as the provinces of Papua and West Papua, have not yet stopped since 1962. The situation is aggravated by the dire poverty and low Human Development Indexes (HDI) of regions predominantly populated by native Papuans (LIPI & TAF 2019). Such insecurity has its sources not only in the presence of security apparatus, but also the low quality of education and essential health services (Anderson 2015). The government has been attempting to create peace by promoting development for increasing shared prosperity, but such attempts simply fail. The reality is that Indonesia perpetuates violence, marginalisation, and depopulation against Indigenous Papuans. Furthermore, such a reality is now confronted by the idea of the West Papua state (Widjojo 2006; Ondawame 2006: 103–104). 4 When the Dutch transferred sovereignty to Indonesia in 1949, West Papua was outside of the new Indonesian state. The Dutch had their plan to decolonise Papua progressively in the 1960s by establishing the New Guinea Raad, PVK, and gave their recognition to the national flag and anthem of Papua (Ricklefs 2008: 270, 305). President Soekarno was against such a puppet state that the Dutch formed, and called for a general mobilisation to retake the West Papua from the Dutch using military actions (Drooglever 2009). In his administration, President Soeharto ordered a special operation to ensure that in the 1969 Act of Free Choice, the Papuan population would not wish to have their independence. The operation picked 1,022 native Papuans to represent the population of 800,000 Papuans on the voting day. A majority of votes (namely 99%) decided to integrate themselves into Indonesia (Ricklefs 2008: 334). The 1969 Act of Free Choice is today still seen by educated Papuan people as not meeting the clause of ‘one man one vote’ within the 1962 New York Treaty, which ended the dispute between Indonesia and the Netherlands (Saltford 2002; Drooglever 2009; Ondawame 2006: 236; Timmer 2013: 158–159).

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Meanwhile, the Indonesian government narrative emphasises that Papua shared the same experience of Dutch colonialism as other Indonesian areas and that Indonesia is incomplete without Papua. Indonesia is narrated as a multicultural country, not a Muslim one, or including only Asians in its population. Also, Indonesia includes Papua in its struggle against colonialism; the discussion on the political status of Papua would inevitably undermine the pace of development of the Indonesian nation, and therefore such a dispute has to be put to an end (Kivimäki 2006: 6). We can trace the antagonism of Asians against Melanesians back to the 7th Century AD when traders from Srivijaya, the most dominant Buddhist empire in Sumatera, sailed over to Papua in search of natural products such as cendrawasih, precious bark, and spices. Such interaction with Indigenous Papuans in commercial and “slavery” activities led most peoples in the archipelago to believe that curly-haired, dark-skinned Indigenous Papuans were primitive, less civilised, and “savage” (Osborne 1985: 5–6). Indigenous Papuans had particular views on life in the past, such as taught by Manseren Manarmekeri, a legendary figure from Biak. Many Indigenous Papuan living in Biak believed him to have visited the world of spirits, catching the dawn star, sampari. He then released the star, and he obtained a magical power to always be youthful. He taught the Biak people the doctrine of peaceful life (Osborne 1985: 27). Modern Indigenous Papuans have also formulated the conception that Papua is the land of peace, as the antithesis against the peace notion imposed by Indonesia. Post Indonesia’s 1998 political reform, Tom Beanal, a vice chairman of the Papuan Presidium Council, a political Free Papua Movement, declared Papua as the land of peace, a land free from violence, oppression, and misery. The declaration manifests the will of native Papuans to live with dignity on their own land as a dignified nation. (Tebay 2005: 23). Such a conception demands that the Indonesian government withdraw their armed forces from Papua. However, the government of Indonesia sees such a concept as separatist. Indonesian military officials have in their mind that Papua, the land of peace, could be realised if they suppress all separatist movements.5 In November 2004, leaders of churches in Papua convened and 5 The Catholic Justice and Peace Commission reports that in three months of 1977, the Indonesian military conducted bombing missions on the central mountain using the OV10 Bronco warplane, and the bombing claimed 25.000 lives. The government retaliated against armed resistance by the Papuan Independence Movement in Pegunungan Tengah

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issued statements that condemned injustice, oppression and emphasised the importance of dialogue as a solution, demanding that the government put an end to human rights violations in Papua (Tebay 2005: 24). In the production of knowledge on Papua’s conflict, we need to decolonise or deconstruct the concept of peace as defined by the Indonesian government, namely that “the NKRI (Negara Kesatuan Republik Indonesia or the Unitary State of Indonesian Republic) is a fixed price and is for welfare for all citizens.” Revitalising such a peace concept is an appropriate strategy for discontinuing the chain of violence in Papua.

Peace Culture of the Indigenous Papuan Tradition Such as outlined above, the concept of peace for Papua in the government’s version refers to a situation in which there is no separatist movement, and the idea of establishing an independent Papuan state is absent.6 The government sees peace as a situation in which Indigenous Papuans are prosperous, educated, and in good health so that they may forget the idea of independent Papua. However, the Indonesian government’s efforts have frequently caused violent political incidents, limited expressions of liberty, and persecuted and tortured native Papuans (Hernawan 2013), in a show of power (Rutherford 2012).7 The government does not attempt to study the conception of peace that native by assaulting the movement in Jayapura in 1983. Human rights observers indicate that the series of military actions cost approximately 30,000 lives. In the aftermath of the military operation in 1983, 11,000 Papuans fled to Papua New Guinea in 1984. In the 1993– 1994 period, political violence acts were perpetrated by TNI personnel in areas of the Amungme tribe around Freeport’s operational sites (Gault-Williams 1987: 38; Warinussy 2014). 6 Military interests in the case are not merely based on nationalist sentiment but also on the task of providing security service for companies under its security protection (Al-Rahab 2012). 7 Following are Indonesian military operations for suppressing the Papuan Independence Movement from 1965 to 1998: Operasi Sadar, or Operation Consciousness (1965– 1967); Operasi Brathayudha (1967–1969); Operasi Wibawa, or Operation Authority (1969); The military operation in Jayawijaya (1977); Operasi Sapu Bersih I dan II, or Operation Clean Sweep I and II (1981); Operasi Galang I dan II, or Operation Reinforcement I and II (1982); Operasi Tumpas, or Operation of Annihilation (1983–1984); Operasi Sapu Bersih, or Operation Clean Sweep (1985); The designation of Papua as a “Daerah Operasi Militer,” or Military Operation Zone (1989–1998) (Budiardjo and Liong 1988: 7792; Kivimäki 2006: 12). Post the New Order, The Asian Commission for Human Rights, the International Coalition for Papua (Sloan 2013), and by ELS-HAM

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Papuans have in their history and the cultural treasure that is their peace tradition. Such a study demands that we liberate the perception of peace of the Indonesian government by examining the cultural tradition of peace of native Papuans. Indigenous Papuans are of a tremendous tribal and religious variety. They were of seven tribal areas, i.e. Mamta, Saireri, La Pago, Mee Pago, Doberai, Bomberai, and Anim-Ha. Northern Papuans are predominantly Protestant, and southern ones Catholic. Papuan Muslims live in west coast areas in proximity to the Maluku islands. Divergence in ethnicity and religious matters in the past had caused disputes and wars among ethnic groups, but they had a cultural mechanism for creating peace and bringing about reconciliation. Such a cultural situation produces many Papuan local pearls of wisdom that praise high peace values. Those pearls of wisdom are contrary to the mainstream racist perspective that native Papuans are uncivilised. That racism had already been visible in the history of encounters between native Papuans and merchants from another archipelago (Rowley 1965; Osborne 1985) and of the violent interaction of native Papuans and certain anthropologists in colonial time (Kirksey 2012). Luigi Maria de Albertis, an anthropologist of Italian descent, argued that the colonial mission was to civilise Indigenous Papuans. I contend that the strategies used by both the Dutch and Indonesian governments against Indigenous Papuans are based on de Albertis’ position. The Dutch colonised Papua by sending missions and using cultural approaches, while Indonesia uses military strategy and certain capitalistic development forms, which resembles internal colonialism. Papuan communities have local wisdom such as Para-para Adat , Tikar Adat , Bakar Batu, and Bayar Kepala for solving their social conflicts (Handoko 2020). These forms of their peacemaking culture are based on fundamental values, using negotiation and efforts for preventing prolonged conflicts in the future, as well as recovering from the traumas that the conflict caused. Para-para Adat is a house or sacred edifice where community members hold talks for solving problems between them. Senior members and customary leadership invite parties that are in dispute and give them the opportunity to state their cases. The customary leadership acts as mediators to gain consensus among those parties. Papua (1999) reported various cases of political violence against native Papuans. For the recent violence in Papua, see Haluk (2019).

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“Para-para” takes the form of holding customary traditional events, such as talking about the problems of daily life and finding ways to solve them and about their efforts to secure the survival of their customary community. The Tikar Adat mechanism is substantially similar to Para-para Adat ; the difference lies in the fact that Para-para Adat is held in a house or edifice, while Tikar Adat contains similar events inviting all parties to sit on a mat. Tikar Adat also has a function of finding resolutions for internal family conflicts in which parents or elderly persons mediate the discussions to achieve consensus. Tikar Adat is also a custom followed by customary communities living in coastal areas such as the Marind-Anim tribe in Merauke.8 In the past, Tikar Adat or Para-para Adat aimed to find resolutions for family conflicts, disputes on territory borderlines and natural resources, and other customary problems, but today the same ceremonies are available to be used for negotiating the political interests of Indigenous Papuans.9 Other native traditional events of Papua are Bayar Kepala and Bakar Batu, have become the objects of scientific research. In the native Papuan tradition, a dispute is not always resolved in peaceful ways, but also employing open war with clans or ethnic groups opposed the one against another. The war would terminate if the number of casualties from each 8 An occasion of the Tikar Adat ceremony was held in Merauke Regency, in southern parts of Papua, on June 3, 2019. On that day, members of the Marind-Anim tribes talked on the mat in the Merauke Regency office compound. Leadership from 28 communities of native Papuans sat on a mat along with the Regency Chief, regional parliamentary members of the regency, members of Majelis Rakyat Papua, and the director of the Cendrawasih University of Jayapura. Those communities’ leaders tried to make their complaints heard, i.e. that in the regency parliamentary members from the 2019 general election are predominantly non-native Papuans (27 of 30), the latter have advantages in number and capital capacity. The ceremony started with the procession of offering sago, coconuts, bananas, and sugar canes, as symbols of Marind land prosperity to government officials. After a long dialogue, the regency chief and officials of Papua province would make some efforts to make some native Papuans members of the regional Parliament so that the proportion could be more balanced. The occasion was closed with one of the women handing over the communities’ aspirations in a noken (bag of woven bark) to the regency chief, who later handed them into provincial officials. 9 Tikar Adat is among the strategies of the native population of Papuan in settling disputes in the general election, including the increasingly marginalisation of the MarindAnim ethnic group in the local politics of Merauke. They do not demonstrate their protest by violent means but by having standard conventions involving local and provincial officials who were native Papuans.

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parties reached an equal number. Such a war is based on the necessity of defending the dignity of a family, clan, or tribe; it is seen as essential to defend the borders of customary areas (Osborne 1985: 3). Inter-ethnic conflicts frequently occur, but customary communities have cultural mechanisms to reconcile conflicting parties, such as Bayar Kepala and Bakar Batu (Kadir 2017: 244). For the victimised party, there is the mechanism of Bayar Kepala, namely specific compensation in certain forms and quantity. It is a consensus in every customary community in Papua that in a case of tribal war, there are reparations in making peace, including compensating for the dead victims. The tradition of giving certain compensations to the victim party is known as Bayar Kepala. The compensation may be an amount of money or other precious things (Muslim 2019: 103). The tradition functions as a customary fine that is obligatory. An example of Bayar Kepala took place in 2017 in which part of the fine for a 2014 tribal war was overdue as the compensation was high, around 2.5 million IDR (Alfian 2017). When the full compensation is paid this means that the problem is fully resolved and revengeful feeling has gone. The next ritual to be performed is the Bakar Batu. It is the way native Papuans actualise highly respected values to distribute foods to everybody and mark the total end of a tribal war. Bakar Batu feast is a method for resolving problems by preparing foods to be eaten together by all parties involved in the conflicts to mark the end of the conflict. Bakar Batu ceremony is performed primarily by those native Papuan communities in mountainous areas such as Dani/Hubula, Lani, Yali, Ngalum, Damal, Mee, Amungme, and other ethnic groups. Such a ritual is seen as part of the identity of native Papuans living in the central mountains and has been a traditional cultural item that is performed along with other thanksgiving and rituals.10 In a Bakar Batu

10 As pointed out earlier, the Bayar Kepala and Bakar Batu are mechanisms of resolving conflicts among Indigenous Papuans who dwell in mountainous areas. They expressed gratitude with slaughtering animals and big banquets and dance and singing feasts that involve all clan members (Muslim 2019: 106). Peace is not the absence of war and not referred simply to recovery actions; it cannot be reached but by securing each individual’s rights. Both traditions indicate that Papua’s customary communities can attain peace with their spiritual richness employing Bakar Batu. They are aware that wars led to such a catastrophic material and moral destruction that such events have to end through the actions of bringing back wellbeing of the mind.

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ritual, people prepare food using heated stones for cooking meat, vegetables, and tubers (Mimin 2019; Herningsih 2018). The ritual contains philosophical values such as communality, solidarity, religiosity, economy, and politics. The ritual symbolises health, fertility, and unity.11 Authentic Indigenous Papuan conceptions of peace include considerations of the relationship between Papuans and their natural environment. Approximately 1,205 Indigenous Papuan communities are located within and around the forest areas of the West Papuan province, and their livelihood depends almost entirely on forest resources—the relationship with their forest is based on specific value systems, shared knowledge, and norms. However, the advent of plantations, wood industries, modern husbandry, and the mining industry has destroyed the unity of their customary communities, separating them from their traditional food, and robbing them of their living space to the point of extinguishing their norms and cultural identity. From their status as the communal owners of the forests, Indigenous Papuans have been marginalised to become employees for giant capitalists, and the pace of their economic, political, and cultural marginalisation is accelerated (Tim Pusaka and Koalisi MS Peduli Ruang Adat Papua 2014: 8).

11 A study of Kogoya (2015) indicates that the customary community of Dani and Damal tribes in Ilaga held their Bakar Batu for resolving their tribal war for specific reasons as follows. Such an occasion is cultural for generations, and it obliges all parties involved in the conflict. The tradition is part of the customary laws for resolving disputes and conflicts. The ritual is to mark that conflicting parties have obtained their respective rights and performed obligations through the mechanism of dialogue and negotiation for compensating casualties in the war. Therefore, it is clear that Bakar Batu is a starting point for recovering peaceful relationships among conflicting tribes and erasing vengeance. The ritual signifies that they have peace with ancestral spirits who are indignant about norm infringements. The tradition reaffirms the existence of ancestral spirits as the controllers of norms and life values of the customary communities. Bakar Batu can also be a mechanism that demands compensation that has to be paid by the ethnic group of the murderer to the ethnic group of the victim; it can amount to between 300 and 500 million IDR per head. Those who raise the funds can be local governments or local elite who own specific local natural resources. It is also a mechanism for restoring the dignity of a loser ethnic group or proven guilty by paying fines for their mischiefs. It is finally a ritual that has a motive to reaffirm the power, cultural, and economic legitimacy of a big man or a tribal chief.

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Decolonising the Concept of Peace In the above description, the author has identified various cultural traditions that can function as mechanisms for resolving conflicts within Papuan communities. Such mechanisms led us to an image that contradicts the one that presents Indigenous Papuans as uncivilised. The peace concept of native Papuans is based on a perspective that views culture as a totality, as a balance between material and spiritual realms, employing dialogues and negotiations. From such a perspective, peace is a process, involving consensus and dialogue, which is non-violent; peace can also result in outcomes, such as harmonious relationships between people and their spiritual ancestors, and also between people and their natural environment. Peace is formed through social and cultural human exchange mechanisms. Sahlins (1997: 8) points out that for some traditional communities, the concept of peace is simple and manifest in social and cultural exchanges. For instance, in a case where two individuals are hostile to each other, if one of them offers the other a present, then the latter has to receive it, and the result is that peace would be created between them. Thus, the principle is that “we must give what we have, that is the way we live together.” In certain ethnic groups, the concept of peace relates to the tradition of the offering. Within the Korowai ethnic group’s kinship system, Stasch (2016: 21–22) finds how affection of kin to kin can indicate how generous are the presents. If a family has a need, other families will feel obliged to provide for them. Rutherford (1998: 271) outlines that violent incidents in Papua, especially in Biak, are predominantly the effects of failed exchanges in which proper recompense has not been received. Such exchange systems reproduce social relations, including peaceful relations. Referring to Mauss, violent cases in Biak in the past were as a result of unpaid obligations (cited in Rutherford 1998). This Indigenous concept of peace decolonises the peace concept by reconstructing dialogue discourse as a strategy for resolving conflicts in Papua and developing dignified Papuans. Dialogue becomes central in this matter for peace cannot be attained in a top-down way but has to be created within the communities and from below by promoting partnership among conflicting parties. Dialogue is also the key to success for ensuring that the peace is sustainable (Mahmoud and Makoond 2018: 9). The idea of Jakarta-Papua dialogue is not novel. In his dissertation, an educated leader of the Free Papua Movement, the late John Ondawame

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(2000) argues that the movement and the Indonesian government need to sit for dialogue and negotiations to resolve conflicts in Papua. It was in 2010, two years after the publication of the Papua Road Map by the late Muridan S. Widjojo and late Father Neles Tebay, the rector of Jayapura Theological Seminary, that the Jaringan Damai Papua (JDP, Peace Networks of Papua) was formed. Facilitators of the JDP come from various cultures and professional backgrounds; they are youth leaders, doctors, and customary community leaders. Voluntarily, they offer themselves to conduct mediations between conflicting parties, including the government, customary Papuan communities, and the migrant population in Papua. Those facilitators encompass native Papuans and migrant persons who live in Papua or Jakarta (Viartasiwi 2013: 210–211).12 After a series of public consultations in local regions, JDP gained support from Indigenous and migrant communities. In 2010 President Yudhoyono indicated the willingness of the government to engage in dialogues for resolving Papuan problems. However, after several violent incidents and with input from Indonesian intelligent services, the government revoked its agreement to use “dialogue.” JDP continues its struggle to promote dialogue (Viartasiwi 2013: 208) and has popularised the term among the general public. After the Kongres Rakyat Papua II in 2000, it was forbidden to be associated with insurgence and the Papuan separatist movement. In 2017, President Joko Widodo welcomed the idea of the JDP of sectorial dialogues between Jakarta and Papua for resolving conflictual problems. With extensive supports from religious leaders, the JDP now runs dialogue campaigns as a mechanism for settling Papuan problems (Mulait 2020). In addition to reconstructing the dialogue discourse, decolonising the “dialogue concept” also has to be done by reconstructing the concept of “Papua the land of peace again” which is an initiative by some of the

12 JDP has events of public consultations, travelling through some Papuan areas, Jakarta, and abroad. They discuss and campaign for dialogue as a means for commencing the peacemaking process. JDP hear, receive, and analyse aspirations of native Papuans and migrant communities on the Jakarta-Papua dialogue and on that between Indigenous and non-Indigenous populations of Papua. In the Jakarta-Papua dialogue, JDP prepares the dialogue sessions, place, format, and negotiators from Papuan grassroots leadership. Such a dialogue is seen as a medium for various conflicting parties to find resolutions acceptable and agreed upon by them. In other words, JDP’s mission is struggling to establish dialogue as a practical fashion in resolving conflicts in Papua in a dignified and non-violent manner (Yeimo 2020).

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churches in Papua. This conception was launched for the first time on September 21, 2001, by the Office of Justice and Peace in the Jayapura diocese and some religious leaders who walked to the House of Parliament, mosques, Protestant churches, Jayapura Diocese, and finally, the Regional Police Headquarter. Local government officials attended every visit, military, police, and religious leaders to promote the values of Papua, as the land of peace (Tjahjono and Kilcullen 2014: 41). Papua’s spirit and values as the land of peace have become one of the matters discussed in the public consultation that Jarinan Damai Papua held in seven common areas of Papua in 2010. The 2011 Papua Peace Conference had formulated the indicators of Papua, the land of peace, according to native Papuans. Broadly, the indicators include those of the domains of politics, laws, human rights, security, economy, and natural environment, and socio-culture. Political indicators show that Indigenous Papuans would feel peaceful if they, among others, are freed from separatist stigmas, intimidation, marginalisation, and discrimination. The problems of political status need to be settled, and the history of Papua has to be revised. The legal and human rights indicators require freedom of expression, protection of Indigenous Papuans against political violence, the court of justice for human rights abuses, and the recognition of customary justice courts. The security indicators include the need for the TNI’s professionalism for safeguarding border areas, securing the feeling of safety, and reducing non-organic forces, i.e. Indonesian armed forces that are based outside of Papua. Those security persons are forbidden to have a business and to be involved in city politics. Economic and natural environment indicators include the recognition of legal rights of native Papuans over their customary land holdings, customary land mapping, their management of natural resources which assure the sustainability of the environment and local wisdom, that customary communities have to be involved in investment planning, and the empowerment of indigenous Papuans’ economy. Finally, the social and cultural indicators demand that the racist stigma that considers native Papuans as ignorant, idle, and primitive has to be erased, there needs to be greater access for native Papuans to primary education and health services, and the number of immigrants to Papua has to be limited (Jaringan Damai Papua 2014). Decolonisation of the “peace concept” can be achieved by promoting the idea of Jakarta Papua dialogue as a mechanism for resolving conflicts and realising the indicators of Papua as the land of peace as outlined above. However, there are challenges as follows. First, there is a problem

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that indigenous Papuans have fewer places in the national discourse of Indonesia than do security persons. For example, we have the absence of any narratives about the contributions of indigenous Papuans to the war for Indonesian independence. At the same time, Aceh is narrated as having contributed gold to purchase the first airplane for Indonesia and for assisting in the Indonesian independence war of 1945–1949. Second, the Indonesian government was worried about the intrusion of a third party in the international negotiation on Papua. The involvement of the international world in the Aceh conflict causes anxiety for Indonesia in relation to Papua’s case (King 2006: 15–16). Indigenous Papuans have employed the concept of peace as a strategy to decolonise and reconstruct the discourse of dialogue and the conception of Papua, the land of peace. According to Scott (2009), such decolonisation is a strategy for freeing people from an oppressive power. Decolonisation of the concept of peace is necessary in the Papuan situation under Indonesia, because of internal colonialism. The concept of decolonisation used by Casanova (1965) refers to a relationship in which a majority dominates a minority in a State creating the growth of separatist movements. Blauner (1969) and Moore (1970) use the term to describe the domination of white people over the black population in America; such domination gives birth to protest movements and social riots. Hechter (1975) argues that injustice in the distribution of natural resources also coincides with cultural segregation. Among the figures of the Free Papua Movement is late Ondawame (2006: 107–108). He stated that Papua was a colony of Indonesia in the form of an internal colonial relationship. In his view, referring to Woods, while conventional colonialism is a direct and entire subordination of a country over another, with the basis of state power in the hands of foreign nations, it is clear that internal colonialism is oppression by a government against its people within a nation-state. Such internal colonialism is characterised by the exploitation of natural resources in periphery areas. The accumulation of capital by the central government, accumulation of power and prosperity in the hands of an elite, the periphery stays needy and dependent on the centre. Another characteristic is the eradication of indigenous people’s culture through transmigration, the formation of puppet local political power which is loyal to the centre, and terminology that portrays local cultures as primitive. The colonialists use the terminology of progress, development, or improvement, but deny indigenous peoples their rights. Ondawame (2006: 133) shows that native Papuans

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have been subjected to actions of genocide through the uneven distribution of power, their rights not being respected and recognised, human rights abuses take place widely, environmental destruction and degradation, depopulation of the indigenous people and cultural domination by immigrants continue. The situation is worsened by political violence such as extrajudicial murder, actions of silencing expressions, and torture. Johnson (2009: 87), referring to Fanon (1963) and Said (1994), argues that European colonialism has its roots not only in the conquest of physical land and people but also in the cultural production of colonial discourses which guide the conquered people in defining themselves and their future. The power to govern is dangerous when disguised as “kindness, civilising mission and progress.” Scholars of post-colonial studies attempt to reshape post-colonial history by documenting “subaltern” narratives on colonial and post-colonial experiences. The post-colonial perspective applied to the case of the Indonesia-Papua relationship shows that the agenda such as “development for the common welfare, progress, and prosperous Papua” are simply masks for disguising the real nature of Indonesian power. Indigenous Papuan scholars have to keep studying, researching, and deconstructing the discourses produced by the Indonesian government, such as work done by John Ondawame and Neles Tebay. Decolonising the concept of peace signifies an effort to overcome racism against indigenous Papuans; such racism has circulated for centuries in the interactions of the Nusantara archipelago of Indonesia with native Papuans. The discourses of ethnicity and racism now overlap. The core of racism is a classification system that sees people as inherently unequal. This doctrine is associated with systematic oppression and categorical oppression against people in the framework of the nation-state. Racism is particular to time and space, while in the same time, considering the geographic scope and time extent of the West’s dominance over the modern world, racism can be seen as the nature of the Westernisation itself, which is spread all over the world (Fenton 1999: 219). Decolonisation of the concept of peace is an attempt to fight against what Galtung (1969: 168) refers to as structural violence. Structural violence occurs when a group of individuals is simply in a situation where they cannot attain their maximum human capacity, and they are made incapable of doing things at the same levels as others (Gupta 2012: 19). Violence is structural if individuals do not perpetuate it but it is inherent within the power (Galtung 1969: 170–171). Thus, structural violence

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consists of not only physical violence but also of the exclusion undergone by particular social groups from their rights as citizens, their rights before the laws, rights to receive public services, and to be represented.

Conclusion Based on the above discussion, the author arrives at several conclusions, as follows. First, there is a difference of meaning between the concept of peace as established by the Indonesian government, and that one which indigenous Papuans develop. The government sees peace as a situation in which indigenous Papuans do not imagine an independent West Papua State. The indicator is the absence of the Free Papua Movement, in political or military realms. Peace understood as the process of development for the prosperity in Papuan land. However, this has implications such as political violence, human rights abuses, and silencing expressions of liberty, unequal distribution of natural resources, marginalisation, and depopulation of indigenous Papuans. The history of the integration of Papua into Indonesia is but a history of violence and exploitation, and the extermination of indigenous Papuan cultural values. Second, a more in-depth investigation shows that indigenous Papuans have their traditions in which mechanisms of peacemaking can solve their ethnic conflicts. Unbalanced mechanisms of social and cultural exchanges and infringements against customary laws are sources of inter-ethnic open wars. However, any conflict and war among native Papuans can end peacefully. Such peacemaking traditions include para-para adat , tikar adat , Bayar Kepala, and Bakar Batu. All those four traditions contain necessarily consensus and dialogue at their core between parties involved in a conflict. Parties who are proven guilty have to pay compensation, and the conflict ends with a communal feast as a symbol of peaceful reconciliation. Unfortunately, Indonesia’s government does not use such principles of local wisdom, i.e. dialogue for resolving political problems. As outlined above, the government prefers repressive approaches, domination of, and the imposition of its policy against indigenous Papuans. Third, the concept of peace constructed by the government is, therefore, deconstructed and liberated in its meaning, so that it can be in line with the historical experience of native Papuans. Long before their interactions with other nations in the archipelago, Indigenous Papuans already had their mythological knowledge about how they should live

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harmoniously, such as taught by Manseran Manarmakeri. In contemporary times, they have the concept of Papua, the land of peace, formulated in the 2011 Papuan Peace Conference. The concept contains some indicators, explicitly political, legal, security, economic and environmental, and socio-cultural. All those indicators will necessarily have their reality if there is no more oppression, violence, separatist stigmatisation, and racism against Indigenous Papuans. Peace will be right in Papua if the history of the integration of Papua into Indonesia is corrected, and native Papuans have the liberty to express themselves and feel safe to go anywhere they wish. Peace also means the excellent provision of essential education and health services, justice, protection of customary laws, customary land, and environmental sustainability as the ecological habitat of Indigenous Papuans. Fourth, decolonising the meaning of peace by the movement Papua the Land of Peace was initiated by confident religious leaders in 2001. Since 2009, the movement has manifested itself into the Peace Papua Network (JDP), which facilitates dialogues among different ethnicities in Indonesia and between the central government and Indigenous Papuans. The result of their efforts is that the imagination of “dialogue of Papua” seen by the government as a “separatist movement” turned into a terminology which the public has accepted. The government has seen Papuan dialogue as a “constructive communication” and “sectorial dialogue,” which is more practical. The four findings support the argument of this research that Indigenous Papuans have their concept of peace based on their cultural traditional treasure since their immemorial past and from their experience of integration into Indonesia. Decolonisation of the peace concept of Indonesia in West Papua has begun at both discursive and practical levels. Reconstruction of the peace concept today amidst the issues of racism and violence against Indigenous Papuans is a strategy for ending political violence incidents in Papua’s land. The decolonisation of the peace concept is part of the decolonisation of Indonesia’s knowledge in Papua, such a piece of knowledge currently used to legitimate the relation of internal colonialism. Such decolonisation that the Papua Peace Network has been undertaking for ending violence is a form of positive peace.

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Smith, Claire. Understanding illiberal peacebuilding models: Government responses to ending mass violence in Indonesia. Medford, MA: World Peace Foundation, 2012. Stasch, Rupert. “Dramas of otherness: ‘First contact’ tourism in New Guinea.” HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 6, no. 3 (2016): 7–27. Tebay, Neles. West Papua: The struggle for peace with justice. London, UK: Catholic Institute for International Relations (CIIR), 2005. Tim PUSAKA dan Koalisi Masyarakat Sipil Peduli Ruang Adat Papua. Briefing Paper Papua Damai: Lindungi Ruang Hidup Masyarakat Adat Papua, September 2014. Timmer, Jaap. “The threefold logic of Papua Melanesia: Constitution writing in the margins of the Indonesian nation.” Oceania 83, no. 3 (2013): 158–174. Tjahjono, Budi and Kilcullen, Ruth. Fransiscans in Papua: The journey OFM friars with the Papuans in the stuggle for their dignity. Geneva: Fransiscans International, 2014. Viartasiwi, Nino. “The prospect of mediation in West Papua-Indonesia Conflict transformation.” 立命館国際研究 26 (2013): 203–217. Warinussy, Yan. Catatan pelanggaran HAM di Tanah Papua pada masa Orde Baru dan Pemerintahan Reformasi. Paper on the National Seminar on Social Economic, and Political History, held by the Indonesian Institute of Science, on 18 December 2014. Webel, Charles, and Johan Galtung. Handbook of peace and conflict studies. Oxon, Canada and New York, USA: Routledge, 2007. Widjojo, Muridan. “Nationalist and separatist discourses in cyclical violence in Papua.” Asian Journal of Social Science 34, no. 3 (2006): 410–430. Yeimo, Aris. “Organisasi Papua Merdeka dan dialog damai.” Suarapapua.com, 25 April 2020. https://suarapapua.com/2020/04/25/organisasi-papua-mer deka-dan-dialog-damai/.

CHAPTER 12

Indigenous Conflict Resolution: A Samoan Perspective Michael Ligaliga

Introduction The colonisation of the Pacific region began more than 35,000 years ago, long before written records.1 There is a considerable amount of debate among scholars concerning the origins of the Pacific Island people. Some scholars believe that the Pacific Islanders probably migrated from Taiwan, settling first in Southeast Asia. Negating this theory is that the Pacific Islanders migrated from South America and not Taiwan.2 Pearce and Pearce (2010) developed a new theory through the disciples of science and mathematics to argue that the first Pacific island settlers originated 1 Lal and Fortune (2000) The Pacific Islands: An Encyclopaedia (53). 2 Ridgell (2006) Pacific Island Nations and Territories (25).

M. Ligaliga (B) School M¯aori & Pacific Indigenous Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_12

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from the Spice Islands rather than Taiwan.3 The region is home to the largest body of water, the Pacific Ocean to which over 20,000 inhabited and uninhabited islands belong to. Collectively, these islands only represent 0.0025% of the Pacific Oceans surface area.4 The Pacific region or Oceania has been divided into three sub-regions named as Micronesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia. Melanesia is the largest of the three Oceania regions in both land mass and population. The region is home to the main islands of Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, New Caledonia, and Fiji. The region is rich in natural resources such as copper, gold, nickel, timber, and fish which is the backbone to the region’s economic growth and sustainability. It is also important to note that the region is culturally, ethnically, and linguistically diverse, as the region is home to over 1,000 different dialects.5 The Marianas, Carolines, Marshalls, and the Gilberts represent the four main island groups of Micronesia. Like much of the Oceania archipelago, natural resources are in abundance in this region. However, the economic wellbeing of many Micronesian states relies heavily on the external aid from the United States with which many of these small island states (Guam, Palau, Marshall Islands, and Federated States of Micronesia) have political ties. The last region is Polynesia. Its triangular borders are represented by Hawaii to the north, Aotearoa New Zealand to the south-east, and Easter Islands or Rapa Nui to the south-west. Within this imaginary triangle lie American Samoa, Samoa, Tuvalu, Tokelau, Niue, Cook Islands, Tonga, and Pitcairn. Unlike the previous regions, Polynesia is culturally and linguistically similar. It is home to some of the world’s largest EEZ (exclusive economic zones). Tourism and agriculture are the biggest form of economic revenue for these island states. There are different Conflict Resolution (“CR”) methods practised in Oceania, but for all regions, the important influence and impact culture cannot be disregarded, because collectively one cannot exist without

3 Pearce C and Pearce F (2010) Oceanic Migration: Path, Sequence, Timing and Range of Prehistoric Migration in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. 4 Ridgell (2006) Pacific Island Nations and Territories (8). 5 Ridgell (2006) Pacific Island Nations and Territories (154).

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the other. There is academic literature which evaluates cultural relationships between Western and Indigenous societies (Mead 1949; Oliver 1989; Norton 1993; Rapaport 2013; Lal and Fortune 2000; Sharp 2003; Ridgell 2006). But there is little literature from the perspective of the Indigenous nations. Although many Indigenous CR methods have succumbed to the pressures of modernity, the governing values that underpin these methods have remained pure and undefiled. In more recent times, Western scholars have attempted to deconstruct, criticise, and analyse CR methods that are unique to the Pacific (Lederach 1995; Beattie 1997). These analyses tended to be fragmented and weak because of the lack of cultural understanding. Furthermore, although these arguments were canvassed by traditional and Indigenous ideologies, the reality is their (western) perspectives towards Indigenous CR methods were highly Westernised, neglecting protocols and customs which are culturally sensitive and failing to recognise the importance of cultural and customary values which are the nucleus of Indigenous CR methods. To overcome this cultural blindness, it is imperative to dissect the underpinning values within Indigenous CR methods in the Pacific. To achieve this, conflict resolution practices and ideologies in Samoa are examined through three lenses—Gerontocracy, the Self, and Boundaries and Spaces.

What Is Peace? The literature on Peace and Conflict Studies includes a plethora of definitions and explanations on what peace is. Pruitt and Kim (2004) define peace as ‘establishing the conditions for future harmony, cooperation, and security between the parties’.6 Wallensteen (2012) suggests that ‘peace is more than the absence of war…parties are agreeing to respect each other and prepare for living together with one another’.7 These definitions have been moulded by Western views, religious beliefs, cultural and value systems, and so forth. This Western perspective of peace is very different to Indigenous understanding of what peace means. Peace is not confined to one situation. Peace occurs before, during, and after a conflict. Peace is not an idea or a concept, to the Indigenous people of Samoa. Peace is

6 Pruitt and Kim (2004) Social Conflict: Escalation, Stalemate, and settlement (225). 7 Wallensteen (2012) Understanding Conflict Resolution (9–11).

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a living organism that has human like attributes like feeling pain, experiencing joy, and sadness. Peace is not an end product but rather a continual pursuit for excellence. Peace means to be constantly one with the elements through understanding your sacred spaces and boundaries. Peace means to be at one with the gods. Peace means self-mastery. Peace is harmony. In the Samoan philosophical thought, peace is not confined to a definition. Peace is rather a lifelong quest that an individual, out of his/her free agency, aspires to achieve. Hence, ‘a search for peace is a search for harmony’.8 In the Samoan culture, it is believed that when a person is in harmony with the cosmos, environment, with other people, and with himself, that person has found peace. Peace is the highest level of spirituality that one can be in and because one has attained peace that spirit radiates to others who are in search of peace. Harmony Between Humans and the Cosmos To be in harmony with the cosmos is for man to acknowledge the ‘sacred relations between mankind and the heavens’.9 One’s relationship with the cosmos is vital to the survival and safety of an individual. During many of their intrepid journeys, Samoans relied on the stars, moon, and the sun to navigate them through the unforgiving ocean. The cosmos was their lifeline to a successful and safe journey. It was used to differentiate seasons and weather patterns that were used to ensure a successful harvest. The cosmos was god’s haven where god would reveal his intensions, emotions, and will. Harmony Between Humans and the Environment In the Samoan religious thought, everything that exists on this earth was created spiritually and physically. To harm or violate the environment carries the same weight if you were to harm or violate humans. Harmony with the environment is founded on equivalence10 or in other words, humans and the environment are both equal. This is reflected by the way they would use terms which are associated with the land are used

8 Ta’isi (2008) Su’esu’e Manogi: In Search of Fragrance (104). 9 Ta’isi (2008) Su’esu’e Manogi: In Search of Fragrance (106). 10 Ta’isi (2008) Su’esu’e Manogi: In Search of Fragrance (107).

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Table 12.1 The connection between land and the body

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Samoan Term

English Translation

Metaphor

Eleele Palapala Fatu Fanua

Earth Mud Rock or seed Land

Blood Blood Heart Placenta

as metaphoric expression to important customary traditions and rituals. Ta’isi (2008) highlights a few terminologies. As illustrated in Table 12.1, the symbolic relevance of each Samoan term is important for understanding the Samoan philosophical thought. The terms eleele and palapala or earth and mud, are commonly used to define blood. The symbolism here is that the earth and the mud are the bloodline to the people. It is the source of food, commerce and trade, life and death, and war and peace. The term fatu or rock/seed is used to define the term heart. This term has symbolic reference to the character and purpose of the heart. The heart is strong and unbreakable and it is embedded and protected from harm’s way. Like a seed, the heart can grow through constant nourishment and continuous care. The term fanua or land which is used to describe the placenta is also very symbolic. When a mother gives birth to her child, it is customary protocols that the placenta and umbilical cord is buried. It is believed that umbilical cord, the only physical link between mother and child during the pregnancy, should be returned back to the land or Papa (God of the earth) as a token of thanks. Just as the land nourishes man the umbilical cord nourished the child, and to honour that physical and spiritual connection the umbilical cord is return. Harmony Between Fellow Humans Harmony with other people is threefold; harmony between parent and child, harmony between brother and sister, and harmony between offender/s and offended. Harmony with your others is achieved when the va tapuia (sacred space) is respected. Conflict occurs ‘when the tua’oi or boundaries are transgressed and misunderstood’.11 Binding these relationships or spaces is the ideal of feagaiga or covenant. The term feagaiga 11 Ta’isi (2008) Su’esu’e Manogi: In Search of Fragrance (109).

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is usually personified between man and god. This personification is carried throughout man’s relationship with their parents, with their siblings, and with their enemies. Before the arrival of Christianity to Samoa, the term feagaiga was given to a child of noble birth because the child would be the galvanising link between the father and mother familial ties. As Christianity took precedence, the term feagaiga was given to ministers of religion because of their covenantal relationship with god. For man to be in harmony with his family and his enemies respecting and honouring his va or space, understanding his tua’oi or boundaries, and finally respecting the fegaiga or covenant that exists between him and his surroundings is paramount. Harmony Between Humans and Self In the Samoan culture, one is not considered as an individualist but rather is interconnected with his/her surrounding environment. For one to be in harmony with oneself, self-mastery in body, mind, and spirit is vital. The day to day interaction of a person is governed by how much that person is in sync with his mind, body, and spirit.

Gerontocracy One of the unique characteristics about the Samoan society is that it is run and governed by elders. Macpherson (2006) explains that ‘in a gerontocracy, the entitlement to respect is relatively easy to establish; virtually everyone who is older is entitled to respect, deference, and obedience’.12 Children growing up in a Samoan society are taught that respecting their elders is paramount. This is taught through a child’s day to day interactions with their older siblings, parents, extended families, church ministers, and school teachers. As a child interacts with these people, they learn through the process of trial and error the value of fa’aaloalo (respect) and usiusitai’i (obedience). A famous Samoan proverb that is frequently quoted by parents and elders to their young, tatou au uma ile matua or we will all reach adulthood, highlights the cyclical nature of the Samoan society. The transitional process from child to manhood or womanhood is important in the Samoan culture because it is expected 12 Macpherson (2006) The Nature and Limits of Traditional Dispute Resolution Processes in Contemporary Samoa (133).

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that during that process a child, reared by their parents, extended families, and extended communities, would have learnt the values of respect and obedience. When the cycle is complete (reached adulthood), it is their (adults) responsibility to ensure that those values are preserved. The Samoan society is divided up into three circles, the aiga patino (immediate family) which consists of the parents and their children, the aiga potopoto (extended family) which usually consist of the parents’ siblings and their children (uncles and aunties), and finally the aiga lautele (broader family) which usually consists of the families ties to the various villages that have genealogical ties to (this could be more than one). Governing these circles is the matai or chief. Vaai (1999) explains that the matai system ‘evolved out of the fusion of the institution of family and hierarchical system…and is characterised by institutions in which the relationship and interactions of kin and groups are influenced by reference not only to kinship factors but particularly by such considerations as titles, hierarchy of titles, genealogies and honorifics’.13 This governing body is crucial to maintaining and sustaining the affairs of the three familial circles. Matai system is made up of senior members of the extended family. Although there are younger matai, the affairs of the village are under the stewardship of the elder matai. The matai system is an important institution that fosters unity and cohesion. Macpherson (2006) suggests that ‘social unity is an ideal state, and Samoans will, where at possible, avoid overt conflict and division’.14 Macpherson also makes reference to a Samoan proverb which compares conflict and its effects to head lice. Once head lice are found, the problem needs to be remedied immediately. If unattended to, the lice become ‘a source of continuing irritation that distracts the sufferer and eventually infect the scalp and cause more general illness’ (129). Although it is the parental responsibility to enforce law and order in their homes, it is the responsibility of the matai to ensure that conflicts and disputes are immediately remedied and do not spread out within the broader familial circles. Principles such as pule (authority, power); so¯ aluapule (joint decision making); ‘autasi (consensus); alofa

13 Vaai (1999) Samoa Faamatai and the Rule of Law (29). 14 Macpherson (2006) The Nature and Limits of Traditional Dispute Resolution Processes

in Contemporary Samoa (129).

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(love, compassion, care); fa’aaloalo (respect); mamalu (dignity); fa’autaga, t¯ of¯ a, and moe (all refer to wisdom)15 are maintained and preserved through the matai system to ensure that unity and cohesion is sustained throughout the familial circles.

The Self The concept of ‘self’ in the Samoan culture is vital to understanding an individual’s role and purpose within their familiar circles. The belief is that the ‘self’ or the individual is connected to other individuals. The actions of the ‘self’ are dictated and influenced by its bond and relationship with others. Thus, the self cannot succeed in life without the other. The concept of the ‘self’ is important to understand as it illustrates the value of interconnectedness in the Samoan culture. When an individual is in conflict with another, in the Samoan context, the conflict extends well beyond the individual and spreads to everyone else connected to the two disputing individuals. Tamasese et al. (2005) further explain that ‘the Samoan self is described as having meaning only in relationship with other people, not as an individual. The self cannot be separated from the ‘va’ or relational space that occurs between an individual and parent, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other extended family and community members’.16 According to Tamasese et al. (2005), the ‘self’ is indivisible. The physical, mental, and spiritual aspects of the ‘self’ are not separate entities, but rather they represent the oneness that exists within an individual. The spiritual importance of the ‘self’ supersedes the physical importance because ‘in the Samoan culture, gods are traditionally embodied in the environment in which people lived and genealogical ties could always be traced back to god’.17 The principles that govern the ‘self’ reconfirm the overarching discourse concerning the collectivist nature of Indigenous methods of conflict resolution. In the Samoan context, an individual’s actions, whether they are celebrated or despised by people, are influenced and dictated by another influence. An individual who does things for his/her personal gain and without regard to the welfare and

15 Huffer and So’o (2005) Beyond Governance in Samoa: Understanding Samoa Political Thought (312). 16 Tamasese, Peteru, Waldegrave, Bush (2005) Ole Taeao Afua (303). 17 Tamasese, Peteru, Waldegrave, Bush (2005) Ole Taeao Afua (304).

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betterment of the other is shunned and looked ill upon. Like other principles within the Samoan way of life, there are laws that govern the concept of the self.

Boundaries and Sacred Spaces In his address at the Samoa Conference II which was held at the National University of Samoa July 2011, Head of State Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Ta’isi Efi explained that ‘in determining our differences and similarities, our rights and responsibilities, to ourselves, to each other, to our environments, and to God, we mark boundaries or tua’oi and develop cultures or traditions that help us to define the context for these boundaries. It is in understanding the contexts that we are able to negotiate the rules’.18 In many instances, as in the Samoan culture, these boundaries overlap each other, influencing the separate boundaries such as the familiar circles, the self, as well as the boundaries what are created by the Va tapuia or sacred space. As previously suggested, the concept of the ‘self’ is not practised in the Samoan society and therefore individual boundaries are non-existent. This reinforces Tuala-Warren’s explanation of ‘unwritten principles’19 of the Va tapuia that governs the relationship between individuals. In the Samoan context, as explained by Efi, the purpose of establishing boundaries is to develop and define the context within that boundary. It is only when a person has fully developed the context within those boundaries that a sufiga or negotiation can take place. The development of familial ties, culture and traditions, unity and cohesion within the village, and the spiritual and physical welfare of individuals are principles that commonly developed within the traditional boundaries as explained by Efi. Understanding the context and values of your boundaries is an important element in the Fa’a Samoa. The process of negotiation is done between individuals with an equal amount of wisdom and understanding. An untitled man cannot perform the duties and responsibilities of a Matai or chief. Even if the untitled man is older than the Matai, correspondence is not allowed—the Matai deals only with a Matai. These protocols also apply to women. A female matai holds the same pule (authority), rights,

18 Efi (2011) Sufiga O le Tuaoi: Negotiating Boudaries—From Beethoven to Tupac, the Pope to Dalai Lama (4). 19 Tuala-Warren (2002) A Study in Ifoga: Samoa’s Answer to Dispute Resolution (14).

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and privileges as a male matai holder. Therefore boundaries and sacred spaces between the male and female matai can be crossed and negotiated because they are equal (both hold matai title). Untitled women however do not carry the same authority as untitled men. In this case, the women resume their matriarchic role in the family while the untitled men have their specific responsibilities in the village. If individuals have the same pule (authority), the likelihood of a misunderstanding occurring is minimal. However, if the pule is imbalanced, the probability of confusion and conflict is greater. In the context of conflict resolution, developing an understanding of your boundaries and the boundaries of others is important in avoiding and dealing with conflicts. Boundaries, as described by Efi, can be negotiated when the level of understanding and authority is on the same level. There are also laws that govern the concept of the self—Ole Va or Vatapuia. As previously explained, the concept of the self, in the Samoan context, denotes that people cannot exist in a society as individuals because every action or decision an individual makes is influenced or affects another individual. In more simple terms, there is no such thing as an ‘individual’ in Samoan philosophical thought. The principle of Va or Va tapuia governs the relationship between the ‘self’ and the other individual or party. The basic translation of the term Va is a gap or space. A space or gap can exist on various levels within Samoan society. The space between a brother and sister, between children and their parent or vice versa, between man and god, or the space between matai and the village under his or her stewardship are examples of a Va (space). TualaWarren (2002) intricately explains the importance of this principle saying that ‘Samoans conduct their lives according to the unwritten principles of ‘va’ which in its simplest form of means, the maintenance of the relationship between people, between aiga, between villages, between districts and finally between people themselves and Le Atua (God)’.20 It is paramount that the Va or space between the ‘self’ and others is maintained at all times. This is to avoid unnecessary conflict between parties or if disputes do occur, the process of resolution and solution seeking should be effortless because the Va or space between the disputing parties had been strong prior to the conflict occurring. Samoa’s current Head of State Hon. Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Taisi Efi, takes

20 Tuala-Warren (2002) A Study in Ifoga: Samoa’s Answer to Dispute Resolution (14).

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the principle of Va further. He defines ‘Va tapuia as sacred relationship between humans and all things animate and inanimate. It implies that in our relationship with all things, living and dead there exists a sacred essence, a life force beyond human reckoning’.21 It is the belief, in the Samoan context, that if an individual continuously respects and honours his or her Va or space, whether linear (brother and sister) or cyclical (extended family), the possibility of a conflict occurring is diminished significantly. Conflict or disputes only occur when the sacred space between individuals has been violated and abused.

O le Ifoga The term ifo or ifoga, literally means ‘to bow down, as do those conquered in war, or a bowing down, an act of submission and the party bowing down’.22 This traditional ceremony is only used when a family is ‘seeking forgiveness and rendering a formal apology resulting from a hostile event involving physical injuring and/or verbal degrading of a family reputation’.23 Efi simply defines the Ifoga as a ‘ritual where the offending party pleads for pardon from the offended party’.24 It is important to mention how the authors describe the ifoga as something that is sought after by the family/party and not by an individual. Their definitions re-echo the importance of the role of the ‘self’ as previously discussed. In the Samoan context, when an individual does something offensive or commits a crime, all three familial circles are affected by the individual’s act. Shame, embarrassment, disgrace, and humiliation are justifying narratives for the offended family during the Ifoga. The Samoan parable E sili le oti ile ma or death is better than shame, personifies the Ifoga ceremony because ‘Samoans are extremely sensitive to being shamed to the extent that they feel it critical to perform an ifoga to lessen the shame. If they are feeling ashamed by an action of a member of their

21 Efi (2009) Bioethics and the Samoan Indigenous Reference (116). 22 Macpherson (2005) The Ifoga: The Exchange Value of Social Honour in Samoa (109). 23 Filoiali’i and Knowles (1983) The Ifoga: The Samoan Practice of Seeking Forgiveness

for Criminal Behaviour (384). 24 Ta’isi (2008) Su’esu’e Manogi: In Search of Fragrance (89).

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aiga (family), they must shame themselves more in an ifoga in order to be forgiven’.25 If an individual has committed a crime or has done something to harm the family, village, or district harmony, a meeting is summoned between the individual’s family and the matai or chief of the village. During the meeting every aspect of the ifoga is discussed namely; the positive and negative ramifications for the family, the amount of gifts such as fine mats, money, food are going to be given to the offended family, the timing of the ifoga, if the offended family declines the ifoga what would be their reaction and so forth. The decision to pursue the ifoga rests on the decision of the matai and the extended family not of the individual. When a consensus is reached the family, extended family, chief, and the village council travels to the offended family village usually during the early hours of the morning (this will be discussed later on). Upon arrival, the offending party is seated behind the offender who is kneeling and fully covered with a large fine mat. It is at this time that the offending party waits. The waiting time is determined by the offended family. It is not unusual for the offending family to wait for long hours in the sun. It is during this waiting time that the offending family and their entourage go through the shaming process because they are submitted to so much public humiliation. When the offended family has agreed that enough humiliation has been served, the offending party is greeted by a matai. Although this process (greeting) can be time consuming, the intricate and often poetic exchange of verbal speech is vital to the healing process of the ifoga. During this process, no one speaks except for the matai who was delegated during the planning process of the ifoga. The ifoga is only successful when the fine mat, which was used to cover the offender, has been removed by the offended family. The offending family then proceeds with the offering of gifts, fine mats, food, and money. Although the offended family committed no wrong, some of the gifts that were given to them are returned as a token of thanks and safe return to the offending party.

25 Tuala-Warren (2002) A Study in Ifoga: Samoa’s Answer to Dispute Resolution (14).

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Conclusion In her seminal paper entitled ‘Decolonizing Conflict Resolution: Addressing the Ontological Violence of Westernization’, Professor Polly O. Walker argues: The discipline of conflict resolution perpetuates ontological violence, the suppression and silencing of Indigenous ways of conceptualizing and experiencing the world. In most practice, research and training, Western problem-solving models of conflict resolution are promoted as appropriate for all cultures, include Indigenous peoples. Indigenous worldviews are marginalized through Westernization, which includes any process used to shape things in a Western mode … Utilizing the power of the dominant culture, Western methods have assumed hegemony in the fields of conflict resolution and mediation.26

As the Pacific diaspora continues to grow globally, it is important for society to shift from being culturally blind towards being culturally courteous. The interweaving of cultural beliefs, values, and ideologies within societies ratifies the need for cultural appropriate practices such as conflict or dispute resolution methods that serve to redress the needs of Indigenous people. This paper examined conflict resolution practice within the Samoan milieu. It is important to note that while there are similar practices within other Pacific Island Nations, each have their own specific cultural mechanisms and components that exist to satisfy their own worldviews. I add my concern to that of Professor Polly O. Walker. As a Samoan and a conflict resolution and mediator practitioner, the shift from the dominant west to my Indigenous space is an important one. The paradoxical relationship between conflict and peace is premised on one commonality—people. This is evident in a Samoan proverbial expression e fofo le alamea le alamea which is loosely translated as the alamea or crown of thorns star fish will heal itself. It has been said among Samoan traditional fishermen that if you get stung by the spines of the alamea (crown-of-thorns starfish), you should turn the starfish over and have its spongy-like feet touch the area where you have been stung. The alamea will heal its own doing. This can be interpreted as: Solutions for issues affecting a community can be found within that same community. 26 Walker, Polly O (2004) Decolonizing Conflict Resolution: Addressing the Ontological Violence of Westernization.

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Bibliography Beattie, S. (1997). Is Mediation a Real Alternative to Law? Pitfalls for Aboriginal Participants. Australian Dispute Resolution Journal, 1, 57–69. Efi, T. T. T., & Tamasailau, S.-S. (2009). No Title. Apia, Samoa. Filoiai’i, L. A., & Knowles, L. (1983). The Ifoga: The Samoan Practice of Seeking Forgiveness for Criminal Behaviour. Oceania, 53(4), 384–388. Huffer, E., & So’o, A. (2005). Beyond Governance in Samoa: Understanding Samoan Political Thought. The Contemporary Pacific, 2, 311–333. Lal, B. V, & Fortune, K. (2000). The Pacific Islands: An Encyclopedia. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Lederach, J. P. (1995). Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation Across Cultures. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Macpherson, C., & Macpherson, L. (2005). The Ifoga: The Exchange Value of Social Honour in Samoa. Journal of the Polynesian Society, 114(2), 109–133. Macpherson, C., & MacPherson, C. L. M. (2006). No the Nature and Limits of Traditional Dispute Resolution Processes in Contemporary Samoaitle. Pacific Studies, 29(1). Mead, M. (1949). Coming of Age in Samoa: A Psychological Study of Primitive Youth for Western Civilisation. New York: New American Library. Norton, R. (1993). Culture and Identity in the South Pacific: A Comparative Analysis. Man (London), 28(4), 741–759. Oliver, D. L. (1989). The Pacific Islands (3rd ed.). Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Pearce, C. E. M., & Pearce, C. E. M. (2010). Oceanic Migration: Paths, Sequence, Timing and Range of Prehistoric Migration in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. Dordrecht, New York: Springer. Pruitt, D. G., & Kim, S. H. (2004). Social Conflict: Escalation, Stalemate, and Settlement (3rd ed.). Boston: McGraw-Hill. Rapaport, M. (2013). The Pacific Islands: Environment and Society (Revised ed). Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Ridgell, R. (2006). Pacific Nations and Territories: The Islands of Micronesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia (4th ed.). Honolulu, Hawai‘i: Bess Press. Sharp, A. W. (2003). Pacific Islands. San Diego, CA: Lucent Books. Suaalii-Sauni, T., & Fulu-Aiolupotea, S. M. (2014). Decolonising Pacific Research, Building Pacific Research Communities and Developing Pacific Research Tools: The Case of the Talanoa and the Faafaletui in Samoa. Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 55(3), 331–344. https://doi.org/10.1111/apv.12061 Tamasese, K., Peteru, C., Waldegrave, C., & Busch, A. (2005). Ole Taeao Afua, the New Morning: A Qualitative Investigation into Samoan Perspectives on Mental Health and Culturally Appropriate Services. Australian and New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry, 39(4), 300–309. https://doi.org/https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1440-1614.2005.01572.x

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Tuala-Warren, L. (2002). A Study in Ifoga: Samoa’s Answer to Dispute Healing. Hamilton: Te Matahauariki Institute, The University of Waikato, Hamilton New Zealand. Retrieved from http://lianz.waikato.ac.nz/PAPERS/Occasi onalPapers/TMOP-4.pdf Tui Atua, T. T. T. E. (2009). Bioethics and the Samoan Indigenous Reference. International Social Science Journal, 60(195), 115–124. Vaai, S. (1999). Samoa Faamatai and the Rule of Law. Apia. Samoa: National University of Samoa. Walker, P. O. (2004). Decolonizing Conflict Resolution: Addressing the Ontological Violence of Westernization. American Indian Quarterly, 28(3/4), 527–549. Wallensteen, P. (2012). Understanding Conflict Resolution (3rd ed.). London: SAGE Publications.

CHAPTER 13

Treaty Making (Makarrata) and an ‘Invisible’ People: Seeking a Just Peace After ‘Conflict’ Asmi Wood

This chapter argues for treaty-making to bring conflict between Indigenous Peoples and ‘settlers’ in Australia to an end. Treaties need not be comprehensive but envision these parties coexisting peacefully, in a fair, equal and just partnership into the future. This chapter argues for treaty including the explicit incorporation of two fundamental legal norms (a) the peoplehood of Indigenous Peoples—thus their international legal

Asmi Wood (Professor of Law, Australian National University) would like to thank his colleagues Ms Monica Dalton and Ms Sascha Kelly for their assistance in proofreading the manuscript. A. Wood (B) Australian National University, Canberra, ACT, Australia e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_13

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personality—and (b) the right to internal self-determination.1 In doing this, it examines how Indigenous Peoples’ treaty negotiations and developments in Australia2 could benefit in principle from the treaty experience in other similarly colonised countries.3 These ‘similarly colonised’ countries refer to Canada, Aotearoa New Zealand and the United States of America (USA), the three countries, which together with Australia are known collectively as the CANZUS states.4 This chapter will draw upon the experience of treaty formation in CANZUS and other states, including under international law over the past four centuries. Treaties or agreements are currently being considered, negotiated or formulated in Australia, and inter alia are seen as a possible means of and mechanism for, redressing the continuing effects of colonial oppression. Treaty negotiations in Australia are confined at present to certain States and Territories (‘domestic agreements’, i.e. here explicitly excluding federal treaties). Agreements are being formulated under laws in those jurisdictions, which means that the agreements are based solely on domestic Anglo-Australian law and Indigenous laws are not

1 Asmi Wood and Christie Gardiner, Identifying a Legal Framework for a Treaty Between Australia’s First Peoples and Others (Australian Institute for Common Roots, Common Futures International Indigenous Governance, Rowman & Littlefield, 2020). 2 ‘Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander’ peoples is the commonly used term to describe Indigenous Peoples of the Australian continent. These are clearly colonial terms (i.e. terminology variously used by the settler state collectively to refer to a range of tribes and peoples, often who each identify separately) and the use of these terms is not uncontentious. This chapter generally, but not exclusively, employs the phrase ‘Indigenous People/s’ for this purpose, as this is the term preferred in international instruments, including by consensus in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, GA Res 61/295, UN Doc A/RES/61/295 (2 October 2007, adopted 13 September 2007) (‘UNDRIP ’). 3 The notion of treaty negotiations in this chapter considers several stakeholders

including the various Indigenous peoples of the continent, each as a separate ‘people’ and the Crown in its various rights, in Australia, the United Kingdom (UK) and other places and others stakeholders as might emerge as the negotiations proceed. 4 Countries such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the USA are for convenience referred to as the ‘CANZUS States’. These states have a similar, but not identical, colonial history. The notion of treaty in Australian negotiations examined in this chapter considers several stakeholders including the various Indigenous peoples of the continent, each as a separate ‘people’, and the Crown in its various rights, in Australia, the UK and other places; and others stakeholders, as might emerge as negotiations proceed. All CANZUS states (arguably with the exception Quebec) have had, and still follow, a similar form of Westminster based legal and political polity which makes this comparison reasonable.

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recognised or given legal effect in a pluralistic manner.5 Treaty, however, also has symbolic, implicit benefits including recognition of Indigenous legal personality, peoplehood and sovereignty; furthermore, treaty explicitly can incorporate substantial benefits for Indigenous peoples. A treaty in the meaning of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (1969)6 (‘VCLT’), and thus at customary international law, is binding on all parties; that is and unless otherwise stated, is binding and equally authoritative in all the languages in which the treaty is ratified.7 The Australian federation is not even remotely ready politically to embark on treaty processes with Indigenous peoples. Further, the scope and legal effect of domestic agreements are subject to the burdens and limitations imposed upon them by the Constitution. Consequently, these treaties, from a common law perspective, can have a very limited effect on rectifying the structural injustices in Australia. On the other hand, domestic agreements will be helpful in identifying local/sui generis matters of importance to Indigenous Peoples. The Constitution empowers Parliament to enter into treaties, including with ‘Peoples’ in the meaning of the United Nations (UN) Charter.8 The UN potentially recognises the multitude of ‘peoples’ that constitute humanity; Indigenous peoples in Australia should demand no less for both recognition and international legal personality. Parliament can use the external affairs power (argued here as the preferred head of power)9 to incorporate treaties with Indigenous Peoples.10 This head of power can also incorporate international law, norms and human rights obligations, in this case, relevant to Indigenous Peoples, and indicating that treaty is not purely a domestic matter.

5 Hereinafter, the word ‘treaty’ and (synonyms) as used in this chapter, even when used in the singular, also refers to the plural, unless it is clear from the context that only the singular must apply and vice versa) and takes on the broad meaning set out infra. Treaty, when not qualified, generally means treaty between parties in Australia. 6 Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, opened for signature 23 May 1969, 1155 UNTS 331 (entered into force 27 January 1980) (‘VCLT ’). 7 Ibid. Art. 26. 8 Australian Constitution s 51(xxix). 9 Ibid. 10 This step might appear to be superfluous at this point but please see discussion infra.

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Australian States (although not Territories11 ) enjoy plenary power.12 Thus States (and Territories) can enter into treaty with Indigenous Peoples, and the Federal government has not prevented them from so doing. The federation benefits from diffusing contentious political issues while observing the practical dynamics of treaty, but in any event has little to fear from such agreements. This is because Parliament can invalidate parts of States’ treaties by legislating to cover the field.13 Parliament can also invalidate Territory treaties.14 The Constitution also grants Parliament broad, almost unlimited powers, such as the ‘races power’, which could be used to enter into treaties with Indigenous Peoples, but is not the preferred head of power for this purpose, as discussed below.15 Under the current legal arrangements, only Parliament can give effect to treaty obligations in law, including for defining terms and effecting enforcement. Therefore, Indigenous Peoples are immediately and permanently at a disadvantage for agreements based solely in the domestic plane. Unless there are clear and explicit protections and positive avenues for redress under treaty, Indigenous Peoples will have to rely on the honour and good faith of the Parliament. While the past is not a perfect indicator of future behaviour, progeny would hold those who ignored its warnings negligent at a minimum, if trust in the present system is the sole yardstick for seeking redress and adjudication, in case of (the inevitable) disputes that will arise in the future. This chapter takes a cautious approach to agreement making and supports the arguments made here by examining the behaviour of the political classes of the colonial states. For these reasons, it argues further, in favour of positive protective provisions and the inclusion of an independent international law-based framework and umpires, rather than relying on the good will of the Australian state alone. It proposes measures 11 The Attorney-General of the Commonwealth of Australia and The Queen and The Boilermakers’ Society of Australia and others (Appeal No. 27 of 1956) v Kirby and others and The Queen and The Boilermakers’ Society of Australia and others (Consolidated Appeals) (Australia) [1957] UKPC 4 (19 March 1957), 288, 320. 12 Under the Australian Constitution plenary power was retained Colonies/original States and enumerated powers referred to the Federation. 13 Australian Constitution s 109. 14 Ibid. s 122. See above n 11. 15 Ibid. s 51(xxvi).

by

the

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in support of a legal framework less reliant on British conventions and traditions alone, but suggests one that also captures standards based on Aboriginal traditions and international morés. Seeking positive legal protections is not an unreasonable request, as even majorities in many Anglophonic states have positive laws protecting human rights. Australia is alone among the Anglophonic industrialised states in relying largely on the common law for human rights protections. This is the majority’s choice. However, Indigenous Peoples should not be expected to extend the same levels of trust to the limbs of State. There is a significant minority within the mainstream likely to oppose treaty quite vigorously. Consequently, Parliament will move slowly and cautiously as it contends with competing majoritarian interests, with little to gain in an electoral or political sense by entering into treaty. There are significant differences in historical accounts of the colonisers to those of Indigenous Peoples. An acceptable remedy calls for truth-telling as a prerequisite to agreement making. Both the Barunga Statement16 and Uluru Statement from the Heart (‘Uluru Statement’),17 reiterated this call in similar ways. Negotiating these historical differences is an important prerequisite. An important historical legacy of ‘different histories’ is that in a strict legal sense, you cannot really ‘make peace’ when there has been no (acknowledged) conflict. In fact, conflict between the British, their successors and Indigenous Peoples, is not even physically possible in the eyes of Anglo-Australian law that denied their very existence. The British and their successors, still do not18 fully and de jure acknowledge the existence of Indigenous Peoples. Statute and the common law have recognised Indigenous Peoples for the last 29 years, but not so in the Constitution.19

16 ‘The Barunga Statement ’, AIATSIS (Web Page). https://aiatsis.gov.au/collections/ collections-online/digitised-collections/treaty/barunga-statement. 17 ‘The Statement’, Uluru Statement from the Heart (Web Page). https://ulurustat

ement.org/the-statement (‘Uluru Statement ’). 18 Note that Constitutional Recognition which will provide the ‘best’ most full recognition that is possible under domestic constitutional arrangements has been largely fruitless since the importance of such acknowledgement was first mooted in 1998. 19 Henry Reynolds, Dispossession: Black Australians and White Invaders (Allan & Unwin, 1989).

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Conflicts between the coloniser and the colonised were acknowledged as a matter of fact (but fact not acknowledged in law)20 ; and there was oppression, mass killings, coercion, slave like labour, rape and forced assimilation. These acts arguably are jus cogens prohibitions (peremptory norms from which no derogation is permitted) that should be punished according to international criminal law.21 The fact or reality that prosecutions will not take place, even for the more recent perpetrators, should not prevent the recognition of these atrocities and ensuring punishment for such acts in the future. Treaty measures could include symbolic acknowledgement of past atrocities and provide a legal framework for the consideration of some form of reparation, a return of some Indigenous lands and a change in native title laws which at present put the onus of proof on Indigenous People. As it stands, the current laws unjustly favour those who have dispossessed Indigenous Peoples and their descendants. Past systemic disadvantages must be recognised and addressed in the applicable law so that one party is not unfairly favoured in the future relations.

Coming Together After Conflict The preferred term for agreement-making is the Yolŋu word Makarrata. It has several meanings including ‘a negotiation of peace’ or ‘peace after a dispute’.22 The use of term Makarrata as a synonym for treaty arguably enjoys pan-Aboriginal approval.23 The word treaty, however, as employed by the federation is principally, if not exclusively, reserved for use in the international plane. The Australian Joint Standing Committee on Treaties notes that24 :

20 Ibid. 21 Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, opened for signature 17 July

1998, 2187 UNTS 90 (entered into force 1 July 2002). 22 Daniel McKay, ‘Uluru Statement: A Quick Guide’, Parliament of Australia (Web

Page, 19 June 2017). https://www.aph.gov.au/About_Parliament/Parliamentary_Depa rtments/Parliamentary_Library/pubs/rp/rp1617/Quick_Guides/UluruStatement. 23 Uluru Statement (n 17). 24 ‘Role of the Committee’, Parliament of Australia (Web Page). https://www.

aph.gov.au/Parliamentary_Business/Committees/Joint/Treaties/Role_of_the_Committee (Emphasis added).

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The reformed treaty making process requires that all treaty actions proposed by the Government are tabled in Parliament for a period of at least 15 (or in some cases, 20) sitting days before action is taken that will bind Australia at international law to the terms of the treaty.

On the Australian Government’s use of the term ‘treaty’ with Indigenous peoples, the Parliament’s Standing Committee on Legal and Constitutional Affairs (PSCLCA) notes that25 : In fact, in discussions of the subject, ‘treaty’ is probably the word with the widest currency. The commonwealth government, however, notified the NCA through the Minister for Aboriginal Affairs in March 1981 that ‘the Government cannot legitimately negotiate anything which might be regarded as a “treaty”, implying as it does an internationally recognised agreement between two nations.

Consequently, the Australian government agencies at the federal level, but evidently not at the state level, have recommended against the use of the term treaty. Thus, the term ‘treaty’ in domestic agreements is likely to be read down in the Indigenous context particularly to limit extraterritorial effect. Some Indigenous communities whose territories straddle State boundaries will be adversely affected. These unreasonable fears of the PSCLCA26 presume that treaty in Australia is intended to weaken the State structures when the intention is the reverse under international law.27 Good, fair and constructive treaties protecting and ensuring the rights and obligations of all peoples through internal self-determination28 will strengthen the State as declared in UNDRIP’s Preamble.29 Distrust engendered by the coloniser, perhaps for its own instrumental purposes, is unhelpful to ensuring an enduring peace. 25 Senate Standing Committee on Constitutional and Legal Affairs, Parliament of Australia, Two hundred years later… (Report, 1983). (‘Two hundred years later…’) (Emphasis added). Note: the NAC is the National Aboriginal Conference). 26 Ibid. 27 UNDRIP (n 2). 28 Asmi Wood and Christie Gardiner, Identifying a Legal Framework for a Treaty

Between Australia’s First Peoples and Others (Australian Institute for Common Roots, Common Futures International Indigenous Governance, Rowman & Littlefield, 2020). 29 UNDRIP (n 2) preamble.

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The term ‘treaty’ is used in its broadest sense in this chapter. It endorses the meanings of treaty in the international sense, in the meaning of the VCLT, the Yolŋu meanings of Makarrata, as well as the Australian Government’s use of the term. Broad inclusivity in the meaning of treaty, and its consequent legal effect, is a crucial distinction made in this chapter.

International Developments on (a) Peoplehood and (b) Self-Determination Peoplehood Colonialists in Australia and elsewhere tried to eliminate Indigenous Peoples in a variety of ways; to expunge them from their lands, kill them, remove or relocate them, isolate them, assimilate them and unfairly incarcerate them with no trial period, legal assistance or broadly equitable process; all programmes met with varying degrees of ‘success’. It should be recalled that the technology available to colonists at the time, although superior to what was possessed by Indigenous Peoples, was still not sufficiently potent to achieve these ends. In many instances, therefore, colonialists were quite ‘unsuccessful’ in their attempts to ethnically cleanse the land of Indigenous Peoples, but this failure was certainly not for want of trying. Nonetheless colonialism and racism have in many instances been disastrous for Indigenous Peoples. Contemporary understandings of race as a social construct has resulted, post-World War II, in developments on notions of human equality, including through the debunking of the ‘sciences’ of eugenics. The international community has recognised human equality and imbued them with inalienable rights. Agitation in Australia also called for treatment of Indigenous Peoples with equality and dignity.30 Unfortunately for Indigenous Peoples, Australia’s grundnorm, the Constitution, entrenches notions of Aboriginal inequality and sub-humanity. Constitutional recognition in conjunction with treaty, may help to reverse the effects of the accumulated and continuing disadvantages of these unfortunate legacies.

30 ‘Freedom Ride, 1965’, National Museum of Australia (Webpage). https://www. nma.gov.au/explore/features/indigenous-rights/civil-rights/freedom-ride.

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Indigenous peoples were treated separately as ‘aboriginal natives’ who did not form part of the White community.31 While the founders considered the land terra nullius , the High Court later admitted that this was wrong and that Aboriginal Peoples implicitly did constitute a part of the human population, but not yet as a human group worthy of equal treatment.32 While the Court did not explicitly recognise Aboriginal Peoples as distinct peoples within the meaning of the UN Charter, such an interpretation or inference clearly is reasonably open on the facts. The Court recently approved this with the longstanding test for Indigeneity and that a consequence of this test is that Indigenous Peoples formed a separate body politic within Australia33 (a test which does not require Australian citizenship).34 The mainstream on the other hand requires citizenship as the (significant but different) legal criterion for belonging. Smith quotes Professor Dodson who said ‘by any reasonable definition Indigenous Peoples [in Australia] are unambiguously “peoples”’.35 The Australian state however, will most likely contest this proposition but will have to distinguish the High Court’s statements in Love.36 On the other hand, changes in demography through mass migration means that Indigenous Peoples in Australia are now a small minority, politically weak and thus forced to aspire at best to internal self-determination only.37 Self-Determination as a Substantive Right at International Law The International Labour Organisation ( ‘ILO’) Convention 169 attempted to allay fears, such as those of Australia, related to creating

31 Australian Constitution ss 51(xxvi), 127. 32 Australian Constitution s 51(xxvi). 33 Commonwealth v Tasmania (1983) 158 CLR 1 (‘Tasmanian Dam Case’). 34 Love v Commonwealth; Thoms v Commonwealth of Australia (2020) 94 ALJR 198

(‘Love and Thoms ’). 35 Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodology: Research and Indigenous Peoples,

(Zed Books, 2nd ed., 2012), 119 (Emphasis added). 36 See above discussion at n 34. 37 Asmi Wood, ‘Self-Determination Under International Law and Some Possibilities for

Australia’s Indigenous Peoples’ in Tim Rowse and Laura Rademaker (eds) Indigenous Australian Self-Determination: Histories and Historiography (ANU Press and Aboriginal History Inc., 2020), 269, 270.

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international legal personality for Indigenous Peoples.38 However, the ILO does not possess the legal right to deprive Indigenous persons of their collective personhood, particularly without their consent.39 In any event, this will not benefit Australia as it is not party to ILO Convention 169. The development of international law on self-determination, while not considered here in any detail, demonstrates that while the international plane is not perfect, it arguably provides a better forum than the domestic plane for resolving disputes between colonised States and Indigenous Peoples, and obtaining a fair and balanced outcome. On self-determination Xue J said that40 : […]. The right to self-determination is one of the fundamental principles of international law that was well established during the decolonisation movement after the Second World War. The paramount importance of the principle of self-determination is reflected in its erga omnes character in the sense that it not only confers a right on the peoples of all non-selfgoverning territories to self-determination, but also imposes an obligation on all States to see to it that this right is fully respected. […]

At present, self-determination in the context of decolonisation is considered customary law and thus erga omnes (i.e. a binding obligation

38 Ibid. 39 Convention (No 169) Concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Indepen-

dent Countries, opened for signature 27 June 1989, 1650 UNTS 383 (entered into force 5 September 1991) (‘ILO Convention 169’). This Convention was originally proposed as a Convention regarding indigenous and tribal peoples in independent countries at the International Labour Conference 76th session. (ILC provisional record 76th sess. Geneve 1989 25/1-25/33): ‘International Labour Standards on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples’, International Labour Organization (Web Page). https://www.ilo.org/global/standards/subjects-covered-by-international-lab our-standards/indigenous-and-tribal-peoples/lang--en/index.htm. ILO Convention 169 Art 1(3) ILO states that: The use of the term peoples in this Convention shall not be construed as having any implications as regards the rights which may attach to the term under international law. 40 Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius in 1965, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 2019, 95, 146 [19] (Declaration of Xue J.).

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on all states).41 The exact form that self-determination takes in different colonial states, here Australia, is a matter for ‘the (Indigenous) peoples’ in question and can take a range of forms that can be settled through negotiation and embedded in treaty. The international ‘Bill of Rights’ is another source of the substantive content of individual and group rights. The Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OCHCR) describes ‘The International Bill of Rights’ as follows42 : The International Bill of Human Rights consists of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (‘UDHR’),43 the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (‘ICESCR’), and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (‘ICCPR’), (‘the two Covenants’) and its two Optional Protocols.44

These instruments include a range of rights that inhere in a person only by the fact that they are human. The International Bill of Rights prohibits the unequal treatment of people based on superficial differences or because they were born into a colonised society, such as Australia (and under laws which had their roots in an even more brutal period of human history).45 Australia claims that it incorporates international standards to

41 General Assembly Resolution 1514 (XV) of 14 December 1960; Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius in 1965, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 2019, 95. 42 ‘Fact Sheet No.1 (Rev.1), The International Bill of Human Rights’, The Office for the High Commissioner of Human Rights (Web Page). https://www.ohchr.org/Docume nts/Publications/FactSheet2Rev.1en.pdf. 43 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, GA Res 217A (III), UN GAOR, 3rd sess, 183rd plenmtg, UN Doc A/810 (10 December 1948). 44 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, opened for signature 16 December 1966, 993 UNTS 3 (entered into force 3 January 1976) (‘ICESCR’); International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, opened for signature 19 December 1996, 999 UNTS 171 (entered into force 23 March 1976) (‘ICCPR’); Optional Protocol to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, opened for signature 16 December 1966, 999 UNTS 171 (entered into force 23 March 1976) (‘First Optional Protocol to the ICCPR’). The ICESCR and the ICCPR were adopted by the General Assembly by its resolution 2200 A (XXI) of 16 December 1966. The First Optional Protocol to the ICCPR was adopted in the same resolution. 45 Henry Reynolds, The Other Side of the Frontier: Aboriginal Resistance to the European invasion of Australia (Penguin Books, 2nd ed, 1995); Henry Reynolds, Truth-Telling:

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protect peoples including for Indigenous Peoples. The Preamble of the Native Title Act acknowledges and states in part46 : This preamble sets out considerations taken into account by the Parliament of Australia in enacting the law that follows. The people whose descendants are now known as Aboriginal peoples and Torres Strait Islanders were the inhabitants of Australia before European settlement. They have been progressively dispossessed of their lands. This dispossession occurred […] without compensation, and successive governments have failed to reach a lasting and equitable agreement […] As a consequence, […] the most disadvantaged in Australian society. […]. The Australian Government has acted to protect the rights of all of its citizens, and in particular its indigenous peoples, by recognising international standards for the protection of universal human rights and fundamental freedoms […]

These are excellent words, particularly the phrase ‘and successive governments have failed to reach a lasting and equitable agreement’ that this chapter along with others may earnestly seek to have positive law. Australia has not, to date, given effect to these excellent sentiments. Australia must be forced to honour these undertakings. Treaty within a broad international framework is a means for doing this. Self-determination, a right recognised at international law,47 is a right endorsed in UNDRIP. According to Kohen and Hébié, a view endorsed in this chapter48 : Self-determination49 is the most revolutionary of principles enshrined in the UN Charter, since for the first time it grants to a specific community (’a people’) (as this term is understood in international law) the right History, sovereignty and the Uluru Statement (NewSouth, 2021); Henry Reynolds, Aboriginal Sovereignty: Three Nations, One Australia? (Allen & Unwin, 1996). 46 Native Title Act 1993 (Cth) (emphasis added). 47 UNDRIP (n 2) Art 1, Art 3. 48 Marcelo G. Kohen and Mamadou Hébié, ‘Territory, Acquisition’ in Marcelo Kohen (ed) Territoriality and International Law (Edward Elgar, 2016) 84. 49 While the term self-determination is relatively new in the legal lexicon, at the time of

British claims of their lands, clearly Indigenous peoples were self-governing, self-managed and certainly independent, certainly independent of their colonising ‘overlords’: Delia Opekokew, ‘International Law, International Institutional, and Indigenous Issues’ in Ruth Thompson (ed) The Rights of Indigenous Peoples in International Law: Selected Essays on Self Determination (Uni of Saskatchewan, Native Law Centre, 1987), 1, 5.

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to modify territorial sovereignty through the change of the status of the territory upon which self-determination is exercised.

Further, the two Covenants50 have a common article, Common Article 1 including the codified right to self-determination51 : All peoples have the right of self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development.

While treaty arguably should not be prescriptive, it can broadly allow for the incorporation of the International Bill of Rights and UNDRIP standards; further, treaty seeks the support of international institutions, including the Expert Mechanism on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, to assist Australia in implementing strategies to honour the goals of the Declaration.52 On treaty, the preferred form of agreement making,53 as UNDRIP states (and endorsed here) is that54 : the rights affirmed in treaties, agreements and other constructive arrangements between States and indigenous peoples are, in some situations, matters of international concern, interest responsibility and character [and further that] treaties, agreements and other constructive arrangements, and

50 The Australian Human Rights Commission notes that:

‘At the Federal level, Australia remains the only democracy in the world not to have passed a law directly implementing the ICCPR’. https://legalanswers.sl.nsw.gov.au/human-rights-australia/implementing-tre aties-australian-law. 51 ICESCR (n 44) Art 1(1); ICCPR (n 43) Art 1(1): Common article 1(1) of the Two Covenants. 52 It is noted that Australia considers this Declaration non-binding. Indigenous Peoples however hold that the Declaration captures international custom and ‘that respect for the right to self-determination is an obligation erga omnes ’: Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius in 1965 Advisory Opinion ICJ Reports 25 February 2019, [180]; East Timor (Portugal v Australia) Judgment ICJ Reports 1995 [29]. 53 Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Treaty: Let’s Get It Right (Aboriginal Studies Press, 2003) (‘Treaty: Let’s Get it Right ’). 54 UNDRIP (n 2) preamble.

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the relationship they represent, are a basis for a strengthened partnership between indigenous peoples and the States.

According to Kohern and Hébié,55 titles of sovereignty of former colonial powers were transformed into titles of administration, a transformation ‘consecrated [by] the Friendly Relations Declaration (1970) appended to UNGA Res. 2625(XXV)’. International law—which will no doubt vigorously be contested by Australia—nonetheless provides a stick to force the Australian government to settle with Indigenous Peoples and to do so fairly. That is, under international law, former colonial titles can no longer be maintained as they are at variance with the principles of intertemporal law.56 Indigenous peoples have maintained that sovereignty was never ceded, and have consistently objected to claims of sovereignty by the British and their successors.57 Persistent objection (for example to coloniser claims to sovereignty) is a legal defence at international law.58 It is very unlikely that Australia’s political constituency would concede these points. However, it appears to be not an unreasonable starting point for negotiations, especially with the view of strengthening Indigenous Peoples positions, currently decimated by false history; although, that would be viewed reasonably by an impartial unbiased observer. Any Australian treaty that seeks unreasonably to limit self-determination, should be avoided and will likely be found to be void in the international plane.59

55 Kohen and Hébié (n 48) 84; Declaration on the Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Co-operation among States in Accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, GA Res 2625 (XXV), UN GAOR, 6th Comm, 25th sess, 1883rd plen mtg, Agenda Item 85, UN Doc A/RES/2625 (XXV), annex (24 October 1970) (‘Friendly Relations Declaration’). The Friendly Relations Declaration was adopted without vote and represents a consensus. It therefore has legal effect in Australia although the scope of the obligation as a Declaration is yet to be tested: Kohen and Hébié (n 48) 84. 56 Kohen and Hébié (n 48) 84. 57 Indigenous peoples in Australia have not conceded sovereignty and for reasons

discussed, infra, could not and have not done so. 58 Asylum (Columbia v Peru) (Judgment) [1950] ICJ Rep 266; Fisheries (United Kingdom v Norway) (Judgment) [1951] ICJ Rep 116; James A. Green, The Persistent Objector Rule in International Law (Oxford University Press, 2016). 59 VCLT (n 6) Art 53.

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As Indigenous Peoples’ power and capacities increase with better access to education and economic opportunities, treaty variations within the legal framework lawfully should permit adaptation to suit the evolving political, social and economic needs of all parties. As customary international law advances and develops further in protecting Indigenous rights, there must be sufficient flexibility in treaty to permit the variation or severance of provisions60 that offend the sensibilities of posterity, including powers such as the races power, that appears acceptable today. The constitutional ‘races power’ gives Parliament broad and extensive coercive powers over Indigenous Peoples (only).61 Indigenous Peoples must strongly advocate against the use of this constitutional power as a legal basis for agreement making or treaty. Further, Parliament has used the races power to enforce its legislative will, including to the detriment of Indigenous Peoples.62 Entrenching Good Faith Requirement in Treaty Making Contemporary consequences of Australia’s claims under the destructive doctrine of discovery must also be addressed,63 reversed and replaced with the more ‘equal’ value of humanity. Negotiators in Australia have a chance to do this, and while the political difficulties are acknowledged, surely

60 VCLT (n 6) Art 64. 61 Chief Justice Robert French, ‘The Race Power: A Constitutional Chimera’ in HP Lee

and George Winterton (eds), Australian Constitutional Landmarks (Cambridge University Press, 2003), 180, 180. 62 ‘The Suspension and Reinstatement of the RDA and Special Measures in the NTER’, Australian Human Rights Commission (Web Page). https://humanrights.gov.au/ourwork/suspension-and-reinstatement-rda-and-special-measures-nter-0. The Australian Human Rights Commission website states that:

The provisions of the (Northern Territory National Emergency Response) NTER legislation were targeted directly at Indigenous people. As a result, they were clearly open to challenge as being racially discriminatory. By suspending (excluding) the operation of Part II of the RDA, the members of the communities affected by the NTER legislation were effectively denied the protections afforded by the RDA to every other citizen to challenge legislation that they consider to be in breach of the RDA. 63 See below n 86.

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truth-telling by both sides must mean that adjustments not conceivable in yesteryear may certainly become possible tomorrow. Opekokew (1987, citing Canadian Courts) provides a cautionary note for the development of treaty in Australia; she cites Lord Justice Kerr from 1981 when His Lordship said the following with respect to treaties entered into (with Indian Tribes in Canada) by the Crown64 : [..] although the relevant agreements with the Indian peoples are known as “treaties”, they are not treaties in the sense of public international law. They were not treaties between sovereign states, so that no question of state succession arises.65

Parties should explicitly negate such politically expedient sentiments in contemporary treaties. Further, while it might be said that good faith is a normal requirement, history shows us that it is not always followed in practice.66 As the old saying goes if you are acting in good faith, you have nothing to fear from the severe sanctions that should apply for breach.

64 Delia Opekokew, ‘International Law, International Institutions, and Indigenous Issues’ in Ruth Thompson (ed), The Rights of Indigenous Peoples in International Law: Selected Essays on Self-Determination (University of Saskatchewan, Native Law Centre, 1987), 1, 4. 65 The Queen v. The Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, ex parte: The Indian Association of Alberta, Union of New Brunswick Indians, Union of Nova Scotian Indians [1981] 4 C.N.L.R. 86, 101. 66 See discussion below n 103.

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Treaty Yeah67 and Treaty Nay68 : Domestic Opposition to Treaty Australia has acknowledged Indigenous Peoples’ consistent preference and desire for a fair and workable treaty,69 has promised,70 yet consistently avoided treaty.71 The Special Rapporteur also reinforces the ‘paramount importance […] of treaties to the indigenous people’.72 There is, broadly expressed Australian public support for redress for Indigenous Peoples,73 however, this support simultaneously lacks the urgency needed to force politicians to act. Thus, the requisite impetus, political will or capital necessary for the practical multi-party support in Parliament that is required to achieve a parliamentary majority to effect constitutional change or to enter into treaty negotiations with Indigenous Peoples is clearly absent. In reality, arguably, many in both the major Australian parties (but perhaps not the Greens) want the ‘Indigenous problem’ to go away. Mr Howard, the Prime Minister (‘PM’) at the time, said that the Court’s ‘generous’ interpretation of a provision of The Native Title Act 1993 (Cth), had resulted in the ‘pendulum swinging too far towards

67 Yothu Yindi, ‘Treaty’, Healing Stone (Amazon Music). https://www.amazon.com. au/music/unlimited?tag=bandsintown08-22. 68 Lorena Allam, ‘Pat Dodson Slams Morrison Government for Rejecting Key Element of Uluru Statement from the Heart’, The Guardian (online, 16 March 2021). https:// www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2021/mar/16/pat-dodson-slams-morrison-govern ment-for-rejecting-key-element-of-uluru-statement-from-the-heart. ‘Senate Blocks Treaty and Truth Telling Inquiry’, RN Breakfast with Fran Kelly (ABC Radio National, 17 March 2021). https://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/breakfast/senate-blockstreaty-and-truth-telling-inquiry/13254894. 69 Treaty: Let’s Get it Right (n 52); Two hundred years later… (n 25). 70 See below discussion accompanying n 115. 71 Two hundred years later… (n 25). 72 Martínez Cobo, Study of the

Problem of Discrimination Against Indigenous Populations: Final Report (Last Part) Submitted by the Special Rapporteur, E/CN4/Sub.2/1983/21/Add 8 (30 September 1983): José R. Martínez Cobo, Martínez Cobo Report: Conclusions, Proposals and Recommendations. 73 Calla Wahlquist, ‘Most Voters Support Indigenous Treaty and Constitutional Recognition: Survey’, The Guardian (online, 21 July 2016).

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Indigenous rights’.74 While the political consequences of the Wik Decision 75 triggering Mr Howard’s comment are not discussed here,76 the pendulum clearly still largely favours the majority, thus challenging the veracity of Mr Howard’s claim. On the other side of politics, the Gillard Government urged Indigenous People to become more like the mainstream, and though she did not use these words, the solution from her view was arguably to assimilate!77 More recently, in March 2021 the Senate rejected a call to set up an inquiry to establish a process for truth-telling and treaty.78 This vote in Parliament supports the view that unless forced, the Australian government will not seek to reconcile fairly with Indigenous Peoples. Treaty does not however, mean that Indigenous Peoples in Australia are seeking full political independence any more than the Australian colonies were seeking from federation.79 Treaty in the contemporary context is an instrument inter alia for removing structural impediments to equality, reducing systemic racism, and creating an environment in which Indigenous cultures can grow and flourish. Treaty between the parties80 is not uncontentious and the difficulties are significant and acknowledged. In light of historical falsehoods and difficulties, clearly, no reasonable person would expect the process of agreement making to be easy. There is however, a clear moral imperative for non-Indigenous Australia to settle these historical issues peacefully and fairly. 74 ‘John Howard’s Amended Wik 10-Point Plan’, AustralianPolitics.com (Web Page). https://australianpolitics.com/1997/05/08/howard-amended-wik-10-point-plan.html. 75 Wik Peoples v The State of Queensland (1996) 187 CLR 1. (‘Wik Decision’). 76 Nakari Thorpe, ‘7 Legacies of John Howard’s Government’, SBS NITV—The Point

(Web Page, 3 March 2016). https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/the-point-with-stan-grant/art icle/2016/03/03/7-legacies-john-howards-government. 77 Patricia Karvelss, ‘Gap Won’t Close If You Don’t Act’: Julia Gillard’, The Australian (online, 10 February 2011). https://www.theaustralian.com.au/subscribe/news/1/?sou rceCode=TAWEB_WRE170_a_GGL&dest=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.theaustralian.com.au% 2Fnational-affairs%2Fgap-wont-close-if-you-dont-act-julia-gillard%2Fnews-story%2F3d3d 96fdb9492168fa6b46f80e015a04&memtype=anonymous&mode=premium. 78 Allam (n 68). 79 Wood (n 37). 80 Nyunggai Warren Mundine, ‘We Don’t Need an Indigenous Treaty: We Need Lots

of Them’, Australian Financial Review (online, 30 May 2017). https://www.afr.com/ opinion/we-dont-need-an-indigenous-treaty-we-need-lots-of-them-20170530-gwg27i.

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Parliament’s fears of negotiating treaty with Indigenous Peoples arguably comes down to the often shrill fears of losing ‘their (legally unsubstantiated) claims’ of sovereignty.81 However, international law provides the Australian state comfort in settling fairly with Indigenous Peoples and this chapter urges the government seriously to consider this option. In setting out a relevant legal position with respect to treaties and sovereignty, arguably now part of customary law, the Permanent Court of International Justice said82 : The Court declines to see in the conclusion of any treaty by which a state undertakes to perform or refrain from performing a particular act as abandonment of its sovereignty. No doubt any convention creating an obligation of this kind places a restriction upon the sovereign rights of the state, in the sense that it requires them to be exercised in a certain way. But the right of entering in international agreements is an attribute of state sovereignty.

Australian Law and the Exhaustion of Domestic Legal Remedies Australia’s highest Court held that examining issues of state (such as the acquisition of territory83 or sovereignty84 ) are outside the jurisdiction of a municipal court.85 The European doctrine of discovery was also reasonably rejected as a legal basis for the acquisition of territory86 reflecting

81 Anna Henderson and Eliza Borrello, ‘John Howard, Tony Abbott Lock in Against Treaty with Indigenous Australians’, ABC News (online, 9 September 2016). https:// www.abc.net.au/news/2016-09-08/conservatives-lock-in-against-treaty-with-indigenousaustralians/7825298. 82 S.S. Wimbledon (U.K. v. Germ.) 1923 P.C.I.J. (ser. A) No. 1, 25. 83 Mabo v State of Queensland (No 2) (1992) 175 CLR 1 (‘Mabo No 2’). 84 New South Wales v Commonwealth (1975) 135 CLR 337 (‘Seas and Submerged Lands

Case’). 85 M. Dodson, P. Bailey, and A. J. Wood, ‘Australia and the International Protection of Indigenous Rights’ in D. Rothwell (ed), International Law in Australia (CUP, December 2016). 86 Ibid; Mabo (No 2) (n 83).

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the UN General Assembly position.87 As neither the Australian government nor its High Court has yet proposed an alternative plausible, lawful basis for the acquisition of territory or sovereignty, this exposes a gap in the common law. Addressing this ‘gap’ is primarily a matter for the mainstream, although the status quo clearly, adversely affects Indigenous Peoples but it fortuitously opens the way to negotiation and resolution through treaty of this and other important outstanding issues. The effect under international law of this legal gap in the fabric of the common law arguably maintains the status quo ante which is uti possiditis 88 which means that the land, de lege, still belongs to the Indigenous Peoples.89 Not even the most extreme White nationalist claims that they were ‘here first’ except as against other immigrants. Generally however, the current legal position effectively exhausts all domestic legal avenues on these fundamentally important questions of law. Exhausting domestic remedies is an important hurdle in seeking to move the dispute for resolution into the international plane, particularly on matters affecting human rights,90 and questions of self-determination and decolonisation have been characterised as human rights issues by the UN General Assembly and the International Court of Justice.91 Exhaustion of domestic legal avenues has therefore been satisfied in Australia. An important and challenging issue for Australian treaty negotiations is the simultaneous involvement of a number of sovereign parties. However, establishing mechanisms for avoiding this, and other clearly and reasonably foreseeable problems, will, on the other hand, make success more 87 General Assembly Resolution 1514 (XV) of 14 December 1960; For a more detailed discussion on this now defunct ‘doctrine of discovery’ see generally R. J. Miller, J. Ruru, L. Behrendt, and T. Lindberg, Discovering Indigenous Lands: The Doctrine of Discovery in the English Colonies (OUP, New York, 2010). 88 For a discussion of the application of uti possiditis in Australia please see: Wood (n

37). 89 Henry J. Steiner and Philip Alston, International Human Rights in Context: Law, Politics, Morals (Clarendon Press, 1996); see also discussion above at (n 55). 90 ‘Exhaustion of Domestic Remedies in the United Nations System’, International Justice Resource Center (Web Page, August 2017). https://ijrcenter.org/wp-content/upl oads/2018/04/8.-Exhaustion-of-Domestic-Remedies-UN-Treaty-Bodies.pdf. 91 General Assembly Resolution 1514 (XV) A./RES/15/1514, 14 December 1960; Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius in 1965, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 2019, 95.

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likely. A political solution, within a fair legal framework with international legal oversight which equitably favours the interests of all parties, is clearly desirable for producing the best long-term outcome. Indigenous peoples should also take appropriate precautions to avoid the pitfalls that befell the Indigenous Peoples in other colonial states.

CANZUS States: The Erosion of Indigenous Treaty Rights Treaty legal frameworks normally should not rely disproportionately on the legal or political systems of the more powerful military party/ies. In this context, Henry J. reminds posterity that there is ‘a sacred political obligation, in the execution of which the state must be free from [domestic] judicial control ’.92 The background to such a reaction is arguably the CANZUS states’ approach to their treaties’ (‘CANZUS treaties’) with Indigenous Peoples. Their practice was dishonest and in bad faith retrospectively to ‘transfer’ jurisdiction or relegate treaty matters with Indigenous peoples fully into their domestic spheres and to the detriment of Indigenous peoples. This should strongly be resisted in Australia. Transfer of jurisdiction, by the colonists, from the international to the domestic plane was done through the exercise of coercive military power, retrospectively and in cases through treachery. Professor Falk referred to the use of power politics in North America as a fraud93 : We need to understand the extent to which there exists in all parts of the world now, [that] [a]n enormous juristic fraud has been perpetrated on modern political consciousness by confusing national identity with the power political reality of state sovereignty.

92 St. Catharines Milling and Lumber Co. v. R (1887) 13 SCR 577, 648–649 per Henry J. (Emphasis added). The High Court in Australia per curiam took a similar view that ‘the crown’s acquisition of sovereignty over several parts of Australia cannot be challenged in a municipal court’: Mabo (No 2) (n 83). 93 Richard Falk, ‘The Struggle of Indigenous Peoples and the Promise of Natural Political Communities’ in Ruth Thompson (ed), The Rights of Indigenous Peoples in International Law: Selected Essays on Self-Determination (University of Saskatchewan, Native Law Centre, 1987), 59, 60 (Emphasis added).

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For fairness, it must be noted that international courts of the time were not much better in this regard. The Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ), held that ‘the tribunal has been satisfied with very little in the way of the actual exercise of sovereign rights ’94 for European colonists. ‘European’ international law continued in this vein through to the twentieth century detrimentally affecting coloured ‘chiefs and princes’95 and thus their peoples. These clearly racist policies of extraction, subjugation and exploitation came home to roost when in World War II, it was not so much coloured people, but other Europeans who had to bear the brunt of racist European policies. In the twenty-first-century however, it is said that all races are equal at international law. Indigenous Peoples should accept these assertions in good faith but also require the strict and explicit enforcement of these norms. On the other hand, under domestic Australian law, racial equality is not the norm, for the existence, and detrimental use by the Parliament, of the races power in the Constitution.96 A treaty should ensure that a competent tribunal explicitly recognises and gives positive legal effect to the fundamental notions of human equality.

Domestic Legal and Political Options In Canada and the USA Opekokew previously cited Lord Justice Kerr from 1981 when His Lordship said the following with respect to treaties entered into (with Indian Tribes in Canada) by the Crown.97 94 Legal Status of Eastern Greenland (Norway v. Denmark), Judgment, 1993 Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ) (ser. A/B) No. 53, 71[64] (‘Eastern Greenland Case’). 95 The Arbiter Mr Max Huber said:

[…] contracts between a State or a Company such as the Dutch East India Company and native princes or chiefs of peoples not recognized as members of the community of nations, they are not, in the international law sense, treaties or conventions capable of creating rights and obligations such as may. in international law arise out of treaties. Island of Palmas Case (Netherlands v. USA), Vol. II Reports Of International Arbitral Awards/ Recueil Des Sentences Arbitrales (1928), 829, 858. 96 Kartinyeri v Commonwealth (1998) 195 CLR 337 (‘Hindmarsh Island Bridge Case’). 97 Delia Opekokew, ‘International Law, International Institutional, and Indigenous

Peoples and the Promise of natural Political Communities’, in Ruth Thompson (ed), The

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What this has meant in practice is that the coloniser’s legal system has a monopoly over determining Indigenous Peoples’ rights and lives. This is clearly not what the Indigenous framers—self-determined, self-governing, independent and freely associated peoples—of the treaties of the past had intended when entering into treaty with Europeans. The publicly stated, implied or openly declared intentions of all framers of the treaties should be accepted in good faith and honoured in that spirit. The Canadian judiciary was rightly placing treaty back into the political sphere. Arguably, the best a common law municipal court could hold was denying its jurisdiction over matters of state. In this regard, the Canadian Supreme Court held that98 : […] it has, no doubt, been the general policy of the crown, […] to respect the claims of the Indians. […] gives them a title to the favorable consideration of the Government, [but] does not give them any title in law […] that a court of justice can recognize as against the crown […] […] But legal and constitutional principles are in direct antagonism with their theories. The Indians must in the future, every one concedes it, be treated with the same consideration for their just claims and demands that they have received in the past, but, as in the past, it will not be because of any legal obligation to do so, but as a sacred political obligation, in the execution of which the state must be free from judicial control.

The Canadian Courts arguably reinforced the VCLT norm that a state should not act treacherously or in bad faith in entering into treaty.99 Patterson J said100 : Having called the agreement a treaty, and having perhaps lulled the Indians into believing it to be a treaty with all the sacredness of a treaty attached to it, it may be the Crown should not now be heard to say it is not a treaty. With that I have nothing to do.

Rights of Indigenous Peoples in International Law: Selected Essays on Self-Determination (University of Saskatchewan, Native Law Centre, 1987), 1, 4. 98 St. Catharines Milling and Lumber Co. v. R (1887) 13 SCR 577, 648–649 per Henry J. (Emphasis added). 99 Rex v Syliboy (1928), 50 C.C.C. 389, 897 Nova Scotia County Court, Patterson, Acting J. 100 Ibid. (Emphasis added).

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This ‘sacredness’ clearly includes the sovereignty and international legal personality of peoples. The British (and their successors’) general reluctance in the USA, to enter into legally binding treaties with Indigenous peoples, unless unavoidable, is also not new. For example, in 1871 the US Congress legislated that101 : No Indian nation or tribe within the territory of the United States shall be acknowledged or recognized as an independent nation, tribe or power, with whom the United States may contract a treaty […]

The right of colonisers unilaterally to make such legislation or proclamation, usurping the rights of others must be questioned and rejected by any impartial observer or court. What constituted the USA was expanded through treaty which then was repudiated in bad faith! Even if we accept this legislation at face value, all pre-1871 treaties prima facie (within the then territory of the USA) must be considered international treaties. In Aotearoa The Aotearoa New Zealand treaty processes also provide an insight into how the parties viewed each other in the historical context. Te Tiriti o Waitangi/ The Treaty of Waitangi (hereafter ‘Te Tiriti o Waitangi’) often is considered the ‘founding document’ of the Westphalian/Colonial nation state. Tiriti o Waitangi must by any objective standard today be considered an international treaty in the meaning of the VCLT, if not between the M¯aori and P¯akeh¯a (as successors of the British), then surely between the M¯aori and the British Crown. At the time of the signing of the Tiriti o Waitangi in 1840, the North Island had 125,000 M¯aori to 2,000 P¯akeh¯a. At the time of treaty formation in Aotearoa, M¯aori were numerically superior to P¯akeh¯a and in better control of the territory in the sense of the Montevideo Convention.102 The retrospective diminishment (by P¯akeh¯a or the British), of M¯aori legal personality is a fraud or was certainly done in bad faith. 101 Act of Congress, March 3, 1871, 25 U.S.C.A. §3 S71. 102 Montevideo Convention on Rights and Duties of States, opened for signature 26

December 1933, 165 LNTS 19 (entered into force 26 December 1934). (‘Montevideo Convention’).

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Te Tiriti o Waitangi is done in both M¯aori and in English, however, the English versions of the treaty, which is given a higher priority in Anglo-New Zealand courts, does not faithfully replicate the M¯aori version. The English version, therefore, should be held invalid to the extent of the inconsistency. From the vantage of the British/the English (or more precisely the Crown in the right of Great Britain) however, the treaty, while binding on the British Crown in good faith, was qualified as secretly noted below. The British view is clear from the letter From the Marquis of Normanby to Captain Hobson at Downing Street 103 : I have already stated that we acknowledge New Zealand as a sovereign and independent state,104 so far at least as it is possible to make that acknowledgement in favour of a people composed of numerous, dispersed, and petty tribes, […]. But the admission of their rights, though inevitably qualified by this consideration, is binding on the faith of the British Crown. The Queen in common with Her Majesty’s immediate predecessor, disclaims, for herself and for her subjects,105 every pretension to seize on the islands of New Zealand, or to govern them as a part of the dominion of Great Britain, unless the free and intelligent consent of the natives, expressed according to their established usages, shall be first obtained. […]106 I am 103 House of Commons Parliamentary Papers, Letter from the Marquis of Normanby to Captain Hobson, R.N. Downing Street, August 14, 1839 [At page 623 as appears on the manuscript]. 104 Please note the (begrudging) acknowledgement by the British Crown of M¯ aori legal competence and Sovereignty (albeit not as equals). 105 Ie, at this point, the British Crown did not consider Aotearoa as a Colony and yet recognised its full sovereignty. The related issue is that in the British view, P¯akeh¯a did not possess international legal personality and that their collective legal personality was subsumed by the Crown in the right of the UK. 106 This idea of ‘free and intelligent’ consent is now a norm and clearly part of contemporary international law. In the Western Sahara Case [1975] ICJ Reports 12, 32, the Court said:

Any attempt aimed at the partial or total disruption of the national unity and the territorial integrity of a country is incompatible with the purpose and principles of the Charter of the United Nations. The above provisions, in particular paragraph 2, thus confirm and emphasise that the application of the right of self-determination requires a free and genuine expression of the will of the peoples concerned.

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not unaware of the difficulty by which such a treaty may be encountered. The motives by which it is recommended are, of course, open to suspicion. […]

The key elements of this extract (which clearly represents the British Crown) are that the Crown sought to act in good faith, that they wanted the ‘[M¯aori’s] free and intelligent consent […] expressed according to their established usages ’. P¯akeh¯a must be held to this strict law. Importantly, in private, the British did not recognise the full sovereignty of the M¯aori Queen, Chiefs or leadership and therefore, concluded that M¯aori did not possess full international legal personality, while instrumentally holding out otherwise in public. Such ‘backroom’ and sly reneging of agreements should not be respected and the public pronouncement on behalf of the Queen be treated as the operative position at law.107 Te Tiriti o Waitangi should, by right, at least be presumed to be a sovereign partnership as was the publicly stated intention of the framers,108 with access to the ICJ as a final court of appeal for dispute settlement. This is not a criticism of M¯aori Elders who acted in good faith and honourably would have expected the British to behave with reciprocity. Honour is not a word generally used in contemporary international relations and therefore, treaty negotiators in Australia would do well to be explicit on issues such as international legal personality and related matters following a positivist approach to agreement-making. In Australia The architects and founders of the Constitution (‘the founders’) clearly discounted treaty with ‘aboriginal natives’109 and did little other than to provide for their exclusion from the body politic of the nation,110 a view

UNDRIP captures this idea of informed consent through the notion of ‘free, prior and informed consent’ [UNDRIP ( n 2) Art. 19]. 107 See below n 115. 108 See above n 104. 109 Australian Constitution s 127. 110 Australian Constitution ss 51(xxvi), 127; Love and Thoms (n 34).

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held by at least a significant minority of the current High Court.111 There was little thought given by the founders to the welfare of Indigenous peoples.112 In 1988, then Prime Minister Mr. Hawke promised a treaty with Aboriginal People of Australia at the Burunga festival.113 His use of the word treaty is central and significant. There was no ambiguity in the former PM’s pronouncement or commitment. The Barunga Statement, still displayed in Parliament, unambiguously calls for a ‘Treaty recognising [Indigenous] prior ownership, continued occupation and sovereignty and affirming our human rights and freedom’.114 Under international law, a head of government’s commitments, given in public and in his official capacity, unilaterally are binding.115 On the other hand, there has been little progress in the intervening years either on constitutional recognition or of treaty with Indigenous Peoples. In 2017 in an attempt to resurrect the process, several Indigenous leaders met at Uluru, in Central Australia. They produced the Uluru statement calling for the establishment of a ‘Makarrata Commission’ and further, to supervise a process of ‘agreement-making’ (i.e. treaty) and for truth-telling.116 The Uluru Statement was unceremoniously dismissed by the Prime Minister117 and as mentioned the call for truth-telling and a Makarrata Commission was voted down by Parliament this year.118 111 Love and Thoms (n 34). 112 Tasmanian Dam Case (n 29) [47] (Deane J.) also noted that ‘the founders paid

no attention at all to the position of the Aboriginal peoples of Australia’. Geoffrey Sawer, ‘The Australian Constitution and the Australian Aborigine’ (1966) 2 Federal Law Review 17. 113 ‘Transcripts from the Prime Ministers of Australia’, Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet (Web Page, 3 September 1987). https://pmtranscripts.pmc.gov.au/release/ transcript-7214, https://pmtranscripts.pmc.gov.au/release/transcript-7216. 114 Barunga Statement (n 16) (Emphasis added). 115 Eastern Greenland Case (n 94). 116 For a Victorian Aboriginal Assembly perspective of truth telling see: ‘Truth-telling’, First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria (Web Page). https://www.firstpeoplesvic.org/our-work/ truth-telling/. 117 Calla Wahlquist, ‘Turnbull’s Uluru Statement Rejection Is ‘Mean-Spirited Bastardry’—Legal Expert’, The Guardian (online, 23 October 2017). https://www.the guardian.com/australia-news/2017/oct/26/turnbulls-uluru-statement-rejection-mean-spi rited-bastardry-legal-expert. 118 See above n 78.

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Treaty Under the Australian Constitution? The Commonwealth can use the broad ‘races power’ in the Constitution, to enter into treaty relations with peoples of the ‘aboriginal race’.119 This is probably not in the best interests of Indigenous Peoples because of the Court’s reluctance to rein in Parliament’s exercise of a broad and permissive power. The ‘races power’ states120 : The Parliament shall, subject to this Constitution, have power to make laws for the peace, order, and good government of the Commonwealth with respect to: (xxvi) the people of any race, for whom it is deemed necessary to make special laws;

The breadth, scope and reach of the ‘races power’ in the Constitution is extensive. Originally, the ‘races power’ was designed to capture only alien and other inferior races (sic), i.e. races other than the ‘aboriginal race’,121 but is now clearly read down by the High Court to cover Indigenous Peoples only.122 The (almost unlimited) breadth of the power is evident in the following exchange in the Hindmarsh Island Bridge Case 123 between His Honour Kirby J. and the Solicitor-General, Mr Griffith QC, of the Commonwealth124 : KIRBY J: Can I just get clear in my mind, is the Commonwealth’s submission that it is entirely and exclusively for the Parliament to determine the matter upon which special laws are deemed necessary or whatever

119 Australian Constitution s 51(xxvi). 120 Ibid. 121 John Quick and Robert Garran, The Annotated Constitution of the Australian Commonwealth (Angus and Robertson, 1901); see also the excised part of this provision (excised in 1967) as appears in ‘strikethrough’ text above (n 120). 122 French (n 61). 123 Kartinyeri v Commonwealth (1998) 195 CLR 337 (‘Hindmarsh Island Bridge

Case’). 124 Transcript of Proceedings, Kartinyeri and Anor. v The Commonwealth of Australia [1998] HCATrans 13 (Emphasis added). http://www.austlii.edu.au/cgi-bin/viewdoc/ au/cases/cth/HCATrans/1998/13.html?context=1;query=transcripts%20of%20argu ment%20kartinyeri;mask_path=au/cases/cth/HCATrans.

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the words say or is there a point at which there is a justiciable question for the Court? I mean, it seems unthinkable that a law such as the Nazi race laws could be enacted under the race power and that this Court could do nothing about it. MR GRIFFITH: Your Honour, if there was a reason why the Court could do something about it, a Nazi law, it would, in our submission, be for a reason external to the races power. It would be for some wider over-arching reason.

In identifying its own limits with respect to the races power, the Court held in the Native Title Case that125 : If, […] the requirement that a law enacted under s.51(xxvi) be special were held to evoke a judicial evaluation of the needs of the people of a race […] in order to determine whether the law was, or could be deemed to be, “necessary”, the Court would [also] be required to form a political value judgment.

On the other hand, the HCA left open the question as to whether there was ‘some supervisory jurisdiction’ to examine the question of necessity against the possibility of a ‘manifest abuse’.126 It is evident from the exchange between Kirby J and the SolicitorGeneral (above127 ) that the High Court will require grounds other than under the ‘races power’ to examine and limit the reach of even such a universally recognisably racist statute such as a Nazi-like race law. This means that while the races power is available to Parliament, according to both the Executive and Judiciary in Australia, even Nazi-like laws are not going to elicit the protection of the Judiciary; and should be rejected as a legal basis for treaty under domestic supervision. Indigenous peoples should not also reasonably be expected to allow treaty to replicate Parliament’s current degree of almost unfettered powers over them, but on the contrary, seek to limit the powers of the state to within reasonable contemporary international standards.

125 Western Australia v Commonwealth (1995) 183 CLR 373, 460 (‘Native Title Act Case’). 126 Ibid. 127 See above n 124.

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Domestic Treaty Processes Due to the federal monopoly of power over treaty, domestic agreements are only a start towards regularising the relationships between the coloniser and the colonised. According to Windeyer J128 : The Colonies which in 1901 became States in the new Commonwealth were not before then sovereign bodies in any strict legal sense; and certainly the Constitution did not make them so.

The Colonies, even if they possessed international legal personality,129 arguably ceased to do so once they had referred the external affairs power to the federation. On the other hand, the question arises whether the Colonies could have referred the external affairs power, a power that even the Colonisers did not believe they possessed.130 This would raise the issue of Australia’s own legal personality (albeit not one that can be seriously pursued, especially after 1986)131 but it certainly adds to the issues that are quite unsatisfactorily rooted in domestic Australian law. Recognition of Indigenous Peoples in the State and Territory Constitutions are not examined in detail here. While symbolically useful, these constitutions are not entrenched and recognition can be rescinded by any future Parliament. This recognition arguably creates a form of Indigenous legal personality but is possibly jurisdictionally limited. It is noted, that such recognition might contribute to the forming of opinio juris 132 but this issue is not considered any further. The Constitution itself is rightly and generally referred to as ‘treaty like’,133 a point which contemporary opponents of ‘treaty’ must take 128 Victoria v The Commonwealth (1971) 122 CLR 353, [5] (‘Payroll Tax Case’). 129 Wyndeyer J.’s comment in the Payroll Tax Case cited above n 128, was obiter

dictum (i.e. said in passing only) and has persuasive value only. 130 For the British view of the absence of P¯ akeh¯a legal personality in Aotearoa see below n 105. 131 Australia Act 1986 (Cth); Australia Act 1986 (UK). 132 Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius in

1965, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 2019, 95; Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons (Advisory Opinion) [1996] ICJ Rep 226; Asylum (Colombia v Peru) (Judgment) [1950] ICJ Rep 266. 133 Nicholas Aroney et al., The Constitution of the Commonwealth of Australia: History, Principle and Interpretation (Cambridge University Press, 2015), 118.

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cognisance. That is, the current Federation itself provides a model for a functioning political union between several self-determined jurisdictions and should in principle be able to accommodate self-determined Indigenous groups/countries. The federation is a practical arrangement between self-determined jurisdictions, but with enumerated powers referred to the federation, for example on matters dealing with defence. While this might appear to be a pipe dream to some, Indigenous Peoples should not begin the negotiating process by setting the bar too low.134 Domestic Australian jurisdictions are arguably confident entering into treaty, because their own powers are limited by federal constitutional arrangements. Thus, their own treaties can do very limited damage to majority interests, but may result in some good for Indigenous Peoples (as long as Indigenous negotiators do not make significant or unnecessary political concessions such as the surrender of sovereignty). The current state of domestic treaty negotiations in Australia is arguably best described as being at various stages of development.135 In summary, New South Wales and Tasmania are yet formally to commence treaty processes. The process of treaty has been ‘paused’ in South Australia.136 The Australian Capital Territory (ACT) is considering the initiation of a treaty process.137 Further, the ACT Government recognises an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elected Body138 as well as a 134 See also: Michael Mansell, Treaty and Statehood: Aboriginal Self-Determination (Federations Press, 2016), particularly Chapter 9. 135 For a current description of the state of treaty negotiations see: ‘Time for Treaty’, ANTaR (Web Page). https://antar.org.au/campaigns/time-treaty. 136 Calla Wahlquist, ‘South Australia Halts Indigenous Treaty Talks as Premier Says He Has ‘Other Priorities’, The Guardian (online, 30 April 2018). https://www.thegua rdian.com/australia-news/2018/apr/30/south-australia-halts-indigenous-treaty-talks-aspremier-says-he-has-other-priorities. 137 Jasper Lindell, ‘Funding for First Indigenous Treaty Process in ACT Budget’,

Canberra Times (online, 7 February 2021). https://www.canberratimes.com.au/story/ 7115029/funding-for-first-indigenous-treaty-process-in-act-budget/. 138 ‘Elected Body’, ACT Government Community Services (Web Page). https://www.

communityservices.act.gov.au/atsia/committees/elected_body. The Elected Body’s website describes its broad function as: The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elected Body was established so that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the ACT have a strong democratically elected voice. It consists of seven people who are elected to represent the interests and aspirations of the local Indigenous community.

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Council of Elders.139 Australian Territories have very limited powers with respect to forming enduring treaty agreements even as compared with States.140 Western Australia (WA) does not yet have a treaty process but has a domestic arrangement with one of the larger countries (the Noongar people) which was described as ‘treaty like’141 and is very briefly considered below. The largest settlement in WA is described as follows142 : The South West Native Title Settlement (the Settlement) in Western Australia is the largest native title settlement in Australian history and is considered by many as ‘Australia’s First Treaty’. The Settlement is the resolution of Noongar native title claims in the South West of WA, encompassing approximately 200,000 square kilometres [approx.. 80,000 square miles] of land and affecting an estimated 30,000 Noongar people.

This agreement subsequently received the imprimatur of the High Court.143 Victoria, Queensland and the Northern Territory have the most advanced treaty processes in Australia.

139 ‘United Ngunnawal Elders Council’, ACT Government Community Services (Web Page). https://www.communityservices.act.gov.au/atsia/committees/ngunnawal_issues. The Elders Council website describes its broad function as:

The United Ngunnawal Elders Council (UNEC) is a significant Aboriginal body providing advice to the ACT Government in relation to heritage and connection to land matters for the Ngunnawal people. UNEC also provides advice to the ACT Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elected Body in accordance with Section 9 of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elected Body (ATSIEB) Act 2008. 140 Australian Constitution ss 109, 122. 141 Harry Hobbs and George Williams, ‘The Noongar Settlement: Australia’s First

Treaty’ (2018) 40(1) Sydney Law Review 1, 7. 142 ‘Treaty in Western Australia’, ANTaR (Web Page). https://antar.org.au/stories/ treaty-western-australia. 143 ‘Largest Native Title Settlement in Australia Sees Off Last Legal Challenge’, News

Line Australia (Web Page, 26 November 2020). https://www.newsline.com.au/2020/ 11/26/largest-native-title-settlement-in-australia-sees-off-last-legal-challenge/. This challenge was based on a technicality of contractual process and is not of direct consequence here other than to say that in a treaty process under an international framework, signatories to an agreement will be agreed upon in advance.

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Victoria enacted the Advancing the Treaty Process with Aboriginal Victorians Act 2018 (Vic) which provided the legal basis for the ‘First People’s Assembly of Victoria’ (Assembly). Elections for the Assembly took place in late 2019. Only 7% of eligible Aboriginal voters voted—with about 2000 ballots cast.144 The bigger question is the reasons for poor levels of buy-in by Indigenous Peoples for even relatively well managed and resourced processes? It is suggested that the limitations of domestic treaties must be at least a contributing factor for such limited engagement in Victoria. The Victorian treaty process is currently in the second phase following the formal commencement of negotiations between the Assembly and the Victorian Government in 2020. During this phase, the Assembly will work in partnership with the Victorian Government to establish the elements required to support future treaty negotiations.145 There is no legislated timeline for a treaty framework to be agreed between these parties. The Assembly website sets out plans on progressing treaty discussions in the upcoming years.146 The Northern Territory (NT) Legislature passed the Treaty Commissioner Act 2020 (NT) under which a Treaty Commissioner was appointed. The Commissioner will not be negotiating treaty but will make recommendations on the treaty negotiation framework.147 A Discussion Paper has been distributed widely and calls for submissions by June 2021.148 The final report is due to the Chief Minister of the NT by March 2022. It would be interesting to compare the State treaty process in Victoria against Territory processes in the Northern Territory, particularly from the vantage of the processes under federal Constitutional arrangements. Notwithstanding the low turnout in the Victorian assembly elections, the broad, open consultative approaches to treaty bodes well for the 144 Noel Towell, ‘Historic Vote, but Only 7 Per cent Turned Out for Aboriginal Poll’, The Age (online, 10 November 2019). https://www.theage.com.au/politics/victoria/his toric-vote-but-only-7-per-cent-turned-out-for-aboriginal-poll-20191110-p5395o.html. 145 ‘Treaty Process’, Aboriginal Victoria (Web Page, 16 November 2020). https:// www.aboriginalvictoria.vic.gov.au/treaty-process. 146 ‘Our Work’, First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria (Web Page). https://www.firstpeop lesvic.org/our-work/. 147 Northern Territory Treaty Commission, Treaty Discussion Paper (30 June 2020) 7. https://treatynt.com.au/news/2020/treaty-discussion-paper. 148 Ibid.

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future, and particularly if the parties can settle on a fair and equitable framework for treaties, that include positive measures which cater for the shortcomings of domestic treaties discussed above. Domestic agreements simultaneously show both the possibilities and the limitations where disputes are resolved under ‘one law’ only. That is, law that is amenable to change by the one majoritarian party only. This chapter respectfully disagrees with Hobbs and Williams who have argued that ‘the recognition of Indigenous groups in an agreement’ as ‘polities’—that is, as distinct political groups ‘composed of individuals collectively united by identity’,149 is an unnecessary compromise at this point based on a homogenised view of Indigenous Peoples.

Sources of Treaty Content Most Indigenous Peoples internationally accept UNDRIP as incorporating customary norms. It is conceded that the CANZUS states will not explicitly accept this position and was the likely reason they voted against the adoption of the Declaration by the UN General Assembly. In any event, at least the right to self-determination150 and the need for free prior, and informed consent (FPIC)151 are customary law and should apply as a prerequisite to all matters relating to treaty in Australia. Further, treaty must also be contextualised by a broad, agreed-to version of history between the parties. The voices of Indigenous peoples must be heard and should form the underlying basis for binding agreements between peoples. Treaty arrangements between stakeholders are necessarily stated at a higher level of abstraction; they should nonetheless be open to sui generis content152 as individuation is likely to be necessary upon people raising matters subject to their own histories and localities. Domestic state and territory treaties provide a more localised approach but lack the generality of the views of self-determined countries within the Aboriginal and 149 Hobbs and Williams (n 141). 150 Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius in

1965, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 2019, 95. 151 UNDRIP (n 2) Art 19. 152 Mabo (No 2) (n 83); John Borrows and Leonard Rotman, ‘The Sui Generis Nature

of Aboriginal Rights: Does It Make a Difference?’ (1997) 36(1) Alberta Law Review 9, 28.

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Torres Strait Islander peoples and nations. It has been argued elsewhere that treaty content could be set out in two broad parts (a) as a set of requirements that are common to all or most Indigenous groups, with (b) a second sui generis part catering for local and specific tribal requirements.153 However, this important issue is not considered here in any detail.

The Grammar of Peace: Future Tense, Past Imperfect! The First Nations Peoples of the Land of the Great Turtle (now known as Mexico, The USA and Canada) have a metaphor for peace. Peace is as precious as the thin ice that forms in the high mountain springs. The allusion for peace is as one holding on to the delicate spring ice. Spring ice is fragile, thin and easily broken, as is peace. The largest piece of spring ice that can be held aloft is a simile for the breadth of the reign of peace. The biggest piece that can be carried is not determined by the brute force of the individually strong warrior but by the many, gently supporting the ‘sheet ice’ nearest to them, while acting in concert with the larger group. So, must we hold on to a delicate and fragile peace, gently, purposefully and in concert with our fellow human beings. The moral of the story is to take care of the ‘peace’ closest to you but to do so with an eye on the broader peace that reigns over the entire peoples. It is said that the only thing history teaches us is that we do not learn from history. Nonetheless, the disastrous consequences of relying on the ignorant, the arrogant and the self-righteous for vital information and decisions is borne out in the brutality of the Spanish Conquistadors which resulted in the near wiping out of the South American continent’s Indigenous peoples. The deeply respected late Lakota Elder, Brave, warrior and the hero of Wounded Knee, Sioux leader Russell Means explains (paraphrased)154 :

153 Wood and Gardiner (n 1). 154 Russell Means, ‘Patriarchy: The Ultimate Conspiracy; Matriarchy: The Ultimate

Solution. History or His-story’ (Symposium Paper, The 2007 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People: Indigenous survival: where to from here?, 9–10 December 2010).

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Spain in the 14th Century was brutally expunged of its Moorish artists, architects, artisans, jurists and scientists. It was also emptied of Jewish business and commerce. Spain was left with an ignorant, arrogant community devoid of learning. It is such people who sailed to the ‘New World’, the one-eyed with nothing but the lust for gold in their eyes. These are the people, who by their own base standards, seeing the Aztecs performing surgery in the rarefied, clean air at the apex of their pyramids, interpreted this act of humanity as ‘human sacrifice’.

British colonisers were not significantly different from their Spanish cousins. They were (perhaps arguably even wilfully) blind to the nonhierarchical layers of Aboriginal governance structures, the equity that prevailed and the economic plenty enjoyed by the peoples, and consequently they spent much of their time in art, music, conversation and dancing in ways that expressed their own forms of profound spirituality.155 This is arguably the kind of peace to which Indigenous Peoples aspire in the long run. For the foreseeable future however, a materialistic, economic model of a just peace with internal self-determination will have to suffice. Hopefully the longer term will allow the true holistic and humane versions of Indigenous cultures to permeate the ugly consumerism and hedonism that passes for culture today and help to civilise the world to a form of culture and spirituality that will allow humanity to survive for another 80 millennia.

Conclusion While history was slow in acknowledging Indigenous civilisation, the law was even slower. Indigenous law, governance structures and civilisation were not recognised as fact until the 1970s when His Honour Blackburn J said for the first time in Anglo-Australian law that156 : The evidence shows a subtle and elaborate system highly adapted to the country in which the people led their lives, which provided a stable order of society and was remarkably free from the vagaries of personal whim or 155 A. Wood, ‘Indigenous Spirituality: A Lighter Shade? Indigenous Spirituality Viewed from an Abrahamic Framework’ in Dr Derya Iner and Dr Salih Yucil (eds) Muslim Identity Formation in Religiously Diverse Societies (CUP, 2014/2015). 156 Milirrpum v Nabalco Pty Ltd 1971 17 FLR 141.

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influence. If ever a system could be called a government of laws, and not of men, it is that shown in the evidence before me.

This is what his Honour Finn J. referred to and acknowledged the existence of as further evidence as the prevailing ‘lex mercatoria’, the deep and extensive trading routes, that extended for thousands of miles and across many different contemporary nation states.157 Indigenous civilisation goes back tens of thousands of years but as with the conquistadors, British colonisers of the Southern lands failed to see, or were wilfully blind, to these civilisations that had successfully thrived for millennia. We owe it to our children that we address the burdens of the past so they can steer a better more equitable course for themselves without bearing this unjust burden of history. No one reasonably claims that redressing wrongs and acknowledging the errors of the past is going to be painless for any party, particularly for the contemporary inheritors of the consequences of the actions of their forbearers, on all sides! While acknowledged and accommodated, this difficulty should not however, be allowed to become a pretext for non-action. Indigenous Peoples in Australia, while acknowledging the ignominious treatment of the past, at least now have the opportunity to begin treaty anew with the benefits of hindsight gleaned from other colonial states and the opportunities this brings to set a right of past wrongs and establish a strong legal framework for the future. Treaty provides an avenue for arriving at a broad commonly accepted truth, reconciliation, healing and establishing a vision and strategic pathway for just, lawful relationships moving into the future but— and unlike Constitutional entrenchment of content—to do so without eternally (and practically) binding our children and thus cementing contemporary limitations and priorities which may not be very helpful to posterity. As novel situations arise in time, treaty allows our successors to negotiate appropriate variations. This is not to say that a new constitutional provision recognising and entrenching the binding nature of the legal arrangements in principle would not be useful. Thus, the term, Makarrata, broadly captures the key essence and substance of a peace that post-conflict studies contained in this book

157 Akiba on behalf of the Torres Strait Islanders of the Regional Seas Claim Group v State of Queensland (No 2) [2010] FCA 643 (Finn J.).

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seeks to embody. This chapter seeks to capture the broader international meaning of treaty. Broadly speaking, in resolving the dispute fairly and justly, the parties in dispute must first accept and acknowledge the existence of such a conflict. Secondly, the protagonists should (without prejudice) hear the grievances of the other sides, come to some common agreement on actual grievances. For issues on which there is no meeting of minds, to be required to negotiate, without stalling the entire process. Thirdly, they need to agree on fair reparation. And finally, to then set out a practical timetable for the delivery by all sides of the agreed-upon remedies (together with monitoring and dispute resolution mechanisms, in case of disagreements). Not to work through issues systematically, particularly for pragmatic or political reasons, can lead to misunderstanding, dissatisfaction with the outcomes, and therefore the real possibility of continuing strife. Truth needs to re-emerge, and be retold. These truths must be told and acknowledged by all sides; only then does treaty become a viable option for creating a lasting and just peace. Without such acknowledgement, a binding and enduring peace is unlikely to emerge. Peace is fragile but without a just peace we are doomed to eternal strife.

CHAPTER 14

Appreciative Accompaniment and Storywork: Bridging Peace and Conflict Studies and Indigenous Research Jeremy Simons

If you come to here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together. - Aboriginal activist group, Queensland, Australia, 1970s.1

1 See http://unnecessaryevils.blogspot.com/2008/11/attributing-words.html describing the collective, as opposed to individual, attribution of this quote.

J. Simons (B) Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_14

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Introduction---Why Accompaniment? The opening quote popularized in association with Australian aboriginal activist Lilla Watson, highlights the fact that struggles for justice are inherently collective efforts, requiring a mutual and interactive reciprocity. But in working together for co-liberation, as this suggests, how are we to approach such a relational process, fraught with dangers of paternalism, appropriation, and other legacies of systemic violence, trauma, exclusion, and colonization? This chapter draws on over a decade of research, partnership, and accompaniment with Lumad2 Indigenous peoples and non-Lumad Filipinos on the island of Mindanao, Philippines. I am not an Indigenous person but will explore accompaniment as an inquiry motif that has helped me make sense of relationships with Lumad and other Filipino peacebuilders, and how collective efforts have evolved in response to interpersonal, cultural, physical, and structural conditions. Building on insights from appreciative inquiry (Johnson & Ludema, 1997), I suggest that embracing appropriate metaphors, such as accompaniment, to guide research methodologies can itself be a critical, non-violent, and culturallycentred way of visioning, bridging, and bringing into conversation the complex interactions between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples, knowledge systems, and practices. Accompaniment is a concept with roots in Latin American, and Filipino liberation and decolonization movements, which, until recently, has been relatively under-theorized in formal scholarship, and specifically, in peace and conflict studies. This is beginning to change, as reflected in a recent editorial note published in the International Journal of Transitional Justice, suggesting “pragmatic solidarity, mutual accompaniment and intermediarity” as a constellation of positionalities undergirding a necessary shift to a more critical reflexivity3 in transitional justice research and scholarship (Lykes & van der Merwe, 2019, pp. 414–415). My Filipino partners in peacebuilding utilized accompaniment as a motif to involve 2 Lumad, meaning “of the earth/land,” is the term of self-ascription that Indigenous People’s in Mindanao have elected to describe their collective identity. 3 Critical Reflexivity is “one resource for naming how power circulates within and

through the relationships crafted through transitional justice processes” and is defined by Lykes and van der Merwe as an ability to “perform some among our multiple subjectivities within dialogic and collective knowledge co-constructive processes, eschewing a tendency to center ourselves or to displace those whose stories we are seeking to dialogically engage, document and analyse” (2019, pp. 415, 413).

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and collaborate with me during my PhD research, as well as in describing their peace advocacy.4 Accompaniment represented a ground-up methodological stance to my research process, foregrounding the dynamics of journeying together by highlighting the egalitarian, contingent, directional, relational, and agentive aspects of the research endeavour over time and generations. Mary Watkins (2019) articulates “Mutual Accompaniment” as a critical and comprehensive decolonizing praxis across a range of social development, environmental, and community transformation domains, with a particular emphasis on higher education and the academy. The purpose of this chapter, drawing on my own research experience in the Philippines, as well as on a variety of elaborations of accompaniment, is to more substantially situate appreciative accompaniment and storywork as crucial elements at the nexus of Indigenous studies and research and the decolonizing/justice-seeking praxis of Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS). Firstly, I will examine recent Indigenous elaborations of decolonization, peoplehood, and narrative “storywork” to situate this discussion in strength-based, appreciative indigenous discourses. Second, the concept of accompaniment will be introduced, after which I will locate the experiences of the Lumad in Mindanao, Philippines by briefly highlighting major dynamics in Lumad right to self-determination struggles and social movements in concert (and discord) with fellow Lumad and non-Lumad actors. Then I will provide an overview of how appreciative accompaniment has been utilized by Filipino peace and reconciliation workers in Catholic Relief Services (CRS), a foreign-funded NGO, to enact a more culturally safe, appropriate, and resonant peacebuilding practice with Lumad activists and leaders. In the discussion and conclusion, I will relate the CRS-Philippines learnings to wider scholarship around ethics in Peace and Conflict Studies and Indigenous Research, and suggest possible ways forward in light of this.

4 In a PhD research invitation letter sent to me by local partners, they utilized an accompaniment motif twice: first, when referring to their Lumad-non-Lumad alliance in relation to formal peace talks, “collaborative efforts in accompanying the Philippine peace process” which indicated that accompaniment was an integral posture in the development of the collaborative over time. Second, “accompaniment” was used in reference to our relationships with Lumad leaders, “you have been with us in accompanying these IP leaders before”.

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Indigenous Peoplehood and Storywork Decolonization has become a prominent theme in academic discourses across a range of disciplines over the past few decades, and it is critical to clarify key aspects of the process: its foundations and objectives, the actors involved, and the context in which it occurs. Indigenous peoples (IP), the most drastically affected by colonization, along with non-Indigenous partners are each seeking to do their part to move decolonization forward. In this social context, reflective and reflexive decolonization praxis requires a stance and posture that acknowledges historic realities and social struggles across a variety of personal, social, and environmental terrains. It situates collaborative action in a responsive and interdependent relationality that affirms and restores what Cherokee scholar Jeff Corntassel calls peoplehood, through a process he refers to as “everyday resurgence.”5 Corntassel (2012) asserts that decolonizing pathways must reflect an Indigenous framework of peoplehood and everyday resurgence that locates and accesses Indigenous sources of power to resist assimilation. He identifies three shifts needed to walk, dance, ritualize, or story-tell these pathways: (1) from a state-centric rights discourse, to a “responsibilitybased [italics mine] ethic grounded in relationships to homelands and community” (p. 93) that existed prior to the modern nation-state and its claims to sovereignty; (2) from a form of reconciliation that perpetuates settler occupation and domination “without meaningful restitution,” to resurgence as “on-the-ground actions” to reclaim or defend ancestral lands (p. 94); and (3) from resources to relationships, that is, resisting a framework that defines lands, territories, and domains as productive economic resources, to reclaiming alternative economies that are “accountable and responsible to each other and the natural world” (p. 96). In other words, the variety of Indigenous pathways necessary for the process 5 Peoplehood includes “the interlocking features of language, homeland, ceremonial cycles, and sacred living histories, a disruption to any one of these practices threatens all aspects of everyday life” and involves a set of “complex spiritual, political and social relationships that hold peoplehood together” (Corntassel, 2012, p. 89). Corntassel directs his recommendations of “everyday resurgence” primarily towards his fellow Indigenous peoples in order to articulate a decolonising praxis that is locally grounded and resonant across Indigenous communities. For decolonisation to be directed by any other orientation would self-defeating of the entire effort. However, I take as my focus the intersectional space where IP and non-IP interact and engage, as highlighted by Lilla Watson’s collective assertion of mutual co-liberation.

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of decolonization must all be grounded in local actions of everyday resurgence. Moana Jackson (2021) further suggests that decolonization could be more appropriately defined as an “ethic of restoration,” with Indigenous stories serving as the “basis for a non-colonising future.” He notes, “The fact that colonisation necessarily involved the brutal taking of Indigenous peoples’ lands and lives has also been reframed and justified in stories,” circulated through a “vast story archive” of “intruder stories” which ignore, whitewash, and minimize the historic and current realities and impacts of colonial violence. He argues that for M¯aori, if not for all Indigenous peoples, “the potential exists to develop a different and unique decolonisation discourse because there are already stories which express the power of a different truth.” For indigenous communities, Jackson argues that narratives embody the original law of first nations and peoples. Reflecting on the Indigenous Storywork methodology conceptualized by Jo-Ann Archibald Q’um Q’um Xiiem (2019) Behrendt also argues that colonial legal systems had an “anti-storytelling agenda” that treated law stories “which are an assertion of ownership and sovereignty, as little more than children’s stories,” dismissing outright anything that was not in written text as inferior (p. 178). Reclaiming story, on the other hand, affirms “the self-determining role that storytelling can play” by prioritizing the community’s perspective. It takes the “voice from the margins and puts it in the centre” (p. 183), foregrounding the self-defined needs and aspirations of the community itself. Storywork is one way of exploring and expanding the capacities of Indigenous communities. It can indigenize the relationships needed to engage allies and the access resources needed to accomplish what the community itself has defined in the first place (pp. 182–183). Furthermore, stories, as foundations of decolonization, connect and develop the ability of communities to promote both collective and individual healing and restoration (Denborough et al., 2006; Wingard, 2011). Recent scholarship highlights the importance of “yarning” and “storywork” in indigenous communities as a form of decolonizing research methodology (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010; Xiiem et al., 2019). Stories are cultural treasures, not simply the objects of a preservationist research stance, but sources of research ethics and the primary mode of knowledge transmission across generations and cultures, and within communities (Tapsell, 1997). They are used in developing cultural “evidence-base” in research, restoring gender relations, framing legal

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knowledge, cultural conscientization in the reclamation of identity and history, deepening community research partnerships, analysing visual (film) storytelling, and a form of lifelong pedagogy (Lee-Morgan, 2019; Xiiem, 2019). Storywork as a form of resistance and institutional decolonization has been used in indigenous literary theory, ecological regeneration initiatives, and adapting ancient song traditions in contemporary social movements (De Santolo, 2019; Denborough, 2013).

Appreciative Storywork and Institutional Decolonization Recent institutional initiatives addressing the legacies of slavery and colonization of Indigenous lands involve universities confronting their complicity with the colonization project. Some have devised ways of symbolically and concretely taking actions to recognize the damage done (Kennicot, 2020). Others are moving towards forms of “reparative action” which recognize that “history repeats itself because the systems and the structures have not fundamentally changed” and “the potential for many different forms of reparations could make a difference and move the conversations and actions from performative to transformative” (Lokhun, 2020). For IPs and non-IPs (myself included) who are committed to decolonizing praxis in and beyond the academy, there is often a struggle, not so much in defining and prioritizing the overarching goal towards which we are working (the why) or even the specific actions to be taken (the what). Rather, the rub occurs in the practical and embodied relational processes through which decolonization efforts and activities will be advanced, that is, the pathway to change, the ways in which decolonizing intentions are to be walked (the how). As Corntassel notes, “how [emphasis mine] one engages in daily processes of truthtelling and resistance to colonial encroachments is just as important as the overall outcome of these struggles to reclaim, restore, and regenerate homeland relationships” (2012, p. 89). The importance of storywork in this context cannot be overemphasized as it provides a culturally appropriate, flexible, integrative, and accessible process by which fundamental decolonizing work can be done. The relational challenges implicit in decolonization are inflected not only in IP to non-IP relationships, but in IP to IP and non-IP to non-IP interactions, sometimes with even greater intensity and discord. The dynamics in majority settler colonial states such as the United

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States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand play out differently than in those states where colonizer communities remained in the minority and influence, domination, and control were implemented, enforced, and reconstituted through internal colonizations by fellow colonized peoples. For example, although Mindanao’s Indigenous peoples experienced the effects of foreign colonization under Spanish (1521–1896) and American (1902–1946) regimes, it was only after national “independence” that the Filipino government in “imperial” Manila facilitated a series of dramatic internal migration, settlement, “development” and integration schemes targeting Lumad and Muslim Bangsamoro ancestral domains. These were enforced through various forms of state-backed violence that radically altered the fortunes of Lumad peoples, particularly through the second half of the 1900s. In response to similar realities shared by IP communities globally, Corntassel calls for “renewing our precolonial treaty relationships with contemporary neighbouring Indigenous Nations” which evokes an Indigenous form of trans-tribal accompaniment (p. 97). A significant challenge, however, in linking decolonizing storywork at multiple levels and across a variety of terrains is maintaining the connections between local and everyday acts of narrative, resurgence, resistance, and resilience, and higher level, political, economic, and social enactments. These connections and linkages are needed to push decolonization forward in spheres of institutional domination and systemic injustice where Indigenous peoples are frequently in the minority. This means that decolonization, while necessitating community-level resurgence and storywork within IP communities, must also involve non-Indigenous peoples who compose majority populations in the nation-states, communities, and academic institutions constructed on Indigenous territories and ancestral domains. A peoplehood-affirming stance in decolonization work faces the challenge therefore of being accessible to a variety of people concerned with decolonizing, including former colonizer state-based actors, their descendants and legacy holders (whether acknowledged as such or not), local elites, and a variety of colonized groups. After several decades of active work in the academy to address these cross-cutting dynamics, Indigenous scholars are “localizing” everyday resurgence through novel research methodologies in the academy. One of these is appreciative inquiry, which emerged as a form of action research

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that selectively seeks to locate, understand and illuminate what are referred to as the life-giving forces of any human system’s existence, its positive core. This realization of shared strengths then becomes a new platform for imagining possibilities for the preferred future. (Fry, 2014, p. 2)

A.I. is oriented around the social assets and life-giving “positive core” of a social group or individuals, rather than a deficit focus defined by a research “problem” or “gap” (Cooperrider & Srivastva, 1987; Heron & Reason, 1997). This iteration of a collaborative paradigm distinguishes appreciative participatory/collaborative inquiry from mainstream action research and critical theory which is often based on a problem-focused, deficit model. Rather, the Participatory-AppreciativeCollaborative Inquiry paradigm can be clarified by describing its problemsaturated counterfactual: Problem-focus is a fundamental tenant of almost all modern and postmodern research paradigms (whether using qualitative or quantitative or methods) where research strategies and methods revolve around identifying, explaining, or contributing to how the “problem” will be “solved,” the “gap” will be “filled,” the “colonized” will be “de-colonized,” the “powerless” will be “empowered,” and the “oppressed” will be “liberated.” Contrary to such deficit-based frameworks, Appreciative Inquiry (A.I.) respects the inherent holism and interconnectivity of social systems through the inquiry process, and the indigenous modality I learned from native Canadian leaders elicits strength-based narratives in response to positively framed inquiry questions. Through the sharing of lived and ancestral/cultural experience, A.I. allows participants to articulate stories of what their community looks/looked like at its best vis-avis the inquiry topic at hand. Using an appreciative orientation, the positive, strength-based, and restorative potential of Indigenous communities are centred without ignoring their systematic marginalization and fragmentation under the direct and indirect violence of colonialism, modernism, and armed conflict. Thus, A.I. is oriented differently from most research paradigms by moving from community-based strengths to address challenges, rather than from expert-defined problems to imposed solutions. Appreciative Inquiry is recommended by Chilisa (2012, pp. 243–258) as a particularly ethical and appropriate methodology for conducting research with Indigenous communities. Key elements in the Appreciative

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Storywork framework include the following: that research is demystified and removed from the hands of “experts;” that the “researched” are actually co-researchers and active participants in defining the process and are in the best place to articulate the strengths needed to address community challenges; that multiple methods are necessary in order to promote healing and give/retain the voice and power of the coresearchers (Chilisa, 2012, p. 255; Heron & Reason, 1997). I will suggest in this chapter that Appreciative Storywork and Accompaniment can be a praxis ethos with the potential to address the challenges of multi-relational and multi-cultural interactions, surfacing critically important Indigenous and non-Indigenous sensibilities, while respecting the distinct customs, traditions, and cultures of particular identity groups at multiple levels.

Forms of Accompaniment Confronting colonization, whether foreign or internal, through various forms of accompaniment with and between Indigenous Peoples, has been practised through a variety of solidarity initiatives (Hrynkow, 2018; Julian & Schweitzer, 2015; Watkins, 2019, pp. 267–273). Accompaniment as a research praxis has, in the past few years, begun generating an increased amount of interest among western academics, under-theorized as it has been (at least in the English language). With the publication of “Mutual Accompaniment and the Creation of the Commons” by Mary Watkins (2019), the ethos, strategy, and lifestyle of accompaniment received perhaps its most expansive elaboration in western academia. Watkins develops the concept of Mutual Accompaniment from her earlier work on “psychosocial accompaniment,” a process of “liberation psychology,” decolonizing mainstream western therapeutic practices (Watkins, 2015). As a clinical psychologist, she elaborates accompaniment as a decolonizing praxis in higher education, particularly for the helping professions, a critical element necessary to re-construct the training of clinical workers such as psychologists and social workers. She later develops a cluster of accompaniment practices in addressing severe psychiatric illness through family care, lay companionship, community living, and enclave models that have been innovated around the world6 (Watkins, 6 These de-pathologize mental illness through everyday relationships with ordinary people and peers who struggle or have struggled with the burdens of their experiences. This also means “being accompanied by the natural world” through immersive experiences

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2019). Watkins notes that “for both researchers and clinicians, moving toward accompaniment requires both psychic and social decolonisation, a shedding of the professional role of expertism” (p. 325). Most accompaniment articulations have a significant grounding in Latin American liberation theology discourses, with particular currency among faith-based solidarity and service programmes, as well as social development and community health initiatives (Abe, 2019; Armstrong, 2018; Schnyder von Wartensee, 2018; Wilkinson & D’Angelo, 2019). This makes accompaniment theorizations heavily attuned to spirituality, and therefore potentially more amenable to holistic Indigenous theorizations. Accompaniment discourses suggest moving beyond “empowerment” in sociolinguistic research (Bucholtz et al., 2016), offering novel methods in social work with communities affected by war (Lykes & Crosby, 2015; Rodríguez et al., 2009), facilitating international human rights solidarity (Hrynkow, 2018; Julian & Schweitzer, 2015), and provoking researcher reflexivity in the field of transitional justice (Lykes & van der Merwe, 2019). Collaborative anthropology and action research, when involving Indigenous communities in particular, lend themselves to the adoption of an accompaniment motif (Mei-Singh, 2020, p. 17; Trundle, 2018, p. 100). Filipino social anthropologist Albert Alejo framed his ethnography of Lumad cultural activism as “simply an attempt to witness and accompany the movement of…Manobo for cultural regeneration” (2000, p. 237). Accompaniment, originally from Latin “to break bread together” and the Spanish word “compañero” meaning friend, denotes the positionality of befriending, companioning, partnering with or otherwise joining together with a particular purpose in mind or journey to undertake. Buscholtz et al. (2016) define it as “an ongoing, negotiated social process of learning to talk and work together, in which all participants contribute different forms of expertise and understanding from which they benefit in different ways” (p. 27). In their sociolinguistic research, they highlight that it involves “human connection across difference,” in other words, across a boundary or border, whose political implications go beyond “empowerment” (2016, p. 35). Mei-Singh, describes accompaniment as an ethnographic research methodology that “engenders the convergence of differential forms of expertise to develop life-affirming systems in nature and the natural world as a form nature-based therapeutic living (Watkins, 2019, p. 4).

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that exceed and oppose the militarized partitions that unevenly harm our shared sources of life” (2020, p. 3). Watkins eloquently notes that accompaniment is “embodied” and requires that we move alongside those we are accompanying. At the same time, it draws from deep underground springs of radical imagination and spirituality that enable us to create needed commons. Where division, exclusion, and separation are causes of human misery, in practices of accompaniment we cross over the barrieres that have been erected, drawing together what has been sundered. (2019, pp. 21–22)

Mutual Accompaniment Watkins sees “psychosocial accompaniment” as the heart of Mutual Accompaniment and teases out five lineages in a broader genealogy of accompaniment. The lineages of what she calls “radical hospitality” emerged primarily (but not exclusively) in urban North American and British communities in the early and mid-1900s as responses to the dramatic economic cleavages, rapid urbanization, internal migrations, and ethnic and racial divisions resulting from industrialization. These included settlement houses established by Jane Addams and Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker houses of hospitality for the homeless and poor.7 A second set of Latin American strands emerged from liberation theology influenced by Paulo Friere and Gustavo Gutierrez. This evolved into a movement of liberation psychology whereby clinical psychologists abandoned their professional distance to accompany victims of extreme violence and war seeking justice and an end to impunity. Drawing on roots of active non-violence and peacebuilding, international protective accompaniment and unarmed and civilian peacekeeping erupted and spread from Central American countries across the globe in the 1980s. In this practice, volunteers (usually from external or international solidarity groups) live and work alongside communities under threat of statesponsored direct violence and human rights violations. A third Caribbean 7 This exemplified the “mutuality of accompaniment, replacing the vertical hierarchy that is an ingredient in normatively understood ‘helping’” through the “networks of small commons that are inclusive, generate a sense of belonging, and meet needs while enjoying the sharing and conviviality of communal life” (Watkins, pp. 3–4). These communities of “radical hospitality” encompassed the intentional creation of “places where people who are usually socially separated can discover common ground and purpose” by living together. These intentionally challenged the structural injustices and racialized segregations exacerbated in the voluntary establishment of urban/sub-urban divides where groups selfsegregate by class, status, and ethnic identity.

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permutation, articulated by Paul Farmer in Haiti, emerged in the 1980s as “social medicine,” a movement restoring agency to people suffering the health impacts of structural injustice and systemic violence. Watkins’ final lineage of accompaniment is that of eco-accompaniment, the “accompaniment to our relationships with other species and to the Earth itself – mountains, trees, rivers and oceans” (2019, p. 5). In this articulation she draws most extensively on Indigenously rooted experiences and world views which prioritize respectful relationships with the non-human environment and creatures, with a chapter by Gay Bradshaw, the pioneer of trans-species psychology. Watkins and the aforementioned authors have elaborated on accompaniment within their respective areas of research and practice. Some of these, particularly research around protective accompaniment, overlaps with the domain of Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) (Hrynkow, 2018), though there is very little articulation of how accompaniment is situated more generally in PACS apart from non-violent civilian protection. Further, while Watkins draws on Indigenous studies and praxis to frame and buttress ecological and non-human accompaniment as integral elements of “mutual accompaniment,” she conducts relatively minimal exploration of the intersection of Indigenous studies and accompaniment in relation to the other arenas of mutual accompaniment. Building off Watkin’s work, I suggest that accompaniment should be more fully elaborated and ecologically situated within a PACS framework. More so, by focusing on Indigenous and non-Western articulations and engagements with accompaniment at the intersection of PACS, I recommend it as a bridging and resonant methodology between the fields and suggest further landscapes of exploration.

Decolonization in the Philippines Alongside its beautiful cultural and ecological diversity, the second largest island Mindanao has often been considered ground zero for the most severe conflicts, violence, and social unrest that affect the Philippines. Reacting to Spanish (1521–1896), American (1902–1946), and Filipino (1946–1986) colonizations, the emergence of the modern Lumad social movement can be traced to the late 1970s and early 1980s. In 1986, the movement adopted the term “Lumad” as the collective socio-political term of ascription for the 18 non-Islamized Indigenous People groups in Mindanao (Gaspar, 2010; Rodil, 2004). The Lumad social movement

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grew at the same time as Filipino nationalist de-colonizing discourse and practices of the radical left. These had been articulated in the academy through universities in Manila, primarily by Tagalog (the language of Manila and its surrounding provinces) scholars starting in the 1950s and 1960s. However, as these decolonization discourses were framed and asserted in the academy, primarily in relation to the construction of a nationalist polity they sometimes overlooked or mis-represented regional and local expressions of Indigenous social movements. This process occurred in three movements at the University of the Philippines, “based on indigenous Filipino experiences, concepts, languages, and orientation” although these were primarily based on lowland, hispanized cultures of Luzon, the largest northern island (Paredes-Canilao & Babaran-Diaz, 2013, p. 765).8 The eminent Filipino psychologist Virgilio Enriquez conceptualized the localization process as a two-part enfolding: indigenization from within (“developing local systems of psychological knowledge on its own terms”) and indigenization from without (“adapting Western scientific constructs to the local culture”) (J. H. Liu, 2011, p. 215). Though oriented towards lowland communities of the north, Filipino social sciences maintained a critical focus on local Filipino research methodologies, which are participatory and ethnographic rather than quantitative and empiricist (Aquino, 2004; Paredes-Canilao & Babaran-Diaz, 2013). Popular decolonization movements were galvanized during the Marcos administration (1965–1986), especially after his declaration of martial law in 1972 and the violent repression of students, church workers, and other social activists that followed. These were energized by global student protest, civil rights, and the anti-war movements leading to the emergence of oppositional protest movements and later new civil society efforts (Ferrer, 2004; Rousset, 2009a, 2009b).9 Marcos was deposed 8 Sikolohiyang Pilipino (Philippine Psychology) emerged in the 1960s, followed by Pilipinolohiya (Filipinology) spearheaded by the anthropologist Prospero Covar, while Philippine historiography was articulated as Pantayon Pananaw (Inclusive Filipino Perspectives) through the influence of Zeus Salazar. Together these disciplines excavated and reclaimed “Filipino theorizing from the ground up…based on traditional Filipino knowledge, beliefs, and values that were recovered from misrepresentations and denigration by Western social science” (Paredes-Canilao & Babaran-Diaz, 2013, p. 771). 9 John J. Carroll, a Jesuit priest, in writing the history of urban NGO and Peoples Organization (PO) activism the Philippines, noted the significant “prehistory” of work that was done by labour fronts in the Philippines. This included Catholic church-based

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through the first “People Power” revolution of 1986, after which there was a dramatic emergence of civil society organizations (CSOs) as former “underground” activists found it safe to organize more openly. Ferrer noted that this was especially pronounced in Mindanao, where “The rise in peace CSOs within and cutting across Muslim, Christian and Lumad (indigenous) sectors is particularly phenomenal” (Ferrer, 2005b, p. 1). After the fall of the Marcos dictatorship, psychosocial rehabilitation work (PRW) “evolved from a limited clientele (political detainees and their families, torture victims of the martial-law regime) to encompass larger communities (internally displaced peoples, children in conflict situations, ‘postconflict’ communities).” Similar to the evolution of liberation psychology in Latin America, there was a current in Filipino psychosocial rehabilitation work with an “appreciation of the Philippine context” which “rejected medical practitioner-oriented, clinical- and institutioncentred approach in favour of developing an indigenous psychologybased, socially and culturally integrated, and family/community-oriented methods” (Ferrer, 2005a, p. 64). Lumad Justice, Advocacy, and Peacebuilding In this context, my PhD research traced the evolution and current manifestations of Lumad peace activism along several currents that evolved in response to local, national, and international conditions. Though scholars suggest the core of Lumad social movement is the warrior (bagani, bahani, bayani) tradition, which includes a range of oppositional resistance efforts (Gaspar, 2010; Tiu, 2003),10 the Erumanen Lumad articulated a less appreciated nonviolent strategy as follows: Apart from fighting, other Erumanens and Lumads also pursued evasion and evacuations as acts of resistance but these are often misconstrued as signifying submission, weakness or passivity. In history, some Lumads leaders and lay groups that had forged connections with Asian and American progressive networks in the late 1960s, picking up on the theories of Paulo Friere, Saul Alinsky, and Gustavo Gutierrez, as well as ideas present in the university student scene, learning from Vietnam’s resistance against U.S. intervention and Mao Tse Tung’s “Little Red Book” from China (Carroll, 1998). 10 This has historically included a variety of relationships with armed movements in the Philippines, most prominently being the CPP-NPA, as well a recruitment into government backed paramilitaries.

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refused to engage in armed confrontation against groups aggressively moving into ancestral territories because what is important for them is the principle of co-existence. Lumads do not easily adapt or accept colonial and other foreign ideas and authorities, such as that of Islam and policies imposed by the colonials. Instead of confrontation, the Lumads evade to avoid being imposed on by new teachings and colonial authorities. This follows a dictum that to evade is to evacuate but the act of evading, in this context, actually signify resistance. But this kind of resistance also considers the possibility of co-existence rather than merely the destruction of groups pursuing acts of aggression: “to evade is to resist in order to co-exist.”

This mirrors the comment of Norma Gonos, an esteemed Mandaya female mediator, who stated, “we sit down first, its only when our dialogue fails, that we went to war. Meaning, a last resort.” In fact, according to her, warrior traditions are subsumed in, and governed by, Lumad justice leaders and systems (Norma Gonos, Interview, November 2018). This has been confirmed by other researchers who believe that warfare has been generally avoided by Lumad (Elkins, 1994; Paredes, 1997; Santos Jr. et al., 2010, p. 404). In the history of the Lumad social movement, Lumad groups and activists have at different times worked with, and were sometimes funded by, non-Lumad NGOs. Around the year 2000, the Peacebuilding and Conflict Transformation framework began to be widely operationalized in Mindanao through international support from the global development community.11 Local projects, programmes, actors, and activists in the Mindanao peacebuilding community produced innovative initiatives and popularized and contextualized peacebuilding discourses inspired by Lederach’s culturally grounded conflict transformation model, as well as Galtung’s positive peace concepts.12 These culturally oriented peacebuilding efforts were particularly resonant with Lumad communities and 11 In fact, the language of peacebuilding became prominent in local academic research publications, NGO jargon, in militant left progressive groups, and right-wing military materials. 12 These were popularized through intensive annual trainings provided by the Mindanao Peacebuilding Institute (MPI) (where I worked as an instructor and monitoring-evaluation volunteer in their Lumad capacity development programme from 2010 to 2012). Locally conceptualized peacebuilding extension programmes (such as the grass-roots peace leadership course of Catholic Relief Services) and similar efforts by allied partners were rolled out across Mindanao. Local university peace centres based out of Notre Dame of Cotabato, Southern Christian College in Midsayap, and Mindanao State University in Iligan,

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facilitated the emergence of a new generation of Lumad peace activists, building on their own traditions of dialogical justice, while incorporating training received from both local and international NGOs and service missions.13 A prominent example of this is the work of Datu Vic Saway, a Lumad peace activist, who has articulated a framework of inter-tribal “kinship laws”: mutual recognition and respect; mutual sharing of information; mutual cooperation; mutual protection of life; and mutual sharing of resources, assistance, and help (Saway, 2007). These principles are actually grounded in traditional epic histories called ulahing (with other terms used in different Lumad languages), and have guided the excavation and reaffirmation of ancient peace pacts across Mindanao within broader peacebuilding efforts. This supportive ecology and infrastructure of peacebuilding action and advocacy enabled Lumad to grow and expand their capacities, linking tribe-specific traditional husay (conciliation) practices with the pre-existing Lumad movement for social justice. This was particularly important for Lumad women, who re-negotiated what were often limited, traditional roles in local husay processes and Indigenous governance to a broader, more direct participation in community and social movements leadership (“Bae,” 2015; “The Tribal Chieftain,” 2015; Interview, Tribal leader, December 4, 2018). Apart from the question of outright participation in armed struggle, other critical issues still confront the Lumad social movement, include: • Autonomy of the movement: who sets the direction and does an external ideology or ideologies influence it, and if so, how?

and university-based Lumad programmes, such as Ateneo de Davao’s Mindanawon centre, were also established or expanded and created their own peace education efforts. 13 Militant left Lumad groups also re-emerged, (patterned along the same forms of NGO-led progressive activism used for decades in the Philippines’ social movements), and for the first time Lumad-led radical right leaders made concerted, trans-tribal efforts to develop an armed, anti-communist network of indigenous paramilitary forces and military intelligence assets across Mindanao. These right-wing efforts were specifically developed to systematically undermine the mass base and confront the armed units of the CPP-NPA across eastern Mindanao. It relied on a core group of Lumad leaders and pro-government Lumad sympathizers, who mobilized and reinterpreted sacred Lumad justice concepts and practices, particularly the tampuda hu balagon peace pact/alliance motif, to establish or strengthen existing paramilitary units of the AFP by framing them as Lumad bagani (warrior) units deployed to counter “Communist terrorists” fronts (“(IPMPDU) Phase II The Quest for Peace,” 2008).

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• Composition of the movement: does it, or can it, represent or encompass a cluster of movements with a variety of perspectives and how can it deal with the “divisiveness…[of] the terrain” of Lumad struggles? (Gaspar 2010) In other words, Lumad and non-Lumad partners have been engaged in a long-term process of negotiating their terms of relationships within and between advocacy groups and movements. In the following section, I will detail how these were addressed by one of the key development NGOs in Mindanao using the concept of accompaniment. Accompaniment in Mindanao Community Development and Peacebuilding Accompaniment as an approach came to Mindanao via liberation theology discourses and exchanges between Latin American and Filipino theologians and community development workers. Several Filipino Catholic development organizations organizations have described their local advisors and employees as “accompaniers” and peacebuilding work as accompaniment (Fisher & Guillena, 2014; Leguro, 2006). In a 2006 essay, “Building relationships and empowering partners: Reflections on CRS’ Capacity Building and Accompaniment,” Myla Leguro describes the evolution of Catholic Relief Services (CRS) Peace and Reconciliation (P&R) programme that led to the explicit incorporation of accompaniment as “the heart” of “truly engaging partners and communities” (p. 7). CRS is the international relief and development arm of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops and has maintained an office with extensive programming in Mindanao for several decades. The evolution of this “overarching paradigm” and “overall attitude” of accompaniment (p. 6) was spurred in the 1990s by an explicit turn towards justice concerns. This provoked a shift from a “technical assistance” paradigm where local partners were called “counter-parts” in highly structured and time-bound projects, to “processes that would engage partners as co-equals and as legitimate stakeholders in peacebuilding efforts.” This meant “journeying” together in helping partners become peacebuilding organizations, rather than counterparts implementing activities (p. 7). Under the rubric of Catholic Social Teaching, justice was conceptualized organically as “nurturing right relationships with partners and communities” throughout the programme, including “approaches,

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assumptions, perceptions and even attitudes towards partnerships and capacity building” (p. 7). This reflects Asian sensitivities to a relational form of justice, as described by Liu (J. Liu, 2014). Accompaniment was articulated as a “process of relationship-building” and “enhancing capacities” that lead to local sustainability as local organizations were strengthened to “creatively address… [internal] issues and concerns, which will lessen chances of conflict in the community” (p. 7). Accompaniment explicitly recognized the need to harmonize both head (technical) and heart (relational) aspects in the “formal” and “informal” development of relationships and organizations/institutions. Avoiding long-term dependency involves discerning what level of accompaniment was needed, and transparency in jointly defining and co-designing “the overall parameters of the accompaniment process” (p. 7). The relative wealth of financial and technical assets CRS brought to the relationship required sensitivity to “understand the underpinnings of power in the accompaniment process.” This meant actively recognizing and including the “stake and resource that the community and partners bring to the relationship” (p. 7). Additional elements identified by Leguro were bridgebuilding, empowerment, and creating “platforms/mechanisms” where broader coalitions, relationships, and peace constituencies could develop among diverse partners. These elements suggest an accompaniment interface structure for partners to influence the wider social context through collective participation in broader social movements. In particular, capacity building in this context would be specifically “harnessed as a mechanism to empower groups and organizations not able to participate in the mainstream, e.g.….young Indigenous Peoples (IP) and Muslim organisations” (p. 7).

Discussion Accompanier is preferred over titles like “development worker,” “community organizer,” or even “consultant,” as it conveys a sense of presence, partnership, and equality; and an ethos of walking or journeying together over time. This avoids the subtle connotations of unacknowledged paternalism in one-way relationships where international or outside people are “developed,” “organized,” “powerful,” and resource or knowledge rich, implying that local aid recipients or partners are the opposite, i.e., (under)developed, disorganized, powerless, poor, and ignorant. Accompaniment, which is in the same philosophical universe of appreciation,

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collaboration, and partnership, shifts the terms and basis of the relationship; the directions of influence and communication; and the nature of the processes and outcomes, as seen in Table 14.1 Table 14.1, created by development workers active in the Philippines (and other locations) traces one of the initial articulations of decolonizing development praxis that emerged using Appreciative Inquiry (AI) processes (Cooperrider & Srivastva, 1987) with over one hundred NGOs conducted by the Christian Reformed World Relief Council (CRWRC). The original formulation described frameworks of colonial, consultative, and collaborative approaches in three columns, illustrating the evolution of international development relationships as partnerships involving equality, justice, and respect. In light of the previously elaborated articulations of accompaniment in the decades since this study, I have added a fourth column which highlights accompaniment as a critical element in this partnership process. Appreciative accompaniment and Indigenous storywork serve as the relational strands of decolonizing partnerships that move beyond the confines of capacity building to encompass the broader gamut of institutional decolonization praxis that affirms Indigenous peoplehood. This situates accompaniment within the genealogy of action research scholarship oriented towards relationships grounded in strength and story-based processes. In the move towards decolonizing partnerships in development praxis, appreciative accompaniment and Indigenous storywork crystallize a set of complementary modalities by which such partnerships can be more productively articulated and enacted. Modes and Tensions in Indigenous Social Movements and PACS Within this intersectional space of people (IP and non-IP), praxis (decolonization), and place (peace and conflict studies and practice), appreciative accompaniment and storywork provide a methodological and relational motif bridging several overlapping tensions. The first tension exists across trifold social change strategies of (a) oppositional social justice/human rights activism, (b) conciliatory peacebuilding, and (c) institutional community development activities. These tensions and domains of action are reflected in the Lumad experience discussed previously, and Singh (2018) has suggested a similar distinction in global IP movement strategies (in relation to state structures) that he describes as revolutionary, conciliatory, and compromising. The revolutionary strategy is defined by

Note Modified from a table titled North–South Relationship in “Lessons from NGO’s around the World: Partnering to Build and Measure Organizational Capacity” Christian Reformed World Relief Committee (1997, p. 57)

Table 14.1 Dynamics in development partnerships

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a struggle for the creation of Indigenous autonomy or independence through disruptive agitation, in some cases including armed struggle, for radical political change. The second strategy he identifies is intentional struggle oriented towards political accommodation with or within the state, primarily without violence. The third encompasses political compromise between states and Indigenous peoples through relatively uncontested political strategies lacking “long-drawn-out struggles” for rights (2018, p. 19). He further notes that over the past decades, as the pace of globalization has dramatically increased, IP struggles have evolved such that the state is no longer the primary actor vis-à-vis Indigenous struggles. There are a plurality of political tactics used by the activists to achieve cultural goals outside the realm of politics of the nation-state model, especially with the trend toward the reduction of the state alongside privatization. The indigenous peoples, now allied with entrepreneurial NGOs, shift their priorities from the advancement of nation-wide indigenous cause to issues such as community and local development. The movements now seem to be spun around self-governing community to meet the challenges of globalization. (p. 23)

This highlights a second set of tensions to be found in the “friction” (Tsing, 2005) between local/Indigenous, national/regional, and international/Western actors, norms, and programming, which has led to contested conceptualizations of the local turn and hybridity in international peacebuilding and development. An important dynamic exists between formal peace and justice interventions and the informal or “everyday” agency of people in relation to resistance, peacebuilding, and development (Kent et al., 2018; Leonardsson & Rudd, 2015). A similar tension was identified by Corntassel, prompting his articulation of everyday resurgence. Furthermore, this framing does not conflate international/foreign structures with the formal, and the local and Indigenous with the informal, as formal mechanisms are present in the local, and informal connections transverse the global and foreign. Rather, this matrix of tensions is related to the ways in which various identities and forms of power are constituted, defined, and deployed unequally across social terrains, and how actors operating within and across social scales mobilize, negotiate, and contest those differentials (Hameiri & Jones, 2018; Kent, 2018). Drawing on his long-term accompaniment alongside

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Lumad communities, Alejo suggests that a more appropriate framework of engagement across local, national, and global lines of advocacy is that of strategic identity. Strategic identity recognizes the agency of Indigenous actors to project multiple forms and faces of indigeneity depending upon the advocacy partners, the audience of action, and the needs of the community at the time (Alejo, 2018). Multi-paradigmatic Accompaniment, Epistemological Pluralism, and JustPeace Ethics Held, as an Indigenous scholar, conceives of a “multi-paradigmatic space” that is “coproduced by western and Indigenous scholars with the aspiration of true and full decolonisation, understood as a mutual endeavour with an unpredictable outcome,” a process of co-liberation (pp. 2, 10). Paul Sillitoe, in exploring the potential challenges and opportunities of collaborations between Indigenous Studies and Engaged Anthropology uses an accompaniment-like motif of “journeying together through collaboration, forging necessary connections, and promoting a positive exchange of ideas, expertise, and criticism” (2015, p. 7). Coproduction, however, implies relationships and cooperation between people/s in contested institutional contexts and community engagements, raising the spectre of practical ethicality in the development of inquiry partnerships and collaboration. Walker’s principals of a pan-Indigenous research paradigm provide the parameters of an accompaniment ethos on the pathway of Indigenous peace and conflict praxis, particularly the importance of relationship (principle 1) and movement (principle 4): 1. Relationship is Key in all Aspects of Research 2. There are More than five Senses that Inform Research 3. Research is Based in Reciprocity 4. Methodologies are characterized by Movement and Flux 5. Spirituality is Integral to Research 6. Relationship with the Natural World Informs Research 7. Meaningful Evaluation of Research is Based in Relationship and Takes Place at Many Levels (Walker 2015). Drawing on these articulations highlights the varied geographies of Indigenous peacebuilding and research ecologies, acknowledging the

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fundamental importance for Indigenous individuals and communities of the interconnections between people, land, ancestral domain, material objects, and their social, cultural, spiritual, and structural contexts. Scholars and practitioners of peace ecology, and related interdisciplinary studies have also mapped out more nuanced theories and approaches that highlight strength-based interconnections between the socio-cultural and the environmental in Indigenous studies, social movements, and peace and conflict studies (Boland, 2013; Kyrou, 2007; Stewart-Harawira, 2012; Williams, Roberts, & McIntosh, 2012). In these “socio-ecological systems” (SES), Miller and a group of scholars from across disciplines have called for a collaborative and pragmatic form of epistemological pluralism, recognizing the unique attributes and contributions of particular disciplines and knowledge systems, while reaching out across their boundaries, particularly in research involving Indigenous communities (2008, pp. 9, 11). Multi-paradigmatic accompaniment is a way to bridge these pluralistic epistemologies and provides an Indigenously articulated theoretical framework for research partnerships. While there is still debate over the compatibility, or commensurability, of Indigenous and non-Indigenous research paradigms, there seems to be a consensus that research revolving around Indigenous themes and including Indigenous communities will involve researchers operating out of a diverse array of epistemological frameworks. While epistemological pluralism offers a way of framing such a reality (Miller et al., 2008), Held (2019) notes that within a diversity of research approaches, “the ethical space is ill-defined” and challenged as “Indigenous pathways to research are, due to their rootedness in the respective indigenous worldview, not readily available to non-Indigenous researchers” (2019, pp. 9, 2). Further, while Lederach grounded his theories of “conflict transformation” and “sustainable reconciliation” in a sociological framework emphasizing relationships, cultures, and social structures (1995, 1997), Sawatsky critiqued this as lacking a time dimension oriented towards both immediate, historic, and intergenerational grievances and injustices (2005). This concern for indigenizing the time frames of decolonization praxis in PACS was framed as requiring a “generations lens,” which Sawatsky integrated into his framework of “JustPeace Ethics” (2009). JustPeace ethics is a “virtue-based ethical approach” (16) visualized as a web of concentric circles that are non-hierarchical and hold the potential for healing and restorative justice. Sawatsky notes that there is a danger in reifying justice and peacemaking processes, Indigenous or otherwise,

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as absolute or universal, while ignoring how specific practices reflect deep narratives that have emerged in a particular culture, time, and place (Fig. 14.1). When virtues become unhooked from these narrative contexts, all sorts of trouble unfolds: foreign virtues and techniques are imposed on peoples, local stories and traditions are co-opted and used for control or are forgotten, voices from particular traditions are silenced in the name of non-discrimination. (p. 17)

In between the context-specific observable actions and their underlying narratives lies a field where unique manifestations of a particular cultural reality may connect with those from an entirely different context. This is the field described variously as ethics or virtues and I suggest this provides guidance for the co-production of Held’s “multi-paradigmatic space” through appreciative accompaniment and storywork.

Empowerment

TransformaƟon

GeneraƟons Lens

Responsibility Fig. 14.1

Just Peace Ethics (Sawatsky, 2009)

Nonviolence

Interconnectedness & ParƟcularity

Humility

Needs Focus

Respect, Care-Response

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Conclusion Accompaniment has come to reflect a concern for decolonization in the academy as increasing justice, prioritizing reciprocity and relationships, making space for multiple voices, promoting holism and spirituality, and enhancing partnership. PACS has emerged and matured based on the experiences of community-based peace and development workers such as John Paul Lederach and their close engagement with Indigenous communities (Lederach, 2003; Nichols, 1994). It promotes a normative orientation towards reducing violence and working towards social justice and positive peace by reducing structural, cultural, and direct violence (Galtung, 1969, 1990). As Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars have collectively asserted, the synergies of peace scholars and those advocating the rights of Indigenous Peoples overlap in significant ways. Issues of overt violence, structural violence, identity maintenance, poverty, gender relations, education, political recognition, economic development, and environmental protection on the paths to sustainability are core concerns both for Indigenous Peoples and peace researchers. (Synott, 2017, p. 10)

PACS, Indigenous, and accompaniment scholars assert that this necessitates working across various boundaries and social polarizations to appreciate, strengthen, and provide spaces where the voices and experiences of marginalized, oppressed, and conflict-affected individuals, groups, and communities can emerge through storywork. In particular, this suggests a ground-up approach where individuals and communities are accompanied and supported as they exercise productive and non-violent conflict and peacebuilding agencies. Indigenous Peoples have in recent decades asserted their right to selfdetermination in a variety of spheres, including the academy. Strength and story-based Indigenous methodologies, which are grounded in relationship, have challenged scholarly discourses and practices which emerged out of unjust colonial systems of oppression, leading to new forms of engagement between communities (Wild et al., 2021). Watkins’ (2019) three “lenses for accompaniment” provide a relational framework that can facilitate productive relationships among actors committed to furthering decolonization: Historical, that is, understanding situations in their historical context; Ameliorative and Transformative, which “point

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to a spiral pathway between individual and community care and transformative efforts to affect the systems that cause unjust sufferings” (p. 201); and Strength-Based Versus Damage and Deficit-Centered Lenses that focus on a “community’s desire” and the “future they hope is possible and the efforts under way to achieve that future” with “vision and hard-won wisdom” (pp. 199–204). Peace and Conflict Studies, as an interdisciplinary and intersectional field of study, benefits from a shared research and learning posture that promotes multi-paradigmatic accompaniment as collaboration across disciplinary perspectives; emerges from and affirms the lived realities of marginalized, oppressed, and decolonizing communities through everyday resurgence; and is anchored by narratives and the storywork of peoplehood and JustPeace ethics. Appreciative accompaniment is an ethos that provides a positionality of intermediarity and pragmatic solidarity for such efforts.

Ways Forward Further research and reflection is needed to elaborate how accompaniment may be incorporated as a core posture in the praxis of peacebuilding, conflict transformation, restorative justice, and other social justice movements and modalities that hold positive peace as an overarching goal. More specifically, this should include further articulations of Indigenous forms of accompaniment at the intersection of peace, development, and social movement praxis. Accompaniment is fundamentally a strength and place-based approach that enlivens the spirit to reduce geographies of vulnerability and increase resilience; build and enact positive peace; and work restoratively towards healing forms of justice. I suggest three currents of PACS where accompaniment can be productively applied, while acknowledging that my description and discussion of these domains does not encompass all the elements, modalities, and applications of appreciative accompaniment. First, drawing on the concepts of the everyday, Watkins’ communitybased accompaniment is framed as a current linking everyday peace and everyday Indigenous resurgence, affirming the ordinary, living accompaniments that occur as Indigenous and other peoples’ resilience and resistance to structural violence. Watkins emphasizes this as both an individual and collective capability that includes communities of accompaniers who band together via intentional networks of hospitality to counteract chronic structures of violence and cultures of injustice and division. These

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movements (implicitly and explicitly) challenge borders enforced violently and exclusively by the modern nation-state, and consequently, provide imaginaries of trans-national and trans-local solidarity, hospitality, and global community. This is accomplished through living presence shared across social, economic, psychological, religious, and cultural boundaries. One arena of exploration along the lines of Watkins’ radical hospitality exposits how IPs have strengthened and adapted hospitality in contemporary contexts as a crucial element of Indigenous cultural resurgence and peacebuilding. My experience and scholarship on Lumad cultures have touched on this, with hospitality identified as a core leadership function, with the house of the datu (chief) serving as locus of Lumad peacemaking (Schlegel, 1970), community organizing (Alejo, 2000), and a sanctuary from violence (Manuel, 1973). This is similar in M¯aori cultures that recognize the whare (meeting space) of the marae (community centre) as the domain of the atua (spirit) of rongo (peace). The manaakitanga (hospitality) of welcoming outsiders into that space occurs as they leave the domain of T¯umatauenga the atua of warfare outside the whare through a ritual protocol where visitors are made noa (no longer restricted) (Devere et al., 2017). Moana Jackson (2021) has elaborated on the relational and restorative aspects of this process as a mutual storytelling endeavour oriented towards reciprocity, justice, and aroha (love) that embodies law as mahi t¯ uhono, the work of bringing people together: the p¯ owhiri [ceremony] to welcome manuhiri [visitors] on to the marae became a tikanga [cultural/customary] story of border crossings between the distance of visitors and the bringing together of known or hoped-for relationships. On the marae the borders were metaphorical, but we knew what they were, and we developed marae kawa [protocol] as a means of ensuring that the relationships within them were just or tika.

A second current where accompaniment can be integrated is that of protective accompaniment , as a form of social action mobilized in situations of armed conflict and direct violence. Protective accompaniment is a collective response to situations of acute, organized violence (or the immediate potential of violence) where local and/or international, unarmed, non-partisan actors inter-pose or proximately position themselves in order to prevent, de-escalate, or otherwise thwart its instigation or escalation. The protective ethos is oriented through local action by

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the accompaniers and the accompanied that is a result of their physical presence and partnership with people who are directly impacted by violence or the threats of violence (Coy, 2012; Hrynkow, 2018). While Indigenous communities have often been local partners of international accompaniers, there is limited research on Indigenous perspectives and formulations of this practice, suggesting the need for further consultation with Indigenous Peoples to inform research in this space. The third domain is decolonization as developmental, institutional, and organizational accompaniment. This geography of accompaniment draws on the appreciative inquiry theorizing and Indigenous storywork (Xiiem et al., 2019) methodologies described earlier and seeks to transform organizational practices, systems, and institutions that perpetuate legacies of violence and injustice, as the CRS and CRWRC experiences illustrate. Indigenous Peoples are continuing to develop and create their own complex organizations to engage with and inform corporate, government, and other community institutions around issues of economic development, education, health, social services, and justice. Institutionalizing decolonization at multiple levels, without bureaucratizing the process and ethos, will require an accompaniment approach grounded in appreciative inquiry and consultation with Indigenous Peoples that draws on the experiences of participatory development innovations in mulitple arenas (Boland, 2013; Hoffman, 2019; Schnyder von Wartensee, 2018). Accompaniment is being used, explicitly and implicitly, across several social science disciplines and has been articulated with a concern for and deference to Indigenous stories emerging from a multiplicity of suffering and marginalized communities. It allows for a trans-disciplinary stance that respects the particularities and knowledge claims of each field. Accessing, journeying along, and inhabiting accompaniment pathways can enhance the partnership between Indigenous and non-Indigenous groups to bridge the individual, collective, contextual, and historic asymmetries and injustices essential for the challenging and transformative work of justice and peace. Appreciative accompaniment and Indigenous storywork open a multiplicity of non-violent and culturally centred pathways of praxis research, and it is these pathways that will allow us to journey and story together towards a fuller experience of co-liberation.

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PART IV

Conclusion

CHAPTER 15

From Decolonisation to Ethical Restoration Kelli Te Maih¯ aroa, Michael Ligaliga, and Heather Devere

In drawing to a close this book, we reflect on the material that has been presented here, on the concept of decolonisation as an appropriate, useful and ethical approach to peace and conflict studies, and the benefits for the discipline of incorporating Indigenous knowledge into the study of peace and conflict. Links between advancing self-determination and peace will be drawn in the search for justice for Indigenous peoples. The suggestion

K. T. Maih¯aroa Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] M. Ligaliga School M¯aori and Pacific Indigenous Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] H. Devere (B) National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4_15

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by Moana Jackson (2021) that we need to move from decolonisation to an ethic of restoration will be used as a model for reviewing the work that has been incorporated in this volume.

Decolonisation as a Concept for Peace and Justice In our introduction we called out the continuation of colonialism in academia in order to acknowledge the ongoing direct, structural, and cultural violence against Indigenous peoples, and the lack of this analysis in the field of peace and conflict studies. We argued that Indigenous knowledge needs to be visible and acknowledged as valuable, so that social justice and equity can be achieved. Indigenous knowledge provides academia with an understanding of ways of being in the world that incorporates care for the environment, the importance of relationships, concepts of justice and conflict resolution that coincide with the idea of positive peace indispensable to peace and conflict studies, that depends on building enduring, robust and respectful relationships, striving for social justice, environmental protection, and non-violent interactions (Standish et al., 2021). The beginning of ‘a strong intellectual trend in social sciences’ was marked by the publication of Lindia Tuhiwai Smith’s Decolonzing Methodologies (1999). As has been noted by many researchers, including Cyganik (2017, p. 145): Under the loose term of indigenous research paradigm, indigenous scholars predominantly from Americas and New Zealand, have grown more determined about the need for rewriting indigenous histories, reviving indigenous epistemological traditions, changing power relations in research contexts concerning indigenous issues, focusing on applied research leading to improvement and empowerment of indigenous communities, and recognizing and utilizing indigenous knowledge and the accompanying ways of knowing.

However, as Moana Jackson (2021) points out, there are now attempts by the colonisers to ‘control the meaning of decolonisation’ by requiring Indigenous peoples to ‘continue to speak the truth of their own power to the stories which the colonising states continue to tell’ (p. 135).

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Today there are new stories. Colonisation is a process of dispossession and control rather than a historical artifact, and now it takes on new forms. These forms may be less obviously violent, but they still deny Indigenous peoples the right to be fully free in their own lands (Jackson, 2021, p. 134).

We recognise the inadequacies of a decolonising framework to overturn the immensity of colonialism and continued colonisation. However, we offer this volume as a chance to gather work already completed that aims to challenge and enlighten the discipline of Peace and Conflict studies by focussing on the process of decolonisation through Indigenous advancement and self-determination. In this conclusion we summarise the chapters on Indigenous research as they stand, to give readers an outline of the many diverse perspectives presented here. We conclude following Moana Jackson’s analysis of an ethic of restoration as a fruitful method to advance Indigenous voices that assist in the formation of academic endeavours to advance the search for peace.

Indigenous Peoples Speaking the Truth of Their Own Power Authors have contributed chapters reflecting the truth for many Indigenous Peoples and describing how Indigenous research can contribute in multiple ways to the discipline of Peace and Conflict Studies. Assisting in the process of decolonising academia are these new stories that reveal knowledge about the possibilities of empowerment for Indigenous Peoples without the need for violence. Spaces and places are created for p¯urakau, narratives, mo’olo, saysay, storying, proverbs, oral histories, moukableh, interviewing as chats, liming, ole talk, listening, sharing, recording, consulting, collaborating, accompanying where Indigenous Peoples can speak their truth. The hopes expressed are for love, harmony, peace, agency, sovereignty, justice, transformation, recognition, equality, freedom, autonomy, balance, healing, authenticity, a sense of belonging, identity. In the first part of the book, Indigenous voices cast light on ways of thinking about, doing, and analysing research. How Indigenous knowledge and worldviews can then be imparted as a contribution to decolonisation through education is covered in the second part of the book dealing with peace education. The third part provides examples of

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Indigenous processes of peacemaking and peacebuilding. Revealed are voices, perspectives, knowledge, skills, and experience that are missing from the study of peace and conflict. These voices record a moment in time, when there is a growing awareness of these missing views, and the chapters here are just a very tiny glimpse into the Indigenous world. But what is clearly demonstrated is that there is immense value for all people globally if these voices are listened to. Indigenous Epistemologies, Methodologies and Method In this section, the frameworks within which research takes place, and the ways in which the research is conducted are presented. These include coloniality as an analytical tool, critical theory, kaupapa M¯aori, Indigenous worldviews, eco-relationality, constructivist grounded theory, insider and etmic research, collaborative research, liming and ole talk. All authors give recommendations for ways to help decolonise academia and to fill some of the gaps in Peace and Conflict studies. Chapters are from M¯aori, Moriori, Nigerian, Cherokee, Palestinian, and Trinbagodian Indigenous writers, with the contribution of one non-Indigenous P¯ak¯eha New Zealander. Coloniality and Critical Theory for Research in the Niger-Delta Region of Nigeria Ferdinand O. Ottoh at the University of Lagos considers the case of the Igbo-speaking group of the Niger-Delta region of Nigeria as an illustration of how an understanding of traditional knowledge systems might address the failure of Western attempts to resolve conflicts in the African region. His chapter points to academic colonialism and Western dominance in peace and conflict studies (PACS) research. The analytical tool of coloniality, he claims, helps to explain the long-standing unequal distribution of power, and offers a way to understand ‘the challenges of the Indigenous approach to peace and conflict research in Africa’. Some scholars have argued that Western knowledge disempowers the colonised people as ‘endogenous’ and that Indigenous knowledge has been relegated to the background’. However, Otto presents critical theory as useful for questioning ‘forms of domination that inhibit human freedom, social justice and equality’, and social constructivist theory that can deal with the issues of structure, agency, identity, and norms. Ottoh argues that traditional peacebuilding in Africa takes into consideration ‘the local potential for conflict transformation, which emphasises

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restorative justice, social harmony, healing and reconciliation’. He highlights the traditional healing and reconciliatory practices used to reintegrate former combatants, including child soldiers, in Mozambique and Sierra Leone; Gacaca, the traditional justice and reconciliation system used after the 1994 genocide in Rwanda; the Ubuntu principle in peacebuilding practised in many African countries that recognises humanity and promotes ‘generosity, hospitality, friendliness, caring and compassion’. The principles of Ubuntu have guided the peacebuilding in Igbospeaking communities, known as the Anioma people, that emphasises collective personhood, group support, solidarity, cooperation and love’. Proverbs, rooted in African philosophy, and the words of the elders, are used to convey messages of peace. There is a high value placed on communal life and maintaining positive relations in Igbo society. Councils of Elders, as trustees of customary practices, are an important part of the peacebuilding process. This starts with fact finding from the parties in the conflict who are expected to demonstrate genuine remorse or show interest in reconciliation, be prepared to ask for forgiveness and to show mercy. The act of paying some sort of compensation is part of the process of restorative justice and restoring social harmony. Breaches of oaths are seen to carry the risk of negative supernatural consequences. Exchange of visits between the parties signal ‘the end of the conflict and confidence building’. There is a specific and important role for Umuada, a group of married women in peacebuilding. The voices of women are heard and listened to, as defying women’s intervention in the peace process might result in the laying on of a curse. The recommendation from Ottoh is that research attention needs to be paid to both Indigenous and Western approaches to conflict resolution, conflict prevention, and the sustainability of peace to address the failure of Euro-North American dominance in knowledge production for peace and conflict studies that ‘has not resulted in building sustainable peace’. Indigenous Worldviews and Eco-Relationality for Cherokee and Indigenous Australians As a descendant of the Cherokee people, Polly Walker from Juniata College in Pennsylvania in the United States continues her ongoing work of analysing the marginalisation of Indigenous Worldviews within Peace and Conflict Studies. In her chapter, she reinforces Ottoh’s view that attention needs to be paid to the PACS discipline and argues that re-centering ‘Indigenous peoples and their worldviews within the field’

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can help to address ‘the violence of settler colonialism’. Walker draws primarily ‘on the work of Indigenous scholars in Turtle Island in North America and in Australia’.1 She acknowledges that ‘there is no single or essential Indigenous ontology or cosmology’ but there are ‘similar sets of beliefs and principles that have been passed down through and articulated by Indigenous leaders and scholars’ that she claims are ‘highly relevant to the development of international and local diplomacies today’. Walker describes many Indigenous worldviews as being ‘place-based and grounded in eco-relationality’. For Cherokee and Indigenous Australians, the land and the living natural world have agency, and are essential for sustaining and supporting the Indigenous communities. Walker quotes Australian Potawatomi Robin Kimmerer (2020) explaining that in Indigenous worldviews: … land is identity, sustainer, connection to ancestors and descendants, a library generating and sharing knowledge, healer, inspirited community and our home, and to which humans have a responsibility to engage with the land as sacred and plants as our oldest teachers and relatives.

For many Indigenous people, peace involves moving towards a balance that is in harmony with the cosmos. In the Cherokee language the word for peace is based on the root word t¯ ohi that signifies ‘the proper or normal state of the world’. The real and ongoing relationship between humans and the land, often depicted as the Mother, has been identified by Indigenous scholars as ‘most challenging for Western paradigm scholars’ to acknowledge and engage with. Walker presents her experiences of Indigenous peacemaking ceremony of the Yolngu people in East Arnhem Land on the north coast of Australia and a project that hopes to advance cross-cultural conflict resolution in Australia. The Mawul Rom ceremony ‘is designed to effect reconciliation and conflict transformation through eco-relationality’ and to move towards balance and harmony. Walker argues that programmes such as the Mawul Rom project can help towards decolonizing PACS by recentering Indigenous paradigm research, pedagogy, and practice, and requires ‘building collaborations of integrity’ and ‘engaging Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in ethical and respectful ways of approach an 1 Asme Wood’s chapter in this volume also includes the perspectives of the Indigenous peoples of Australia.

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issue through “two-way seeing”’ that engages ‘Indigenous and Western ways of knowing’. Indigenous Epistemology and Kaupapa M¯ aori for Exploring Peace Traditions of Waitaha of Aotearoa The importance of the relationship to the land is very evident too in the chapter by Kelli Te Maih¯aroa from Aotearoa New Zealand who holds the role of Kaihaut¯ u: Te K¯ahui Whet¯u/Capable M¯aori at the ¯ Otago Polytechnic in Otep¯ oti Dunedin. Te Maih¯aroa’s ancestry is not just Indigenous M¯aori, but she is also a direct descendent of a paramount M¯aori chief of the Waitaha iwi (tribe) who was the leader of peaceful passive resistance against the British military in the nineteenth Century. Colonisation of Aotearoa New Zealand by British settlers included the occupation of M¯aori land, and the Waitaha people were evicted from their own land by the Crown and ‘rendered landless natives in our own country’. The Waitaha iwi remains landless. Te Maih¯aroa’s doctoral research used Indigenous epistemology and kaupapa M¯aori research working with her own community to explore their understandings of the peace traditions of Waitaha. Although in Aotearoa ‘M¯aori academics and allies have been vocal across the disciplines to advance M¯aori and Indigenous epistemologies, philosophies, theories and methods’ within the field of Peace and Conflict Studies, Te Maih¯aroa claims, the space has been ‘largely void’. She calls on ‘those of us who work in this predominately Eurocentric academic field to maintain the ancestral dreams of a prosperous future for our people, taking lessons from the past, and drawing on the best of this bicultural and multicultural world to ensure that our people flourish and prosper’. Te Maih¯aroa connects M¯aori metaphysical views to Indigenous epistemology that focuses on ‘the symbiotic relationship’ between wairua spirit , moana the ocean, whenua the land, takata humans and ‘all creatures of this world’. M¯aori reverence for Papat¯ua¯nuku Mother Earth, ‘a living breathing organism’ includes the belief that the resources she yields to human beings should be treated with love, respect, and responsibility. Employing kaupapa M¯aori, an approach that includes theory, methodology, method, framework, and praxis, building on the academic work of Linda and Graeme Smith, Te Maih¯aroa repositions and reclaims M¯aori values as the centre of her research, in order to indigenise ways of doing, being and knowing, for M¯aori, by M¯aori, and in M¯aori. Kaupapa M¯aori research values include aroha respecting people; kanohi kitea presenting

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yourself face to face; titiro, whakarongo, korero looking, listening and then speaking; manaaki ki te tangata sharing , hosting and being generous; kia t¯upato being cautious; kaua e takahia te mana not trampling over the mana of people; kaua e m¯ahaki not flaunting one’s knowledge (Tuhiwai Smith et al., 1999). Incorporating these values, Te Maih¯aroa aims to decolonise historical accounts, using documentary records, p¯ urakau oral histories from kaum¯atua elders , and journals from participants in the reenactment of Te heke a peace walk, as well as working collaboratively with two other peace traditions of Aotearoa—Parihaka and Moriori.2 In undertaking authentic Indigenous research using kaupapa M¯aori methodology on peace traditions based in Aotearoa New Zealand Te Maih¯aroa provides a ‘culturally responsive approach within peace and conflict studies’. In addition to this a taonga treasure for the wh¯anau and iwi and their descendants has been created; the presentation of stories and images has been controlled by the people to whom these belong; Indigenous leaders in peace and conflict studies have been drawn together; a pathway has been laid for others to join; and a contribution has been made towards transformational change, social justice, equity, and peace. Insider Research with Palestinian Activists Using Constructive Grounded Theory As an Indigenous Palestinian researcher in Israel, Nijmeh Ali, a research affiliate with the University of Otago, considers her role in the process of knowledge production, especially ‘in the ongoing reality of conflict’. Fieldwork conducted by Ali in Israel required her to be very careful because of the close monitoring and scrutiny of people by the Israeli forces. She spoke of her work only as ‘peace studies’, not mentioning the conflict aspect. Ali sees indigineity as bringing ‘the values of justice to the journey of researching the truth’, decolonising knowledge, and exposing hidden power structures. Being an ‘insider researcher’ provided an ‘eye-opening and mindbroadening experience’.3 Insider or local researchers have the advantage of enhancing the ‘ability to identify marginalized, subjugated and silenced views in oppressive contexts’. As Ali demonstrates, having a general

2 The chapter by Te Maih¯ aroa et al. discusses further peaceful resistance to colonisation by other Indigenous communities in Aotearoa New Zealand. 3 Insider research is also discussed by Te Maih¯ aroa et al. in this volume.

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knowledge of the local language is not enough. She shows how access to ‘in-depth information and power structures’ contributes to constructing genuine knowledge. The ability to identify risky situations was also important for keeping both herself and her interviewees safe. Conducting moukableh or interviews with Palestinian activists might place the participants in danger, especially as the Israeli authorities had begun mass arrests of activists of one particular political party while Ali was conducting her fieldwork, and some participants had to withdrew from the research. Familiarity with the context supported Ali’s decision to adopt constructivist grounded theory for her thesis where researchers ‘become part of the research rather than remain purely objective observers’. This does require a sensitive balancing act and the researchers need to be aware of their ethical obligations to the participants, the community, and the ideals of truth and justice. Ali argues that constructivist grounded theory is ‘the most appropriate methodology for indigenising research’ and can help to challenge the ‘crucial gaps’ in the field of peace and conflict studies. Contesting and Maintaining Relationships Through Liming and Ole Talk of Trinidad and Tobago Camille Nakhid from AUT University has developed a research method that builds on traditional informal sites of communication in her home country of Trinidad and Tobago. Liming is an activity for relaxation where there is a spontaneous gathering of people to talk and share food and drink. Ole talk is also a flexible, unstructured conversation absent of hierarchical structures. Nakhid refers to the ‘cultural tapestry’ that formed this two-island nation, where these forms of interaction are able to ‘transcend gender, class, social, ethnic, religious and regional boundaries’. Rather than idle conversation, these forms of communication serve to allow people to talk openly in a relaxed setting about the contentious issues of relationships, that in turn provides possibilities for maintaining relationships by airing views, easing tensions, and coping with adversity. Nakhid reports on the use of liming and ole talk both in the Caribbean and within the Caribbean diaspora. Participating in a Brooklyn lime in New York, a New Jersey lime, and a River lime in Arima, Trinidad, and Tobago, Nakhid describes these in some detail and analyses the processes and characteristics of liming. Liming that originated in Trinidad and Tobago ‘has made its way around the Caribbean region’, has been adapted to the specific cultural mores and languages, such as Spanish,

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French and Dutch, of each of the Caribbean islands, and is a way of maintaining the Caribbean culture when away from home. Just as liming and ole talk provide spaces for negotiation and sharing knowledge, Nakhid’s research allows for conversations that are natural for the participants who can feel at ease, and provide information about living with diversity, resolving conflict, and restoring relationships. As she concludes ‘This cultural practice remains to remind us that our world, as problematic as it may seem at times, also provides us with the solutions we need and that are present in our own community and society’. Collaborative ‘Etmic’ Research Sharing Knowledge of Indigenous Peace Traditions in Aotearoa New Zealand The knowledge and experience of three explicitly peaceful Indigenous communities in Aotearoa New Zealand have been brought together by four colleagues. Their research has been reported elsewhere, but this chapter describes how this collaborative project came about. Three of the researchers are Indigenous members of communities that have maintained peaceful living and teach about non-violent resistance in the face of oppression and attacks. Kelli Te Maih¯aroa’s iwi tribe of Waitaha is an ancient people who have no weapons of war. Maui Solomon descends from the Moriori people who abandoned warfare and killing also in ancient times. Maata Wharehoka belongs to the Parihaka community that was established as a peaceful pan-tribal village in the nineteenth Century. The fourth researcher Heather Devere lecturing in peace and conflict studies has been teaching about New Zealand’s current peaceful global stand, and helped to coordinate the work of her Indigenous colleagues. As a research project this was an evolving process of collaboration that drew on the work of another Indigenous scholar, Professor Jim Williams, whose model for Indigenous research recommended the combination of etic and emic to form a third domain for the study of traditional Indigenous topics in Aotearoa New Zealand. Adopting an ‘etmic’ lens combined the insider/emic M¯aori and Moriori knowledge with an outsider/etic perspective for presentation to national and international academic audiences. Emerging out of already developed bicultural relationships and interconnected through a shared focus on peace education in a university peace centre, all researchers were involved throughout the project, ‘from conceptualization, to writing and editing, through to the dissemination of the final pieces of work’.

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Each of the three peace communities is regenerating and renewing the knowledge, customs, understandings, and peaceful interactions as models for Aotearoa and other nations. The authors believe that ‘the peaceful traditions of all three traditions return back to the philosophy, teachings, visions and cosmology of Indigenous peoples in Aotearoa and share commonalities with other Indigenous peoples everywhere’. Peace Education and Indigenous Research Peace education is concerned not just with the content taught, but also with the methods of teaching, the way in which students learn, and the culture of the institutions within which the teaching and learning take place. As Indigenous knowledge and learning has traditionally taken place outside of Western institutions, melding peace education and Indigenous perspectives opens up sites for contestation and negotiation, reassessing values on which Western education is based and allowing openings for transformative opportunities, towards the building of societies where positive peace can be experienced. In this section of the book there are three chapters covering aspects of peace education in a school setting in Hawai’I, as a peacebuilding process in Mexico, and the work of international and local doctoral students in a University peace centre in Aotearoa New Zealand. Hawai’ian Teaching and Learning Framework of N¯ a Hopena a’o ¯ (HA) An educator, and now PhD candidate at the University of Otago, Kalika Kastein was teaching in an elementary school in Hawai’I when the N¯a ¯ framework was piloted before it was adopted in the Hopena A’o (HA) public school system in Hawai’I in 2015. In writing this chapter as a nonIndigenous haole researcher from the United States, Kastein consulted with the Office of Hawai’ian education and was advised to use her own voice and to tell her own story or mo’olelo. In the reframed version ¯ based of the chapter, Kastein reflects on her engagement with HA, on the six outcomes of Belonging, Responsibility, Excellence, Aloha, Total well-being, and Hawai’I. The acronym BREATH forms the trans¯ that alludes also to connectedness through shared lated abbreviation HA breath. ¯ approach to education that states that ‘to know others, we The HA first must be able to know ourselves’ as a first step to be more successful

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in relationships and strengthen the sense of belonging. Kastein suggests that ‘it is through understanding ourselves, our history, and place within the community that we can more compassionately approach others’. The responsibility of her work as a teacher to subvert power structures in assessing and evaluating students is analysed, and in assessing her attempts to strengthening the sense of excellence Kastein reflects on creativity, initiating ideas and using imagination, and collaborative decision-making with the students. Aloha that embodies concepts such as mercy, compassion, and love can be shown in small acts of kindness as well as allowing for a love of learning. The work in the garden at the school became a metaphor but also a practical exercise in increasing well-being, and physical connections to Indigenous petroglyphs near the school enabled a strengthening sense of Hawai’i. Kastein believes that ‘it is through holistic commu¯ that we uncover within our own communities nity approaches like HA, strengths with which we begin to reimagine our systems and institutions beyond coloniality in a way that exemplifies a beloved community’ such as that envisaged by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr and social activists such as bell hooks. The Zapatista Educational Project for Peace in Mexico Lucía Elena Rodríguez McKeon reports on another Indigenous peace education project in Mexico, as part of her work at the Universidad Pedagógica National. Following violent insurrection in the 1990s, the Zapatista Indigenous Peoples’ movement now has a peacebuilding goal that aims to transform the violent structures of society that have prevented the Indigenous population of Mexico from achieving justice, exercising autonomy, and living in ‘dignified’ conditions. ‘Based on a decolonial perspective’ the Zapatista project proposes ‘new educational content and pedagogical methodologies’ aimed at ‘constructing true peace’. The Zapitista approach is critical of authoritarian, hierarchical, neo-liberal models, and proposes challenging the ‘naturalisation of territorial, racial, cultural and epistemic hierarchies’ that reproduce dominating relationships. This project requires both an acknowledgement of cultural and political rights as well as resources for development in health, education, and local community meeting places, developed from grassroots initiatives and with local participation. According to Rodríguez McKeon, ‘when spaces of freedom and creation with respect to the image of oneself are opened, other forms of belonging are made possible’. Moving beyond the margins of an ontology of otherness, for Indigenous people as well as

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those classed as mestizaje or mixed race, is part of the task of education for peacebuilding. An alternative pedagogical discourse allows participants to build themselves ‘as individual and collective subjects… within the everyday school experience’. Acknowledgement and dignification of native cultures are placed at the centre of the educational process, cultural practices take prominence in classrooms, and teaching is conducted in the languages of Tseltal, Tsotzil, Chol, Tojolabal, and Myan to keep their cultures alive, and to collectively tell their own stories. An Educational Space for Peace for Indigenous Research in Aotearoa New Zealand While the M¯aori title gifted to the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies (NCPACS) at the University of Otago envisages a space for learning about peace, Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa, Indigenous peace knowledge has been brought to the discipline primarily by the students themselves. In this chapter three colleagues connected to NCPACS acknowledge the work of these doctoral students, hoping to make a substantial contribution to the decolonising of the PACS discipline. The three colleagues are also the editors of this volume, a project that developed from this original recording of Indigenous work in PACS. The chapter describes how NCPACS promoted an aspiration to be a bicultural centre at the University of Otago/Ot¯epoti. Located in the far south of Aotearoa, the University has an agreement with the iwi of the region, Ng¯ai Tahu/K¯ai Tahu, and NCPACS has an agreement with the University to support the Indigenous peace traditions of Aotearoa. However, while it evolved to follow a Western model of PACS, many Indigenous researchers were attracted to the Centre, and have produced research and analyses that contribute to the decolonisation of the discipline. There are fifteen research projects described in brief from doctoral studies, among who are eleven Indigenous researchers from Aotearoa and the Pacific, Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. All their research contains to a greater or less extent elements of Western methodologies and epistemologies. Indigenous research methodologies are employed, the most prominent of which is kaupapa M¯aori, but also including Talanoa, Fafaaletui, and Veivoski-Yago from Samoa and Fiji, Poka Laenui from Hawai’i, African story-telling, and saysay and kasaysayan from the Philippines. Indigenous resistance, peacebuilding processes are described in

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Palestine/Israel, the Marianas Archipelago, Kenya, Mindanao, Myanmar, Aotearoa, Indonesia and Afghanistan. Despite the many challenges faced by the students, that include sometimes the physical danger of working in conflict areas, they have added rich knowledge that the authors claim will help ‘pave the way towards decolonising the discipline’. Indigenous Perspectives on Peace Development and Peace Processes Within the Western academy, Peace and Conflict Studies has built on the field of development studies in attempts to understand the mechanisms of conflicts, and the global patterns of armed conflict and violence, and why conflicts do not finish even when peace has been declared. Different disciplines are drawn on such as economics, history, sociology, anthropology, political science. A new trend in peace and development studies is to make sure that the local perspective is included, and for this, Indigenous perspectives are now sought. The same trend is evident in peace processes, conflict resolution, restorative justice, and treaty making, where Indigenous knowledge is coming forward, and starting to be recognised globally. Four chapters in this section engage with peace development and peace processes related to the Indigenous peoples of West Papua, Samoa, Australia, and the Philippines. West Papuan Indigenous Peace Concepts Cahyo Pamungkas at the Indonesian Institute of Science firstly reviews the way in which a concept of peace was constructed by the Indonesian government to control and govern West Papua/Papuan land, in a political relationship that Pamungkas describes as ‘a form of internal colonialism, characterised by political violence, racism, marginalisation, migrant settlers, and exploitation of natural resources’. On the other hand, Papuans have named their land ‘Papua the Land of Peace’ where peace would bring development for prosperity in their land rich in resources, where they would have autonomy and where they could be free from ‘separatist stigmas, intimidation … and discrimination’. Indigenous Papuans, who share multiple tribal membership, religions and languages, have ‘cultural mechanisms for creating peace and bringing about reconciliation’. Local wisdom is passed on through conflict resolution processes such as Para-para Adat and Tikar Adat , that encompass the places for resolving conflict and holding of customary traditional events, family mediations, territorial disputes, or disputes over resources

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as well as ceremonies for negotiating political interests. Other processes, such as Bayar Kepala and Bakar Batu deal with war and violence where compensation and feasting are designed to bring warring parties together. Their plight remains serious as Papuans are being subjected to actions of genocide, human rights abuses, there is environmental destruction and degradation of their land, as well as ‘political violence such as extrajudicial murder, actions of silencing expression, and torture’. While there are violent responses by some Papuans, as with other Indigenous peoples, West Papuan culture is viewed ‘as a totality, as a balance between material and spiritual realms, employing dialogue and negotiation’. There have been constant and ongoing offers for dialogue and conflict resolution from movements such as the Peace Papua Network, but Papuans remain at risk, largely outside of the gaze of the rest of the world. Samoan Indigenous Conflict Resolution Processes Michael Ligaliga from the University of Otago’s School of M¯aori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies addresses issues of colonisation of the Pacific region and the indoctrination of the Indigenous peoples of the Pacific with Western worldviews. He presents an example of Indigenous conflict resolution from Samoa that he believes will help to overcome ‘cultural blindness’ and enrich peace and conflict studies. Important for this is understanding protocols, customs, and values. In Samoan philosophical thought peace is seen as a ‘lifelong quest’ and a search for harmony. In Samoan culture, peace can be found when someone is in harmony with the cosmos, environment, other people, and themselves. ‘Peace is the highest level of spirituality that one can be in and because one has attained peace, that spirit radiates to others who are in search of peace’. Samoan language is complex, using symbolism and metaphors that link people to each other, the land as eleele, palapala, fatu and fanua, the earth, mud, rocks or seeds, and land, which also represent blood, heart, and placenta. Harmony between humans, as well as between humans and god/s, relies on concepts such as va tupuia (sacred space), and fegaigai (covenants). Harmony with self relies on self-mastery as well as interconnections. Conflict resolution processes are dependent on relationships that value and respect the elders, and the chiefly or matai system, the place of the self and the boundaries and sacred spaces. Resolution involves a traditional ceremony of ifoga when the offending party pleads for pardon from the offended party. Entire villages and families participate in these rituals,

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where offenders are shamed and gifts such as fine mats, money, and food are offered, and oratory forms a vital part of the healing process. This is very formal, sensitive, and takes time, sometimes days. When a matai declares there has been sufficient recompense, thanks is given and sometimes gifts returned as a token of acknowledgement that the matter has been resolved. As a Samoan and a conflict resolution and mediator practitioner, as well as an academic, Ligaliga uses a Samoan proverb e folole alarmea le alomea—the harm caused by the crown of the thorn starfish can be healed by that same ‘Crown of Thorns’. Solutions to issues affecting the community are to be found within that same community. Treaty-Making for Indigenous Peoples in Australia In his chapter that looks at the very slow process of legal recognition of the Indigenous peoples in Australia under Anglo-Australian law, Asme Wood, Professor of Law at the Australian University, consider Makarrata or treaty making as a way of seeking just peace for his people. Wood argues that a treaty between the Indigenous Peoples and ‘settlers’ to Australia could end the conflict between them, if there is the ‘explicit incorporation of two fundamental legal norms (a) the peoplehood of Indigenous Peoples … and (b) the right to internal self-determination’. He draws on experiences of treaty making in three similarly colonised countries, Canada, Aotearoa New Zealand and the United States of America that are known collectively as CANZUS. The proposal for Australia would require ‘positive protective provisions and the inclusion of an independent international law-based framework and umpires, rather than relying on the good will of the Australian state alone’. The standards would be based on ‘Aboriginal traditions and international mores, rather than depend solely on British conventions’. Wood is very aware that in Australia there would likely be ‘a significant minority within the mainstream’ who would ‘oppose the treaty quite vigorously’. Australian history demonstrates that colonialists ‘tried to eliminate Indigenous Peoples in a variety of ways; to expunge them from their lands, kill them, remove or relocate them, isolate them, assimilate them, and unfairly incarcerate them with no trial period, legal assistance or broadly equitable process’. The Australian Constitution continues to entrench ‘notions of Aboriginal inequality and sub-humanity’. A treaty with the Aboriginal People of Australia was ‘promised’ by Mr. Bob Hawke, the Prime Minister in 1988, and there have been ‘treaty-like’

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settlements, such as the South West Native Title Settlement in Western Australia, and the treaty process with Aboriginal Victorians, but there have been low levels of ‘buy-in’ by the Indigenous Peoples. Some form of truth telling would need to proceed the treaty making, and the conflicts between the coloniser and colonised acknowledged in law. There could be symbolic acknowledgement of past atrocities, a legal framework for reparation, a return of some Indigenous lands, and a change in native title laws. The Yolnu word Makarrata means a peace agreement, often negotiated after a dispute, and has pan-Aboriginal recognition, however, the Australian Government prefers to use the word ‘treaty’ as ‘probably the word with the widest currency’ and internationally recognised. In searching for peace, Wood draws on metaphors from the First Nations Peoples of the Land of the Great Turtle (now known as Mexico, the USA and Canada)4 that sees peace as ‘as precious as the thin ice that forms in high mountain springs’, fragile and easily broken, but supported with strength and gentleness. While this kind of peace that Indigenous Peoples aspire to is the dream, ‘in the foreseeable future … a materialistic, economic model of a just peace with self-determination will have to suffice’. Wood believes that without the acknowledgement through a truth-telling treaty making process ‘a binding and enduring peace is unlikely to emerge’. Accompanying Indigenous Peacemakers in Philippines In the Philippines, groups of Lumad Indigenous peoples and ‘accompanying non-Lumad Filipinos on the island of Mindanao’ are working towards ‘culturally safe, appropriate and resonant peacebuilding practices’. Jeremy Simons who has just completed his PhD studies at the University of Otago describes his journey of accompaniment and research partnership as a non-Indigenous researcher. Accompaniment ‘is a concept with roots in Latin American and Filipino liberation and decolonisation movements’. As well as being a form of ‘pragmatic solidarity’, Simons used accompaniment as part of the methodological stance for his research process. He suggests that ‘appreciative accompaniment and story-work’ are ‘crucial elements at the nexus of Indigenous studies and research and the decolonising/justice-seeking praxis of Peace and Conflict Studies’.

4 See also chapter by Walker.

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Mininao’s Indigenous peoples experienced foreign colonisation under the Spanish between 1521 and 1896 and the Americans between 1902 and 1946. After independence the Filipino government ‘facilitated a series of dramatic internal migration, settlement, “development” and integration schemes targeting Lumad and Muslim Bangsamoro ancestral domains’ enforced through state-backed violence. According to Simons, the accompaniment has particular currency among faith-based solidarity and service programmes, and is therefore attuned to spirituality and ‘potentially more amenable to holistic Indigenous theorisations’. Sometimes accompaniment is ‘simply an attempt to witness and accompany the movement … for cultural regeneration’. Lumad peace activist Dau Vic Saway articulates a framework of tribal ‘kinship laws’: mutual recognition and respect, mutual sharing of information, mutual cooperation, mutual protection of life, and mutual sharing of resources, assistance and help. Peacebuilding for Lumad communities involves traditional husay (conciliation practices) and what Watkins refers to as radical hospitality, that Simons compares to M¯aori manaakitanga (hospitality).

From Decolonisation to Ethical Restoration Moana Jackson (2021, p. 149) argues that ‘decolonisation’ may not be the most appropriate word because ‘like colonisation, it came from somewhere else’. He suggests that it could be replaced with ‘the ethic of restoration’. Restoration (like colonisation) is also a process, not an event, and it will require a change of mind and heart as much as a change of structure. There will of course be difficulties: such transformations must confront the implacability of a power unjustly taken. It will require courageous wisdom to change, and some will say it is impossible and unrealistic. (Jackson, 2021, pp. 149–150)

This ethic of restoration reflects what has been called the ‘politics of love’ that is: … a values-based politics, which affirms the importance of people and extends beyond us to non-human animals and the environment … it holds

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that all people are important – and as such it incorporates a commitment to radical equality. (McKibbin, 2019, p. ix)

Jackson (2021, p. 152) provides a list of values that are both particular to M¯aori and the land of Aotearoa, and also that may be seen ‘as interrelated parts’ of an ethic of restoration. These include the value of place, tikanga, community, belonging, and conciliation. The ethic of restoration ‘offers the chance, or challenge, to clutch truth and justice for “future flowerings”. It is concerned with the balance of relationships rather than a will to limit what they might be’ (Jackson, 2021, p. 154). While Jackson’s values for ethical restoration are developed as the next step in a process to imagine decolonisation in Aotearoa, these values resonate throughout the Indigenous communities that are showcased in this volume, and in the assessment of what makes for a peaceful society. 1. The value of place—to ensure the protection of Papat¯u¯anuku (mother earth/the land) and the need to promote healthy, flourishing, and nourishing relationships with her. In each of the chapters, place and land are referred to as of overwhelming importance, intrinsically connected to the people. Land is the giver of life, as she provides the opportunity to nuture life through the sustenance of food, shelter and protection, and autonomy. We read how M¯aori, Moriori, Samoans Indigenous Australians, West Papuans, and Cherokee refer to land not only as a resource and a place to be but also as an ‘identity’, a ‘living organism’, a ‘Mother’, a ‘land of peace’, ‘the blood, heart and placenta’. It connects to the ancestors, to the cosmos and to the sacred. She is precious and needs to be respected, protected, and honoured as an essential element for people and all creatures to live in harmony with the land. 2. The value of tikanga—core ideals that describe the ‘ought to be’ of living in a land, and the particular place of the Indigenous peoples within those core ideals. The ways of being in the land, are expressed in terms that signify connection: via breath and spirit ¯ wairua (Hawaii, Aotearoa); through genuine love and care HA/ aroha/aloha/ (Hawaii, Aotearoa, Nigeria) through a holistic spirituality (Lumad, Aotearoa, Samoa); by embracing, diverse cultural morés and languages (Caribbean, Mexico, Palestine), respecting protocols, customs and values (Samoa, Nigeria), balance (Cherokee, Indigenous Australians).

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3. The value of community—the need to develop, maintain and sustain quality, life giving and enhancing relationships between all peoples. The value of community rather than the individual is evident throughout these chapters and that the world can no longer support individualistic consumerism. Reference is made to solidarity, collective personhood, cooperation, and resilience. Positive community relationships depend on human kinship, kanohi ki kanohi / meeting face to face; ensuring that guests are welcomed and hosted through aroha/manaakitanga (M¯aori, Moriori, Samoan, Hawai’i), radical hospitality (Lumad); the need for having ‘dignified’ living conditions, education, good health to maintain the community (Mexico) and the need in a community to show respect/mana (M¯aori) and to maintain va tupuia or sacred space (Samoa). 4. The value of belonging —the value of inclusion as a way to create and maintain harmony in all relationships, includes the exercise of personal, collective, and constitutional authority. Mentioned in the chapters are the special roles in maintaining relationships and harmony in the community that are the responsibility of the kaum¯atua/ elders (Igbo-speaking communities in Nigeria, Aotearoa, Indigenous Australians); for chiefs/matai (Aotearoa, Samoa); for married women (Igbo). In other Indigenous cultures the emphasis is on lack of hierarchy (Trinidad and Tobago, Mexico). Protection by the law must be sanctioned as a way to safeguard cultural and political rights to ensure stability and justice (Mexico, Australia). 5. The value of conciliation—the need to guarantee a conciliatory and consensual democracy. There are many references to conflict transformation as necessary for decolonisation (Te Maih¯aroa, Ottoh, Nakhid). Asking for forgiveness, showing mercy, paying compensation, showing shame, exchanging visits, collaborations of integrity, and eco-relationality are part of the peace processes for reconciliation. Local wisdom is passed on through ceremonies and customary events of conflict resolution known as Para-para Adat, Tikar Adat in West Papua. Lumad communities in the Philippines practice husay for conciliation. Ubuntu is the principle that guides peacebuilding processes in many African countries. Fegaigai/covenants frame the basis for understanding community relationships in Samoa, with the Ifoga process used for resolution and restoration. A tradition of Makarrata/peace agreement or treaty and Indigenous peacemaking

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ceremonies is followed by Yolngu people of East Arnhem Land in Australia.

Peace Just as colonisation, decolonisation, and indigenisation are processes, peace is also a process expressed in different ways but signifying stability, sustainability, justice, and non-violence. The future flowerings that Jackson envisages are directed towards positive peace. This peace is described by the First Nations Peoples of the Land of the Great Turtle as the thin, fragile ice found in mountain streams that needs strength and gentleness to keep it whole. For Cherokee, nvkwh t¯ ohi: yada is a peace ‘in which one is in harmony and balance within oneself and with all of one’s relations in the natural and spiritual worlds’. In Israel/Palestine and in West Papua, the oppressors have used the concept of peace as a way to justify control of the activities of the Indigenous peoples, and so it has been tainted as a concept. For Papuans and the Indigenous peoples of Mexico peace would bring prosperity, autonomy, dignity, and freedom. Peace is the highest level of spirituality for Samoans involving a lifelong quest and search for harmony with the cosmos, environment, other people, and themselves. For M¯aori and Moriori the peace concept of rongo is also associated with being in accord with the spiritual guidance of the Atua Rongomararoa, the deity of peace, and also listening to the voices of others. Peace is a continual search, and needs an understanding of the complexities of interactions between human beings and the quest for our search for harmony, tranquillity and the divine. We have within this volume aimed to advance the cause of peace, social justice, and equity through decolonisation, self-determination and restoration addressed ethically.

References Cyganki, Jagna (2017) Indigenous Research in Academia: Methodologies, Identities, Relations. Prace Ethnogrficzne 45:2, pp. 145–159. Devere, Heather, Kelli Te Maih¯aroa and John P. Synott (Eds.) (2017) Peacebuilding and the Rights of the Indigenous Peoples: Experiences and Strategies for the 21st Century. Springer, Cham. Jackson, Moana (2021) Where to Next? Decolonisation and the Stories in the Land. In Bianca Elkington, Moana Jackson, Rebecca Kiddle, Ocean Ripeka

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Mercier, Mike Ross, Jennie Smeaton and Amanda Thomas (Eds.) Imagining Decolonisation. Bridget Williams Books, Wellington, pp. 133–155. McKibbin, Philip (2019) Love Notes: For a Politics of Love. Lantern Books, New York. Standish, Katerina, Heather Devere, Adan Suazo and Rachel Rafferty (Eds.) (2021) The Handbook of Positive Peace. Palgrave Macmillan.

Index

A Aboriginal Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People, 12, 265 Aboriginal Assembly aboriginal natives, 239, 256 Aboriginal worldview, 44, 48 Absolute sovereignty, 113 Academia, 8, 9, 53, 58, 60, 61, 77, 81, 136, 174, 179, 188, 277, 308–310 Academic academic activism, 175, 185 academic field, 6, 13, 313 academic literature, 8, 13, 110, 217 academic research, 10, 53, 80, 122 Accommodation, 82, 289 Accompanier, 285, 286, 294, 296 Accompaniment, 270, 271, 275, 277–280, 285–287, 289–296, 323, 324 Accountability, 62, 133 Aceh, 178, 180, 207

Acknowledgement, 9, 84, 137, 236, 255, 268, 318, 322, 323 Action research, 5, 275, 276, 278, 287 Active resistance, 179 Activist, 77, 79, 80, 82, 84, 110, 134, 183–185, 270, 271, 281–283, 289, 315, 318, 324 Activity, 91, 97, 118, 315 Act of Free Choice, 197 Addams, Jane, 279 Adivasi, 12 Adolescent, 163 Adu a na wa ibe, 32 Adversity, 315 Advocacy, 139, 145, 147, 284, 285, 290 Advocate, 9, 11, 13, 58, 68, 70, 110, 245 Affirmation, 62, 116, 134, 152, 179 Affirming affirming methodology, 8, 9 Afghanistan, 176, 178, 183, 189, 320

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 K. Te Maih¯aroa et al. (eds.), Decolonising Peace and Conflict Studies through Indigenous Research, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6779-4

329

330

INDEX

Africa, 23–25, 27, 29–32, 35–38, 310, 319 African African American, 60 African heritage, 90, 91 African knowledge African philosophy, 24, 32, 311 African societies, 24, 31, 34 African states, 23, 25 African Union, 31 Agency, 25, 29, 44, 46, 52, 67, 162, 169, 170, 218, 280, 309, 310, 312 Aggression, 65, 108 Agitation, 238, 289 Agreement, 76, 85, 93, 96, 107, 118, 180, 205, 232–237, 243, 245, 248, 256, 262, 264, 268, 319, 323 Agriculture, 216 Ahi k¯a, 65 Ahi k¯a roa Ahistorical, 165 Aiga Aiga lautele, 221 Aiga patino, 221 Aiga potopoto, 221 Alamea, 227 Alcohol, 63, 95, 100 Alejo, Albert, 278, 290, 295 Alfred, Taiaiake, 44 Alienated, 64 Alienation alienation of land, 118 Ali, Nijmeh, 177, 183, 314 Ally, 68 Allyships, 11 Aloha, 132, 145, 146, 154, 317, 318 American American Indian American Samoa, 216 American-Israeli conspiracy, 85

Amico, Daiyi, 45 Amungme tribe Analysis, 24, 43, 178, 181, 308 Analytical, 25, 83, 310 Ancestors, 4, 28, 34, 35, 43, 45, 52, 64, 107, 112, 114, 115, 117, 121, 153, 179, 312 Ancestral Ancestral dreams, 69, 313 ancestral land, 10, 64, 66, 272 ancestral territories, 10, 283 Ancestry, 10, 90, 91, 313 Ancient ancient covenant, 115, 117 ancient wisdom, 112, 177 Anglo-Australian, 232, 235, 266, 322 Anglo-New Zealand, 255 Anglophonic, 235 Animal Council, 42 Animate, 45, 225 Anim-Ha, 200 Anioma people, 31, 311 Anne Sissie Te Maih¯aroa Dodds, 67 Anthropocene Anthropologist, 98, 200, 278 Anthropology, 6, 278, 320 Anti-racism, 176 Anti-racist Anti-racist groups, 178 Anti-war anti-war movement, 281 ANU Anyi bu ofu, 31, 32 Aotearoa, 2, 3, 13, 63, 70, 105, 110–112, 119, 121, 122, 174, 176, 178, 179, 181, 184, 254, 319, 320, 325, 326 Aotearoa New Zealand, 4, 13, 63, 105, 122, 174, 184, 188, 189, 216, 232, 254, 313, 314, 316, 317, 322 Apartheid, 30

INDEX

Apology, 225 Appreciative appreciative accompaniment, 271, 287, 292, 294, 296, 323 appreciative inquiry, 176, 178, 185, 270, 275, 276, 296 Appreciative Inquiry (AI), 287 Appropriated, 51, 53 Arabic, 78, 82, 189 Archipelago, 184, 185, 189, 198, 200, 209, 320 Archival, 65, 66 archival research, 177 Argument, 36, 60, 93, 95, 165, 210, 217, 234 Ariki, 112 Arima, 94, 315 Armed, 119, 120, 159, 276, 284, 289, 295, 320 armed confrontation, 283 armed forces, 122, 198, 206 Arnheim land, 13 Arochukwu, 34 Aroha, 295, 313 Aroha ki te tangata, 61 Aro people, 34 Arowhenua Arowhenua Movement, 121 Arrogant, 265 Artifact, 151, 309 Artists, 27, 182, 266 Artwork, 138, 139 Asia, 180, 319 Asian, 197, 198, 286 Asian Academy for Peace Research and Development, 7 Aspiration, 8, 11, 27, 61, 66, 69, 179, 196, 197, 273, 290, 319 Assembly, 263 Assimilation, 64, 119, 136, 164, 165, 236, 272 Assimilationist, 163, 166

331

Asymmetrical, 27 ¯ Atea, 107 Atrocities, 30, 35, 236, 323 Atua, 106, 107, 118, 119, 295 Atua Rongomararoa, 327 Auckland, 4 Auckland University of Technology Audience, 81, 111, 290, 316 Auntie, 221 Aunty, 67 Australia Australia’s First Peoples, 11 Australian Australian Capital Territory, 261 Australian Constitution, 258, 322 Australian Government, 237, 238, 242, 244, 248, 250, 323 Australian Joint Standing Committee on Treaties, 236 Australian National University Australian States, 234, 239, 249, 322 Australian Territories, 262 Australian Capital Territory (ACT), 261 Autasi, 221 Authentic, 48, 69, 81, 85, 174, 314 Authenticity, 25, 62, 179, 309 Authoritarian, 160, 318 Authoritative, 233 Authority(ies), 63, 66, 78, 79, 82, 99, 138, 180, 223, 224, 283, 315, 326 Autoethnographic, 63 Autoethnography, 176, 178 Autonomy, 26, 44, 61, 62, 66, 68, 161, 162, 167, 168, 170, 284, 289, 309, 318, 320, 325, 327 AUT University, 6, 315 Awlad amna, 78 Ayindo, Babu, 13, 178, 182, 185

332

INDEX

Azarmandi, Mahdis, 7, 8, 178, 184–186

B Bad faith, 251, 253, 254 Bagani, 282 Bahani, 282 Bakar batu, 200–202, 209, 321 Balance, 14, 42, 44–46, 48–50, 54, 204, 309, 312, 321, 325, 327 Balanda, 48 Banaras Hindu University, 6 Bangladesh, 6 Bangsamoro, 275, 324 Baptismal rite, 115 Barrister, 115 Barunga Statement, 235, 257 Battlefields, 107 Bayani, 282 Bayar Kepala, 200–202, 209, 321 Beacon beacon of hope, 63, 117 beacon of light, 116 Befriending, 278 Belich, James, 107 Belief(s), 29, 44, 59, 63, 66, 70, 83, 89, 138, 145, 197, 217, 222, 227, 312, 313 belief systems, 32 Belonging, 132, 137–139, 154, 317 Beloved, 118 beloved community, 134, 152–154, 318 Belt, Tom, 43, 44, 46 Biak, 198, 204 Bible, 119 Biblical biblical knowledge, 118 Bicultural, 3, 69, 110, 165, 174, 175, 313, 316, 319 Big brother, 76

Big man Binding, 219, 233, 254, 255, 257, 264, 323 binding obligation, 240 Black Black Australians black population, 207 black power gangs, 108 Blackfoot, 45 Blacklist, 78 Blood, 115, 219, 321, 325 blood money, 113 Bloodline, 219 Blooming in the Desert, 77 Body politic, 239, 256 Bolivia, 12 Bomberai, 200 Bond, 59, 152, 222 Border, 77, 84, 164, 183, 202, 206, 216, 278, 295 Boundaries, 91, 218–220, 223, 224, 237, 291, 293, 295, 315, 321 Boutros Boutros-Ghali, 29 Bow down, 225 Boy, 163, 167 Bracketing, 81 Bradford University, 6 Bradshaw, Gay, 277, 280 Breath, 132, 154, 317, 325 Breathe, 8 Bridge-builder, 51 Bridgebuilding, 286 Brigham Young University British British colony, 63, 112 British Columbia, 6, 115 British communities, 279 British Crown, 63, 184, 254–256 British settlers, 313 Brooklyn, 92, 315 Brother, 32, 67, 219, 224, 225 Brute force, 265

INDEX

Buddhist, 198 Builders, 27, 162 Burgess, Puanani, 133–135, 152, 153 Burunga festival, 257 Bush medicine, 49 BYU, 6 C Cajete, Gregory, 43, 46, 53 Callaloo, 90 Cambodia, 6 Canada, 6, 11, 13, 232, 246, 252, 265, 275, 322, 323 Canadian, 94 Canadian Courts, 246, 253 Canadian judiciary, 253 Canadian Supreme Court, 253 Canberra Cañocito Band of Navajo, 54 CANZUS, 232, 251, 264, 322 Capacity capacity building, 286, 287 Capitalist, 166, 203 Captain Hobson, 255 Care, 32, 107, 144, 219, 222, 277, 294, 308, 325 Caretaker, 112, 177 Caribbean, 13, 92–94, 97–99, 166, 279, 315, 325 Caribbean Islander, 92–94 Caribbean islands, 92, 97, 316 Caribbean people, 92, 97, 101 Caring, 30, 311 Carolines, 216 Carrer, Monica, 178, 181, 186 Carving, 150, 151 Castilianization, 163 Catching the dawn star, 198 Catholic Catholic Bishops, 285 Catholic Capacity Building and Accompaniment, 285

333

Catholic Church Catholic development organizations, 285 Catholic Relief Services, 271, 285 Catholic Worker houses, 279 Catholic Relief Services (CRS), 271, 285, 286, 296 Cease-fire, 160 Censorship, 77, 80 Central Central America, 279 Central Australia, 257 central government, 207, 210 Ceremonial, 12, 107 Ceremony(ies), 28, 45, 47–49, 112, 115–117, 177, 201, 202, 225, 295, 312, 321, 326 Challenge, 2, 9, 14, 24–26, 28, 36, 53, 58, 60, 61, 79, 80, 82, 85, 106, 107, 117, 122, 145, 152, 160, 161, 163, 165, 174, 186, 187, 189, 206, 274–277, 289, 290, 295, 309, 310, 315, 325 Champion, 68 Chant, 107, 109, 140, 146, 147 Chatham Islands, 68, 111 Cherokee Cherokee elders, 42, 44 Cherokee identity, 44 Cherokee scholar, 272 Chiapas, 159, 168 Chicano, 60 Chief Chief Minister, 263 chief of the village, 226 Chief Priest, 35 Chieftainship, 66 Child, 114, 115, 133, 219–221 child soldier, 30, 311 Children, 46, 95, 96, 120, 169, 220, 221, 224, 267, 273, 282 Chol, 167, 168, 319

334

INDEX

Christian, 119, 164, 197, 282 Christian Reformed World Relief Council, 287 Christianity, 37, 64, 119, 220 Christian Reformed World Relief Council (CRWRC), 287, 296 Church, 198, 206 church workers, 281 Circle, 13, 110, 140, 221–223, 225, 291 Citizen, 77, 90, 96, 153, 182, 183, 185, 199, 209, 242 City(ies), 78, 159, 187, 206 Civil civil rights, 281 civil society, 24, 30, 281 civil society organisations, 282 civil war, 7, 107 Civilian civilian peacekeeping, 279 civilian protection, 280 Civilising mission, 208 Civil society organization (CSO), 282 Clan, 48, 201, 202 Clapstick, 47, 48 Classism, 90 Classroom, 132, 135, 137–139, 141–143, 145–147, 151–153, 168, 319 Cleansing, 28, 35, 37, 44 Coalition, 286 Coercion, 236 Coexistence, 29, 37 Cognitive, 70 Cohesion, 33, 37, 100, 221–223 Collaboration, 2, 11, 12, 14, 31, 34, 45, 51, 100, 287, 290, 294, 316 collaborations of integrity, 42, 49–54, 312, 326 Collaborative, 4, 50, 66, 106, 111, 122, 145, 179, 272, 276, 287, 291, 310, 316, 318

collaborative anthropology, 278 collaborative conversation, 175 Collaboratively, 70, 110, 314 Colleague, 4, 135, 138, 139, 145–147, 154, 184, 316, 319 Collective collective identity, 77, 168 collective voice, 166 Colonial colonial discourses, 9, 208 colonial encroachment, 274 colonial heritage, 11, 136 colonial ideologies, 63 colonial institution, 63, 70 colonial powers, 23, 197, 244 colonial rule, 23, 25, 64 colonial thinking, 59 colonial tool, 60 colonial violence, 136, 273 colonial world, 63, 64 Colonialism, 8, 25, 42, 43, 49, 50, 52, 76, 77, 109, 137, 188, 198, 207, 208, 238, 276, 308–310, 312 Coloniality, 8, 24–26, 47, 53, 154, 310, 318 Colonisation, 2, 8, 14, 25, 43, 51, 59, 63, 68, 106, 108, 109, 112, 114, 188, 189, 215, 272–275, 277, 280, 309, 321, 324, 327 Coloniser, 9, 69, 122, 137, 235–237, 244, 253, 254, 260, 266, 267, 275, 308, 323 Colourism, 90 Combat, 106, 184 Commemorative, 66, 67, 69 Commission Commission for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 11 Commitment, 8, 26, 28, 44, 62, 77, 81, 100, 110, 117, 153, 163, 174, 177, 257, 325

INDEX

Common common humanity, 31, 32 common law, 233, 235, 250, 253 Commonwealth, 237, 258, 260 Communal communal feast, 209 communal owner, 203 Communications, 6, 10, 45, 80, 92, 93, 98–101, 110, 119, 170, 210, 287, 308, 311, 312, 315–318, 324–326 Community(ies), 9–14, 24, 27, 30–35, 51, 52, 54, 60, 62, 70, 90, 117, 122, 132, 134, 139, 142, 144, 145, 149, 152–154, 161, 162, 166–169, 174, 177, 178, 184–187, 189, 196, 200–206, 221, 237, 273, 275, 276, 278, 279, 281–283, 285, 290, 291, 293, 294, 296 community living, 277 community organiser, 295 community peacebuilding, 154 Compañero, 278 Companioning, 278 Compassion, 30, 145, 152, 222, 311, 318 Compensation, 32, 34, 37, 119, 202, 209, 242, 311, 321, 326 Competitive, 100 Complaint, 33, 64 Concept of peace, 196, 197, 199, 204, 207–210, 320, 327 Conceptual, 12, 43, 46, 110, 111, 227, 273, 281, 285, 289, 316 Conference Conference of Catholic Bishops, 285 Confidence, 58, 80, 147 confidence building, 34, 311 Confiscation, 63, 112 confiscation of land, 119

335

Conflict conflict discourse, 13 conflict prevention, 7, 51, 311 conflict resolution, 2, 5, 6, 12–14, 23, 24, 32, 33, 35–38, 43, 47, 48, 92, 96, 99, 122, 177, 217, 222, 224, 227, 308, 311, 312, 320–322, 326 conflict studies, 6, 7, 9, 24, 175 conflict transformation, 5, 7, 13, 29, 30, 46, 47, 52, 291, 294, 310, 312, 326 conflict transformation model, 283 Conflicting parties, 202, 204, 205 Conquered people, 208 Conquerors, 60 Conquest, 208 Conscientisation, 137, 274 Consciousness, 10, 45, 59, 115 consciousness raising, 137 Consensus, 98, 200–202, 204, 209, 221, 226, 291 consensus building, 31, 34, 37 Consent, 66, 240, 255 Conservation Conservative, 83 Conserve Conspiracy, 85 Constitution, 30, 33, 180, 233–235, 238, 252, 256, 258, 260 Construction, 29, 83, 119, 149, 159–161, 165–167, 169, 170, 281 Constructive communication, 210 Constructivism, 29, 83, 176 Constructivist grounded theory, 79, 84, 184, 310, 314, 315 Consultant, 286 Consumerism, 59, 266, 326

336

INDEX

Content, 77, 160, 162, 167, 168, 188, 189, 241, 265, 267, 317, 318 Content analysis, 176, 178, 183 Contest, 70, 97, 102, 196, 239, 244, 289, 290 Contestation, 91, 92, 96, 101, 317 Context, 4, 6, 7, 28, 36, 60, 61, 66, 76, 78, 79, 82–85, 99, 101, 106, 132, 150, 169, 184, 196, 222–225, 237, 240, 248, 254, 272, 282, 286, 290–293, 295, 308, 314 context-driven, 27 Continued occupation, 257 Continuity, 10, 117 Controversial, 35, 97, 101, 108 Convention, 235, 249, 322 Conversation, 91–93, 96–98, 100, 134, 136, 178, 181, 188, 189, 266, 270, 274, 315, 316 Conversion, 164 Cook Islands, 216 Cooperation, 14, 32, 84, 101, 217, 290, 311, 326 Cooperative, 111 Copper, 216 Core elements, 77 Co-researchers, 277 Corntassel, Jeff, 272, 274, 275, 289 Cosmic, 24, 45, 52, 58 cosmic epistemologies, 61 Cosmic Serpent Project, 51 Cosmology, 25, 44, 119, 122, 312, 317 Costa Rica, 7 Council, 32, 33 council house, 113 Council of Elders, 33, 34, 120, 261, 311 Country, 10, 45–49, 78, 82, 89–91, 94–96, 98, 99, 105, 116, 136,

159–161, 163, 164, 166, 168, 181, 183, 187, 197, 198, 207, 266, 315 Court, 206, 239, 247, 249, 252, 254–256, 258, 259 court system, 33 Cousin, 78, 266 Covenant, 64, 111, 115–117, 219, 220, 321, 326 covenant of peace, 107, 115, 116 COVID/COVID19, 90, 178, 180, 182, 186, 187 Craft, 90, 177 Creation, 38, 44, 101, 162, 289, 318 Creativity, 81, 142, 151, 318 Cree nation, 12 Crime, 99, 225, 226 Criminality, 65, 108 Critic and conscience Critical, 5, 8, 9, 29, 35, 60, 76, 83, 117, 134, 138, 142, 154, 167, 170, 184, 196, 225, 270–272, 277, 281, 284, 287, 318 critical indigenous pedagogy, 8 critical theory, 8, 28, 178, 276, 310 Crossbreeding, 162, 163 Cross-cultural, 47, 48 Cross-disciplinary, 6 Crown crown of thorns, 322 crown of thorns star fish, 227 Cultural cultural assimilation, 136 cultural authenticity, 62 cultural blindness, 217, 321 cultural clash, 63 cultural safety, 62 cultural violence, 2, 53, 308 Culturally culturally responsive, 57, 149, 151, 314 culturally safe, 271, 323

INDEX

culturally sensitive, 217 Culture, 5, 9, 10, 12, 25, 27, 28, 37, 50, 59, 61, 63, 64, 85, 89–91, 106, 109, 111, 116, 117, 121, 133, 138–140, 161, 163–166, 168, 169, 175, 176, 179, 181, 186–189, 199, 200, 204, 205, 207, 216, 218, 220, 222, 223, 227, 248, 266, 273, 277, 291, 292, 294, 295, 316, 317, 319, 321, 326 culture of peace, 160, 180 culture of violence, 160 Curriculum, 36, 38, 138, 139, 143, 149, 150, 180, 183, 188 Custodian, 3, 27 Custom, 116, 201 Customary customary justice, 206 customary land holdings, 206 customary law, 38, 209, 210, 240, 249, 264 customary leadership, 200 Cycle, 147, 221 Cyclical, 177, 220, 225 D Damal, 202 Dance, 272 Dancing, 168, 266 Danger, 291, 315 Dani, 202 Darkness, 68 Data, 27, 53, 80, 83, 84, 108, 140, 177, 180, 185 Datu Vic Saway, 284 Day, Dorothy, 279 Death, 33, 35, 42, 53, 115, 219, 225 Debate, 8–10, 93, 95, 169, 215, 291 Deborah Bird Rose Deveraux Decolonial, 58, 68, 70, 160, 184, 318 decolonial tool, 65

337

Decoloniality, 8 Decolonisation, 8, 9, 11, 13, 24, 26, 27, 29, 37, 60, 68, 70, 136, 137, 168, 176, 206–208, 210, 240, 250, 271–275, 278, 280, 281, 287, 290, 291, 293, 296, 307–309, 319, 324–327 decolonisation movements, 240, 270, 281, 323 Decolonise, 2, 8–10, 14, 52–54, 57, 58, 168, 199, 204, 207, 310, 314 Decolonising decolonising knowledge, 29, 76 decolonising methodology, 9 decolonising methods, 145, 154, 185 decolonising praxis, 271, 274, 277 decolonising project, 8, 9 Deconstruct, 199, 209, 217 Deconstruction, 208 Defence, 244, 261 Defensive, 102, 107 Deference, 220, 296 Deficit, 164, 276 deficit theorising, 62 Degradation, 166, 208, 321 Dehumanization, 160 Deity, 34, 35, 106, 107, 327 De jure, 235 Delegate, 117, 226 Demobilisation, 35 Democracy, 30, 60, 326 Demography, 239 Deoxyribonucleic Acid (DNA), 108 Dependency, 286 Depopulation, 208, 209 Derogation, 236 Descendant, 3, 13, 45, 63, 66, 69, 97, 110, 115, 121, 122, 236, 242, 275, 311, 312, 314 Destiny, 30, 58, 66, 70

338

INDEX

De-systematising, 83 Development, 5, 7, 12, 24, 30, 38, 44, 149, 160–162, 169, 170, 180, 181, 197, 198, 200, 207–209, 223, 232, 238, 240, 243, 246, 261, 271, 275, 278, 283, 285–287, 289, 290, 293, 294, 296, 312, 318, 320, 324 development organization, 285 development worker, 285–287, 293 Deveraux, Deborah Bird Rose, 45 Devere, Heather, 3, 4, 9, 43, 68, 106, 111, 122, 135, 175, 295, 316 Dialect, 94, 189, 216 Dialogical, 7, 45, 170 dialogical justice, 284 Dialogue, 2, 3, 8, 45, 50, 93, 122, 170, 199, 204, 205, 207, 209, 210, 283, 321 dialogue discourse, 204, 205 Diaspora, 26, 97, 315 Difference, 32, 34, 44, 70, 78, 93, 97, 101, 111, 133, 134, 143, 144, 152, 163–166, 168, 170, 176, 197, 201, 209, 223, 235, 241, 274, 278 Dignified, 160, 161, 198, 204, 318, 326 Dignity, 101, 159, 161, 162, 168, 170, 198, 202, 222, 238, 327 Diné Cosmic Model, 51 Diplomacy, 188 Disability Disability Studies, 7 Disadvantage, 78, 79, 234, 236, 238 Disarmament, 35, 37 Discipline, 2, 4–7, 9, 11–13, 36, 70, 82, 119, 174, 184, 188, 189, 227, 272, 291, 296, 307, 309, 311, 313, 319, 320 Discourse, 29, 58, 77, 106, 109, 163, 165, 178, 181, 207, 208, 222,

271–273, 278, 281, 283, 285, 293 Discrimination, 90, 177, 186, 189, 206, 320 Discursive, 210 Disgrace, 225 Dismantle, 85, 133 Dismantling, 76 Dispossession, 242, 309 Dispute, 32, 33, 48, 99, 107, 118, 198, 200, 201, 221, 224, 225, 234, 236, 240, 250, 256, 264, 268, 320, 323 dispute management, 13 dispute resolution, 7, 13, 227, 268 Dissemination, 110, 316 Distance, 81, 93, 101, 168, 182, 187, 279, 295 Distort, 53, 62 Diverse, 9, 13, 50, 79, 166, 188, 216, 286, 291, 309, 325 Diversity, 44, 50, 89, 98, 99, 101, 163, 175, 188, 189, 280, 291, 316 Doberai, 200 Doctoral, 63, 69, 70, 173, 174, 180, 181, 185, 188, 313, 317, 319 doctoral studies, 66, 174–176, 178, 183, 186, 319 doctoral thesis, 64, 65, 182 Doctrine, 38, 198, 208, 245, 249 Document, 65, 67, 69, 76, 181, 208, 254 Dodson, Professor, 239 Domestic, 232–234, 237, 240, 247, 249–252, 259–264 domestic violence, 98, 99, 108, 179 Dominate, 24, 70, 76, 85, 95, 133, 207 Domination, 28, 99, 106, 207–209, 272, 275, 310 Do not kill, 115

INDEX

Do Not Shed Blood, 65, 66 Downing Street, 255 Dream, 49, 115, 120, 143, 261, 323 Dreaming Law, 46 Drug, 96 drug trafficking, 98, 160 Dunedin, 68, 110, 174 Durable, 6 Dutch, 97, 200, 316 Dutch colonialism, 198 Duty, 76 E Earth, 50, 218, 219, 321 Earth Mother, 59, 64 East East Arnhem Land, 47, 312, 327 East Coast, 64, 113, 116 Easter Islands, 216 Eco-accompaniment, 280 Ecological, 280 ecological habitat, 210 ecological regeneration, 274 Ecology, 5, 284, 291 Economic, 24, 26, 29, 30, 118, 120, 166, 187, 189, 203, 206, 210, 216, 243, 245, 266, 272, 275, 293, 295, 296, 320, 323 economic cleavages, 279 Economy, 203, 206 Eco-relationality, 42–44, 46–49, 51, 53, 310–312, 326 Education, 3, 6, 14, 25, 95, 96, 132, 134, 136, 138, 145, 149, 150, 160, 162, 163, 165–170, 180, 183, 206, 210, 245, 271, 277, 293, 296, 309, 317–319, 326 education system, 59, 133, 153, 167, 180 Educational, 3, 25, 59, 62, 132–134, 154, 160, 163–170, 177, 183, 189, 318, 319

339

educational experience, 169 Educator, 132, 134, 135, 317 E fofo le alamea le alamea, 227 Egalitarian, 271 E H¯ o Mai, 140 Eighteenth century, 63, 112 Elcho Island, 49 Elderly, 201 Elders, 27, 32–35, 42, 43, 47, 65, 116, 121, 179, 180, 220, 311, 314, 321, 326 Election, 89, 90, 263 Electoral, 30, 235 Eleele, 219, 321 Element, 44, 76, 82, 83, 107, 120, 135, 160, 163, 164, 175, 177, 218, 223, 256, 263, 271, 276, 277, 280, 286, 287, 294, 295, 319, 323, 325 Elite, 207, 275 Email, 110, 142 Emancipation, 28, 70, 167 Embarrassment, 225 Embodied, 222, 274, 279 Emergent, 50 Emic, 109–111, 122, 175, 316 Emotion, 48 Empathy, 84, 94, 146 Empirical, 24, 27 Empiricist, 7, 281 Employee, 203, 285 Employer Empower, 9, 25, 139, 144, 185, 233, 276, 285, 286 Empowerment, 70, 206, 278, 286, 308, 309 Endogenous, 25, 310 End to impunity, 279 Enemy(ies), 11, 26, 120, 220 Enforcement, 114, 234, 252

340

INDEX

Engagement, 48, 50, 51, 62, 80, 81, 163, 174, 181, 185, 186, 188, 263, 280, 290, 293, 317 English English language, 48, 119, 189, 277 English version, 255 Enlightenment, 25, 61 Enriquez, Virgilio, 182, 281 Environment, 7, 27, 36, 37, 50, 80, 101, 102, 117, 119, 132, 137, 145, 162, 167, 169, 177, 181, 186, 206, 218, 220, 222, 248, 308, 321, 324, 327 Environmental, 59, 210, 271, 272, 291, 293, 308 environmental activism, 67 environmental destruction, 208, 321 Epic history, 284 Epistemicide, 50, 51 Epistemic violence, 42, 49–51, 53 Epistemological, 24, 27, 58, 83, 291, 308 epistemological pluralism, 49, 290, 291 Epistemology(ies), 9, 14, 23, 24, 26, 27, 36, 44, 51, 58–61, 63, 70, 84, 136, 137, 160, 161, 174, 176, 177, 187, 291, 310, 313, 319 Equal, 110, 202, 218, 223, 224, 231, 239, 245, 252 Equality, 28, 30, 100, 166, 188, 238, 248, 252, 286, 287, 309, 310 Equally authoritative, 233 Erga omnes, 240 Erosion Erosion of Indigenous Treaty Rights, 251 Erumanens, 282 E sili le oti ile ma, 225

Essentialised, 164, 165, 168 Establishment, 77, 119, 257 Estonia, 136 Eternal, 58, 268 Ethical ethical responsibility, 108 ethical standards, 52 Ethic(s), 272 ethic of restoration, 273, 308, 309, 324, 325 Ethnic, 7, 89, 91, 163, 176, 209, 279, 315 ethnic groups, 32, 35, 90, 200–202, 204 ethnic identity, 10, 90 Ethnically cleanse, 238 Ethnicity(ies), 89, 99, 101, 175, 200, 208, 210 Ethnobiology, 116 Ethnocentrism, 90 Ethnographic, 178, 181, 183, 281 ethnographic research methodology, 278 Ethos, 277, 286, 290, 294–296 Etic, 109–111, 122, 175, 316 Etmic, 109–112, 121, 122, 310, 316 Eugenics, 238 Eurocentric, 164, 177, 313 Euro-North American dominance, 311 Europe, 5, 25–27 European, 4, 8, 36, 63, 64, 113, 114, 164, 184, 208, 242, 249, 252, 253 European occupation Everyday, 8, 149, 167, 181, 182, 275, 289, 294, 319 everyday peace, 177, 178, 186, 294 everyday resurgence, 272, 273, 275, 289, 294 Evict, 64, 114, 313

INDEX

Evidence, 46, 108, 109, 112, 151, 188, 266, 267 Excellence, 132, 133, 141–145, 152, 154, 317 Exclusion, 209, 256, 270, 279 Exclusionary, 163, 164 Exclusive economic zones (EEZ), 216 Exclusive Economic Zoom Ex-colonial, 26 Executive, 259 Exhaustion, 249, 250 Exotic, 85 Expectation, 93, 96, 101, 113, 143, 144 Expert, 3, 24, 112, 116, 133, 146, 147, 180, 277 Expert Mechanism on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 243 Expertism, 278 Exploitation, 2, 10, 117, 136, 166, 177, 207, 209, 252, 320 Exploration, 5, 66, 79, 109, 137, 178, 280, 295 Explorers, 63, 109 Extended family, 221, 222, 225, 226 Extermination, 209 External, 10, 216, 284 external affairs, 233, 260 Extrajudicial murder, 208, 321 Extreme, 120, 181, 279 extreme White nationalist, 250

F Fa’alupega, 3 Fa’aaloalo, 220, 222 Faafaletui, 179, 180, 189 Faa Samoa, 179 Fa’autaga, 222 Face to face, 80, 326 Fact, 109, 147, 236, 266, 270 Fact-finding, 33, 311

341

Fair, 231, 237, 240, 247, 251, 264, 268 Faith, 119, 234, 246, 252, 253, 255, 256 faith-based, 278, 324 False history, 244 Falsehood, 248 Familial ties, 220, 223 Familiarity, 32, 82, 101, 110, 119, 315 Family family care, 277 family conflict, 201 Family Court, 99 Fanon, Franz, 76, 208 Fanua, 219, 321 Farmer, Paul, 280 Fatu, 219, 321 Feagaiga, 219, 220 Feasibility, 82 Feather, 120 Federal Federal government, 234 federal level, 237 federal treaties, 232 Federated States of Micronesia, 216 Federation, 233, 234, 236, 248, 260, 261 Feelings, 29, 76, 80, 133, 135, 138, 141, 146, 152, 202, 206, 218, 225 Feel safe, 210 Fellow, 91, 149, 219, 265, 271, 275 Female, 92, 176 female matai, 223 female-only, 100 Femicide, 160 Feminist, 7, 76 Fertility, 203 Festival, 89, 90, 149 Field research, 75, 77, 79–82, 182

342

INDEX

Fieldwork, 178, 181–183, 187, 314, 315 Fight, 58, 109, 115, 160, 208, 282 fight the enemy with peace, 120 Fiji, 178, 180, 189, 216, 319 Fijian, 176, 180, 189 Filipino, 270, 271, 275, 278, 280–282, 285, 323, 324 Filipino research methodologies, 281 Financial, 286 Finding, 13, 31, 33, 62, 83, 108, 145, 184, 187, 201, 210 Fine mat, 226, 322 First First nations First nations knowledge, 59 First Nations People, 58, 61, 63, 265, 323, 327 First peoples First People’s Assembly, First People’s Assembly of Victoria, 263 First peoples of Turtle Island Fish, 180, 216 Fishermen, 227 Fisher River Cree Nation, 12 Flaxroots, 174 Flexible, 81, 91, 274, 315 Flux flux of the cosmos, 41, 45 Folk, 90 folk tales, 27 Folklore Folklorist, 164 Food, 35, 47, 85, 89, 91–93, 95, 97, 101, 102, 202, 203, 219, 226, 315, 322, 325 food source, 113 Forbidden, 205, 206 Forced assimilation, 64, 236

Forces, 24, 35, 42, 44, 63, 120, 145, 148, 166, 206, 225, 244, 247, 276, 314 Foreign, 58, 106, 114, 207, 275, 277, 283, 289, 292, 324 Forest, 203 forest resources, 203 Forgiveness, 32–34, 177, 225, 311, 326 Formal apology, 225 Former colonial powers, 23, 244 Founders, 36, 239, 256, 257 Founding document, 254 Fragment, 168, 169, 217 Frain, Sylvia, 177, 184–186 Framework, 14, 46, 61, 68, 82, 132, 133, 136, 152–154, 160, 170, 175, 178, 179, 183, 208, 234, 236, 242, 245, 251, 263, 264, 267, 272, 276, 277, 280, 283, 284, 287, 290, 291, 293, 309, 310, 313, 317, 322–324 Frankfurt School, 28 Fraud, 251, 254 Freedom, 26, 28, 29, 60, 70, 100, 118, 162, 257, 309, 310, 318, 327 freedom of expression, 206 Freedom of speech Free Papua Movement, 198, 204, 207, 209 French, 97, 316 Friend, 11, 278 Friendliness, 30, 311 Friendly Relations Declaration, 244 Friendship, 4, 11, 32, 100, 116, 146 Friere, Paulo, 279 Frontier Fusion, 221 Future, 35, 53, 58, 61, 68–70, 98, 115, 168–170, 178, 187, 208,

INDEX

217, 234, 263, 264, 266, 267, 276, 294, 313, 323 future flowerings, 325, 327 future generations, 10, 57, 66, 67, 69, 121, 122, 180 G Gacaca, 30, 311 Galtung, Johan, 29, 42, 195, 208, 283, 293 Garden, 113, 141, 142, 146–149, 318 Gardeners, 109 Gender, 7, 60, 90, 91, 99, 176, 273, 293, 315 gender equality, 30 Gendered, 7, 100 gendered space, 92, 93 Genealogical, 221, 222 Genealogy, 57, 64, 109, 112, 279, 287 Generation, 27, 33, 43, 52, 115–117, 188, 271, 273 Generosity, 30, 107, 311 Genocide, 30, 108, 136, 208, 311, 321 Gentleness, 323, 327 Genuine, 33, 78, 145, 146, 159, 160, 162, 163, 165, 166, 170, 177, 187, 311, 315, 325 Geographic/geographical, 68, 78, 84, 208 German, 176, 184 Germany, 179 Gerontocracy, 217, 220 Giant capitalist, 203 Gift/gifting, 62, 115, 132–135, 144, 149, 152, 153, 226, 322 Gilberts, 216 Gillard Government, 248 Girl, 163, 167 Global

343

global pandemic, 42, 53 Global Peace Index, 105 global South, 29 God god Lono, 150 god of peace god of peace, fertility and cultivation, 150 god of the weather, 107 god of war, 106 Goddess, 35 Gold, 207, 216 Gondarra, Rose, 48 Gonos, Norma, 283 Good faith, 234, 245, 246, 252, 253, 255, 256 Goodwill, 119 goodwill to all mankind, 121 Governance, 30, 180, 266, 284 Government, 54, 63, 118, 119, 122, 168, 179, 183, 198, 199, 205–207, 209, 210, 237, 249, 257, 275, 296, 324 Graham, Mary, 44–46, 48, 50, 63 Grammar of Peace, 265 Gramsci, Antonio, 76 Grandchild, 57, 65 Grandfather, 59, 121 Grandmother, 27, 59 Grandparent, 136, 222 Grassroots, 82, 84, 318 Gratitude, 69 Greens, 247 Grievance, 35, 159, 268, 291 Grounded, 36, 44, 273, 283, 287, 296 grounded theory, 84, 176, 177 Ground-up, 271, 293 Guam, 176, 177, 185, 189, 216 Guardian, 106, 121, 122, 177 Guardianship, 161 Guest, 91, 97, 326

344

INDEX

Guest Lecturer, 68 Guhan, 176, 177, 189 Guilty, 38, 138, 209 Gutierrez, Gustavo, 279 Guyana, 98

H ¯ HA

¯ framework, 132–135, 137, HA 138, 141–143, 150, 153 ¯ wheel, 140 HA Habermas, Jurgen, 28 Haiti, 280 Haole, 136, 317 Hap¯ u, 57 Harm, 218, 219, 226, 279, 322 Harmful, 134, 177 Harmonious, 59, 210 harmonious relationships, 204 Harmony, 14, 28, 30, 33, 34, 37, 41, 44–46, 49, 50, 54, 98, 120, 122, 195, 217–220, 226, 309, 311, 312, 321, 325–327 Haudenosaunee Great Law of Peace, 42 Hawai’i, 13, 182, 317–319, 326 Hawaiian, 60, 132, 133, 135, 136, 150, 153, 317 Hawke, Bob, 257, 322 Hawkins, Isabel, 51 HCA, 259 Head lice, 221 Healer, 27, 45, 312 Healing, 30, 33, 34, 68, 267, 273, 277, 291, 294, 309, 311 healing process, 48, 226, 322 Health, 49, 54, 68, 120, 162, 199, 203, 278, 280, 296, 318, 326 health services, 206, 210 health studies, 6 Healthy, 325

healthy society, 34 Heart, 32, 46, 115, 117, 135, 184, 219, 285, 286, 321, 324, 325 hearts and minds, 114 Heavens, 218 Hebrew, 82 Hedonism, 266 Hegemonic/hegemony, 42, 43, 77, 99, 109, 161, 227 Heritage, 4, 62, 85, 108, 121, 181 Her Majesty, 255 Hidden, 76, 78, 79, 81, 84, 111, 165, 183, 314 Hierarchical, 100, 132, 160, 221, 318 hierarchical structure, 91, 100, 315 Hierarchy, 43, 99, 100, 111, 133, 221, 326 High high chief, 179 High Court, 239, 250, 257–259, 262 high mountain springs, 265, 323 Higher, 136, 255, 264, 271, 275, 277 higher consciousness, 59 Hindmarsh Island Bridge Case, 258 Hinterland, 64, 114, 118 His Honour Kirby J., 258 Hishuk-ish tsa’walk, 116 Hispanised cultures of Luzon, 281 Historian, 107, 109, 112 Historical, 10, 27, 32, 50, 64, 66, 68, 69, 85, 92, 99, 165, 166, 209, 235, 248, 254, 309, 314 historical grievance, 159 historical links, 68 History, 6, 10, 28, 60, 63, 65, 66, 68, 69, 76, 83, 108, 111, 112, 117, 118, 121, 137, 140, 150, 178, 179, 197, 200, 206, 208–210, 246, 262, 264–267, 274, 282, 283, 318, 320, 322

INDEX

Hoketehi Moriori Trust Holistic, 50, 51, 111, 177, 185, 266, 278, 324, 325 holistic community, 154, 318 Homeland, 3, 41, 112, 272, 274 Homogeneity, 165 Homogenised, 264 Homogenising, 164, 166 Honest, 80, 134 Honestly, 62 Honesty, 81 Honorific, 3, 221 Honours, 11, 12, 58, 62, 106, 113, 115, 117, 150, 219, 220, 225, 234, 242, 243, 253, 256, 325 hooks, bell, 134, 135, 152, 153, 318 Ho’oponopono, 13 Hope, 59, 68, 116, 153, 294 Hopelessness, 68 Hopena, 133 Hospitality, 30, 107, 120, 279, 294, 295, 311 Host, 91, 93, 97, 100, 101 Hostilities, 106, 161 House of Parliament, 206 Hubula, 202 Human human being, 24, 28, 59, 116, 265, 313, 327 human emancipation, 28 human equality, 238, 252 human rights human rights protection, 235 human rights violation, 199, 279 human security, 6 Humanitarian, 5, 60, 107 Humanity, 59, 61, 233, 245, 266, 311 Humankind, 63, 117, 119 Humiliation, 225 Hunter, 27, 109

345

Husay, 284, 324, 326 husay process, 284 Hybrid, 7, 109 Hybridity, 37, 289 I Idealistic, 77 Identity, 25, 29, 44, 62, 66–68, 81, 116, 132, 134, 136–139, 164, 168, 202, 203, 251, 264, 274, 277, 290, 293, 309, 310, 312, 325 Idle, 91, 206, 315 Ifoga, 225, 226, 321, 326 Igbo, 13, 24, 27, 29, 31, 32, 35, 37, 310, 311, 326 Ignominious, 267 Ignorant, 187, 206, 265, 266, 286 Ignore, 59, 60, 70, 134, 137, 273 Igwe bu ike, 31, 32 Ilaga Illah, 33 Illiberal peace Illness, 42, 183, 187, 221, 277 ILO ILO Convention, 239, 240 Imaginary, 134, 168, 170, 216 Imbalance, 50, 109, 224 Immediate family, 138, 221 Immemorial, 210 Immigrant, 136, 206, 208, 250 Imo State, 34 Impartial, 244, 254 Imperialism, 25, 52 Inalienable inalienable rights, 238 Inanimate, 225 Incantation, 178 Incarceration, 120 Inclusivity, 9, 30, 238 Incorporation, 9, 30, 231, 243, 285, 322

346

INDEX

Independence, 25, 26, 98, 100, 207, 275, 289, 324 Independent, 27, 77, 84, 92, 197, 209, 234, 253, 322 independent Papuan state, 199 India, 11, 12, 178, 184, 189 Indian, 90, 165, 176 Indian Tribes, 246, 252 Indicator, 206, 209, 210, 234 Indigenise, 13, 57, 61, 313 Indigenising, 59, 82–84, 273, 291, 315 Indigenist, 14, 164, 167, 170 Indigenous Indigenous Advocate, 115 Indigenous Australian, 47, 311, 312, 325, 326 Indigenous communities, 9–12, 14, 51, 52, 60, 70, 134, 153, 161, 177, 186, 189, 196, 237, 273, 276, 278, 291, 293, 296, 308, 312, 316, 325 Indigenous conflict resolution, 12, 321 Indigenous CR, 217 Indigenous cultures, 9, 59, 111, 176, 248, 266, 326 Indigenous diplomacies, 13 Indigenous discourses, 271 Indigenous education, 163, 165, 166, 168 Indigenous Education Institute, 42, 50 Indigenous epistemologies, 9, 14, 58–61, 63, 70, 136, 310, 313 Indigenous Filipino, 281 Indigenous groups, 9, 10, 13, 136, 175, 186, 261, 264, 265, 296 Indigenous knowledge, 1, 2, 9, 11, 14, 24–27, 29, 32, 36–38, 45, 50–53, 58, 62, 82, 177, 182, 187, 188, 307–310, 317, 320

Indigenous law, 232, 266 Indigenous lens, 11, 69 Indigenous literary theory, 274 Indigenous methodologies, 9, 24, 36, 38, 174, 177, 185, 293 Indigenous nations, 217 Indigenous Papuan, 197–201, 203, 204, 206–210, 320 Indigenous paradigm, 45, 46, 49–51, 312 Indigenous peace Indigenous peace circles, 57 Indigenous peace traditions, 3, 4, 110, 111, 121, 122, 316, 319 Indigenous pedagogy, 8 Indigenous Peoples Indigenous Peoples movement, 58 Indigenous Peoples of Australia Indigenous Peoples of Mexico, 327 Indigenous person, 10, 62, 240, 270 Indigenous perspectives, 2, 13, 14, 188, 296, 317, 320 Indigenous populations, 10, 159–161, 164, 318 Indigenous psychology-based, 282 Indigenous research, 2, 3, 9–11, 13, 14, 27, 43, 53, 66, 76, 78, 79, 81–85, 112, 173, 175–177, 185, 187–189, 308, 309, 314, 316, 317, 319 Indigenous scholar, 8, 12, 43, 44, 49, 111, 186, 189, 275, 290, 308, 312, 316 Indigenous Storywork methodology, 273 Indigenous studies, 175, 176, 183, 271, 280, 291, 321, 323 Indigenous territories, 275

INDEX

Indigenous tribe, 68 Indigenous worldview, 9, 12, 42–44, 46, 47, 50, 52, 53, 227, 291, 310, 312 Indigenous writers, 310 Indigenous peoples (IP), 272, 274, 286, 287, 289 Individual/individualism, 5, 28, 51, 67, 77, 81, 83, 93, 99, 108, 153, 160, 167, 204, 208, 218, 220, 222–226, 241, 264, 273, 276, 291, 293, 294, 296, 319, 326 Indonesia, 13, 178, 180, 189, 196–198, 200, 207–210, 320 Indonesian Indonesian armed forces, 206 Indonesian government, 197–200, 205, 207–209, 320 Indonesian independence war, 207 Indonesian Institute of Sciences, 195 Industrialised, 235 Informal, 27, 91, 100, 286, 289 Informed consent, 264 Infrastructure, 54, 120, 284 Infringement, 209 Inherent, 42, 52, 53, 208, 276 Inheritance, 3 Injustice, 68, 76, 199, 207, 275, 291, 296 Inquiry motif, 270 Insider, 63, 78–80, 109, 110, 112, 310 Insider research, 314 Inspiration, 12, 65, 116 Institutional, 70, 274 institutional decolonisation, 274, 287 Instrumental, 187, 237 Integration, 159–162, 165, 210, 275, 324 Intellectual, 25, 26, 68, 70, 76, 109

347

intellectual property, 66, 134 Interconnectedness, 31, 222 Interconnectivity, 276 Intercultural, 163, 170 intercultural peace studies, 6 Interdisciplinary, 6, 294 Interest, 7, 10, 13, 24, 33, 52, 66, 77, 81, 94, 113, 165, 167, 187, 196, 261, 277, 311, 321 Inter-ethnic conflict, 202 Interface, 286 Intergenerational, 65, 177 Intermediarity, 294 Internal internal colonialism, 8, 200, 207, 210, 320 internal migration, 275, 279, 324 internal self-determination, 232, 237, 239, 266, 322 Internally displaced peoples, 282 International international audience, 110 International Bill of Rights, 241, 243 International conflict International Court of Justice, 250 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), 241 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), 241 international criminal law, 236 International Labour Organisation (ILO) International Labour Organisation Convention, 239 International legal frameworks, 231 international peace, 6 International Peace Research Association (IPRA), 11 international relations, 5, 6, 256

348

INDEX

International Society of Ethnobiology, 116 international standards, 241, 259 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), 241 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), 241 Interpersonal, 7, 270 Interpretist Interrelationship, 45, 51, 83, 153 Intersectional, 90, 287, 294 Intersectionality, 7 Interview, 75, 76, 78–80, 169, 176, 178, 179, 181–183, 315 interview as chat, 57, 67, 309 Interweaving, 58, 169 Intimidate, 80 Intimidation, 206, 320 Invasion, 63, 115, 116, 119–121, 179, 182, 189 Investment, 134, 145, 206 Invisible, 122 Iranian, 176, 184 Islam, 283 Island, 97, 115, 116, 139, 150, 151, 179, 180, 184, 216 Island nation, 4, 97 Israel, 13, 76, 77, 79, 80, 82–84, 183, 314 Israeli, 75–80, 85, 189 Israeli law, 82 Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 85 Italy, 176 Ivory tower, 81 Iwi, 67, 110, 111, 178, 313, 314, 316 Iwi peace tradition, 121 J Jackson, Moana, 11, 63, 109, 273, 295, 308, 309, 324, 325

Jakarta-Papua dialogue, 204, 206 Jamaa, 78 Jargon, 77 Jaringan Damai Papua (JDP), 205, 206 Jayapura Jayapura diocese, 206 Jayapura Theological Seminary, 205 Jewish people, 78 Journal, 5, 65, 67, 69, 188, 314 Journey, 63–68, 85, 114, 115, 137, 181, 183, 218, 296, 314 Journeying, 271, 285, 286, 296 Joy, 218 Joyce, Janine, 178, 184, 186 Judgement, 138 Judiciary, 259 Juju, 34 Juniata College, 6, 311 Jurisdiction, 232, 249, 251, 253, 261 Jurisprudence, 38 Jus cogens , 236 Just just partnership, 231 just peace, 82, 266, 268, 322, 323 Justice, 2, 7, 8, 26, 29, 30, 32, 34, 37, 54, 60, 69, 70, 120, 162, 177, 195, 210, 270, 279, 283, 285, 287, 291, 294–296, 309, 314, 315, 318, 320, 327 justice studies, 60

K K¯ai Tahu, 132 Kaitiaki, 68, 106, 121, 122 K¯anaka Maoli, 134, 136 Kaore Whakaeheke Toto, 66 Karakia, 107, 178 Karena, Tonga, 106, 178, 179 Kar¯apunaKar¯apuna, 115, 117 Kastein, Kalika, 135, 317

INDEX

K¯ati M¯amoe, 132 Kau, 61, 150, 180 Kaua e takahia te mana o te tangata, 62 Kaum¯atua, 57, 66, 69, 179, 314, 326 Kaupapa M¯aori, 3, 57, 61, 62, 65–67, 69, 70, 175, 178, 182, 185, 189, 310, 313, 314, 319 Ka’¯ u Plantation House, 140 Kawa, 65, 69, 295 Ke’ena Ho’ona’auao Hawai’i, 132–134 Kemp Deed, 64, 113 Kenya, 178, 182, 189, 320 Kenyan, 176 Khawaja, 78 Kia t¯ upato, 62, 314 Kia whakat¯ omuri te haere whakamua, 58 Ki’i pohaku, 149 Kill, 109, 238, 322 Kimmerer, Robin, 44, 50, 312 Kindergarten, 148 Kindness, 145, 208, 318 King, Martin Luther, 134, 318 Kinship, 44, 46, 204, 221, 326 Kituwah Mound, 44 Ki uta ki tai, 58 Knowing, 2, 49, 50, 57, 58, 60, 61, 78, 80, 82, 120, 134, 136, 153, 177, 308, 313 Knowledge knowledge holders, 42–45, 51, 52 knowledge production, 23–25, 27, 37, 38, 77, 311, 314 knowledge transmission, 273 Kombumerri, 44 Kongres Rakyat Papua, 205 K¯ opinga Marae, 116 Korotuaheka, 114 Korowai, 204 Kuleana, 140, 152

349

K¯akahi, TohuK¯akahi, Tohu, 114, 118

L Laenui, Poka, 182, 319 Lakota Elder, 265 Land land confiscations, 63, 112 land issue, 121 Land of the Great Turtle, 265, 323, 327 Landholders, 113 Landless landless natives, 313 Language, 10, 44, 46, 52, 53, 61, 64, 78, 82, 97, 98, 117, 133, 164, 170, 181, 187–189, 233, 281, 312, 315, 319–321, 325 Lani, 202 La Pago, 200 Last resort, 283 Latin, 136, 278 Latin America, 160, 166, 270, 278, 279, 282, 285, 323 Latina, 60 Latino Law, 6, 30, 48, 114, 164, 168, 170, 206, 209, 223, 224, 232–237, 240, 242, 244, 246, 249, 250, 252, 256–258, 260, 266, 273, 295, 322–324 law and order, 32, 221 Lay companionship, 277 Leader, 34, 44, 51, 60, 64, 68, 70, 78, 85, 114, 115, 119–121, 167, 178, 179, 181, 185, 188, 198, 204–206, 210, 257, 271, 283, 312–314 Leadership, 63, 70, 186, 256, 284, 295 Le Atua, 224 Lederach, J.P., 217, 283, 291, 293

350

INDEX

Legacy(ies), 101, 116, 135, 166, 235, 238, 270, 274, 275, 296 Legal legal defence, 244 legal framework, 235, 236, 245, 251, 267, 323 legal norms, 231, 322 legal personality, 232, 233, 240, 254, 256, 260 Legend, 139, 177 Legitimacy, 2, 33, 61, 62, 77, 164 Lex mercatoria, 267 Liberal, 161, 163 liberal democracy, 30 liberal peace, 7, 28, 30 Liberation, 28, 76, 270, 323 liberation psychology, 185, 277, 279, 282 liberation theology, 278, 279, 285 Liberia, 35 Life, 31, 32, 47, 69, 76, 77, 80, 81, 113, 160, 161, 169, 201, 223, 279, 284, 311, 324–326 life and death, 115, 219 life force, 225 Life-affirming, 278 Ligaliga, Michael, 4, 175, 179, 186, 321, 322 Lilikoi, 146 Lime, 90–97, 99–102, 315 Limer, 93–96, 101 Liming, 91–94, 96, 97, 99–102, 309, 310, 315, 316 Linguistic, 50, 136 Little Bear, Leroy, 43, 45 Lived realities, 46, 70, 294 Livelihood, 10, 182, 203 Living organism, 59, 218, 325 Local local actors, 28, 29, 38, 161 local agency, 162 local aid recipients, 286

local government, 206 local history, 69 local ownership, 37 local partners, 285, 296 Localism, 84 Logical, 83 Long-term, 52, 187, 251, 285 Lord Justice Kerr, 246, 252 Lotha Naga Tribe, 12 Love, 32, 59, 145, 154, 184, 222, 295, 309, 311, 313, 318, 325 Lover, 109 Lower Niger River, 31 Low income, 91 Lumad Lumad Indigenous peoples, 323 Lumad justice Lumad justice leaders, 283 Lumad peace activist, 284, 324 Lumad social movement, 280, 282–284 Lumad struggle, 285 Lumad women, 284 Luzon, 281 Lwin, Khin Khin, 178, 181, 182, 186

M Magic power, 198 Mahikakai, 113 Mainstream, 159, 163, 200, 235, 239, 248, 250, 276, 277, 286, 322 Majoritarian interests, 235 Majority, 113, 164, 207, 235, 247, 248, 261, 274, 275 Mak Mak Makahiki, 149–151 Makarrata, 236, 238, 267, 322, 323, 326 Makarrata Commission, 257 Malalu

INDEX

Maldonado-Torres, N., 8 Male, 7, 95, 96, 100, 176 male matai, 224 Maluku islands, 200 Mamta, 200 Mana, 62, 65–67, 106, 114, 116, 175, 314, 326 mana motuhake, 66, 67 Manaaki ki te tangata, 62, 314 Management, 5, 7, 24, 33, 34, 37, 47, 99, 163, 167, 180, 188, 206 Manakitanga, 107 management studies, 6 Mandate, 132 Manila, 275, 281 M¯angai, 111 Mankind, 218 Manobo, 278 Mano River, 35 Manseren Manarmekeri, 198 Manuhiri, 107, 295 M¯aori M¯aori Battalion, 108 M¯aori chiefs, 63, 184, 313 M¯aori Elder, 256 M¯ aori knowledge, 57 M¯aori language, 11, 64, 178, 179 M¯aori Queen, 256 M¯aori research, 57, 61, 313 M¯aori tikaka, 112 M¯aori Warfare, 107 M¯aori version, 255 M¯aoritaka, 58 Marae, 107, 119, 295 Marama Marcos, 281, 282 Marcos administration, 281 Marginalisation, 203, 206, 209, 311, 320 Marginalised, 64, 77, 78, 82, 108, 203 Marianas, 184, 185, 189, 216, 320

351

Marind-Anim tribe, 201 Marquette University, 6 Marquis of Normanby, 255 Married, 35 married women, 35, 311, 326 Marshalls, 216 Martial law, 281 martial-law regime, 282 Martinez Cobo, Jocé R., 9 Mass mass arrests, 79, 315 mass killing, 236 mass migration, 239 Matai, 221, 223, 224, 226, 322, 326 Matai system, 221, 222, 321 Matakite, 112 M¯atauraka M¯aori, 57, 58, 62 Materialistic, 266, 323 Matriarchal, 185 Mawul Mawul ceremony, 47 Mawul Rom Project, 47, 49, 52, 312 Mayan Mayan languages, 168 Mayan people, 168 Mbembe, Achille, 26 McMaster University, 6 Meaning, 32, 46, 48, 49, 81, 83, 84, 115, 116, 160, 163, 165, 166, 170, 209, 210, 222, 233, 238, 239, 254, 268, 278, 283, 308 Means, Russell, 265 Media, 108, 175, 178, 185 Mediation, 13, 47, 99, 227 mediation centre, 99 mediation process, 33 Mediator/Mediatory, 33, 99, 101, 200, 227, 283, 322 Medicine medicine men, 35 medicine people, 27

352

INDEX

medicine wheel, 13 Meditation, 47 Mee, 202 Mee Pago, 200 Meeting house, 107, 122 Melanesia, 216 Melanesian, 197, 198 Memorandum Memorandum of Understanding, 174 Memorandum of Understanding (MOU), 174 Memory(ies), 60, 115, 178 Mental, 25, 26, 149, 222 Mentor, 3, 145, 147, 152, 154, 186, 189 Merauke, 201 Mercy, 33, 145, 311, 318, 326 Me Rongo, 116, 117 Me Rongo Congress, 116, 117 Me Rongo Congress for Peace, Sustainability and Respect for the Sacred, 116 Me Rongo Declaration, 117 Messages, 32, 48, 61, 68, 99, 110, 117, 122, 142, 179, 311 Mestizaje, 162, 319 Metaphor, 13, 46, 219, 265, 270, 318, 321, 323 Metaphorical, 295 Method, 24, 28, 35, 36, 57, 61, 67, 82, 110, 146, 175, 180, 202, 309, 313, 315 Methodological, 26, 82, 83, 189, 271, 287, 323 Methodology(ies), 2, 8, 13, 14, 23, 24, 29, 36, 37, 52, 58, 60, 61, 65, 83, 84, 109, 160, 174–179, 185, 270, 273, 275, 276, 280, 296, 310, 313–315, 318, 319 Mexico, 13, 160, 163, 164, 166, 265, 317, 318, 323, 325, 326

Micronesia, 216 Middle East, 79, 183, 319 Mignolo, Walter, 27, 163 Migrant, 205, 320 migrant population, 205 Migration, 45, 89, 114, 121 Migration to Enlightenment, 113 Military, 136, 181, 184, 198, 200, 206, 209, 251, 313 military operation, 197 Militia, 114, 179, 182 Millennia, 266, 267 Mindinao, 13, 178 Mining mining industry, 203 Minister, 118, 220 minister of religion, 220 Minority, 58, 63, 207, 235, 239, 257, 275, 322 Misery, 198, 279 Mission, 5, 33, 50, 80, 81, 200 Missionary, 25, 113 Moana, 58, 59, 313 Modern, 8, 25, 28, 36–38, 77, 110, 117, 151, 186, 198, 203, 208, 251, 272, 276, 280, 295 Modernisation, 77 Modernity, 36, 217 Moe, 222 Mohawk, 44 Mokopuna, 3, 57, 65 Molk, 47 Money, 37, 96, 113, 202, 226, 322 Montevideo Convention, 254 Mo’olelo, 317 Mo’oni Moon, 218 Moral, 8, 60, 69, 70, 82, 114, 265 moral imperative, 11, 248 Moriori, 2, 4, 68, 106, 111, 115–117, 121, 122, 174, 179, 310, 314, 316, 325–327

INDEX

Moriori cultures Moriori people, 121, 316 Mosque, 206 Mother, 10, 46, 65, 75, 112, 181, 184, 219, 220, 312, 325 Motivate, 67, 80, 82 Moukableh, 75, 309, 315 Mountain, 3, 44, 51, 112, 115, 118, 202, 280, 327 Mouthpiece, 111 Movement, 12, 14, 23, 38, 45, 46, 52, 60, 61, 64, 82, 107, 121, 154, 159, 160, 166, 180, 187, 198, 199, 205, 207, 210, 271, 274, 278–281, 284–287, 289–291, 294, 295, 318, 321, 324 Mozambique, 30, 311 Mr Mr Griffith QC, 258, 259 Mr Howard, 247, 248 Mud, 219, 321 Multicultural, 69, 198, 313 Multidisciplinary, 6 Multi-generational, 52, 136 Multi-party, 247 Multi-relational, 277 Municipal municipal court, 249, 253 Music, 97, 266 Muslim, 198, 202, 282 Muslim Bangsamoro, 275, 324 Muslim organisation, 286 Mutual Mutual Accompaniment, 270, 271, 277, 279, 280 mutual cooperation, 284, 324 mutual protection, 284, 324 Mutual sharing, 284, 324 mutual understanding, 82 Myanmar, 176, 178, 181, 189, 320 Mystical, 112

353

Myth, 109, 168 Mythological knowledge, 209 Mythology N N¯a, 133 Na‘alehu Elementary, 132 Na‘au, 135 ¯ 139, 317 N¯a Hopena A’o (HA), Nakhid, Camille, 8, 92, 97, 315 Name, 6, 8, 78, 135, 146, 174, 189, 292 Narrative, 14, 57, 62, 67, 80, 85, 111–113, 122, 141, 159, 176, 182, 198, 207, 208, 225, 271, 273, 275, 292, 294, 309 Nasrallah, Hasan, 78 Nation, 90, 97, 98, 105, 179, 198, 254, 256, 315 nation state, 51, 207, 208, 254, 267, 272, 275, 289, 295 National National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, 4, 6, 68, 122, 174, 188, 319 National flag National University of Samoa, 223 National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies (NCPACS), 110, 174, 175, 178, 179, 181, 189, 319 Native Native Affairs Minister, 114 Native American, 45, 60 native Canadian native Canadian leaders, 276 Native Hawaiian, 134 native Papuan, 198–202, 204–210 Native Paradigm, 43, 45, 50 native reserve, 113 Native Science, 46 native title, 262, 323

354

INDEX

Native Title Act , 242, 247 Natural natural environment, 203, 204, 206 natural justice, 37 natural resources, 117, 201, 206, 207, 209, 216, 320 Naturalised, 165 Navajo, 13 Navigate, 68, 136, 182, 218 Navigator, 63, 67 Nazi, 259 Nazi-like race law, 259 Ndi dibie, 35 Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 25, 27 Negara Kesatuan Republik Indonesia (NKRI), 199 Negative peace, 29, 195 Negotiate, 34, 77, 92, 96, 99, 101, 223, 224, 232, 267, 268, 278, 289, 323 Negotiation, 12, 92, 96, 98, 100–102, 200, 204, 205, 207, 223, 241, 244, 250, 263, 316, 317, 321 Negotiation of peace, 236 Neighbourhood, 96 Neighbouring, 118, 275 Neocolonial, 8 Neoliberal, 161, 166, 167 Nepal, 7 Netherlands Network, 42, 43, 45, 49, 52, 100, 162, 294 New New Caledonia, 216 new generation, 284 New Jersey, 315 New Mexico, 45 new order, 28 New South Wales, 261 New York, 315 Newspaper, 108, 112

Ng¯a Ng¯a Puti Ng¯ai Ng¯aiTahu, 64, 67, 174, 319 Ng¯ai Te Rangi, 118 Ngalum, 202 NGO, 271 Ng¯ati Ng¯ati Apakura, 118 Ng¯ati Koata, 118 Ng¯ati Kuia, 118 Ng¯ati Mutunga, 115 Ng¯ati R¯arua, 2, 3 Ng¯ati Tahinga, 118 Ng¯ati Tama, 115 Ng¯ati Toa, 118 Ngugi wa Thiongo, 25 Nickel, 216 Niger Delta, 13, 29, 31, 32, 35–37, 178, 182 Nigeria, 13, 29, 31, 34, 37, 182, 189, 310, 325, 326 Nigerian, 36, 176, 310 Nineteenth century, 63, 112, 179, 182 Niue, 216 Noa, 107, 295 Noble birth, 220 Non-colonising future, 273 Non-hierarchical, 266, 291 Non-human environment, 280 Non-Indigenous, 1, 2, 10–14, 46, 47, 49–53, 59, 136, 176, 186, 187, 248, 270, 272, 275, 277, 291, 293, 312, 317, 323 Non-Islamised Indigenous People, 280 Non-killing, 121 Non-local, 91 Non-Lumad non-Lumad actors, 271 non-Lumad NGO, 283

INDEX

non-Lumad partner, 285 Non-violence, 279, 327 Non-violent, 181, 204, 270, 280, 293, 296, 308 non-violent protest, 121 non-violent resistance, 316 Non-Western, 280 Noongar people, 262 North, 47, 78, 118, 216, 281, 312 North America, 13, 26, 27, 43, 251, 279, 312 North Otago, 67, 69 Northern northern island, 281 Northern Marianas, 176 Northern Territory, 262, 263 Northern Territory (NT), 262, 263 Nunuku, 115, 116 Nunuku’s law, 115 Nunuku Whenua, 115, 121 Nurture, 133, 164 Nusantara archipelago, 208 Nvkwh t¯ ohi yada, 46, 327 Nwanne di na mba, 31 Nweke, Obinna, 178, 182, 186

O Oath-taking, 34 Obedience, 85, 220, 221 Objective, 83, 138, 160, 164, 168, 183, 254, 272, 315 Obligation, 4, 54, 84, 85, 97, 177, 204, 233, 234, 237, 240, 249, 253, 315 Obscure, 46, 53 Observer, 83, 244, 254, 315 Occupation, 10, 64, 65, 67, 85, 112, 113, 121, 136, 272, 313 Ocean, 218, 280 Oceania, 216

355

Oceania archipelago, 216 Odisha, 12 Offend, 95, 219, 225, 226, 245, 321 Offender, 219, 226, 322 Offering, 69, 204, 226, 278 Office Office of Hawaiian Education, 132 Office of Justice and Peace, 206 Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, 241 Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OCHCR), 241 Officialdom, 166 Ogbeala-ani-In-Council, 33 Older people, 179 Old order, 28 O le Ifoga, 225 Ole talk, 90–97, 102, 309, 310, 315, 316 Ole Va, 224 Oli, 140 ¯ arama, 64, 114 Om¯ Once Were Warriors, 65, 108 Ondawame, John, 204, 207, 208 One One man one vote one with the gods, 218 Oneida Nation, 41 Oneness, 31, 222 Online, 66, 94, 142, 178, 180 Ontological, 12, 44, 48, 83, 227 Ontology, 36, 44, 84, 163, 312, 318 Onyata’a ka, 41 Open, 9, 34, 77, 80, 81, 137, 141, 144, 145, 150, 151, 154, 162, 180, 183, 239, 256, 259, 263, 264, 296, 318 open war, 201, 209 Openness, 102, 138 Oppression, 28, 76, 85, 99, 106, 108, 152, 159, 179, 186, 195, 198,

356

INDEX

199, 207, 208, 210, 232, 236, 293, 316 Oral knowledge, 52 Orator, 3, 97, 179 Oratory, 3, 32, 182, 322 Orientalist, 79 Oshimili North, 33 Osiyo, 41 Otago Otago Polytechnic, 3, 313 Otago University, 4, 6, 65, 110, 111, 122, 174, 176, 183, 184, 189, 314, 317, 319, 321, 323 ¯ Otepoti, 120 Other, 60, 78, 163, 164 Otherness, 163, 318 Outcome, 13, 240, 251, 274, 290 Outlaw, 64, 117 Outsider, 106, 109–112, 175, 187, 295, 316 outsider researcher, 79, 80, 84 Over-researched, 10, 106 Ownership, 64, 66, 114, 118, 143, 144, 257, 273

P Pacific Pacific diaspora, 227 Pacific Island, 2, 179, 215 Pacific Island people, 215 Pacific Islander, 4, 215 Pacific Nations, 63 Pacific Ocean, 184, 216 Pacific region, 215, 216, 321 Pacific societies, 13 Pahala, 140 Pain, 122, 136, 218 Pakakohi people, 119 P¯akeh¯a, 4, 67, 136, 175, 254, 256 P¯akeh¯a lens, 65 Palapala, 219, 321

Palau, 216 Palestine, 13, 76, 320, 325, 327 Palestinian, 13, 76–80, 82, 85, 176, 183, 310, 314, 315 Palestinian people, 76, 85 Palestinian resistance, 76, 177, 189 Pamungkas, Cahyo, 320 Pan-Aboriginal, 236, 323 Pandemic, 90, 134, 186 Pan-tribal, 316 Papa, 61, 219 Papat¯ua¯nuku, 59, 64, 67, 313, 325 Papua Papua land Papua New Guinea, 216 Papua Peace Conference, 206 Papua Road Map, 205 Papua the land of peace, 197, 205, 210, 320 Papuan, 197, 200, 203–205, 207, 209, 210, 320, 321, 327 Papuan Presidium Council, 198 Papuan separatist movement, 205 Paradigm, 7, 27, 38, 42, 45, 46, 49, 50, 61, 62, 83, 84, 106, 188, 276, 285, 290, 291, 308, 312 Paradoxical, 164, 227 Paramount, 220, 224, 240, 247, 313 Paramount chief, 63 Para-para Adat , 200, 201, 209, 320, 326 Pardon, 225, 321 Parent, 99, 136, 201, 219–222, 224 Parental responsibility, 221 Parihaka Parihaka p¯a Parihaka Papakainga Parihaka Network Ng¯a Manu Korihi, 122 Parliament, 63, 114, 233–235, 237, 242, 245, 247–249, 252, 257–260

INDEX

Parliament’s Standing Committee on Legal and Constitutional Matters, 237 Parliament’s Standing Committee on Legal and Constitutional Affairs (PSCLCA), 237 Participant, 48, 68, 79–84, 110, 121, 135, 186, 187, 276–278, 314–316, 319 Participation action research, 175, 181, 185 Participatory-AppreciativeCollaborative Inquiry, 276 Parties/Party, 33, 34, 37, 38, 76, 110, 181, 200–202, 207, 209, 217, 224–226, 231, 233, 236, 240, 245–248, 250, 251, 254, 263, 264, 267, 268, 311, 321 parties in conflict, 30, 33–35, 202, 311 Partner/Partnering, 50, 110, 134, 139, 270, 272, 278, 285, 286, 290 Partnership, 10, 66, 118, 174, 184, 185, 204, 244, 256, 263, 270, 274, 286, 287, 290, 291, 293, 296, 323 Pasifika, 13, 63 Passive resistance, 63, 64, 114, 121, 122, 313 Past, 4, 9, 30, 42, 52, 58, 60, 61, 68, 69, 98, 122, 164, 169, 186, 198, 200, 201, 204, 210, 232, 234, 236, 253, 267, 272, 277, 289, 313, 323 past wrongs, 30, 33, 34, 62, 267 Paternalism, 270, 286 Pathway, 14, 57, 68, 70, 267, 272, 274, 290, 291, 294, 296, 314 Patu te hoa riri ki te rangimarie, 120 Peace

357

peace activist, 67 peace actor, 162 peace advocacy, 271 Peace and conflict studies, 2, 5–9, 11, 13, 26, 36, 38, 42, 43, 46, 49, 50, 52–54, 68, 70, 83–85, 147, 181, 185, 217, 270, 271, 280, 287, 308, 310, 313–316, 320, 321, 323 Peace and reconciliation, 23, 271, 285 Peace chiefs, 46 peace circle, 57 Peace development, 14, 320 peace education, 5, 7, 14, 110, 122, 139, 141, 145, 149, 151, 152, 178, 180, 181, 183, 189, 309, 316–318 Peace Education Curriculum Analysis, 178 peace march, 57, 115 Peace Network of Papua, 205, 210 peace processes, 14, 161, 165, 185, 320, 326 Peace proposal peace research, 5, 7, 24, 36, 149, 152 peace studies, 5–7, 24, 59, 76, 132, 134, 139, 141, 145, 147, 151, 153, 154, 196, 314 Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS), 1, 2, 4–7, 9, 11, 13, 23, 36–38, 42, 43, 47, 49, 50, 52–54, 68, 70, 76, 83–85, 147, 174, 176, 177, 181, 184, 185, 217, 270, 271, 280, 287, 291, 294, 307–311, 313–316, 320, 321, 323 Peace and reconciliation (P&R), 23, 271, 285 Peacebuilding, 3, 5–7, 12–14, 24, 26, 28–38, 43, 48, 49, 137, 160, 161, 163, 178–180, 182, 186,

358

INDEX

188, 189, 270, 271, 279, 283–285, 287, 289, 290, 293–295, 310, 311, 317–319, 323, 326 Peace Education Curriculum Analysis (PECA), 178, 183 Peaceful peaceful co-existence, 33, 44 peaceful history, 64 peaceful living, 64, 116, 121, 316 peaceful sit-in, 64 peaceful teaching, 122 Peacekeeping, 5, 117 Peacemaking, 7, 12, 30, 42, 44, 47, 182, 188, 189, 200, 209, 291, 295, 310, 312, 326 Pedagogical, 160, 166–168, 170, 318 pedagogical discourse, 163, 166, 167, 319 Pedagogy, 24, 49, 168, 274, 312 Peer group, 178, 181 People people of colour, 189 People of the Standing Stone, 41 People Power, 282 Peoplehood, 231, 233, 271, 272, 275, 287, 294, 322 Peremptory norms, 236 Performative, 96, 274 Permanent, 234 Permanent Court of International Justice, 249, 252 Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues, 12 Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ), 249, 252 Perpetrator, 33, 34, 236 Persecuted, 199 Personal, 7, 57, 67, 76, 77, 80, 84, 94, 99, 154, 179, 272, 326 personal gain, 222 personal network, 82

Personhood, 32, 240, 311, 326 Persuasion, 52 Petroglyph, 149–151, 318 PhD, 65, 68, 75, 175, 177, 183, 184, 317, 323 PhD research, 13, 271, 282 PhD thesis, 65, 175 Philippines, 13, 176, 178, 182, 185, 189, 270, 271, 280–282, 287, 319, 320, 323, 326 Philippino, 176 Philosophy, 5, 24, 28, 32, 48, 50, 116, 119–122, 317 Physical, 64, 107, 113, 115, 135, 149, 208, 219, 222, 223, 225, 270, 296, 313, 318 physical danger, 80, 189, 320 physical violence, 209 Pillar, 67 Pilot, 132, 135, 137, 143 Pioneer, 280 Pitcairn, 216 Place, 4, 13, 24, 26, 32, 35, 42, 44, 45, 47, 48, 51, 52, 76, 78, 80, 81, 83, 85, 90–94, 97, 101, 102, 107, 114, 117, 118, 139, 140, 143, 148, 151, 153, 162, 165, 174, 202, 207, 208, 223, 236, 249, 263, 273, 277, 287, 292, 294, 309, 310, 312, 315, 317, 318, 320, 321, 325 place-specific, 177 Placenta, 219, 321, 325 Planet, 51, 52, 117 Plantation, 203 Plants, 42, 45, 59, 117, 141, 142, 147, 148, 150, 312 Plenary power, 234 Plough, 114, 119, 120 Pluralism, 49, 233, 291 Plurality, 133, 159, 167, 289 Poet, 109, 226

INDEX

Poetry, 77, 168 Policy, 5, 90, 133, 162, 166, 209, 253 Political political consciousness, 61, 77, 251 political detainees, 282 political independence, 248 political parties, 79, 315 political science, 5, 183, 320 political violence, 206, 208–210, 320, 321 Politics, 6, 90, 95, 183, 203, 206, 248, 251, 289, 324 politics of distraction, 62 politics of love, 324 Polly Walker Polynesia, 216 Poor communication, 101 Position, 34, 51, 62, 66, 67, 69, 79, 81, 83, 85, 100, 110, 113, 119, 152, 159, 186, 188, 200, 244, 249, 250, 256, 264, 295 position of authority, 60 Positionality, 134, 138, 139, 278, 294 Positive, 37, 62, 69, 111, 147, 148, 152, 160, 226, 234, 235, 252, 264, 276, 290, 322, 326 positive peace, 29, 159, 161, 181, 195, 210, 283, 293, 294, 308, 317, 327 positive relations, 32, 311 Positivism, 7 Positivity, 81, 147, 152 Postcolonial, 8 Post conflict, 185 Post conflict communities post conflict studies, 267 Posterity, 245, 251, 267 Postgraduate, 175 Postmodern, 81 post-modern research, 276 Post-war, 29

359

Potawatomi, 44, 50 Pou, 67 Poverty, 165, 293 Power power imbalance, 50 power relations, 36, 76, 77, 161, 196, 308 power structures, 28, 76, 78, 80, 83, 85, 140, 188, 314, 315, 318 Powerless, 82, 276, 286 P¯ owhiri, 295 Practice, 5, 9, 11, 12, 14, 27, 30–33, 35–37, 43, 49, 51, 52, 58, 60, 64, 70, 77, 81, 89, 94, 97, 101, 102, 106, 112, 117, 134–137, 143, 145–147, 154, 161, 163, 167–170, 177, 181, 182, 184–186, 188, 216, 217, 227, 246, 251, 253, 270, 271, 277, 279–281, 284, 292, 293, 296, 311, 312, 316, 319, 323, 324, 326 Practitioner, 51, 53, 54, 81, 174, 180, 184, 185, 227, 282, 291, 322 Pragmatic solidarity, 270, 294, 323 Praxis, 61, 272, 277, 280, 287, 290, 291, 294, 296, 313 praxis ethos, 277 Prayer, 35, 92, 93, 107 Pregnancy, 219 Prejudice, 90, 137 Pre-knowledge, 79 Preparing food, 202 Preservationist, 273 Preserve, 10, 37, 65, 66, 69, 113, 115, 161, 168, 221, 222 President President Joko Widodo, 205 President Yudhoyono, 205 Prestige, 65, 66, 68, 106

360

INDEX

Prevention, 36, 38 Prima facie, 254 Prime Minister (PM), 247, 257, 322 Primitive, 27, 198, 206, 207 Prison, 120 Prisoner, 120 Privatisation, 30 Privilege, 4, 48, 186, 187, 224 Problem-solving, 12, 28, 85, 142, 169, 227 Process, 8, 11–13, 27, 29, 30, 32–35, 37, 43, 47–50, 53, 58, 59, 62–64, 68, 76, 79, 81–83, 85, 92, 97, 98, 100, 102, 107, 111, 118, 121, 133, 135, 138, 141, 142, 144, 145, 149, 152, 160–162, 164, 165, 168, 169, 174, 178, 179, 182, 185–187, 204, 209, 220, 221, 223, 224, 226, 227, 233, 237, 238, 248, 257, 261–263, 268, 270–272, 274, 276–278, 281, 285–287, 290, 291, 295, 296, 309–311, 314–317, 319–327 process of reconciliation, 122 Production of knowledge, 77, 196, 199 Professional, 99, 180, 205, 278, 279 Professionalism, 206 Professor, 77 Professor Dodson, 239 Professor of Law, 322 Progress, 101, 141, 146, 148, 167, 174, 181, 183, 207, 208, 257, 263 Prohibition, 236 Promised land, 113, 114, 118 Property, 26, 68 Prophesy, 112 Prophet, 3, 63, 113, 121 Prosperous, 69, 199, 208, 313 Protagonist, 268

Protect, 64, 67, 78, 98, 113, 150, 186, 189, 219, 235, 237, 242, 245, 259, 279, 280, 295, 308, 322, 325 Protective accompaniment , 295 Protest, 52, 63, 64, 114, 181 protest campaign, 119 protest movement, 207, 281 Protestant, 200 protestant church, 206 Protesters, 64 Protocol, 47, 50, 59, 65, 91, 101, 102, 112, 187, 217, 219, 223, 295, 321, 325 Proverb, 27, 32, 109, 177, 220, 221, 309, 311, 322 Psychological, 26, 28, 108, 281, 295 Psychology, 6 Psychosocial psychosocial accompaniment, 277, 279 psychosocial rehabilitation work, 282 Psychosocial rehabilitation work (PRW), 282 Public public debate, 159 public humiliation, 226 public services, 209 public support, 247 Pule, 221, 223, 224 Punitive, 33 Puppet, 207 P¯ ur¯akau, 57, 66–69 Purumunda community, 12 Pu’u Loa, 151

Q Qualitative, 29, 140, 181, 276 qualitative research, 80, 81 Quantitative, 4, 140, 276, 281

INDEX

Queen, 255, 256 Queensland, 262 Quijano, Anibal, 26, 163 R Race, 27, 52, 60, 90, 98, 99, 108, 152, 184, 197, 238, 258, 259, 319 Races power, 234, 245, 252, 258, 259 Racial, 163, 318 racial divisions, 279 racial equality, 252 Racist, 200, 206, 252, 259 racist theory, 178 Radical radical democracy, 162 radical equality, 325 radical hospitality, 279, 295, 324, 326 Radicalism, 166 R¯akaihaut¯ u, 3, 63, 178 Rakatira, 2, 64 Rakatirataka, 66 Rakim¯arie, 65, 179 Rangahau, 57, 61 Rangihauake, Minirapa, 119 Rangihaute, 115 Rapa Nui, 216 Rape, 236 Raruraru, 107 Ratana, T.W., 114 Raup¯at¯ u, 63 Raw data, 53, 80 Reality, 28, 29, 37, 76, 77, 81, 83–85, 160, 183, 184, 196, 210, 217, 236, 247, 251, 291, 292, 314 Reciprocal reciprocal relationships, 12, 48 Reciprocity, 30, 46, 52, 100, 132, 133, 256, 270, 293, 295

361

Reclamation, 61, 62, 274 Reconcile, 34, 202, 248 Reconciliation, 7, 28–30, 32–35, 37, 47, 82, 121, 200, 209, 267, 272, 291, 311, 312, 320, 326 Reconciliatory, 30, 33, 311 Reconstruction, 83, 210 Record, 57, 65, 67, 69, 94, 141, 151, 215, 314 Red-cap chiefs, 33 Redress, 227, 234, 247 Reflect, 27, 38, 63, 66, 69, 76, 83, 98, 120, 140, 145, 175, 292, 293, 324 Reflexive, 81, 138, 272 Reflexivity, 138, 139, 270, 278 Refuge, 119 Regenerate, 69, 177, 274 Regeneration, 111, 278, 324 Regional Police Headquarter, 206 Rehabilitation, 34 Reintegration, 34, 35, 182 Rejuvenate, 62 R¯ekoh¯ u, 68 Relational space, 222 Relations, 6, 25, 28, 42–44, 46, 100, 204, 218, 258, 273, 293, 327 Relationship, 2, 11, 14, 30, 34, 37, 42–46, 48, 49, 52, 59, 67, 81, 91, 92, 96, 98, 99, 101, 102, 108, 110, 117, 137, 147, 152, 163, 170, 174, 177, 180, 181, 186–188, 196, 203, 207, 208, 217, 219, 221–225, 227, 260, 267, 270, 272–275, 280, 285–287, 290, 291, 293, 295, 308, 312, 313, 315, 316, 318, 320, 321, 325, 326 Relativist, 83, 84 Relaxation, 91, 315 Religion, 6, 10, 89, 90, 99, 101, 320

362

INDEX

Religious, 25, 89, 91, 150, 200, 217, 218, 295, 315 religious leader, 205, 206, 210 Remedy(ies), 42, 235, 250, 268 Remorse, 33, 311 Renaissance, 61 Renewal, 45 Reo Reparation, 32, 53, 236, 268, 323 Reporter, 112 Representation, 62 Repressive, 209 Rescinded, 260 Research, 2, 4, 6, 11–14, 24–26, 29, 36, 38, 42, 46, 49, 51, 52, 57, 58, 60–62, 67, 69, 70, 76, 77, 79, 81–84, 92, 99, 106, 108–111, 121, 137, 138, 154, 174, 177, 178, 180, 181, 183–186, 188, 189, 201, 210, 270, 271, 273, 276, 278, 280, 281, 287, 290, 291, 294, 296, 310–316, 319 Researcher, 65, 69, 76–85, 133, 138, 177, 183, 186, 278, 314, 317, 323 Resilience, 62, 120, 275, 294, 326 Resistance, 2, 7, 82, 85, 111, 116, 119, 166, 170, 177, 178, 181, 183, 185–189, 274, 275, 282, 283, 289, 294, 319 Resistance research Resolution, 2, 5–7, 12–14, 23, 24, 32, 33, 35–38, 43, 47, 48, 92, 96, 98, 99, 122, 177, 201, 217, 222 Respect, 3, 37, 43, 46, 59, 99, 107, 177, 220, 221, 284, 287, 313, 321, 324, 326 Respectful relationships, 280, 308 Responsibility, 42–46, 59, 65, 100, 101, 132, 133, 140, 141, 143,

154, 165, 169, 177, 187, 221, 243, 312, 313, 317, 318, 326 responsibility-based ethic, 272 Responsive, 14, 137, 154, 272 Restitution, 32, 37, 53, 177, 272 Restoration, 29, 35, 49, 273, 324–327 Restorative, 33, 276, 295 restorative justice, 7, 14, 30, 34, 37, 177, 178, 185, 291, 294, 311, 320 Retracing, 66, 115 Retribution, 32 Revenge, 30, 90 Revengeful, 202 Reverence, 3, 59, 313 Revitalisation, 3, 61 Revitalise, 57, 65 Revolt, 77 Revolutionary, 76, 132, 242, 287 Rhythm, 116, 146 Right(s), 5, 10, 14, 29, 30, 38, 58, 60, 62, 66, 68, 70, 99, 112, 160–162, 164, 165, 168–170, 206–209, 223, 233, 235, 237, 240–243, 245, 247, 250, 253–255, 257, 264, 271, 272, 278, 287, 289, 293 right to internal self-determination, 232, 322 Rigour, 108 Riot, 207 Rirerire Hau Pai Marire, 121 Risk, 53, 96, 311 Risk-taking, 65, 108 Rites, 108 Ritual, 35, 37, 62, 107, 177, 186, 187, 202, 203, 219, 225, 295, 321 Rivalries, 90 River, 51, 118, 280 River lime, 94, 315

INDEX

Rock, 151, 219 Rodríguez McKeon, Lucía Elena, 318 Rohe, 67, 132 Rongo Rongo Hirea, 107 Rongo Mau, 122 Rongomai, Te Whiti o, 114, 118, 120 Rongomaiwhenua, 115 Rongo-marae-roa, 106, 112 Rongomaraeroa, 175, 178 Rongo-marae-roa-a-Tane, 107 Rongo-ma-Tane, 107 Roots, 9, 14, 77, 160, 208, 241, 270, 323 Roti, 90 Round table, 35 Royal Roads University, 6 Rwanda, 30, 311

S Sacred sacred altar, 115 sacred fires, 112, 114 sacred space, 218, 219, 223–225, 321, 326 Sacrifice, 35, 266 Sacrificing, 30 Sadness, 218 Safe, 186, 218, 226, 282, 315 safe areas, 79 Safeguard, 326 Safety, 100, 118, 206, 218 Saireri, 200 Sami Sami People, 12 Samoa, 2, 4, 13, 179, 217, 220, 224, 319–321, 325, 326 Samoa Conference, 223 Samoan, 3, 13, 176, 189, 218–225, 227, 321, 322, 325–327 Samoan high chief, 179

363

Sampari, 198 San Cristóbel de las Casas, 159 Savage, 109, 198 Scandinavian, 174 Scar, 68 Scholar, 11, 44, 46, 272, 290, 316 Scholarship, 23, 26, 43, 147, 175, 184, 188, 270, 271, 273, 287, 295 School school culture, 140, 168, 181 school curriculum, 138 Science, 4, 5, 8, 26, 36, 46, 50–52, 76, 177, 215, 238, 281, 296 Scientific, 4, 27, 108, 196, 201 scientific fact, 109 scientific rigour, 108 Scorched earth, 114 Secatero, Leon, 54 Secretary-General, 29 Secessionist Sectorial sectorial dialogue, 205, 210 Secure, 75, 80, 201 Security security person, 206, 207 security sector, 30, 37 security sector reform, 30, 37 Seed, 141, 148, 161, 219, 321 Seers, 27 Segregate, 93, 180 Self self-censorship, 80 self-determination, 28, 62, 66, 68, 161, 238–244, 250, 264, 271, 293, 307, 309, 323, 327 self-government, 26, 66, 162 self-reflection, 101 self-reliance, 62 self-righteous, 265 Senior, 44, 49, 200, 221 Sense of community, 102, 165

364

INDEX

Sensitive, 33, 36, 79, 80, 82, 83, 138, 186, 225, 315, 322 Separatist, 180, 198, 199, 206, 207, 210, 320 Settlement, 33, 64, 112, 119, 122, 242, 256, 262, 275, 279, 323, 324 Settler, 63, 64, 113, 118, 119, 136, 215, 231, 272, 320, 322 settler colonialism, 42, 43, 47, 49, 50, 109, 312 Shaj Marg, 178 Shared, 9, 35, 42, 43, 59, 62, 66, 80, 94, 110, 118, 139, 143, 147, 150, 153, 165, 177, 203, 275, 276, 279, 294, 295, 316, 317 shared destiny, 30 Sharing, 11, 14, 45, 47, 65, 67, 69, 91, 97, 106, 110, 111, 116, 117, 132, 146, 147, 276, 309, 312, 314, 316 Sheehan, John, 114 Sibling, 220–222 Sierra Leone, 30, 35, 311 Silence/silenced, 14, 51, 60, 76, 78, 93, 95, 120, 137, 160, 184, 292, 314 Simon Fraser University, 115 Simons, Jeremy, 178, 185, 186, 323, 324 Singer, 109 Sioux leader, 265 Site of negotiation, 92, 96, 101, 102 Slaughter, 121 Slave-like labour, 236 Slavery, 89, 121, 198, 274 Smith, Graeme, 61, 313 Social social activist, 134, 281, 318 social capital, 100 social change, 5, 287 social cohesion, 33, 37, 100

social construct, 238 social constructivism, 29 social constructivist, 29, 310 social harmony, 28, 30, 34, 311 social justice, 8, 28, 70, 284, 287, 293, 294, 308, 310, 314, 327 social media, 175, 185 social medicine, 280 social network, 100 social order, 30, 165 social riot, 207 social science, 36, 76, 177, 281, 296, 308 Socialization, 89, 169 Societal norms, 100 Society, 5, 10, 28–30, 32, 35, 46, 63, 68, 69, 77, 79, 81, 94, 96, 102, 108, 136, 159, 160, 163, 164, 176, 195, 220, 221, 223, 224, 227, 241, 242, 266, 311, 316, 318, 325 Socio-economic, 24, 69, 99 Socio-linguistic, 278 Sociology, 6, 320 Soldier, 108, 122, 168 Solicitor General, 258, 259 Solidarity, 2, 30, 32, 34, 153, 185, 203, 277–279, 295, 311, 324, 326 Solomon Islands, 216 Solomon, Maui, 4, 68, 115, 121, 295, 316 Solomon, Susan, 68 Songs, 77, 109, 177 Sound, 116, 133, 138, 146, 147 Sousa de Santos, 168 South South Africa, 30 South America, 215, 265 South Australia, 261 South Island, 2, 63, 64, 111, 112, 120, 173

INDEX

Southeast Asia, 215 Southern, 3, 30, 63, 64, 112, 200, 267 Southern Alps, 64, 113 southern Mexico, 159 Sovereign, 107, 246, 250, 255, 256, 260 sovereign right, 10, 249 Sovereignty, 118, 233, 243, 244, 249–251, 254, 256, 257, 261, 272, 273 So¯ aluapule, 221 Space, 11, 45, 50–52, 58, 60, 66, 70, 76, 77, 84, 85, 96, 98, 100, 102, 107, 136, 138, 140–145, 148, 150, 162, 163, 165–167, 169, 177, 180, 203, 208, 219, 220, 224, 225, 227, 287, 293, 295, 309, 313, 316, 318, 319 space for peace, 174, 319 space of resistance, 76 Spain, 176, 178, 184, 266 Spanish, 97, 184, 266, 275, 278, 280, 315, 324 Spanish Conquistadors, 265 Speaker, 13, 44, 53, 90, 92, 93, 95–98 Speak the truth, 308 Special, 47, 66, 109, 141, 144, 149, 150, 258, 259, 326 Special Rapporteur, 247 Spice Islands, 216 Spider’s web, 140 Spirit, 2, 30, 45, 46, 48, 59, 85, 111, 112, 115, 133, 152, 198, 206, 218, 220, 253, 294, 295, 313, 321, 325 spirit world, 35, 46 Spiritual spiritual ancestor, 204 spiritual head, 66 spiritual pact, 116

365

spiritual power, 30 spiritual realm, 204, 321 spiritual teaching, 113 spiritual world, 35, 327 Spirituality, 48, 52, 57, 119, 178, 184, 218, 266, 278, 279, 293, 321, 324, 325, 327 Spontaneous, 91, 315 Srivijaya, 198 Stakeholders, 12, 264, 285 Standpoint, 61, 109 Star, 198 State, 28, 181, 195, 196, 207, 258, 259 state power, 207 Status, 99, 197, 198, 203, 206, 243 status quo, 60, 70, 134, 250 status quo ante, 250 Statute, 235, 259 Stereotype, 62, 90, 122 Stewardship, 50, 221, 224 Stigma, 165, 168, 206, 320 Stigmatising, 163, 168 Stone, 116, 150, 203 Story(ies), 42, 44, 63, 67, 69, 77, 80, 90, 121, 122, 132–137, 150–154, 170, 177, 179, 182, 265, 272, 273, 276, 287, 292, 293, 295, 296, 308, 309, 314, 317, 319 Storying, 179, 185, 309 Storytelling, 27, 69, 176, 273, 274, 295, 319 Storywork, 271, 273–275, 277, 287, 292–294, 296 Stranger, 47, 78, 107 Strategic, 36, 136, 267, 290 strategic warfare, 118 Strategy, 92, 101, 161, 182, 185, 199, 200, 204, 207, 210, 277, 282, 287, 289 Stream, 118, 327

366

INDEX

Strength-based narrative, 276 Strengthen, 29, 48, 119, 133, 139, 141, 142, 144, 145, 147, 149, 150, 152, 154, 161–163, 167, 169, 237, 244, 286, 293, 295, 318 Stringybark, 48, 49 Structural, 134, 164, 248, 270, 291 structural injustice, 233, 280 structural violence, 2, 53, 160, 184, 208, 293, 294, 308 Struggle, 14, 26, 61, 66, 70, 76, 77, 138, 146, 152, 166, 167, 182, 198, 205, 270–272, 274, 284, 289 Student, 4, 6, 132–135, 137–153, 173, 175, 186–189, 281, 317–320 student protest, 281 Subaltern, 208 Sub-humanity, 238, 322 Subjugated, 8, 78, 314 Submission, 5, 225, 258, 259, 263, 282 Subordinate, 162, 196 Substantive right, 239 Sufiga, 223 Sui generis , 233, 264, 265 Sumatera, 198 Sun, 148, 218, 226 Supernatural, 35, 311 Suppress, 198 Suppressed, 26, 35, 76 Survival, 33, 59, 119, 182, 201, 218 Susan Thorpe Sustainability, 37, 38, 50, 177, 206, 210, 216, 286, 293, 311, 327 Sustainable, 117, 119, 204, 291 sustainable development, 5, 24, 52 sustainable peace, 28, 30, 38, 311 Sustained, 33, 167, 185, 222 Sweden, 11, 12

Symbiotic, 59, 313 Symbol, 47, 78, 119, 120, 209 Symbolic, 34, 116, 219, 233, 236, 260, 274, 323 Sympathy, 107 Synergies, 110, 111, 293 Synott, John, 3, 9, 11, 43, 293 Systematic, 25, 268, 276 systematic oppression, 208 Systemic, 236, 270, 275, 280 systemic change, 68 systemic racism, 59, 248

T Taboo, 79, 150 Tactic, 108, 114, 181, 182, 289 Tagalog, 281 Taiwan, 11, 215, 216 Takahia Takata, 59, 313 Taki, 107 Talanoa, 179, 180, 186, 189, 319 Tangata tangata whenua, 174 Taonga, 314 Tapata, 115, 116 Tapu, 107 Taranaki, 3, 68, 111, 114, 115, 118–120, 182 Target group, 82 Tasmania, 261 tatou au uma ile matua, 220 Te Te Ao M¯arama, 64, 66 Te Ao o Rongomaraeroa, 4, 110, 174, 178, 189, 319 Te Ara o Rakim¯arie, 65, 67 ¯ Te Atiawa, 2, 3, 112 Te Awapatiki, 116 Te Heke, 57, 64–66, 113, 114, 314 Te Heke Te Ao M¯arama, 66

INDEX

Te Ika-a-Maui, 122 Te Kohia, 118 Te Maih¯aroa Te Maih¯aroa Dodds, Anne Sissie, 67, 179 Te Maih¯aroa whanau, 64 Te Maih¯aroa, Kelli, 3, 12, 63–65, 313, 316 Te Maih¯aroa, Rangim¯arie, 66 Te Niho Marae, 68 ¯ Te Niho o Te Atiawa, 118, 122 Te Patu nui o Aio, 112 Te Pore, 120 Te R¯arua te reo, 64, 179 te reo M¯aori, 179 ¯ Te R¯ unaka o Otakou, 132 Te Tiriti, 64, 110, 184 Te Tiriti o Waitangi, 63, 64, 112, 254–256 Te Tumu School of M¯aori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies, 4, 321 Te Waiateruati, 112 Te Waipounamu, 2, 57, 63–65, 67, 111–113, 122, 132, 173, 175 Te Whare W¯ananga o Ot¯ago Te Whiti, 118–121 Te Whiti o Rongomai, 118, 120 Teacher, 27, 45, 99, 132–134, 137, 138, 140, 142, 143, 145–154, 167, 180–183, 220, 312, 318 Tebay, Father Neles, 198, 199, 205, 208 Technical, 85, 286 Technology, 185, 186, 238 Te Heke, 57, 63–67, 69, 114, 115, 121, 179 Tel Aviv, 75 Te Maih¯aroa, Kelli, 3, 4, 9, 12, 43, 63–67, 113, 114, 137, 175, 178, 185, 313, 314, 316, 326

367

Te Maih¯aroa, Rangim¯arie, 66 Temuka, 113 Tension, 92, 93, 97, 98, 101, 102, 106, 287, 289, 315 Terminology, 8, 9, 187, 207, 210 Terra nullius, 239 Territorial, 84, 163, 169, 243, 318, 320 territorial boundaries, 118 Territory, 85, 166, 184, 201, 234, 243, 249, 250, 254, 264 Tewa, 46 Thanksgiving, 202 Theology, 5, 6 Theoretical, 5, 24, 26, 28, 38, 62, 82, 84, 175, 189, 291 Theoretician, 81 Theory(ies), 2, 5, 24, 26–29, 61, 65, 70, 77, 80, 82, 84, 134, 147, 177–179, 183, 184, 215, 253, 291, 310, 313 Tikanga, 2, 295, 325 Tikar Adat , 200, 201, 209, 320, 326 Timor Leste, 12 Tino rakatirataka, 113 T¯ıpuna, 58, 59, 65–67, 178 Titiro, 61, 314 Title, 3, 33, 66, 68, 139, 179, 185, 221, 224, 236, 244, 253, 286 Tla-o-qui-aht, 116 T¯ of¯a Tofino, 116 T¯ ohi, 46, 312 Tohuka, 3, 112 Tojolabal, 167, 168, 319 Tokelau, 216 Tonga, 216 Tools, 24, 26, 28, 177 Toopu Tikanga, 121 Top-down, 30, 132, 204 Torea, 115, 116 Torres Strait Islander, 242

368

INDEX

Tortured, 199 Torture victims, 282 Total well-being, 132, 148, 149, 317 Tourism, 216 Trading routes, 267 Tradition, 4, 5, 26, 28, 32, 67, 68, 70, 91, 106, 109–112, 115–117, 119, 121, 122, 166, 168, 170, 174, 175, 179, 182, 186, 188, 189, 199–202, 204, 209, 219, 223, 235, 274, 277, 282, 284, 292, 308, 313, 314, 317, 322, 324, 326 Traditional, 7, 13, 14, 24, 30, 32, 33, 36, 37, 46, 51, 57, 59, 64, 68, 107, 109, 133, 145, 150, 162, 168, 169, 179, 196, 201, 202, 204, 210, 217, 223, 225, 227, 284, 310, 311, 315, 316, 320, 321 traditional food, 113, 203 traditional values, 27 Trail of Tears, 44 Transformational, 2, 69 transformational change, 70, 314 Transformative, 8, 33, 143, 148, 274, 294, 296, 317 transformative justice, 14 Transgress, 109, 219 Transitional justice, 12, 270, 278 Transmigration, 207 Transparent, 83, 101, 111 Trans-species psychology, 280 Trans-tribal, 275 Trauma, 200, 270 Treasure, 66, 69, 106, 200, 210, 273, 314 Treaty(ies) Treaty breaches, 64 Treaty Commissioner Act , 263 treaty making, 14, 237, 245, 320, 322, 323

Treaty Nay, 247 treaty negotiation, 232, 247, 250, 261, 263 Treaty of Waitangi, 63, 67, 112, 118, 184, 254 Treaty Yeah, 247 Trees, 59, 169, 280 Tribal tribal affiliation, 3 tribal area, 110, 200 tribal boundary, 67 Tribal chief tribal kinship, 284, 324 tribal knowledge, 32 tribal lands, 54, 113 Tribal leader, 53, 67, 114, 284 Tribal system, 10 tribal war, 202 Tribe, 64, 110, 113, 118–120, 174, 178, 202, 254, 284, 313 Trinbagonian, 94 Trinidad and Tobago, 89–91, 94–99, 102, 315, 326 Trinidadian, 90 Trust, 34, 80, 82, 84, 100, 133, 153, 234, 235 trust building, 80 Trustee, 33, 311 Trustworthiness, 100 Trustworthy, 76 Truth, 34, 36, 67, 76, 83, 85, 176, 267, 268, 273, 309, 314, 315, 325 truth-telling, 235, 246, 248, 257, 274, 323 Tseltal, 167, 168, 319 Tsotzil, 168, 319 T¯ uahu Tua’oi, 219, 220, 223 Tufts University, 6 Tuhiwai Smith, Linda, 8, 10, 11, 25–28, 52, 53, 58, 60, 61, 66,

INDEX

70, 76, 82, 175, 177, 182, 185, 186, 308 Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Ta’isi Efi, 223, 224 T¯ u-mata-uenga, 106, 107 T¯ upato Turia, Tariana, 108 Turkish, 78 Turtle Island, 43, 44, 53, 312 Tuvalu, 216 Tyranny, 196 U Ubuntu, 30–32, 311, 326 Ulahing , 284 Uluru, 257 Uluru Statement, 235, 257 Uluru Statement from the Heart , 235 Umuada, 35, 311 Unarmed, 279, 295 Uncivilised, 200, 204 Understanding, 4, 6, 9, 11, 14, 25–29, 36, 38, 42–44, 47, 48, 50, 51, 60, 61, 79, 81, 82, 84, 91, 98, 99, 101, 109–111, 117, 132, 133, 135, 139, 140, 143, 151, 161, 166, 168, 170, 177, 185, 188, 217–220, 222–224, 238, 268, 278, 293, 308, 310, 313, 317, 318, 321, 326, 327 UNDRIP, 237, 242, 243, 264 Unearth, 69 Unemployment, 98, 99 Uneven, 208, 279 Unfair, 236, 238, 322 Unfettered powers, 259 Unilateral, 254, 257 Unitary State of Indonesian Republic, 199 United, 264 United Nations, 7, 9, 12, 29, 242

369

United Nations Secretary-General, 29 United States, 13, 53, 136, 176, 216, 232, 254, 275, 311, 317, 322 United Nations (UN), 7, 9, 12, 29, 233 UN Charter, 233, 239, 242 UN General Assembly, 250, 264 United States (US), 13, 53, 136, 176, 216, 232, 254, 274, 311, 317, 322 US Conference of Catholic Bishops, 285 US Congress, 254 Unity, 31, 203, 221–223 Universal, 44, 59, 98, 242, 292 universal awareness, 59 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 241 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (‘UDHR’), 241 Universidad Universidad para la Paz, 7 Universidad Pedagógica Nacional, 159, 318 Universitat Oberta de Catalunya, 7 University University for Peace, 7 University of Alberta, 6 University of British Columbia, 6 University of Florida, 6 University of Haifa, 6 University of Hawai’i, 6 University of Manitoba, 6 University of Otago, 4, 6, 65, 110, 111, 122, 174, 176, 183, 184, 189, 314, 317, 319, 321, 323 University of Sydney, 6 University of the Philippines, 281 University of Utah, 6 University of Waterloo, 6

370

INDEX

University system, 59 Unjust, 165, 267, 293, 294 Unpaid, 204 Unstable, 79, 80, 82 Unstructured, 91, 315 Unsubdued pedagogy, 166 Untitled untitled man, 223, 224 untitled woman, 224 ¯ Upoko, 66 Uppsala University, 6 Urbanisation, 279 Uruao waka, 63, 112 usiusitai’i, 220 Uti possiditis, 250

V va, 220, 222, 224, 225 Vaivaimalemalo, 3 Value(s) value of belonging, 326 value of conciliation, 326 value of place, 325 value of tikanga, 325 Vanuatu, 216 Vatapuia, 224 Veivoski-Yago, 319 Verbal ritual, 100 Victim, 12, 33, 37, 202, 279 Victimised, 202 Victoria, 262, 263 Victorian Government, 263 Vienna Convention Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties , 233 Viewpoint, 13, 29, 83 Views, 44, 50, 59, 61, 63, 65, 66, 68, 78, 79, 81, 83–85, 92, 95, 96, 98, 105, 108, 109, 113, 122, 153, 164, 166, 197, 198, 204, 207, 217, 242, 244, 248, 255,

256, 264, 280, 310, 311, 313–315 Village, 3, 32, 94, 112–114, 120, 122, 221, 223, 224, 226, 316 village council, 33, 226 Violence, 2, 5, 7, 12, 29, 43, 53, 65, 108, 117, 137, 160, 161, 177, 184, 198, 199, 208–210, 227, 270, 275, 276, 279, 280, 289, 293–296, 309, 312, 320, 321, 324 Violent, 4, 7, 14, 25, 109, 141, 152, 161, 181, 182, 186, 187, 195, 196, 199, 200, 204, 205, 309, 318, 321 violent repression, 281 Virus, 42, 53, 54 Visibility, 83 Vision, 113, 114, 117, 120, 122, 153, 162–166, 267, 294, 317 Voice from the margins, 273 Voices, 7, 14, 35, 48, 50, 58, 59, 68, 70, 76, 79, 82, 90, 99, 100, 134, 144, 184, 188, 264, 277, 292, 293, 309–311, 317, 327 Vulnerable, 135 W Waiata, 109 Wairua, 57, 59, 112, 117, 313, 325 Waitaha Waitaha elders, 66, 67 Waitaha people, 12, 63, 64, 121, 313 Waitaha t¯ uturu Waitaki Waitaki River, 114 Waitaki Valley, 57, 64, 114 Waitangi Tribunal, 64 Waka, 63, 112 Walker, Polly, 12, 43, 45, 48, 52, 53, 182, 188, 227, 290, 311, 312

INDEX

Walker, Ranginui, 59 War, 5, 7, 29, 35, 65, 106–108, 111, 112, 118, 122, 150, 179, 183, 185, 195, 201, 202, 207, 209, 217, 219, 225, 278, 279, 283, 321 war and peace, 106, 107 War chief, 46 Warfare, 35, 106–108, 112, 115, 117–119, 283, 295, 316 Warrior, 68, 106–109, 265, 282 warrior gene, 65, 108, 109, 122 warrior tradition, 122, 283 Water, 59, 148, 149, 216 Watering, 148 Weapon, 113, 115, 116 weapons of war, 115, 119, 316 Weaponry, 106 Weave, 68 Web of creation, 42 Website, 263 Welfare, 120, 199, 208, 222, 223, 257 Wellbeing, 49, 61, 68, 102, 154, 216, 318 Wero, 107 Wesleyan, 119 West West Coast, 113, 200 West Indian, 92 West Papua, 13, 197, 209, 210, 320, 326, 327 West Papuan, 13, 203, 321, 325 Western Western Australia (WA), 262, 323 Western canon, 2, 7 Western dominance, 14, 24, 25, 310 Westernised, 217 Westphalian, 254 Whakapapa, 57, 63, 64, 67, 109, 112, 121

371

Whakarongo, 61, 314 Whatatauk¯ı Wh¯anau, 57, 65–69, 121, 178, 179, 188, 314 Whare, 58, 107, 295 whare r¯unaka, 113 Wharehoka, Maata, 4, 12, 68, 122, 295, 316 Wharenui, 107 Wheke, 115 Whenua, 58, 59, 63, 175, 313 Whenua, Nunuku, 115, 121 Whippy, David, 178, 180, 186 White white American, 176 White community, 239 White Mountain Wilderness, 45 white people, 136, 207 white supremacy, 136 Whitefella, 48 Whitewash, 273 Wibowo, Dody, 178, 180, 181, 186 Widjojo, Muridan S., 205 Widodo, Joko, 205 Wik Decision, 248 Williams, Eric, 94, 98 Williams, Jim, 109–111, 122, 316 Win-win, 37 Wisdom, 32, 34, 57, 120, 134, 177, 200, 206, 209, 222, 223, 294, 320, 324, 326 Without, 121, 268 without feathers, 120 without prejudice, 268 Witness, 34, 77, 84, 112, 114, 278, 324 Woman, 44, 48, 49, 92, 94, 96, 176, 181, 183 Womanhood, 220 Women, 35, 48, 92, 93, 95, 99, 120, 160, 169, 176, 181, 184–186, 189, 223, 224, 311

372

INDEX

women peacebuilders, 178, 181 women’s resistance, 177 Wood, Asmi, 322, 323 Work, 1, 4, 11–13, 29, 33, 42–44, 47, 50–52, 60, 62, 68, 70, 75, 76, 94, 110, 111, 114, 120, 132, 134, 135, 137, 139, 142, 145–149, 151, 152, 154, 160, 166, 168, 169, 174, 175, 179, 182, 184, 186–189, 195, 208, 263, 268, 274, 275, 277–280, 284, 285, 294–296, 308, 309, 311–314, 316–319, 323 Workplace, 77 World World March for Peace and Non-Violence, 116 World of Light, 64, 113 World War II, 252 Worldview, 9, 30, 31, 42–44, 50, 51, 91, 110, 111, 140, 167, 188, 227, 309, 311, 321 Wrongs, 33, 36, 99, 170, 226, 239, 267 X Xenophobia, 89 Xiiem, Jo-Ann Archibald Q’um Q’um, 273, 274, 296

Y Yali, 202 Yardstick, 234 Yarning, 273 Yazdany, Hafiza, 178, 183, 186 Ylny Ylny people, 13 Yolngu people, 47, 48, 312, 327 Yolnu, 323 Young, 6, 32, 94, 112, 116, 121, 142, 144, 168, 185, 186, 220, 286 Younger, 43, 99, 148, 221 younger generation, 67 Youth, 34, 96, 167, 205 Yudhoyono, 205 Z Zapatista, 160–163, 166–170, 318 Zapatista Army of National Liberation, 159 Zapatista educational project, 166, 167 Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN), 159, 167, 169 Zionist Zionist movement, 77 Zionist project, 77 Zoom, 134