The Thin Brown Line: Re-Indigenizing Inequality in Aotearoa New Zealand

THE THIN BROWN LINE: RE-INDIGENIZING INEQUALITY IN AOTEAROA NEW ZEALAND

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE DEPARTMENT OF SOCIOLOGY AND THE COMMITTEE ON GRADUATE STUDIES OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Tahu H. Kukutai March 2010

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial 3.0 United States License. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/us/

This dissertation is online at: http://purl.stanford.edu/tq304jg1927

ii I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

C. Snipp, Primary Adviser

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Monica McDermott

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Chris Cunningham

Approved for the Stanford University Committee on Graduate Studies. Patricia J. Gumport, Vice Provost Graduate Education

This signature page was generated electronically upon submission of this dissertation in electronic format. An original signed hard copy of the signature page is on file in University Archives.

iii ABSTRACT

This study critically examines inequality within New Zealand‟s indigenous Māori population. Specifically it asks whether strong ties to Māori identity incur higher socio- economic costs. Historical expository analysis is undertaken in concert with statistical analyses of data from the New Zealand Census of Population and Dwellings (1996, 2001, 2006), and a longitudinal study of Māori households. I find strong evidence of ethnic and socio-economic segmentation within the Māori population. In each census, individuals identified exclusively as Māori by ethnicity are the most disadvantaged across a wide range of socio-economic indicators. Those identified as Māori solely by ancestry are the least disadvantaged. Pronounced differences in Māori language ability and intra-Māori partnering are also evident, indicating that the association between Māori identification and disadvantage may be partially explained by ties to Māori identity. Regression analyses of multi-wave survey data reveal a complex set of relationships. Changing patterns of identification suggest self-designation as a Māori is best conceived as a fluid, contingent process rather than a stable, individual trait. Māori identification is generally a less salient predictor of disadvantage than specific ties to Māori identity, expressed through network ties, language, and practices. However, while some ties to Māori identity appear to incur high socio- economic costs, other ties are inconsequential, or advantageous. Taken together, the analyses contribute new insights into patterns of inequality between Māori, and highlight the need for more careful theorizing and interpretation of ethnicity variables in empirical analysis.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Whaia e koe ki te iti kahurangi; ki te tuohu koe, me maunga teitei Seek the treasure you value most dearly: if you bow your head, let it be to a lofty mountain

As a graduate student at Stanford, I have been very fortunate to learn from some of the finest minds, and nicest people, in the field of sociology. My advisor C. Matthew Snipp is foremost among them. Matt was the main reason I came to Stanford. I was impressed and inspired by his pioneering work on American Indians, and eager to work with another indigenous demographer. It was an excellent decision. Matt has asked difficult questions, dispensed practical advice, shared witty anecdotes, and tried (not always successfully) to deter me from diving into multiple projects. My future students will profit enormously from his mantra: “The best dissertation is a completed one.” I have also benefitted from the advice and assistance of many other professors, and I owe a special thanks to Monica McDermott, Michael Rosenfeld, Larry Bobo, Susan Olzak, Ann Morning, and Carolyn Liebler. Along with Matt, all have contributed to the evolution of my thinking on race, ethnicity, indigeneity, and inequality. There are many people in New Zealand who helped me embark on the dissertation journey; last the distance; and charge across the finish line. My mentors, now friends and colleagues, at the University of Waikato‟s Population Studies Centre, encouraged me to set my sights high. Special gratitude is reserved for Ian Pool who still surprises me with his enthusiasm and quirkiness. I am also very grateful to the Te Hoe Nuku Roa team - Sir Mason Durie, Chris Cunningham, Eljon Fitzgerald, and Brendan Stevenson – who supported my visits and patiently tolerated my endless questions (especially Brendan – thankyou!). I also received a great deal of assistance from Robert Didham, self-identified demographer/geographer/buddhologist at Statistics New Zealand. Stimulating conversations with Robert and others, including Victor Thompson, Melinda Webber, Elana Curtis, Paul Callister, and my mother-in-law Jennifer Plane-Te Paa, all influenced this dissertation in some way. Living a cerebral existence inevitably produces brain-strain and my Stanford mates kept me grounded and in good spirits. Thankyou to Alex, Victor, Emily, Andrew, Curtiss, Lynny, Maria-Elena, Irena, Anna, Dave, Mia, Duncan, Hiroko, Ali, and Ness, as well as to my long- time girlfriends Lisa, Tones, Cindy, Gina, Emma, and Jen.

Lastly, most importantly, I have my whānau to thank. My debt to my parents, Lorraine and Karu, is immeasurable. They taught me to always believe in the possibilities; to embrace life‟s challenges; and to have a good laugh along the way. My fantastic siblings, Arama and Hinu, have cheered me on, providing fancy dinners and aromatherapy massages, respectively, when they were most needed. My husband‟s grandmother, Zita, has been a savior. She has generously and lovingly cared for our daughter Reitu on numerous occasions, allowing me precious time to work on this dissertation. I am also indebted to my cousin Trina who has kept the home fires burning so that the rest of us may stay connected to our past, and to our future. My deepest gratitude is reserved for my husband Terri. Without him, none of this would have been possible. As an officer of the law he is relieved that, like double jeopardy, a PhD in sociology can only be pursued once.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT …………………………………………………………………………. iv ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ……………………………………………………….... v TABLE OF CONTENTS ……………………………………………………………. vii LIST OF TABLES …………………………………………………………………… ix LIST OF FIGURES ………………………………………………………………….. xiii 1. THE POLITICS OF ETHNIC AND RACIAL DISADVANTAGE ……… 1 1.1 Introduction …………………………………………………………………… 1 1.2 Definitions …………………………………………………………………….. 5 1.3 New Zealand: A Brief Background …………………………………………... 7 1.4 The Social and Statistical Significance of Ethnicity ………………………….. 10 1.5 Is Māori Ethnicity a Significant Predictor of Disadvantage? …………………. 13 1.6 Disadvantage Between Māori: A Sub-group Problem? ……………………….. 17 1.7 Study Outline ………………………………………………………………….. 20 2. THEORIZING ETHNICITY AND INEQUALITY ……………………….. 22 2.1 Introduction ……………………………………………………………………. 22 2.2 Assimilation Theories: The Declining Significance of Ethnicity ……………... 22 2.3 Pluralism Theories: The Enduring Salience of Ethnicity ……………………… 28 2.4 Inverting the “Host” ………………………………………………………...... 32 2.5 A Framework for Theorizing Māori Ethnicity and Disadvantage …………….. 36 3. RACE, ETHNICTY, AND THE MERCURIAL MĀORI SUBJECT …….. 42 3.1 Introduction ……………………………………………………………………. 42 3.2 Assimilating Māori: 1840 to 1944 …………………………………………..... 43 3.3 Integrating Māori: 1945 to 1974 ………………………………………………. 56 3.4 Rejuvenating Māori:1975 to 2000 ……………………………………………... 61 3.5 Conclusion …………………………………………………………………….. 71 4. INTRA- MĀORI INEQUALITY: A CORE-PERIPHERY MODEL …….. 73 4.1 Introduction ……………………………………………………………………. 73 4.2 Moving From Interethnic to Intra-Māori Inequality ………………………….. 74 4.3 Data and Methods …………………………………………………………….. 77 4.4 Hypotheses …………………………………………………………………….. 85 4.5 Māori Sub-group Categories in the Census …………………………………… 86

vii

4.6 Demographic Structures ……………………………………………………… 87 4.7 Ethnic Context ……………………………………………………………….. 90 4.8 Ties to Māori Identity ………………………………………………………… 91 4.9 Socio-economic Outcomes …………………………………………………… 94 4.10 The Mediating Effect of Ethnic Context ……………………………………… 101 4.11 Conclusion …………………………………………………………………….. 104 5. INTRA- MĀORI INEQUALITY: A MICRO-LEVEL MODEL …………. 107 5.1 Introduction ……………………………………………………………………. 107 5.2 Te Hoe Nuku Roa Survey ……………………………………………………... 108 5.3 Methods ……………………………………………………………………….. 114 5.4 Variables ………………………………………………………………………. 116 5.5 Hypotheses ……………………………………………………………………. 121 5.6 Bivariate Analysis By Preferred Ethnic Label ………………………………… 122 5.7 Self-Identification or Ties: Which Matters Most? …………………………….. 128 5.8 Does Stable Self-Identification Matter? ………………………………………. 140 5.9 Conclusion …………………………………………………………………….. 151 6. WHERE TO THE THIN BROWN LINE? ………………………………… 153 6.1 Revisiting the Key Issues ……………..……………………………………… 153 6.2 What Does Self-Identification Tell Us about Individual Ethnicity? ………… 158 6.3 Intra-Māori Inequality: An Ethnic Problem? ……………………………….. 161 6.4 The Relevance of This Study Beyond New Zealand ………………………… 162 6.5 Future Directions ……………………………………………………………… 164 APPENDIX A ………………………………………………………………………… 165 REFERENCES ……………………………………………………………………… 169

viii

LIST OF TABLES

Table 2.1. Different assumptions between immigrant-host and indigenous-settler models of ethnic relations and inequality. 34

Table 3.1 Number of Māori by recorded blood quantum, Census of Population and Dwellings, 1874 – 1945. 49

Table 3.2 Select milestones for policy periods promoting Māori racial amalgamation, economic integration, and ethnic renewal and reform, 1844-2008. 64

Table 3.3 Occupational distribution of employed Māori by blood quantum and sex, 1976 Census of Population and Dwellings. 69

Table 4.1 Number of Māori by recorded blood quantum until 1981, then by ethnic origin, and ethnic group, Census of Population and Dwellings, 1945-2004 79

Table 4.2 Core-periphery model of Māori identification using descent, ethnic group, and tribal indicators from the Census of Population and Dwellings. 80

Table 4.3 Māori categories and Total N.Z., number and percentage of Total N.Z., 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 87

Table 4.4 Percentage in functional age group and median age, Māori categories and Total N.Z., 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 88

Table 4.5 Dependency ratios, Māori categories and non-Māori , 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 89

Table 4.6 Age standardized percentage in a legal marriage, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 90

Table 4.7 Age standardized percentage of adults living in a Territorial Authority With a high Māori concentration, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 91

Table 4.8 Age standardized percentage of adults able to speak Māori, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 92

Table 4.9a Age standardized percentage of partnered adult men with a Māori partner, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 93

Table 4.9b Age standardized percentage of partnered adult women with a Māori partner, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 93

Table 4.10a Age standardized percentage of partnered adult maleswithout a formal qualification, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 95

Table 4.10b Age standardized percentage of partnered adult femaleswithout a formal qualification, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 95

Table 4.11a Age standardized percentage of males aged 15-64 years in paid work, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 97

Table 4.11b Age standardized percentage of females aged 15-64 years in paid work, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 97

Table 4.12a Age standardized percentage of employed males aged 15-64 years in managerial and professional occupations, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 98

Table 4.12b Age standardized percentage of employed females aged 15-64 years in managerial and professional occupations, Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 98

Table 4.13a Index of dissimilarity for employed males aged 25-49 years, level one occupation categories, core and periphery, 1996 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 99

Table 4.13b Index of dissimilarity for employed males aged 25-49 years, level one occupation categories, MEG and non- Māori, 1996 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 100

Table 4.13c Age standardized percentage of adults living in a dwelling owned (freehold or mortgage) by the usual resident, Māori categories and non-Māori, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 101

Table 5.1 Comparison of key indicators from wave 1 of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households (1994-1998), and the Māori Ethnic Group in the 1996 Census of Population and Dwellings. 109

Table 5.2a Sample attrition of adults in the second and third waves of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2002 111

Table 5.2b Attrition and recruitment in the first three waves of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2002 112

Table 5.3a Cross-tabulation of select variables by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 1. 125

Table 5.3b Cross-tabulation of select variables by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 2. 126

Table 5.3c Cross-tabulation of select variables by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 3. 127

Table 5.4a Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 1. 130

Table 5.4b Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 2. 131

Table 5.4c Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 3. 132

Table 5.5a Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 1. 133

Table 5.5b Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 2. 134

Table 5.5c Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 3. 135

Table 5.6a Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 1. 137

Table 5.6b Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 2. 138

Table 5.6c Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, wave 3. 139

Table 5.7 Individual changes in preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, waves 1 to 3. 141

Table 5.8 Cross-tabulation of select variables for adults in wave 1 & wave 2, by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995-2000. 142

Table 5.9 Cross-tabulation of select variables for adults in wave 2 & wave 3, by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1998-2002. 143

Table 5.10 Cross-tabulation of select variables for adults in wave 1 to wave 3, by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995-2002. 145

Table 5.11a Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting high school qualification, participants in wave 1 & wave 2, and wave 2 & wave 3, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, final models. 148

Table 5.11b Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, participants in wave 1 & wave 2, and wave 2 & wave 3, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, final models. 149

Table 5.11c Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, participants in wave 1 & wave 2, and wave 2 & wave 3, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, final models. 150

xii

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 2.1 Relations between macro-level and micro-level dimensions of ethnicity and inequality 39

Figure 4.1 Percentage of adults with no formal qualification, by percent of Māori in Territorial Authority, Māori categories and non-Māori, 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 102

Figure 4.2 Percentage of adults able to speak Māori, by percent of Māori in Territorial Authority, Māori categories and non-Māori, 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 103

Figure 4.3 Percentage of adult males with a Māori partner, by percent of Māori in Territorial Authority, Māori categories and non-Māori, 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings 103

xiii

CHAPTER ONE THE POLITICS OF ETHNIC AND RACIAL DISADVANTAGE

1.1 Introduction The revitalization of indigenous peoples in the settler states of North America and Australasia has been nothing short of remarkable. Viewed as dying races in the 19th century, then subject to state-sponsored assimilation for much of the 20th century, it was widely anticipated that indigenous peoples in those countries would fade quietly into the history books (Belich 1996; Eschbach 1995; Snipp 1989; Stenhouse 1996). Today, the vision of the disappearing native has been firmly dispelled. Rapid demographic growth (Altman, Biddle, and Hunter 2004; Guimond 2006; Eschbach, Supple, and Snipp 1998), the revival of native languages and institutions, and strategic collective action have put settler state indigenes firmly on the political agendas of national governments and the international community (Cornell 1988; Maaka and Fleras 2005; Nagel 1995; Snipp 1989).1 New Zealand‟s indigenous Māori are an exemplary case. Prior to the 1980s, the former British colony was an overwhelmingly Anglo society with a politically powerless and demographically marginalized Māori minority.2 Twenty years on, the unique political status of Māori as first peoples is enshrined in state polices of biculturalism, and various laws giving recognition to the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi (Maaka and Fleras 2005; O‟Sullivan 2006). The Māori language and traditions have been invigorated and selectively incorporated into mainstream institutions (Sissons 1993). Internationally, Māori are widely perceived as model indigenes, remaining culturally distinctive and politically assertive in the face of coercive pressures to assimilate. Despite these advances, one does not have to look far for empirical evidence of durable inequality. Compared to non-indigenous New Zealanders, Māori lead shorter and less healthy

1 Key forums for indigenous rights include the United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples; the International Labor Organization‟s Convention concerning Indigenous and Tribal peoples in Independent Countries; the International Decade of the Worlds Indigenous Peoples (1995 to 2004), and the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues.

2 The term Anglo is used in a broad sense to refer to people of English, Scottish and Irish descent. Anglo settler states are the former British colonies of New Zealand, Australia, Canada and the United States, where people of Anglo descent are the political and demographic majority, and English is the dominant language.

1 lives (Blakely, Fawcett, and Atkinson 2005; Pool 1991; Sporle, Pearce, and Davis 2002); are more likely to leave high school without little or no formal attainment (Loader and Dalgety 2008); have poorer labor market outcomes (Alexander, Genc, and Jaforullah 2000; Hunter 2005; Ministry of Social Development 2008); and experience higher rates of child abuse (Ministry of Social Development 2004), suicide (Beautrais and Fergusson 2006), and incarceration (Fergusson, Swain-Campbell, and Horwood 2003). For some indicators, the outcomes of Māori resemble those of African Americans – a group with a unique history of slavery and racial exclusion.3 Not only do Māori continue to experience higher levels of social and economic marginalization, recent studies suggest those most strongly identified as Māori fare the worse (Callister and Blakely 2004; Chapple 2000; Chapple and Rea 1998; Cunningham et al. 2002; Gould 1990a, 1990b, 1996; Kukutai 2004; Maani 2002). This scenario is both perplexing and disquieting. One would expect strong ties to Māori identity to incur costs under government policies of coercive assimilation, not those trumpeting indigenous rights and ethnic equality. Indeed, a good deal of government policy is underpinned by the assumption that strengthening Māori culture and identity is a necessary condition for improving Māori individual and collective wellbeing (Poata-Smith 1996; Sissons 1993; Webster 1998). The persistence of Māori disadvantage, coupled with the emergence of intra-Māori inequality, raises a number of questions addressed by this study. Why are Māori disproportionately disadvantaged several decades into an intense process of political and cultural revitalization? Why do people with stronger ties to Māori identity appear to be most disadvantaged? Do some aspects of Māori identity exact higher social and economic costs? If so, which ones? These questions are addressed through a multi-level analysis that combines historical expository analysis with empirical analysis of census and longitudinal survey data. It makes three broad contributions. The first is to theorize the relationship between socio-economic status and Māori ethnicity in the context of Māori cultural and political revitalization. More specifically, it seeks to understand the dynamics underlying the apparent paradox of Māori socio-economic disadvantage coterminous with Māori “ethnic renewal” (Nagel 1995). This

3 In 2000-2002 a newborn Māori baby boy could expect to live 69.0 years (Ministry of Social Development 2008); for his black American counterpart it was 68.8 years (2002 National Vitals Statistics Report 2005). The difference between each group and the Anglo majority was 8.2 and 6.3 years respectively. In 2001, the Māori rate of incarceration was 700 per 100,000 (514 if age standardized, Department of Corrections 2001); for African Americans (men and women combined) in 2005 the rate was 2,290 (Mauer and King 2007).

2 task is undertaken using a syncretic framework that blends elements of three theories: new assimilation (Alba and Nee 1997, 2003), social constructivism (Cornell and Hartmann 1998; Nagel 1995), and racial formation (Omi and Winant 1986). Assimilation and ethnic constructivism are often juxtaposed as rival theories (Gans 1997), and racial formation theory as anathema to both (Winant 2000). However, despite yielding different predictions, all three theories share an understanding of ethnicity and race as socially constructed processes that are shaped by the broader institutional environment and differentially rewarded. Using this premise, this study theorizes how changes in economy and ideologies since the 1970s have begat an institutional environment favorable to ethnic revitalization and socio-economic inequality. Some markers of Māori ethnicity such as language and customs have been de- stigmatized and incorporated into mainstream institutions. However, the ongoing racialization of Māori, coupled with the cumulative effects of historical policies, means other markers of Māori ethnicity continue to be strongly connected to disadvantage. The result, I theorize, is a segmented opportunity structure that is open to those with certain kinds of ties to Māori ethnicity, but relatively closed to others. The second contribution is to empirically map the contours of Māori ethnicity. In so doing, a distinction is made between ethnic identification and identity. Ethnic identification is how individuals are labeled in relation to a set of ethnic or racial categories, often circumscribed by the state (Kertzer and Arel 2002). Ethnic identity involves a more complex matrix of psychological, emotional, network, and familial ties to an ethnic group or groups (Min 2006; Phinney 1992). Ethnic identity and ethnic identification are not synonymous. Decades of policies designed to assimilate, integrate, and rejuvenate Māori have produced a great deal of ethnic diversity amongst Māori peoples. For some, Māori identification denotes thick ties to Māori communities, institutions, and practices; for others, their attachment may be largely symbolic (Gans 1979). This study examines how individuals of Māori descent identify themselves, and how their identification decisions are connected to key features of Māori identity. It is undertaken using micro-level data from the first three waves of Te Hoe Nuku Roa, a longitudinal study of Māori households. Te Hoe Nuku Roa is unique in at least two respects: it is the only dedicated longitudinal survey of Māori individuals and households undertaken to date, as well as the only survey that has systematically collected data on a wide range of Māori identity indicators. By using longitudinal data this study is able to analyze ethnic identification as a contingent, fluid process, bringing it closer to social scientific theorizing. The goal is to provide a more complex understanding of what the Māori category

3 stands for when used as an independent variable in empirical research. This, in turn, can assist with efforts to better understand the dynamics underlying the persistence of Māori disadvantage generally, and of intra-Māori inequality specifically. The final contribution is a two-part empirical analysis of the relationship between Māori ethnicity and socio-economic outcomes, focusing on differences between Māori. In recent years a number of studies have observed significant differences in the socio-economic outcomes of people self-identified as Māori only and their multi-ethnic identified counterparts (often referred to as “sole Māori” and “mixed Māori.”)4 Binary comparisons have invariably shown sole Māori to be significantly more disadvantaged. The sub-group approach is appealing both because it can be readily implemented using census and survey data, and because it often yields statistically significant findings. Yet it is unclear what such a distinction actually means. Sole Māori and mixed Māori are statistical categories rather than meaningful social distinctions. Conceptually there are many possible ways to identify sub- groups of Māori based on ethnic criteria, which suggests that where boundaries are drawn is largely arbitrary. I use questions on Māori ethnicity, ancestry and tribal affiliation from the 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings to construct a wide array of Māori sub-groups, and compare them across a range of socio-economic indicators. The goal is to illustrate the potential benefits and limitations of a sub-group approach to understanding intra- Māori diversity. The second part of the empirical analysis moves from an exclusive focus on ethnic self- identification as a manifest measure of Māori ethnicity, to consider underlying ties to Māori identity. The theoretical premise is that ethnic self-identification is likely to be a poor proxy for the multidimensional construct of ethnicity. Using micro-data from Te Hoe Nuku Roa, I explore the relationships between ethnic identification, ties to Māori identity, and three indicators of socio-economic status: educational attainment, employment status, and home ownership. I hypothesize that under conditions of ethnic renewal, some ties to Māori ethnicity are likely to be strongly connected to socio-economic disadvantage, while others may be inconsequential, or even advantageous. The goal of this exercize is to identify if ethnic identification, the measure routinely used in empirical research, has an effect on socio- economic outcomes, independent of ties to ethnic identity, as well as which ties to Māori

4 Throughout this study I use quotations for first usage of terms such as “mixed Māori,” sole Māori,” “half-caste,” “full-blood,” and “native” to indicate that they are not neutral descriptors, but terms bound to a particular historical or social context.

4 identity matter most for outcomes. By using three waves of data, it is possible to determine whether findings are systematic over time. Results are adjusted for the effects of demographic and other variables. Though this study is firmly located in an empirical tradition, it does not seek to identify a smoking gun that accounts for Māori disadvantage writ large. Socio-economic disadvantage between and within groups has many potential causes and correlates. The scope of this study is limited to exploring the connection between Māori ethnicity and socio-economic status in the specific context of Māori ethnic renewal. Because this study is primarily concerned with understanding diverse expressions of Māori ethnicity and their connections to outcomes, most of the empirical analysis is focused on intra-Māori differences, rather than socio-economic gaps between Māori and non-Māori. This does not mean inter-ethnic inequality is unimportant. On the contrary: indigenous peoples in the settler states, Māori included, have consistently been among the most economically and socially marginalized of citizens across a broad range of socio-economic and health outcomes (Altman, Biddle, and Hunter 2004; Blakely et al. 2005; Bramley et al. 2005; Cook et al. 2007; Taylor 1993). Enduring indigenous disadvantage at the broader group-level continues to warrant scholarly attention. However, focusing solely on inequality between groups provides a partial picture of the complexity of ethnic change and reinforces the erroneous view that indigenous populations are internally homogeneous. Elsewhere in the settler states, intra-indigenous diversity in ethnic ties and socio-economic status has also been observed, though not as part of systematic inquiry. The Māori case thus has the potential to impart insights into a much broader social problem affecting indigenous populations that has hitherto received little attention.

1.2 Definitions Before progressing further, it is important to clarify how the terms indigeneity, race, and ethnicity are used in this study. These terms lack a universal definition, and are thus contested and contestable. For the sake of conceptual clarity, I employ the following definitions. Indigeneity: Most definitions of indigeneity invoke four criteria: historical precedence, non-dominance, cultural distinctiveness and self-ascription (Barnard 2006; Maaka and Fleras 2005; McIntosh et al. 2002).5 Historicity denotes a group‟s prior occupation of a geographic

5 In some countries, groups that would otherwise be considered politically and/or culturally dominant have come to see themselves as indigenous to a place – for example Boers in South Africa (Barnard 2006), descendants of British settlers in New Zealand (King 1999; Kukutai

5 area that is partly or wholly subsumed, but not necessarily aligned with, the boundaries of the nation-state. Non-dominance is usually understood in the political rather than demographic sense though, in the settler states of North America and Australasia, the two are synonymous. Colonialization and the attendant diminution of indigenous sovereignty are central features of non-dominance, usually underpinned by contemporary political claims for some form of self- determination (Fleras 1999; Fleras and Elliott 1992; Havemann 1999; Maaka and Fleras 2005). Cultural distinctiveness refers to patterns of social organization, beliefs and customs that have an historical basis but which have typically been affected by colonialization. Self- identification denotes the power for groups to define their own parameters using criteria that are meaningful to them. This study uses the term indigenous peoples to conform with the foregoing definition, but is limited in scope to the settler states of New Zealand, Australia, and North America (see Pearson 2002 for a discussion of settler states). It is important to recognize, however, that the label “indigenous people” is a fairly recent one, and is often limited to discussions of group rights and political community. In popular discourses and workaday interactions native peoples such as Māori have been seen, and continue to be seen (often to their detriment), through the lens of ethnicity and race. These terms are defined below. Race and Ethnicity: Within the social sciences, race is generally regarded as a historically contingent, social construction. In workaday interactions, however, race is widely understood as an objective biological difference manifest in physical attributes such as skin color, hair texture, and eye shape (Bobo and Fox 2003). Lacking an objective basis, it is the social meanings of race or, more specifically, the social meanings attributed to racialized characteristics, which imbue it with social significance. Race is not only used to distinguish between individuals and groups; it is also used to hierarchically order them. As distinct from the biological connotations of race, ethnicity generally refers to a cultural group that has a common socio-history based on geographical, religious, ancestral or cultural roots. In reality, the distinction between ethnicity and race, and thus ethnic and racial groups, is less clear than their separate usage implies (Morning 2008; Nagel 1994). In New Zealand, ethnic group is the standard nomenclature used in official statistics to distinguish people whom share, among other things, a sense of common culture, history, and geographic

and Didham 2009), and the descendants of British and French settlers in Canada (Pryor et al. 1992). Such claims are treated with suspicion by first peoples. This alternative notion of indigeneity is beyond the scope of this study.

6 origin (Statistics New Zealand 2004). However, the focus on ethnicity and culture is relatively recent. Prior to 1981 the concept of race or, more specifically, “degree of blood” prevailed (see chapter three of this study for an historical overview of census classifications). Given the use of official data in this study I use the term ethnicity, albeit with the recognition that ethnicity may be popularly understood in racial terms. The complex interplay between ethnicity, race, and indigeneity in New Zealand is discussed in further detail. First, a brief background on New Zealand is undertaken below.

1.3 New Zealand: A Brief Background New Zealand is a South Pacific nation, comprising two main islands, with a population of 4.1 million at the time of the 2006 Census. A former British colony, New Zealand‟s history of ethnic relations has largely been one of two peoples: Māori, often described as a Polynesian people, and European, white New Zealanders also referred to colloquially as “Pākehā.”6 Though Māori are considered indigenous to New Zealand, their ancestors were migrants from elsewhere in Southern Polynesia, in the vicinity of Tahiti and the Cook Islands.7 Recent radiocarbon dating of artifacts suggests settlement of these pre-Māori ancestors occurred sometime in the late 13th century (Howe 2003). The first Māori contact with Europeans occurred with James Cook‟s expedition of 1762. Sustained British colonization did not begin until 1840, with the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi between nearly 500 chiefs and representatives of Queen Victoria.8 There were various waves of European migrations to New

6 The Māori term Pākehā is an historical term that evolved to describe British settlers and their descendants (King 1985, 1999). Sometimes mistakenly interpreted as a racial slur, Pākehā is more often used and understood as a neutral descriptor. Though a popular colloquial term, Pākehā has not been institutionalized as a statistical term. In the census, for example, the majority group is labeled New Zealand European, or simply European. For consistency I use the term European throughout this study, except when citing studies that have explicitly referred to Pākehā.

7 Debates over the origins of New Zealand Māori have been ongoing since European contact. Two of the more outlandish theories reached diametrically opposed conclusions: Maori were the “lost tribe of Israel”; and the proto-European Aryan race (Howe 2003).

8 The Treaty comprised three articles relating respectively to governance, sovereignty and citizenship rights. Differences between the Māori and English language versions of the Treaty, notably in relation to sovereignty, have been the subject of much confusion and debate. The English version vested sovereignty with the British Crown; the Māori version ceded the more limited function of kawanatanga or governership, with rangatiratanga or customary authority remaining with chiefs (see, Brookfield 1999; McHugh 1991; Renwick

Zealand from the 1840s through to the mid 20th century. The vast majority of migrants were from Great Britian and Ireland, with smaller groups from southern, eastern and northern Europe (e.g., Greece, the Nertherlands, and the former Yugoslavia). There was also a small but significant Chinese community, many of whom migrated to work in the goldmines in the 1880s, and who were subject to various forms of racial exclusion (Ip 1996). However it was not until the 1970s, with the arrival of labor migrants from around the Pacific (e.g., Samoans, Tongans), and then the loosening of restrictive immigration rules in the late 1980s, that New Zealand began to ethnically diversify. In 1976 Europeans comprised 93 per cent of the population – thirty years later the proportion had declined to between 65 and 70 per cent. 9 The remainder comprised Māori (14.6 per cent), Asian peoples (9.1 per cent), Pacific peoples (6.6 per cent) and peoples from the Middle East, Latin America and Africa combined (1 per cent, see Statistics New Zealand 2007). Race relations in New Zealand have often been described as progressive by comparison with the other settler states (King 1999; Sorrenson 1975). While governments in Australia and North America opted for de facto segregation of indigenes on reserves and remote stations, the New Zealand government remained firmly committed to the assimilation of Māori into mainstream institutions. Through various laws and policies, ties to Māori identity were actively discouraged and censured in formal and informal ways, largely under the guise of helping Māori to fulfill their potential as promising Europeans (Williams 2001). In reality, both the state and Māori were ambivalent about the latter‟s incorporation as “browner Britons” (Belich 1996). State policies were often inconsistent and contradictory, and efforts to assimilate Māori also marked them out as a distinctive, and implicitly inferior, racialized minority (Ward 1974). Though Māori were perhaps seen as more socially acceptable than indigenes in other nations, they have been economically and politically marginalized for much of the nation‟s history (Schwimmer 1968; Pearson 1990, 2000; Pool 1991). By the end of the 19th century, most Māori land had been alienated through government confiscation, dubious

1991; Sharp 1990). The Treaty was recognized in the courts until 1877 when it was declared a legal nullity in Wi Parata vs Bishop of Wellington.

9 In 2006, a significant number of people formerly identified as Europeans rejected the standard ethnic group tick-boxes, reporting themselves simply as New Zealanders. If these people are added to the European count, the percentage is closer to 70 per cent (Kukutai and Didham 2009). People who report more than one group are counted in each group, thus the sum exceeds the total population.

Crown purchases, or the workings of the Native Land Court. In the absence of formal racial separation, de facto segregation prevailed with Māori living in poverty in the rural hinterlands, and Europeans concentrated in towns (Pool 1991). The post-World War II period saw several dramatic changes in population and economy. Between 1945 and 1965, Māori underwent a massive rural exodus, stimulated by population pressures in poor rural areas and the post-war manufacturing boom. Within several decades Māori were transformed from a rural-dwelling people with reasonably strong tribal structures, to a pan-ethnic urban proletariat (Webster 1998). The industrialization of the Māori labor force provided the basis for improved material conditions, especially in the prosperous 1950s and 1960s, which were years of almost full employment and universal social security. Life expectation, morbidity and mortality improved, though outcomes still lagged significantly behind those of European New Zealanders. The so-called “Māori Renaissance” (King 1985) began in the 1970s, stimulated by urban-based protest on the heels of Civil Rights. Biculturalism and cultural nationalism were the pillars of Māori ethnic renewal and reform. Biculturalism is the dominant framework through which much of Māori-European relations are expressed, situating Māori and European as Treaty partners and thus equal, parallel peoples. Similar to other indigenous ethnic renewal movements (Nagel 1995) Māori cultural nationalism has manifested in the resurgence of Māori identity, culture, and pride. As a result of Māori collective action and government responses, there are now far greater opportunities to rediscover and strengthen Māori identity outside of the family than in any time past. The growing assertiveness of Māori rights coincided with the contraction of the national economy, first with the 1970s recession, and then the restructuring of the economy from the mid 1980s. In a short period New Zealand‟s economy was radically altered, from a highly protected economy with universal social security, to a highly deregulated one, with tighter criteria for accessing government support. The decade 1985 to 1995 was one of deepening economic inequality, with New Zealand particularly affected among OECD nations (Pearce and Dorling 2006; Hyslop and Maré 2001). Compared to Europeans, Māori and Pacific peoples suffered disproportionately as they were over-represented in the sectors most affected by economic rationalization, notably agriculture and manufacturing. In 1992 the unemployment rate peaked at a staggering 25 percent for Māori, and 28 percent for Pacific peoples. For New Zealanders who were neither Māori, nor Pacific peoples, the national unemployment rate never rose above 8 percent (Chapple and Rea 1998). At the same time

9 another group of Māori were becoming increasing professionalized as the nation‟s labor force became oriented towards jobs requiring technical and management skills. By 2001 nearly one quarter of Māori workers were in managerial or professional jobs (Pool, Baxendine, and Cochrane 2005). As a result of these transformations, the Māori social structure has become increasingly diverse. There is a small but growing Māori middle-class that shares features with the African American middle-class in terms of being proportionately smaller, less wealthy, and more vulnerable to exogenous shocks than their white counterpart (Katz and Stern 2008). Inconsistent state policy approaches toward Māori have also contributed to a complex array of identities that make challenging the use of a monolith Māori category. The purpose of this study is to articulate how these dimensions are connected in order to better understand why Māori ethnicity continues to exact costs, despite efforts to de-stigmatize Māori identity, and to close social and economic gaps with non-indigenous New Zealanders (Te Puni Kōkiri 2000). In recent years a large number of empirical studies have sought to identify, using statistical methods, the extent to which Māori ethnicity accounts for differences in outcomes across a broad range of social and economic measures. Such studies have raised a number of issues about the conceptual, methodological, and substantive issues relating to the use of ethnicity as a predictor of socio-economic disadvantage. Many of these issues are not unique to Māori or New Zealand, but have been widely debated among scholars, particularly in the United States. To provide a broader context for this study, and to illustrate the complexity of thinking and approaches regarding the use of empirical methods to investigate ethnic and racial inequality, some of these general issues are discussed below.

1.4 The Social and Statistical Significance of Ethnicity The meaning and significance of ethnicity and race has been the subject of much debate in the social sciences (Bobo and Fox 2003; Brunsma and Rockquemore 2002; Perlmann and Waters 2005; Zuberi 2001), and the sciences generally (Duster 2005; Kaufman and Cooper 2001; LaVeist 1994; Koenig, Lee, and Richardson 2008; Williams 1994). Such debates have not only underscored the highly politicized terrain of ethnic and racial politics, but also the challenges of using empirical methods to assess the effects of ethnicity and race on socio- economic and health outcomes. In contrast to theoretical approaches that seek to describe, often in abstract terms, the social significance of ethnicity and race; empirical approaches are primarily concerned with determining statistical significance. Within the literature, three

10 approaches are routinely used to assess the statistical significance of ethnicity and race for social and economic outcomes. The first method involves pairwise comparisons between two or more groups to track absolute and relative disparities over time.10 The pairwise approach is useful for describing gaps between groups and is relatively easy to understand, which is useful if the information is intended for a broad public audience. However it offers little insight into why gaps exist, which limits its usage to a descriptive rather than explanatory approach. A second approach involves a broader set of measures widely used in epidemiology, including regression-based measures (e.g., slope index of inequality); population impact measures (e.g., index of dissimilarity), and measures of average disproportionality (e.g., Theil index. See Harper and Lynch 2006 for a detailed overview of disparity measures in health research). Decomposition techniques offer further insights into the sources of shifts in disparities, and have been applied to a diverse set of problems including the impact of racial segregation on black-white disparities in health care (Baicker, Chandra, and Skinner 2005), and the effect of age structural differences on the labor market outcomes of Māori and non-Māori (Jackson 2002). For social scientists, the foregoing approaches often provide the justification for undertaking higher-level causal analysis. In the context of ethnic and racial inequality, the overarching interest is typically to explain why significant differences persist across groups that have been socially defined as ethnic or racial. More specifically, analysts are often interested in whether ethnicity or race has an independent effect on the outcome of interest, after potentially confounding variables have been accounted for. The multivariate approach is useful for identifying complex relationships between variables and is widely used throughout the social sciences, and indeed in chapter five of this study. Explaining what the results means, however, puts analysts in difficult terrain. Zuberi (2001) has challenged the validity of using racial categories as predictors in causal models, on the basis that race, like sex, is an immutable trait of individuals and thus cannot be analyzed as a causal force for change. Rather, the only relationship that can be

10 The absolute disparity between two indicators is the simple arithmetic difference. The equation is: AD = r1 – r2 where r1 –and r2 are indicators of some form of socio-economic or health status in two groups. The relative disparity is a ratio measure: RD = r1 /r2 (Harper and Lynch 2006). Relative and absolute measures yield fundamentally different information and can generate different interpretations about whether disparities between groups are decreasing or increasing.

11 examined is the association between racial categories and a “predictor or explanatory variable across individuals in a population.” To ignore this distinction and treat models as causal or inferential is a dangerous form of “racial reasoning” (p.129). Zuberi‟s warning is instructive. Many empirical studies lack an explicit theory about what ethnicity and race variables stand for, and why they matter, simply treating them as self-explanatory. As Williams has observed: Using race only as an afterthought or in a mechanical or atheoretical manner, or both, does not shed any light on the ways in which racial differences are built into the institutions of society, and serves only to perpetuate the distortion of social reality (1994, p.268).

Yet, locating race and ethnicity within an explicit theoretical framework does not necessarily lead to greater clarity. Depending on the theoretical positioning of the researcher, the statistical significance of race may be subject to diverse interpretations. Whereas biomedical researchers may be more inclined to see racial identification as a proxy for an endogenous quality of individuals (LaVeist 1994), sociologists typically look for social structural explanations such as concrete political and economic conditions and relationships (Cornell and Kalt 1993). Even a cursory sweep of the literature reveals how ethnic and racial categories are routinely used as proxies for an assortment of historical or current social, political, or environmental factors that may be poorly defined (Brunsma and Rockquemore 2002; Kaufman and Cooper 2001; LaVeist 1994). Using statistical methods to determine the significance of ethnicity and race also raises a number of methodological issues. A key problem arises from omitted variable bias or unobserved heterogeneity. This is an issue most researchers who employ empirical methods are confronted with, not just those who study ethnicity and race. The problem occurs when a statistically significant relationship between variables is spurious, due to the omission of some factor or factors not accounted for in the model. The risk of this occurring is amplified when a multi-dimensional construct such as ethnicity or race is reduced to a single variable based on self-identification with specified categories. Several solutions have been proposed. One is to dispense with ethnic and racial categories and measure the processes and mechanisms that ethnic and racial categories stand for (e.g., racial discrimination). Data limitations often make this impractical, but the prospect of dispensing with ethnic and racial categories also raises theoretical and substantive concerns (see, for example, Kaufman and Cooper 2001). Reducing ethnic and racial disadvantage to a diffuse set of demographic, material and/or social factors could potentially yield statistical results that are easier to interpret. However, it also risks obscuring the very processes that many researchers are interested in – specifically the ways in

12 which ethnicity and race are used to sort people into more or less privileged statuses. Rather than dispense with the concepts of ethnicity and race, others have argued for more complex conceptual and methodological solutions. In the U.S., several studies have moved beyond standard measures of self-identified race to incorporate measures of race based on external observation (Campbell and Troyer 2007; Saperstein 2006, 2008). Analyses using measures of both self- and observed-race show there is a significant potential for racial misclassification by an observer, particularly for groups that have experienced high levels of intermarriage (e.g., American Indians). Moreover, depending on which measure is used, substantively different conclusions may be drawn about the relationship between race and the focal outcome. Most of the foregoing critiques and debates have arisen from the U.S. context, which has a specific history of racial inequality, notably slavery and legal segregation. Phenotypical distinctions are a powerful marker of race, and thus of racialized social and economic exclusion. However, depending on the group and context, other markers such as language, accent, cultural practices, and social networks might also serve as markers of inequality. The symbols that define a group and its members are not fixed, but shift over time, along with the associated costs and benefits (Kaufmann 2000). For example, under a regime of coercive assimilation, speaking an indigenous language might incur high costs. Under conditions of indigenous revitalization, speaking the mother tongue might be considered an asset, particularly if it endows access to influential networks or labor market opportunities. As chapter two elaborates, there are markers of ethnicity beyond self-identification that might better explain the salience of ethnicity in the distribution of resources and privilege. To provide a proper context for that discussion, the following section considers some of the empirical research investigating the significance of Māori ethnicity as a mechanism of inequality.

1.5 Is Māori Ethnicity a Significant Predictor of Socio-Economic Disadvantage? Many of the issues raised in the previous section have also been raised in relation to ethnic inequality in New Zealand. Most of these debates have focused on Māori, reflecting both their historical marginalization, and their dual status as the nation‟s indigenous people and largest ethnic minority (Kukutai 2007/2008). Explanations for Māori disadvantage are diverse, but generally coalesce around two dominant explanatory frameworks. One emphasizes ethnicity and culture as mechanisms of inequality and prescribes cultural-based solutions (e.g., through

13 making mainstream institutions more culturally responsive and strengthening Māori cultural institutions). The other emphasizes economic and demographic mechanisms and champions needs-based strategies. This study does not treat ethnicity or class-based approaches as mutually exclusive. Rather the assumption is that both are necessarily implicated in explaining the persistence of Māori disadvantage and both need to be accounted for. In recent times the flagship of official efforts to address Māori socio-economic disadvantage has been via an initiative known as “Closing the Gaps” (Te Puni Kōkiri 2000). Interest in disparities between Māori and European is nothing new, having been documented since at least the late 19th century (Kukutai, Pool, and Sceats 2002; Pool 1991). However, it wasn‟t until the 1960s that successive governments began to systematically collect and analyze data on Māori across a wide range of socio-economic indicators. The Gaps policy was established in the late 1990s, with the explicit goal of closing the social and economic gaps between Māori and non-Māori by 2015. A key component involved monitoring the progress of Crown agencies. Reports produced by Te Puni Kōkiri (the Ministry of Māori Development) showed Māori had experienced absolute improvements for many of the social and economic indicators covered, but the gains had been insufficient to close the gaps with non-Māori. Given well over a century of data documenting Māori disadvantage, these findings were hardly novel. However, amidst an increasingly conservative political climate and growing dissatisfaction with perceived Māori advantages as result of historical Treaty settlements (see, Humpage 2005, 2006; O‟Sullivan 2006), the Gaps reports became a flashpoint for debate about ethnic inequality. Economist Simon Chapple‟s (2000) critique of the Gaps policy was especially damning, and was promptly picked up by the press. Because it highlights many of the key objections to the use of ethnicity as a basis on which to target policy, it is useful to consider his arguments in some depth. One of Chapple‟s objections to the Gaps was that focusing on average differences between Māori and non-Māori was misleading in the presence of significant intra-Māori variation. With respect to income, for example, he argued that ethnic gaps were driven primarily by Māori under- and over-representation at the high and low ends of the distribution (also see Chapple 1999; Callister 2007). Echoing Wilson‟s (1987) observation about “truly disadvantaged” African-Americans, Chapple argued the problem of ethnic disparities was best understood as a “sub-cultural and socio-economic” problem, than a general Māori one. The most disadvantaged Māori were those who identified solely as Māori, had low skills, and lived in communities where the Māori population was high and the

14 outcomes, on average, were poor (2000, p.115). The use of gaps evidence to formulate policy could perpetuate inequality if the majority of resources were being captured by middle-class Māori. Chapple further argued that focusing on disparities did little to shift public perceptions of Māori ethnicity as a cause of disadvantage and could inadvertently lend credence to the view that “Māori ethnicity is socio-economic destiny.” It was equally possible that part of the observed Māori/non-Māori disparity was due to the effect of socio-economic position on Māori ethnicity – that is, the reluctance of people with a higher socio-economic profile to identify as Māori. Chapple‟s critique was welcomed by critics of the Gaps policy, and especially by conservatives dissatisfied with what they perceived to be “special” treatment for Māori. Elements of Chapple‟s critique were included in the now infamous “Nationhood” speech given by the leader of the conservative National party in 2004, which was primarily an attack on Māori political and Treaty rights (Brash 2004). Under increased political pressure the Gaps program was refashioned to focus on needs rather than ethnicity, and the special status of Maori as the nation‟s indigenes all but disappeared from the social development agenda (O‟Sullivan 2006). Chapple was not alone in criticizing Gaps policies. Others also objected to the policy, but for very different reasons. Humpage and Fleras (2001) pointed to the tensions between the social justice, social cohesion, and Treaty arguments offered in support of closing the gaps. Rather than foster indigenous rights to self-determination, it appeared to promote “assimilation in slow motion” by encouraging Māori and Pacific peoples to …become more like well-off Pākehā (2001, p.49). Humpage (2005), in particular, was skeptical about the extent to which social inclusiveness policies could affect the sort of transformative change necessary to reverse entrenched patterns of Māori marginalization. She argued such policies oftentimes “… legitimized state intervention into Māori communities under the pretence of „helping‟ Māori peoples gain access to the kind of socio-economic status their non-Māori counterparts enjoy.” Others worried that focusing on ethnic disparities encouraged a social deficit approach to dealing with Māori, at the expense of positive development (Durie 2005). Indeed, even before the Gaps policy was dropped, the Ministry of Māori Development had begun to shift its focus from documenting ethnic disparities to promoting a “Māori Potential” approach. The latter approach emphasizes the unique status of Māori as indigenes, rather than an ethnic minority; and promotes the leveraging of collective Māori resources, knowledge, skills and leadership capability as the pathway to improving individual and collective wellbeing (Te Puni Kōkiri 2009).

Findings From Multivariate Analysis One of the points raised by the Gaps debates is the need for effective policy to go beyond simply documenting disparities between groups, to identifying the underlying mechanisms of inequality. To do so academics and policy analysts have made increasing use of multivariate statistical techniques. Much of the research has been in relation to labor market and health outcomes. Findings concerning the statistical significance of ethnicity as a predictor of inequalities in those domains have been mixed. Several studies of ethnic differentials in earnings and employment have found Māori ethnicity has no statistically significant effect, or a much reduced effect, on labor market outcomes once other factors are accounted for (Chapple 1999, 2000; Chapple and Rea 1999; Chapple and Maré 2000; Maani 2002; Winkelmann and Winkelmann 1997). Most have concluded that Māori do not face specific constraints such as discrimination in the labor market that might explain their lower average earnings. More important are factors correlated with Māori ethnic identification and earnings including a youthful age structure, lower levels of education, hours worked, and over-representation in lower paid jobs. Though academics have generally been careful not to over-generalize their findings, critics of ethnic policies have utilized such results to claim that Māori ethnicity is inconsequential for life chances (see, for example, Brash 2004). This leap is problematic. Finding ethnic self-identification to be statistically insignificant as a predictor of a single socio-economic outcome does not render ethnicity insignificant as a dimension of inequality. If Māori ethnicity is strongly associated with the factors that are barriers to labor market success, such as poor literacy, under-education, and a disadvantaged family background, it is specious to dismiss ethnicity as unimportant. Other studies using different measures of Māori identification and earnings have yielded different results. For example, Sutherland and Alexander (2002) found Māori were consistently segregated into lower occupational classes than their productivity and demographic characteristics would suggest. Extrapolating from the results, they surmised discrimination accounted for between at least 30 percent of the Māori/Pākehā wage differential. Gould‟s (2003) critique of Sutherland and Alexander argued, among other points, that restricting their analysis to sole Māori almost certainly excluded the most economically advantaged Māori, so that their findings were not representative of Māori generally (for a reply to Gould‟s comment, see Alexander 2003). Ethnic differentials have also been a key focus of health research, particularly in

16 relation to premature or preventable death. Using data from the 1976, 1986 and 1996 censuses, Sporle, Pearce, and Davis (2002) examined social class mortality differences between Māori and non-Māori adult men, and found Māori mortality was significantly higher than non-Māori mortality in each social class. The mortality rates for Māori in the highest occupational grouping exceeded those for non-Māori in the lowest occupational grouping for amenable, non-amenable, and all causes of mortality. However, in terms of social class differences in mortality, inequality was more pronounced amongst Māori. The authors concluded higher Māori mortality could not be attributed primarily to Māori over- representation in the lower social classes, but that intra-Māori differences were also an important feature. Blakely et al‟s (2005) study of ethnic differentials in mortality found evidence of widening disparities between Māori and Pacific peoples in comparison to the non- Māori, non-Pacific majority. They concluded the differences could be due to a combination of factors including the disparate impacts of economic restructuring on Māori and Pacific peoples, varying lifestyle risk factors, access to and quality of health services, and discrimination. However, the lack of reliable trend data made it difficult to assess the contribution of each.

1.6 Disadvantage Between Māori: A Sub-Group Problem? Though the foregoing research focused on inequalities between Māori and other groups, it also highlighted the significant variation that exists between Māori. That Māori are heterogeneous is unremarkable. Except in rigid caste-like societies, most groups defined as racial or ethnic have an internal hierarchy. A thornier question is whether ethnic differences are implicated in intra- Māori as well as inter-ethnic inequality. Most of the literature implies that identification with a historically disadvantaged ethnic minority group comes with certain disadvantages or privileges. For example, identification as a Māori might denote a higher risk of exposure to discrimination or prejudice on the basis of perceived race; or being raised in a context of intergenerational disadvantage. However, in economically and socially developed countries like New Zealand, minorities often have different levels of connection to the collective that expose them to different risks. As research in the U.S. context has shown, relying solely on self-reported measures of identification may be a poor proxy for these underlying dynamics. Recognizing the considerable diversity that exists between Māori, both with regards to socio-economic position and ethnic attachment, several analysts have sought to undertake more nuanced analysis. Much of this has taken the form of sub-group

17 analysis, typically distinguishing between sole and mixed ethnic Māori (Chapple 1999, 2000; Gould 1990a, 1990b, 2000a).11 Though studies have generally found evidence of statistically significant differences in outcomes, plausible explanations have been elusive. In part this is due to the lack of clarity about what sub-group distinctions actually capture. One possible explanation might be that it captures different parental backgrounds. Certainly a European parent, on average, is likely to be better educated and have higher earnings than a Māori parent. However ethnic self-identification does not necessarily reflect parental ethnicities. Several studies have showed that many people identified solely as Māori have a non-Māori parent, in common with their multi-ethnic identified counterparts (Howard and Didham 2007; Kukutai 2007). There is also considerable fluidity between the sole Māori and mixed Māori categories. It is not uncommon for people whom identify exclusively as Māori in one context to subsequently identify with several groups, and vice versa (Brown 2009; Coope and Piesse 1997; Kukutai 2009). These findings are consistent with North American studies showing significant levels of categorical “ethnic mobility” in ethnic and racial identification patterns (see, for example, Harris and Sim 2002; Brunsma and Rockquemore 2002; Guimond 2006). High levels of movement between categories complicate the interpretation of sub-group analysis, which often assumes stable patterns of identification. When boundaries are drawn on the basis of convenience, as is generally the case with the sole versus mixed Māori distinction, they are bound to be somewhat arbitrary. In theory there are many possible ways to distinguish between Māori using ethnic criteria. Previous work undertaken by the author used information on self-identified “main” ethnic identification to create sub-groups of Māori women and compare them by income. The results suggested the sole-mixed distinction was misleading: women who identified as both Māori and European, but mainly as Māori had significantly lower earnings than their counterparts who identified mainly as European (Kukutai 2004). The results suggested a more important distinction was ethnic orientation rather than ethnic identification per se. Using Māori ancestry and ethnicity data to construct sub-groups, Callister and Blakely (2004) found individuals who identified as Māori by ancestry only, had better average mortality and education outcomes than those identified as Māori on the basis of both ancestry and ethnicity. They suggested a number of possible explanations for the intermediary position of Māori ancestry group including a

11 Other studies utilizing the sole/mixed distinction have found differences beyond economic and health outcomes. Studies of inter-ethnic marriage, for example, have found multi-ethnic identified Māori are much more likely to be in an inter-ethnic partnership than those who identify only as Māori (Callister 2004; Callister, Didham, and Potter 2005).

18 continuum of socio-economic disadvantage; a continuum of health-damaging racism, and a continuum of other health determinants (e.g., cultural and/or health behaviors). Gould has been more forthcoming about the role of Māori ethnicity in the unequal distribution of resources between Māori. In a comparative study of the socio-economic rankings of tribes, he proposed that the highest ranking of the Ngai Tahu tribe was likely due to the high proportion of members with European ethnicity. European ethnicity, he argued, was the closest thing to being a causal factor that “lies outside the domain of economic characteristics and which acts on these as an exogenous determinant” (1996, p.177). Extrapolating from the findings he concluded the best strategy for improving Māori outcomes was mainstreaming and “modernization”, rather than solutions emphasizing Māori cultural preservation (1990a, 1996). In a separate study he shifted the focus from the benefits of European ethnicity, to argue a case for the causal negative effects of Māori ethnicity on material conditions. More specifically he proposed that, “Degree of „Māoriness‟ whether this is conceived in biological or ethnic terms, forms a continuum, position on which is itself a determinant of socio-economic performance, their being (for whatever reason) a negative correlation between the two” (2000a, p.13). Though bordering on “racial reasoning” Gould‟s interpretation of the significance of “Māoriness” is relevant to this study. First, it underscores the tendency, albeit usually more delicately expressed, to attribute a biological basis to socially defined differences. For Gould, Māori ethnicity appears to be a fixed, objective trait of individuals, and ethnic inequality the result of ethnic differences in individual attitudes, capabilities, or behaviors (for a critique, see Barber 2004). This study shows that such assumptions are ill-conceived. Second, Gould‟s interpretations point to the importance of theorizing and connecting individual expressions of ethnicity and race with the broader macro-social context. Ethnic and racial symbols or perceived traits have no intrinsic causal or objective force: it is only how such markers are interpreted and responded to in the social environment that matters. Simply put, micro-level processes of ethnic identity and identification need to be situated within broader macro-social context. This makes it easier to move from routinized, atheoretical usages of ethnicity as an explanatory variable for disadvantage to think more deeply about how and why it might be implicated. So doing both brings us close to social scientific theories of ethnicity as contingent and fluid, but also recognizes that historical factors continue to shape the present.

1.7 Study Outline The rest of this study provides the theoretical and empirical substance for many of the arguments raised in this introductory chapter. Chapter two starts by providing the theoretical grounding for the empirical work that follows. It begins with a critical review of the two theoretical approaches that have dominated the study of ethnic change and stratification in the United States: assimilation and ethnic pluralism. Particular attention is paid to the conceptualization of ethnicity and the theorized relationship between ethnicity, ethnic group membership, and life chances. For insights into processes of racialization and racial exclusion, I turn to Omi and Winant‟s (1986) theory of racial formation. Because all three theories have been developed specifically in the context of the United States and, largely applied to immigrant groups, I consider the potential problems of applying immigrant-host models to indigenous-settler contexts such as New Zealand. A theoretical framework is then proposed for theorizing and examining the connections between individuals‟ ethnic identification, ethnic identity, and socio-economic outcomes, and the macro-social context within which these phenomena occur. Chapter three uses historical expository analysis to elaborate the historical context for Māori socio-economic disadvantage, and intra-Māori inequality. The analysis is undertaken through the lens of three chronological policy eras: amalgamation and assimilation (1840- 1944), integration (1945-1974) and ethnic renewal and reform (1975-2000). Mercurial state policies toward Māori, and Māori reactions, have produced complex constraints and incentives associated with Māori identity. Exogenous changes in economy and ideology have also expanded and constrained opportunities for Māori to improve their life chances. This chapter seeks to demonstrate how these shifts have elided to reconfigure ethnic hierarchies in ways that facilitate upward mobility for some Māori over others. The next two chapters use empirical methods to examine the relationship between ties to Māori ethnicity and intra-Māori inequality. Using questions on Māori ethnicity, ancestry, and tribal affiliation from the Census of Population and Dwellings, I construct a wide array of Māori sub-groups, and undertake pairwise analysis across a range of age-standardized socio- economic indicators, including occupational status, education level, and home ownership. The goal is to assess whether systematic differences exist in material wellbeing across differently defined Māori sub-groups, and if these differences persist over time. To see whether the sub- groups capture qualitative differences in ties to Māori identity I also make comparisons across two markers of cultural identity: Māori language usage and intra-Māori partnering. This

20 analysis is more comprehensive than most of the studies of intra-Māori differences undertaken to date, but nevertheless suffer from two shortcomings. One is that the use of metadata and overlapping categories precludes the use of the statistical methods necessary to untangle complex relationships between variables. The other limitation is the inability to operationalize key micro-level dimensions of Māori ethnic identity and identification. A strong test should control for how individuals identify themselves in relation to a set of categories over time; provide a suitably wide range of alternative categories with which to identify, and account for different sorts of ethnic identity ties beyond reports of language use. Chapter five addresses these limitations through multivariate analysis of the first three waves of data from the unique longitudinal study of Māori households Te Hoe Nuku Roa (Durie 1995; Fitzgerald et al. 1996; Te Hoe Nuku Roa Resesarch Team 1999). The survey collected data on a vast array of indicators of Māori ethnic identity and socio-economic outcomes for individuals self-identified as Māori on the basis of ancestry. I use binary logit models to test hypotheses about the effects of ethnic self-identification and ties to ethnic identity on indicators of socio-economic status. I also examine whether men and women who consistently chose Māori as their preferred ethnic label had different ethnic and socio- economic profiles from those choosing some other label. All models are adjusted for demographic variables. A concluding chapter draws together the key themes of the study, and discusses the implications for future trajectories of change and strategies to reduce Māori disadvantage. I discuss what the findings imply about both the social and statistical significance of Māori ethnicity, and the limitations of relying solely on ethnic self-identification to examine ethnic inequality. The chapter ends with a discussion of the relevance of the Māori experience for indigenous peoples in the other white settler states, and for processes of ethnic change and persistence more generally.

CHAPTER TWO THEORIZING ETHNICITY AND INEQUALITY

2.1 Introduction The preceding chapter identified several limitations of established approaches utilizing empirical methods to study ethnic and racial stratification. The main problem is the lack of theoretical clarity about what ethnicity stands for when used as an independent variable. Ethnicity tends to be analyzed as a fixed, objective trait of individuals reducible to identification with a set of official ethnic categories. This fails to recognize the multidimensional nature of ethnicity; the broader macro-social context within which ethnic ties are created and recreated; and the shifting costs and benefits. With these shortcomings in mind, this chapter proposes a framework for theorizing and examining the connection between ethnicity and socio-economic position. Though developed in relation to Māori, it is framed in abstract terms intended to be generalizable to other settler state indigenes. The framework combines insights from three theories: new assimilation (Alba and Nee 1997, 2003), social constructivism (Cornell 1996; Nagel 1994, 1995) and racial formation (Omi and Winant 1986). Alone, neither theory is sufficient to explain the association between Māori ethnicity and inequality, but combined offer much promise. I begin with a review of each theoretical approach, outlining the key ideas about the nature of ethnicity, ethnic groups, and ethnic stratification. Within each approach, key variants are identified and discussed. I then consider the potential problems of applying immigrant-host models to indigenous-settler contexts, and present a theoretical framework that connects the micro-level manifestations of ethnic identity, ethnic identification, and socio-economic outcomes with the broader macro-social context.

2.2 The Declining Significance of Ethnicity and Race Theories of assimilation have been especially influential in shaping thinking about ethnic change and stratification. Originally conceived as a way of understanding relations between immigrants and the Anglo majority in the United States, assimilation has enjoyed considerable popularity in other diverse, immigrant receiving societies, both as a normative ideology, and as a scholarly theoretical approach. In New Zealand, studies of Māori-European relations undertaken in the 1950s and 1960s routinely employed assimilation and integration models, reflecting the popularity of contemporary political discourses (Ausubel 1961; Bray

22 and Jordan 1973; Booth and Hunn 1962; Hunn 1961). Nowadays, scholars are reluctant to engage concepts of assimilation, lest their theoretical interest be misconstrued as normative support. Yet, given the longevity of state-sponsored assimilation, theories of assimilation might be well placed to impart useful insights into the persistence of Māori disadvantage. This section discusses three key variants within the assimilation literature: classic assimilation, new assimilation, and segmented assimilation. All share an assumption that inter-group contact eventually leads to the declining salience of ethnicity, but offer different explanations for how this occurs.

Classical Assimilation The genesis of assimilation can found in the so-called Chicago School of sociology and, in particular, the work of Robert Park (for a detailed overview of assimilation theory see, Alba and Nee 1997, 2003; Hirschman 1983; Kivisto 2005). The Chicago School approach has sometimes been described as a cyclical model of race relations, with assimilation as the end- point in a cycle of inter-group contact, competition, and accommodation. The term assimilation was used to describe an incremental and irreversible process of cultural “interpenetration and fusion” in which persons and groups acquired the “memories, sentiments, and attitudes of other persons and groups” (Park and Burgess 1969, p.735). The process of merging was an organic, inter-generational one as the children and grandchildren of migrants became simultaneously distanced from their ethnic origins and exposed to the culture of the “host” society.12 By relinquishing the values, attitudes and lifestyle of the old country, immigrants and their descendants were able to socially and economically advance in the new. Where the Chicago School pioneered assimilation research, Milton Gordon (1964) infused the theory with its lasting vigor. The latter‟s seminal work Assimilation in American Life (1964) was indebted to the earlier formulations of Park and associates, but diverged in several key ways. For Gordon, the retention or maintenance of ethnic behaviors and values was less important than the structural problem posed by the “nature of group life itself within a large, industrialized, urban nation composed of a heterogeneous population” (1964, p.3). Whether the “social structural goals” of assimilation, pluralism or the “melting pot” prevailed

12 Throughout the assimilation literature, the terms “host” society, “core,” and “mainstream” are used interchangeably.

23 had long-term implications for inter-group relations, and ultimately national unity.13 Despite Gordon‟s concern with social structure, interpretations of his work have focused primarily on the ethnic behaviors and values of individuals and families. A number of studies have employed his typology of assimilation as a multi-dimensional process spanning seven distinct domains: cultural, structural, marital, identity, attitudinal (lack of prejudice), behavioral (lack of discrimination), and civic. For Gordon, the most important domain of assimilation was structural, denoting the acceptance of immigrants into the “social cliques, clubs, and institutions of the core society at the primary group level” (1964, p. 80). Primary group relations were those of an interpersonal nature such as friendships, romantic relationships, family, and social cliques. Gordon used the term “Anglo conformity” to describe the idea that immigrants had to adopt the norms, institutions, values and behavior patterns of the larger Anglo majority in order to get ahead. He saw Anglo conformance as a necessary but insufficient condition of admission in to American society (1964, p.73). Given high internal solidarity and external discrimination, even acculturated immigrants and their descendants could live and work largely in the company of co-ethnics. Over the years, many criticisms have been leveled at the classic assimilation model, notably that it appears to prescribe assimilation as inevitable and desirable (though others believe this to be an unfair characterization, see Alba and Nee 1997, 2003). In terms of its relevance for Māori, the main problem lies in the treatment of ethnicity as a set of distinctive, objective qualities that groups and their members possess, and ethnic change as an organic process of inter-generational change. For indigenous peoples, assimilation has been less the result of spontaneous change, than a structural goal enforced upon them by successive governments. Whereas classic assimilation implies that ethnic markers such as language and forms of association have a causal force, this study is premised on the assumption that ethnicity (and race) only gain significance through social processes of differentiation that are oftentimes motivated by political and economic concerns. At different times, select behaviors,

13 The melting pot is a metaphor for the way in which people of different cultures and religions lose their discrete identities, forming a common culture and sense of peoplehood. The idea is most strongly associated with the United States where it is contrasted with the metaphor of the “salad bowl” in which immigrants retain their identities and cultures (i.e. ethnic pluralism or multiculturalism). Although the melting pot idea is now rejected as outdated and ethnocentric, at its inception it was seen as a “liberal and radical” counterpoint to intolerance and racism (Hirschman 1983).

24 values and attitudes were invoked as markers of a stigmatized Māori identity and evaluated in ways that served to justify and maintain European dominance. Processes of ethnic change and adaptation are thus always tied to processes of power and exclusion, but these dynamics are not accounted for in classic assimilation models.

Segmented Assimilation Developed by Portes and Zhou (1993), segmented assimilation (hereafter SA) emerged as a critique of classical assimilation, and has sometimes been described as a rival theory. Studies in the classical tradition typically focused on the incorporation of “old” European immigrant groups (e.g., Irish and Italians) in the first part of the 19th century. By contrast, SA theory focuses on immigrant groups that entered the United States after the removal of national origin quotas in 1965, mostly from Latin America, Asia and the Caribbean. SA theory supports the basic premise of immigrant assimilation, but proposes a radically different explanation for how and why it occurs. The central argument is that the changed hourglass economy14 of the United States and the diverse racial structure offers at least three pathways of assimilation for new migrant groups. The first is the classic path of upward mobility and assimilation into the Anglo middle class; the second is a downward path of assimilation into the black urban underclass and poverty; the third is a path of selective or lagged acculturation, where groups deliberately preserve community values and also attain middle-class status. The main task is to predict into what segment of American society a particular immigrant group will assimilate (Zhou 1997). Rather than focus on individuals and families (the foci of classical assimilation), SA theory emphasizes the interaction of individual behavior and community context. The proximate mechanisms of individual and group outcomes are parental human capital, family structure, and community social capital. SA emphasizes how groups accentuate the values, norms and behaviors that resonate with, and are rewarded in, the mainstream, while downplaying those that limit adaptation. Elaborations by Portes and Rumbaut (2001) have focused on inter-generational acculturation strategies, showing that parents and children both

14 An hourglass economy is one with a large and growing group at the top with high levels of education, skills, and education contrasted with an equally large and increasing group at the bottom with low skills and pay, offset by a shrinking middle tier or skilled and semi-skilled manual workers.

25 benefit when they acculturate at a similar pace. This convergence minimizes intergenerational conflict and the risks associated with negative peer pressure in inner-city schools. Ethnic retention is viewed as advantageous because it is bound up with family cohesiveness and control. Compared to other assimilation models, SA is seen as more attuned to contemporary immigration dynamics, though there are misgivings about the emphasis given to black inner- city culture (Alba and Nee 1997, 2003; Neckerman, Carter, and Lee 1999; Sanders 2002). The propositions of SA theory are also difficult to test as insufficient time has passed to determine whether the predicted outcomes of intergenerational change have occurred. Empirical tests have thus concentrated on the educational outcomes of the second generation, thereby limiting its theoretical application (Xie and Greenman 2005). In indigenous-settler contexts, the more important limitation is the lack of insight into the processes that maintain ethnic and racial hierarchies in ways that disadvantage those already at the bottom. In SA theory, established or “involuntary” minorities (Ogbu 1978) are merely reference points against which to assess the trajectories of new immigrant groups. As such there are few, if any, SA studies that have been applied to African Americans, American Indians, and Native Hawaiians. In stratification terms, these populations bear the closest resemblance to Māori, and provide a natural comparison point within which to situate a Māori study.

New Assimilation The final assimilation strand discussed here is Alba and Nee‟s theory of new assimilation (1997, 2003). Acknowledging the pejorative meanings associated with classical assimilation, Alba and Nee redefine assimilation as “no more than the attenuation of an ethnic or racial distinction and the cultural and social differences that are associated with it” (1997, p.834). Assimilation is neither desirable nor inevitable, but a contingent process arising from change at the macro- and micro-levels. As a causal theory, new assimilation departs from classic formulations in its emphasis on the institutional environment. Borrowing from the population ecology of Shibutani and Kwan (1965), and new institutionalism, Alba and Nee emphasize how incentives to assimilate or segregate are embedded in the institutional environment, comprising formal rules such as laws, and informal forces such as customs and values. Individuals and primary groups work within these constraints to maximize their welfare through purposive action and network mechanisms (e.g., social rewards and punishment). Institutional mechanisms are seen as distal causes of assimilation because

26 changes in the institutional environment promote either blending or segregating processes (2003, p.52) In terms of proximate mechanisms, Alba and Nee identify economic assimilation as key. Parity of life chances is critical because it enhances the possibility of interethnic contact that may lead to a reduction in social distance, both real and perceived, and its ideological supports. Unlike classical formulations of assimilation, individuals do not have to discard their ethnic ties to improve their life chances. Rather, it is the process of mobility striving that leads to the declining salience of ethnicity in ways that might be largely unintentional (2003, p.77). In other words, individual ties to ethnicity change in response to socio-economic conditions, rather than vice versa (for a test of this relationship, see Arias 2001). In Alba and Nee‟s model, assimilation takes place spontaneously and incrementally through processes of boundary crossing and blurring. Boundary crossing is the classic assimilation process in which individuals pass from one group to the next without necessarily altering the social boundary between groups. Boundary blurring, on the other hand, changes the character of the boundary, oftentimes resulting in changes to the stratification order. Boundary blurring occurs when institutional mechanisms supporting equal rights provide meaningful opportunities for equal status contact in schools, the workplace, and social interactions (2003, pp.60-62). Equal status contact shrinks the social distances between groups, resulting in the expansion of the mainstream to include customs and practices previously associated with the minority.15 The extent to which immigrants and their descendants are able to exploit economic opportunities is conditioned by their “forms of capital”, notably level of education and job skills. Lastly, new assimilation draws attention to the role of cultural competence in the mainstream – what Gordon called “Anglo conformance.” Those who work, live and/or socialize among people whom are mainstream conformant are better able to master “culturally codified notions of appropriate behavior which, when learned, serve as cues to others as to an individual‟s level of cultural and social competence” (2003, p.42). Such skills aid upward mobility by serving as a cue or market signal for employers, and smoothing the way in workaday social interactions.

15 Alba and Nee‟s conception of the mainstream is considerably more elastic than that found in classic assimilation. The mainstream is defined as “that part of the society within which ethnic and racial origins have at most minor impacts on life chances and opportunities” (Alba and Nee 2003, p.12). The mainstream is not a group, but a “core set of interrelated institutional structures and organizations regulated by rules and practices that weaken the influence of ethnic origins …”

Alba and Nee‟s reformulation of assimilation offers several valuable concepts with which to understand the connection between Māori ethnicity and inequality. First, it highlights the importance of the institutional environment and how shifts in formal rules, laws, and values can change the opportunity structure for minorities. As chapter three shows, opportunities for Māori to advance have shifted over time, as have the costs and benefits associated with being Māori. New assimilation also broadens the focus from individuals and families, to take account of the broader context within which micro-level processes of ethnic formation occur. Ethnic ties both reflect and contribute to socio-economic position, rather than a simple uni-directional causal relationship in which ethnicity “causes” outcomes. Despite these appealing features, there are several important shortcomings. One is the assumption that structural changes that promote economic mobility implicitly weaken ethnic ties. In the case of the settler states, opportunities and incentives to foster indigeneity have occurred in tandem with limited opportunities to advance economically. The rapid growth of indigenous populations since the 1970s has been due, in good measure, to the addition of urban, educated people formerly identified with the white majority (Eschbach, Supple, and Snipp 1998; Guimond 2006). Educated elites have often been at the forefront of indigenous revitalization (Webster 1998). New assimilation theory also downplays the lag that inevitably occurs between changes in formal structures imposing social economic and social costs on minorities, and the persistence of informal constraints such as prejudice, sterotypes, and what Loury (2002) calls “stigmatizing racial thinking.” For indigenes in the settler states, inequality persists despite policies and programs in support of indigenous rights and identities. Later in this chapter I propose this disconnect has arisen from a segmented opportunity structure that enables upward mobility for indigenes with certain kinds of ethnic ties; but continues to impose costs on others. In order to better comprehend this argument, I survey theories predicting the increasing (versus declining) salience of ethnicity, as well as Omi and Winant‟s theory of racial formation.

2.3 The Enduring Salience of Ethnicity and Race Theories of ethnic retention or pluralism displace many of the assumptions of assimilation, focusing on issues of power and the social construction of group categories. Like theories of assimilation, those predicting the persistence of ethnicity are diverse, ranging from ethnic pluralism that emerged in the 1960s, to more recent work on social and ethnic constructivism and transnationalism. Where assimilation theory predicts the weakening of ethnicity, ethnic

28 pluralism predicts the increasing salience of ethnicity as an organizing force in social and political life. Given macro-political incentives and the competitive pressures of modernization, ethnicity is seen as an economic and political resource, rather than a liability (Greeley 1964). As a sociological concept, ethnic pluralism was popularized in Glazer and Moynihan‟s influential work Beyond the melting pot (1963). Drawing on ethnographic work among ethnic communities in New York, Glazer and Moynihan challenged the notion that ethnic identity, values, and associations became weakened with generational distance from the homeland. Rather, they argued the modern metropolis provided the ideal conditions for the recreation ethnic groups and revitalization of ethnic ties. Exclusion from the Anglophonic melting pot and mainstream political participation converted ethnic groups into political interest groups, marked by internal solidarity. Classic pluralism today has few adherents. However, contemporary variants have been influential, particularly those highlighting the constructed and instrumental nature of ethnicity and ethnic group formation, as elaborated below.

Instrumental Ethnicity and Ethnic Boundaries The instrumentalist approach to ethnicity and ethnic stratification diverges significantly from assimilation approaches. Ethnic change does not occur organically and spontaneously, but as a result of purposive collective action (Yancey, Ericksen, and Juliani 1976). Research in the instrumentalist tradition has been primarily concerned with identifying the exogenous factors and societal conditions that promote the creation and recreation of ethnic forms. The central tenets of instrumentalism are evident in the theoretical and empirical work on ethnic boundaries. Anthropologist Fredrik Barth (1969) argued that ethnic boundaries were not determined by biology or custom, but malleable and responsive to changes in the social environment. Ethnic boundaries were fundamentally cognitive frameworks that individuals used, often unconsciously, to make distinctions between “us” and “them.” These frameworks were built from abstract rules, norms, and beliefs, but given concrete form through legal, political and bureaucratic action. For Barth, ethnicity derived much of its power from processes of boundary building and maintenance, rather than ethnic culture and symbols. Efforts to document shifts in ethnic cultures were thus misguided and of limited analytical use. Drawing on various historical examples, Barth showed how symbolic ethnic boundaries, for example, perceived differences based on language, often endured despite

29 extensive interactions across groups. This he attributed to boundary maintenance strategies pursued by ethnic elites and institutions. More recently, scholars have moved beyond Barth‟s largely individualist account of boundary-building, to examine the role of institutions in forging, preserving, and dismantling ethnic boundaries (Cornell and Hartmann 1998; Nagel 1994, 1995). One forum where ethnic boundaries are given institutional form is through classifying and counting practices used in the census. The implications of census categories for boundary building in New Zealand are discussed in more detail in chapter three.

Social Constructivism One of the main criticisms of instrumentalism is that treating ethnicity as the product of shared material and political interests ignores its affective dimensions (Bobo and Tuan 2006, pp. 35-37; Fenton 2000; Smith 1992). The focus on purposive action in pursuit of political goals also minimizes the considerable costs incurred by minorities in terms of repression and exclusion (Chai 2005; Cornell and Kalt 1993). Like instrumentalism, the constructivism approach sees ethnicity as a social construction, but recognizes the independent role of ethnic attachments, and the ways in which such attachments may be organized in response to external incentives. Social structure - concrete patterns of social, economic, and political relations – is important, but not determinative. Nagel (1995), for example, has examined how U.S. government policy increased opportunities for activism and created incentives for American Indian ethnic renewal as an alternative to assimilation. Cornell (1996; Cornell and Kalt 1993) has also drawn extensively on American Indian experiences to show how the content of group boundaries mediates the effect of circumstances on ethnic persistence and transformation. Specifically, he argues that whether group attachment and cohesion is grounded in interests, institutions, or culture (e.g., cognitive and symbolic structures) has implications for group vulnerability to external conditions. Group attachments based on shared interests tend to be most affected by changes in circumstances than those based on shared culture. In both the instrumental and constructivism models, the importance of ethnicity lies in the persistence and reconstruction of ethnic ties and institutions, and the collective aspects of identity construction. Both resonate with aspects of indigenous revitalization, and the many examples of indigenous peoples and communities engaged in an ongoing process of reshaping their own identities and institutions. Compared to assimilation theories, theories of ethnic retention provide a more realistic account of how ethnic processes elide with processes of

30 stratification, and of the conditions giving rise to indigenous collective action. However, approaches that focus on ethnic persistence tend to overstate the benefits of ethnic revitalization, and understate the costs. The resurgence of indigenous identities and culture might confer psychological benefits and enhance group solidarity, but there is little evidence that it has provided a salve to the long-term experience of economic and social marginalization. In New Zealand, critics have argued that the Māori Renaissance has reified Māori identity at the expense of addressing the persistence of class inequality (Poata-Smith 1996). Others have argued that the process of Māori revitalization has contributed to inequality by providing opportunities for tribal elites and middle-class Māori to benefit from newfound opportunities at the expense of their working-class, detribalized brethren (see, for example, Rata 2000; Webster 1998). More importantly, theories of ethnic retention do not address the conditions that enable ethnic hierarchies to persist, despite formal rule changes promoting the de-stigmatization of minority ethnicities. To make this connection, I turn to racial formation theory.

Racial Formation In common with the foregoing theories of assimilation and ethnic retention, Omi and Winant‟s theory of racial formation (1986) was developed in the United States to describe the dynamics of ethnic differentiation and stratification. Racial formation describes how social structures and ideologies are racialized in ways that give rise to and cement hierarchically organized racial categories. Racial formation is defined as “the process by which social, economic and political forces determine the content and importance of racial categories, and by which they are in turn shaped by racial meanings.” A collective body of knowledge called “racial common sense” helps individuals to make sense of the world, describing the associations between individual characteristics, preferences, behaviors, and attitudes and an individual‟s perceived race. Through politically conceived “racial projects,” the meaning and importance of racial categories are created and recreated in ways that solidify race as an organizing factor in policing boundaries, determining recognition, status and rewards. The malleability and often unconscious workings of racialization permits race to be reframed in new ways that serve to organize social relations. As Bobo and Tuan have argued: Once a set of categories and identities has been institutionalized – in particular, when that institutionalization has involved sharp differentiation and inequality between groups in their access to and control of power, wealth, and prestige – then ethno-racial divisions become powerful forces in a social order (2006, p.11).

Like new assimilation, racial formation theory emphasizes the intersection of macro- and micro-level processes, specifically by linking racial signification with racialized social structure (Winant 2000, p.181). It provides the tools for a plausible account of how Māori and Europeans have been racialized through a combination of purposive structural processes (e.g., state policies; racial categorization practices), and discursive practices (e.g., racial meanings formed through everyday interactions), and how these processes have changed over time. The theory also offers a way of understanding how largely unconscious racial understandings are difficult to shift, even when formal barriers imposing costs on racial minorities have been removed. Racial understandings need not be conscious or explicit in order to maintain an unequal hierarchy of social relations. Indeed, under conditions promoting racial equality, racial common sense is more often implicit than explicit, shaping interactions in personal encounters and in formal settings such as hiring. What is lacking from racial formation theory is an account of the conditions that give rise to hierarchies that are more or less permeable, and how exogenous changes might reconfigure (rather than transform) racial hierarchies in ways that facilitate contingent mobility within racialized groups. In some times and places, racial boundaries may be rigid and racial hierarchies impervious to change. In others, boundaries may become less distinct over time and hierarchies that once seemed impossible to change might be altered in important ways. In the case of Māori, racialization processes have been important in establishing a European dominant hierarchy, but this hierarchy has not remained unaltered over the past 150 years. In chapter three, I discuss in more detail the temporal changes in the structural and discursive racialization of Māori. Before doing so I consider the differences between immigrant-host and indigenous-settler contexts below.

2.4 Inverting the Host All of the theories reviewed in the preceding section were developed in the context of the United States and, with the exception of constructivism, were developed to account for processes of ethnic change and stratification involving immigrant groups. In order to assess their relevance for the New Zealand context, it is necessary to first assess the underlying assumptions about the nature of immigrant-host relations, compared to those governing indigenous-settler contexts. By contrasting differences, it is possible to evaluate more clearly which assumptions are most likely to have explanatory power in the New Zealand context, and thus ought to be included in the explanatory framework. The differences in the bases of indigenous-settler versus immigrant-host relations are summarized in Table 2.1. Three

32 dimensions are emphasized: mode of incorporation, process of ethnic change, and rights claims. The key factor differentiating indigenous incorporation is the coercive experience of colonialization involving the loss of political authority, territory, and natural resources. Ogbu (1978, 1991) famously coined the term “involuntary minority” to describe peoples who often had a caste-like status as a result of having been conquered, colonized, or enslaved. Whether a group was a voluntary or involuntary minority had implications for the level of receptivity to the Anglo majority, aspirations for cultural maintenance, and the rigidity of stratification. In the context of educational success, he theorized that immigrants had an adaptive advantage, in part because they were more receptive to dominant group mores. By contrast, involuntary minorities tended to see educational institutions as instruments of assimilation, and also faced unique barriers to advancement because of their historical experiences of subjugation and hostile interactions with their colonizers. A key criticism of the involuntary minority hypothesis is that it minimizes the role of institutions in shaping the unequal distribution of social and economic rewards by ethnicity. Others have criticized the voluntary/ involuntary distinction as arbitrary, pointing to the diverse outcomes within and across immigrant and native groups; as well as their significant overlaps owing to intermarriage (Gibson 1997).

Table 2.1. Different assumptions between immigrant-host and indigenous-settler models of ethnic relations and stratification. Immigrant – Host Indigenous – Settler

1. Mode of incorporation 1a. Open to migration 1a. Closed to migration

1b. Voluntary minority 1b. Involuntary minority

1c. Citizenship 1c. Colonization; contingent citizenship 2. Process of ethnic change

2a. Change occurs in 2nd & 2a. Unclear what constitutes the subsequent generations 2nd generation

2b. Either distance selves or 2b. Are the underclass, although assimilate into a pre-existing sometimes seen as privileged due underclass to legal status and group rights

2d. Assimilation voluntary and 2d Group-level assimilation sponsored spontaneous by the state; individual-level assimilation spontaneous

3. Rights Claims 3a. Anglo settler population is the 3a. Indigenous population is the host host

3b. Preservation of ethnicity and 3b. Preservation of ethnicity and culture an individual civil right culture a sovereign group right

3c. Fair representation within existing 3c. Self-determination is the political institutional arrangements is the goal, but often pursued within political goal. mainstream political institutions.

Notwithstanding these valid criticisms, the durability of multi-generational disadvantage within indigenous populations suggests there is a qualitative difference between the incorporation experiences of indigenes and immigrants. Land alienation and coercive policies of assimilation have resulted in lasting, inter-generational disadvantage that has few parallels amongst immigrant groups. Though many migrant groups have, at various times, been subject to various forms of racial exclusion, most have not had to contend with entrenched marginalization of the same magnitude (African-Americans are a notable exception, Davis 1991).

In terms of process, some of the assumptions about how ethnic change occurs in immigrant-host contexts are also a poor fit for indigenous-settler relations. For immigrants, generations are the engine of change but for indigenous peoples, it makes little sense to talk about generational distance from the homeland. Some have compared the urbanization of indigenous populations as a process analogous to trans-national migration. Metge (1964), for example, has likened the rapid urbanization of Māori following Word War II to a “new Māori migration.” However internal migration is qualitatively different from transnational migration because, even when distanced from parochial tribal or village life, urban migrants have ready access to their parent culture. Reinforcement from a parent group is consequential because it greatly enhances the opportunities to maintain key political, economic and social institutions and thus for the salience of indigeneity to endure over generations, and across different sorts of policy regimes. Even segmented assimilation theory sees lagged acculturation as a temporary strategy, with most immigrant groups unable to successfully retain tight solidarity beyond the third generation. The final differences relate to issues of group rights. In immigrant-host models the host society denotes the dominant Anglo group or an “overly homogenized and reified conception” of it (Gans 1997). In the indigenous-settler context, the relationship is inverted: the indigenous peoples become the hosts, and the settlers the interlopers. Who is the host is more than a matter of mere nomenclature - it is a consequential distinction tied to particular legal rights and moral claims (Maaka and Fleras 2005). As original inhabitants, indigenous peoples have specific rights regarding ownership of natural resources, cultural preservation, forms of customary knowledge, and political representation. Typically, they are the only ethnic groups with government agencies to monitor and improve their outcomes, many of which had their genesis in colonial administrations (Abernethy 2000; Snipp 1989, 1997).16 Some rights reflect recent structural, political and cultural transformations in the global polity; others are the contemporary fruits of historical treaties. Treaties are important because they give a kind of moral force and legitimacy to indigenous claims that are unavailable to other ethnic

16 Colonial offices established to oversee the protection of indigenous peoples included the Chief Protector of Aborigines (Australia 1839); the Commissioner of Indian Affairs (United States 1832); and the Protector of Aborigines (New Zealand 1840). Contemporary offices include the Office of Indigenous Policy Coordination (Australia); the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Department of Hawaiian Homelands, and the Office of Hawaiian Affairs (U.S.); the Ministry of Māori Affairs/Te Puni Kōkiri (N.Z.); and the Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development (Canada).

35 minorities.17 Indigenous peoples may espouse a desire for equality of access and participation in the wider society, but they often seek to do so as sovereign peoples with the right to retain distinctive identities, customs, and parallel institutions (Pearson 2002). Non-indigenous minorities typically seek equality within existing arrangements. Though Civil Rights opened up new opportunities for indigenes to pursue their rights claims in a systematic fashion, attempts to assert their sovereign rights often predated Civil Rights by many decades and, in the case of Māori, for well over a century (Belich 1996; Ward 1974). This is important because the desire by indigenes to retain a distinct identity has often been a key point of contention in indigene-settler relations, and a barrier to full integration. It also highlights the structural supports for the enduring salience of indigenous identities that many immigrant groups lack. These differences are taken into account in the following theoretical framework for examining the relationship between macro-social structure, individual expressions of Māori ethnicity, and individual socio-economic outcomes.

2.5 A Framework for Theorizing Māori Ethnicity and Disadvantage The preceding review identified several ways in which models predicting contingent assimilation, ethnic retention, and the persistence of racial hierarchies might contribute to an integrated framework of ethnic stratification in indigenous-settler contexts. Figure 2.1 combines elements of these three theories in an analytical framework for exploring the relationship between Māori ethnicity and inequality in New Zealand. In this study the framework is applied specifically in the context of Māori ethnic renewal. The goal is to understand the role of ethnicity both in explaining the persistence of inequality between Māori and Europeans, as well as emergent inequality between Māori.

Exogenous Change and the Institutional Environment Drawing on new assimilation theory, the framework recognizes how economic and ideological change exogenous to the nation-state shapes the broader social structure. The latter comprises formal rules (e.g., laws and policies) and informal structures (e.g., customs and values). State policies have been especially influential in influencing opportunities to foster

17 See Koopmans and Statham (1999) for a description of differences in the claims making of immigrants and ethnic minorities compared to those of indigenous peoples. Kaufmann (2000, p.1089) defines minority nations as primary ethnic groups and ethnocultural/immigrant groups as secondary ethnic groups.

36 or sustain Māori identity, and the associated costs and rewards. Informal rules often operate under the radar (e.g., interpersonal forms of discrimination), but may be no less consequential. Indeed, because informal rules oftentimes lag behind changes in formal rules, their effects may be more lasting. I also introduce a third dimension of social structure from Omi and Winant (1986), in the form or ethnic and racial categories. Categories are shaped by processes of power-making, as well as the workings of specific social institutions (e.g., the labor market, government policies). Formal ethnic categories are those made available by the state in forums such as official statistics and legislation, and used to classify, organize, and order the population. Informal categories are the “racial common sense” that give meaning to workaday interactions through which social order is produced and reproduced. The institutional environment shapes the opportunities and incentives for minorities to seek upward mobility, and to discard, cultivate, or renew ethnicity. Social structure also determines the distribution of social and economic rewards by ethnicity through formal and informal sanctions. For Māori, the liberalization of the economy in the 1980s has provided contingent opportunities for some to improve their life chances. Like other wealthy countries, the polarization of wealth and growing income inequality in New Zealand has produced a growing cleavage between highly-skilled, high earning workers, and those with little or no education concentrated in lower-paid, lower-status industries. Māori are no different in that regard. At the same time, new ideologies supporting indigenous rights have provided opportunities to cultivate Māori ethnicity outside of the family, and at little social cost. Though cultural aspects of Māori identity have been mainstreamed and de-stigmatized, the ongoing racialization of Māori, coupled with the cumulative effects of historical policies, means other markers of Māori ethnicity continue to be strongly connected to disadvantage. The result, I theorize, is a segmented opportunity structure that is open to those with certain kinds of ties to Māori ethnicity, but relatively closed to others.

Ethnic Identification and Ethnic Identity The framework positions ethnicity as a process shaped by the broader institutional environment. At the micro-level there are two components: ethnic identification and ethnic ties. Ethnic identification is the placement of an individual by self or by others into one or more ethnic categories. Ascribed ethnicity is influenced by physical markers of group membership (e.g., skin color, facial features), whereas self-identification also draws from a subjective sense of belonging. In the U.S., several studies have shown significant slippage

37 between how individuals are racially designated by self and by others. The differences are not only conceptually important, but can also lead to substantively different interpretations in relation to health or socio-economic outcomes (Campbell and Troya 2007; Saperstein 2006; Saperstein and Penner 2010). The literature contains various approaches to the conceptualization of ethnic identity. Phinney (1992) has described ethnic identity as an ideational construct comprising two distinct dimensions: a development and cognitive component (ethnic identity search), and an affective component (affirmation, belonging, and commitment). Min (2006) distinguishes between ethnic attachment and ethnic solidarity. Ethnic attachment denotes the level of cultural, social, and psychological integration into an ethnic group; ethnic solidarity is the degree to which members use ethnic collective actions to protect group interests. Liebler (2004) draws on instrumentalism to emphasize the ways in which ethnic ties are expressed through action such as voting behavior and participation in ethnic networks. Ties to ethnic identity are not stable, inherent traits of individuals, but processes that link individuals to the symbolic and discursive practices that define a group. Such attachments may be strengthened or attenuated over the lifecourse. The distinction between identification and identity is primarily to aid conceptual clarity. Empirical studies of ethnic inequality typically rely on identification as a proxy for identity – for example, exclusive ethnic identification as a Māori is presumed to denote stronger ties to Māori identity than multi-ethnic Māori identification. However these assumptions are rarely tested. Depending on the kind of tie, ethnic identification and identity may be only loosely related. If so, the use of sub-group distinctions as proxy for ties to ethnic identity is likely to be a poor substitute. I define ties in terms of their hypothesized relations with socio-economic status. Symbolic ethnic ties are part of the “larger complex of symbols, myths, images and historical narratives” from which ethnic groups derive meaning (Kaufmann 2000), but which are inconsequential for individual life chances. In an indigenous context, examples might include the occasional practice of rituals (e.g., preparing foods and participating in festivals or gatherings), and having knowledge about indigenous lifeways or customs. Costly ethnic ties are those that carry social costs, either through social stigma, discrimination and prejudice, or constrained opportunities. Instrumental ethnic ties are those with the potential to yield direct or indirect benefits in terms of status and resources.

Figure 2.1. Relations between macro-level and micro-level dimensions of ethnicity and inequality.

Exogenous Change (e.g., global economy; ideologies of race)

Institutional Environment/ Social Structure Formal rules (e.g. Ethnic/Racial Informal rules (e.g., Policies, laws, firms) Categories stereotypes, discrimination)

Social Rewards and Costs

Ethnic identification Socio-Economic Outcomes (self and ascribed)

Ethnic identity (symbolic, costly, instrumental)

Ethnic ties are not intrinsically costly, advantageous, or inconsequential, but gain meaning within a particular historical and social context. What might count as a socially stigmatized ethnic “trait” in one generation, might be reframed as a beneficial characteristic in another. Other markers may be imbued with ethnic meaning and negatively evaluated in ways that continue to limit mobility prospects. Historically, ties to Māori identity were heavily censured in ways that restricted access to valued resources. For example, under colonial policies of racial amalgamation, outwards expressions of Māori identity (e.g., the practice of tohungaism or shamanism) were formally outlawed. Even in the early stages of Māori ethnic renewal, public demonstrations of Māori identity such as speaking Māori were sanctioned in formal and informal ways. However, after nearly three decades of Māori revitalization, some ties to Māori identity are unlikely to incur social and economic costs, particularly if acquired outside of the family context.

Ethnic Identification, Ethnic Identity, and Disadvantage The final part of the framework connects ethnic identity and identification to socio- economic position. The two-way dashed arrows denote multi-directional relationships between each dimension. Simply put, changes in ethnic identification and ethnic ties can lead to changes in socio-economic position; and vice versa (Harris and Sim 2002; Saperstein 2006; Brunsma and Rockquemore 2002). Flexible attachments to Māori identification and identity are more likely to be associated with better material outcomes. Individuals who exploit structural opportunities to improve their life chances are likely to develop the ability to navigate informal and formal ethnic categories in ways that facilitate upward mobility. Conversely, the ability to move between ethnic categories – particularly the ability to transcend negative ethnic stereotypes and prejudice – promotes mobility prospects. Individuals with flexible ties are more likely to be competent in the cultural repertories of the mainstream (“Anglo conformance” in assimilation theory), which allows them to avoid the lingering costs associated with indigeneity, and exploit opportunities that arise from indigenous revivalism. This is important because, even under conditions promoting indigenous rights, significant power asymmetries at the group-level mean those who are isolated from the mainstream face greater barriers in getting ahead. 18 Even Alba and Nee

18 In the education literature, a significant body of research has investigated the role of achievement orientation in educational outcomes, and the factors that constrain or encourage minority youth to internalize and enact goal striving norms (Carter 2005; Gibson 1997; Ogbu

40 concede that Anglo dominant societies continue to reward, in tangible and intangible ways, those who are able to internalize and enact the cultural forms associated with the dominant group. Identification with the Māori category might be negatively associated with socio- economic outcomes, independent of ties to Māori identity. This is especially likely if identification is experienced as a stable, racialized label. This study gains significant power by being able to theorize and measure Māori ethnic identification and ties in ways that bring it closer to social scientific theorizing about ethnicity as multi-dimensional and contingent. The use of longitudinal data with a rich array of Māori identity items allow for a more expansive analysis to be undertaken. Several hypotheses connecting individual ethnic identification, ethnic ties, and socio-economic outcomes are presented in tandem with the two empirical chapters. All of the hypotheses relate specifically to the period of Māori ethnic renewal and reform (from 1975 onwards). Before undertaking the empirical analysis I provide an historical overview of race and ethnic relations in New Zealand, showing how exogenous changes have shaped and reshaped the institutional environment. These changes have, in turn, shifted the meaning of Māori ethnicity, and the associated costs and benefits. More importantly, changes in economy and ideology have provided the structural supports for growing ethnic and socio-economic segmentation between Māori.

1991). For example, Carter‟s recent study of disadvantaged black youth found that “cultural straddlers” – youth who could move strategically across cultural spheres – were the most successful in school. Studies of bi-cultural competency also point to the benefits of being able enact the norms of a minority and majority culture in order to negotiate divergent situations. Persons who are bi-culturally competent possess knowledge of the cultural beliefs and value systems in two cultures, an ability to function in various cultural settings, and an understanding of the necessary language and communication skills (LaFromboise, Coleman, and Gerton 1993). In New Zealand it is not an uncommon claim that most Maori are bicultural, by virtue of having to navigate Māori and Pākehā cultural norms in their daily life (Schwimmer 1968; Sharp 2002).

CHAPTER THREE RACE, ETHNICITY, AND THE MERCURIAL MĀORI SUBJECT

3.1 Introduction Previous chapters examined key theoretical perspectives about the salience of ethnicity as a mechanism of inequality generally, and recent empirical evidence regarding the connection between Māori ethnicity and inequality specifically. Empirical approaches generally focus on the statistical significance of ethnicity or race for various outcomes, but are frequently unclear about what ethnicity variables stand for, or why ethnic identities matter for individual outcomes. However, efforts to account for the statistical significance of ethnicity make little sense without understanding the social and political processes by which ethnic differences are created and sustained, and differentially rewarded. Such processes do not occur in a timeless vacuum, nor are the effects limited to a particular time period. For indigenous peoples, the effects of past experiences of colonization and state policies persist through intergenerational disadvantage and discursive practices that continue to assign to them a subordinate status. Any attempt to understand the contemporary significance of ethnicity as a dimension of inequality must therefore take account of the historical context within which these dynamics have emerged. This chapter provides the macro-level historical and political context within which to situate the micro-level empirical analysis undertaken in the following chapters.19 It is undertaken through the lens of three discrete policy eras: racial amalgamation (1840 to 1944); economic integration (1945 to 1974); and ethnic renewal and reform (1975 to 2000).20 An

19 I am greatly assisted by Williams‟s 2001 thorough review of state policies affecting Māori language and knowledge systems, submitted as evidence in the Waitangi Tribunal. Ward‟s (1974) seminal critique of the state‟s racial amalgamation policies and Pearson‟s (1990) analysis of the roots of ethnic conflict in New Zealand and the role of the state have also proved indispensable. Many other works have studied the consequences of state policies of assimilation, integration, and ethnic renewal as discrete periods. The former include Armitage (1995); Hunn (1961); Hunn and Booth (1962); Metge (1964); Schwimmer (1968); Simon and Smith (2001). Works that have focused on Māori ethnic renewal include Durie (1998); Maaka and Fleras (2005); Poata-Smith (1996); Rata (2000), Sharp (1990); Sissons (1993), Walker (1990); and Webster (1998).

20 Throughout this chapter the term state is used in a broad sense to public institutions (e.g. central government, police, military), laws, policies, and administrative practices. The state transcends the more specific concept of government, but ought not be conflated with nation or nation-state. Whereas the state is the provider and guarantor of rights linked to territory; the

42 historical approach illustrates the historical contingency of ethnicity. Over time the meaning and importance of ethnic categories such as Māori and European have changed in response to changing economic and social conditions. An historical approach also underscores how the subtle and shifting racialization of Māori has been an important factor in the persistence of Māori disadvantage and intra-Māori inequality. A notional commitment to racial egalitarianism in New Zealand means there have always been opportunities for Māori to transcend the constraints of the Māori category, contingent on meeting European cultural and racial standards. Arguably, little has changed. In the context of Māori revitalization, new ideologies such as Māori cultural nationalism have been incorporated into the existing social structure in ways that have maintained the New Zealand myth of racial equality, without seriously disrupting the status quo. The conclusion I reach is that the social significance of Māori ethnicity as a dimension of inequality has not dissipated. Rather, inequality has been re- indigenized in ways that have enabled a minority of Māori to advance, but cemented the disadvantaged position of those already marginalized.

3.2 Assimilating Māori: 1840 to 1945 I begin this historical overview with an analysis of Māori-European relations between the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi (the inception of colonization) and World War II. Throughout this period state policy toward Māori was one of racial amalgamation. Simply put, amalgamation policy sought to make Māori culturally and racially indistinct from Europeans (Ward 1974). The belief that Māori could and should be merged into a European dominated society reflected a complex of racial logics imported from the motherland, as well as those borne from local conditions. Historian James Belich (2001, chapter six) has identified three contrasting “savage” stereotypes about Māori around which Victorian racial logics were built. The black savage ideology resonated with thinking about colored people elsewhere in the New World that positioned them as irredeemably and intrinsically inferior. Despite having considerable popular appeal, the black savage was never a dominant political discourse in New Zealand. Official reports often expressed disgust at Māori customs – the pre-European practice of

nation is the locus of ethnic and/or cultural identity that need not be tied to a geographic entity or tangible homeland – it may simply be an “imagined community” (Anderson 1999; also see Pearson 1990).

43 cannibalism was especially reviled - but Māori were generally seen as amenable to civilizing, especially when compared to indigenes in the other settler states (Belich 2001, p.209). The grey savage stereotype was tied to broader “fatal impact” theories forecasting the inexorable demise of indigenes as a result of disease and social upheaval arising from European contact. Initially, assimilation was seen as a potential buffer against the worst excesses of colonialism in New Zealand. An 1844 Native Trust Ordinance urged “… assimilating as speedily as possible the habits and usages of the Native to those of the European population” in order to “avert the disasters that had befallen other uncivilized nations that had come into contact with Europeans” (cited in Williams, 2001, p.19). By the 1860s, commentators were less optimistic about the future of Māori. Physician and politician Dr Isaac Featherston counseled Europeans to prepare to “ … smooth the pillow of the dying (Māori) race” (cited in Pool 1990, p.28). Prominent scientist Alfred Newman offered a more Darwinian interpretation, arguing that the imminent extinction of the Māori race reflected an inherent tendency to decay that pre-dated European contact. The disappearance of Māori was “… scarcely subject for much regret. They are dying out in a quick, easy way, and are being supplanted by a superior race” (cited in Buck 1924, p.362). 21 Māori demographic decline was also frequently attributed to their perceived moral decline. Official reports observed the diminishing number of Māori in relation to degenerate habits such as “… love of drink, bad food, bad clothing and bad houses … and generally low social habits” (1878 Census, p.21). Focusing on individual behaviors conveniently ignored the devastating effects of land alienation and other structural changes that had relegated most Māori to squalor by the 1890s. Even after census figures confirmed a recovering Māori population at the turn of the century, the fatal impact doctrine continued to find favor among some state officials as late as the 1920s (Belich 2001, p.190). The rapid decline of the Māori population during the second half of the 19th century (Pool 1991) meant concerns about the demographic viability of Māori were not entirely misplaced. In 1860 Māori accounted for half of the total population. By 1896, natural decrease and swamping by British settlers saw the Māori proportion dwindle to less than ten percent.

21 Stenhouse (1996) has argued that Newman‟s thesis received a hostile reception among influential scientists of the day, and is best seen as reflecting an extreme rather than mainstream scientific view of Māori demography. Nevertheless, the general argument that Māori population was in irreversible decline was widely accepted by his contemporaries and successors, even as they disagreed about the potential causes, timing, and intensity.

However, the magnitude of Māori population decrease was often exaggerated, and the interpretation colored by racial ideologies and colonial interests. For example, Featherston‟s cautionary warning in the 1860s came at the peak of the New Zealand Wars; a series of bloody battles fought throughout the second half of the 19th century involving Māori, settlers, and the Crown. Vastly outnumbered and with inferior resources, Māori were ultimately defeated, but not without inflicting significant casualties. Even if Europeans had been inclined to smooth the Māori pillow, it is doubtful their efforts would have been warmly received. Of the three racial ideologies identified by Belich, the white savage featured most prominently. In so far as colonizers held similar ideas about the civilizing potential of indigenes, Māori were widely seen as ideal European candidates. William Hobson, New Zealand‟s first Lieutenant-Governor declared that of all peoples, Māori were the most “… susceptible of becoming a useful and industrious race under a wise government” (cited in Williams, 2001, p.14). According to Sorrenson (1975), the faith in Māori adaptability was central to the persistence of assimilation as the dominant form of native policy after other colonies had opted for segregation and reserve land policies. The readiness of settlers to see Māori as promising Europeans was no doubt aided by their dependence on Māori until at least the early 1860s. It also helped that aspects of Māori life, such as their stratified social system, engagement with European technology, and adeptness at trading, resonated with European sensibilities (Belich 1996; Merrill 1954; Petrie 2006). Edward Tregear‟s fantastical book The Aryan Maori, even went so far as to ascribe common Aryan origins to Māori and European – a thesis that was roundly rejected in New Zealand, but received with enthusiastic curiosity abroad. The whitening of Māori was also closely tied to the idea of amalgamating Māori and European to form “one people” (Pearson 1990). Racial amalgamation was pursued under the guise of achieving equity for Māori, but ostensibly meant their absorption – biologically, culturally, and politically. At the turn of the 20th century, Government Minister William Herries envisaged for New Zealand the emergence of a “…white race with a slight dash of the finest coloured race in the world” (cited in Belich 2001, p.190). In so far as Māori were seen as worthy of incorporation, the one people vision was more progressive than policies of racial segregation pursued elsewhere. However Europeans were always the prime beneficiaries. By emphasizing the common ground between Māori and European, the veneer of harmonious race relations could be maintained while subverting Māori designs for political autonomy. By constructing Māori as distinct from, and inferior to Europeans, the colonial government was

45 able to justify the latter‟s control of economic resources and political power, as well as respond to situational challenges such as settler pressure for land. The one people vision was not without Māori support, but motivated by different concerns. Maui Pomare, a prominent 19th century Māori politician, welcomed the racial amalgamation of Māori and European as a meeting of two advanced peoples. No doubt mindful of the skepticism of some of his colleagues, Pomare took pains to accentuate the common ground between Māori and European, contrasting it with the racial division in the United States. Where two “superior races” such as Māori and European met, they were “bound to fuse.” However, where the line of demarcation was wide, as was the case between “negroes and whites”, fusion could never occur (cited in McIntyre and Gardiner 1971:175). Pomare‟s appraisal was unexceptional. Throughout the 19th century and much of the 20th, the favorable juxtaposition of Māori-European race relations with those in the U.S. and Australia was a common rhetorical device to justify the status quo at home (for examples, see Belich 2001, p.209). Though the one people vision was premised on the idea of racial fusion, the task was much more ambitious than simply blurring racial boundaries between Māori and European – it also involved creating them. The “racial projects” (Omi and Winant 1986) of making of Māori and European was realized through a combination of discursive, political, and legislative means. Today the term Māori, meaning normal or ordinary is used unreflectively, obscuring the fact that Māori, much like American Indian and Aboriginal, is a relatively recent invention borne from European contact. Prior to European contact, indigenous identities in New Zealand derived from a complex and fluid web of ambilateral whānau (family) hapū (clan) and iwi (tribal) affiliations, and connections to territory (Ballara 1998). Though the term Māori had entered colloquial usage by the 1830s (Belich 1996, p.233), it was not until the mid 20th century that it only came to denote a meaningful social and political community. Whereas the making of Māori meant fudging deeply rooted tribal differences, the making of European entailed a shift towards an idealized British racial homogeneity. By the 1870s the settler community comprised a menagerie of English, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh settlers with divisions based on nation, class, and religion (Phillips and Hearn 2008). Diversity was further enhanced by the later arrival of migrants from northern and southern Europe. Like their predecessors, they faced significant pressures to assimilate into the amorphous European category.

Building and Blurring Racial Boundaries in the Census Statistical categorizations also played a key role in the racialization of Māori, and the cementing of a symbolic racial order. As a number of scholars have noted, official categories not only enable the statistical depiction of collective identities, but also portray a particular vision of social reality that often privileges the discourses of the powerful (Andersen 2008; Kertzer and Arel 2002; Taylor 2009). By codifying Māori identity in prescriptive ways, legal and other bureaucratic renderings of race served to provide a material basis to otherwise abstract schemas. The counting and classification of Māori in the national census exemplifies the contradictory logics of seeing Māori as worthy of amalgamation, but also different and implicitly inferior. The potential for racial fusion was most clearly expressed through the “half-caste” category. Sexual liaisons between Māori women and European whalers, traders, and settlers gave rise to a mixed Māori-European population early on. In the first comprehensive national census of 1874, the half-caste population was listed at just over 2,000, comprising less than five per cent of the number of Māori (45,283).22 Official reports illustrated the symbolic importance of the half-caste category for the one people vision. As the 1906 report of H.F. Edger, the Under Secretary of Native Affairs, observed: It is an idea of many people that the ultimate fate of the Māori race is to become absorbed in the European. Whether any tendency is shown in this direction must be gathered from the increase in the number of half-castes (Registrar-General, 1907, p.lv).

In addition to distinguishing half-caste Māori from “full-bloods”, a further distinction was drawn between half-castes whose mode of living was Māori, and those who lived as European. It was not entirely clear how this determination was made,23 though a critical factor appeared to be residence in a separate nuclear household, versus the traditional communal setting of the pa (Māori village). As Māori were separately enumerated from the rest of the

22 Consistent undercounting of Māori meant the number enumerated in the census did not reflect the actual number until at least 1886. Even then, census coverage in areas which were remote and/or had a history of Government resistance continued to be patchy well into the early 20th century.

23 There appeared to be considerable confusion in the field on how to make this distinction. The 1906 census report noted: “There is no very defined rule to guide the Enumerators and sub-enumerators in deciding what half-castes should be classified as “living as Europeans” and “living as Māoris” respectively” (Registrar-General 1907:lv).

47 population until 1951, the distinction based on mode of living distinction fitted the collection strategy.24 By recognizing the social fact of exogamy, official classifications had the potential to blur racial boundaries consistent with the claims of amalgamation. However, various rules were applied to interpret blood quantum in ways that solidified, rather than transcended, the notion of separate races. Individuals were enumerated as Māori-European and their number listed in published reports, but statistical rules were used to allocate them back into mutually exclusive race groups. Half-castes living as Māori were counted with the Māori population and excluded from published figures on the general (i.e., European) population; whereas half- castes living as European were counted as Europeans. As Table 3.1 shows, the enumerated number of Māori-European half-castes remained a fraction of the overall Māori population throughout the 19th century and for much of the following one. Initially most half-castes were classified as living in European fashion, consistent with the assumption that Europeanization would prevail. From 1886, however, the number enumerated as living a Māori style of life predominated.

24 The Māori census was carried out by officers of the Native Department, and was taken over several days. From 1926, attempts were made to make the Māori census more comparable with the General census by limiting the enumeration to one night and allowing Māori to self- report in the same manner as the rest of the population, albeit with fewer items. The Māori and General censuses were merged in 1951, as officials considered Māori had reached a stage of development where special measures were no longer required (Census and Statistics Department 1952). It is worth noting that Māori in the South Island had been enumerated with Europeans since the 1920s, the rationale being that most were living in European fashion and their number was too small to warrant the cost of separate enumeration.

Table 3.1. Number of Māori by recorded blood quantum, Census of Population and Dwellings, 1874- 1945. Only Mixed Māori- Census Māori Māori Māori-European Other % Mixed 3/4 1/2 < 1/2 Māori Māori 1,2 Māori 1874 45,283 2,047 187 4.5 1878 43,484 2,051 111 4.7 1881 42,053 4,088 2,044 9.7 1886 39,363 4,422 2,264 11.2 1891 39,272 4,865 2,681 12.4 1896 36,331 5,762 3,503 15.9 1901 39,979 5,539 3,133 13.9 1906 43,763 6,516 3,938 14.9 1911 45,663 7,060 4,181 15.5 1916 46,242 6,750 3,529 14.6 1921 49,635 7,352 3,116 14.8 1926 45,429 24,051 6,632 11,306 6,053 60 34.9 1936 55,915 38,118 11,397 14,891 11,508 322 40.6 1945 61,440 55,308 18,956 18,348 16,902 1,102 47.4 Notes: 1. Figures for 1874 to 1921 are for half-castes living as Māori; 2. In 1886 and 1891, Māori wives of European men were counted with half-caste Europeans and from 1896 to 1921 with half-caste Māori.

After the 1921 census the lifestyle distinction between Māori-European half-castes was discarded and all half-castes were statistically assigned to the Māori population, reflecting most legislative definitions.25 At the same time the concept of blood quantum was extended from half-caste to embody a wider range of racial designations including “three-quarter-caste” and “quarter-caste.” Though very small in number, racially mixed Māori of non-European descent (e.g., Māori-Chinese) were separately identified and subject to inconsistent race rules

25 The Māori Land Act 1909 defined a Native as a person “belonging to the Aboriginal race of New Zealand, and includes a half-caste and a person intermediate in blood between half- castes and persons of pure descent from that race.” Most statutory definitions, either historically or more recently, were based on a biological notion of blood, or the looser criteria of descent. For example, the Māori Representation Act 1867, which provided for limited Māori enfranchisement, defined Māori as: “a male Aboriginal native inhabitant of New Zealand at the age of twenty-one years and upwards and shall include half-castes.” The Māori Social and Economic Advancement Act 1945 had the more inclusive definition of “a person belonging to the aboriginal race of New Zealand, and includes any person descended from a Māori.” The Births and Deaths Registration Act 1951 reverted to the more exclusive definition of “a person belonging to the aboriginal race of New Zealand; and includes a half caste and a person intermediate in blood between half castes and persons of pure descent from that race.” See Hunn 1961 for an overview of the multiple legal definitions of Māori in operation at the time.

49 that variously designated them as Māori, “race aliens”, or “other race.”26 Between 1921 and 1926 the proportion of Māori enumerated as mixed race more than doubled from 15 to 35 per cent. This was partly a statistical artifact of the decision to count all half-castes as Māori, but was also impacted by the introduction of new hybrid categories. These new categories served to propel Māori towards the European category, with some of those formerly identified as full Māori migrating to the three-quarter-caste category, and some of the half-castes previously counted as Europeans redefined as quarter-castes. Though the number of enumerated full- blood Māori declined, the proportion still exceeded reasonable estimates, suggesting that many Māori did not interpret the blood quantum measure with any degree of precision (also see Metge 1964; Pool 1991). 27 Officials conceded the system lacked scientific validity, but defended it as a meaningful social distinction (Census and Statistical Office 1927, p.1; Census and Statistics Department 1946, p.iv). Remarkably, blood quantum continued to be used as a way of measuring identities in the census until 1981, long after its usage had been abandoned elsewhere (e.g., the United States, see Hochschild and Powell 2008; Morning and Sabbagh 2005). 28

26 From 1916 to 1951 Māori with non-European heritage were allocated to the “race alien” population, regardless of the reported degree of Māori blood. From 1956 such people were subjected to the usual half or more rule, except when the non-European race was Polynesian. Māori with any degree of Polynesian descent were counted only in the Māori population from 1951 through to 1961 (Kukutai and Callister 2009).

27 In 1926 people enumerated as Māori full-bloods comprised 65 percent of all Māori. A 1919 survey of 814 men in the New Zealand Māori Pioneer Battalion reported that almost half had European blood. Another survey of 4,500 children in Native schools a few years later found a similar proportion was mixed Māori-European (Buck 1924; Census and Statistical Office1927, vol 14, p.4).

28 In the United States the terms “quadroon” (one quarter Black) and “octoroon” (one eighth Black) were only used in the 1890 Census; while the term “mulatto” (all degrees intermediate between half and fully Black) was abandoned in the early 20th century. Morning and Sabbagh (2005, p.58) argue the substitution of those terms with the singular term “Negro” reflected the “post civil war hardening of one drop rule”, rather than enlightened racial thinking. Blood quantum continued to be applied to American Indians (and later to Native Hawaiians) for particular purposes – usually involving resources – but not in the national census. In the mainland United States, for example, government bureaucracies implemented blood measures to determine which individuals qualified as tribal members with access to targeted “Indian” resources. Blood racialization has been used similarly used in Hawaii where, in order to qualify for a homestead lease from the Department of Hawaiian Homelands, individuals have to “prove” at least at 50 percent Hawaiian blood quantum.

The linkage between blood quantum and racism might seem anathema to the government‟s claim to racial egalitarianism, but in many respects it was consistent with the goal of amalgamation. For those who embraced European cultural and racial standards, blood quantum provided an opportunity to transcend the constraints of the Māori category. As such, blood quantum was envisaged as a mechanism for including rather than excluding Māori, albeit on European terms, and often to the latter‟s advantage. By decoupling blood quantum from overt discrimination, its statistical usage could be posited as a socially viable, if scientifically dubious, system of tracking racial boundaries and Māori “progress” toward the European norm. Though blood measures were not used within a legal framework devised to sustain a grossly unequal racial order, it was part of a colonial strategy of creating and constructing categories with unequal power relationships and in support of colonial narratives (for a broader thesis on colonial race schemas, see Rallu, Piché, and Simon 2004). Despite the pervasive nomenclature of blood, it is interesting to note that phenotypical distinctions did not appear to play an explicit role in the statistical determination of race. The published reports of sub-enumerators suggest habits and lifestyle were more important cues in distinguishing between Māori who were more or less European. Legal determinations were similarly indifferent to physical markers of race. For example, under the Native Land Amendment Act 1912, Māori could voluntarily apply to be declared European. Doing so effectively redesignated the applicant‟s land from Māori to European, thereby removing protective mechanisms intended to curb land alienation. The requirements for gaining nominal European status included proficiency in the English language; a specified minimum level of education; and the means of deriving a sufficient income (Meredith 2006). Though physical manifestations of race were not inconsequential (see Belich 2001, p.209), the emphasis was on a European cultural standard. To some extent it was a moot point, given the assumption that racial and cultural amalgamation were complementary, if not synonymous, processes.

Cultural Assimilation Racial amalgamation was the lynchpin of colonial native policy. However, efforts to Europeanize Māori extended far beyond biological fusion and classification practices. Māori were not only seen as a separate race, but also a cultural community bound by a unique set of quaint, but largely unpalatable, practices and customs. As a state sanctioned strategy, cultural assimilation sought to replace Māori norms, behaviors, and institutions with those of “better

Briton” (Belich 1996). Most important were norms critical to the colonizing endeavor: education, land ownership, lawfulness, and political acquiescence. Much has been written about education as a civilizing mission. By the time of the Treaty, the dissemination of Christian values had already begun through missionaries and mission schools. As the influence of missionaries and the church waned, secular education became an integral tool in the state‟s efforts to assimilate Māori. In addition to public schools, native schools were established in rural Māori communities, which resulted in two very different demographic profiles. By 1910 the number of Māori children attending public schools outnumbered those at native schools, but European children constituted less then ten percent of students at native schools (Walsh 1975). With some exceptions, native schools tended to emphasize skills deemed suitable for Māori such as manual and industrial training.29 Cultural assimilation not only meant accepting the superiority of British culture, but providing incentives for Māori to discard their identity through various means. English supplanted Māori as the language of instruction, and Māori children were actively discouraged from conversing in their native tongue. The hegemony of English was ensured because, until 1969, only schools teaching in English received state funding. Beyond education, other sustained efforts were made to liberate Māori from the perceived backwardness of the old ways. The Tohunga Suppression Act 1907, for example, made illegal the activities of all tohunga – the European equivalent of a medicine man or shaman. This legislation not only outlawed tricksters, but also the legitimate guardians of oral tribal and cultural traditions (Williams 2001). Whereas efforts to civilize Māori were pursued primarily through education, designs to incorporate Māori as economically productive and politically acquiescent citizens were engaged through the courts and political system. As Meredith has recently argued: [C]olonial officials were concerned to establish British law, and through that law, secure social control and gain access to the land. Persuading Māori to embrace European habits, customs, and English language was one measure of getting them to accept the law (2006, p.106).

29 This position is well captured by Belich: “An underlying, unstated belief that the Māori had not invented guns and a written language because they could not as compatible with a great deal of respect for other Māori virtues. The Māoris could be beautiful, strong, heroic, and chivalrous; they could display intelligence of various kinds; but they could not invent or theorize. At the very least, they could not invent or theorize to the same level as Europeans (1986, p.326).

Laws governing Māori land were of particular importance, and Sorrenson has described such legislation as the “most important weapon” in promoting assimilation policy (1975, p.107). Established in 1862, the raison d‟etre of the Native Land Court was to convert the Māori communal usufruct system into a title system of individual ownership governed by English common law. The short-term goal of land alienation was to make it available for development and to meet settler demands. The longer-term goal was to turn Māori into law abiding, passive and productive citizens (Williams 1999, 2001). For the minority of land that remained in Māori ownership, unrestricted succession, intermarriage, and partition resulted in an array of fragmented landholdings with multiple owners. Māori landowners faced much tighter restrictions in accessing capital because the fragmented nature of the holdings made it virtually impossible to access development loans otherwise available to European farmers. The perceived failure of Māori to exploit the economic potential of their land was used by settlers and Crown as justification for alienation through legislation. As late as 1967, legislative attempts were made to vest “uneconomic interests” in Māori land in the hands of the judicial body of the Māori Trustee for potential alienation. The Māori parliamentary seats (legislative districts) were also effective tools of assimilation (Sorrenson 1986). Established under the Māori Representation Act 1867, Māori electoral representation was guaranteed though the establishment of four separate Māori seats in a 37-seat parliament. The boundaries of the Māori and European electorates were superimposed over the same geographic space, but the former covered a much larger area (Banducci, Donvan, and Karp 2004). The establishment of the seats effectively curtailed Māori political ambitions for autonomy, while offering a forum for Māori political aspirations firmly under the aegis of state control. Whereas the number of European seats expanded over time to reflect population growth, the Māori seats were permanently pegged at four until the transformation of the electoral system in 1996. This nominal political power fell far short of the notion of partnership implicit in the Treaty or population-based parity that, in 1867, would have entitled Māori to almost 20 seats (Banducci, Donvan, and Karp 2004). As in the census, the parliamentary seats were also shaped by inconsistent racial logics. After the introduction of a Māori electoral roll in 1947, half-castes were given the choice of enrolling on the Māori or European electoral roll. However, people who were half of more Māori were restricted to voting in Māori electorates until 1975, when the European seats were also renamed General seats. Some half-castes like Sir James Carroll ran for and won General seats, but full-blooded Māori could not stand in them until 1967.

Because amalgamation espoused equality, its legal-institutional form required the equalization of rights and duties. There was never the kind of systematic legislative color line that prevailed, for example, in the United States, Australia, or South Africa. As Belich (2001, p.191) has noted, all Cabinets between 1892 and 1934 had at least one Māori member and Sir James Carroll, a politician of Māori-Irish extraction was Acting Prime Minister in 1909 and 1911 (though New Zealand has yet to have a Māori Prime Minister). In reality however, the color line was hardly invisible on the ground and paternalism and voracity for land gave rise to several kinds of legislative differences. Restrictions relating to borrowing, land development, and liquor were part of the paternalistic orientation towards Māori and, in some cases, were welcomed by chiefs (Williams, 2001, pp.59-64). The flipside of paternalism was negligence – to leave the child to fend for itself. Few Māori could avail themselves of benefits available through the Old Age Pensions Act 1898. In the great Depression Māori were entitled to only a portion of what Europeans were entitled to, the justification being that they could live off the land (Pool 1991, p.122). Though some Māori leaders supported the policy on the grounds that Māori had the wherewithal to take care of themselves, official reports showed poverty was ubiquitous in Māori communities.

Amalgamation: A Failed Experiment For the best part of 70 years, the state embarked on a comprehensive but ultimately unsuccessful strategy to make Māori racially, culturally, and socially indistinct from Europeans. As a result of amalgamation policies, the symbolic and material dominance of Europeans was firmly established. The nascent New Zealand nation state assumed a distinctly British character and “collective public identity” within which successive generations of New Zealanders were acculturated (Pearson 1990, p.219). But Māori were neither racially indistinguishable, not socially equal. After reaching its nadir in 1896, the Māori population began to recover demographically. Māori living standards lagged far behind that of Europeans: they died much earlier, were poorer, sicker, more likely to be unemployed, and lived in extremely poor conditions. Diseases of poverty such as typhoid, tuberculosis, skin afflictions and chronic diarrohoea were rampant in Māori communities where poor sanitation, overcrowding in homes, and inadequate nutrition were the norm (Kukutai, Pool, and Sceats 2002). Several factors prevented the integration of Māori as socio-economic and racial equals. One was the fundamental ambivalence in state policies that sought to amalgamate Māori

54 while also marking them out as a separate and lesser race. Efforts to incorporate Māori into European institutions were undermined by the establishment of separate Māori institutions, such as Native schools and the Māori parliamentary seats. Institutions ostensibly established to protect Māori also exploited them. An exemplar was the Protector of Aborigines – an official role intended to safeguard Māori interests but which also negotiated the purchase of Māori land. Moreover, while racial mixing was acknowledged in official statistics, it was documented within a framework that only served to cement the notion of Māori and European as separate races. Explaining the paradox of assimilation through differentiation, Williams (2001, p.131) argues that it was only ever intended to be transitory – once Europeanization was complete, the maintenance of a separate identity and institutions would be defunct. In that amalgamation policies assumed a high level of Māori capability and espoused participation in mainstream institutions, Ward (1974) argues they were liberal and progressive. In some respects the goal of amalgamating Māori into a European order was more desirable than the harsh regimes imposed upon indigenes elsewhere, including Canada and Australia (Armitage 1995). Though the Treaty of Waitangi was routinely flouted and declared a legal nullity in 1877, it nevertheless provided Māori with more expansive citizenship rights than their counterparts in the other settler states, and later served as a powerful symbol of solidarity among disparate tribes (Pearson 1995, pp. 20-21; Renwick 1991; VanMeijl 1994). New Zealand is well known for being the first country in the world to grant women the franchise in 1893, but it a lesser-known fact that the Māori franchise predated it by several decades. In neighboring Australia, Aboriginal peoples were not formally recognized as citizens until 1948, with the last state to extend the franchise in 1965 (Zappala and Castles 1999). That the majority of Māori desired social and economic equality is well supported by the historical record. But there was ambivalence about what equality should deliver, and at what cost. Dench (1986) has argued that the goal of political, social and economic equality coterminous with a separate group identity makes minorities “prisoners of ambivalence.” At the crux of Māori ambivalence was how much were they willing to give up to participate in the new order, and what that new order should look like (i.e., Māori as equal peoples or equal citizens). If Māori were the prisoners of ambivalence, the state was the ambivalent gaoler. From the outset the state‟s conception of equality was contingent and malleable, held hostage by conflicting pressures to protect and exploit, assimilate and differentiate, and underpinned by European racial prejudice. The state could not afford to ignore Māori concerns unilaterally,

55 but nor could it appear to accede to them. Settler demands for land, coupled with their Lockean conviction of the moral rightness of expropriating native “waste land” (Brookfield 1999) put severe pressures on state benevolence. The rhetoric of equality became apparent as land alienation proceeded with gusto. The colonial government‟s sensitivity to settler concerns was reflected in repeated attempts to reassure them about its even-handedness. Politician William Herries, who served as Minister of Native Affairs from 1912 to 1921 consistently advocated for the dismantling of separate Māori institutions, particularly those relating to the protection of remaining Māori land. A remarkably similar message would be delivered a century later by Don Brash, the leader of the National Party, in his “Nationhood‟ speech attacking the Treaty and Māori political rights (Brash 2004). By the Depression, the cracks in the one people ideal were showing, but it was not until the post-war boom that a significant change of direction occurred.

3.3. Integrating Māori: 1945 to 1974 After WWII the language of assimilation and amalgamation receded, giving way to a policy of integration. The shift reflected changes in racial ideologies and economic circumstances, both of which provided compelling incentives for a change of tact towards the Māori “problem.” The developed world was undergoing structural changes including rapid economic expansion, unprecedented prosperity, and population growth as a result of improvements in mortality and life expectation. The atrocities of genocide and global challenges to scientific notions of biological race made policies of assimilation and amalgamation increasingly anachronistic. By the 1930s, tensions between Māori and settlers over land and authority had died down. Stripped of much of their land and living in rural poverty, Māori were neither a political nor economic threat. Separatist and prophetic Māori movements had largely disappeared, and the rebellious Māori King Movement was barely functional. The hegemony of English language, customs and values were firmly entrenched in the public domain, and Māori language was beginning to wane in the private sphere. Having vigorously pursued the racial and cultural absorption of Māori, the government could afford to loosen the reigns.

The Hunn Report As a state policy, integration marked a deliberate shift away from an explicit focus on civilizing Māori to an emphasis on helping Māori modernize to meet the demands of a changing economy and society. The emphasis on the benefits of European culture, habits, and

56 style of life were supplanted by an emphasis on productivity. The blueprint for integration was contained in a report on the Department of Māori Affairs, widely know as the “Hunn Report”, which made sweeping recommendations on the government‟s complex mesh of policies towards Māori. The report went to great lengths to emphasize the benefits of integration for Māori, and to distinguish it from former policies of assimilation (Hunn 1961, pp.15-19). Whereas assimilation involved the complete absorption of Māori into Pākehā culture, integration encouraged the retention of Māori and Pākehā elements in “one nation wherein Māori culture remains distinct.” The Swiss-French, Italians, and Germans were noted as models of integrated societies. The British had passed from an integrated to an assimilated society in which the Celts, Britons, Hibernians, Danes, Anglo-Saxons, and Normans were indistinguishable. The report noted there were sufficient signs to suggest New Zealand would eventually head in the direction of Britain, with Māori and Pākehā assimilated as one. Integration was interpreted rather narrowly, permitting ethnic differences in the private sphere, and in ways that would not impinge on Māori economic incorporation. The report suggested that much of Māori culture had already died out, and only the fittest elements had survived the onset of civilization. Ignoring the state‟s historic role in actively seeking to dismantle Māori customary patterns of organization and practices, it reasoned that cultural elements that had not endured were clearly not worthy of preservation because Māori had freely chosen to discard them. Although the report espoused self-help and responsibility, the hand of government was clearly visible. Whereas the retention of Māori culture was a matter of Māori choice and responsibility, the state had a role to play in facilitating the acquisition of modern ways. In a twist on the black/grey/white savage trilogy, Hunn proposed a typology of backwards, bicultural, and assimilated Māori. The formulation of policy would be to facilitate the conversion of Māori living a “backward life in primitive conditions” to Māori who functioned well and were comfortable in both Māori society and mainstream New Zealand. It would then be a matter of personal choice whether Māori wanted to remain integrated or move towards a “de-tribalised body of Māori with a vestigial culture.” Backwards Māori ought not be left to their own devices to “fall behind into a world of their own that provokes all the frictions of coexistence.” Anticipating Māori resistance to the tenor of the report, the report noted that the lifestyle envisaged for Māori was not Europeanized but a “modern way of life, common to advanced people.” Advanced people were mostly Europeans but also included the Japanese.

Beneath the softened language, the legacy of racialization, and of seeing Māori as a pre-modern people, was clear. The enthusiasm for integrating Māori was also motivated by the desire to circumscribe the parameters of Māori entitlement. The report identified 58 instances of Māori privileges or rights (e.g., separate Māori parliamentary seats); 35 of disability; 69 of protection and 102 pertaining to different procedures. It proposed that as each generation of Māori became more integrated and thus self-reliant, the definition of Māori in relation to statutory privileges should become progressively stricter, moving from half or more Māori blood, to three-quarter blood quantum, then removal of the Māori category altogether. In lieu of restrictions, the number of eligible Māori would “become larger than is justified by the merits of their case …” (p.19). Hunn‟s sentiments were not unusual for the time. As other scholars have noted, bureaucratic definitions have often been applied to indigenes with the explicit goal of circumscribing group membership and entitlements (Kauanui 2005; Snipp 1997). Echoing the sentiments voiced by Herries half a century earlier, Hunn argued for the eventual removal of all separate laws, practices, and policies that set Māori apart from the general population. In reality, state benevolence towards Māori had often worked against Māori interests. For example, the 1967 Māori Affairs Amendment Act made provision for some categories of Māori freehold land to be designated as general land so that land deemed uneconomic could be compulsorily vested in the Māori Trustee for possible alienation. Upon the report‟s release, Māori organizations generally endorsed recommendations to improve Māori social and economic status, but objected to many of the normative assumptions. The Māori Synod of the Presbyterian Church (1961) took particular exception to the framing of the “Pakeha way of life [as] the perfect ideal, and … the Maori way of life [as] … very much less! Forcing Māori to conform to a European standard in order to enjoy the same standard of living was tantamount to “Europeanism by legislation.” Williams (2001) more recent assessment of state policy toward Māori argues there was little substantive difference in the general tenor of amalgamation and integration. The latter was mostly a “public relations exercise” designed to encourage New Zealand‟s image as a country without a race relations problem.

The Rise of the Urban Māori Proletariat The shift from assimilation to integration not only reflected changes in ideologies of race, but also shifting economic circumstances. Britain‟s decision to join the European Union

58 had revealed the inherent vulnerability of colonial dependency. New Zealand‟s political independence was finally secured with the ratification of the Statute of Westminster in 1947, paving the way for greater economic independence. The primary sector and associated industries expanded and diversified, buttressed by state subsidies and protectionist measures. Manufacturing boomed and an expanding public sector and state bureaucracy provided additional employment opportunities. Māori provided a ready reserve army of labor for a rapidly industrializing economy but the majority were locked into subsistent living off the land or as seasonal wage laborers, concentrated in isolated and under-developed rural regions. Aided by government relocation policies, Māori underwent a massive rural exodus that has few parallels among any population, indigenous or otherwise, in terms of the rapidity and extensiveness with which it occurred (Gibson 1973). In 20 years, the urban Māori population increased from a quarter to over three fifths of the Māori population total, and increased fivefold in number. Māori migrant workers and their families were assisted into urban areas through training, employment and housing schemes, including low interest home loans. Such policies explicitly sought to avoid the slum problem in the United States by dispersing Māori families in suburban neighborhoods alongside Europeans. However by the 1970s large, low-income housing estates of predominantly Māori and Pacific Island migrants had become established in the major cities of Auckland and Wellington. The government envisaged that Māori Committees established by the 1945 Māori Economic and Advancement Act, and run under the auspices of the Department of Māori Affairs, would help ease the adjustment of Māori migrants. Such committees were intended to assist Māori to become more westernized, and thus assimilated, but instead were often used by Māori for their own instrumental purposes (Hill 2005). Gradually urban-based Māori established their own communities of interest including community centers, churches, cultural groups and even marae - meeting places traditionally linked to specific sub-tribes. Most of these urban institutions were pan-tribal or non-tribal in character, marking a significant break from tribally structured rural life. From the 1950s, Māori in cities increasingly became the object of scholarly attention (Kawharu 1968; Metge 1964; Schwimmer 1968; Harré 1966, 1968). Some studies highlighted resilience and adaptation, evident in the refashioning of old institutions and the creation of new ones to meet urban migrant needs. Others drew attention to problems attendant with urbanization, including cultural dislocation, alcoholism, youth gangs, and crime. According to King, by the 1960s dysfunctional Māori families were already two generations into the

59 poverty trap (2003, p.476). The rural Māori exodus bought Māori into closer contact with Europeans as workmates, neighbors and sports mates, but also gave rise to new tensions around racial boundaries that had been largely symbolic before the war (Schwimmer 1968). Several scholars noted the existence of racial prejudice towards Māori but did not see this as key to their ongoing marginal position. In his study of Māori-European intermarriage in Auckland, Harré mused prejudice against Māori was more “a reaction to their overall position of low socio-economic status than a device for maintaining this position” (1968, p.144). Schwimmer (1968) noted negative stereotypes about Māori existed, but were usually held in tandem with a strong desire to assimilate rather than separate them. American David Ausubel gave a somewhat harsher assessment, arguing that extra-legal discriminatory practices directed at Māori in employment, housing and other key spheres of life were “ … not unlike those directed against Negroes in northern areas of the United States” (1961, p.224).

Ambivalent Integration There is no question Māori wellbeing improved significantly in the post-war period, but it would be simplistic to attribute these to significant changes in race relations. The distal causes for improving Māori life chances lay in structural changes in population and economy, driven by changes exogenous to New Zealand. The years between WWII and the financial crises of the early 1970s were ones of unprecedented prosperity and innovation. Medical advancements including the discovery of penicillin had been instrumental in dramatically reducing mortality not just in New Zealand, but globally. The modern welfare state, conceived with the passing of the 1938 Social Security Act, positioned New Zealand as one of the world‟s most socially progressive nations, a reputation enjoyed until the massive reforms of the 1980s. The adoption of medical innovations nestled in comprehensive social policies (Pool 1991), and improved material conditions through labor force participation were key to improvements in Māori health. In 1946 Māori male life expectancy at birth was just 49 years compared to around 65 for the total (mostly European) population. By 1966, Māori had experienced a significant relative and absolute improvement, with male life expectation at 61.4 years compared to 68.2 years for New Zealand males generally. The industrialization of the Māori labor force was also dramatic. In 1945, just over half of the Māori male industrial labor force (twice the European share) was concentrated in the primary sector, with most of the remainder in the secondary sector. Two decades later the Māori male workforce concentration had shifted to the secondary sector (53 percent of

60 employed Māori males) and to the tertiary sector for Māori women (54 percent. See Pool 1991, Table 7.11). These changes were not unique to Māori but reflected similar sectoral shifts occurring throughout the wealthy settler nations. The European occupational structure also underwent significant change in the focal period, moving towards a more even distribution between the secondary and tertiary sectors (e.g, professional, service and commercial industries). In addition to providing opportunities for upward mobility, structural changes also lead to the weakening of traditional patterns of association and kinship structures (Hopa 1995). In her classic study of Māori migrants in the 1950s, Metge observed that, for many, “the tribe was largely an abstract concept” (1964, p.58). Nearly thirty years later, Pool argued Māori social life had become “increasingly dichotomized” between urban homes and rural homelands (Pool 1991, p.160). Though assimilation policies may have fallen short of attaining racial equality, the cumulative effects of policies on Māori cultural distinctiveness had taken its toll. In 1913, 90 per cent of Māori schoolchildren could converse in their native tongue (Durie 1998). By 1953 this had decreased to just over a quarter and by 1975 to around just five per cent (Belich 2001, p.18; Durie 1998). Yet, as many of the symbols that had historically defined the substance of Māori identity were eroded, new ones surfaced. The 1960s saw the emergence of bi-cultural bodies and nationwide Māori organizations, some endorsed by statute or ministerial endorsement. Writing in 1968, Forster described the Māori position as one of fluidity, change, and uncertainty. Māori had been subject to tremendous change, but were not fully included into the New Zealand polity. He noted a disconnection between state ambitions for Māori, and those held by Māori. Māori ambitions were not limited to economic integration, but also preserving “… a culture which he is jealous to retain and which he wants to be part of mainstream New Zealand culture.” Until Europeans recognized the Māori desire for biculturalism, Māori would not be fully included as equals (pp.30-31).

3.3 Rejuvenating Māori: 1975 to 2000 Like the post-war years, the 1970s ushered in tremendous structural change but with very different results. The post war years of prosperity came to an abrupt end with the 1973 oil crisis that sparked a global recession and set in motion events that eventually saw many of the wealthy nations abandon Keynesian economics for neo-liberalism. New Zealand‟s fortunes began to change with falling wool prices in the late 1960s and, by the early 1970s, inflation

61 and unemployment were major problems. The concentration of Māori in more vulnerable industries meant they were hit harder than most (King 2003). With the creation of newly independent states and the rise of new social movements including Civil Rights and feminism, political discourses shifted from assimilation and integration to social inclusion and diversity. For settler state indigenes, the implications were far-reaching. The shift in global politics to incorporate notions of self-determination, coupled with the rise of identity politics, provided opportunities for indigenous movements to advance their agendas. As in the United States, urbanization and labor market segmentation provided conditions conducive to the politicization of Māori identity (Cornell and Hartman 1998). Through collective action and diplomacy, global indigenism and indigenous nationalisms were forged. Under pressure from indigenes and the international community, governments made various moves to take account of the recognitive (cultural), distributive (economic), and reparative (compensatory) claims of indigenes.

Biculturalism In New Zealand the state response to these seismic shifts in ideology manifested in a policy shift from integration and assimilation as the policy approach to Māori, to one of biculturalism. The new position was signaled in Prime Minister Norman Kirk‟s 1974 speech supporting the introduction of a Bill to reverse the direction of the 1967 Māori Affairs (Amendment) Act. Rejecting the homogenizing “one people” vision of race relations, he stated: We are one nation in which all have equal rights, but we are two peoples and in no circumstances should we by any law or Act demand that any part of the New Zealand community should have to give up its inheritance, its culture, or its identity to play its part in this nation (cited in Williams 2001, p.100).

The sentiment of two peoples was incorporated, in various ways, into legislation and policy. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s the Department of Māori Affairs underwent several name changes and restructuring, as it shifted from a service delivery agency to focus on policy design and advice. Services were devolved to mainstream agencies that, in turn, contracted out to Māori-run organizations, many of which incorporated Māori culture into service delivery. The Government sought to transfer limited responsibilities and service delivery functions to tribes through legislation, notably the Runanga Iwi Act 1990. While the Act was repealed soon after its passage, the legacy of strong centralised corporate tribal structures remained (Barcham 1998).

Rather than seek to extinguish or limit Māori interests, moves were made to protect and develop them (Williams 2004). This new direction can be clearly seen in Table 3.2, which documents key policy and legislative measures pursued under each of the three policy regimes. The Treaty of Waitangi Act 1975 and the 1986 State Owned Enterprises Act are especially noteworthy. The 1975 Act was the first of a series of legislative changes that put the Treaty firmly onto the national agenda nearly a century after it had been declared a legal nullity. It established the Waitangi Tribunal to investigate Treaty breaches, which subsequently resulted in several hundred claims, mostly bought by tribal interests. The SoE Act defined the term “principles of the Treaty” that has been the subject of ongoing debate. In 1987 the Court of Appeal presided over a case bought by the New Zealand Māori Council against the Attorney-General, seeking to halt the sale of government assets. The court found that the proposed sale of government assets was in breach of principles of the Treaty. The legal precedent was significant: if legislation refers to Treaty, the rights bestowed by the Treaty take precedence. In practice, there remains considerable confusion surrounding the Treaty, which means its place in New Zealand jurisprudence is still somewhat fraught.

Table 3.2. Select milestones for policy periods promoting Māori racial amalgamation, economic integration, and ethnic renewal and reform, 1844 - 2008. 1. Racial 1844 Native Trust Ordinance recommending “assimilating as speedily as Amalgamation possible the habits and usages of the Native to those of the European population” 1867 Native Schools Act established secular state-controlled primary schools where Māori language prohibited 1867 Māori Representation Act establishes four temporary Māori seats 1893 James Carroll the first Māori to win a General seat in Parliament 1907 Tohunga Suppression Act prohibits customary Māori healing practices 1930s Depression relief for Māori set at half the rate of Europeans with rationale that Māori can live off the land 2. Economic 1945 Māori Social and Economic Advancement Act establishes network Integration of Māori committees to provide input into community development 1953 Town and Country Planning Act prevents Māori from building on Māori land, contributing to urban migration 1961 Public release of the Hunn Report promoting a monocultural vision of integration as the optimal Māori development strategy 1962 Māori Community Development Act creates Māori advisory councils at national and district levels 1967 Māori Affairs (Amendment) Act empowers the Māori Affairs Dept to pressure owners to sell „uneconomic shares‟ in communal land 3. Ethnic Renewal and 1974 Māori Affairs (Amendment) Act makes provision for retransferring Reform former Māori land back into Māori freehold land 1975 Treaty of Waitangi Act establishes the Waitangi Tribunal to investigate and recommend on Treaty breaches from 1976 onwards Māori Land March to parliament to protest ongoing land alienation Māori electoral option introduced, gives Māori the choice of enrolling in General or Māori seats. 1982 Māori open first Māori language preschool (Kohanga Reo) 1984 Māori open first Māori language primary school (Kura Kaupapa) 1985 Treaty of Waitangi (Amendment) Act grants the Waitangi tribunal power to hear retrospective claims Mana Motuhake party established by former Labour MP Matiu Rata 1987 Māori Language Act recognizes Māori as an official language Māori land owners set up Federation of Māori Authorities (FOMA) to advance their economic interests in primary industry 1988 Treaty of Waitangi (State Owned Enterprises) gives quasi legal status to the principles of the Treaty 1989 Runanga Iwi Act enables the establishment of legally constituted runanga (tribal councils) according to specific criteria 1990 National Māori Congress established Runanga Iwi Act repealed following protest by Māori 1991 Ka Awatea Report shifts from policy of devolution to mainstreaming services to Māori through general departments. 1992 Sealords Deed of Settlement is signed by the Crown and tribes 1993 Te Ture Whenua Māori Land Act reforms Māori land 1993 First tribal college Te Wananga o Raukawa recognized as a Tertirary Educational Institute (TEI) 1996 Fifteen Māori MPs elected under new Mixed Member Proportional system (MMP)

Table 3.2 - continued. 1998 Ngai Tahu tribe offered largest financial settlement in NZ history ($170m), transfer of land, & re-introduction of Māori place names 1998 Government launches Closing the Gaps policy aimed at closing economic disparities between ethnic groups, targeted at Māori and Pacific peoples 4. Retrenchment 2000 Extensive critiques of Closing the Gaps policy 2004 Foreshore and Seabed Act passed, vesting ownership in the Crown, amidst major displays of protest by Māori Leader of the Opposition, Don Brash, delivers his “Nationhood” speech attacking the Treaty and race-based policies Closing the Gaps policy dismantled 2008 Deadline set for registering an historical or contemporary claim with the Waitangi Tribunal

Despite the obvious shift in legislative rights documented in Table 3.2, many have questioned whether biculturalism as an overarching policy paradigm has delivered substantive power to Māori (Fleras 1999; Humpage 2005, 2006; O‟Sullivan 2006). Pearson has argued that biculturalism is only acceptable to the majority if it is not perceived to pose a threat to the established symbolic and material order, and the founding “one people myth” (Pearson 1990, p.236; also see Sibley and Liu 2004). Similarly Fleras (1999) has argued that state policies have been more concerned with neutralizing indigeneity through rearguard actions that “evade, deny, or suppress any move towards a dispersal of power or localization of autonomy” (1999, p.194). Certainly, compared to American Indian and First Nations in North America, Māori tribes have limited autonomy. They do not qualify for tax exemptions, nor are they able to make and enforce laws. In terms of political aspirations, efforts to expand Māori political power have been pursued largely through the prevailing political framework. In the 1970s ethnic politics was engaged firstly through the Mana Motuhake party (1979- 1991, see Hazelhurst 1993), then New Zealand First (1996 election) and, more recently, through the Māori Party. Since the mid-1990s especially, and more notably since 2000, Māori have been increasingly subjected to what Bobo and Tuan (2006) call “racial politics” - the contestation of the rights and statuses of groups defined by racial or ethnic criteria. These challenges run the gamut, from the right to access and utilize natural resources and maintain parallel institutions (e.g. Māori electoral seats), to “privileges” designed to facilitate greater participation in mainstream institutions (e.g. educational scholarships). Commentators have rightly pointed out that, despite the advances mapped out in Table 3.2, successive governments have had no qualms about over-riding Māori rights when it suited (O‟Sullivan

2006). The 2004 Foreshore and Seabed Act is a case in point. Despite a Court of Appeal ruling confirming the rights of the appeal tribes to have the nature of their “aboriginal title” over the foreshore investigated, the Labour Government passed the Act under urgency. In so doing, the ownership of New Zealand‟s foreshore and seabed was vested indefinitely with the Crown, effectively circumventing tribal rights and interests.

Māori Political Protest and Cultural Nationalism So far this chapter has emphasized state actions and the influence of exogenous changes in ideology and economy. It is also important to note that, from the outset, Māori were active participants in their relations with the state. However, it was only in the post-Civil Rights era that meaningful opportunities to transform, or at least subvert, institutional arrangements emerged. As several excellent studies have documented, “bottom up” mobilization by Māori was instrumental in shaping state responses (Poata-Smith 1996; Walker 1990). Poata-Smith‟s (1996) appraisal of the evolution of Māori protest has identified three broad phases: incipient “New Left” activism from the late 1960s to 1974; Māori land rights from 1975 to 1984; and “New Right” cultural nationalism from 1984 onwards. Māori cultural nationalism focused primarily on language revitalization. Efforts to have the Māori language recognized as an official language during the 1970s were largely met with government indifference, but by the mid 1980s the position had shifted to one of contingent support.30 In 1987 Māori was recognized as an official language and state funding was made available for Māori language education including Māori language preschools which had previously been self-funded, as well as elementary schools, high schools, and bilingual units in mainstream schools. Aspects of Māori tradition and practices were also selectively incorporated into state institutions. All agencies adopted dual Māori and English names, and many incorporated some form of Māori custom into their business practices. Compared to the ethos of previous policies, Māori ethnicity was no longer a matter of individual preference, but selectively and nominally institutionalized into public life (Sissons 1993). On the surface at least, Māori identity took on a more positive public meaning, despite the ongoing negative portrayal of Māori as individuals and collectively in the popular press.

30 The 1984 Naida Povey case provided a catalyst for Māori language recognition. Povey was a telephone tolls operator who was demoted by her employer for greeting callers with a Māori salutation. Her case attracted much media attention and sparked widespread public debate about the place of the Māori language in the national culture. Eventually the Prime Minister intervened, and Povey was reinstated to her old job.

Several scholars dispute that Māori ethnic renewal has meaningfully benefitted Māori generally. In a neo-Marxist critique of the Māori Renaissance, Webster (1998) argued that Māori cultural rejuvenation had been accompanied by a deepening “lumpenproletarianisation” of Māori. Māori culture had been reified in an exclusive way that had primarily served the interests of Māori elites and the state, while deflecting attention from underlying structural inequalities. Poata-Smith (1996) has also been critical of the shift from the “progressive political activism” of the late 1960s and early 1970s, to cultural nationalism and tribal capitalism. His key argument is that Māori cultural nationalism has failed to provide a real solution to Māori disadvantage. The problem was not the recovery of Māori identity per se, but rather “the rediscovery of culture as an end in itself and a substitute for far-reaching social change” (p.115). The increased use of culture and identity as a strategy for dealing with Māori disadvantage had obscured and, to some extent, contributed to class polarization between Māori, and had been costly for those Māori most vulnerable (1994, p.122). Wealthy elites had the most to gain from this new set of arrangements, which paid lip-service to Māori demands for autonomy and cultural rights, but essentially maintained exploitative capitalist relations. Rata‟s (2000) critique of “neo-tribal capitalism” gave greater emphasis to the role of Māori in perpetuating class and cultural divisions. Government policies had created the opportunities for reconstructed “neo-traditionalist” tribal corporate entities to receive and manage assets from settlements relating to Treaty breaches and land confiscation. However the real perpetrators were tribal elites who had strategically appropriated traditionalist ideologies to maintain a façade of “non-exploitative, democratic, communal relations of production” while “concealing the underlying exploitative character of tribal capitalism" (2000, p.102).

Intra-Māori Segmentation Though the foregoing critiques differ in terms of focus, all point to gaps between the considerable wealth now vested in tribal corporations and collectives such as farming incorporations, and asset-poor Māori households. Most of the resources from Treaty settlements have gone to tribes, and the expansion of collectively owned Māori wealth has far outpaced that of Māori individuals. In 2005/2006 the estimated worth of Māori-owned commercial assets (including Māori Trusts, tribal settlements and Māori businesses, among others) was around $16.5 billion, representing about 1.5 percent of the total New Zealand business sector (Te Puni Kōkiri 2008b). But growing inequality cannot be attributed specifically to the political economy of re-tribalization. Like elsewhere in the developed

67 world, income and wealth inequality has been growing in New Zealand generally. The transformation from a protected, state-directed economy with universal social support, to a transparent, free-market approach with a greatly reduced social welfare system had reverberations across society as a whole. For Māori and Pacific peoples the impacts were especially harsh. Both were disproportionately concentrated in the industries most affected by restructuring: forestry, transport, agriculture and the public sector. About one in five Māori working in 1987 had lost their jobs by 1989, and a significant share became “discouraged workers” who dropped out of the labor market indefinitely. The fallout of economic liberalisation illustrated what has long been the case in New Zealand: in times of economic vulnerability, Māori pay a higher price. Since the late 1980s, education reforms and the growing emphasis on specialized skills have expanded opportunities for educated Māori with valued skills to get ahead, but have also cemented the marginalized position of those without either. Though intra-Māori differentiation has been exacerbated by changes in population and economy since the 1970s, the historical roots of segmentation were, in many ways, forged from the ambivalent integration of Māori into the New Zealand polity. At the end of the post- war boom, and well before the onset of re-tribalization, evidence of intra-Māori segmentation along racial/ethnic lines was already emerging.31 Table 3.3 shows the differences in the occupational structure of Māori, by blood quantum, in the 1976 census. Two points are noted. One is the advantaged occupational profile of those reported as less than half Māori, compared to those in the half or more category. Seventy percent of employed men identified as half or more Māori were still in manufacturing and related jobs in 1976. This compared to 56 per cent of those reported as less than half. The other point is the more favorable occupational profile of Māori women over men, regardless of reported blood quantum.

31 This is not to suggest that Māori society was once utopian. In fact, pre-European Māori society was highly stratified with status and rewards largely reserved for the chiefly class (Belich 1996). From 1850 onwards, select individuals, families and sub-tribes profited handsomely from the land alienation process, and even during the most vulnerable period between 1900 and World War II, there were pockets of wealthy Māori whose material lifestyle was more in keeping with European gentry. However, it was not until after World War II and the expanded opportunities for mobility, that systematic differences began to emerge.

Table 3.3. Occupational distribution of employed Māori, by blood quantum and sex, 1976 Census of Population and Dwellings. Men Women Occupation Category 1/2 or more Less than 1/2 Half or more Less than ½ Administrators, managers 0.5 2.8 0.2 0.4 Professionals, technicians 3.2 7.9 10.0 15.1 Clerical 3.1 5.9 19.7 29.6 Sales 1.7 6.4 6.3 10.3 Service 4.5 6.6 19.2 15.0 Agriculture 12.2 12.0 5.2 4.5 Production 69.5 56.0 31.7 21.2 Unclassified 5.4 2.5 7.8 3.9 Total employed 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 Source: 1976 Census of Population and Dwellings, Tables 16 and 49.

Reconfiguring Race Clearly, shifts in economy have been instrumental in accounting for the persistent disadvantage of Māori, as well as growing differentiation between Māori, yet focusing solely on class minimizes the legacy of racialization. The reification of Māori culture and identity may have provided opportunities for some well-placed Māori to benefit at the expense of the masses, but it has not transformed longstanding hierarchies. As I have noted, these hierarchies were never rigid, nor overtly exclusionary. There were always contingent opportunities for those Māori most closely connected to the European category to advance, not because Europeanization was objectively better, but because it better fitted a system which was structured, for the most part, by European interests and preferences. One of the less talked about consequences of the Māori Renaissance has been the virtual disappearance of the language of race from the public and academic discourse and, with it, the recognition of the role of race (or, more specifically, race-based understandings) as a mechanism of inequality. The language of race has fallen into disrepute, in official and academic discourses. To assert that race matters in New Zealand is to court controversy. Many New Zealanders would reject the suggestion that race prejudice or discrimination is implicated in life chances, having long prided themselves on a history of even-handedness towards Māori. The aversion to race is curious when one considers the early years of Māori political protest. Initially, Māori political activism focused a great deal of attention on racism. In 1982 the Office of the Race Relations Conciliator issued a report Race Against Time urging immediate action to avoid prolonged racial conflict (Race Relations Conciliator 1982). Several reports in the early and mid 1980s examined the issue of institutional racism (see, for

69 example, Ministerial Advisory Committee 1986), and anti-racism workshops were held throughout the 1980s, often supported by liberal Europeans. By the 1990s the nomenclature of race had all but disappeared and with it, the impetus to see race as fundamental to inequality. The invisibility of race was supported by the change in nomenclature in official statistics from race to ethnicity. In 1986, and largely in response to growing disquiet about the expression of race and its perjorative meanings, references to blood in the census were ceased. The question simply asked: “What is your ethnic origin? Tick the box or boxes which apply to you.” In 1991 the reference to origins was dropped altogether, replaced by ethnic group. Although the official definition of ethnic group includes references to geographic origins and a shared sense of ancestry, Statistics New Zealand has emphasized the subjective and cultural aspects of ethnicity (Didham 2005). Census help notes, for example, direct respondents to answer on the basis of the “ethnic group or groups (cultural groups) you belong to or identify with.” The emphasis on individual identification with an ethnic group broadens the historical legacy of a system focused on race, but also underestimates the ongoing salience of race for the organization of social status and rewards. Research undertaken since the 1980s suggests prejudice and discrimination, whether defined as ethnic or racial, is alive and well in New Zealand (Ballara 1986; Spoonley 1988; Spoonley, Pearson, and Macpherson 1991,1996). Negative stereotypes about Māori people persist (Ballara 1986; Thomas and Nikora 1996; Holmes, Murachver, and Bayard, 2001; Wetherell and Potter 1992), even as Māori culture is reified in public life as a symbol of national uniqueness and unity (Sissons 1993). Recent research on ethnic stereotypes concluded that European high school students held some of the same unfavorable attitudes towards Māori as their parents and grandparents did (Holmes, Murachver, and Bayard 2001). Findings from the nationally representative 2002/03 New Zealand Health Survey found Māori were significantly more likely to report experiences of self-reported racial discrimination, and were almost ten times more likely than Europeans to experience discrimination in three or more settings. The authors concluded, “racism, both interpersonal and institutional, contributes to Māori health losses and leads to inequalities in health between Māori and Europeans” (Harris et al. 2006). The problem for this study is to articulate how the polarization of social class differences and the diversification of Māori identity are related. Studies strongly suggest a connection, with those most closely identified with the Māori category appearing to be the

70 most disadvantaged. These findings fit with the historical evidence of the social and economic costs of Māori ethnicity (or, alternatively, the rewards associated with European ethnicity), but are at odds with contemporary discourses that promote a strong Māori cultural identity as a salve for historical injustices. A plausible explanation for the connection has been elusive, hampered by a lack of theoretical clarity about what Māori identification means in the context of indigenous revitalization, and the tendency to analyze Māori ethnicity as a permanent state, than a shifting status. Analysis undertaken in the following chapters seeks to address these shortcomings.

3.5 Conclusion This historical overview has shown how the meaning and importance of ethnic and racial categories have not been fixed in time, but have changed in response to exogenous factors. The meaning of Māori in 2010 is drastically different from what it meant 100 or even 20 years ago. Yet, notwithstanding these changes, the underlying ordering of ethnic relations does not appear to have changed very much. Changes driven by forces largely exogenous to the New Zealand nation-state have forced compromise and granted more flexible notions of ethnicity and race. Yet, full inclusion as social and economic equals has not yet come to pass, even as a growing number of Māori individuals and families have attained middle-class status. A clear theme emerging from this chapter is the deep ambivalence about the incorporation of Māori as racial equals. State policies have not only been strategically mercurial, shifting from assimilation to integration ethnic renewal and reform, but the outcomes of policies have also been in direct contrast to the stated goals. These inconsistencies partly arose from Māori pressures to retain some semblance of authority and distinctiveness, European efforts to protect their privileges, and the latter‟s certainty in their racial superiority. Insofar as assimilation policies encouraged Māori to become more like Europeans, yet at the same time set them apart and impeded their entry into mainstream spheres of power, the seeds were sown for ambivalent integration. Māori were simultaneously encouraged to set themselves apart from Europeans, but also cultivate a sense of racial and cultural sameness. From the earliest period of contact, Māori exercized considerable agency in navigating popular and political discourses of race, sometimes lending strategic support to get things done. But they were engaged in a difficult balancing act that ultimately only some have been able to master to their advantage.

Since the 1970s there have been important changes, particularly in terms of Treaty recognition, and Māori identity and cultural claims. However, these concessions have not destabilized configurations of political and economic power. Growing class inequality and the rise of Māori cultural nationalism has provided the impetus for growing intra-Māori differentiation, and a segmented opportunity structure. Though the boundaries demarcating Māori and European have become fuzzier, the hierarchical ordering of established hierarchies based on ethnicity and race have not changed. What Omi and Winant call “racial common sense” and “racialized social struture” have accommodated new ideologies, such as Māori nationalism, in ways that maintain the veneer of racial equality, but without seriously disrupting the status quo. In the following two chapters I explore how these dynamics might be captured through empirical analysis of census and survey data.

CHAPTER FOUR INTRA-MĀORI INEQUALITY: A CORE-PERIPHERY MODEL

4.1 Introduction Using expository historical analyses, the preceding chapter showed how the meaning and importance of ethnic and racial categories has changed over time, shaped by exogenous changes in economy and ideology. Though Māori were racialized in negative ways, a notional, but lasting, commitment to racial egalitarianism meant there were opportunities for upward mobility, contingent on meeting European cultural and racial standards. Since the 1970s, the incorporation of Māori culture into mainstream and Māori institutions has simultaneously expanded the opportunities to cultivate Māori ethnicity and de-stigmatized the symbolic markers associated with Māori identity. The shift from cultural and racial assimilation to rejuvenation, coupled with high levels of Māori-European intermarriage (Harré 1966; Callister, Didham, and Potter 2005), has produced diverse expressions of Māori identity (Durie 1995, 2005; Kukutai 2004). At the same time, structural changes have compounded social class cleavages between Māori. This is the first of two empirical chapters that attempts to shed light on the relationship between Māori ethnicity and socio-economic outcomes by focusing on differences within the Māori category. Doing so provides an opportunity to examine core assumptions, highlighted in chapter one, about the meaning of Māori ethnicity as an independent variable in empirical research and policy. Conceptually there are many ways to make distinctions within socially defined ethnic or racial groups. In practical terms, these distinctions often take a dichotomous form. In the case of indigenous peoples, academics have employed various dualisms such as reservation/non-reservation; urban/rural, half-castes/full-bloods, and tribalized/de-tribalized. Sometimes the distinction is qualitative, merely describing different manifestations of a common identity. More often the distinction is quantitative, with one category assumed to be more indigenous or even “authentic” than the other (for a discussion on the politics of cultural authenticity, see Linnekin 1991). In New Zealand it has become increasingly popular to distinguish between sole Māori and mixed Māori, though the substantive difference is not at all clear.32 Self-identification as a

32 The lack of an explicit mixed category on the census makes it difficult to know what people mean when they record Māori as one of several MEGs. Such people might see themselves as belonging to several different MEGs, or it may be an expression of a unique blended identity.

Māori does not mean Māori exclusivity in a genealogical sense, as a significant number of people identified solely as Māori have a non-Māori identified parent (Howard and Didham 2007; Kukutai 2007). There is also considerable fluidity between the categories. People identified as solely Māori in one context, may be identified as Māori and European (or some other group) in another (Brown 2009; Coope and Piesse 1997; Kukutai 2009). Binaries are conceptually appealing and relatively easy to operationalize but also obscure a good deal of complexity. If the purpose of using them is to capture diverse expressions of ethnic or racial identification within a group, there are other possible ways to do so, even within the constraints of official data. In the following analysis I combine indicators of Māori ethnicity, ancestry, and tribal affiliation from the Census of Population and Dwellings to construct a spectrum of Māori sub- group categories. The categories range from those on the fringes of Māori identity (the “periphery”) to those whose identification as Māori has multiple layers (the “core”). The use of a core-periphery model is not intended to denote stable boundaries of socially meaningful groups. It is merely a heuristic device for conceptualizing variation in ethnic identification beyond a binary variable. There are two overall objectives. The first is to examine the relationship between diverse expressions of Māori identification, and ties to traditional symbols of Māori identity. Often there is an implicit assumption, rarely tested, that the two are closely coupled. The analysis undertaken in this study will help elucidate the relationship and, in so doing, bring greater clarity to what Māori self-identification means in terms of connection to Māori identity. The second objective is to determine whether there is a systematic association between the level of Māori identification and socio-economic outcomes. The assumption is that proximity to the periphery, and thus the European mainstream, is more likely to be associated with favorable outcomes. First I review some of the approaches to making distinctions within ethnic or racial groups, and its usage in relation to stratification research. I then discuss the data and methods before undertaking pairwise analysis across a range of socio-economic and ethnic identity indicators. I conclude with a discussion of the benefits and disadvantages of using a core- periphery sub-group approach.

4.2 Moving From Inter-ethnic to Intra-Māori Analysis This section discusses some of the conceptual and pragmatic issues associated with moving from analyzing differences across ethnic groups to analyzing differences within them. The

74 justification for sub-group analysis generally stems from the recognition that broad ethnic or categories are internally heterogeneous. Identification with a historically marginalized group does not necessarily translate into disadvantage at the individual level. Some people incur greater costs associated with group membership than do others. People who identify with the same ethnic group also have varying levels of connectedness. For some, identification as a group member denotes a strong affective and cognitive connection, physical features that are stereotypically associated with the group, and socializing, living, or working with other group members. For others, it might be a purely symbolic identification that has little meaning in daily life. One approach to defining sub-groups is to identify the feature of ethnicity or race that is substantively useful for understanding disparities and measure variation across that dimension. For example, location in ethnic networks might isolate individuals from resource rich networks that confer advantages in the job market. Measuring individual ties across a range of social settings might serve as a reasonable proxy for the hypothesized effect of ethnic networks on getting a job. Physical markers of ethnicity or race such as skin color might increase exposure to interpersonal discrimination in a range of social interactions. Measures of observed race would be better to test the potential effects of skin color than those based on self-identification (Saperstein 2006). Researchers who use official data are often limited to measuring ethnicity or race through identification with a set of official categories (Kertzer and Arel 2004; Nobels; Morning and Sabbagh 2005). Variation in self-identification is employed as a convenient measure to delineate within ethnic groups. In the social sciences generally, it has become increasingly popular, and practicable, to distinguish between monoracial and multiracial people (see, for example, Campbell 2009; Harris and Sim 2002; Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002). Of course there are no “pure” racial or ethnic groups: all peoples have mixed ancestry, but only some are aware of it or choose to claim it as part of their identity. In some studies multiracial designation is defined by having parents identified with different racial groups. A definition based on parental designation is advantageous in that it circumvents the problem of endogeneity (Farley 2002; Xie and Greenman 2005). However such information is not often readily available or comes with serious limitations. In the census, parental ethnicities can only be discerned for those cohabiting with both parents, which are typically children and young adults. Unsurprisingly, the majority of studies default to self-identification. The distinction between self- and parent-identification is important. As Campbell has noted (2009), there is

75 often a mismatch between individuals‟ racial self-identification and the racial profile of the parents. Both designations may also differ from how individuals are racially perceived and labelled by others. Whether measures are based on external, parental, or self-designation influences the interpretation of the findings, particularly if used as independent variables. In the context of stratification, the monoracial-multiracial distinction is appealing because it often yields statistically significant differences. A number of studies have found that people self-identified exclusively as Māori have poorer socio-economic outcomes than their multi-ethnic identified counterparts. This finding is not peculiar to Māori. Other studies undertaken with a variety of different groups have produced similar findings. Descriptive analysis of sample data from the 2000 U.S. Census showed people identified with two or more racial categories had significantly different demographic and economic profiles than people identified with a single category (Liebler and Halpern-Manners 2008). For example, people identified as American Indian in combination with at least one other race were more likely to live in urban areas and have higher incomes than other American Indians. However, the inverse relationship was apparent for Asians: individuals recorded as Asian plus some other race had lower incomes than monoracial Asians. Other studies undertaken in the U.S. (Farley 2002) and elsewhere (e.g., Israel, see Okun and Khait-Marelly 2006) have found that people identified as biracial have economic and educational outcomes intermediate to their constituent groups. Various explanations for the significant differences have been proposed. In the U.S., researchers have pointed to the significance of skin color as a determinant of racial inequality, with multiracial people having a more ambiguous physical appearance that enables them to mediate, though not fully escape, the legacy of racialized exclusion. Bonilla-Silva (2002; Bonilla-Silva and Embrick 2006) has argued that the U.S. is increasingly moving towards a Latin American system which privileges multiracial people with lighter skin over their darker skinned counterparts. Others have argued that the historical binary that privileged “whiteness” has evolved in ways that now systematically disadvantage “blackness” (see, for example, Gans 1999). Differences in parental resources have also been linked to differences in social and economic outcomes (for a review, see Campbell 2009). On average, the socio-economic status of families with one black and one white parent are higher than those with two black parents, but poorer than those with two white parents. In contexts where groups are defined on the basis of ethnic or cultural versus explicitly racial criteria, there are also assumptions based on acculturation. People identified with a

76 minority and majority group are assumed to be more acculturated, and thus better equipped for socio-economic success. Certainly, as chapter three has shown, this has been the general tenor of much historical policy toward Māori and some argue this continues to be the case (Humpage and Fleras 2001). In the case of Māori, this involves three assumptions. The first is that exclusive identification as a Māori (vs multi-ethnic Māori identification) is more likely to be coupled with ties to Māori identity (e.g., language usage). The second is that those with stronger ties to Māori identity are, for whatever reason, more likely to be socially and economically marginalized. The third is that there is an inverse relationship between ties to Māori identity and mainstream cultural competence, or what Gordon and others called Anglo conformity. In the following analysis I address these assumptions by extending the simple mono-ethnic versus multi-ethnic binary to construct a core-periphery model of Māori sub- group categories based on self-identification. I then make comparisons across the full range of sub-groups to examine if systematic connections exist between Māori identification, ties to underlying Māori identity, and socio-economic status.

4.3 Data and Methods Data The data used in this chapter are drawn from the 1996, 2001 and 2006 New Zealand Census of Population and Dwellings. Like other Commonwealth countries, the New Zealand census is undertaken five-yearly, and provides the most comprehensive source of data about Māori. Unit record data analogous to the U.S. Public Use Microdata (PUMS) one and five percent samples are not readily and freely available in New Zealand.33 However, even if sample data were available, it would not be possible to combine Māori identity indicators in the form necessary to construct the desired range of Māori sub-group categories. Instead I use customized metadata provided by Statistics New Zealand. The use of metadata and non- exclusive categories (explained in more detail below), limit the analysis to two-way and three- way contingency tables. The analysis is descriptive rather than causal, and is intended to provide the basis for more detailed multivariate analysis using longitudinal survey data in the following chapter.

33 Researchers who want to use anonymized unit record data are required to submit a detailed research proposal to Statistics New Zealand and a final decision is made by the Government Statistician. If approved, researchers must access the data in one of Statistics New Zealand‟s data laboratories and are required to work with an administrator on site before outputs are released.

A Core-Periphery Model of Māori Identification Before describing the core-periphery model, I briefly describe the constituent categories of ethnic group, ancestry and tribal identification. The use of ethnicity variables in research and policy in New Zealand parallels the use of race variables in the U.S. context. The Māori Ethnic Group (MEG) is the reference group used for administrative and policy purposes, and for census tabulations and media releases. The Statistical Standard for Ethnicity defines an ethnic group as people who have some or all of the following characteristics:  a common proper name  one or more elements of common culture, which need not be specified, but may include religion, customs or language  a unique community of interests, feelings and actions  a shared sense of common origins or ancestry, and  a common geographic origin (Statistics New Zealand 2005).

According to Durie, ethnic identification is regarded as a useful measure of identity in terms of gauging “lifestyle, expectations, affiliations, and aspirations” (2005, p.33). The measurement of ethnicity in the census has a mercurial history, both in terms of the underlying concepts used, and the wording of the question. Incredibly, all seven censuses conducted between 1971 and 2001 contained differently worded ethnicity questions, which has made time-series analysis problematic. Fortunately, for the purpose of this analysis, the 2001 and 2006 censuses used the same question and response options.34 A slightly different question and options were used in the 1996 census, which resulted in a large increase in the reporting of “other European” groups, and in the proportion of multi-ethnic identified Māori (Cormack and Harris 2009; Lang 2002). In 1991 only 26 percent of the MEG identified with two or more groups, but this increased to 48 percent in 1996.35 Though the 2001 and 2006 censuses reverted to the 1991 question, the level of multi-ethnic reporting among Māori remained comparable with 1996 (44 percent in 2001; 47 percent in 2006). Table 4.1 shows the levels of multi-ethnic reporting amongst Māori from 1996 to 2006 were consistent with longer-term trends. Though caution needs to be exercized when using 1996 census data to

34 It asked: “Which ethnic group do you belong to? Mark the space or spaces which apply to you,” followed by a list of eight tick-boxes including a write-in box for “other.”

35 The question instructed: “Tick as many circles as you need to show which ethnic group(s) you belong to.” The “other European” option linked to a subset of European boxes including English, Dutch, Australian, and Irish.

78 make inter-ethnic comparisons over time (Didham 2005), intra-Māori comparisons between 1996 and 2006 are unlikely to encounter serious problems in terms of comparability.

Table 4.1. Number of Māori by Recorded Blood Quantum Until 1981, Then by Ethnic Origin and Ethnic Group, Census of Population and Dwellings, 1945-2006. Only Mixed Māori- % Māori Māori Māori-European Other Mixed 1/2 < 1/2 3/4 Māori Māori1,2 Māori 1945 61,440 55,308 18,956 18,348 16,902 1102 47.4 1951 76,918 59,283 15,201 23,183 18,421 2478 43.5 1956 88,440 74,018 18,624 28,492 25,108 1,794 45.6 1961 103,987 98,548 24,115 36,371 34,984 3,078 48.7 1966 120,593 129,274 27,377 49,219 48,077 4,601 51.7 1971 128,110 162,391 24,658 70,431 62,473 4,829 55.9 1981 154,119 231,381 41,538 74,700 105981 9,162 60.0 1986 295,659 109,650 27.1 1991 323,493 111,357 25.6 1996 273,438 249,933 47.8 2001 294,726 231,555 44.0 2006 298,395 266,934 47.2 Notes: Censuses between 1945 and 1971 used degree of race measures; the 1981 census used degree of ethnic origin; the 1986 census used self-identified ethnic origin; and censuses from 1991 onwards have used self-identified ethnic group.

The second indicator used in this analysis is Māori descent. The question on Māori descent was introduced in the 1991 census to meet legal requirements for determining electoral representation. Compared to ethnicity, descent is not widely used as a variable in research or policy, in part because it is not deemed to be a determinant of social inequality, nor a meaningful measure of identity. Nevertheless, descent is still invoked in many statutory definitions of Māori and is often used to determine eligibility for access to resources. For example, only persons of Māori descent can enroll in a Māori electorate, lodge a claim with the Waitangi Tribunal, or apply for certain kinds of educational scholarships. In practice, the concept of descent is not rigidly policed and almost impossible to prove (or disprove). Identification as a Māori on the basis of descent might denote a significant cultural or genealogical connection, or a symbolic tie to remotely remembered ancestors. In 2006 the descent question asked: “Are you descended from a Māori (that is, did you have a Māori birth parent, grandparent, or great-grandparent, etc)?” The same question was asked in 1996 and 2001.

The third indicator used to construct sub-categories is tribal identification. After a hiatus of nearly a century, a question on tribal identification was re-introduced in the 1991 census, reflecting growing government interest in tribes and the reinvigoration of tribal structures. Tribal identification comes closest to traditional Māori conceptions of group membership based on whakapapa (genealogy). Karetu (1990) has described whakapapa as the glue that connects individuals to a specific place(s), and locates them within a broader network of kin relations. Whakapapa also endows certain rights in terms of land succession and usufruct rights. Historically, residence near one‟s ancestral land was closely tied with whakapapa, but urbanization and labor market transformations means the majority of Māori now live outside their tribal area. Tribal identification in the census does not necessarily reflect enrollment on a tribal register. The latter typically requires citation of the appropriate genealogical linkages and endorsement from tribal elders. Unlike many American Indian tribes, Māori tribes do not use blood quantum measures to determine membership (Walling, Small-Rodriguez, and Kukutai 2009). The 2006 census question asked: “Do you know the name(s) of your iwi (tribe or tribes)?” with space for five write-in responses. The same question was asked in 2001 and 1996. Using the criteria of ethnic group, descent and tribal affiliation, a range of seven Māori sub-categories were constructed ranging from the theoretical periphery to the core, described in Table 4.2 below.

Table 4.2. A Core-Periphery Model of Māori Identification Using Descent, Ethnic Group, and Tribal Indicators From the Census Of Population and Dwellings. Ethnicity other than Māori Indicators Māori Māori Māori Tribal Māori categories Descent Ethnicity affiliation non-Māori Maybe No Unlikely Yes Periphery Yes No Unlikely Yes Māori combined Likely Yes Maybe Yes Descent Yes Likely Maybe Maybe MEG Likely Yes Maybe Maybe Tribe Likely Likely Yes Maybe Māori alone Likely Yes Likely No Core Yes Yes Yes No

Though no single category is mutually exclusive from all other categories, the level of interdependence (i.e., overlapping boundaries) differs. The core and periphery are mutually exclusive, but each overlaps with other categories. The periphery comprises people whose

80 identification as a Māori is solely on the basis of descent. The core comprises people identified as Māori by descent, tribe, and exclusive ethnicity. The Māori alone category is fully subsumed in the core. A cluster of categories occupies the space between the core and periphery. The Māori combined category (which I use in preference to the loaded label mixed Māori) includes people with a non-Māori ethnic identification, and is thus situated near the periphery. The descent category, which also includes people who do not identify as Māori by ethnicity, is situated closer to the periphery than the core.36 The tribal category and the MEG are located in the middle. The non-Māori comparator, which also represents the symbolic mainstream, comprises people whose ethnic identification is with a group other than Māori. For the vast majority the group is New Zealand European.

Demographic Characteristics The demographic features examined here are age structure, dependency, and marriage status. Age differences are useful to consider for several reasons. Age structural differences between Māori and Europeans have long been a feature of New Zealand demography, reflecting historical differences in demographic behavior, notably fertility (Pool 1991). One would expect these historical differences to be reflected across the core-periphery, with categories nearer the core having a younger profile, and those near the periphery an older profile. Conversely, a number of studies have shown age is an influential factor in ethnic and racial identification. Compared to adults, younger people (aged 15 or less) are more likely to have parents identified with different ethnic or racial groups, and to be identified with two or more groups themselves. The combination of growing intermarriage and more flexible conceptions of ethnicity might provide younger people with an expanded set of identification options. This would translate into a younger age profile amongst those on the fringes of Māori identification. To compare age profiles across the categories, I use percentage distributions across functional age groups (0-14, 15-39, 40-64 and 65+) as well as median age - the age at which half the population is older and half is younger. Using this information I then compute dependency ratios, which are an important indicator of population health. High dependency ratios often mean increased costs and responsibilities for working aged adults who bear the costs associated with childcare, education, and pensions. The dependency ratio is the

36 Previous analysis undertaken by the author has shown that the relationship between ethnicity and descent is symmetrical: whereas the vast majority of those identifying as Māori by ethnicity also report Māori descent; only about 80 per cent of those reporting Māori descent report Māori ethnicity (Kukutai 2004).

81 proportion of the population at dependent ages (children and people 65 years or older) expressed as a percentage of the working age population. Marriage patterns provide an important lens into cultural norms about family formation. Historically, Māori marriage patterns have differed substantially from those of Europeans, with higher rates of informal or social marriage, and lower rates of legal marriage (Pool, Dharmalingham, and Sceats 2007). Since the 1970s there has been a significant growth in informal unions among all New Zealanders, as well as a decline in the General Marriage Rate. With this has come a greater emphasis on the economic and social status selectivity of marriage as illustrated, for example, by the barriers posed by higher rates of unemployment. Marital status is a dimension along which intra-Māori rates could be expected to vary. Marital status is measured by the percentage of adults with a legal spouse. Though civil union relationships were counted in 2006 they are excluded for purposes of comparability.

Ethnic Context Ethnic identification is shaped by a variety of influences that may be described as micro (e.g., social interactions), meso (e.g., familial and neighborhood context), and macro (e.g., structural environment). For Māori, an important aspect of the structural environment, or ethnic context, is geographic proximity to other Māori. To capture the effect of ethnic context I use the percentage of ethnic Māori (either alone or in combination) in the Territorial Authority (TA) where the respondent resides. A TA approximates a County in the U.S. census, and is the conventional measure used in New Zealand to measure regional effects. In 2006 there were 73 TAs ranging in size from more than 400,000 (Auckland City) to less than 4,000 (Kaikoura District). Because contingency tables require the use of categorical variables, I distinguish three levels of Māori concentration: low Māori (less than 10 percent Māori); medium Māori (10 to 19.99 per cent), and high Māori (20 per cent or more Māori).

Ties to Māori Identity Two indicators of ties of Māori identity are available in the census: language ability and ethnic endogamy. The Māori language, Te Reo Māori, is widely advocated as a defining feature of Māori identity and culture. A recent report by the Ministry of Māori Development describes it as both a distinct form of “cultural knowledge” and a means of “transmitting cultural knowledge, values and practices” (Te Puni Kōkiri 2008a, p.1). The census language question asks respondents in what language(s) they could converse about a lot of everyday

82 things. Because the vast majority of Māori language speakers are bi-lingual, I do not distinguish exclusive Māori speakers from those who speak it as one of several languages. The measure used is the percentage of adults (aged 15 years or older) that speak Māori. The second indicator of ties to Māori identity is ethnic endogamy. Intermarriage signals that groups are accepted as social equals whereas its inverse – endogamy or marriage within the group – functions as a form of group closure (Kalmijn 1998). Using census data, partner ethnicity can only be discerned when both individuals are part of the same household. The measure used is the percentage of adults in a cohabiting, opposite sex relationship (either legal or de facto/social marriage) with a person whose ethnic identification did not include Māori.

Socio-economic Status Studies examining differences in socio-economic outcomes span a daunting range of indicators. Nevertheless, there are five sets of variables that are widely used as normative measures of socioeconomic outcomes: employment (e.g., unemployment and labor force participation rate, occupation); income (median individual or household income); housing (e.g., home ownership, overcrowding), education (e.g., graduating high school); and health (Altman, Biddle, and Hunter 2004). This study analyzes categorical differences in educational attainment, employment, occupation, and home ownership. Education is widely recognized as a key component of human capital development. It signals a clear investment in people, and is an important determinant of other economic indicators of wellbeing such as employment status, occupation, and income. For educational attainment I use the percentage of adult men and women (15+ years) without a formal qualification. This is preferred to a post-secondary qualification, as the latter subsumes a very diverse set of qualifications, from one-year certificates at polytechnics (similar to community colleges), to advanced university degrees. In terms of current and future economic vulnerability, the lack of even a basic high school qualification serves as a more sensitive indicator of employment and earnings prospects (or lack thereof, see Maani 2002). For employment I use the percentage of working age men and women (15 to 64 years) in the labor force. The labor force comprises employed and unemployed people – the latter defined as those actively engaged in job search in the four weeks prior to the census.37

37 Earlier work by Chapple and Rea (1998) found that the best simple measure of labor market disparity between Māori and non-Māori was the percentage point difference in employment rates.

Unfortunately, I am unable to disaggregate full-time and part-time work, though this is more of a serious issue for gender than ethnic analysis (since women at child-bearing ages are much more likely to be in part-time work). The likely effect of combining part- and full-time employment is that it biases downwards the gap between any of the Māori sub-groups and the non-Māori comparator. Employment rates are favored over unemployment and labor force participation rates. Unemployment rates are complicated by the absence of “discouraged workers” who have dropped out of labor force, with Māori likely to be over-represented among them. Because far more people are employed than not, there is also less error in employment rate data. Occupational differentiation is a key factor accounting for ethnic as well as gender differences in earnings (Hartmann and Treimann 1981), and also reflects differences in education and experience. For occupation, I use the percentage of employed men and women in managerial and professional occupations, the two highest occupational categories at level one of the Australia and New Zealand Standard Classification of Occupations. These occupations typically require advanced levels of education, have a higher social status, and provide high remuneration. It should be noted, however, that the managerial class is a heterogeneous category, subsuming managers of large, multinational companies alongside office managers. The final indicator relates to home ownership. New Zealand has historically had significantly higher levels of per capita ownership than many other OECD nations. Despite significant declines in home ownership rates since 1991, it continues to be an important indicator of socio-economic status. I use the percentage of adults living in a private dwelling that was owned, either freehold or with a mortgage, by a household resident. Indicators of household tenure (as opposed to individual tenure) have been widely used in New Zealand studies of home ownership (see Morrison 2005). In 2006, the two-tier distinction (owned or not owned by usual resident) was extended to include a new category for dwellings held by a family trust. These dwellings have been coded as not owned. Due to classification and questionnaire changes, comparisons between 2006 and 2001 are indicative only.

Method The use of categorical metadata with non-exclusive boundaries limits the methodological options to descriptive pairwise analysis. I use percentage point rather than

84 ratio comparisons, which is the simple arithmetic difference between two indicators. My primary interest is to determine whether there is a systematic core to periphery pattern consistent with the stated hypotheses below, and whether this pattern holds over time. For comparative purposes, and to assess the argument that intra-Māori differentiation dwarfs that between Māori and non-Māori, the percentage point gap between the Māori core and periphery categories, and between the MEG and non-Māori (the conventional comparison used in much academic and government analysis), are presented at the bottom of each table. To control for the potentially confounding effects of age, all measures used in the following analysis are adjusted for age using the 2001 Total New Zealand population as the standard. For clarity I only present adjusted rates though, where appropriate, comment on the difference between adjusted and unadjusted rates. The formula for age standardization (Shryock and Segal 1976) is:

s t s ∑x (Px * R x )/ ∑x Px * 100 s where: Px is the number of people of the standard population at age x, and t R x is the age-specific rate of the target population at age x

4.4 Hypotheses Using the core-periphery model, four hypotheses are tested connecting diverse expressions of Māori identification to indicators of underlying Māori identity and socio- economic outcomes. The first hypothesis addresses the demographic dimensions of intra- Māori differentiation. Thus:

H1: As categories move closer to the non-Māori “mainstream,” the demographic profile should become more like non-Māori.

The second hypothesis addresses the question of whether the categories are merely qualitative distinctions, or denote systematic differences in ties to Māori identity. Thus:

H2: As categories move closer to the core of Māori identification, the positive association with other measures of Māori identity should become stronger.

The third hypothesis addresses the relationship between Māori identification and socio- economic outcomes. Specifically it predicts that proximity to the non-Māori mainstream will be positively associated with socio-economic status. Thus:

H3: As categories move closer to the non-Māori “mainstream,” the positive association with socio-economic status should increase.

The final hypothesis introduces a structural variable in the form of ethnic context. A recurring theme of this study is the need to draw linkages between micro-level expressions of ethnic and racial identification, and the broader social structural environment. The following hypotheses leave open the possible influence on ethnic context on the foregoing relationships, except to note that the effect will be mediated in some way. Thus:

H4: As categories move closer to the core of Māori identification, the positive association with other measures of Māori identity will be mediated by ethnic context.

H4b. As categories move closer to the „mainstream‟, the positive association with socio- economic status will be mediated by ethnic context.

4.5 Māori Sub-group Boundaries I begin the analysis by examining the relative size of the sub-group categories and their shifts over time. Data for all three censuses are presented in Table 4.3. The parameter defined solely by descent (i.e., periphery) was consistently the smallest, and the one defined by descent generally the largest. Peoples on the fringes of the Māori category were never numerous, equating to about three per cent of the national population, though the percentage point increase over the decade was higher than for any other Māori category. The boundary defined by descent was the most inclusive and consistently comprised around 17 percent of the national population. The parameter based on tribe was consistently smaller than that defined by ethnicity, which suggests tribal identification serves as a more discriminating measure. Like the periphery, the tribal category has grown significantly in the last decade, reflecting the growing economic and political importance of tribes (Walling, Small-Rodriguez, and Kukutai 2009). For all other categories the percentage point increase over the decade was below that of the

86 national population.38 The similar size of the Māori alone and core categories suggests exclusive ethnic identification as a Māori is tightly coupled with identification by tribe and descent. Depending on the census, between 78 and 80 percent of those who recorded an exclusive Māori ethnic identification also identified as Māori by descent and tribe.

Table 4.3. Māori categories and Total N.Z., Number and Percentage of Total N.Z., 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 1996-2006 Māori Categories N N N (% change) Periphery 88,161 112,668 117,975 33.8 Māori combined 249,933 231,555 266,934 6.8 Descent 579,714 604,110 643,977 11.1 MEG 523,371 526,281 565,329 8.0 Tribe 426,234 473,460 535,233 25.6 Māori alone 273,438 294,726 298,395 9.1 Core 215,526 231,693 243,642 13.0 Total N.Z. a 3,466,587 3,586,731 3,860,163 11.4 Per cent of Total N.Z. Periphery 2.5 3.1 3.1 Māori combined 7.2 6.5 6.9 Descent 16.7 16.8 16.7 MEG 15.1 14.7 14.6 Tribe 12.3 13.2 13.9 Māori alone 7.9 8.2 7.7 Core 6.2 6.5 6.3 Notes: a Population stating ethnic group. All data are base 3 rounded thus the sum may not total to 100 percent.

4.6 Demographic Structures Age structure Moving beyond group size to the demographic characteristics of the various Māori sub- groups, I first consider age-structural differences. The results highlight the importance of adjusting for the effects of age structural differences in subsequent analyses. Differences in median age are especially striking for the Māori combined and Māori alone categories (18 versus 29 years in 2006). In all three censuses, more than two fifths of the former category

38 Non-response to the ethnic group question also decreased significantly over the focal period, from 4.2 pecent of the national population in 1996 to 0.7 in 2006. Part of the decline in non-response may be due to the dramatic incline in the reporting of New Zealander as write-in response to the ethnic group question in 2006 (Kukutai and Didham 2009).

87 comprised children. Indeed the median age differences between the Māori alone and Māori combined categories were almost as large as those between the Total population and Māori generally. Contrary to (H1), the Māori alone and core categories had an age profile most similar to the national population. The contrasting profiles of the Māori combined and core categories suggest increasing age is positively associated with Māori identification across multiple dimensions, but negatively associated with identification across ethnic boundaries. The age profile of the periphery is interesting, being much older than the Māori combined category, and much younger than the national population. For all census years, inter-ethnic differences in median age far exceeded those between the core and periphery.

Table 4.4. Percentage in functional age group and median age, Māori categories and Total N.Z. Population, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. Median Māori Categories 0 - 14 15 – 39 40 – 64 65+ age 1996 (%) Periphery 36.2 41.0 18.0 4.8 26.1 Māori combined 43.6 41.0 13.1 2.3 17.7 Descent 37.4 42.0 17.4 3.2 21.7 MEG 37.5 42.2 17.3 3.0 21.4 Tribe 36.1 41.9 18.7 3.3 22.3 Māori alone 31.9 43.2 21.1 3.7 25.2 Core 30.3 43.2 22.6 3.9 26.1 Total N.Z. 22.7 38.4 27.1 11.7 33.0 Alone – Combined 7.5 Total N.Z. – MEG 11.4 2001 (%)

Periphery 35.9 39.0 20.5 4.6 23.5 Māori combined 45.9 39.1 13.2 1.9 16.8 Descent 36.9 39.8 19.8 3.5 22.3 MEG 37.3 39.8 19.5 3.4 21.9 Tribe 35.8 39.3 21.0 3.9 23.0 Māori alone 30.6 40.3 24.5 4.5 27.2 Core 29.4 40.2 25.7 4.7 28.0 Total N.Z. 22.3 35.7 29.8 12.1 34.8 Māori alone – combined 10.4 Total N.Z. – MEG 12.9

Table 4.4 - continued. Median Māori Categories 0 - 14 15 – 39 40 – 64 65+ age 2006 (%) Periphery 32.2 38.1 24.1 5.5 25.3 Māori combined 43.2 38.7 15.6 2.4 17.7 Descent 34.5 38.6 22.5 4.3 23.4 MEG 35.4 38.5 22.1 4.1 22.7 Tribe 34.0 38.0 23.3 4.7 23.9 Māori alone 28.3 38.2 27.8 5.6 28.7 Core 27.4 38.2 28.6 5.8 29.5 Total N.Z. 21.5 34.6 31.6 12.3 35.9 Māori alone – combined 11.0 Total N.Z. – MEG 13.2

Dependency ratio Table 4.5 shows how age structural differences translate into dependency. Over the focal period the dependency ratio for all Māori categories declined as cohorts moved into the working ages. For all years, the core and Māori alone categories had dependency rates more like non-Māori because of their smaller share of children. At the other extreme, the Māori combined category had an extremely high dependency ratio, comparable with developing countries. In terms of age, the core-periphery model does not bear out the hypothesis that categories nearest the periphery have demographic characterisics more like non-Māori. Rather, an inverse pattern is evident. In addition, the differences between the core and Māori alone categories, vastly exceeded those between MEG and non-Māori. Depending on the definition of Māori used, very different conclusions could be drawn about the capacity of the working aged population to support the rest.

Table 4.5. Dependency ratiosa Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 51.2 51.1 49.3 Periphery 69.6 67.9 60.6 Māori combined 85.2 91.4 83.9 Descent 68.3 67.9 63.5 MEG 68.2 68.6 65.2 Tribe 65.3 65.8 63.1 Māori alone 55.4 54.2 51.4 Core 52.1 51.7 49.8 Core – Periphery 33.1 33.1 34.1 Non- Māori - MEG 17.0 17.5 15.9

Notes: a (0-14 years + 65+ years/15-64 years)*100

Legal marriage Age-adjusted legal marriage rates are shown in Table 4.6. When differences in age structure accounted for, some important differences are observed. As hypothesized, the categories closer to the Māori periphery consistently had marriage patterns much more like non-Māori. In any given census, the difference between the periphery and non-Māori categories did not exceed five percentage points. People identified as both Māori and non- Māori had marriage rates intermediate to those of the non-Māori and MEG categories. At the other end of the continuum, the core and Māori alone categories had a very low percentage in a legal marriage. In 2006 only three out of every 10 adults in those categories had a legal spouse. Differences between the middling categories were small by comparison with those already noted. Intra-Māori and inter-ethnic differences were comparable in all years, with the exception of 2006.

Table 4.6. Age standardized percentage in a legal marriage,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 54.8 50.0 48.2 Periphery 50.6 45.2 43.0 Māori combined 47.6 41.0 38.1 Descent 43.8 37.5 35.1 MEG 42.5 35.1 32.6 Tribe 43.3 36.9 34.6 Māori alone 39.2 32.2 29.3 Core 39.6 33.2 30.2 Core – Periphery 11.0 13.0 12.8 non-Māori – MEG 12.3 14.9 15.6 Notes: a People aged at least 15 years with recorded union status, excludes civil unions in 2006, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

4.7 Ethnic Context Table 4.7 shows the percentage living in a Territorial Authority where at least 20 per cent of the population was identified as ethnic Māori (either alone or in combination). Again, significant differences are observed across the core-periphery, but with small differences in the middle categories. Just under half of those in the core and Māori alone categories lived in areas with a high Māori concentration, compared to a quarter of those in the periphery. The core-periphery difference in propinquity with other Māori was almost as large as that between

90 ethnic Māori and non-Māori generally. It is noteworthy, however, that even those on the periphery of Māori identity were substantially more likely than non-Māori to live in areas where Māori were over-represented.

Table 4.7. Age standardized percentage of adults living in a Territorial Authority with a high Māori concentration,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 13.4 14.7 14.9 Periphery 22.2 24.6 24.4 Māori combined 28.7 30.5 30.1 Descent 35.4 36.8 36.2 MEG 37.4 40.0 39.1 Tribe 38.2 39.1 38.1 Māori alone 43.2 44.6 44.7 Core 44.5 45.4 45.9 Core – Periphery 22.3 20.8 25.4 non-Māori – MEG 24.0 25.3 24.2 Notes: a People aged at least 15 years living in a Territorial Land Authority with at least 20 per cent reporting Māori ethnic identification, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

4.8 Ties to Māori Identity This section considers how diverse expressions of Māori identification are connected to other ties to Māori identity. Studies that distinguish between Māori on the basis of identification carry an implicit assumption that difference in expressed identity is correlated with difference in underlying attachment to Māori identity. The hypothesized relationship (H2) is that proximity to the Māori core is positively associated with Māori language ability and ethnic endogamy. The following analysis provides insights into whether this assumption is supported.

Te Reo Māori The Māori language has been, and continues to be, a flagship feature of Māori ethnic renewal. Language revitalization has been pursued through numerous education initiatives, from pre-school language nests and total immersion elementary schools, to tribal colleges and university courses. The visibility of the Māori language in mainstream broadcasting, as well as Māori-run media (e.g., Māori TV, tribal radio stations), has also increased tremendously.

Consequently, there are now far greater opportunities to acquire Māori language competency outside traditional institutions such as the family. However, despite the relative ease with which New Zealanders can access the Māori language, there are pronounced sub-group differences in Māori language ability, as Table 4.8 shows.

Table 4.8. Age standardized percentage of adults able to speak Māori,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 0.8 1.0 0.8 Periphery 3.4 4.1 3.9 Māori combined 17.4 16.1 15.1 Descent 28.9 27.0 24.5 MEG 33.4 32.4 29.8 Tribe 34.3 31.2 28.1 Māori alone 43.4 40.0 38.2 Core 46.0 42.3 40.0 Core – Periphery 42.6 38.2 36.1 non-Māori – MEG 32.6 31.4 29.0 Notes: a People aged at least 15 years with language recorded, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

The pattern is consistent with the hypothesis that the association between Māori identification and other ties to Māori identity becomes stronger as categories move closer to the core. In 2006, two fifths of Māori in the core category could speak conversational Māori, compared to just four percent in the periphery. The gap far exceeded that between the MEG and non- Māori. However, the relationship was not monotonic across the spectrum of categories. In all years there was a substantial difference in language capacity between the periphery and Māori combined categories, and little difference between those defined by descent, ethnicity and tribe. Surprisingly, given the increased access to Māori, the percentage of Māori speakers in all of the Māori categories declined over the period.39 Inspection of the age-specific rates showed the declines were at the older ages (55 and older). This suggests that, as older cohorts of language speakers decline through mortality, they are replaced by cohorts who were raised when Māori language was heavily stigmatized. Finally, despite the increasing availability of the Māori language and its status as an official language, it is still extremely rare for non-

39 In contrast to the census pattern, a national Māori language survey using different measures of speaking and listening proficiency showed an increase in the percentage of Māori language speakers between 2001 and 2006 (Te Puni Kōkiri 2008).

Māori to speak Māori. Though there may be a growing acceptance of the usage of Māori by Māori, for the non-Māori majority the appreciation is largely symbolic.

Ethnic Endogamy Using a core-periphery model, which categories are more likely to experience group closure? Or, conversely, which are less likely to have marriage rates that position them as social equals? To provide insights into this question, Tables 4.9a and 4.9b show rates of endogamous partnerships, by sex, for all categories.

Table 4.9a. Age standardized percentage of partnered adult men with a Māori partner,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 6.8 6.3 6.7 Periphery 11.8 10.2 11.4 Māori combined 35.3 34.3 34.8 Descent 47.3 45.3 44.1 MEG 53.6 54.9 53.2 Tribe 53.5 51.4 49.3 Māori alone 67.0 65.4 64.3 Core 68.8 66.4 65.4 Core – Periphery 57.0 56.2 54.0 non-Māori – MEG 46.8 38.6 46.5 Notes: a People aged at least 15 years in a cohabiting relationship with a person of the opposite sex with MEG recorded for both people, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

Table 4.9b. Age standardized percentage of partnered adult women with a Māori partner,a Māori sub-groups and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 5.9 5.7 5.9 Periphery 9.9 9.9 9.8 Māori combined 34.5 33.9 33.2 Descent 43.5 42.2 41.1 MEG 51.2 52.7 50.8 Tribe 49.7 47.9 45.6 Māori alone 64.4 64.9 64.8 Core 66.3 65.8 65.5 Core – Periphery 56.4 55.9 55.7 non-Māori – MEG 45.3 47.0 44.9 Notes: a People aged at least 15 years in a cohabiting relationship with a person of the opposite sex with ethnic group recorded for both people, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

Consistent with the preceding analysis, striking differences in endogamy rates are observed across the core-periphery. Men and women on the fringes of Māori identity were far less likely than other Māori to be in an endogamous relationship. Less than one in ten had a Māori identified partner. By contrast, seven out of ten people who identified as Māori by descent, tribe, and exclusive ethnicity, were in an endogamous relationship. The core-periphery difference again dwarfed those between the MEG and non-Māori. The relationship between endogamy and identification is likely to be, at least in part, bi-directional. Having a Māori identified spouse could increase the likelihood of Māori identification, as much as Māori identification might predispose individuals to form romantic relationships with other Māori. In all years it was still relatively uncommon for a non-Māori to be in a relationship with a Māori (just six percent in 2006). This in part reflects differences in the size of groups. The predominance of Europeans compared to Māori means there are simply more Europeans available to partner with. Using odds ratios to statistically control for the marginal distributions of all groups in the marriage market simultaneously would provide a more nuanced picture. Nevertheless, two categories comparable in size – core and Māori combined – had consistently divergent rates of endogamy.

4.9 Socio-economic Outcomes Education Over the last decade, Māori participation and attainment in tertiary education has increased significantly, but still lags behind the rest of the New Zealand population and international standards (Earle 2008). Given the vulnerability attendant with under-education, I focus on those lacking a formal qualification, with separate figures provided for men and women.

Table 4.10a. Age standardized percentage of adult males without a formal qualification,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 31.3 26.2 22.7 Periphery 39.8 37.1 31.9 Māori combined 41.2 36.9 33.2 Descent 51.0 48.1 42.9 MEG 52.7 50.9 43.4 Tribe 50.9 47.6 40.2 Māori alone 60.3 57.4 50.0 Core 58.8 55.3 47.9 Core – Periphery 19.0 18.2 16.0 non-Māori – MEG 21.4 24.7 20.7 Notes: a People aged at least 15 years with recorded education, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

Table 4.10b. Age standardized percentage of adult females without a formal qualification,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori Categories % % % non-Māori 32.9 24.2 22.5 Periphery 41.0 35.5 31.3 Māori combined 42.1 37.1 31.9 Descent 50.5 40.7 38.6 MEG 52.3 42.9 41.0 Tribe 50.1 44.3 38.1 Māori alone 59.5 50.5 47.4 Core 58.0 48.2 45.3 Core – Periphery 17.0 12.7 14.0 non-Māori – MEG 19.4 18.7 19.5 Notes:a People aged at least 15 years with recorded education, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

For all years substantial intra-Māori differences in educational attainment are evident. In 2006, almost half of the men identified exclusively as Māori had no formal qualification, compared to just one third of men who only identified as Māori by descent. Again, the middle categories based on ethnicity, descent, and tribe had very similar profiles. Though every Māori category experienced significant improvements over the period, they were not of a sufficient magnitude to close the gap with the non-Māori comparator. The persistent gap between the non-Māori and peripheral categories is both unexpected and concerning. It suggests Māori identification, no matter how marginal, is associated with an economic cost, though the descriptive nature of the analysis means the gap cannot be attributed directly to

95 ancestry. There may be factors related both to Māori ancestral identification and educational attainment that account for the association. By using a spectrum of Māori categories and time-series data, the potential for endogeneity is somewhat minimized. The patterns in both tables provide more support for the argument that increasing Māori identification is associated with lower educational attainment, than vice versa. For the latter to hold, there would have to be a persuasive argument for the decreasing effect of education on Māori identification.

Employment Is the core-peripheral pattern in educational attainment carried over into employment status? Tables 4.11a and 4.11b show employment rates, by sex, for all three census years. Over time, all Māori categories, especially the core and Māori alone, experienced significant gains in employment, effectively narrowing the gap with the non-Māori comparator. For men the core-periphery gap over the decade was halved from 10.7 percentage points to 5.6. For women, the gap narrowed but remained relatively high at nearly nine percentage points. In all years, the difference in employment rates between the peripheral and non-Māori categories was minimal. The relatively poor position of the core and even middling categories at the start of the decade reflects the uneven impacts of economic restructuring. As chapter three noted, Māori generally (as well as Pacific peoples) were disproportionately affected by the restructuring of the economy, because of their concentration in jobs and industries that bore the brunt of economic reforms. To illustrate, between 1985 and 1987 the percentage point difference between the MEG and non-Māori never exceeded five percentage points. Post- reforms the peak of disparity reached 14 percentage points in 1992 (Chapple and Rea 1998). The results in Table 4.11a and 4.11b suggest those with stronger ties to Māori identification were most affected. This, coupled with their lower educational profile, suggest men and women in the Māori core may continue to face greater exposure to external shocks such as economic restructuring in coming years. Unfortunately this study does not include data since the onset of the most recent recession.

Table 4.11a. Age standardized, percentage of males aged 15 – 64 years in paid work,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori categories % % % non-Māori 93.7 93.4 95.6 Periphery 92.4 92.5 95.4 Māori combined 89.6 89.5 93.5 Descent 86.3 87.1 92.2 MEG 85.2 85.7 91.3 Tribe 85.3 86.2 91.7 Māori alone 81.7 83.3 89.7 Core 81.7 83.3 89.8 Core – Periphery 12.7 9.2 5.6 non-Māori – MEG 8.5 6.7 4.3 Notes: a People with employment status recorded, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

Table 4.11b. Age standardized, percentage of females aged 15 – 64 years in paid work,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori categories % % % non-Māori 93.1 92.9 94.6 Periphery 91.5 91.4 94.1 Māori combined 88.0 87.4 91.1 Descent 84.9 85.0 89.5 MEG 83.5 83.2 88.1 Tribe 84.0 84.3 89.0 Māori alone 79.3 79.7 85.3 Core 79.4 80.1 85.5 Core – Periphery 12.1 11.3 9.6 non-Māori – MEG 9.6 9.7 6.5 Notes: a People with employment status recorded, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

Occupation Given the significant intra-Māori differences in educational attainment and employment status, we would expect a similar pattern to be observed for occupational distribution. This is confirmed in Tables 4.12a and 4.12b. For both men and women the core-periphery gap increased over time. By 2006, one quarter of employed men in the periphery category were employed in a managerial or professional job. For men in the Māori alone and core categories, the share was only about half. All categories showed an increase in the percentage employed in managerial and professional jobs but the gain was especially pronounced for women. This had the effect of increasing their favorable position, relative to men. The more rapid gains experienced by Māori women could be due to a number of factors including differences in

97 education, segregation into particular kinds of professional and managerial jobs in tight labor markets, and widening opportunities for women. The core-periphery gap was slightly smaller than that between Māori and non-Māori generally.

Table 4.12a. Age standardized percentage of employed males aged 15 – 64 years in managerial and professional occupations,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori categories % % % non-Māori 25.2 25.1 29.0 Periphery 19.2 21.6 24.3 Māori combined 18.0 19.7 20.8 Descent 14.1 16.2 17.7 MEG 13.2 14.5 15.7 Tribe 14.0 16.1 17.6 Māori alone 9.6 11.7 12.5 Core 10.0 12.5 13.2 Core – Periphery 9.2 9.1 11.1 non-Māori – MEG 13.0 10.6 13.3 Notes: a Employed men with recorded occupation, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

Table 4.12b. Age standardized percentage of employed females aged 15 – 64 years in managerial and professional occupations,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 1996, 2001, and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 1996 2001 2006 Māori categories % % % non-Māori 24.4 28.1 32.3 Periphery 20.3 23.1 28.2 Māori combined 21.5 24.3 28.5 Descent 19.4 21.6 25.9 MEG 19.2 21.1 25.0 Tribe 20.3 22.4 26.3 Māori alone 17.0 18.8 22.1 Core 17.9 19.9 23.1 Core – Periphery 2.4 3.4 5.1 non-Māori – MEG 5.2 7.0 7.3 Notes: a Employed women with recorded occupation, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z.

One of the disadvantages of looking only at the top tier jobs is that it misses variation across the broader occupational distribution (i.e., occupational segregation). In the tables below I look at the index of dissimilarity for men in the core and periphery categories at the beginning and end of the focal period. The index is interpreted as the percentage of one group that would

98 have to shift jobs in order to produce an even occupational distribution (for more details including how to compute the index, see Joy 2006). To avert some of the problems associated with different age structures, the analysis is limited to men aged 25 to 49 years. For comparative purposes, separate figures are provided for the non-Māori and MEG categories. In terms of the core-periphery relationship, the index remained constant over the decade. In both years, the index was .21, indicating that one fifth of men in both categories would have had to change jobs to achieve an equal occupational distribution across both categories. For Māori and non-Māori the results were far more striking. In both years, nearly half would have had to change jobs to make the structures more comparable. Māori were still disproportionately concentrated in occupations associated with low skills and earnings, and greater vulnerability.

Table 4.13a. Index of Dissimilarity for employed males aged 25 – 49 years, level one occupational categories, core and periphery Māori categories, 1996 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. Occupational Categories 1996 2006 Core Periphery Core Periphery Managers 1,317 1,482 2,547 2,793 Professionals 1,266 861 2,145 1,572 Technicians, Associate Professionals 1,617 1,209 2,472 1,716 Clerks 1,164 474 1,332 630 Service and sales workers 2,148 897 2,532 1,368 Agriculture and fishery workers 2,847 1,212 2,868 1,302 Trade workers 3,174 2,028 3,777 2,853 Plant and machine operators and assemblers 7,020 1,872 8,520 2,277 Laborers and related elementary service workers 3,504 822 3,954 1,044 Total workers 24,057 10,857 30,150 15,555 Index of Dissimilarity .21 .21 Notes: a Employed men with recorded occupation. Data are base 3 rounded and may not sum to 100 percent.

Table 4.13b. Index of Dissimilarity for employed males aged 25 – 49 years, level one occupational categories, MEG and non-Māori categories, 1996 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. Occupational Categories 1996 2006 MEG non-Māori MEG non-Māori

Managers 4,542 78,654 6,435 90,996 Professionals 3,360 55,869 5,019 72,213 Technicians, Associate Professionals 4,569 58,587 5,679 59,508 Clerks 2,703 21,282 2,742 20,394 Service and sales workers 4,884 34,317 5,343 39,357 Agriculture and fishery workers 6,165 48,759 5,544 38,184 Trade workers 8,265 79,170 8,985 78,213 Plant and machine operators and assemblers 13,668 55,038 15,054 53,445 Laborers and related elementary service workers 6,975 26,010 7,188 27,585 Total workers 55,131 457,686 61,989 479,895 Index of Dissimilarity .50 .49 Notes: a Employed men with recorded occupation. Data are base 3 rounded and may not sum to 100 percent.

Home ownership For reasons earlier noted, home ownership continues to be an important indicator of social and economic position in New Zealand. Table 4.14 shows the percentage living in an owned home in 2001 and 2006 (1996 data were unavailable). Two caveats should be noted. First, tenure is an attribute of the household rather than the individual, and the owner may well fall within a different ethnic category than some, or all, of the other residents.40 Nevertheless, many people living in owned homes have a familial or romantic relationship with the owner, thus the measure still serves as a useful indicator of proximity to homeowning status. Second, the majority of people not responding to the tenure question are likely to be renters, thus their exclusion from the computations may overestimate the proportion of owned homes (see Morrison 2005 for a detailed explanation). These caveats noted, the results confirm the general direction of the preceding analysis showing a less favored status moving from periphery to core. In 2006, 40 percent of the Māori alone and core categories lived in

40 Though the unit analysis in Table 4.13 is the individual rather than the household, comparisons with the latter show similar results. In 2001, 868,656 of 1,280,856 households (excluding 63,411 with no identifiable response) were owned, representing 67.8 percent of Total N.Z. households. In 2006 the figures were 743,952 and 1,363,839 respectively, or 54.5 percent, though the „not owned‟ category also included dwellings held by family trusts.

100 owned homes, compared to 55 percent in the periphery category. However, this difference was considerably smaller than in 2001, due to the much larger percentage point decline for the periphery (as well as non-Māori) categories. The decline is not surprising. The proportion of New Zealand households owning their own home has been declining since 1991, reflecting a trend that commenced for other OECD countries in the 1980s (Morrison 2005). Overseas studies have noted the importance of economic and demographic circumstances in accounting for declining home ownership, neither of which can be controlled for in this analysis.

Table 4.14. Age standardized percentage of adults living in a dwelling owned (freehold or mortgage) by the usual resident,a Māori categories and non-Māori, 2001 and 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. Māori Categories 2001 2006 non-Māori 71.0 56.6 Periphery 67.4 54.7 Māori combined 61.8 50.9 Descent 56.3 46.2 MEG 52.9 43.6 Tribe 55.3 45.6 Māori alone 48.3 39.0 Core 49.6 40.0 Core – Periphery 17.8 14.7 non-Māori – MEG 18.1 13.0 Notes: a People living in a dwelling where tenure recorded, age standardized to 2001 Total N.Z. Ethnic identification of usual resident may differ from other residents.

4.10 The Mediating Effect of Ethnic Context Most of the preceding analysis has provided support for hypotheses predicting, on the one hand, a positive association between Māori identification and ties to Māori identity; and, on the other, a negative association between Māori identification and socio-economic outcomes. How much of the foregoing patterns can be explained by spatial differences? Table 4.7 showed the core and Māori Alone categories had a much higher share of people residing in Territorial Authorities where Māori were over-represented. It may well be that the disadvantaged profile of those categories is due to residence in structurally disadvantaged and historically economically under-developed regions. Figures 4.1 to 4.3 show patterns of educational attainment, Māori language use, and ethnic endogamy in the most recent census, by residential proximity to other Māori. For clarity, only five categories are shown: core, MEG, Māori combined, periphery and the non-Māori comparator. In each of the three graphs, ethnic context mediated the relationship between Māori identification and education, but did

101 not account for it. Thus, a significantly higher percentage of core Māori men living in low Māori TAs had no form of educational qualification than periphery men living in high Māori TAs (40 and 36 percent respectively). Though not shown here, a comparable pattern held for Māori women. However, for all categories, the percentage with no formal qualification increased as the percentage of Māori in the TA increased. The gap between the core and periphery was lowest in areas with a high Māori concentration, and highest in areas where Māori were relatively few (12.1 and 16.2 percentage points respectively). Clearly the most disadvantaged Māori men were those who identified exclusively as Māori, and lived in economically under-developed areas where Māori were over-represented.

Figure 4.1. Percentage of adults with no formal qualification, a by percent of Māori in Territorial Authority,b Māori categories and non-Māori, 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10

0 Percent without a qualification a without Percent Low Medium High Total TA Percent Maori in TA

Core Ethnic group Ethnicity combined Periphery non-Maori

Notes: a People aged at least 15 years with recorded education; b Low TA = 0 to 9.9 percent; medium TA = 10.0 to 19.9 percent; high TA = 20 percent and more.

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Figure 4.2. Percentage of adults able to speak Māori,a by percent of Māori in Territorial Authority,b Māori categories and non-Māori, 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 100

20 Percent speaksMaori Percent 0 Low Medium High Total TA Percent Maori in TA

Core Ethnic group Ethnicity combined

Periphery non-Maori Notes: a People aged at least 15 years with recorded language; b Low TA = 0 to 9.9 percent; medium TA = 10.0 to 19.9 percent; high TA = 20 percent and more.

Figure 4.3. Percentage of partnered adult males with a Māori partner,a by percent of Māori in Territorial Authority,b Māori categories and non-Māori, 2006 Census of Population and Dwellings. 100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30

20 partner 10 0 Low Medium High Total TA

Percent Maori in TA Percent partnered males with a Maori a withmales partnered Percent Core Ethnic group Ethnicity combined Periphery non-Maori

Notes: a People aged at least 15 years in a cohabiting relationship with a person of the opposite sex with ethnic group recorded for both people; b Low TA = 0 to 9.9 percent; medium TA = 10.0 to 19.9 percent; high TA = 20 percent and more.

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Ethnic context is more important for the relationship between Māori identification and ethnic endogamy. This is unsurprising since exposure to meeting and partnering with another Māori is likely to be higher in areas where Māori are over-represented. For all men, the likelihood of being an endogamous relationship varied significantly by ethnic context. In low Māori TAs, the core-periphery gap for men in an endogamous relationship was large at 32 percentage points, but this nearly doubled to 60 percentage points in TAs where Māori were over- represented. Men who identified as both Māori and non-Māori and who lived in a high Māori TA were significantly more likely to have a Māori partner than core men living in a low Māori TA (48 and 38 percent respectively). Taken together the graphs illustrate the significant variation within the Māori population that is concealed by conventional analysis that only uses ethnic data to compare Māori with non-Māori.

4.11 Conclusion The analyses in this chapter was motivated by two goals. The first was to identify the potential connections between different expressions of Māori identification and ties to Māori identity. The second was to explore whether the sole versus mixed Māori approach to examining intra-Māori differences could be improved upon by using a core-periphery model that expanded the set of Maori identification sub-groups. Based on the literature, and the historical patterns outlined in chapter three, I expected that to find that those on the fringes of Māori identification had fewer ties to Māori identity and better SES outcomes, and that the profile would become inverted as the categories moved from periphery to core, though not necessarily in a monotonic fashion. The findings showed a clear relationship at the extremities. The Māori alone and core categories consistently had poorer outcomes across all indicators and all censuses, as well as a much higher percentage of Māori language speakers and people partnered with another Māori. In terms of demographic behavior, the core and Māori alone categories also had the lowest levels of legal marriage. The convergent outcomes for both categories were unsurprising, given the very high degree of overlap. As expected, Māori on the periphery of Māori identity, whose only tie to Māori identification was via ancestry, had characteristics more like those of the non-Māori comparator. The only exception was age, for which it more closely resembled other Māori categories. For most indicators the Māori combined category was more similar to the periphery than the core, but significantly different from both. In general the percentage

104 point gap between the core and periphery was as large as that between Māori (MEG) and non- Māori, though limiting the latter to European (rather than non-Māori) would have increased the inter-ethnic gap. Beyond the outer extremes, there was little evidence of a continuum. The middling categories (descent, tribe, MEG) formed a cluster, somewhat closer to the core than the periphery. The results suggest a sub-group approach to examining intra-Māori differentiation might be best described by a three-category model: Māori oriented, European oriented, and in- between. The specific combinations used to approximate these concepts could vary, depending on data availability, and be calibrated to meet requirements for multivariate analysis (e.g., mutual exclusivity).41 Regardless of how one chooses to make distinctions between Māori, the more important point to arise from the foregoing analyses is the socially and statistically significant association between Māori identification and outcomes. In short, those most closely identified as Māori were most disadvantaged; those on the fringes of Māori identification had a far more favorable profile. It is important to note, however, that even a loose link to Māori identification was associated with poorer outcomes. For all socio- economic indicators the outcomes of the periphery category were significantly below those of the non-Māori comparator. This was unexpected because the periphery category is fully subsumed within the non-Māori category – the only difference between them is Māori ancestry. Intra-Māori differentiation is indisputable, but it does not diminish the importance of persistent and systematic disparities between Māori and non-Māori New Zealanders. Though this analysis has been more expansive than most in terms of analyzing multiple sub-groups, the descriptive nature makes it impossible to discern the mechanisms that link diverse expressions of Māori identification and outcomes. For marriage, it may well be that ethnic differences are minimized or diminished once socio-economic status (e.g., educational attainment) is accounted for. Differences in socio-economic outcomes might be explained or mediated by a number of factors associated with both Māori identification and the outcome. For example, the association between Māori identification and occupation might be partially explained by differences in educational attainment. However, one would need to explain why people most strongly identified as Māori had poorer educational outcomes than those with a loose affiliation, or why the same amount of education translated into lower-status jobs. Given

41 Using ethnicity and ancestry indicators readily available in the census an example of a three category model might be: Māori by ancestry only; Māori by ancestry and exclusive ethnicity; all other Māori ancestry and ethnicity combinations.

105 the strong association between identification and ties to Māori identity, it may be that the latter is inconsequential for outcomes when ties to Māori identity are accounted for. The stability of identification choices might also matter. The boundary between the periphery and non-Māori categories, for example, are likely to be very porous compared to those between non-Māori and the core. One of the main criticisms of inferring individual ethnicity from responses observed at a single time point is that it is decontextualized from an individual‟s life history. In the next chapter I use longitudinal survey data to capture a slice of individual histories in order to better illuminate the ethnicity-related processes underlying intra- Māori segmentation.

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CHAPTER FIVE

INTRA-MĀORI SEGMENTATION: A MICRO-LEVEL ANALYSIS

5.1 Introduction The analysis undertaken in the previous chapter provided persuasive evidence of ethnic and socio-economic differentiation within the Māori population. Men and women who identified exclusively as Māori by ethnicity were much more likely to have stronger ties to Māori identity, and to have a more disadvantaged socio-economic profile. Conversely, those whose only tie to Māori identity was through ancestry had characteristics more like those of non- Māori. These findings were systematic across all three censuses, adjusting for differences in age structure and ethnic context. By using multiple indicators of identification, and analyzing differences across multiple censuses, the analysis provided a useful addition to the small, but growing, literature on intra-Māori inequality. However, its descriptive nature precluded meaningful insights into why such a pattern exists. Pairwise analysis is useful for mapping differences between groups of interest, but lacks explanatory power. The relationships observed in chapter four may well be explained by factors correlated with both ethnic identification and socio-economic outcomes. In this chapter I use multivariate analysis of micro-level longitudinal data to analyze how individuals of Māori descent differ with regards to ethnic identification and ties to Māori identity and how these differences are, in turn, linked to socio-economic outcomes. It is motivated by several questions. Is self-identification as a Māori associated with socio- economic outcomes, independent of ties to Māori identity? Are people who consistently identify as Māori more disadvantaged than those with a more fluid connection? Which ties to Māori identity are more likely to be implicated in socio-economic disadvantage, and which ones might be beneficial? In the next section I outline the data and methods used, including issues relating to sample attrition and missing data. The empirical analysis has three components. The first presents descriptive findings for each wave; the second involves cross- sectional multivariate analysis for each wave; and the third incorporates information about changing self-identification across waves. I conclude with a discussion about what the findings mean for existing thinking about Māori socio-economic disadvantage and, in

107 particular, the interpretation of Māori ethnicity as an independent variable in empirical research.

5.2. Te Hoe Nuku Roa Survey The data used in this chapter are from the first three waves of the longitudinal study of Māori households, Te Hoe Nuku Roa (THNR), covering the period 1995 to 2002. The study was undertaken by the Māori Studies Department at Massey University, and developed in conjunction with Statistics New Zealand (for more detailed reports about Te Hoe Nuku Roa see Durie 1995; Durie et al. 1996; Fitzgerald et al. 1996). Data were collected over a wide range of domains including lifestyle, cultural identity, Māori language, health, education, employment, income, housing, and household. Due to time and resource constraints, the scope was limited to four of the country‟s 14 Regional Council areas: Auckland, Gisborne, Manawatu, and Wellington. All of these regions are in the country‟s North Island, where the vast majority of Māori live (nine out of 10 ethnic Māori in the 2006 census). The baseline cohort comprised 461 households and 950 individuals, of whom 880 were aged at least 15 years.

Sampling Strategy A two-stage stratified design was used to select the sample, based on information from past censuses, the Household Labour Force Surveys, and Household Economic Surveys. The first stage involved the selection of Primary Sampling Units (PSU) from regional strata. Most PSUs contain between 50 and 100 dwellings and are grouped into strata on the basis of similar characteristics including Māori proportion, socio-economic indicators (e.g., level of education), and urban/rural status. Strata containing PSUs with higher Māori population densities were over-sampled. The second stage involved the selection of households within the selected PSUs. Each PSU was surveyed three times or until each household had been contacted and an interview arranged. Households were eligible for inclusion if they contained at least one permanent householder of Māori ancestry (the filter question asked: Are you of Māori ancestry?) Once all eligible households were identified, a random selection was made to meet set totals consistent with population stratum proportions. In PSUs with less than 12 eligible households, all were included. Trained interviewers administered questionnaires to all eligible and consenting adults and children (younger than 15 years old) in the selected households. In the latter case, the form contained a limited range of questions and was

108 completed by a parent or caregiver. I limited my sample to working age adults aged between 18 and 64 years. In the first wave this included 782 adults. The duration and timing of the data collection varied by region and by wave. The first wave covered from July 1994 to April 1998 (3.8 years); the second from January 1998 to December 2000 (3.0 years); and the third as from May 2000 to May 2002 (2.1 years). Variation in the time taken to complete each wave reflected the larger number of participants in the baseline survey, and greater efficiencies over time in terms of interviewer administration and questionnaire design. Inter-regional variation in the duration of each wave also narrowed with each consecutive wave.

Sample Representativeness Though THNR is not a nationally representative survey it is useful to assess how closely it reflects the characteristics of Māori nationally. Table 5.1 compares the distribution of key variables from wave 1 of THNR with the Māori Ethnic Group in the 1996 Census of Population and Dwellings. Compared to the census, the THNR sample had an over- representation of Auckland residents, couple with children households, and people who were tribally identified. Conversely, men and young adults under the age of 45 were under- represented.

Table 5.1. Comparison of key indicators from wave 1 of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households (1994-1998), and the Māori Ethnic Group in the 1996 Census of Population and Dwellings, adults only. THNR Wave 1 1996 Census N = 880 a N = 326,970 Male *** 33.8 48.2 Functional age (years) 15 – 29 *** 35.6 43.5 30 – 44 *** 41.4 32.6 45 – 64 19.9 19.1 65+ * 3.1 4.8 Regional Council Auckland *** 50.5 26.8 Gisborne 17.1 13.1 Manawatu b*** 21.5 26.4 Wellington *** 21.0 33.9 Main urban area c 63.2 62.7 No educational qualification d 56.0 47.1

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Table 5.1 - continued. THNR Wave 1 1996 Census N = 880 a N = 326,970 Specified an iwi (tribe) e *** 88.0 73.5 Able to speak Māori language 23.8 23.8 Paid employment 55.5 53.9 Household type Single person * 5.0 3.6 Sole parent ** 22.3 17.5 Couple, no children 6.8 7.1 Couple, at least one child *** 54.0 40.5 Other *** 11.8 31.3 % of homes owned (freehold or mortgage) f 35.6 37.6 Notes: Two proportion z-test. *** p<.001 ** p<.01 * p<.05. a Valid n for each variable varies due to missing data; b Manawatu-Wanganui Regional Council; c Areas with at least 30,000 residents; d The first wave of THNR did not elicit data on tertiary qualifications. Some of those without a high school qualification would have had a tertiary qualification; e THNR asked respondent to supply the name of the iwi; the census supplies a list of tribes in the help notes; f THNR referred to the principal householder whereas the Census referred to usual resident.

Survey Design and Weights For all of the analysis undertaken in this chapter I used the survey (syvset) commands in Stata 9. Failure to adjust for the survey design could minimize the standard errors of the point estimates, and increase the risk of a Type I error. The svyset commands use Taylor series linearization estimators to achieve unbiased variances. This is analogous to the use of robust standard errors in a non-survey setting, except that observations with zero weights are retained. The syvset commands require at least two units within each strata, however complex patterns of missing data produced a number of singleton households (within PSUs) and singleton PSUs (within strata). I dealt with this by reallocating all singleton PSU to a new strata and re-specifying the models consistent with Rafferty (n.d.).42 Rather than replicate this procedure for singleton households, I set the commands to control only for the first stage of the survey design. In general, controlling for specific clustering after the first stage is unnecessary because the variance between the PSUs already accounts for later stages of clustering (Rafferty n.d.). The over-sampling of PSUs with higher Māori densities also means

42 Alternatives included treating the affected cases as missing or specifying the singleton strata as „certainty units‟, which would be centered and/or scaled. The first option would decrease an already small sample; the second option was not available in Stata 9. Reallocation affected 13 out of 36 strata in wave 1 and 10 out of 22 strata in waves 2 and 3.

110 the correlations were likely to be higher among PSUs than among households. The data came with a series of weights to control for the unequal probability of selection at various stages. I used the pweight command in conjunction with weights (labeled „raw weight‟) to re-weight the sample to reflect the unequal probabilties of household selection with each PSU. The unweighted sample N is reported for each anlayses.

Sample attrition Sample attrition from participant refusal, geographic mobility, and mortality is an unavoidable feature of longitudinal data collection (de Graaf et al. 2000; Miller and Wright 1995). As Table 5.2a shows, THNR has suffered a high rate of attrition over the three waves. By the second wave, nearly 40 percent of participants had been lost; and an additional fifth were lost between waves 2 and 3. This left 40 percent of the original cohort in wave 3.43 However these losses were partially offset by the recruitment of new household members in waves 2 and 3, (including adolescents in wave 1 who subsequently turned 15), and the re- entry of some baseline members in wave 3. The patterns of attrition, recruitment, and re-entry are shown in Table 5.2b.

Table 5.2a. Attrition of adults in the second and third waves of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2002. N % Baseline cohort 880 100.0 Attrition in wave 2 348 39.5 Attrition in wave 3 193 20.8 Baseline cohort in wave 3 349 39.7

43 There is no definitive rule for what is considered an unacceptable rate of attrition, as much depends on the nature of the target population and the available resources for follow-up procedures to maintain a high retention rate. Attrition rates in one of New Zealand‟s longest running longitudinal studies, the Christchurch Health and Development Study, have been very low. Of the original 1977 birth cohort of 1,265 babies, just over 1,000 (79 percent) remained in the study at age 25 (Fergusson, Horwood, and Ridder 2005). Attrition rates are often lower in surveys involving minority ethnic and/or youthful populations, both of which have a high degree of geographic mobility.

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Table 5.2b. Attrition and Recruitment in the first three waves of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2002. Wave 1 Wave 2 Wave 3 Baseline cohort 880 532 349 Wave 2 recruits 73 50 Baseline found in Wave 3 68 Wave 3 recruits 152 880 605 619

Sample attrition is problematic. In small surveys like THNR, loss of participants and a diminished sample size reduces statistical power. More importantly, attrition may result in sample selection bias through association with demographic variables or, more seriously, variables of interest (e.g, the dependent variable, see de Graaf et al. 2000). To evaluate the potential effects of selection bias, I performed separate binary logistic regressions predicting, respectively, participation in wave 2 (0=no, 1=yes), and participation in wave 3 (0=no, 1=yes). The first regression included the baseline cohort; the second was limited to those still present in wave 2. The odds of participating in wave 2 were lower for those living in the Auckland and Wellington regions, men, those younger than 30 years, and those living in households that did not involve a couple with at least one child. The odds of participating in wave 2 were increased by home ownership and paid employment (For information on the base categories and detailed results, see Table A1 and A2 in the appendices). The only significant predictors of participation in wave 3 were home ownership (positive) and being male (negative). Variables measuring preferred identity and ethnic ties were insignificant in both cases. Additional bivariate analysis of original cohort members present in all three waves (“always in”) and those absent in at least one wave (“ever out”) showed similar results. The former category comprised a higher percentage of women, homeowners, couple with children households, and rural households. Unsurprisingly, the median age for those remaining in all three waves was also significantly older (38 versus 33 years). Results can be viewed in Table A3 in the appendices. The implication of selectivity for the validation of the findings is discussed throughout the results sections.

Missing data In addition to sample attrition, missing data is also a common problem in longitudinal data. Data that are missing completely at random (MCAR), or missing at random (MAR), are ignorable and missingness does not have to be modeled in the analysis. Data are considered

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MCAR if the pattern of missing data is uncorrelated with any of the variables used in the analysis (e.g., failure to report income is unrelated to income level, or to education, age, gender etc.). Data are MAR if missing data on variable X are unrelated to the value of X (Allison 2001; Little and Rubin 1987). By far the most common approach to handling missing data is listwise deletion, which drops all cases in which any single value is missing for any of the variables used in the analysis. Listwise deletion is simple to achieve and yields unbiased results if the data are missing completely at random (Allison 2001). However, depending on the reduction in sample size, it can also yield result in an efficiency loss (i.e., wider confidence intervals) and reduced statistical power. Pairwise deletion retains more cases than the listwise method by using all possible pairs of data points, but can lead to statistical impossibilities (i.e., correlations beyond 0-1), and different sample sizes for each correlation. For these reasons it has been widely discredited (see, Schafer and Graham 2002). The second method is single imputation, which replaces each missing value with a single missing value. Common methods of single imputation include mean substitution and hot deck imputation. Like pairwise deletion, both have been extensively criticized (Schafer and Graham 2002). The final method is multiple imputation which is a multi-step process that uses a set of variables to estimate a series of probable values for missing data points, and then combines the estimates to take account of the variation. This is regarded as a preferred treatment for handling missing data, though there is the potential for the imputed values to distort coefficients in multivariate analysis. After examining patterns of missing data,44 I used listwise deletion resulting in a loss of between 11 and 16 percent of the total number of cases, depending on the wave and model. As a general rule, listwise deletion should not be performed with variables with more than five percent missing data. With the exception of one variable used in wave one, all variables had missing data below that threshold. Further detail about the missing data for variables used in the analyses is shown in Table A4.

44 I created a single missing flag for all missing values and examined its association with all the variables used in the analysis. In wave 1, urban-dwellers and non-homeowners were more likely to have at least one missing data point. In wave 2, it was urban-dwellers and those lacking a secondary school qualification. In wave 3, data was more likely to be missing for people whose networks were not predominantly Maori. All associations were at p <.05.

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5.3 Methods The literature offers several potential approaches for analyzing ethnic identity. One is to treat ethnicity as a latent structure, or set of structures, using some form of latent class analysis. Latent class analysis is a statistical method that uses individuals‟ responses to a set of survey items to group them into substantively meaningful groups or classes. The items are considered manifest indicators of the latent characteristic (i.e., ethnic identity). The objective is derive a parsimonious set of classes, each containing individuals who have similar conditional probabilities of giving the same pattern of responses to the selected items (Hagenaars and Halman 1989). A related approach involves the creation of an ethnicity index using factor or principal components analysis for interval level data, or some form of item response theory for ordinal or categorical data (e.g., Mokken scaling). Various indexes of Māori identity have been developed over the years, but most have relied on theoretical criteria rather than statistical procedures (Metge 1964; Ritchie 1963). Using THNR data Massey University researchers have developed and promoted the use of a cultural identity index (see Durie et al. 1996). However it has not yet been empirically validated and exploratory analysis undertaken at an early stage of this study suggests the measure is unlikely to be validated without substantial revision.45 A third approach, and the one employed in this study, is to use manifest ethnic identity indicators in a multivariate model. The benefit is simplicity, and the ability to examine different features of ethnic identity independently, rather than as part of a composite index. The potential shortcoming is correlations between the ethnicity variables. Undiagnosed multicollinearity is problematic because it can obscure or distort the true nature of the underlying relationships between the predictor variables and the outcome. Methods to deal with multicollinearity often require dropping variables or running separate regressions, which reduce the explanatory power of the models (Reitz and Sklar 1997). For each wave, I performed multicollinearity tests between all of the ethnicity variables.46 None of the tests identified a problem with multicollinearity thus, where the sample size permitted, all of the selected ethnicity variables were analyzed in concert.

45 At a preliminary stage of the analysis I attempted to create the THNR cultural identity index using categorical principal components analysis (CATPCA) in SPSS. I found the specified items did not load onto a statistically robust index.

46 For each wave I regressed each of the ethnicity indicators on the remaining indicators and computed tolerance and the Variation Inflation Factor (VIF) using the formulas 1-R2 and 1/tolerance respectively. Uncorrelated variables should yield a tolerance level lower than 0.1 and a VIF below 10. None of the models yield a VIF higher than 1.8.

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The analyses were undertaken using the survey functions in Stata 9. For the descriptive analysis I divided participants into three ethnic identification groups (described in section 5.6) and employed two-way contingency tables to examine differences in demographic background, ethnic identity variables, and socio-economic status. Tests of independence used the Pearson chi-squared statistic (Agresti 1996). The Finite Population Correction Factor (FPC) was specified to achieve the correct proportions. For higher-level analysis, I estimated a set of binomial logit regressions predicting, respectively, education status, employment status, and home ownership status (described in section 5.6 below). Logit regression uses maximum likelihood estimation to calculate changes in the log odds of a given outcome occurring. It has less stringent requirements than Ordinary Least Squares regression, because it makes no assumptions about the distribution of the independent variables in terms of normality, linearity, and homoscedasticity. The unstandardized logit coefficients can be exponentiated to odds ratios, with values greater than 1 indicating increased odds of the outcome occuring. Odds ratios are easier to interpret than log odds, but tend to overstate the magnitude of positive effects relative to negative ones. This is because the transformation changes the scale so that negative values are constrained to between 0 and 1, but positive values can vary from 1 to infinity. I report the unstandardized coefficients and, where appropriate, refer to odds ratios for ease of interpretation. For each wave, the outcome was modeled as a linear function of a set of variables representing individuals‟ preferred ethnic label, ties to ethnic identity, and demographic controls. Identical regressions were performed for each of the three waves to assess if the relationships were systematic across waves. The basic model can be expressed as:

Log [pi/(1 - pi)] = β 0 + β 1 EthLi + β 2 EthIdi + β 3 Demi + εi where Y is the log odds of the dependent variable (education, employment, and home ownership status respectively), β0 is the intercept, β1 to β3 are the unstandardized logit coefficients representing, respectively, preferred ethnic label, ethnic identity, and demographic controls, and ε is an error term. In addition to the cross-sectional analysis, I also undertook a series of regressions that accounted for changing patterns of ethnic identification across waves. The equation takes the same form as the one above, except that Y represents the log odds of the outcome at wave n + 1 and X1 represents the change (or continuity) in preferred ethnic label between wave n and

115 wave n + 1. Given the relatively small number of adults present in all three waves (n=349), I restricted the inter-wave analysis to individuals who participated, respectively, in waves 1 and 2, and in waves 2 and 3. For the latter waves, recruits were combined with surviving baseline cohort members. A number of statistical tests were used throughout the analysis. For individual coefficients I used adjusted wald tests to identify which variables had the greatest explanatory power in any given model. The suest command was used to test whether the coefficients for a specific variable were significantly different across nested models predicting the same outcome. Model goodness of fit was tested using the F-adjusted mean residual test proposed by Archer and Lemeshow (2006). An insignificant result indicated goodness of fit; a significant result indicated a misspecified model. The linktest command was also used, which rebuilt the model using the linear predicted value (hat) and linear predicted value squared (hatsq) as predictors. A significant result for the latter indicated a misspecified model, either through the omission of a relevant variable (including interactions) or an incorrectly specified link function.

5.4 Variables A description of the variables used in the analyses, and their coding schemas, is undertaken below. The exact wording of the question and response categories, along with the percentage of missing values, are set out in appendices, Table A4.

Dependent SES Variables To capture economic outcomes I used measures of educational attainment, employment status, and home ownership. Education is measured by a dummy variable denoting whether the respondent had a high school qualification (1=yes, 0=no). As chapter four showed, a high proportion of Māori still lack even a basic high school qualification, thus it remains a sensitive measure of socio-economic status. Data were collected on tertiary qualifications taking at least three months to complete, but no distinctions were made between non-degree, degree, and post-graduate qualifications. This is problematic because studies have shown that Māori who engage in tertiary study are over-represented in non-degree courses, especially in certificates that are comparable to high school qualifications. In wave 2 of THNR, more than one third of the adults who held a tertiary qualification lacked a basic high school credential. Patterns could not be examined in wave 1 because tertiary education data were missing for more than

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20 percent of adults. Given these complexities, limiting the analysis to a binary high school variable is likely to yield more robust results. Work status was measured by a binary variable that was coded 1 for employed, and 0 otherwise. In waves 2 and 3, a distinction was made between part-time and full-time employment. To utilize this information I also constructed a three-category variable coded 0 for not employed, 1 for part-time employed, and 2 for full-time employed. Rather than exclude the small number of students and retirees from the sample, I coded them as 0. In any given model, their number did not exceed 20. Finally, I included an indicator for homeownership, coded 1 if the respondent owned a home, either freehold or with a mortgage, and 0 otherwise. Though information on personal and household income was collected in all three waves, the level of missing data was too high for it to be reliable (for personal income, this ranged from 30 to 61 percent). Occupation data were collected in all three waves but could not be utilized as the write-in responses had not been coded at the time of undertaking this study.

Independent Ethnicity Variables Preferred Ethnic Label: This variable is derived from a question asking participants about the identity that best described them (see Table A4 for exact wording). It followed immediately after a simple yes/no question asking if they identified as Māori. Compared to the standardized ethnic categories used in the census, the seven options in THNR offered a more nuanced set of identity labels. They were: a Kiwi, a New Zealander, Māori/Pākehā, part Māori, a Polynesian, a Māori, and Other. After examining the response distributions, I collapsed the responses into a polytomous variable measuring three distinct forms of ethnic labeling: Māori alone (1), New Zealander/Kiwi (2), and Māori/Other (3). The first category is analogous to the Māori alone or sole Māori categories in official data. The hybrid Māori/Other category was primarily comprised of part Māori and Māori/Pakeha responses. Because write- in responses for the small number of Other responses were not included with the public dataset, it is possible that some participants included in the Māori/Other category wrote in a European or Pākehā response.47 In lieu of an explicit European option in the THNR survey, New Zealander identification is the closest alternative to European identity. For the cross-

47 Of the participants included in my wave 1 sample (i.e., for whom data was not missing), only 20 percent of those classified as Maori/Other (32/148) had checked the Other tick-box. For wave 2 and wave 3 it was 14 and 19 percent respectively.

117 wave analysis I constructed a separate polytomous variable to capture variation in identification patterns across waves. For theoretical reasons the Māori alone category served as the reference point. The categories were coded Always Māori alone (1), Sometimes Māori alone (2), and Never Māori alone (3). Ties to Māori Ethnic Identity. According to Broughton, Māori cultural identity has three central components: whānau (family), whenua (land), and reo (language). THNR collected data on a vast array of Māori identity indicators, including across the foregoing dimensions (for a full description, see Te Hoe Nuku Roa Research Team 1999). Consistent with the framework presented in chapter two (Figure 2.1), I selected a set of indicators to represent symbolic, costly, and beneficial ties to Māori identity. Symbolic ties are likely to be influential in terms of how people identify themselves, but are unlikely to incur direct social or economic costs. I included three indicators of symbolic ties representing sub-tribal affiliation, knowledge of Māori genealogy, and connectedness to ancestral land. The first is a binary variable coded 1 if the respondent provided the name of at least one sub-tribal affiliation and 0 otherwise. Though tribal identification has become the norm among people of Māori descent, more detailed knowledge about sub-tribal affiliation is less common. Traditionally, such knowledge was acquired through intergenerational exchange, but can also be acquired through seeking out local elders or researching archival records. Ancestral knowledge is a binary variable coded 1 if the participant reported knowing at least three generations of their Māori ancestry (i.e., up to great-grandparent), and 0 otherwise. Knowledge about one‟s own genealogy or whakapapa continues to be seen as a central part of Māori identity (Brougton 1993; Karetu 1990). To register with a tribe, individuals typically have to specify their sub-tribal affiliation as well as several generations of genealogy (Walling, Small-Rodriguez, and Kukutai 2009). Such knowledge is typically learned within the family but can also be gained through other channels such as local elders or genealogical information contained in the records of the Māori Land Court. THNR respondents checked a tick-box to indicate how many generations of family genealogy they knew, but did not have to provide write-in answers. The third measure of a symbolic Māori tie is whether the participant had a financial interest in Māori owned land (0=no; 1=yes). Land designated as Māori land under Te Ture Whenua Māori Act 1993 is communally owned by people descended from a common ancestor, and legally distinct from general (non-Māori) land. Some Māori land yields significant dividends for beneficiaries, but for most, having a Māori land interest is a purely

118 symbolic tie to people and place. Because there are many unclaimed Māori land interests (i.e., people do not succeed to their titles, see Māori Land Court 2009), there is a significant disconnect between those who could legitimately claim an interest in ancestral land, and those who do so. In contrast to symbolic ties, I include two kinds of ties to Māori identity that I theorize are likely to incur social and economic costs. The first is a binary variable for whether the participant grew up in a household where the adults spoke Māori between themselves (0=no; 1=yes). There are several reasons for why growing up in a Māori-speaking household might be negatively associated with outcomes. Many THNR participants grew up in an era when Māori identity, culture and language were greatly stigmatized. In a social system oriented exclusively towards European norms, being raised in a Māori-speaking household would have served as a potential barrier to upward mobility. Living with Māori-speaking adults might also be seen as a proxy for growing up in a rural, poor Māori community (Te Puni Kokiri 2008a, p. 4), and/or having two Māori parents. Overseas studies have shown that family resources are likely to be significantly tighter when both parents, rather than just one, are ethnic or racial minorities (Campbell 2009). Regardless of parents, the main point is that being raised in a Māori oriented household would have meant increased exposure to financial hardship, intergenerational disadvantage, and social stigmatization based on perceived ethnic/racial differences. The second measure of a costly Māori tie relates to patterns of social interaction, specifically whether participants had networks that were mainly Māori. Patterns of association reflect opportunities as well as preferences. In general, having networks composed of co- ethnics is disadvantageous for minorities because it signals distance from the mainstream and the attendant advantages. Networks also reflect the effects of structural location. In the case of Māori, those with lower SES may be more likely to have mainly Māori contacts because they have fewer opportunities to cultivate contacts with people other than Māori. To capture Māori networks I use a dummy variable coded 1 if the respondent‟s contacts were mainly Māori and 0 otherwise. In waves 1 and 3, respondents were asked their contacts in five contexts; work, sport, church, home, and school. In wave 2 they were only asked about their contacts generally. I coded a respondent as 1 if he/she selected „mainly Māori‟ for any of the five network types listed in waves 1 and 3, and if he/she had mainly Māori contacts in general in wave 2.

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Finally, I included two measures of instrumental ties to Māori identity. The first is a dummy for self-rated Māori language ability. I coded it 1 for respondents who self-reported their overall Māori language ability as good, very good, or excellent, and 0 otherwise. As noted, Māori language ability was historically cultivated through familial and community ties, and closely coupled with a disadvantaged family background. Now widely accessible through higher education institutions, Māori language has taken on a diffuse set of meanings. For an increasing number of people, Māori language ability reflects engagement with higher educations. In some niche jobs in the public service, universities, or tribes, Māori language ability is regarded as a valuable skill. Unlike immigrants who might only speak their mother tongue, speaking Māori does not indicate a lack of English proficiency. Historical assimilation policies means all Māori speak English, though some do so with what might be popularly recognized as a “Māori accent” (Holmes, Murachver, and Bayard 2001). The second measure is a dummy for enrollment on the Māori electoral roll (see chapter three for a description of the Māori electoral seats). Voter registration is compulsory in New Zealand, and it is estimated that about 90 percent of Māori of voting age (18 or older) are enrolled (Banducci, Donovan, and Karp 2004, p.536). Like other ethnic minorities, Māori have lower levels of engagement than the white majority with mainstream political institutions, reflected in a lower voter turnout (Chief Electoral Office 2005). Engagement with Māori political activity is likely to reflect a sense of political efficaciousness that might also be reflected in other spheres. Since 1993, the number of Māori choosing the Māori over the General roll has increased steadily, influenced by the potential for an expanded number of Māori seats under the Mixed Member Proportional system (the first MMP election was in 1996, see Banducci, Donovan, and Karp 2004). I coded those enrolled on the Māori electoral roll as 1 and 0 otherwise.48

Control variables One of the key objections to the positioning of Māori ethnicity as a determinant of socio-economic disadvantage is that the effects of ethnicity are often weakened or rendered insignificant once demographic and social class variables are controlled for. To minimize the risk of drawing spurious associations between ethnicity and socio-economic outcomes in

48 Of the 656 people included in my wave 1 sample, 146 had missing values for the electoral variable, though all were eligible to vote. In wave 2, only 16 of the 452 people included in the sample were either not enrolled or considered themselves ineligible to vote (perhaps because they were not New Zealand citizens), and were coded as 0. In wave 3, 13 of the 422 people were neither on the general nor Maori roll and were coded as 0.

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THNR, I included demographic controls in all of the analyses. A binary gender variable is coded 1 for male and 0 for female. Age is measured by a continuous variable measuring age in years. Diagnostics showed it to be right skewed and non-normal, even after a range of transformations. I retained the untransformed variable and also constructed an alternative categorical age variable coded 1 for those aged 30 years or younger; 2 for those aged between 30 and 45 years; and 3 for those aged 46 years to 64 years. To control for household type I used a dummy variable coded 1 if the primary householder was part of couple with at least one child. All other responses were coded 0. Finally, I included a binary variable coded 1 if the respondent lived in a main urban area (consisting of at least 30,000 people) and 0 otherwise.

5.5 Hypotheses Preferred Ethnic Label and Ties To Māori Identity The first hypothesis addresses the relationship between ethnic self-identification and ties to Māori identity. Though all THNR participants identified as Māori on the basis of descent, there was substantial diversity in the ethnic labels they chose to describe themselves. I hypothesize that individuals who identified first and foremost as Māori were more likely to have stronger ties to Māori identity than those choosing some other label. Thus,

H5: Individuals who select Māori as their preferred ethnic label will also have stronger ties to Māori identity than those choosing some other label.

Preferred Ethnic Label, Ties To Māori Identity, and Socio-Economic Outcomes The second set of hypotheses address the relationship between ethnic identification, ethnic identity, and socio-economic outcomes. I hypothesize that ethnic identification is likely to be of little consequence for socio-economic outcomes once ties to ethnic identity are accounted for. I also hypothesize that symbolic ties will be of no consequence; costly ties will be negatively associated with outcomes, and instrumental ties will be positively associated with SES.

H6: The preferred ethnic label that an individual chooses to identify himself/herself will be insignificant for socio-economic status, once ties to Māori identity are accounted for.

H7: Ceteris paribus, knowledge about one‟s sub-tribe, family ancestry, and ancestral land will be insignificant for socio-economic status.

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H8: Ceteris paribus, being raised in a Māori speaking household and having mainly Māori networks will be negatively associated with socio-economic status.

H9: Ceteris paribus, Māori language ability and enrollment on the Māori electoral roll will be positively associated with socio-economic status.

Stability Of Preferred Ethnic Label and Socio-Economic Outcomes The final hypothesis addresses the stability of ethnic identification and socio-economic outcomes. In contrast to H6, I hypothesize that an individual who consistently chooses Māori as their preferred ethnic identity label is likely to have poorer outcomes, all else being equal. There are several reasons for why this might be the case. For people of Māori ancestry in marginal socio-economic circumstances, self-identification as a Māori might appear to be the only viable option, either because this is the identity ascribed to them by others, or because Māori is the ethnicity that New Zealanders have long associated with disadvantage. On the other hand, people who only see themselves as Māori may have attributes that, for whatever reason, count against them in the stratification system. In a society that rewards conformance to the “mainstream”, the inability or disinclination to choose any other label but Māori is likely to be a disadvantage. This gives rise to two alternative hypotheses with subtle differences – one predicts a negative effect of self-identifying as Māori alone; the other predicts a positive effect of not identifying as Māori alone.

H10a: Consistent identification as Māori alone will be negatively associated with socio- economic status, all else being equal.

H10b: Consistent identification with a label other than Māori alone will be positively associated with socio-economic status, all else being equal.

5.6 Bivariate Analysis by Preferred Ethnic Label I begin the analyses by examining the bivariate associations between the preferred ethnic labels that THNR participants chose to describe themselves, and their demographic, ethnic identity, and socio-economic characteristics. Results for each wave are shown in Table 5.3a – 5.3c below. Despite the changing composition of the survey population, the patterns were consistent across waves. In terms of the relative size of the categories, those choosing Māori as their preferred identity comprised between 51 and 57 percent of the survey population. This closely reflected the proportion of the Māori Ethnic Group that identified exclusively as Māori in three censuses between 1996 and 2006 (between 52 and 56 per cent, see Table 4.3).

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Of the remaining THNR participants, a slightly higher share identified as New Zealander or Kiwi, than as “part Māori” or a related label.

Differences In Ties To Māori Identity The results strongly support the hypothesis (H5) that people choosing Māori as their preferred identity label have stronger ties to Māori identity than those choosing some other label. In wave 1, there were substantial differences between the identification categories for nearly all of the Māori identity markers. Participants who selected Māori as their preferred identity were much more likely to have knowledge about their sub-tribal affiliation, to have a financial interest in Māori land, be involved in Māori networks, have a high degree of Māori language competence, be enrolled on the Māori electoral roll, and to have been raised in a Māori speaking household. For some components of Māori identity (e.g.,to ancestral land), those choosing New Zealander or a combined Māori label had a similar level of connectedness. For other ties such as Māori language and networks, participants who described themselves as New Zealanders were far less likely to have a meaningful connection. In waves 2 and 3, the association between preferred identity label and ties to Māori identity was still significant, but attenuated. This was due to a combination of factors that included the changing composition of the survey population through attrition and recruitment, changes in individual characteristics across waves, and inconsistent reporting. In terms of the latter, we would expect participants to become more rather than less knowledgeable about their Māori background. Unsurprisingly, in wave 2, a significantly higher percentage of people reported knowing their sub-tribe than in wave 1. Inspection of data showed that, of the 426 recording a response in both waves, about 16 percent who did not record a sub-tribe in wave 1, did so in wave 2. However, changes occurred in both directions, with just under 10 percent of those recording a sub-tribe in wave 1 not doing so in wave 2. These inconsistencies are controlled for in the multivariate analysis of inter-wave data.

Differences In Socio-economic Outcomes The label that individuals of Māori descent use to identify themselves is clearly associated with their connectedness to other dimensions of Māori identity. But is it also related to differences in socio-economic and demographic profile? The results suggest there is an association, though it depends on the specific outcome. Individuals who saw themselves as New Zealanders had the highest share of homeowners; those identified as Māori/Other had the

123 lowest. Though the pattern remained consistent across all three waves, the differences were only statistically significant in wave 1. The decreasing differences partially reflect the effects of attrition, with non-homeowners more likely to drop out of waves 2 and 3 (see Tables A1 and A2). Those who identified as New Zealanders also had the highest percentage of employed people in all waves, but again the differences were only significant in wave 1. In terms of education, participants describing themselves as “part Māori” or a related label had the highest percentage with a high school qualification in all three waves. Those identified as Māori alone had the lowest, but the differences were only significant in wave 3. The modest association between identification and socio-economic outcomes is likely to be complicated by the effects of attrition, which appeared to diminish socio-economic differences within the sample over time. For ease of reading, standard errors are not included in the tables but were within an acceptable range for all models.

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Table 5.3a. Cross-tabulation of select variables by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori Households, Wave 1 (N=656). Māori Māori/Other New Zealander 337 (51.1) 148 (22.5) 174 (26.4) Demographic Age 36.1 32.8 37.8 (34.2-38.1) (30.5-35.5) (36.3-39.8)

Male 35.5 23.5 30.7 Region Auckland 53.4 54.7 39.8 Gisborne 13.3 11.1 21.6 Manawatu 14.9 13.5 27.6 Wellington 17.2 20.7 10.8 Main urban area ** 70.2 73.3 49.5 Principal householder Couple with children 54.4 51.2 61.1 Sole parent 26.9 26.9 24.9 Other family type 18.6 17.9 14.2 Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name *** 63.7 47.6 32.4 Knows at least 3 generations of 34.2 32.6 30.7 genealogy

Financial interest in Māori land ** 64.2 46.7 45.3 Contacts are mainly Māori *** 65.0 50.4 31.4 Raised in Māori speaking 46.9 26.4 27.3 household*** Māori language is good to excellent 49.9 38.9 23.2 *** Māori electoral rolla *** 50.7 35.7 28.4 Socio-economic status Has a high school qualification 39.6 49.1 47.4 Employed * 55.4 51.5 69.3 Is a home owner ** 38.9 36.5 60.1 Notes: Chi-square test for independence used for all variables, except age which used T-test for difference in means. *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on

125

Table 5.3b. Cross-tabulation of select variables by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori Households, Wave 2 (N=452). Māori Māori/Other New Zealander 229 (50.7) 102 (22.6) 121 (26.8) Demographic Age 37.9 35.2 41.1 (38.8-43.4) (31.8-37.7) (38.8-43.3)

Male 32.7 26.7 31.3 Region Auckland 43.1 45.5 27.8 Gisborne 19.1 21.3 26.6 Manawatu 21.8 16.8 27.5 Wellington 15.9 16.5 18.1 Main urban area 55.8 61.5 45.2 Principal householder Couple with children 58.5 52.3 52.5 Sole parent 28.6 31.3 26.3 Other family type 12.9 16.4 21.2 Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name * 71.7 56.2 48.5 Knows at least 3 generations of 37.8 44.8 31.3 genealogy

Financial interest in Māori land * 66.5 55.7 45.9 Contacts are mainly Māori ** 50.5 46.7 27.2 Raised in Māori speaking 66.6 31.2 36.5 household*** Māori language is good to excellent 45.3 24.6 18.2 *** Māori electoral rolla ** 75.8 70.0 44.2 Socio-economic status Has a high school qualification 41.6 57.1 49.8 Employed 66.0 61.0 77.5 Is a home owner 51.6 37.6 60.0 Notes: Chi-square test for independence used for all variables, except age which used T-test for difference in means. *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on.

126

Table 5.3c. Cross-tabulation of select variables by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori Households, Wave 3 (N=422).

Māori Māori/Other New Zealander 229 (50.7) 102 (22.6) 121 (26.8) Demographic Age 37.9 35.2 41.1 (38.8-43.4) (31.8-37.7) (38.8-43.3)

Financial interest in Māori land * 66.5 55.7 45.9 Contacts are mainly Māori ** 50.5 46.7 27.2 Raised in Māori speaking 66.6 31.2 36.5 household*** Māori language is good to 45.3 24.6 18.2 excellent*** Māori electoral rolla ** 75.8 70.0 44.2 Socio-economic status Has a high school qualification 41.6 57.1 49.8 Employed 66.0 61.0 77.5 Is a home owner 51.6 37.6 60.0 Notes: Chi-square test for independence used for all variables ,except age which used T-test for difference in means. *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on.

127

5.7 Self-Identification or Ties: Which Matters Most? This section evaluates the independent effects of identification vis-à-vis preferred ethnic and ties to Māori identity. Tables 5.4a to 5.6c show results from binary logistic regressions predicting, respectively, a high school qualification, employment status, and home ownership status.

High School Education Table 5.4a - 5.4b show comparable regression results for waves 1 and 2. In both waves, Māori language ability and growing up in a Māori-speaking household were strong predictors of having a high school qualification. Consistent with (H8) and (H9), both indicators had opposite effects. Growing up in a Māori-speaking household reduced the odds of a high school qualification, whereas Māori language competency increased the odds. For participants in wave 1, growing up with Māori-speaking adults decreased the odds of a high school qualification by 60 percent (exp -.94), relative to those raised in solely English-speaking households. For participants competent in the Māori language, the odds of a high school qualification were more than three times greater (exp 1.19) than those with little or no Māori language ability. The latter relationship could be endogenous in that Māori with a high school education may acquire language competency through high school or tertiary education. To control for this possibility I ran an alternative model for wave 2 including a variable for whether language was acquired through education.49 The coefficient for language competency slightly increased, as did the significance level, but the association remained. This suggests the positive association between Māori language ability and education is independent of the channel through which language is acquired. Contrary to (H6), there was a significant association between education and preferred ethnic label, even after controlling for other ties to Māori identity. Participants who reported an identity other than Māori alone had significantly higher odds of a high school qualification. These differences cannot be attributed to differences in underlying ties to Māori identity. Rather, it suggests that self-identification as a Māori has an independent effect. It should be noted however, that the result might be different if measures of observed and parental ethnicities were included. Given the reciprocal nature of status relationships, how people

49 The question asked: „how did you acquire your ability with Maori language?‟ Participants who reported learning Maori as a second language at an education institution were coded 1 and 0 otherwise.

128 identified themselves in THNR might have also been influenced by their educational standing. This relationship is examined more closely in inter-wave analyses. Finally, having a financial interest in Māori land was also positively associated with having a high school qualification. This was unexpected given the hypothesis (H7) that symbolic ties such as customary land interests and cultural knowledge would be of little consequence for explaining intra-Māori variation in socio-economic outcomes. As expected, there was a strong positive association between younger age categories and education. In all waves, being younger than 30 years old (relative to the 45 to 64 year age group) was a strong predictor of having a high school education. All of the other control variables were insignificant. The lack of a gender effect was surprising, given the well- documented educational advantage of Māori girls and women relative to Māori boys and men (Callister and Newell 2009). The insignificance of gender may reflect the notable under- representation of men in THNR, coupled with the increased risk of attrition among males relative to females. Compared to the first two waves, the results in wave 3 (Table 5.4c) were somewhat deviant. Fit statistics indicated that the full model including all of the selected variables (model 3) was acceptable in the first two waves, but misspecified in the third. The difference may be due to the different composition of wave 3 sample. Separate analyses comparing individuals who joined the study in wave 3 and the rest showed the new recruits were significantly more likely to identify as Māori alone, to be under the age of 30, to live in Auckland, and to report networks that were mainly Māori. Given the lack of model fit, I ran a reduced model, retaining Māori electoral enrollment as the single Māori identity indicator because of its significance in Model 2. This yielded a better fitting model. For those on the Māori roll, the odds of having a high school education were twice (exp .77) that for people who were not on the Māori roll. As high school education precedes voting rights, the relationship indicates the potential effect of education on engagement in Māori politics, rather than vice versa.

129

Table 5.4a. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 1(N=656) Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a 0.43 0.19 0.08

New Zealander 0.36 0.23 0.33

Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name 0.05 0.08

Financial interest in Māori land -0.43 + -0.27

Contacts are mainly Māori -0.40 + -0.54 *

Raised in Māori speaking household -1.13*** -0.94 ***

Māori language is good to excellent 1.05 *** 1.19 ***

Māori electoral roll b -0.15 -0.32 Controls Under 30 years c 1.39 ** 30 – 44 years 1.20 ** Male -0.27 Main urban area 0.33 Couple with child(ren) family -0.19 Model fit Intercept -0.46 0.60 -1.09 (DF, X) (2, 77) (8, 70) (13, 65) F statistic 2.00 3.29 2.39 P value 0.14 0.01 0.01 GoF 1.00 0.42 0.41 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

130

Table 5.4b. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 2 (N=452). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a 0.62* 0.49 0.56 New Zealander 0.34 0.30 0.72 *

Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name -0.09 -0.02 Financial interest in Māori land 0.53 * 0.73 ** Contacts are mainly Māori -0.26 -0.24 Raised in Māori speaking household -0.89 *** -0.75 *** Māori language is good to excellent 0.68 * 0.71 * Māori electoral roll b -0.08 -0.14 Controls Under 30 years c 1.64 *** 30 – 44 years 0.39 Male -0.04 Main urban area 0.25 Couple with child(ren) family -0.06 Model fit Intercept -0.34 -0.16 -1.15 (DF, X) (2, 60) (8, 54) (13, 49) F statistic 2.58 2.66 3.40 P value 0.08 0.02 0.001 GoF 1.00 0.81 0.58 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

131

Table 5.4c. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 3 (N=422). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a 0.64 * 0.71 * 0.91 ** New Zealander 0.70* 1.03 ** 0.91 * Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name 0.52 + financial interest in Māori land -0.18 Contacts are mainly Māori 0.11 Raised in Māori speaking household -0.58 Māori language is good to excellent 0.19 Māori electoral roll b 0.81 * 0.77 ** Controls Under 30 years c 1.07* 30 – 44 years 1.03 * Male 0.49 Main urban area -0.04 Couple with child(ren) family 0.32 Model fit Intercept -0.41 -1.16 -2.13 (DF, X) (2, 53) (8, 47) (8, 47) F statistic 4.08 2.49 2.91 P value 0.05 0.05 0.01 GoF 1.00 0.81 0.62 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

Paid employment Similar to the education regressions, the employment results for wave 3 diverged from the previous waves. New Zealander identification increased the odds of being in paid work by 74 percent in wave 1 (relative to Māori identification), and by a factor of 2.4 in wave 2, holding other variables constant. The association was positive but insignificant in wave 3. Some Māori identity indicators – notably land interests, language ability, and electoral

132 enrollment – were significantly associated with work status in the first two waves, but not in the third. The association between the latter two variables and employment status changed from a positive to a negative association, though neither was statistically significant. Having primarily Māori networks, and being raised in Māori speaking household were negatively associated with employment status, but the results were not significant. I also ran alternative models using the three category employment variable described in section 5.4. It yielded significant results in wave 2 but not wave 3. In wave 2, New Zealander identification, Māori language ability, Māori electoral enrollment, living in a couple with child(ren) household, and male decreased the odds of no employment (versus full-time), and having primarily Māori contacts increased the odds. Male and living in an urban area decreased the odds of part-time relative to full-time employment.

Table 5.5a. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 1 (N=656). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a -0.14 -0.04 -0.01 New Zealander 0.61 0.76 * 0.64 * Māori Identity

Knows sub-tribe name -0.52 * -0.71 **

Financial interest in Māori land 0.42 * 0.24 Contacts are mainly Māori -0.09 -0.04 Raised in Māori speaking household 0.13 -0.03 Māori language is good to excellent 0.61 ** 0.47 + Māori electoral roll b 0.15 0.28 Controls Under 30 years c 0.98 ** 30 – 44 years -0.28 Male 0.50 * Main urban area

133

Table 5.5a - continued.

Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Couple with child(ren) family 1.14 *** Has a high school qualification 0.77 ** Model fit Intercept 0.20 -0.13 -0.55 (DF, X) (2, 77) (8, 70) (14, 64) F statistic 3.69 3.17 4.52 P value 0.05 0.004 0.001 GoF 1.00 0.53 0.36 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

Table 5.5b. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 2 (N=452). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label a Māori/Other -0.22 -0.22 -0.20 (.36) New Zealander 0.57 1.00 0.90 * Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name -0.33 -0.51 (.33) Financial interest in Māori land 0.41 ** 0.66 * (.26) Contacts are mainly Māori -0.64 * -0.60 + (.27) Raised in Māori speaking household -0.68 -0.39 Māori language is good to excellent 1.28 *** 1.28 *** Māori electoral roll b 0.93 ** 1.02 ** Controls c Under 30 years -0.99 ** 30 – 44 years -0.13 Male 0.16 Main urban area -0.14

134

Table 5.5b - continued.

Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Couple with child(ren) family 0.99** Has a high school qualification 0.57 + Model fit Intercept 0.66 -0.05 -0.27 (DF, X) (2, 60) (8, 54) (14, 48) F statistic 2.46 3.91 2.63 P value 0.10 0.001 0.01 GoF 1.00 0.00001 0.41 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

Table 5.5c Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 3 (N=422). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label a Māori/Other 0.29 0.30 0.47 (.34) (.41) New Zealander 0.33 0.41 0.09 (.45) Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name 0.59 0.59 (.40) (.40) Financial interest in Māori land 0.06 0.06 (.34) (.34) Contacts are mainly Māori -0.29 -0.19 (.44) (.44) Raised in Māori speaking household 0.23 0.23 Māori language is good to excellent -0.16 -0.28 (.46) (.55) b Māori electoral roll -0.09 -0.09

135

Table 5.5c - continued

Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Controls c Under 30 years -0.67 30 – 44 years -0.15 Male 0.95 ** Main urban area 0.23 Couple with child(ren) family 0.47 Has a high school qualification 0.38 Model fit Intercept 0.54 0.73 -1.15 (DF, X) (2, 53) (8, 47) (14,41) F statistic 0.45 1.06 2.69 P value ns ns 0.01 GoF 1.00 0.000 0.95 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

Home ownership Analysis of home ownership in THNR was complicated by the higher attrition of non- homeowners in waves 2 and 3, which suggests that the results should be interpreted with caution. New Zealander identification and having a financial interest in Māori land significantly increased the odds of home ownership, and being located in mainly Māori networks decreased the odds. However the results were not systematic across waves. In all three waves the most important variables were demographic. Being in the younger age cohort significantly decreased the odds of home ownership; whereas living in a household with a traditional couple with child(ren) family structure and being employed significantly increased the odds.

136

Table 5.6a Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 1 (N=656). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a -0.11 -0.04 -0.01 New Zealander 0.86 *** 0.94 ** 0.85 * Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name 0.01 -0.11 Financial interest in Māori land 0.60 ** 0.28 Contacts are mainly Māori -0.21 0.09 Raised in Māori speaking household 0.05 -0.64 + Māori language is good to excellent 0.18 -0.05 Māori electoral roll b -0.31 -0.13 Controls Under 30 years c -2.75 *** 0 – 44 years -1.45 *** Male -0.52 Main urban area -0.22 Couple with child(ren) family 1.18 *** Has a high school qualification 0.38 Employed 0.53 * Model fit Intercept -0.45 -0.69 0.35 (DF, X) (2, 77) (8, 70) (15, 63) F statistic 6.20 2.73 6.01 P value 0.01 0.01 0.001 GoF 1.00 0.90 0.30 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

137

Table 5.6b. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 2 (N=452). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a -0.58 -0.47 -0.70 (.45) (.51) New Zealander 0.35 0.51 -0.25 (.33) Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name -0.09 -0.39 (.29) Financial interest in Māori land 0.75 * 0.42 (.25) Contacts are mainly Māori -0.83 * -0.88 * (.26) Raised in Māori speaking household 0-.02 -0.33 Māori language is good to excellent 0.58 + 0.57 (.33) Māori electoral roll b 0.09 0.05 Controls Under 30 years c -3.52 *** 30 – 44 years -1.32 ** Male -0.52 Main urban area -0.37 Couple with child(ren) family 1.13 *** Has a high school qualification 0.36 Employed 1.31*** Model fit Intercept 0.05 -0.27 0.95 (DF, X) (2, 60) (8, 54) (15, 47) F statistic 2.41 2.63 5.40 P value 0.10 0.05 0.001 GoF 1.00 0.07 0.12 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

138

Table 5.6c. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, Wave 3 (N=422). Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Preferred Ethnic Label Māori/Other a -0.66 -0.56 -0.48 (.47) (.49) New Zealander 0.43 0.68 0.30 (.37) Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name 0.78 * 0.52 (.35) Financial interest in Māori land 0.52 0.20 (.37) Contacts are mainly Māori -0.58 * -0.39 (.27) Raised in Māori speaking household 0.22 0.12 Māori language is good to excellent -0.10 -0.33 (.33) Māori electoral roll b 0.09 0.30 Controls Under 30 years c -4.30 *** 30 – 44 years -1.23 * Male 0.47 Main urban area -.35 Couple with child(ren) family 1.64 ** Has a high school qualification 0.71 * Employed 0.54 Model fit Intercept -0.16 -0.67 -0.66 (DF, X) (2, 53) (8, 47) (15, 40) F statistic 2.13 2.51 3.53 P value 0.13 0.02 0.001 GoF 1.00 0.02 0.25 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Base is Māori alone; b In wave 1, those not on the Māori electoral roll included people whom were eligible for enrolment but who did not specify which role they were on; c Base is 45 to 64 years.

139

5.9 Does Stable Self-identification Matter? Research in New Zealand (Brown 2009; Carter et al. 2009; Coope and Piesse 1997; Kukutai 2009a) and the U.S. (Harris and Sim 2002; Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002; Saperstein and Penner 2010; Snipp 2003) has shown a high level of variability in self-reports of ethnic and racial identification. Explanations have focused on a range of potential influences. Some studies have emphasized the effects of instrumental and contextual factors, notably changes in the question wording and categories, and the context in which the question was asked. Other studies have highlighted the influence of lifecycle processes, for example, changes in ethnic and racial self-concept among adolescents and young adults as they transition to adulthood (Harris and Sim 2002). More recent work has drawn attention to how changes in ethnic and racial self-identification are influenced by how individuals are racially perceived by others, as well as by shifts in social status (e.g., the experience of incarceration, see Saperstein and Penner 2010). Changes in individual ethnic self-identification challenge deeply held assumptions that ethnicity or race is an intrinsic characteristic, whether defined in monoracial or multiracial terms. In Te Hoe Nuku Roa, instrumental effects on ethnic self-reports were minimized. In each wave, the same question and response options were used and participants were always interviewed in their home. One could reasonably expect a high percentage of consistent Māori self-identification in Te Hoe Nuku Roa given that all participants identified as Māori by ancestry, were interviewed by people who themselves identified as Māori, and were asked a broad range of Māori identity questions. However, as Table 5.7 shows, this was not the case. Of the 349 individuals who participated in all three waves, just 27 per cent (n=94) consistently reported Māori as the identity that best described them. This was not due to attrition. Individuals who identified as Māori alone were no more likely to drop out than those choosing some other label. It is also noteworthy that about half as many consistently nominated New Zealander as their preferred identity. Most of the remaining participants shifted between the Māori Alone and Māori/Other categories. Few moved from Māori (either alone or in combination) into the New Zealander category for more than one wave. The pattern of movement broadly reflects other surveys showing a high degree of shuffling across the boundaries of related categories, and relatively less movement between the Māori alone and non-Māori categories.

140 Table 5.7. Individual changes in preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2000, waves 1 to 3, N=349. Wave 3 Wave1 Wave 2 New Zealander Māori/Other Māori Alone Total New Zealander New Zealander 45 4 10 59 Māori/Other 6 5 6 17 Māori Alone 4 0 12 16 Māori/Other New Zealander 5 4 5 14 Māori/Other 4 28 11 43 Māori Alone 1 3 20 24 Māori Alone New Zealander 5 2 19 26 Māori/Other 6 3 15 24 Māori Alone 8 12 94 114

In the following tables I regrouped participants into three categories denoting whether they always identified as Māori alone, sometimes identified as Māori alone, or never identified as Māori alone, and compared them across the select indicators. Data are presented, respectively, for participants in waves 1 and 2, waves 2 and 3, and waves 1 through 3. Though the focus is on changing patterns of ethnic self-identification, inspection of the data also revealed inconsistent responses to questions about being raised in a Māori-speaking household, and having a high school qualification.50 As historical variables that measure statuses prior to the survey, the values should not vary. To deal with inconsistent reporting I re-coded both variables so that only those with consistent self-reports across the respective waves were coded as 1, and all others as 0. As expected, the bivariate results showed that individuals who consistently reported Māori as their preferred ethnic label had stronger ties to Māori identity than those who sometimes or never identified as Māori. Like the cross-sectional analysis, the association between identification and ties was strongest for the language and Māori political engagement variables. The distance between the categories depended on the specific indicator. With regard to language ability, participants who sometimes identified as Māori alone were intermediate to those who always or never identified as Māori alone. However, for Māori political engagement and for socio-economic status, the always and sometimes Māori categories were

50 Of the 369 adults (including those with missing data on any of the select indicators) who participated in waves 2 and 3, 80 gave an inconsistent response to the question about growing up in a Maori-speaking household. With regard to high school qualification, 43 participants gave an inconsistent response between both waves.

141 very similar. The bivariate associations provide little evidence for the hypothesis (H10a) that those who consistently identified as Māori were significantly more disadvantaged than the rest of the participants. For all waves, men and women who never reported Māori as their preferred ethnic label had a significantly higher percentage of high school qualified members, but the difference was only statistically significant in wave 3.

Table 5.8. Cross-tabulation of select variables for adults in wave 1 & wave 2, by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2000.

Wave 2 variables Always Māori Sometimes Māori Never Māori Alone Alone Alone Background N = 162 (39.9) N = 106 (40.8) N = 171 (41.0) Male 32.7 24.3 29.4 Region Auckland 43.3 38.3 35.2 Gisborne 22.0 21.3 26.5 Manawatu 21.0 19.2 24.6 Wellington 13.6 21.2 13.7 Main urban area 54.6 57.1 48.3 Principal householder Couple with children 57.9 55.2 50.2 Single parent 27.8 23.4 34.1 Other family type 14.4 24.5 15.9 Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name ** 72.4 69.9 52 Knows more than three 45.6 28.6 39.5 generations of genealogy Financial interest in Māori land + 65.2 61.6 48.7 Māori language is good to 50.2 37.7 21.7 excellent *** On Māori electoral roll *** 76.7 74.5 51.9 Mainly Māori contacts in Wave 1 44.5 25.0 20.3 & Wave 2**

142 Table 5.8 – continued.

Wave 2 variables Always Māori Sometimes Māori Never Māori Alone Alone Alone Raised in a Māori speaking 54.3 32.9 24.7 household (consistent) *** Socio-economic status Has a high school qualification 35.6 37.3 45.6 (consistent) Employed 62.8 70.7 63.9 Owns home 49.7 59.1 50.2 Notes Chi-square test for independence used for all variables, except age which used T-test for difference in means (SD in parentheses). *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Age of sample ranged from 19 to 76 at wave 2.

Table 5.9. Cross-tabulation of select variables for adults in wave 2 & wave 3, by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1998 – 2002.

Always Māori Sometimes Māori Never Māori Wave 3 variables Alone Alone Alone Background N = 124 N = 83 N = 105 45.2 43.2 41.5 Age a (42.2 - 48.2) (39.5 - 46.9) (38.0 - 45.0) Male 26.7 26.6 30.7 Region Auckland 35.1 40.2 34.1 Gisborne 30.1 16.0 28.1 Manawatu 22.7 19.8 23.9 Wellington 12.0 24.0 13.9 Main urban area 45.6 62.4 48.2

Principal householder

Couple with children 61.1 44.1 59.2

Single parent 26.6 46.6 23.9 Other family type 12.3 9.2 16.9

143 Table 5.9 – continued.

Always Māori Sometimes Māori Never Māori Wave 3 variables Alone Alone Alone Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name ** 81.7 52.9 53.8 Knows more than three generations of 43.7 26.9 23 family genealogy Financial interest in Māori land + 56.5 36.2 36.9 Māori language is good to excellent 47.8 35.6 12.6 *** On Māori electoral roll *** 83.6 70.3 46.4 Mainly Māori contacts in Wave 1 & 50.2 21.2 16.5 Wave 2**

Raised in a Māori speaking household 50.1 27.4 14.3 (consistent) *** Socio-economic status Has a high school qualification 36.2 20.9 53.3 (consistent self-report) Employed 76.7 56.7 73.8 Owns home 58.3 41.5 61.9 Notes: Chi-square test for independence used for all variables, except age which used T-test for difference in means (SD in parentheses). *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Weighted and adjusted for survey design. a Age of sample ranged from 20 to 80 at wave 3.

144 Table 5.10. Cross-tabulation of select variables for adults in wave 1 to wave 3, by preferred ethnic label, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, 1995 – 2002. Always Māori Sometimes Māori Never Māori Wave 3 variables Alone Alone Alone

Background N = 88 (46.3) N = 125 (42.2) N = 88 (41.3) Male 29.7 23.2 28.7 Region Auckland 30.7 40.5 37.5 Gisborne 31.6 21.7 25.8 Manawatu 27.6 20.4 25.2 Wellington 10.1 17.4 11.5 Main urban area 39.3 55.6 48.1 Principal householder Couple with children 55.3 50.3 60.5 Single parent 13.4 9.6 18.1 Other family type 31.6 40.2 21.4 Māori Identity Overall ability in Māori language is 52.8 31.8 11.7 good to excellent **

On Māori electoral roll *** 82.8 78.7 38.3 Mainly Māori contacts *** 84.0 64.2 36.4 Raised in a Māori speaking 43.8 31.6 8.7 household (consistent) ***

Socio-economic status Has a high school qualification 37.3 25.2 51.2 (consistent) +

Employed + 80.3 58.5 76.5 Owns home 57.0 49.3 61.2 Notes: Chi-square test for independence used for all variables, except age which used T-test for difference in means (SD in parentheses). *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. a Age of sample ranged from 18 to 80 at wave 3.

Tables 5.11 to 5.12 present final models for multivariate analysis across waves 1 and 2, and waves 2 and 3. Because the bivariate analysis indicated few socio-economic differences between those choosing Māori as their preferred ethnic label in one or both waves, I focus instead on those who never identified Māori as their preferred identity. I constructed a dummy

145 variable and coded those who never identified as Māori alone as 1 and 0 otherwise. The purpose is to identify whether individuals who never saw themselves as Māori had more favorable outcomes than those who did. Because of the small number of participants present in all three waves, I limited the analyses those present in at least two waves. The results provide tentative support for (H10b). Depending on the outcome, identification with a label other than Māori was generally associated with better socio- economic outcomes, holding constant other ethnic identity and demographic variables. For participants in waves 2 and 3 who never reported Māori as their preferred identity, the odds of a high school qualification were just over three times higher than for those who did.51 Given that all participants had completed high school prior to the survey, this suggests that even a basic level of education may be a disincentive to expressing a strong Māori identification. It is also possible that people who never chose Māori as their preferred ethnic label had particular characteristics – for example, a more advantaged family background or a European parent – that influenced their high school outcomes. Men and women in the never Māori alone category also had higher odds of home ownership, though the coefficient only gained significance after age differences were controlled for.52 The results also show a significant association between socio-economic outcomes and some of the ethnic identity variables. Among participants in the first two waves, those who were raised in a Māori-speaking household had significantly lower odds of a high school qualification than those raised in English-only speaking households. In contrast, Māori language competency was positively associated with a high school education. To capture more fully the effects of being located in strong Māori networks, I recoded the Māori contact variable so that only those who reported mainly Māori contacts in both waves were coded as 1. The results showed that having mainly Māori contacts in at least one domain (e.g., work or school) was negatively associated with employment and home ownership status, though the relationship was only statistically significant for employment in wave 2. Participants who reported having mainly Māori contacts in both wave 1 and 2 were 50 percent less likely to be

51 The model fit statistics indicated the full model was misspecified. Omitting the insignificant Maori electoral roll variable yielded a better fitting model, but did not change the sign or significance of the remaining variables.

52All of the models in Tables 5.12 to 5.14 were re-specified using the categorical age variable. The results were not substantively different through the model fits were slightly worse.

146 employed than those whose networks were not mainly Māori (p <.05). The odds of being employed were also 2.5 times higher for participants with a degree of Māori language ability than for those who self-rated their language ability as poor or fair (p<.01). Curiously, the sign of networks and language coefficients reversed for the latter waves, though the results were insignificant. Overall the most significant predictors of two of the three outcome variables were demographic. Age was the strongest predictor of home ownership status, followed by employment status and living in a household where the primary householder was part of a couple with child family. The latter variable was also the strongest predictor of employment status, along with having at least a high school qualification. However, the strongest predictor of a high school qualification was being raised in a Māori-speaking household. This finding, combined with the generally positive effects of current Māori language competency, highlights the complexity of ethnicity and its association with socio-economic status. Overall, the significance of several of the ethnic identity variables confirms both the limitations of relying solely on measures of ethnic self-report, and need for clarity about what feature of ethnicity is likely to matter most for any given outcome.

147 Table 5.11. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting a high school qualification, participants in wave 1 & wave 2, and wave 2 & wave 3, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, final models.

In Wave 1 & 2 In Wave 2 & 3 Characteristics in most recent wave N = 439 N = 312 Preferred Ethnic Label Never Māori Alone 0.31 1.11 ** Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name -0.21 0.08 Contacts were mainly Māori in both waves 0.01 0.53

Raised in Māori speaking household (consistent) -0.93 *** -0.12

Māori language is good to excellent 0.63 * 0.21 On Māori electoral roll -0.28 - Controls Age a -0.04 ** -0.04 ** Male 0.28 0.63 Main urban area 0.05 0.31 Couple with child(ren) family 0.02 0.21 Model fit Intercept 1.46 * 0.14 (DF, X) (10, 53) (9, 47) F statistic 5.33 2.13 P value 0.000 0.05 GoF 0.54 0.08 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. a Age of sample ranged from 19 to 76 at wave 2, and 20 to 80 years at wave 3.

148 Table 5.12. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting employment, participants in wave 1 & wave 2, and wave 2 & wave 3, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, final models. Characteristics in most recent wave (wave 2 & In Wave 1 & 2 In Wave 2 & 3 wave 3 respectively) N = 439 N = 312 Preferred Ethnic Label Never Māori Alone 0.01 -0.19 Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name -0.43 0.50 Contacts were mainly Māori in both waves -0.55 * 0.43 Raised in Māori speaking household (consistent) -0.14 -0.46 Māori language is good to excellent 0.91 ** -0.94 + On Māori electoral roll 0.34 -0.04 Controls Age a -0.00 0.01 Male -0.09 0.77 Main urban area 0.21 0.05 Couple with child(ren) family 1.09 *** 1.43 *** High school education (consistent) 0.6 * 0.73 + Model fit Intercept -0.27 -0.21 (DF, X) (11, 52) (11, 45) F statistic 3.44 3.88 P value 0.001 0.001 GoF 0.61 0.31

Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. a Age of sample ranged from 19 to 76 at wave 2, and 20 to 80 years at wave 3.

149 Table 5.13. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logistic models predicting home ownership, participants in wave 1 & wave 2, wave 2 & wave 3, Te Hoe Nuku Roa surveyof Māori households, final models. Characteristics in most recent wave (wave 2 In Wave 1 & 2 In Wave 2 & 3 & wave 3 respectively) N = 439 N = 312 Preferred Ethnic Label Never Māori Alone -0.35 0.75* Māori Identity Knows sub-tribe name -0.28 0.17

Contacts were mainly Māori in both waves -0.16 -0.71

Raised in Māori speaking household 0.15 -0.26 (consistent) Māori language is good to excellent 0.22 -0.73

On Māori electoral roll -0.53 1.18** Controls Age a 0.08** 0.09*** Male -0.17 0.75 * Main urban area -0.14 -0.45 Couple with child(ren) family 1.21 *** 1.42** In paid work 1.45*** 1.41** Model fit Intercept -3.97*** -5.98 *** (DF, X) (11, 52) (11, 45) F statistic 7.28 4.28 P value 0.001 0.001 GoF 0.90 0.56 Notes: Two-tailed tests: *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10.a Age of sample ranged from 19 to 76 at wave 2, and 20 to 80 years at wave 3.

150 5.11 Conclusion I began this chapter by posing three questions. Is self-identification as a Māori associated with socio-economic outcomes, independent of ties to Māori identity? Are people who consistently identify as Māori more disadvantaged than those with a more fluid connection? Which ties to Māori identity are implicated in socio-economic disadvantage, and which are beneficial? The analyses showed that whether participants identified as Māori only, Māori/Other, or a New Zealander was a weak predictor of SES outcomes. More important were specific ties to Māori identity: being raised in a Māori-speaking household, engagement in Māori politics, and Māori language competency. Different ties mattered for different outcomes. Being raised among Māori-speaking adults was a strong barrier to gaining a high school qualification, but was inconsequential for employment prospects or home ownership later in life. This finding was especially important because it confirmed the point, made in chapter three, that the costs and benefits of specific features of Māori ethnicity change over time as the institutional environment changes. Many of the survey participants were children prior to the onset of the Māori Renaissance. Being raised in a Māori-speaking household would have meant exposure to a number of negative risk factors, for example, a lack of family resources and residence in a rural and/or economically deprived area. The analyses also demonstrated how ethnicity might exert an indirect effect on an outcome, by acting as a sorting mechanism at an earlier stage of an individual‟s lifecycle. In this case, being raised among Māori speakers lowered the odds of gaining a high school qualification, and this, in turn, translated into lower employment chances. Given the intense Māori focus of the survey, there was a surprising level of change in how individuals identified themselves across waves. Of the baseline members who participated in all three waves, less than one third consistently identified themselves only as Māori. Controlling for shifting identification patterns showed that participants who never identified as Māori alone generally had more favorable outcomes than those who sometimes, or always (over the three waves), identified as Māori alone. Given the results from the preceding chapter showing the relatively advantaged status of Māori on the fringes of Māori identification one might ask: why are people of Māori ancestry who are oriented more towards European “mainstream” more advantaged? Some might argue for an inherent European superiority. More plausible, I think, are the advantages that come with European orientation as a result of social structural processes – specifically the ways in which the institutional environment continues to be geared to European preferences. The relationship

151 between higher socio-economic status and European orientation is also likely to be bi- directional and recursive. In short, Māori who are upwardly mobile are likely to have a higher inclination to identify with a category other than Māori; and vice versa. Unfortunately the short time period and basic measures used in THNR did not allow for a more nuanced exploration of changing status. Finally, it ought to be acknowledged that while the use of THNR allowed for a far more complex modeling of ethnic identification and identity that any other source, official or otherwise, it also had several important limitations. One was the high attrition rate and fairly basic socio-economic indicators. Throughout the analyses I have sought to clarify how the patterns of attrition may have affected the results. Like all empirical analysis, there is also the prospect that the findings would be different in the presence of other variables. Insofar as I have focused of ethnicity variables, the literature suggests two variables, parental and observed ethnicities, may increase the explanatory power of the models and perhaps alter the findings. Being raised in a Māori-speaking household might be regarded as a proxy for parental ethnicities since it explicitly referenced the language spoken between adults in the household. As we know from the analysis in chapter four, it is very rare for a non-Māori to be able to speak Māori. In terms of observed ethnicity, overseas studies have shown that the disconnect between self- and observed measures of race are greatest for those individuals who change their identification. This suggests that people who always identified as Māori alone are more likely to be designated as Māori by others, and conversely, that people who never identified as Māori alone might be less likely to be designated as Māori. In other words, controlling for changing ethnic identification might capture some of the effect of observed race though this of course cannot be verified in the absence of an external measure.

152 CHAPTER SIX WHERE TO THE THIN BROWN LINE?

6.1 Revisiting the key issues This study began by invoking a paradox of the Māori Renaissance: after almost three decades of intense political and cultural revitalization, Māori still experience, on average, significantly lower socio-economic outcomes than non-indigenous New Zealanders. Not only do Māori fare poorly compared to other New Zealanders, and Europeans especially, but more recent studies suggest those most strongly identified as Māori are also the most disadvantaged. Similar observations of within-group inequality have been made in relation to indigenes in the other settler states where indigenous ethnic renewal has also occurred (Liebler 2004; Liebler and Halpern-Manners 2008; Peterson and Taylor 2002; Snipp 1988). The prospect that strong ties to Māori identity come with greater economic or social costs is counter to the views espoused by both critics and advocates of Māori cultural nationalism. Invoking instrumentalist arguments, critics of the Māori Renaissance claim tribal and middle-class elites have manipulated ethnic symbols and sentiments in pursuit of political and economic goals (Rata 2000; Webster 1998). Such a view suggests stronger ties to Māori culture and identity ought to yield individual benefits in social and economic life. Champions of Māori cultural revitalization propose a positive relationship between Māori identification and SES status, but for different reasons. Rather than signal elite capture, strong ties to culture and identity are viewed as an expression of indigenous self-determination, fundamental to the wellbeing of all Māori. The apparent disconnect between Māori cultural and political revitalization and deepening socio-economic inequality has provided a compelling point of entry for this study. In scoping the empirical research on intra-Māori inequality, several important shortcomings have been identified. One is the arbitrary way in which between-Māori distinctions are made. Often the delineation is premised entirely on ethnic self-identification, with Māori reporting several ethnic groups bifurcated against those reporting an exclusive Māori identification. For reasons elaborated in this study and elsewhere (Kukutai 2003, 2004), the use of the sole- mixed binary is theoretically and substantively problematic. In this study I have argued for a shift away from the narrow focus on ethnic self-identification that dominates most academic and policy related studies, to a more expansive notion of ethnicity as a process of engagement. The rationale is that rendering ethnicity in more nuanced ways will bring greater clarity to

153 thinking about how individuals express and experience ethnicity, and better capture the bi- directional nature of the relationship between ethnicity and socio-economic position. I am mindful, however, of the constraints that researchers undertaking empirical analysis of ethnicity face. To some extent the ability to investigate the complex workings of ethnicity are limited by the available data, and in many official data collections the sole Māori/mixed Māori binary is the only option for making intra-Māori distinctions. I have thus considered the potential ways in which these categories might be more fruitfully understood in the broader context of researching ethnic inequality in New Zealand. Throughout this study I have also noted the absence of plausible explanations in the literature for why and how differences in the level of connectedness to Māori ethnicity might be associated with differences in social and economic outcomes. It is important to be clear about the mechanisms that link ethnicity and life chances. As Zuberi (2001) has noted, imbuing race or ethnicity with causal significance is a form of “racial reasoning.” Simply asserting that Māori ethnicity has a negative causal effect on social and economic outcomes does little to further understanding of an important social and historical problem. I have proposed that Māori ethnicity may be both positively associated with economic and social wellbeing, depending on how ethnicity is conceived and operationalized, and the historical context within which the analysis is situated. Finally, this study has also noted the need for an explanation that situates contemporary intra-Māori inequality within the historical context of persistent Māori-European inequality. Researchers have offered little in the way of guidance, except to argue that evidence of the former diminishes the social and political importance of latter. I have argued that inequalities between Māori, and between Māori and Europeans, ought to be viewed as related, rather than mutually exclusive, phenomena. Understanding the ways in which ethnicity is implicated in socio-economic disparities between Māori thus has the potential to provide fresh insight into the persistence of disparities between indigenous and non-indigenous New Zealanders.

Goals of this study This study has sought to extend existing thinking about the relationship between ethnicity and socio-economic status through three main contributions. The first contribution has been to propose a general theoretical framework to guide empirical studies of ethnicity and inequality in New Zealand, though couched in terms sufficiently abstract to resonate with other historical periods and geographic contexts. The second contribution has been to

154 empirically map the contours of Māori ethnicity – specifically the relationships between expressions of self-identification and other ties to Māori identity. The third has been to empirically examine the connections between Māori identification, identity, and specific indicators of socio-economic status. In constructing a theoretical framework I have intentionally bypassed indigenous and Māori “world view” models popular in academic studies by and/or about Māori (Royal 2002; Smith 1999; Walker, Eketone, and Gibbs 2006). A conceptual model that asserts a uniquely Māori way of viewing the world can be a powerful discursive and political tool, but has limited utility for explaining the diverse realities of contemporary Māori experiences. Relatedly, and despite others‟ reservations about conflating ethnicity and indigeneity (Durie 2005; Gardiner and Bourke 2000; Humpage 2005, 2006; O‟Sullivan 2006) I have consciously used the nomenclature of ethnicity and race throughout this study. Despite their unique status as New Zealand‟s first peoples, and concomitant rights claims, Maori have largely been perceived and treated as ethnic and racial minorities. This has had, and continues to have, implications for their incorporation into the New Zealand polity. The framework used to guide this study was syncretic, fashioned from existing theories of assimilation, pluralism, and racial formation. These eclectic choices might seem odd. Certainly assimilation theory is viewed with suspicion by many indigenous communities and scholars, and understandably so. Indigenes in Australasia and North America have been subject to a multitude of measures designed to hasten their biological and cultural absorption. These measures have been extensively documented, from forcibly removing children from their communities, to more benign measures intended to erode the bases of social organization, land tenure arrangements, native customs, spiritual beliefs, and languages. Despite differences in the timing, scope, and intensity of assimilation policies, there are sufficient similarities for “the disappearing native” to have resounding meaning across the different contexts (Buck 1952; Bushnell 1993; Eschbach 1995; Fleras and Elliott 1992; Gump 1998; Hoxie 1984; Snipp 1989). Yet, a distinction needs to drawn between the theories used to study assimilation as a social process, and normative support for assimilation as a desirable social outcome. Alba and Nee‟s reformulated theory of “new assimilation” provides a fruitful way of thinking about how changes in economy and ideology beyond the New Zealand nation-state have shaped the institutional environment within which the meaning, salience, and costs of Māori ethnicity have unfolded. As chapter three noted, these exogenous changes have included economic

155 recessions and booms, technological innovations, and shifts in normative and legal thinking about race and ethnicity. These, in turn, have impacted state policies, laws and ethnic classification schemas, and influenced structural transformations in the labor market and education sector. In this study I have given particular attention to state policies and the racial logics that have underpinned these changes. Where new assimilation theory lacks explanatory power is the insistence that changes promoting greater equality lead to the declining significance of ethnicity. For indigenes in the settler states, this has not occurred. Rather, the opportunities to retain or construct difference as an alternative to assimilation have been greatly expanded (Nagel 1995). As such, the revitalization of Māori culture, politics, and identity is best explained by social constructivism, showing how groups exploit opportunities created by political and economic changes to increase the salience of ethnicity. Racial formation theory has also proved indispensible in articulating how the racialized features of Māori ethnicity continue to be socially stigmatized in the New Zealand mainstream, even as aspects of Maori culture have been reified as unique symbols of national unity. Ethnic relations, like those governing class- based relations, are always predicated on processes of power. To that end, the expository historical analysis illustrated how the reshaping of racial and ethnic categories over time has embedded race, and then ethnicity, as an organizing factor in economic and social life.

Linking contemporary and historical ethnic relations A central tenet of this study is that intra-Māori inequality did not occur in a timeless vacuum, but is rooted in the ambivalent integration of Māori, as a people, into the New Zealand polity. State policies toward Māori have always been deeply ambivalent about the place of Māori in New Zealand – their rights to resources, and to retain a distinctive identity, forms of social organization, and institutions. This ambivalence was evident, for example, in the internal consistencies that characterized the various policy regimes, and official classifications of Māori identities. Māori responses to state policies of assimilation, integration, and biculturalism have also been deeply ambivalent. At times, aspects of assimilation were firmly embraced by Māori leaders, but since the 1970s there has been a definitive rejection of the notion that Māori must fulfill their status as promising Europeans in order to share in nation‟s resources. Māori cultural nationalism and emergent tribal nation- building have firmly displaced the “one people” vision of the past.

156 Though the racialization of Māori has been a constant feature of state-Māori relations, it has rarely functioned as a strict form of racial exclusion. Compared to Australia‟s Aboriginal peoples, for example, Māori have had greater opportunities to be incorporated into the fold, contingent on meeting a European cultural and racial standard. That Māori were often upheld as a superior race of colored peoples partly explains the commitment to assimilation long after other settler sate governments had shifted towards policies of de facto segregation on reserves or outstations. However, this conditional commitment to racial egalitarianism has been a double-edged sword, providing restricted opportunities for the “right” Māori to advance, while deflecting attention from the more subtle and lasting effects of “stigmatizing racial thinking” (Loury 2002). There is no doubt that the more tangible and egregious features of colonialism have been dismantled (Maaka and Fleras 2005). However, shifts in economy and ideology have not traditional transformed ethnic hierarchies: inequality has merely been re- indigenized. As such, the thin brown line separating indigenous and non-indigenous New Zealanders remains largely intact. Historical ambivalence is an important aspect of settler-indigene relations but is insufficient to explain why segmentation has become such an important part of Māori demography in the new millenium. Part of the answer lies in the structural changes occurring since the 1970s which have simultaneously increased the opportunities and incentives to cultivate Māori ethnicity, and have also lead to deepening inequality, mirroring trends internationally. The institutionalization of Māori culture has greatly expanded opportunities for individuals to cultivate Māori ethnic attachments outside of the family. Labor market specialization, and the polarization of educational outcomes and earnings have also provided structural supports for growing economic inequality between Māori. New assimilation theory predicts that once minorities have meaningful opportunities to advance (e.g., through the removal of prescriptive laws and economic reforms), the salience of ethnicity declines, often unintentionally, as a consequence of mobility striving. Applied to Māori, this suggests socio- economic success influences Māori identification and identity, rather than vice versa. This scenario is not well supported by demographic research on indigenes in the settler states. For several decades a significant component of indigenous population growth has come from the increased popularity of indigenous identification among those formerly identified with the Anglo majority. The addition of “new” indigenes has not only expanded indigenous boundaries, but also impacted indigenous socio-economic profiles. This is because people who have discovered or rediscovered indigenous identification tend to have higher levels and

157 education and earnings than people who identified as indigenous prior to the rise of global indigenism (Eschbach, Supple, and Snipp 1997). Under conditions of global indigenism, people with a higher socio-economic profile are moving towards, rather than away from, indigenous identification. Of course this may not necessarily translate into meaningful engagement with the indigenous collective – the identification may be largely symbolic – and thus the meaning and consequences of indigeneity may be quite different, especially in terms of social stigma. I have tried to untangle these relationships, but with the cognizance that capturing the complex interplay of ethnicity and socio-economic status is a tricky business. This is especially so when the dynamism of ethnicity is reduced to a unidimensional measure at a single point in time. Nevertheless this study has provided several important insights into what different expressions of Māori identity might tell us about an individual‟s engagement with the broader Māori collective.

6.2. What does self-identification tell us about individual ethnicity? One of the difficulties with articulating the relationship between ethnicity and inequality in empirical research is the lack of clarity about what is being captured by conventional ethnic categories. How individuals identify themselves only provides a partial window into individual ethnicity. For most, ethnicity is formed within the family, but throughout the lifecourse there are multiple influences that can shape attachments to the discursive symbols, practises, and networks associated with an ethnic group. These symbols are not transmitted across generations in “authentic” form, but are socially defined by changes that occur within groups, as well as in response to economic and political changes in the broader society. The results from this study generally support the prevailing sociological understanding of individual ethnicity as a fluid, multidimensional process rather than a fixed, inherited trait. Analyses of data from the census and Te Hoe Nuku Roa showed individuals of Māori descent have a wide range of ethnic identification options available to them. This was the case whether the ethnic designations were in the form of official ethnic group categories, or the more nuanced identity options available in Te Hoe Nuku Roa (e.g. part Māori, New Zealander). Though the vast majority of Te Hoe Nuku Roa participants identified as Māori, both by ancestry and in response to a simple yes/no Māori identity question, only about half chose Māori as the label that best described them. The remainder was fairly evenly distributed among New Zealander/Kiwi and Māori/Other responses. There was also a high level of fluidity in self-designation across waves. Of the 349 adults participating in all three waves,

158 only 27 percent consistently identified Māori as their preferred identity (Table 5.8). However many of those choosing Māori as their preferred identity in wave one but not in wave two, subsequently reverted back to Māori in the third wave. Though the results generally support a social constructivism conception of ethnicity, the analyses suggest caution should be exercized when linking changing self-identification with changing ethnicity (also see Gardiner and Bourke 2000). In Te Hoe Nuku Roa, changing patterns of self-identification tended to manifest as shuffling between related categories such as Māori and part-Māori, rather than big leaps across categories such as Māori and New Zealander. Of the participants who changed their preferred label at least once over the three waves, most moved between the Māori and Māori/Other categories. More importantly, a substantive change in ethnicity requires more than simply labeling oneself differently in a survey – it involves a broader shift in psychological and affective orientation, and engagement with the collective. This study did not explicitly look at shifts over time in network composition, engagement with practices that have been socially defined as Māori, or attitudes. However, it may be that some of these ties would be stable, even in the presence of changing self-identification. This includes social designation by others on the basis of physical appearance – a measure not included in Te Hoe Nuku Roa – but which overseas research shows is an important feature of ethnic and racial stratification. There is also inevitably a degree of statistical “noise” in the data. This can be inferred by the inconsistent responses to other ethnicity related questions asked in the survey. For example, some participants who reported their sub-tribal affiliation in the first wave subsequently reported not knowing it in the second wave. Similarly, a number of participants who reported being raised in a Māori speaking household in wave one reported a different response in wave two, and vice versa. A final point to note is that individual shifts in ethnic designation are not a recent phenomenon. The historical census data showed how instrumental and definitional changes contributed to quite major ruptures in ethnic response patterns (e.g., between 1921 and 1926; and 1981 and 1986). Ebbs and flows across boundaries have long been a feature of official efforts to count and classify populations by ethnicity. In terms of the connection between ethnic self-identification and other sorts of ethnic ties, the findings from the census and survey analyses demonstrated, quite convincingly, that an association exists. However, the strength of the relationship depended on the specific calibration of the group categories. The analyses of multi-year census data showed very large differences between individuals on the fringes of Māori identification, and those in the core.

159 Individuals who only identified as Māori by ancestry were very unlikely to speak Māori, or to be in a relationship with another Māori. By contrast, those identified as Māori by ancestry, tribe, and exclusive ethnicity were much more likely to speak Māori and to be in an endogamous relationship. The percentage point differences between the core and periphery categories were far greater than between non-Māori and the Māori Ethnic Group (the conventional inter-ethnic comparison). It also exceeded the gap between Māori alone and Māori combined (usually referred to in the literature as sole Māori and mixed Māori). The analyses confirmed that the usage of the sole versus mixed Māori binary only captures part of the internal variation within the broader Māori population. For reasons already discussed, a sub-group approach to understanding intra-Māori diversity is problematic. However, in instances where it is the only option, the foregoing analyses suggest a more meaningful set of categories might be Māori only by ancestry; Māori by exclusive Māori ethnicity and ancestry; all others. In the census, these categories could be easily constructed through combining ancestry and ethnicity indicators. The multi-wave analysis of Te Hoe Nuku Roa data yielded similar findings on the relationship between identification and identity. For all waves, there was a significant association between the label participants felt best described them, and their connectedness to other indicators of Māori identity. Participants who identified first and foremost as Māori had much stronger ties to Māori identity, particularly for ties theorized to incur negative economic costs (e.g., being raised in a Māori-speaking household and having mainly Māori networks). Māori who identified more closely with the New Zealander label had much lower levels of connectedness to Māori identity markers. The only exception to the general pattern was knowledge about genealogical ties – in any given wave the differences across the identity categories were insignificant. Overall, the census and survey analyses provide empirical evidence with which to better interpret different expressions of ethnic identification. Given the growing usage of sub-group distinctions such as sole Māori and mixed Māori in the literature, these findings are timely. The next section discusses how analytically distinguishing between ethnic identification and ethnic identity might advance the understanding of both intra-Māori and inter-ethnic inequality.

6.3. Intra-Māori Inequality: An Ethnic Problem? Chapter three of this study showed a segmented opportunity structure within the Māori population was already evident by the 1970s (Table 3.3). Individuals with a lower reported

160 Māori blood quantum had a more favorable occupational profile than those with a higher reported blood quantum. The pairwise analysis of the multi-year census data for the decade 1996 to 2006 showed a similar pattern, albeit using different identification categories. For all socio-economic indicators, individuals on the fringes of Māori identity were significantly more advantaged than those in the core. In 2006, for example, just under one third of those in the periphery category lacked any sort of formal qualification compared to nearly half of those in the core. The pattern was not explained by differences in residential propinquity with other Māori. The percentage point gap between the core and periphery categories often matched or exceeded the gap between non-Māori and Māori (MEG). It needs to be emphasized, however, that even those on the fringes of Māori identification had socio-economic outcomes that were consistently below those of non-Māori. Given that the only difference between the periphery and non-Māori “mainstream” categories was Māori ancestry, the systematic disparity was surprising. Though socio-economic inequality between Māori is incontrovertible, it does not render unimportant disparities between the broader Māori and non-Māori groupings. Focusing on the negative positioning of Māori could just as easily be substituted for a focus on the privileged position of Europeans. The narrative would thus become one of social privilege, rather than social deficit. Both, of course, are interdependent. One makes little sense without the other. The major shortcoming of the multi-year census analysis was the inability to control for the potential effects of variables related to both ethnic identification and the focal outcome. This is important given arguments that ethnicity (or race) has no direct influence on socio- economic outcomes once other variables are controlled for. It is possible that the significance of ethnic identification would diminish or disappear if other indicators of Māori identity were included. It is also possible that both ethnic identification and ethnic ties would be insignificant in relation to other social and demographic factors. Though these determinations could not be made with the tabulated census data, I was able to test specific hypotheses by performing logistic regression of Te Hoe Nuku Roa data. There were two key findings. First, how participants chose to identify themselves mattered less for their socio-economic outcomes than specific sorts of ethnic ties. Being raised in a Māori speaking household was a very strong predictor of leaving high school without a formal qualification, but was inconsequential for employment and home ownership prospects later in life. However, being competent in the Māori language and engagement with Māori politics through enrollment on the Māori electoral roll were generally positively associated with socio-economic outcomes.

161 When the analysis was limited to those present in all three waves I found that those who never reported Māori as their preferred identity generally had more favorable outcomes, though the differences were only statistically significant in some waves. The findings provided general support for my argument that the relationship between ethnicity and disadvantage can be more meaningfully understood by theorizing and identifying relations between specific features of ethnicity, and specific outcomes, rather than relying solely on generic identity categories.

6.4. The Relevance of This Study Beyond New Zealand Though this study is first and foremost a study of contemporary Māori circumstances, it is informed by debates that have animated the study of ethnicity, race, and inequality in the U.S. At the heart of those debates are a number of questions about the significance of ethnicity and race as mechanisms of inequality, and the challenges facing researchers using empirical methods to study these processes. What does race mean when used as an independent variable in statistical models? How well does self-identification with a pre-codified set of categories capture the lived experience of race? What are the risks associated with reducing the substantive and social significance of ethnicity to statistical significance. In the New Zealand, and the U.S., a number of studies using multivariate analysis have shown that ethnic and racial differences in some focal outcome are statistically insignificant, once other demographic, social and economic factors are accounted for. Does this render race and ethnicity socially insignificant? There is no clear answer here, except to note that the finding of significance (or insignificance) is very likely to be influenced by how ethnicity is measured. For example, in some contexts, knowing the ethnic context within which an individual was raised might be more important than simply asking what category they he/she identifies with. It is also hard to ignore that very often there is a strong relationship between ethnicity (however measured) and the statistically significant predictors of the focal outcome. The conclusion that disparities between socially defined ethnic groups have little to do with ethnicity would thus appear misconceived. In the U.S., as in New Zealand, opinions are divided on the place of ethnicity and race in empirical and policy-related research. Some have advocated for dispensing with race, along with the attendant conceptual and measurement problems, and to focus attention instead the theorized mechanisms of ethnic and racial inequality. Others argue for a more theoretically informed usage of ethnicity and race variables, in contrast to the routinized and often atheoretical usage of dummy race variables as controls. In the last decade in New Zealand,

162 there have been growing challenges to the collection and usage of ethnicity data but, more specifically, to the formulation of ethnicity-based policies. In that a large volume of research has documented sizeable differences between the average Māori and the average New Zealander, the relative disadvantage of Māori as a group is generally not in dispute. What is more contested is the use of the ethnic group as a meaningful unit of analysis, given the internal diversity that exists between Māori. This study has confirmed that diversity exists between Māori, both in terms of expressed ties to the broader group, and socio-economic circumstances. The empirical fact of diversity has lead some to argue that disparities are best conceived and addressed as a sub- group problem – simply put, that it is better to focus on, and fund, those Māori who are doing badly. For policies that are specifically needs focused, versus rights focused, this logic is appealing. The use of public funds to assist Māori whose outcomes are equal to, or better than, those of the average European, is unlikely to be accepted as legitimate. On the other hand, all groups that are socially defined as ethnic or racial are heterogeneous, and judgements about what constitutes an acceptable level of diversity are ultimately subjective. Substituting an ethnic group policy for one based on a poorly defined ethnic subset is not a satisfactory solution to the problem. In this study I have argued for fresh and innovative approaches to conceptualizing and analyzing ethnicity. Working with ethnicity data is complicated, but soo to are the “real world” processes in which ethnicity is implicated. To that end I have not lead the charge for the demise of ethnic variables or analysis, but rather tried to underscore the need for new approaches that better capture the multidimensional, changing nature of ethnicity. If there is a presumption that exclusive Māori identification is a proxy for some other dimension of ethnicity that better explains outcomes – for example, having a physical appearance that increases exposure to discriminatory behavior in a particular social setting – then it is desirable to attempt to control for that feature directly, where possible. This does not mean expunging ethnicity from our conceptual or analytical frames, but better articulating what aspect of ethnicity matters for the outcome of interest and why.

6.5. Future Directions In many ways this study has had ambitious goals, trying to span the vast space between the historical trajectories of the mercurial Māori subject (or, more accurately, the mercurial state imaginings of the Māori subject), and the meaning of Māori variables in statistical models predicting socio-economic outcomes. Perhaps because of that, there are many features of the

163 ethnicity-inequality nexus that have been only partially explored, or left unexplored. Thus, it is useful to briefly consider some of the potential avenues for further study. In the future a useful extension of this study would be to test more detailed hypotheses about the temporal relationships between identification, specific kinds of ties to Maori identity (only some of which were selected for this study), and socio-economic outcomes. This could be carried out by examining the trajectories of children in Te Hoe Nuku Roa as they transition to adulthood. Such a study would have the advantage of being able to capture changes in markers of social status, such as pursuing higher education or starting a new job, as well as important lifecourse changes. The ability to control for parental resources and background, as well as parental attachments to Maori identification and identity, would greatly enhance the understanding of ethnicity-inequality dyanamics, beyond what I have been able to achieve in this study. Another limitation of this study has been the exclusive focus on Maori-European relations. Though there are valid reasons for limiting the scope to these groups, the ethnic terrain in New Zealand has changed dramatically in the last two decades. In many respects the future status of Maori will also be determined by their relationships to other non-European ethnic groups. Of particular significance will be the relations that unfold between Maori and the rapidly growing “Asian” population. Most of the Asian growth since the late 1980s has been driven by migrants, many of whom are well-educated. The experience of the U.S. and other countries serve as a cautionary warning about the conflict that can arise between disadvantaged established minorities, and “new” minorities that are better able to assimilate economically. There are already signs of social distance between Māori and Asians – certainly the juxtaposition of “problem” indigenes and “middleman” minorities has caught the popular imagination (Kukutai 2007/08). The reconfiguring of ethnic relations in ways that solidify the disadvantaged status of Māori is a scenario that has thus far received little attention from scholars, but is deserving of further inquiry.

164 APPENDIX

Table A1. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logit model predicting participation in wave 2 of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households. Model 1 a Model 2 b

Preferred ethnic label ns New Zealander Māori/Other Raised in a Māori speaking household ns Regional Council *** Auckland -0.92 *** Wellington -0.94 *** Gisborne 0.50 Male * -0.43 * Age ** Under 30 years -0.50 * 30 - 44 years -0.24 65 years and older -0.31 Household type *** Sole parent household -0.81 * Neither couple with children nor sole -0.89 *** Homeparent ownerhousehold *** 0.45 + In paid work * .28 High school qualification ns (DF, F) (11, 4.87) p 0.000 N 768 Notes: Two-tailed test. *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Limited to adults aged at least 15 years old in wave 1. a Model 1 is for the independent main effects of each variable on the log odds of participating in wave 2. ns=insignificant. Only variables that were significantly different were included in the regression results shown in Model 2; b Base categories: Māori; Manawatu; 45 - 64 years; primary householder was part of a couple with at least one child.

165 Table A2. Unstandardized coefficients from binary logit model predicting participation in wave 3 of Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households. Model 1 a Model 2 b

Preferred ethnic label ns New Zealander Neither Māori nor New Zealander Raised in a Māori speaking household ns Regional Council ns Auckland -0.36 Wellington -0.18 Gisborne 0.40 Male + -0.40 * Age ns Under 30 years -0.37 30 - 44 years -0.53 65 years and older -0.12 Household type ns Sole parent household -0.34 Neither couple with children nor sole -0.13 Homeparent ownerhousehold * 0.57 + In paid work ns -0.59 * High school qualification ns (DF, F) (11, 4.26) p 0.000 N 575 Notes: Two-tailed test. *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10. Limited to adults aged at least 15 years old in wave 2. a Model 1 is for the independent main effects of each variable on the log odds of participating in wave 3. The models were restricted to those present in wave 2. ns= insignificant. Only select variables were included in the regression results shown in Model 2.b Base categories: Māori; Manawatu; 45 - 64 years; couple with at least one child.

166 Table A3. Characteristics of baseline cohort present in all waves, versus those absent from at least one wave, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, waves 1 to 3. Wave 1 characteristics Always in, N=349 Ever out, N=531 % % Valid N Demographic Female * 70.8 63.2 879 Age *** 38.2 (13.6) 33.4 (13.6) 880 Regional Council 880 Gisborne 17.2 16.9 Manawatu 25.8 18.6 Auckland 36.4 43.1 Wellington 20.6 21.3 Urban/rural status * 877 Rural and minor urban areas 34.5 28.4 Secondary and main urban areas 65.5 71.6 Ethnic identity Self-rated Māori language ability 3.4 (1.1) 3.6 (1.0) 742 Raised in Māori speaking household 22.9 23.2 840 SocioAdults-economic spoke Māori until R was 15 Secondary school qualification 46.1 41.8 836 In paid work (full- time or part-time) Household type *** 833 Sole parent 26.0 31.3 Couple with children 62.1 48.6 Other household type 11.9 20.1 High health user 22.1 19.5 842 Home owned by a resident *** 55.3 41.2 795 Notes: Chi square test of independence for categorical variables; independent samples t-test for scalar variables with SD in parentheses. *** p <.001 ** p <.01 * p <.05 + p <.10 . Limited to adults aged at least 15 years old in wave 1.

167 Table A4. Variables used in this study, and percentage of missing responses, adults aged 15 years and older, Te Hoe Nuku Roa survey of Māori households, waves 1 to 3. % missing Item Question W1 W2 W3 Household type a Who are the principal householder(s) of this household? 5.3 1.0 2.1 Has a high school qualification Do you have a secondary school qualification? 5.0 3.5 4.2 Post-secondary qualification Do you have any other qualification e.g. trade certificate, a diploma or a degree, 18.5 4.5 4.8 that has taken at least three months to complete? (do not count any unfinished qualifications). If yes, please explain. Home ownership b Which of the following best describes your housing situation? 7.2 4.1 4.4 In paid work c Do you have a paid job, or a business or farm in which you worked for pay, 5.2 3.5 3.6 profit or income? Electoral roll Which electoral roll are you on? 3.8 3.0 3.0 Preferred identity d If you had to choose one of these options that best describes you, which would 3.5 2.6 3.1 you choose? Knowledge about ancestry How many generations of your Māori ancestry can you name? 4.5 3.0 3.4 Knowledge about sub-tribe Do you know the name(s) of your hapu? Please state the name(s) of your hapu Financial interest in Māori land Do you have an interest in Māori land i.e. as an owner/part owner or beneficiary? 3.8 2.6 3.6 Contacts with other Māori e At work are your contacts with … At sport are your contacts with … At church are your contacts with … At school are your contacts with … At home are your contact with (.e.g, visitors to your home) … mainly Māori; some Māori, few Māori, no Māori, NA Raised in Māori speaking household Up until you were 15 years old, what language did adults in your home mostly 4.5 3.0 3.7 use when talking amongst themselves? Self-rated Māori language ability (6) Appropriate to your age, what is your overall ability with te reo Māori? 4.3 2.6 3.1 Notes: a Response options: A sole person, a sole parent, a couple (married/de facto) no children, a couple (married/de facto) with children, a shared house/flat, other please describe; b Response options: You are paying board, you are paying rent/lease, you are not paying any form of board, rent or mortgage, you are paying a mortgage to buy a house, you own a house without a loan or mortgage, other (please explain); c In waves 2 and 3 a distinction was also made between full-time and part-time work; d Response options: a Kiwi, a New Zealander, Maori/Pakeha, part Pakeha (dropped after wave 1), part Māori, a Polynesian, a Māori, Other - please state; e In wave 2 the response options were the same but the question changed to: In general, would you say your contacts are with…. Wave 3 retained the same question as wave 2 but reverted to the options in wave 1 (i.e., at work, sport, church, school, and home; f In waves 2 and 3 this changed to: How would you rate your overall ability with Maori language?, with the response options: Excellent, very good, good, fair, poor, not applicable

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