Dusky maiden—noble savage: Pasifika representation in the NCEA drama classroom

Dusky maiden—noble savage: Pasifika representation in the NCEA drama classroom

Michelle Johansson

Abstract

This article argues that the representation of Pasifika people recommended for study within the National Certificates of Educational Achievement (NCEA) drama standards is conducive to negative constructions of identity for Pasifika learners. It considers the content and the NCEA context of the eight Pasifika plays advocated for on Te Kete Ipurangi, the sister website of the New Zealand Qualifications Authority (NZQA).

NCEA, as the nationally endorsed means of measuring achievement, exerts considerable power over what educators teach Pasifika young people is important and of intrinsic value for them as they prepare to take their places in society. This article argues that the NCEA drama texts are culturally charged with stereotypical character and theme types that promote negative constructions of identity in young Pasifika people. These texts also promote misunderstandings about what it means to be Pasifika by non-Pasifika learners. This article also contends that the NCEA drama assessments do not necessitate the use of culturally responsive Pasifika theatre forms, such as the Samoan comic form Fale Aitu. This research recommends that these forms could be a way forward in appropriately addressing the needs of the multicultural classroom.

Introduction

As a lens through which young people view themselves, the world and their place in the world, drama and drama texts can be a powerful means of affirming or undermining positive cultural identity and self-image. Patricia Grace makes the claim that “Books are Dangerous” (Smith, 1999, p. 35). If books—and in the case of this article, specifically playscripts—are to be accurate representations of Pasifika people, then there are particular criteria that they should fulfil:

If books do not do these things, do not reinforce values, actions, customs, culture and identity, then they are dangerous ... If there are no books that tell us about ourselves but only tell us about others, then they are saying ‘you do not exist’ and that is dangerous ... However, if there are books that are about you and they are untrue, that is very dangerous ... If there are books about you but they are negative and insensitive so that they are saying ‘you are not good’, that is dangerous. (Grace, 1997, as cited in Pihama, 1994, p. 239)

If Pasifika people are to forge a positive identity for themselves in New Zealand then it follows that they must be able to relate in meaningful ways to its literary canon (Marsh, 2010). Critical researcher Linda Tuhiwai Smith argues that “representation is important as a concept because it gives the impression of ‘the truth’” (Smith, 1999, p. 35). Similarly, Marsh asks: “Which books count as worth reading? Worth studying? How might these books tell us about the world, about ourselves, about how they might best be read and taught?” (Marsh, 2010, p. 3). In analysing recommended playscripts for study in NCEA, this article considers representation and the term used in popular culture—“stereotypes”—and the danger that is inherent in officially and publicly accepting and affirming these in an educational setting.

Definitions

For the purposes of this dissertation, the definition of “Pasifika” as promoted by the Ministry of Education in the Pasifika Education Plan 2009–2012 is used. In these terms:

“Pasifika” is defined as “a collective term used to refer to people of Pacific heritage or ancestry who have migrated or been born in Aotearoa New Zealand. Pasifika include recent migrants or first, second and subsequent generations of New Zealand born Pasifika men, women and children of single or mixed heritage” (Ministry of Education, 2011, p. 3).

The term “representation” refers to frames of dramatic representation as opposed to representation in the form of an elected or appointed representative. However, in the context of this research we might also consider connotations of the word representation that imply a “speaking for”. This is relevant as these texts have the potential to speak for all Pasifika people and are representative of these same people in the Aotearoa canon of dramatic literature.

The absence of Pasifika voices in literature studied in schools has been a concern of writers, students and scholars for some time. Dr Selina Tusitala Marsh, a strong advocate for Pasifika literature and critical literacy, determines that it is necessary for students to see themselves in the “literary mirror” of our national literatures. Pasifika characters, themes and storylines are gradually becoming more visible in the literature of Aotearoa thanks to the work of scholars and writers such as Marsh, who stipulates that “New Zealand is home to the largest Polynesian population in the world—Pacific Islanders constitute the fastest growing youth population, more teachers are becoming increasingly aware of the need for its taught literature to reflect this growing and dynamic demographic” (Marsh, 2010, p. 3). Pasifika students can “participate in imaginative identification” (Locke et al., 2009(2009), p. 24); the more representations there are for students to encounter, to witness, to question, to identify with, the richer their experience. Marsh writes of the “aha” moments that occur when students are confronted with representations of themselves and the work of the South Auckland Poets’ Collective:

Many were not able to read stories they could culturally identify with … Students express epiphanies in the classroom based on their connection and identification with characters, stories and situations that centre their realities. To witness the emancipation of under-represented selves is a privilege. To read, analyse, and work within that urban Pasifika movement … is an empowering act. (Marsh, 2010, p. 4)

The texts on the list of recommended plays offer a narrow representation of Pasifika people for students to identify with. If we consider this, and we also take into account that “the curriculum is also the main vehicle through which government and other powerful groups can ensure social change and the production of particular kinds of citizen-workers to suit their ideological agendas” (O’Neill & O’Neill, 2007, p. 12), then these reflections and representations are counterproductive to fostering a positive sense of identity in Pasifika young people.

The National Certificates of Educational Achievement

NCEA was an assessment system designed with strong potential to allow Pasifika students to succeed. However, disproportionate levels of underachievement for Pasifika students in New Zealand continue. In the area of NCEA subject choice and University Entrance levels, Madjar, McKinley, Jensen, & Van Der Merwe report:

Continuing disparities in educational outcomes ... particularly in relation to the UE qualification and enrolment in degree-level studies, indicate that the NCEA system is not fully achieving the desired improvements for all students. There is evidence that Mäori and Pacific students (clustered in lower decile schools) tend to be enrolled in ‘alternative’ versions of core subjects such as mathematics, and in other ‘applied’ subjects made up mainly of unit rather than achievement standards. There is also evidence from current Starpath research that Mäori and Pacific students tend to take fewer subjects and complete fewer credits from the approved list of subjects (necessary for achievement of the UE qualification) than other students. (2009, p. 11)

While Best Evidence Synthesis determines that: “Context is a key to understanding the complexity of classroom practice, for example, curriculum context, age of students, cultural and socio-economic backgrounds of the students, student mix, the pedagogical and subject-matter knowledge of teachers, and the contexts generated by teachers through their design and sequencing of tasks” (Alton-Lee, 2003, p. 9), alongside this potentially non-ideal teaching and learning environment lies the controversial and loaded “hidden curriculum” (Adams, Openshaw, & Hamer, 2005).

Bourdieu further argues “that the school recognizes the habitus of the dominant class as legitimate, regards those who lack this cultural capital as ineducable by want of innate intelligence, and systematically excludes them by a process of neglect” (Nash, 2000, p. 72) (emphasis in original). These are values and beliefs that underpin the teaching and learning in our schools and are collectively referred to, along with their accompanying effects, as the “hidden curriculum”. The hidden curriculum is described by Adams et al. (2005) as:

that which students learn, but which is not ‘officially’ intended to be learnt. In particular, the hidden curriculum of the centre or school is argued to teach the class, ethnic, and gender values that uphold the status quo … [it is] an expression of the culture and politics of a society, but comprises mainly those aspects which are deeply embedded in the ‘natural’ and ‘taken-for-granted’ areas of everyday life. (p. 189) (Adams, Openshaw, & Hamer, 2005, p. 189)

Within its outline of effective pedagogical practices, The New Zealand Curriculum acknowledges that “learning is inseparable from its social and cultural context” (Ministry of Education, 2007, p. 34). As stated earlier, Pasifika students in New Zealand secondary schools are often described as “traditionally disadvantaged” (Fitzpatrick & Locke, 2008). This disadvantage can be understood in terms of social capital. If we turn to Bourdieu’s work on social and cultural capital we may better understand the power relationship between the education system as imposed by the dominant culture and how it can be seen to devalue those who do not belong to this cultural group. Bourdieu argues that schools reward those students who have “the ‘correct’ habits (the ones it recognizes) and ignores those with the ‘wrong’ ones”, and furthermore he claims that “Education … is always and necessarily, therefore, a form of symbolic violence” (Adams et al., 2005, p. 231) (emphasis in original). The “traditionally disadvantaged” Pasifika students are some of the victims of this symbolic violence.

A student’s “habitus” is the “set of embodied social, emotional, and cognitive dispositions, acquired through socialization, which is so organized as to generate unreflective practices that have the effect of maintaining the overall tendency of a society to reproduce its necessary structure” (Nash R., 1997, p. 30). In Pasifika terms, Tongan scholar Kalafi Moala, in his seminal work In Search of the Friendly Islands, defines Pasifika cultures as something innate and likens this to habitus. “Our culture is in us; written into our bodies and minds so completely and thoroughly that, taking the idea to the limit, we could say we are our culture, our habitus” (Moala, 2009, p. 12). It is Nash’s reproduction of society on which we must focus when considering NCEA and its effect on Pasifika learners. If, as Adams et al. suppose, it is true that “the National Qualifications Framework and NCEA were designed to ensure closer links with industry, employers and business organizations and provide a bridge from school to work” (2005, p. 42), then we can assume that schools are actively engaged in reproducing society and its workers to suit the values and ideologies of the dominant class. In such a system, Pasifika people are historically disadvantaged as members of “the working classes [who] are trapped in their habitus through cultural impoverishment and cultural difference” (Branson & Miller, as cited in Nash, 2000, p. 70). Nash goes on to say that “all individuals from a certain group have the odds of success and failure for their group embodied in a generative habitus, so that is, for example only 5% of lower working-class children enter university, children from this class have a taken-for-granted knowledge of the odds against them built into the habitus and so reproduce them” (Nash, 2000, p.70). In the case of the NCEA drama texts, what becomes doubly dangerous and serves to further reinforce this reproduction of society is the fact that the Pasifika characters within the texts offered for study are also, and without exception, working class citizens. Not only is the hidden curriculum working to maintain the status quo and keep Pasifika people in working class positions, but these hidden messages are being substantially reinforced in the content of classroom texts and the context of classroom study and assessment.

Who is doing the selling and how?

In research that has a particularly Mäori and Pasifika focus, Ann Milne gives some attention to the implications and consequences of the hidden curriculum, making direct reference to her belief that the “curriculum is white” (Milne, 2009). Her extended metaphor of a child’s colouring book is particularly poignant when considering the Pasifika plays that are the focus of this research. She says of a child’s colouring book that:

We tend to think of it as ‘blank’ with spaces to be coloured in. We don’t often consider the fact that it is already coloured in—with white. White is the ‘invisible’ colour, because it’s just ‘there’ as the whole background. Also already on the page are lines—boundaries that tell you where you are allowed to put, and confine, any colours you choose to add … schools are ‘white spaces’—part of wider society’s white spaces. The white is just ‘there’ as the background set of rules that dictate whose knowledge is important, what success looks like, what achievement matters, how the space is organized and who has the power. (Milne, 2009, p. 2)

If this is so, then the pedagogy that underpins the teaching of Pasifika drama texts, as well as the NCEA context in which the learning of these texts is assessed, is called into question. Teachers who are practitioners of culturally responsive pedagogy will undoubtedly give to the Pasifika texts the critical attention that they require; however, there is no mandatory requirement for students to engage in this type of critical engagement as part of their assessment, and this is the danger. If it is true “that curricula normalize a particular view of the world that is then put into practice within an educational context. If this ‘normal’ view of the world becomes the accepted body of knowledge and is treated as though it were equally significant and important for all groups” (Adams, Openshaw, & Hamer, 2005, p. 215), then as educational practitioners we must question what this “normal” view means for all of our students and what effect this “normal” view might have on students’ constructions of identity

For Pasifika learners the consequences of engaging with the drama texts without the opportunity to critically challenge their assumptions are potentially devastating and the social roles which they are expected to conform to in a noncritical reading are unacceptable. New Zealand is often seen as homogeneous and multicultural because “such a vision of the country obliterated awkward history. It privileged the power holders without appearing to claim any privilege” (Greenwood & Wilson, 2006, p. 85). The power holder in this case is NCEA, which at surface level claims to do better for Pasifika learners (Fitzpatrick & Locke, 2008); however, in reality this is not the case. It is instead, as Milne (2009) supposes; the power balance is swayed towards the white curriculum, and this is symbolic violence at its most subtle and therefore potentially most dangerous. And so, drama texts that may be selected by teachers with the best of intentions in order to include and empower Pasifika akonga may be having the reverse effect.

Kightley—an exemplar

Oscar Kightley is the most prolific writer on the recommended plays list as the author or co-author of three of the eight plays on the recommended list. For the purposes of this article I will focus primarily on his significance—Samoan-born Pasifika playwright, actor, director and dramatist—in the canon of Pasifika playtexts taught in schools.

Let us, for a moment, imagine a production of Oscar Kightley and Dave Armstrong’s Niu Sila in the context of a school where there is perhaps only one Pasifika student. How might this student feel during the five weeks of rehearsal and one week of performance of the play, in front of his family and friends, when—cast as Ioane—he performs the following scene:

(Kightley & Armstrong, 2007, pp. 18–19)

When produced in the theatre, this scene has immense comic potential, and public audiences enjoy the play in its entirety immensely. However, it is essential to an analysis of this discourse to draw the line between dramatic texts for entertainment—such as we might choose to see at the theatre on a Saturday evening—and the dramatic texts that are taught and enacted for credits, as part of a drama course within a school setting under the umbrella of NCEA. It is dangerous when such views—meant to be humorous, in the spirit of island comedy—are not only reinforced by their public affirmation, but endorsed in an official context in the course of gaining a tertiary entry-level qualification.

The danger that arises is that there is no requirement that students are taught and assessed in a culturally inclusive, culturally sensitive, culturally responsive way, or that they critically consider the intent of the playwright. The danger is in the fact that when officially endorsed in this way, negative stereotypes are not only advocated within the assessment, but students are rewarded for being convincing racists. To get an excellence grade in this Level 3 assessment, students must—“Sustain this performance role with outstanding skill and impact”. There is a real danger that (because there is only one Pasifika student in the class after all) the stereotypes are not unpacked and deconstructed. And even more dangerous is the possibility that, because it isn’t stipulated in the assessment, they forget to “de-role” after the show. The implications of standards-based assessment for the drama texts under consideration within this research include a concern that within the narrow confines of the assessment tasks, coupled with demanding time constraints, teachers are not required to embed the aforementioned “recommended texts” in any culturally responsive context. This form of assessment lends itself best to surface-level readings of the texts that do not satisfactorily answer the crucial questions of representation and identity that are raised. If we look back to the earlier quotation from Fitzpatrick and Locke—“there is simply no consistency … in terms of the kinds of tests students are sitting …”, we might also observe that there is no guarantee that students are being assessed on all of the skills they need to be discerning learners in a multicultural society.

The consequences of the surface-level treatment of playtexts such as these can be devastating to the identity of Pasifika learners. In Helen Nicholson’s text entitled Theatre & Education, Anthony Jackson acknowledges that “there are perhaps few worse experiences in this field of work than to find oneself belittled or one’s dignity undermined within a supposedly participatory event from which there is no ready escape” (Nicholson, 2009, p. 62). Jackson’s observation describes the terrible consequences for the young Pasifika boy required to play Ioane in the sea of his palagi peers.

In a society that continues to fail to provide adequately for Pasifika learners (Milne, 2009, p. 7), we might also consider the role of deficit theory in conjunction with the drama texts under scrutiny. Although the Ministry of Education has attempted in recent years to specifically address the “problem” of Pasifika underachievement, the underpinning ethos of schools still seems to be that the students are failing, rather than that current education systems are failing these students:

Low achievement rates for Pasifika students across all education sectors in New Zealand continue to be reported on. However, government agencies have seen the need to introduce strategic plans such as the Ministry of Education’s Pasifika Education Plan 2009–2012 and the New Zealand Qualifications Authority Pasifika Strategy 2009–2012 to cater for the improvement of the overall achievement of Pasifika students, so the deficit reporting model prevails. (Faaea-Semeatu, 2011, pp. 121–122).

If we also consider the drama texts in this light, then it seems apparent that the inclusion of these texts might be a case of misplaced well-wishing. Although students may be initially empowered by seeing representations of themselves in official classroom texts, educators must also be aware of what is being represented.

If critical analysis is not employed in reading these texts, then Pasifika students are likely to come away with the belief that they are meant to be society’s cleaners, factory workers and dole bludgers. As Cummins says, “Widespread school failure does not occur in minority groups that are positively oriented towards both their own and the dominant culture, that do not perceive themselves as inferior to the dominant group, and that are not alienated from their own cultural values” (2001, p. 179), and educators engaged in the process of ako, have a responsibility to facilitate this positive orientation.

Playscripts are fundamentally different from other literature; for example, they are more “live” than, say, the novel. Students are asked within the context of the teaching and learning of drama to not only study the texts, but to live them, to become the characters that are presented within them. No matter how cleverly written, within the genre of the novel, students are never asked to become the notorious Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, or to feel as Ponyboy does in The Outsiders. Within drama, the literary imagination is asked to stretch further—students are required to become, even momentarily, the people of Oscar Kightley’s Fresh Off the Boat and Niu Sila. While being allowed to explore Pasifika characters in this way can initially be empowering (because here Pasifika people are present in a textual, officially endorsed context), it can also be harmful to the student’s sense of their own culture and identity. The characters and storylines of these plays often serve to reinforce dangerous stereotypes, and by their recommended inclusion in the achievement standards of NCEA, our Pasifika learners may be receiving harmful messages about their identity and citizenship in New Zealand society. Instead of becoming admirable, noble, powerful individuals, they are too often presented with roles that are detrimental to their perceptions of Pasifika people in society—they are the dole bludgers, the overstayers, the cleaners, the unemployed, the underachieving, the socially inept, the dusky maidens and the ig-noble savages.

The discourse of NCEA drama is inherently disempowering to Pasifika learners. While they may learn about Brecht and Stanislavski within the Te Kete Ipurangi tasks, they are not armed with the tools they need in this context to continue to forge positive ways of identifying themselves in the drama classroom.

A recommendation: Pasifika frames for comedy—Fale Aitu

As a people renowned for their all-encompassing sense of humour, it is no surprise that comedy has a longstanding tradition in the Pacific, and within this history is a strong comic frame through which we might consider the Aotearoa plays. In Samoa, one distinctly Pasifika history of comic framing may be found in the tradition of Fale Aitu, which translates loosely to “house of spirits”.

Fale Aitu may be defined literally as “house of spirits” or “spirit house”; however, as some of the most comprehensive writings on the subject are by Caroline Sinavaiana:

Fale Aitu ... are comic interludes, which are ‘scripted’ orally, rehearsed, then performed in public with much improvisation by a small troupe of players, trained and directed by the most accomplished comedian among them. Plots are often marked by the humorous ridicule of authority figures, both indigenous and colonial, who are dramatically epitomized through the use of caricature and hyperbole. Conventional dramatic devices include mimicry, slapstick, and elaborate verbal play. (Sinavaiana, 1992, p. vi)

This is not to say that this is an all-inclusive definition accepted by all. On the contrary, definitions of this form of comedy are so varied that they may even appear contradictory. While John Kneubuhl states that “Samoan clowns are not possessed by a spirit” (“An Interview”, as cited in Hereniko, 1994, p. 102), Victoria Kneubuhl argues that “The fa'aluma¹ is given the privilege of ridiculing even the highest chief, and he is accorded this privilege because he is thought to be possessed by a ghost or spirit (aitu)” (Kneubuhl, 1987, p. 171). While scholars of both literature and theatre disagree on many of the conventions of Fale Aitu, most concur that it is poly-vocal in nature, with direct, contemporary, social significance and certain societal sanctions; or, in Eco’s words, “authorized transgressions” (Hereniko, 1994, p. 102; Pearson, 2005, p. 559; Simei-Barton, 1997, p. 76; Sinavaiana, 1992, pp. 33–34). Kneubuhl describes this license as a “privilege”, a desirable ability accorded to the fa'aluma whereby he is able to provide social and political commentary. “The humour of Fale Aitu performance is satirical and irreverent. The fa'aluma is given the privilege of ridiculing the highest chief ...” (1987, p. 171). This license may be used to negotiate power positions or address contemporary issues or concerns:

A Fale Aitu team will move into a village and serve almost the same functions as psychodrama—releasing anxieties, angers, rages, frustrations, whatever in the village. These tensions are released in laughter. The ordinary lowly guy, as long as it’s a Fale Aitu sketch, can be almost outlandishly outspoken about the upper class. (“An Interview”, as cited in Hereniko, 1994, p. 102)

Sinavaiana claims that “this license to abandon social protocol for the moment is explicitly bounded by a performance context whose meta-message is essentially that ‘this is play or joking’” (1992, p. 253). Embedded in many theories of comedy is the idea that in order to have a successfully functioning society, some form of clowning must be sanctioned. “I think everybody knows you’re a good chief if you can laugh at yourself ... I’ve never, never heard of a chief retaliating against a clown. You could turn off a whole village if you weren’t a good sport about such things” (Kneubuhl, “An Interview”, as cited in Hereniko, 1994, p. 102). Thus leaders, monarchs and rulers should implicitly allow the criticism and heed the wisdom of their “fools”.

Fale Aitu is a theatrical form that, like Attic Old Comedy, has the ability to provide social commentary on contemporary events. “An important cultural value modeled by Fale Aitu is the felicitous mediation of social tensions, as it provides a convivial vehicle uniquely suited to that delicate task” (Sinavaiana, 1992, p. 330). Critically acclaimed Pasifika dramatist John Kneubuhl likewise states that Fale Aitu “tends more towards politics than art” (“An Interview”, as cited in Hereniko, 1994, p. 105). Like both the societally motivated theatre of Brecht (1957), and the acting out of demons witnessed in Balinese theatre by Artaud (1989), the theatre form of Fale Aitu has both political and ritualistic tendencies. Writers on Fale Aitu also agree that this theatre form has provided a means of social criticism on colonial as well as traditional events. Hereniko writes “... clowning became a form of anti-colonial or counter-hegemonic commentary ... Polynesians, like colonized people elsewhere, satirized foreigners or foreign institutions and practices in order to demystify or resist them” (Hereniko, 1994, p. 8). Thus the form of Fale Aitu is traditionally imbued with social, political and cultural power.

In Fale Aitu, a cultural process is represented that frames and signifies something noteworthy about Samoan society. It is reflexive and, by making use of Fale Aitu, the clown is able to comment on society as well as to provide a version or representation of the truth. The audience plays a significant role in Fale Aitu by recognising the role of the “fa'aluma”, or chief clown. Also in Fale Aitu the audience is a participant in the drama “through the complicity of laughter in the deconstruction of social order” (Sinavaiana, 1992, pp. 265–266).

In addition, this brings to the fore notions of reality and representation in the theatre. Kneubuhl poses the question of reality by asking, “What then is more real? The world of the play, or the world that we experience? The reality of the make-believe, the theatrical make-believe of the stage, and the different levels of reality...” ( Kneubuhl, “An Interview”, as cited in Hereniko, 1994, p. 102). Within this notion of reality is embedded the idea of representation and its role in theatre and society. As aforementioned, there is a kind of license evoked within the tradition of Fale Aitu which allows social criticism to safely occur within the confines of the comedy or comic frame. It would not be possible, accepted or appropriate for an outsider or foreigner to come in and offer this societal critique. As well as the license granted to the audience, firmly entrenched in this tradition is the idea that only the clown-like leader of the Fale Aitu troupe is allowed to “tell the truth” in front of the village matai.² Stemming from the ancient custom of poula,³ Fale Aitu is a Samoan tradition that has survived and evolved until today where it finds a commercially viable position in Western society in addition to its, still traditional, post as “free and spontaneous play-making” (“An Interview”, Hereniko, 1994, p. 100) in Samoan village life. Many of the comic plays constructed by Pasifika dramatists in New Zealand make use of this tradition (Balme, 1999).

Writers on this form agree that in a discussion of Fale Aitu, the name that should command our attention is that of Petelo, a famous contemporary Samoan clown (Hereniko, 1994; Kneubuhl, 1987; Sinavaiana, 1992). To turn a commonly discussed example to the context of semiotics, let us consider this performance:

Petelo comes onto the bare stage with one of his assistants. He looks cautiously around and begins to mime stealing taro from a taro patch. He hands each imaginary taro over to his assistant who puts it in a bag. Village men come onto the stage and catch Petelo stealing the taro. They tell him he had better not ever do this again. The stage clears. Petelo sneaks back onstage and begins to steal taro again. The men come, and this time they warn him that if he is caught again, he will be beaten. For a third time, Petelo steals taro. A fight ensues as the men catch him. Suddenly, Petelo breaks character. He tells the men that they are hurting him. He complains that they have gone over and over and over this section of the show, and they still haven’t gotten it right. He chastises the actors playing the village men and tells them they are the worst performers he has ever worked with. He fires them all and kicks them off the stage. Petelo watches them leave, and as soon as they are gone, he begins to steal taro again. (Kneubuhl, “An Interview” as cited in Kneubuhl, 1987, p. 175)

This performance reiterates concepts of reality and representation: firstly, within this sketch Petelo makes the first performative statement by becoming the thieving villager; he makes the second, pseudo-statement by stealing the imaginary taro; and then, immediately changing the nature of the performance, he steps out of the reality that he has created for himself by acknowledging the fictionality of the situation, nodding his head towards his first statement—“I am acting.” He then retracts that same nod by returning to his pseudo-statement and resuming his theft of the taro. This substantiates John Kneubuhl’s claim that “you have to recognize that the play is an artifice, and you build up this dialectic of what an artifice is and how you can make the unreality of the stage become like reality” (Kneubuhl, “An Interview”, as cited in Hereniko, 1994, p. 101). Petelo tells the truth about the “artifice”, to tell a lie (that he is stealing the taro) to tell the truth (that these are actors performing a set piece) to tell lies (when he resumes the theft). And in this way, Petelo truly shows “the mastery of the fa'aluma, who is not completely committed to the world of social order or the world of chaos but is able to travel between the two” (Kneubuhl, 1987, p. 175). Highlighted for us here are complex notions of dramatic representation that are enforced and then disregarded in a deliberate subversion of the rules of drama and theatre-making.

Furthermore, Fale Aitu is another example of the blurring of lines between the real and unreal; in this case, directly calling attention to the fictionality of the Fale Aitu performance. This concept, discussed by Kneubuhl (1987), involves the idea of the Fale Aitu clown being able to transcend the boundaries between worlds and even the real and unreal. The “bridge” between two opposing ideals or worlds as represented by Fale Aitu is a common theme in writings on the topic. Writers even agree that the chief clown is able to transcend gender, with the ability to become male or female and thus “trick” the playful (or vengeful) aitu who might prey on either one (Hereniko, 1994; Kneubuhl, 1987; Sinavaiana, 1992). Hereniko, writing holistically on clowning in Polynesia, acknowledges this juxtaposition of opposites: “Clowns straddle the interface between order and disorder, with a foot in each camp, assembling and disassembling, forever confounding attempts to decode their true intent and the meanings of their communication” (1994, p. 4). Likewise, Sinavaiana concludes her PhD thesis by saying, “As Samoa navigates that rickety bridge ‘betwixt and between’ cultural epochs, ancient Polynesia and the modern world, we will continue to rely on our clowns to keep us amused and, at the same time, alert to the serpentine currents below” (1992, p. 331). Fale Aitu occupies an important socio-political and historically embedded position in Samoan society.

Seen in this way, the plays recommended by NCEA might be empowering vehicles for change but, unfortunately, NCEA demands no such deconstruction. Instead the threat remains. As Peter O’Connor states, “Internationally and especially at secondary level, drama curricula have retreated into the study of text and preparation for a Eurocentric view of theatre” (2010, p. 63). Students who might be empowered through finally seeing Pasifika people represented in the dramatic canon are robbed due to the lowly roles in society that are occupied by these characters and the lens that would have them view these characters and plays as accurate renditions of a society in which they are marginalised.

Conclusion

Drama in schools has much potential. “Through Drama we can help develop respect for the racial, cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds of all students and utilise them in education ... Drama is a powerful vehicle for exploring unequal power dynamics, for creating transformative education” (Nelson, 2005, p. 54). Despite the fact that in New Zealand there has been a shift towards creating better links between school cultural contexts and other cultural contexts, there are still large gaps to be filled in terms of developing a national sense of culturally responsive pedagogy; however, we are making steps in the right direction. Alton-Lee (2003) in the Quality Teaching for Diverse Students in Schooling: Best Evidence Synthesis (BES) refers to the recognition of the cultural dimensions of the classroom and the match or mismatch between the social class and ethnic cultural capital of the student’s home and school.

This stresses the need for teachers to be equipped with cultural efficacy, and for them to bring understanding and critical awareness to the texts. Educators also need to explicitly arm their students with the tools of critical analysis. Marsh emphasises the need to teach “the importance of voice, subject-position and self-reflexive critical positions in Pacific literature” (2010, p. 3). In this way, Pasifika students will be able to recognise and combat negative stereotyping, inequitable representation and systematic racism in their school environment. More than this, however, is the need to recognise the symbolic violence inherent in our schools and in NCEA, and to recognise the need for other cultural ways of being and knowing to be acknowledged and validated in the official context of the classroom. “What is necessary to education within the Pacific culture should be recognized by the school, and what is arbitrary—and alien to Pacific culture—in the school’s practices should be abandoned precisely in order to protect and realize its own necessary educational function” (Nash, 2000, p. 84). This will serve to both include and empower Pasifika learners and to ensure they succeed, as it places the responsibility on the school system to meet the needs of all of its students, rather than placing the onus on the student to assimilate the habitus of the school. Also, this is a step closer to the idea of realising potential, rather than deficit theorising about students who have been traditionally disadvantaged by the national school system.

More than anything, this article advocates for raising awareness. It argues that instead of well-intentioned educators placing before their Pasifika students models of dramatic representation that are at surface level stereotypic and demeaning, critical pedagogy invites educators and students to engage with the text in the true spirit of ako—reciprocal teaching and learning—and critically unpack what it means to be Pasifika growing up in Aotearoa.

This article contends that drama and the creative arts are powerful tools of agency for both teachers and learners in Aotearoa. The discourse within theories of drama and semiotics shows that representation in drama can be a powerful way of developing identity, and that the content of drama texts can be a potent way of affirming or refuting positive constructions of Pasifika identity.

O’Connor, in The Dominion Post, notes similarities between the path that has been taken by the British National Curriculum and our own. These similarities, he warns, may lead Aotearoa down the same path which has the Cambridge Primary Review reporting that the “most conspicuous casualties are the arts, humanities and those kinds of learning in all subjects which require time for talking, problem-solving and the extended exploration of ideas; memorization has come to be valued over understanding and inquiry, and transmission of information over the pursuit of knowledge in its fuller sense”. (O’Connor, 2011, p. 5). This highlights the power of the arts in schools as a vital tool for empowerment and equity.

In advocating for critical literacy to be a requirement of the NCEA drama standards, I argue that there is a need “to nurture the space between ourselves and text, among readers, and between readers and critics and the wider field” (Marsh, 2010, p. 3). These liminal spaces allow for critical engagement with Pasifika texts which will enable Pasifika learners to question notions of Pasifika identity, to challenge assumptions and stereotypes and to advocate for themselves as powerful agents in their own identity journeys towards equity in the classroom and in wider society as true, critically enabled and democratic citizens of Aotearoa.

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Notes

The author

Michelle Johansson is the Director–Playwright–Manager of the Black Friars, a PhD CP student at The University of Auckland and a staunch advocate for the breaking down of stereotypes through drama. She is a Tuakana mentor, a Pasifika adviser to the Ministry of Education and a secondary school teacher of English, drama and classical studies.

Email: blackfriars1844@gmail.com

1Fa'aluma—chief clown.

2Village chief.

3Pre-Christian, inter-village nights of festivity, singing and dancing culminating in the appearance of the “ghost” or “aitu” and wanton sexual acts (Hereniko, 1994; Kneubuhl, 1987).