When I stepped onto the plane in Los Angeles, I had no idea what I was about to embark on. The plane painted itself with colorful lights, beautiful idyllic landscapes on the television screens, and Māori patterns painted across the uniforms of the flight attendants. I stepped into an idea of New Zealand I was constantly persuaded to believe. I spent the winter break scouring Instagram for beautiful pictures of hikes across the South Island, dreaming of being in those mystical mountains and fjords myself. I promptly read Dunedin’s Otago Daily Times to keep myself up to date on the local news before I arrived. I saw before me a peaceful country nestled in the South Pacific, culturally similar to the United States, where their biggest news stories covered disrespectful tourists.
When I landed in Dunedin, I walked off the plane into the bright sunlight of what seemingly was farmland. Carrying my cumbersome bags through the tiny airport, I made my way towards the shuttle and drove to the University. It was at that moment when I realized: culture shock can be as small as driving on the left side of the road.
After franticly unpacking in my flat, I decided to walk over to the supermarket. I walked through the fluorescent aisles, basket in hand, and weirdly felt like I could be in the Price Chopper in Canton, but something seemed different. I was still in a “western” culture but every interaction I had was unlike any at home. People always had a smile on their face.
When I stepped into my first lecture in Environmental Politics, my professor prompted us with a question:
“What is the genesis of our environmental issues?”
Students began raising their hands left and rights, some claiming exponential growth of the human population, other prompting capitalism, and several even claiming the patriarchy as the catalyst to environmental degradation. No one could agree. It became a full-fledged debate on who was right and who was wrong.
She quieted the lecture hall and explained:
“There’s honestly no ‘wrong’ answer, like political ideologies, we all tend to become set on our beliefs which leaves us unwilling to listen to the perspectives of others. The key to understanding this question of the genesis of our environmental issues is to understand the different perspectives we all have… even if you do not believe in it.”
When I left the lecture theatre, her words stuck to me.
As I stepped into my sociology class later that day, I was bombarded by the harsh realities New Zealand faces with regard to race and class. I learned about a country that still struggles to manage income inequality and fair treatment of marginalized communities. I learned about historical actions by Pakeha New Zealanders to dismiss indigenous and immigrant values through the Treaty of Waitangi between the British and the Maori people and the Dawn Raids placed upon Pasifika New Zealanders in the 1970s.
I started to gain more and more context. I started to see that New Zealand wasn’t as “clean and green” as the Instagram posts showed. Māori cultural values seemed to be more commodified than actually appreciated.
When the Christchurch terror attacks happened on March 15th, the student association at Otago orchestrated a massive vigil in Dunedin’s rugby stadium. Thousands of students funneled through campus in silence. Candles in hand, we marched into a crowded stadium with families, professors, students, and individuals from all walks of life. All religions had an opportunity to stand before thousands to not only share their condolences but to also spread love. Māori religion, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Confucianism, Christianity, Taoism, and Judaism all stood in unison to stand up against the bigotry and white supremacy that Christchurch terrorist was aiming to spread.
Banners plastered Otago’s campus throughout the semester reading:
“They Are Us”
While New Zealand is still figuring out equality among its people, there is immense hope and beauty in the country it wants to become. After being historically banned in public schools, Māori languages are finally being appreciated and taught in order to both preserve the culture and educate non-Māori (Pakeha) New Zealanders. The country is beginning to see the value in protecting the rights and culture of the Māori people. During the last weeks of my environmental resource management course, my professor talked to us about the East Otago Taiapure, a Māori-protected coastal area acknowledged by the New Zealand government. He noted that the area was an example of positive social learning and collaborated management between Māori and non-Māori communities to better conserve natural resources such as paūa. Through the technical jargon my professor was stating about environmental resource management in New Zealand, I sat in my seat thinking about this shared bond between two communities.
I saw the taiapure as a clear example of the ways in which diversity enabled a country to forge stronger environmental protection and in general build a deeper sense of community. A homogenization of cultures does not make the world a utopia. Different perspectives and worldviews matter. Diversity means more than simply being different from one another, diversity is a fundamental part of being human. Having diversity allows us to think creatively, solve problems, and foster new ideas. Diversity allows us to build communities and generate a better future.
As I stepped back on the plane in Auckland at the end of June, I saw the same idyllic lights. I saw the same pretty pictures on the television screens. I saw the same Māori-inspired patterns on the flight attendants’ uniforms. Yet, there was something else I could now see. I saw Māori, Pasifika, Asian, and Pakeha New Zealanders sitting in their seats, talking about the cricket world cup. I saw supporters of the Labour and National party seated together already falling asleep on top of each other. I saw a farmer and climate activist laughing about the astonishing fact that this was a 12-hour flight.
I saw the New Zealand that wasn’t on the postcard.