The metacrisis represents a profound conceptual framework for understanding our current global predicament beyond the surface-level manifestations of individual crises. Because of modernity’s philosophical premises, particularly Enlightenment concepts that separated humanity from nature (Malm, Reference Malm2018; Moore, Reference Moore2015; Tsing, Reference Tsing2015), modern approaches to environmental challenges embrace a dualistic schism, separating between humanity and nature. This leads to the fragmentation of understanding due to the compartmentalisation of knowledge. These approaches are unhelpful due to their limitations of scope. The metacrisis embraces systems theory, practice and the affect; what is happening, how we feel about it and what we might do. In our current situation, many feel bleak and too helpless to act.
In response, we offer the experiences of Indigenous Māori rangatahi (youth) from Rongomaiwāhine, a particular Māori nation of Aotearoa New Zealand. Māori originated as a colonial term for the Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand, and as an act of tactical subjectivity (Moreton-Robinson, Reference Moreton-Robinson2013) it has been adopted as an expression of cultural solidarity. Within Māoridom, Māori refer to ourselves as Māori with the understanding that we comprise numerous distinct nations, each with their own histories, territories and cultural nuances. While sharing fundamental worldviews and values, each nation maintains unique mātauranga (knowledge systems) and relationships to their specific natural world.
As a nation, Rongomaiwahine’s territory centres on Te Māhia Peninsula (commonly referred to as Mahia). Rongomaiwāhine people possess distinct cultural knowledge grounded in their natural world and connected through whakapapa (genealogy). Drawing from the young Rongomaiwāhine we explore their holistic or interconnected and indivisible conceptualisation of humanity, the natural and the spiritual. Their values reflect the natural world being a part of them and them being a part of the natural world and care in all realms often through actions significant in community or land-sky-seascape settings (Ormond et al., Reference Ormond, Kidman, Tomlins-Jahnke, Swartz, Cooper, Batan and Causa2020). Their responses suggest the value of a conceptual framework grounded in Rongomaiwāhine philosophy, from which others can learn to begin to rethink relationships between humanity, nature and entities seen and unseen. In this way, Indigenous peoples who live in dual worlds, navigating both non-Indigenous (colonial) and Indigenous knowledge systems such as Rongomaiwāhine can offer learnings to those whose world view is degrading the planet. For this reason, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi perceptions offer lessons in hope in a time of crisis based on enduring ‘rememberings’; ideas informed by the past that provide ways forward into the future.
The article proceeds with a short contextualising discussion of the metacrisis and is understood through Rongomaiwāhine mātauranga (knowledge), which may also have relevance for Māori mātauranga more broadly. We then explore the general idea of relationality through the concept of whakapapa (connection, genealogy) as key underpinnings of Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi thinking. This is followed by an outline of our research methodology and a discussion of themes emerging from the research findings, interpreted through the conceptual lenses of relationality and whakapapa. Finally, we return to the metacrisis and what can be learned, offering a hopeful conclusion.
The metacrisis and its relationship to Indigenous knowledge
Modernity operates with a colonial underpinning that shapes its understanding of reality (Mignolo, Reference Mignolo2011). This involves a fragmented ontology that makes it difficult to recognise how actions people take ripple through ecological and social systems. This situation legitimises a moral environment that normalises extractive relationships between humans and nature and powerful groups and marginalised communities, all the while framing exploitation as progress and development. At the individual level, this creates what Plumwood (Reference Plumwood1993) identifies as an “ecological crisis of reason” (pp. 8, 75–76) where personal identity can become detached from ecological embeddedness, producing profound alienation and existential distress (Pihkala, Reference Pihkala2020). At the collective level, societies struggle to articulate shared purposes beyond consumption and economic growth. Political fragmentation and an inability to mobilise around common ethical commitments is the result (Folke et al., Reference Folke, Biggs, Norström, Reyers and Rockström2016). No institution has both the authority and capacity to address problems that cross the boundaries represented by lines on the map. For example, species loss is treated as an isolated technical problem rather than a manifestation of deeper ontological and axiological positions, stymying protection across ecological and geographic spaces.
What distinguishes the metacrisis framework from other approaches to such global challenges, including the polycrisis approach (Lawrence et al., Reference Lawrence, Homer Dixon, Janzwood, Rockström, Renn and Donges2024; Tooze, Reference Tooze2022) which focuses on connections between symptoms, their cascading relationships and solutions that embrace these complexities, is its recognition that our predicament cannot be resolved through technical interventions alone. This is coupled with the realisation that we are all challenged environmentally and emotionally by our experiences. That is, the current state of our external natural environment is negatively affecting our internal psychic environment. Addressing the depth of this global predicament requires not just policy or technological changes, but makes essential transformations in how we make meaning, relate to each other and understand our place in the living world. Without such rethinking, hope is likely to remain an unfounded rarity.
Epistemologically, many Māori knowledge systems, including those of Rongomaiwāhine, integrate the empirical observation of lived experience with narrative, spiritual understanding and intergenerational wisdom, creating more holistic approaches to complex problems. Māori ontological frameworks recognise what Durie (Reference Durie2003) describes as “a seamless reality” (p. 57) where spiritual, human and natural world domains are understood as interconnected rather than separate. Axiologically, Māori values, including those of Rongomaiwāhine are deeply rooted in an all-encompassing relationality to past and future generations aligning human activities with processes in the natural world. For example, Māori governance approaches, such as those guiding Rongomaiwāhine community, emphasise consensus-building, deliberative processes and decision-making frameworks that explicitly consider impacts across multiple generations (Smith, Reference Smith2012). Central to these approaches are ideas of whakapapa (genealogy, connection), which situate community in relationship to the natural world and the present in relation to the past and future. In the context of Aotearoa New Zealand, Rongomaiwāhine knowledge systems provide crucial insights into the transformations needed to address deeply rooted problems. These traditions not only offer examples, ideas and pathways for change but also provide fundamentally distinct methods of knowing, being, valuing and governing to individuals, groups and societies willing to embrace the challenges involved.
The research presented here honours the voice and perspectives of Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi. Their voices provide a powerful counterpoint to any hopelessness contingent on the metacrisis by demonstrating living alternatives to modern dualistic thinking and the issues and limitations that this presents. While acknowledging the broader Māori framework of Kaupapa Māori (Pihama, Reference Pihama2010) which centres all things Māori (Smith, Reference Smith2012), including a Māori worldview, this paper uses that framework to introduce and foreground the specific mātauranga of individual iwi, such as Rongomaiwāhine. Specifically, Rongomaiwāhine ontology and epistemology challenge the philosophical foundations of the metacrisis by recognising the interdependence of all living beings and understanding existence through whakapapa (relational connection) rather than separation (Ormond et al., Reference Ormond and Ormond2018). Where the metacrisis stems from humanity’s perceived separation from nature, mātauranga Māori and particularly Rongomaiwāhine traditions, offer a perspective that emphasises the interconnectedness of humanity, nature and the spiritual.
The experiences of Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi, offer empirical evidence of how humanity can exist in caring, holistic and reciprocal relationships with the natural world. Their profound spiritual, physical and material relationships with their environment, maintained through cultural practices and ancestral connections, provide a lived alternative to the alienating characteristic of the metacrisis. The worldview of the rangatahi, which frames all beings as alive, possessing agency and existing in fundamental interconnection, stands in stark contrast to the modern dualistic, objectification of nature (Harmsworth & Awatere, Reference Harmsworth, Awatere and Dymond2013). Instead, Rongomaiwāhine youth offer a relational whakapapa-based understanding that recognises the intra-connection of individual subjects and their ecological context (Durie, Reference Durie2003).
The value of relationality
In the Western tradition, it makes sense to think with Tynan (Reference Tynan2021) of a relational turn, a shift in emphasis from separation to connection and to a paradigm where “all things exist in relatedness” (p. 601). By contrast, “Indigenous epistemologies are rooted in ways of being and thinking in which relationality has been central for thousands of years” (Gould et al., Reference Gould, Martinez and Hoelting2023, p. 2) so that for Indigenous Māori such as Rongomaiwāhine, no such turn is needed (Smith et al., Reference Smith, Tuck, Yang, Smith, Tuck and Yang2018). Instead, what is at stake for Rongomaiwāhine is continuity.
Modernist thinking imagines entities as distinct and static; and systems thinking suggests entities interact and move but are essentially separate. A relational ontology involves matters such as the foundational importance of processes of change and relationship; the relational unity of society and ecology; and the potential of non-human agency (Gould et al., Reference Gould, Martinez and Hoelting2023) such that humans are of no more and no less worth than other living entities (Moreton-Robinson, Reference Moreton-Robinson, Andersen and OBrien2017). A relational Indigenous epistemology “emphasizes its non-fragmented, holistic nature, focusing on the metaphysical and pragmatic, on language and place, on value and relationships…Indigenous epistemologies live within a relational web and all aspects must be understood from that vantage point” (Kovach, Reference Kovach2009, p. 57).
A relational ontology provides a context in which the valuing of relationships inherent in holism makes sense. A relational axiology frames relational thinking as centred on obligations for humans to operate within caring relationships with the rest of the creations of this world. Care is not understood as an individual emotional response but an “embodied, collective and reciprocal practice involving humans and nonhumans” (West et al., Reference West, Haider, Stålhammar and Woroniecki2020, p. 314). Wellbeing and collectivity extend beyond humans as a corollary of what Martinez (Reference Martinez and Hankard2016) calls a “we consciousness,” and time is understood in circular ways on a large scale. Research and education should therefore serve all relations, not only humans, embodying values such as humility, balance, restraint and reciprocity (Gould et al., Reference Gould, Martinez and Hoelting2023), as well as the intergenerationality of protecting the future while benefitting the present and honouring the past.
The Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi participants in this study do not use terms such as “paradigm” or the “relational turn.” However, they have a clear sense of being an integral part of integrated social and natural environments. They recognise their obligations to care for people, places and things seen and unseen, and live in the flux of time with the past, present and future flowing together. The young people are aware of their place in the collective of their surroundings and respond to the existential demands of living a life in ways that sustain themselves, their iwi and their environments.
These rangatahi are immersed in a connected world with no need to define their existence as relational. Yet, they also live in a world dominated by Western philosophical bases in which they are actors in Western economic structures and may feel forced to assert relationality as an alternative way of being. Informed by experiences within this dual existence, the thinking of Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi is well suited to guide the paradigmatic shifts required by Western thought and the societies that embody this in the metacrisis. The Māori concept of whakapapa, which is central to Rongomaiwāhine mātauranga, offers an understanding of the connective relationships of which the Rongomaiwāhine speak.
Whakapapa: Relational ontology
Whakapapa, often simplified in translation as genealogy, represents a foundational concept within Rongomaiwāhine epistemology that implies more than mere ancestral lineage. At its core, whakapapa constitutes a comprehensive relational framework through which Rongomaiwāhine understand their place in the world and their connections to all aspects of existence (Ormond & Ormond, Reference Ormond and Ormond2018) and vice versa. While commonly associated with human ancestry, authentic whakapapa encompasses relationships between people, mountains, rivers, flora, fauna and celestial bodies – positioning all entities within an interconnected web of kinship relations that transcends Western nature –culture divides (Grosfoguel, Reference Grosfoguel2007).
As an onto-epistemological system, whakapapa functions as both a structure of reality and a methodology for knowledge creation. Roberts and Wills (Reference Roberts, Wills and Wautischer1998) describe whakapapa as “a cognitive template” (p. 46) that organises knowledge through relationships rather than categories, allowing understanding to emerge through concrete connections rather than abstract classification. This relational approach stands in direct contrast to Cartesian dualism that separates subject from object and underpins the epistemological dimension of the metacrisis (Cupples & Grosfoguel (Eds.), Reference Cupples and Grosfoguel2019).
The philosophical significance of whakapapa lies in its recognition of the fundamental relatedness of humans through shared ancestry with all aspects of the natural world. Mountains are not inert geographical features but tīpuna (ancestors) with whom we maintain active relationships. Similarly rivers, oceans, forests and animals are not merely resources to be utilised but kin with whom humans share genealogical connections and reciprocal responsibilities. This relational ontology extends to all elements of the ecosystem: the birds (manu) who carry messages between realms, the ika (fish) who are descendants of Tangaroa the atua (god) of the ocean, the ngahere (plants) who trace their lineage to Tāne Mahuta, atua of forests. Each entity possesses its own mauri (life force) and mana (spiritual power), requiring acknowledgment from those who encounter them and respect rather than domination. Such a relational perspective fundamentally challenges modern ontological assumptions that position humans as separate from and superior to nature. As Mika (Reference Mika2017) argues, whakapapa represents a mode of thinking where the self is always already immersed in relationships with things, defying subject–object distinctions characteristic of Western metaphysics.
Methodologically, whakapapa represents a fundamentally different way of being in the world. Rather than reducing phenomena to discrete variables, whakapapa contextualises knowledge within relational networks that preserve the wholeness and complexity of phenomenon. It can prove particularly valuable for addressing interconnected ecological and social challenges where reductionist methodologies fail to capture systemic dynamics. Te Rito (Reference Te Rito2007) also argues that whakapapa functions as a framework for ordering, preserving and transmitting knowledge across generations. When applied to environmental management, whakapapa-based approaches can recognise ecological systems as complex interspecies and intergenerational kinship networks rather than resources to be efficiently exploited.
The ethical dimensions of whakapapa emerge through concepts like kaitiakitanga (guardianship), which position humans not as dominators but as nurturing relatives within the web of relationships that form ecological communities. Stewardship responsibilities extend across time, connecting present generations to both ancestors and descendants, creating what Hēnare (Reference Hēnare2018) terms an “economy of affection” (p. 457) rather than extraction. The connective temporal dimension of whakapapa directly confronts the short-term thinking characteristic of modern governance systems at government and institutional levels.
For contemporary Māori communities navigating the tensions between traditional knowledge and modernity, whakapapa provides both cultural continuity and adaptive capacity. Young Māori such as those from Rongomawāhine participating in this research engage with their whakapapa to extend beyond historical connections to activate living relationships that inform identity formation and ecological understanding (Ormond et al., Reference Ormond, Kidman, Tomlins-Jahnke, Swartz, Cooper, Batan and Causa2020). They consider sea, land, places and people as living and vital, enmeshed in interspecies and intergenerational relationships that connect past, present and future.
As humanity confronts interlinked ecological and social crises, whakapapa offers a radical alternative to Cartesian duality that is characteristic of modern thinking – demonstrating the possibility of knowledge systems that integrate rather than separate, contextualise rather than abstract. This is because whakapapa positions humans within rather than above the natural world. Whakapapa offers a stable platform in a fast-moving Western-informed world, a counter to the challenges experienced by Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi participants to their ways of life and, more generally, to Māori and other Indigenous understandings of the world. This understanding of whakapapa, as a framework for relationality and interconnectedness, directly informs the methodological approach taken in this research.
Methodology
The research applies the principles of Kaupapa Māori as discussed earlier, situating the mātauranga and whakapapa of Rongomaiwāhine at the core of the research design and methodology. In this research, whakapapa functions as both conceptual framework and methodology. In Māori contexts, whakapapa connections provide historical and experiential knowledge that has value within existing relational networks. This contrasts with Western research paradigms where academic credentials often confer authority.
Adreanne, who is Rongomaiwāhine, directed the research and conducted the face-to-face elements of the work as both a researcher and a member of the iwi. Her role was informed by whakapapa and her connection to the relational webs of Mahia. Relationships of this nature are a strength of Rongomaiwāhine ontology and Kaupapa Māori research, conducive to research which is a shared endeavour conducted for the good of the group.
Data collection employed two complementary methods: focus group hui (meetings) (Wilkinson, Reference Wilkinson and Silverman2004) and walk-along interviews (Carpiano, Reference Carpiano2009) conducted in significant community locations. The walk-along method proved particularly effective as it situated conversations within the physical landscapes that shape identity for the rangatahi, aligning with the importance of relationships between people and place recognised by whakapapa. Both methods were conducted with groups rather than individuals, honouring collective knowledge production central to Māori epistemology.
Data analysis applied whakapapa as an interpretive framework, attending to how rangatahi positioned themselves within relationships to land, ancestors and future generations when articulating their hopes and fears. This approach revealed how the rangatahi conceptualised contemporary challenges through relational rather than individualistic frameworks. An iterative coding process was used to uncover the relationship between whakapapa and participants’ responses.
The methodology used directly addresses the metacrisis by demonstrating how Indigenous knowledge systems offer alternatives to the fragmentation that is characteristic of modern thinking. By centring whakapapa in both research design and analysis, this study demonstrates how Indigenous methodologies can generate knowledge that integrates rather than separates, contextualises rather than abstracts and positions humans within rather than above the natural world. This approach provides accounts of thought and behaviour outside the framing that has led to the metacrisis.
This research received ethics approval from Victoria University of Wellington Human Ethics Committee (HEC #0000023635) and was conducted within Te Mahia peninsula in Te Tai Rāwhiti, in the east of Te Ika a Māui (the North Island of Aotearoa New Zealand) with Rongomaiwāhine youth between the ages of 13–20 years. The study engaged ten young Māori participants (two males and eight females), with this paper drawing specifically on data from five participants (two males and three females). All participants were living on Mahia peninsula on their ancestral land, were actively engaged with their community and possess strong awareness of their whakapapa.
Findings
Here we discuss findings drawn from the voices of Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi by using an analysis that centres whakapapa. The findings are reported according to three themes: relationality with a focus on people; relationality with a focus on environmental entities; and holistic relationships across the human and non-human.
Relationality with a focus on people
When discussing their relationships, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi often referred to people to whom they are connected by whakapapa. These people include older people and relatives, those who are still alive and those who have passed. The rangatahi displayed a collective focus in which individuals’ actions and community contributions are not intended to gain personal recognition but are focused on community wellbeing. This perspective is maintained across generations by example and direct advice. The emphasis on collectivity was explained by one rangatahi as follows:
And, yeah, my uncles always said … our families always been bought up to know that [if] everything’s alright at the back then the front will be fine …
Here, the back is the setting for the small actions of individuals such as young people, and the front is the collective, public facing aspect of the group which, when “fine” contributes to the mana (standing) of the iwi. The back and front are connected by a shared confidence that people will acknowledge their whakapapa through individual actions that will enable the groups to fulfil their obligations.
Among the actions that embody and reify whakapapa are the giving of material contributions to the collective. Although giving can be an everyday event, certain formal occasions provide clear collective focus for gift giving. These include tangi (funerals) where members of the iwi come together to mark the passing of a family member. On such occasions, food is required to feed potentially large gatherings over a number of days. One rangatahi explained how this occurs:
Yep, so my mum and her sisters they usually do like a lot of baking like puddings, breads and stuff like that; and also donate food. My uncle, he usually gets the crayfish and stuff. My cousin G., she usually does the dive [for] pāua (marine molluscs) and kinas (sea urchin). My cousin … oh our in-laws they usually get like the meat like deer, pig, sheep, cows … what else … and we also help by giving our time at the marae (communal space/buildings) too by preparing food …
Through individuals providing different food stuffs and adopting different roles in obtaining these, individual and shared actions ensure that shop bought and wild caught ingredients produce food to sustain those who come to the tangi. One result is adding to the mana of the deceased,
and that just simply means if you want to show how great this person was you make sure that everyone’s always fed, overfed and warm, yeah.
Through commitment to tangi, connections between the past, present and future are activated and honoured.
Time given for preparation, like the food itself, is an acknowledgement of whakapapa. When asked how gifts of time relate to the monetary economy, a Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi replied:
I don’t think you should … I don’t think you should be paid or [be] like rewarded because it’s all about … Māoritanga (the Māori way of doing things) I guess …
For this rangatahi, preparing for a tangi is an element of Māoritanga. In the example of a tangi, Māoritanga is significant as a framework that warrants specific kinds of action (gifts) framed within relationships (whakapapa) that reinforce collectivity.
Another example that shows how whakapapa frames rangatahi activities within tangi is that a young person might be responsible for:
Setting up to cleaning the statues [in the urupa (graveyard)] and you know, cleaning up bird pooh and stuff and painting it just making it look nice and … set up microphones and speakers – PA systems to help people hear them [the orators]. Being part of the community like this, it’s another way I feel connected. Our marae (meeting grounds), our people – we look after each other … We’re all connected. That’s what being Rongomaiwāhine teaches me.
What might be thought of in a Western-framed monetary economy as menial jobs – cleaning droppings, painting and fetching and carrying – are valued for the way they enable rangatahi to contribute to the collective. Through the performance of this work, the mana of those who have passed will be supported by the tidiness of their gravestones, stories that maintain connections between the living and dead and a meeting in a respectful collective environment. In turn, those who perform the work experience whakapapa as belonging and connection. In this way, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi iwi identity is informed by their own actions because these embody relational connections.
Responses given by Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi also explicitly illustrate deep relationality across entities, human and non-human. In the following example, tikanga (correct procedure, lore) provides principles that shape the way the rangatahi provide care.
Like, tikanga’s usually … like you just find some way to support them [grieving people]. Like whether it be emotionally or financially … you know.… They just need someone to talk to, then do it like that … It’s those connections, those responsibilities that make us who we are.
Tikanga, like Māoritanga, frames connections and the responsibilities that come with them as corollaries of whakapapa. The result is that Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi relational identity is reinforced based on who one is as a part of the collective.
Relationality with a focus on environmental entities
For Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi, whakapapa embraces a range of entities that extend beyond the human. Their responses in the research indicate that the Western duality of human and non-human is inadequate to reflect their understanding of the world. Emotional responses that mark deep levels of connection to entities beyond the human in their environment were frequent in their discussions. For example, when the idea of home was discussed, the complexity of thought brought to the concept by Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi resulted in the following comment:
[Home?] I think of … yeah, well, wherever Mum and Dad is that’s usually home. But Mahia is more than just home. It’s where I belong. The land knows me here, and I know it. My blood is connected to this place.
This response suggests at least two levels of relationship contribute to the idea of home. One consists of attachment to parents regardless of location. This suggests a home that is not geographically fixed but is focussed on parent–child relationships. A second is geographically centred and is focussed on the Rongomaiwāhine ancestral lands of Mahia. The rangatahi–land relationship is reciprocal and results in a home that is “more than just home,” invoked through the connections of blood. When held together, these two ideas of home show whakapapa operating as a connecting force at two complementary scales – the immediate family and the wider environmental. Home thought of in both scales is held in a synchronous unity through the connective tissue of whakapapa.
The idea of belonging emerged as important during one of the walk-along interviews. In this extract from the interview, one of the Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi used contrast with other young people to emphasise their connection to their ancestral land.
And now we’re walking to Y stream and it runs through Z stream down out into the ocean. When I’m away, I always picture this stream in my mind. It grounds me. Other young people I know are always searching for who they are, but I’ve never felt that way. This land is like an anchor for me.
The metaphor of anchorage suggests that the young person has an unchanging fixed point of reference to which they are always connected wherever they go and whatever they experience. This connection is whakapapa, a beneficial and enduring state of being.
Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi also spoke of deep connection to the ocean using language similar to that which describes their connection to land. They understand the ocean as an entity which communicates with them, and which, like the land, is focus for belonging and provider of safety.
It’s not just a nice view though. The ocean here, it’s like … it watches over us. When I’m feeling lost or confused, I just sit and listen to it. It reminds me that I’m part of something bigger. My old people say the sea is in our blood, and I believe that. It’s a living thing that knows us.
At night when I hear it, it reminds me of who I am … when it’s quiet, I swear I can hear it speaking. Not in words exactly, but in a way that touches something deep inside. I know that sounds funny, but it’s real…. That sound, it’s like a heartbeat to me. I’ve grown up with it. When I’m away, even for a day, I miss it.
For these rangatahi, human and non-human are not separate but relations, entities to which they are related.
Ancestors and the ocean are inextricably linked for the rangatahi; the ocean is an ancestor. This is clear as rangatahi experience connection and care which they attribute to an integration of the visible (ocean) and invisible (ancestors):
When I’m out here, by the sea, I can feel that my tīpuna are watching over us. It grounds me in a way that’s different from people who do not have that … The ocean isn’t just water to me - it’s like a living relative that watches over us. When I’m by the water, I can feel my ancestors with me.
In a similar way, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi recognise whakapapa connections to a unity of the land and ancestors:
The land knows us. I know that might sound … um … spiritual or something, but that’s how it feels…. It’s more than just land though. When I walk on this whenua, I feel my ancestors with me.
In the perspective of the rangatahi, the seen and the unseen are experienced as one due to the integration of land-sea-sky as ancestors. The integration of land-sea-sky as ancestors and humans happens during the lives of past and present human generations as “their personality traits, deeds and mauri [life essence] are inscribed within the whenua, or within another life form such as a creature” (Ormond & Ormond, Reference Ormond and Ormond2018, p. 87). That is, the whakapapa connections within and across human and non-human relations are continually developing as the story of the iwi unfolds.
Some land use by Rongomaiwāhine acts to reinforce the unity of entities. An example is the way urupā are positioned close to areas where people live. Referring to this arrangement, one Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi expressed connections between land, ancestors and the living in this way:
Whanau’s there and our Nan yeah! Having the urupā so close, it reminds me every day of the circle of life. Our ancestors are right there with us.
The metaphor of the circle of life points to time appreciated in extended circular phases. This contrasts to Western ideas of efficiency and the short-term evaluation of actions and the concentration on the here and now in a linear understanding of time. Instead, the present, the (short) human past and the (long) ever present past such as that of the land are woven together. Thus, living with the urupā reinforces the fact that:
Being Rongomaiwāhine means I have a relationship with this land that goes back generations.
Whakapapa forms a web of enduring links in which the living and the dead are not separated but co-existing.
A second example involves family disputes that include land. In the account of two rangatahi (Y1 and Y2), Rongomaiwāhine family can have similar issues between themselves about land as other people do. However, in the account offered by the youths, the settlement of a dispute places whakapapa as the priority:
Y1 You get a lot of family that like to fight over it (land) for different reasons …
Y2 Not one of them have a solution to suit everyone.
Y1 Yeah a lot of bickering going on, aye!
Y2 Yeah! But underneath all that, there’s this connection that goes beyond the arguments.
From this it appears that because the shared whakapapa to the land is more significant to those involved than other differences, whakapapa as a guiding principle contributes cohesion to the group. This contrasts to a monetary economy where the contribution of the land to the group is reduced to its exchange value. In addition, because whakapapa to land is intergenerational, holding and caring for the land provides the group with responsibilities that support shared identity. As one Rongomaiwāhine youth put it,
I help take care of the land here. That’s not really a job, it’s more … a responsibility? Being Rongomaiwāhine, it’s about looking after what our tīpuna left us. The land, the sea - they look after us if we look after them. That knowledge, that relationship - it’s something special.
In these and other ways, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi express their ideas and experiences of relationality with non-human entities, elements of physical and spiritual environments. Significantly, the world is integrated to the rangatahi. In the next section we present some of the ways that this integration is understood and maintained.
Relationality as a holistic understanding
Whakapapa is neither limited to the human realm or the present time. Instead, the binding force of whakapapa connection is vital for Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi in their daily lives. In this section of the findings we offer five of the ways connections are discussed by these young people. The first deals with the enduring presence of ancestors both distant and close whose mark has been left on the land-sea-skyscape in ways that remain significant.
During one of the walk-along interviews, one of the rangatahi commented on various places important to them, connecting these to ancestors:
Yeah, they’re all very important places on Mahia because our tīpuna were able to see straight out over Poverty Bay; they’re able to see any waka (canoes), any incoming tribes and so forth; the woolsheds that we’re standing in was made by my great-grandfather … and it was one of the first woolsheds on Mahia and it’s still going today …
This account jointly locates forebears from the early days of Rongomaiwāhine settlement at Mahia, those who arrived in waka and needed to be prepared for the potentially hostile arrival of others by similar means and those of recent generations who built on the land to create an industry. This illustrates the continuity of whakapapa for the rangatahi; connection is not eroded by time nor divided into historical segments, but maintained through the relationships people have to the sea and land.
Whakapapa also locates rangatahi, connecting them to history and in the landscape. For example:
[That] is the neighbouring farm, it used to belong to another [of our] family but has since been sold, yeah. There’s such a different feeling when you understand the whakapapa of the land. I can trace the connections of who lived where, how the land changed hands - it’s all part of a living history that I’m connected to. That’s what being mana whenua (people with authority for the land) means to me.
Mana whenua is a term which refers to authority over land, but also to power from land. Mana whenua comes through enduring connections to place vested in whakapapa. Thus, whakapapa enables rangatahi to trace human to land relationships over time in a way that is living, that is, still maintained through the way whakapapa knowledge is held.
Connections between people and non-human entities are also maintained through stories. Stories are narrative constructions that bring ideas or events from the past into the present, fostering connection as a result. One example gathered from Rongomaiwāhine youth during the research deals with snapper, a specific kind of local red ocean fish.
Y1: There’s the story of the three snapper out there yeah do you know that one? OK, there’s three rocks out on the rock pools, umm … and it’s just about … it’s a little local … would you call it myth, folklore or local knowledge …?
Y2: … I think three snapper got stranded, aye? And they turned into stone!
Y1: Oh but there’s always variations … Yeah, oh in any case they look like three snapper …
Y2: … side by side. You know, when I tell these stories, I can feel my tīpuna speaking through me. These stories connect me to this place in a way that’s hard to explain to others who don’t have that. Being Rongomaiwāhine means these aren’t just rocks or fish stories to me - they’re part of who I am. I can walk here and feel completely centred because this land knows me as much as I know it.
According to the rangatahi, the telling of stories acts to reinforce their sense of connection to the land-sky. Narrating is not a personal event but one shared with tūpunu, that bridges past and present, an experience that articulates whakapapa. Through the story, the rocks, fish and storyteller are united so that the storyteller re-realises their relationship of reciprocal knowing with the past and the land.
Knowing and being known by the land are also supported by the act of walking the land, an activity of mutual recognition. This significance of walking the land can be seen in this account from one rangatahi who has realised the practice is in decline.
I think about that now - how we’re losing the practice of walking the land. My koro (grandfather) used to say you don’t really know a place until you’ve walked every part of it. But now we drive everywhere, and our kids are growing up not knowing the land beneath their feet. That worries me when I think about the future. If systems collapse, if petrol becomes too expensive or unavailable, will our rangatahi know how to navigate this place on foot? Will they know where to find water, where to find shelter?
Walking the land means appreciating the detail of place, the potential ways that land can offer care and support, reaffirming relationships as a result. The land is enduring, even when the oil runs out. Land defines who people are, since they belong to it. Walking the land can express care, affection and connection. Navigating the land invokes a deep sense of knowledge which is active, useful, human-held but based on land. The fear of this rangatahi is that when such knowledges are needed to replace those systems that appear to have superseded Māori Indigenous knowledge, the whakapapa connection may have been interrupted and the knowledge lost.
Specific cultural practices also provide a focus for whakapapa relationships between people and land. As discussed above, past deeds and mauri (life essence) are inscribed within the whenua (land) in ways that can be read in present generations. For example:
Y1: Cause I remember umm … Uncle […] when he was here and he would tell us about the waterfall and even [another relative] said … so yeah … he said they use to wash the new babies in that waterfall.
Y2: Those practices connect us across time, don’t they? Like, when I think about that waterfall and what it meant to our people, I feel connected to something much bigger than myself. And that connection gives me strength when I think about the challenges coming our way.
Through recognition of the interaction between people such as ancestors and features of the land and/or sea such as a waterfall, whakapapa connects the rangatahi across time to past people and events, and through space to the places wherein mauri has been inscribed. When rangatahi walk the land and experience mutual knowing with the land, such connections remain vital.
Rangatahi invigorate whakapapa through specific acts of care. The following example shows how tuna (eels) are implicated in an understanding of reciprocal care between non-human aspects of nature and people.
I go get the baby ones [eels] and transplant them and put them into different dams. [The stream] is what I would call a mauri because it’s a really good source for all the baby eels … I’m not just doing a task - I’m participating in something much bigger. My relationship with these creatures, with this water, it’s reciprocal.… It’s a spiritual connection that gives my life meaning beyond just myself …- I don’t see myself as separate from the natural world … This knowledge of when and where to find them, how to care for them - that’s knowledge passed down through generations. When I’m doing these things, I feel the presence of my ancestors guiding me.… They’re more than just animals to me. In our Māori worldview, tuna, they’re like whānau - family. I feel a responsibility toward them…. There’s a sacredness to that whole process too. Taking life to sustain life. I always give thanks when I harvest them. I think that’s what being Rongomaiwāhine means to me - understanding these deeper connections and responsibilities. It’s a different kind of meaning than what modern society often offers.
By accounting for their relationship with eels in this way, the rangatahi draws attention to whakapapa as intergenerational knowledge transmission; whakapapa as an understanding that binds fish and human family; and the fundamental whakapapa relationship of mutuality between Māori and the world in which they live. In this way, whakapapa connects the human and non-human, physical and spiritual, and past and present in a unity.
Discussion: Learning from Rongomaiwāhine Rangatahi
Modern approaches to environmental challenges embrace a dualistic schism between culture and nature. This can lead to fragmented understandings of the issues faced by humanity because knowledge is compartmentalised. Consequently, solutions based on such approaches can be limited in scope and effectiveness. The metacrisis embraces systems theory and the affect; what is happening and how we feel about it. This means that how we understand what we see as crisis in the world feeds how we feel about it; equally, how we feel about crisis shapes how we respond. Systems theory incorporates complexity, but emotion tends towards simplicity. In our current situation, many feel bleak and overwhelmed, unable to rethink at the level the issues require.
However, the experiences of Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi from Aotearoa New Zealand offer insight regarding re-thinking how we understand and respond to our current complex predicament. Although not offering direct solutions, their thoughts and practices offer pathways of hope. For instance, when a rangatahi said, “the land knows me,” they were not speaking in a purely symbolic sense but rather describing a deep relationality that is both physical and spiritual. This connection requires actions of care that are reciprocated, with the land remembering acts of protection and nurturing. And, while being Indigenous is neither possible nor the aim for societies that do not have fundamental connections with specific land-sea-skyscapes, much can be learned that can stimulate alternative relationships between people and their environments on a global scale that could prove useful in redirecting perceptions and, as a result, actions in the time of the metacrisis. For these rangatahi, such relationships are embodied in everyday practices like walking the land, which strengthens both knowledge of place and a sense of belonging. These connections offer a powerful lens through which the metacrisis can be reimagined. This is a case of Indigenous people understanding, acting on and therefore modelling an alternative way of understanding the world and responding to crisis. The example provides a resource for fundamentally rethinking human–environmental relationships at local, societal and world levels.
The discussion we offer is not a matter of solving the metacrisis, a framing that perpetuates the Western illusion of human control. Instead, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi lives demonstrate practices of right relationship that erode the foundations of crisis itself. They suggest that the metacrisis is symptom of forgetting who we are. This kind of forgetting is evident in the decline of practices like walking the land, which one rangatahi noted was crucial for knowing the land and understanding how to find shelter or water. Such knowledge is not just practical but anchored in whakapapa, connecting rangatahi to their ancestors and future generations. The following five exemplary possibilities are a series of rememberings – ways of returning to relationships that Indigenous peoples have maintained despite centuries of colonial pressure to forget.
Remembering #1 Natural Entities as Kin in Law and Life
The fundamental misunderstanding at the root of the crises we are experiencing is the relegation of the non-human to resources to be exploited regardless of consequence. By contrast, rangatahi understanding of the mana or living potential of the ocean to be “like a living relative that watches over us” points towards a fundamental legal and social revolution. When one rangatahi spoke of the sea as “a living thing that knows us,” they emphasised the idea of mutual recognition. This relationship is not purely utilitarian but one of care and respect, where the ocean provides guidance and comfort in times of uncertainty. This connection to the ocean as a relative is a clear statement of whakapapa as a uniting force.
Political fragmentation and an inability to mobilise around common ethical commitments is the result (Folke et al., Reference Folke, Biggs, Norström, Reyers and Rockström2016). While granting “personhood” to rivers or forests is a step forward in the ways societies relate to their environments, this concept remains rooted in Western legal frameworks so that humans assume the agency to redefine these aspects of nature. Instead, the rangatahi encourage us to recognise the mutuality of kinship relations in law. When rangatahi say “the land knows me,” they imply the land is an active presence in their lives – one that knows their blood and holds their identity. Such a relationship demands careful stewardship, as harming the land would be a violation of this reciprocal bond. This approach demands constitutional amendments that acknowledge humans as relatives to mountains, oceans and forests that have agency and memory. Thinking like this suggests a legal system where land can refuse certain developments because valuable relationships will have been damaged. In this imaginary, courts would include speakers for non-human kin and harm to ecosystems would be prosecuted as violence against relatives, carrying the same moral weight as harm to human family members. Shared relational ethics would impel change, replacing the inertia of political fragmentation (Folke et al., Reference Folke, Biggs, Norström, Reyers and Rockström2016). Remembering and acting on relationships understood through whakapapa that existed before the invention of capitalism offers a way of rethinking and defusing current environmental crises. This works by redirecting attention towards long term kinship rather than short-term monetary profit and defusing the “ecological crisis of reason” (Plumwood, Reference Plumwood1993 pp. 8, 75–76).
Remembering #2: Circular Time Provides a Sustainable Economic Foundation
Time in Western thinking is generally understood in linear ways. Thus, progress is thought of as change in a particular direction with minimal regard to the past and little concern for more than the immediate future. Indeed, the direction often seen as progress is thought of as an act of leaving an inadequate past behind and defined in economic terms, focussed on consumption as an aim. The Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi invocation of the “circle of life” while living beside their urupā suggests we could restructure economic systems by remembering circular time in which events and objects return to their origins in endless cycles, mirroring the cycles observed in nature. This is in contrast to linear time which, for example, implies a final destination. The rangatahi spoke of the urupā not only as a place of remembrance but as an active presence in their daily lives. When one rangatahi said, “our ancestors are right there with us,” they were describing how the urupā creates a sense of continuity between the past, present and future. This connection to the urupā not only honours those who came before but guides care for the land and community in the present. In terms of behaviour, this could mean abolishing short-term indicators such as quarterly profits and growth metrics and replacing them with intergenerational abundance indicators. Economic decisions would require the demonstration of benefit across seven generations looking forward and involve honouring seven generations back, embodying whakapapa as an organising principle and acknowledging extended Indigenous timescales (Gould et al., Reference Gould, Martinez and Hoelting2023).
When rangatahi speak of their great-grandfather’s woolshed “still going today,” they are valuing durability over obsolescence. This durability is not simply about material objects but about the values and relationships they embody. One rangatahi described how their family contributes to tangi by gathering food and baking; these actions, while seemingly small, demonstrate the intergenerational reciprocity that circular time demands. The idea that “everyone is fed, overfed, and warm” at a tangi shows how whakapapa is activated to sustain both the living and the memory of the dead. This undercuts thinking which values the new for its own sake. In this model, new economic structures would forbid the creation of anything designed to become obsolete and mandate the reabsorption of all products into productive cycles. The kinds of pollution we suffer from today come from thinking there is a ‘way’ in which to dispose of things we feel we no longer need, often enacted by rich countries exporting so-called waste to poorer ones. However, wealth can be redefined through whakapapa as the ability to provide for descendants you will never meet and care for places you will never visit. Circular time tells us that what we do now will always have an effect, just as the actions of the ancestors of rangatahi inscribe mauri on the land-sea. Circular notions of time seen through an economic lens means leaving a legacy of hope and endurance rather than one of exploitation, dominance and human centricity.
Remembering #3: Whakapapa Structures Governance
The current dominant Western economic model gives power to those whose material wealth, however gained, eclipses that of others. Thus, those few at the top of the hierarchy make decisions for the rest of humanity and for all the other entities who are our relations. By contrast, through whakapapa Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi understand individual contributions as serving collective mana without seeking personal recognition. Thus, the individual is only significant for their service to the collective, not their accumulation. This understanding suggests the value of governance through relational webs rather than hierarchical structures. Instead of unelected leaders such as business people (or those elected as a result of funding from the unelected), decisions could flow through networks of relationships – with those most connected to an issue having the strongest voice. The kind of distancing built into the current situation means that those who look after money are more highly regarded and rewarded than those who look after people and the environment. The whakapapa between people and place is therefore undervalued. As an example of the kinds of redefinition possible, rangatahi challenge the commodification of care, saying “I don’t think you should be paid…it’s all about Māoritanga.” This points towards economies where essential care work – for people, land, or community – is highly valued, as are those who perform it. We could establish a new dual economy: a highly regarded gift economy for life-sustaining activities (food, care, education, ecological restoration) operating alongside a reduced market economy for non-essentials. The rangatahi show that when gathering kai moana (sea food) for tangi, the sacred nature of feeding the community transcends market logic. Gifting framed by whakapapa eclipses monetary trade. Universal basic services would ensure all care work remains in the gift realm and whakapapa would provide a model for consultation based on new values.
Remembering #4: Ecological Apprenticeships are Valuable
The rangatahi concerns that “we’re losing the practise of walking the land” and that future generations will not “know where to find water, where to find shelter” suggest the need for radical educational reform. In order to reinforce the sense of oneness between people and the land, and to oppose the notion of land as an inert exploitable commodity, every young person could undertake multi-year apprenticeships with their local ecosystems, learning from both Indigenous knowledge holders and the land itself. For example, when rangatahi speak of transplanting baby eels while feeling their ancestors’ guidance, they are modelling education as relationship-building with other species. Apprenticeships of this kind could be pre-requisite for any leadership role, ensuring decision-makers have embodied knowledge of the places they affect, undercutting the current tendency of living with ‘out of sight, out of mind’ as a precept. Such apprenticeships would also encourage young people to recognise the mauri (life force) of the environment. As one rangatahi put it, “[the stream] is what I would call a mauri because it’s a really good source for all the baby eels.” They described their role in transplanting eels as “participating in something much bigger,” a process that connects them to their ancestors and the larger ecological system. This work illustrates how ecological apprenticeships can foster a sense of responsibility and belonging that transcends individualism and recognises entities as exiting in a web of kinship relations beyond Western nature–culture divides (Grosfoguel, Reference Grosfoguel2007).
Remembering #5: Story-Based Knowledge Systems Support Collectivity
While scientific data may have the status of fact, the kinds of legitimate uses to which it is put remain in the cultural realm. Although exploitation and seemingly endless economic expansion may appear attractive stories with which to organise the application of science, other possibilities exist. When rangatahi share stories of three snapper becoming stone, noting “these stories connect me to this place,” they demonstrate how narrative creates whakapapa relationships. This suggests modifying data-driven policy to prioritise story-based decision-making. Major decisions would require gathering stories from all affected beings (including through human interpreters for non-human kin). Scientific data would support but not override narrative knowledge. In education, schools would prioritise teaching place-based local stories over curricula derived from elsewhere, understanding that knowing the stories like those of the three snapper teaches deeper environmental protection than, for example, memorised extinction statistics. Paying attention to whakapapa means recognising relationships that are shaped and expressed through story, held as embodied knowledge and are the connective tissue that holds us in unity with our surroundings.
Concluding thoughts
In this article, we have presented ideas and experiences drawn from discussions with young people from one Māori nation in Aotearoa New Zealand, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi. From their thoughts and practices, we have proposed a series of rememberings that have the potential to help humanity rethink our current predicament and address the metacrisis with positivity and agency. The shifts suggested would fundamentally alter the metacrisis by dissolving the philosophical foundations that created it. When humans understand themselves as junior kin in a web of relationships – practically, legally, economically and spiritually – the exploitation driving ecological collapse becomes not just wrong but illogical or unthinkable. The rangatahi show us that solutions do not require progress in terms of new technologies but need ancient recognitions, remembering that we are already home, already connected, already held by relations that exceed human timescales. The question becomes not how to save the environment, but how to find ourselves by remembering our place within the family of all beings.
For Rongomaiwāhine and other Indigenous peoples, the kinds of thinking embedded in the rememberings are not departures but continuations – ways of being that have persisted despite centuries of attempted erasure under the banner of progress. In this sense, the rangatahi are not inventing new solutions. Instead, they are living proof that other ways never stopped and being practiced and therefore existing. The discussion, therefore, needs to shift from creating alternatives to ceasing to supress what already exists.
The shifts we exemplify might seem huge and as a result, impossible from within current systems. However, the rangatahi demonstrate that the kind of framed thought required in the metacrisis is already happening at the margins. Every time someone chooses gift over market, relationship over extraction, or circular time over linear progress, they erode the fabric of the metacrisis. Erosion allows light to enter and makes space for further re-thinking. The question is not whether transformation is possible because the rangatahi prove it is. Instead, we wonder if enough people will accept the invitation offered before the damage done to our world is irreparable.
Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi offer something beyond optimism or pessimism: the grounded hope of those who belong, a valuable thing in the time of the metacrisis. When one rangatahi states “I’ve never felt lost … this land is like an anchor for me,” they demonstrate that security doesn’t come from controlling outcomes but from being held within relationships larger than any crisis. This is not the hope of salvation but the hope of continuation – the quiet confidence of those who know their ancestors survived apocalypse and that their descendants will too. Thus, Rongomaiwāhine rangatahi offer a medicine of modest hope and words of encouragement to seize the opportunity.
Glossary
Acknowledgements
We gratefully acknowledge the Rongomaiwāhine community for their support, aroha and the depth of mātauranga they have shared throughout this work.
Ethical statement
Te Herenga Waka | Victoria University of Wellington. Human Ethics Committee. 0000023635.
Financial support
This research was supported by Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga (NPM5123), the Māori Centre of Research Excellence, The Faculty of Education, Te Herenga Waka | Victoria University of Wellington.
Author Biographies
Adreanne Ormond (Ngāti Rongomaiwāhine and Ngati Kahungunu and raised on Māhia Peninsula) is a Māori academic at Victoria University of Wellington whose work examines ideology, Indigenous education and the structures shaping Māori experiences within tertiary institutions. Her research draws on kaupapa Māori theory, critical pedagogy and lived experience to analyse how power, identity and cultural narratives influence learning environments across Aotearoa. She teaches courses on ideology, whiteness and the social forces underpinning contemporary systems.
Martyn Reynolds is an Anglo-Welsh educator, born in London and based in Aotearoa New Zealand since the 1990s. He works across teaching and research, focusing on curriculum development, pedagogy and education systems in diverse contexts. With extensive experience in secondary and tertiary education, Martyn explores how social, cultural and historical factors shape teaching and learning. He is particularly interested in fostering inclusive educational environments and bridging theory with practice. Through his work, he contributes to discussions on educational equity, professional development for educators and the intersections of identity, culture and pedagogy in contemporary New Zealand.
Elizabeth Ashton Ormond is raised on her ancestral lands of the Māhia Peninsula, as an emerging researcher Elizabeth is passionate about expressing the Māori world through her Rongomaiwahine worldview. She brings embodied insight to this paper as one of the rangatahi who participated in the initial research and contributed to the analysis. Her interests focus on supporting Māori students to succeed in STEM while integrating Indigenous perspectives, aiming to empower Māori learners and advance research that honours Māori knowledge and aspirations in science and digital technology.
Kirby-Lee Ngawaiata Ormond is raised on her ancestral lands of the Māhia Peninsula. She is also Rongomaiwāhine and an emerging researcher committed to Māori transformation and development. She brings lived experience to this paper as one of the rangatahi who participated in the initial research and helped with the analysis. Her work focuses on leadership, cultural knowledge and community engagement, aiming to support Māori aspirations and strengthen identity, empowerment and transformative outcomes for rangatahi and their whānau.
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