Lucy's Creative Responses

·         I LOVE HAWAII- (Made in China by some worker being paid 13 cents an hour in a factory filled with smog).

·         Here is a keychain with a canoe on it- a canoe shaped from wood- strong and sturdy. Smooth and buoyant, painstakingly crafted. The wood molded so the canoe can glide through the water, carrying its precious cargo. (The plastic keychain broke within three hours.)

·         This lei is as bright and cheerful as a lolly, but it does not contain the pungent flowery scent, nor the soft petals. It is dyed and synthetic (fortunately, for some tourists complain they are allergic to pollen and scared of bees).

·         Look at these traditional tattoos! How painful and barbaric! But they sell temporary ones at the gift store. How pretty they look on me!

·         I love this place. I never want to leave. I’m Hawiian at heart, sigh the tourists, as they lie on their crisp sheets in their air-conditioned hotel rooms, and talk to their relatives back home on their iPhones.

 

This piece is based on Colonisation by Haunani-kay Trask. I was interested in the concept of cultural appropriation and also the irony surrounding it in regards to visitors feeling like they have a ‘right’ to call themselves Hawaiian (for example) when they are just tourists who find it easy to fall in love with a place when it has all the Western comforts from home, and also because they don’t have to deal with the history or cultural baggage. (Is it similar to Rihanna getting a traditional Maori tattoo and then covering it up a few weeks later? Perhaps it is different as she is a woman of colour, so does that mean it doesn’t ‘count’ as cultural appropriation in the same way?) The original poem also touched on the struggles of tourism- on the one hand, the nation wants to retain its traditions and nature and not be filled with tourists and resorts, gift shops, etc.  But on the other hand, tourism is good for the economy, and putting a small country on the world stage (like New Zealand). Tourism can be somewhat educational for foreigners, and I think that for many places, the locals are welcoming and eager to put on a good impression to tourists. The poem touches on this, and begs the question, is acceptance so necessary?

 

Da boiz write tagz

All up da wallz

And down da alleyz

And on da smooth white wallz

Of da bourgeois

Rich white peepole

Who hide in deare houzez.

 

In da islands dere is no hiding

And no wallz to writ tagz on.

Tagz are writ on smooth brown skin.

Tatz for genealogy, da ancestry is da wallz

And da homez and da protecshun.

 

But dis is not da islandz.

Our homez are da gangz.

Our tagz are not fresh blood and old symbolz

But cold koncrete and new wordz, like gunz.

We wear patchez instead.

 

We writ on da wallz

To feel not left out

Becauze we do not have

Smooth white wallz

And our skin is no longer smooth

We hav scabies from bad homez

And pimples from bad foods, McDonaldz etcc.

 

Like a toddlah having a tahntrum

We want this to be our homez too

This is our way to scream

 

But dey paynt da tagz with more

Smooth white

And fo’get

Uz.

 

This poem is in response to Tatz, by Ku’ualoha Ho’omanawanui. The original poem was written in what appears to be pidgin English, or as though it would be spoken by someone with a strong accent. The way she wrote it reminded me of the deliberate misspellings of graffiti or youthful text speak. In this poem I wanted to compare the concept of getting a traditional tattoo as a way to identify with a group of people (such as one’s ancestors) and tagging as a way to identify with a group (such as a gang). I was interested in thinking about why people, particularly immigrants, might tag- perhaps something to do with poverty in the promised land, and anger about that. But comparing tattooing to tagging is interesting because they are both a (somewhat) permanent artform that is as strongly personal as it is visible and public.

 

Bro Town:

“Oh bro! Is that really you, Sione?” exclaimed the solidly built stranger, embracing the unkempt man in a spine-crushing hug.

“V-Valea?” gasped Sione, pulling himself free. “I haven’t seen you in… since high school!”

Valea grinned. “Yeah… We were quite the little trouble makers.”

Sione took a swig of the beer he was holding, as he remembered how Valea had been expelled for tagging on the walls of Morningside School. Morningside 4 Life. Sione had never really thought about the implications of that statement, until it gradually dawned on him, that he may indeed be stuck in Morningside for the rest of his life.

The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of a third man with silver-rimmed glasses and a receding hairline. “Do you think that Mack will appreciate the complete works of Shakespeare?” the man asked nervously. He was holding a large gift-wrapped parcel.

“Vale! Geez, bro! You’ve aged badly!” grinned Sione. He stumbled forward to give Vale a friendly pat on the back and nearly spilled his beer.

Vale pulled away. “Careful,” he grimaced, pushing Sione into a seat on the grass. “Valea, can you get him a coffee or an orange juice please?”

Valea and Sione stared at him.

“Get it yourself,” snapped Valea. “You don’t get to boss me around. Dad’s not here any more.”

“Jesus,” hissed Vale. “Are you both completely pissed? For Christ’s sake, it’s barely gone midday. You should really lay off the free booze.” He pointed his finger at Valea. “Unless you want it all over the front page news.”

“Stuff you man,” muttered Valea. He was just about to walk away when their old friend Mack waltzed across the park, wearing a purple tuxedo.

“Well, hello boys!” he cooed flamboyantly. “How is the old gang? My, my, Valea. You are looking rather dashing. Ooh! Is that for me? Why thank you Vale, how thoughtful.” He picked up the present and turned his head. “Vita! Can you put this with the other gifts?” A slim dark-skinned man walked over, and took the present from Mack. He nodded and smiled at the other men.

“This is my new husband, Tavita,” beamed Mack.

“So nice to meet the Morningside gang, I’ve heard so much about you,” Tavita smiled. As he wandered off, Vale realised that someone was missing.

“Where’s Jeff?” he asked.

“Oh…” said Mack. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know…”

“Know what?” demanded Valea.

“Jeff’s in jail,’ finished Sione wearily. “Armed robbery. Dairy. Had a knife. I visited him about a month ago. Reckons he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think he likes it in jail. They feed him. He got involved with some gang a while back. That’s about all I know.”

“Oh, what a tragic tale,” moaned Mack. “It really reminds me of this play I just did, in which I portrayed a violent gang member.”

“Yeah. Your acting’s really good,” said Valea. “I saw you on Shortland Street playing that drug dealer.”

“Oh stop it. You’re making me blush! But yes, I feel so grateful to have found a community that accepts me for who I am- it isn’t always easy being gay AND an ethnic minority, you know. You guys HAVE to go and see my new film when it comes out next month. I play an alcoholic dole bludger. It’s a comedy.”

Vale frowned. “Mack- do you play any role that isn’t a tired stereotype of Pacific Islanders?”

Mack gasped. “Well, EXCUSE me! I take what I can get, thank you very much!”

“Well… it seems to me that this community that is so accepting of you is also making a mockery of your culture.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “Stop intellectualising everything, Valea. Just because you live in Wellington with your Pakeha wife and little half caste baby, doesn’t make you some kind of authority.”

“Well… I am lecturer at Victoria University in Pacific Island studies…”

“Shut up, Vale. No one cares,” snapped Valea.

“At least I have a job,” sniped Vale. “How’s life after rugby working out? You managed to squander all that money… I told you. But did you listen? No. I told you not to do anything stupid on that trip, and what do you do? You got trashed and slept with some teenager. You’re a mess, Valea. No wonder they kicked you off the team.”

“Hey! Lower your voice,” hissed Valea. “Don’t act all high and mighty. You buggered off to Wellington. You didn’t even come to Dad’s funeral.”

“I didn’t owe him anything! Do you realise he could have killed that poor kid he hit? Driving drunk as usual. Waste of space!” Vale wiped away a tear angrily, and wished someone would bring him a glass of wine.

“Ahh, bugger,” said Sione staring at his phone, wide-eyed. He slumped forward in his seat.

“What is it?” asked Mack, eager to change the subject. He didn’t want the gang making a scene like they normally did.

“It was positive. My girl has a baby on the way. Why does this keep happening to me?” he groaned. “I don’t wanna be a father. I can barely support myself on the benefit, let alone six bloody kids!”

“You have six kids?” said Vale, his eyes widening. “To whom?”

Sione shrugged. “Teuila, Masina, Talia, Chastity, and Alexis.”

“Sione! Didn’t you pay any attention during Sex Ed at school?” asked Valea.

Sione shrugged. “Not really. Besides, Mum always said that using contraception was like wearing a glove made of Satan’s own skin. I never really understood that, but it freaked me out a bit.”

 

After mine and Rachel’s seminar presentation, I was interested to note that most people had negative views of Brotown and the stereotypes that it perpetuates. I was interested in the concept of writing about the characters in the future, and a negative view of what they could’ve turned out like, using some of the same stereotypes associated with Pacific Islanders. Is it better or more ‘realistic’ for them to end up in bad lives as adults? It’s not an optimistic outcome, but alternatively does it trivialise the issues that they faced as teenagers (such as neglectful parenting) if they turn out fine in the end, or does that provide inspiration? I think that it must be difficult to strike a balance between something that is nitty-gritty ‘realistic’ to the point of being bleak and depressing and something that is overly comedic and makes a mockery of these issues. The boys haven’t seen each other since school and are brought back together to reminisce, at the reception of Mack’s gay wedding. I wanted to focus on the negative stereotypes similar to how Brotown does, but with a slightly more sombre view- perhaps now that the boys have grown up and have responsibilities, they have lost their youthful innocence.

 

I really enjoyed the short film O Tamaiti, directed by Sima Urale. I found it really affecting and thought-provoking. I like the ambiguity of the film, and also how it’s from a child’s perspective.

I think it’s interesting that everyone had different responses to the film, and who they sympathised with. Personally, I deeply sympathised with the protagonist.

I liked how subtle the emotion was in the piece.

I felt the most angry with the parents when they are having sex and Tino can hear them. The pain written on his face, as he covers his ears with his pillow. For most kids, this would just be embarrassing, but for Tino, it is worse as I think he understands that this only means more children that he is burdened with taking care of. He appears to be taking more responsibility than his parents and they show him no appreciation for it. Regardless of the parent’s views of contraception, I found their neglect and lack of foresight to be frustrating, especially at the end with the mother patting her stomach, signalling that she was pregnant again.

Aside from the specific social and cultural issues, themes of being torn between adulthood and childhood are apparent. For example, when Tino is asked to leave the funeral of his dead sibling, while his parents stay and mourn, even though it appears that Tino was actually the one who spent the most time caring for the baby while it was alive.

 

Sons For the Return Home

·         Thought the girl character was a stereotype

·         Lots of references/descriptions of nature

·         At the beginning it seemed that she fetishized him, because he was exotic and it would piss her parents off.

·         Is this relationship dynamic still relevant? Is the story and discussion about multi-racial couples still an issue today?

·         Also, he hit his girlfriend, and harboured a deep hatred for her

 

Probably my main issue with Sons For the Return Home was the depiction of the main female character as a typical, attractive spoilt ‘white girl’. It seemed that there was a sense of fetishizing the boy- viewing him as exotic and a way to perhaps validate herself as so much more than just her middle class upbringing and close-minded parents. There was also the sense that she was more ignorant and stupid than him- for example, when she shot down the beautiful hawk, and he had to explain to her that it was wrong. However, the boy himself had to deal with his own ignorance, and in fact, racism towards Maori people.  I’m not sure if this story is still as relevant today. I think that we have come a long way in terms of racial acceptance. I think it would be far more unlikely for someone to sneer or make a racist remark about a multiracial couple nowadays as it happens in the party that they attend with the girl’s friends. Fortunately, it is generally accepted that racism is unacceptable. I also think that back then there was a lot more pressure to stick within one’s ‘class’ and for a woman to marry suitably, as opposed to being an equal in a relationship and able to support herself financially if need be, which is perhaps where some of the tension came from in the novel, particularly in regards to the parents and their ideals. The couple was idealistic about getting married, when they clearly had relationship issues (for example, him hitting her). In a way it seemed as much about making a stand as it did about them being actually in love. The following poem is about fetishizing Pacific Islanders, as that was a theme I related to, having seen it a lot when I went to a private all girl’s school in Year 10-11 that had a predominantly Pakeha student body.

Brown Boys

The girls like spicy brown skin and big muscles.

They admire the long and slow gait.

They want warm bodies and strong hugs.

They want shiny black tattoos.

They want someone they can take home that will piss off their parents.

The girls want brown boys.

The girls smell danger, a disregard for authority, a lack of interest in NCEA.

The boys stare back, nonchalantly, resting their eyes on squirming, blushing females.

They slope onto the bus. They chuck a rugby ball about, graceful and fluid.

The girls adjust their private school blazers and trot neatly to class.