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This chapter provides an overview of the volume, beginning with anecdotes from the editors. These anecdotes demonstrate the range of issues facing Indigenous scholars and researchers who choose to work with Indigenous participants and/or communities. Reference is made to Indigenous research sovereignty, honouring the immense work undertaken by previous Indigenous scholars, enabling many today to work effectively with their own people as well as other Indigenous groups. This is considered a courageous act, given the vulnerability this opens Indigenous peoples up to in terms of the change that is engendered and the criticism from external non-Indigenous researchers that has often arisen. The organisation of the volume into three parts is discussed, and this chapter ends with synopses of the following 16 chapters.

This chapter describes the pivotal shift occurring in our national research psyche whereby Indigenous epistemology is increasingly recognised as both valid and enriching. Two key contentions emerge from a description and discussion of this shift. First, ethics review bodies must evolve to incorporate a wider knowledge framework, one which conscientiously locates Indigenous knowledge and which empowers researchers to appropriately traverse Aotearoa New Zealand’s cultural terrain. The second contention argues that there are ethical responsibilities to address inequities, based on our shared Treaty partnership, and that ethics review bodies should instantiate consideration of inequities within their oversight roles. This chapter sets the scene by describing the current shift away from Western homogeneity to cultural diversity in education, noting the formal higher learning undertaken by Māori prior to colonisation, alongside current Māori educational achievement and the goal of success as Māori. The emerging recognition of mātauranga Māori (Indigenous epistemology) is exemplified by Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga and Vision Mātauranga. However, this shift has not yet reached all parts of the New Zealand research community, and we argue particularly so for ethics review processes. Possible solutions are posed, and four cultural markers are offered as supporting foundations for professionals in the field as they traverse epistemological landscapes that are more attuned to Indigenous realities.

In this chapter, we draw upon our experiences as members of Victoria University of Wellington’s Human Ethics Committee (VUW-HEC) to discuss some of the issues that arise when researchers are asked to discuss the Treaty of Waitangi¹ in ethics applications. Victoria University of Wellington (VUW)’s Human Ethics Policy states that researchers have a responsibility to ensure that research conforms to the University’s Treaty of Waitangi Statute. This statute outlines the principle-based framework VUW has adopted to meet its obligations to the Treaty derived from the Education Act 1989 and other non-statutory sources. Accompanying the Human Ethics Policy is a Human Ethics Guidelines document providing researchers at VUW with information about how they can align their research with Treaty principles, such as those of partnership, protection, and participation. Researchers are encouraged to read these documents before completing the ethics application, which contains a mandatory question asking them to explain how their research conforms to the University’s Treaty of Waitangi Statute. During our time on VUW-HEC, we have observed that this question can be difficult for researchers to engage with in a meaningful way. In this chapter, we do not discuss the specifics of applications or VUW-HEC meetings; instead, we draw on our collective experiences to consider how well our university’s ethics application process creates space for researchers to engage with ‘that Treaty question’.

Indigenous peoples have had a long and fraught relationship with the notion of ‘research’. Too often we have been the subjects of studies about us, examined as the novel ‘other’ and denied agency in a relationship which is about the powerful ‘making sense’ of a people who are powerless. As subjects of other peoples’ ‘science’, we have been harmed, exploited and traumatised.

In this new century, however, Indigenous scholars and researchers are taking greater control of the science system and research processes. As Māori, we are reclaiming our intellectual traditions, revitalising our ancient teachings and retrieving our ancient knowledges, knowledges held in our karakia (ritual chants), mōteatea (laments) and pūrākau (stories). Part of the reclamation process includes the establishment of our own research centres, entities guided by Te Ao Māori (the Māori world) and our values, ethics and practices. In reclaiming the research space, we seek to drive our own developmental goals and agenda, seeking the answers to questions that are important to us as Indigenous peoples and that can further enhance our way of life.

In this chapter, the author discusses a set of Indigenous research ethics which guide our work as an iwi-owned research organisation. This chapter canvasses the origins of these ethics, how we use them to guide our work as health researchers and the challenges we face as a tribally owned research centre in giving effect to these Indigenous research ethics at the interface between Te Ao Māori and what remains an essentially ‘mainstream’, Western research funding environment.

The invitation to write this chapter offers both Wiremu T. Puke (tangata whenua – person with Māori descent) and Sebastian J. Lowe (Pākehā – New Zealander with European ancestry) the opportunity to reflect on their friendship and research partnership, which they refer to as a takarangi, or an interlocking spiral, as seen in traditional Māori carving practice. This motif denotes the origin of all things: thoughts, ideas, concepts and genealogies, which are interconnected through a rich tapestry of history and tradition through a process of ongoing evolution, Te Ao Hurihuri (the ever-changing world) and Te Ao Mārama (the world of light).

They recognise the spaces that separate the two coils of the outward-radiating and interlocking spiral as their shared space. This space symbolises the unknowns as they move from them to tangible forms, through the written word, oral traditions, such as whakatauākī (sayings/proverbs), or through the many Māori visual arts such as whakairo (carving), or in film. Written as a dialogue between Puke, a tohunga whakairo (master-carver) with strong genealogical connections and tribal affiliations, and Lowe (anthropologist and musician) in recognition of their research partnership, this chapter discusses how their own cultural upbringings, personal and shared experiences, have contributed to the forming of their ever-expanding shared space. The ideas and themes they discuss have led to the formation of this chapter.

In 2012, I wrote an article titled ‘Māori research collaborations, Mātauranga Māori science, and the appropriation of water in New Zealand’.¹ The article attempted to critique Vision Mātauranga (VM)² policy by examining the relationship between Ngā Pae ō te Māramatanga,³ Ngāi Tahu iwi (tribe) and scientists with interests in freshwater. Seven years on, I admit to having barely scratched the surface regarding the multiple ways the policy is used as a mechanism to advance and create relationships between scientists and Māori communities in the co-production of new knowledge. Back then my commentary was somewhat sceptical of the policy’s design which does not deal with the unequal power relationships created between science experts and flax-root communities. I argued that VM had been created to commodify and globalise Māori knowledge that belongs to Māori communities and had become the expected mechanism for all engagement between university researchers and Māori communities. Much of the risk associated with forming new collaborations rested with Māori communities, and even more so with the Māori researchers who act as intermediaries and brokers between the communities and research teams. Back then, as a scholar trained in social anthropology, the way I understood knowledge transmission and the research part of my world was disconnected from the rest of my life. The probing and critical perspectives I had developed by privileging anthropological ideas and theory overshadowed other ways of interacting and understanding people and place. Like many of my anthropological colleagues I had learnt to be an ‘objective’ participant observer. The aim of participant observation is to gain a close and intimate familiarity with a given group of individuals through intensive involvement with people in their cultural environment, usually over an extended period of time. This method is highly regarded by social and cultural anthropologists around the globe. Now as the Director of a Māori research centre, I am expected to participate in all manner of engagements with Māori and non-Māori groups, and I am constantly confronted by ethical questions when undertaking research projects. VM as a process forces me to ask questions that I never did when I was trying my hand at being a bona fide anthropologist. The questions that shape my scholarship now are as follows: Who will benefit from this research and what will my legacy be?

In the twenty-first century, data are the world’s most valuable resource. Technological capacities for the collection, storage, analysis and sharing of data are evolving rapidly, and as a result, so too are the possibilities for improving the day-to-day lives of people. However, data use can also result in exploitation and harm; nowhere is this more evident than for Indigenous peoples. Unfortunately, the rapid expansion of technology has not been matched by a sufficiently robust discussion of ethics nor the development of governance frameworks. Indigenous Data Sovereignty (IDS) has emerged as a key consideration for this cause. Beginning with the presumption of Indigenous rights to tribal/nation sovereignty, IDS weaves together Indigenous research ethics, cultural and intellectual property rights and Indigenous governance discourse, with the view to offer solutions to the challenges being presented in an open data environment. This chapter will expand on this existing literature base and consider Māori data sovereignty in the context of Aotearoa New Zealand. More specifically, it provides the basis for a discussion around how kawa and tikanga drawn from Te Ao Māori might inform approaches to data ethics and data governance.

When musicians collaborate, a conversation takes place. They may not necessarily come from the same background, or even speak the same language, but when they listen to each other play and musically engage with a mutual respect and openness, a true improvisational and conversational collaborative flow is created. No single person controls how the work develops: the direction of the flow of this musical output is collectively determined through all the participants’ contributions. This creative process sees the participants as sonic explorers navigating and traversing the contours of a cross-cultural landscape, allowing unique moments of sound to be the catalyst for the (re)creation of new fusions and possible future collaborations. Presented as a discussion between composer Dr Jeremy Mayall and renowned taonga puoro practitioner Horomona Horo, this chapter looks at how their collaborative creative practice-based research projects have developed and reveal the sorts of musical interactions that transpire when performer/composers from both Western contemporary and Indigenous music backgrounds are given the opportunity to spend time together and collaborate. In this chapter, Horo and Mayall reflect on the processes that have informed their collaborations since meeting in 2008, and how their ongoing practice has developed through a range of projects that serve as case studies and discussion points throughout. This chapter aims to explore the centrality of relationship building and the impact that this kind of cross-cultural engagement can have on the ways in which musicians from different backgrounds can thrive.