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Ugly Duckling - Quacking Swan
I remember as a young child reading the story of the ugly duckling. It told the tale of a young duckling ostracised because it differed in outward appearance. Its awkwardness made the young duckling the object of laughter and ridicule; and in their failure to recognise this difference labelled its strange appearance as "ugly". Within the story we see, not only the outer cruelty displayed the others, but also the inner turmoil experienced by a duckling that had accepted these labels and names. As with all children's stories, the ending is a happy one. Here, the duckling matures and comes to the realisation that it is in fact a beautiful Swan, then flies away with its own kind to live happily ever after.
There is a number of underlying moral lessons to be found in the popular children's story. However, for a Samoan born and nurtured in New Zealand, the story encounters me at a much more personal level. Growing up in a social climate where the majority of those around me were white Europeans, I know experientially what it's like to be that ugly duckling! I know the shame of being different in outward appearance from the larger group, as well as the pain of constantly trying but never actually "fitting in". My difference in ethnic origin was obvious. I was first and foremost a Samoan. I was taught by my parents to be proud of being a Samoan, to be proud of who I am and what I represent. But in the world where I grew up, being Samoan made me stand out, my brown skin became a symbol of difference, my unpolished accent became a label of awkwardness, in many ways - being Samoan, in the presence of so many of those who were not, made me feel ugly.
I was given various names because of my Samoan heritage. I was the Coconut, the Bunga, the FOB, the Black Boy, the Savage, the Nigger. When I lashed out in anger, I became an example of the typical Samoan - always violent and disruptive. After an incident in which I had struck a boy who had called me cruel names, one teacher took me aside and told me to think about a popular saying. She thought the saying would cure me of my emotional discomfort during such times. She said to me, "Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words would never hurt me". She obviously didn’t know what it was like to be really hurt. This teacher had no idea that those words left scars that neither sticks or stones could ever leave.
Unlike the Ugly Duckling, my story doesn’t have a happy ending. In finding out that it was a Swan, the duckling is embraced by its own kind and flies away to live what we could only imagine to be a happy existence. My story takes a different turn. In my own Samoan community, I am embraced as one of their own, but with an impediment. Here, I am Samoan, but one who thinks and acts like a European. To continue with the analogy, I fly with the Swans, but my wings lack the grace of a real Swan. In my time spent with ducklings, I have adopted the actions and flying motions of the ducks. Once again, I am seen as different, but from those within my Samoan group. Not because of my outward appearance, but because of my articulations. I am no longer an ugly duckling. I am a Swan - but a swan that quacks like a duck. Here I am often called a fiapalagi, someone who thinks as a European, a fiapoto, someone who thinks himself more enlightened than the rest, or a pakeka, a potato, someone who is brown on the outside, and white on the inside.
This is the plight of the New Zealand Born Samoan generations. To the NZ environment, we are ugly ducklings; to the Samoan community, we are quacking swans. New Zealand underline our Samoan traditions and protocol as strange and awkward, while Samoa emphasises our western mindset as being foreign and inauthentic. Both cultural entities accentuate our allegiance to the other.
Seeking out greener pastures, and seduced by the glittering opportunities boasted by the New Zealand economy, our parents migrated to NZ in an act of self-preservation. Their time in NZ proved more difficult than they anticipated; the golden dream of a better tomorrow was immediately sobered by the harsh reality of racism and social marginalisation. For our parents, this was a strange land. However, the birth of a new generation of Samoans in NZ saw the writing of a new chapter. Often unrealised by our parents, our stories are vastly different from their own. For us, New Zealand was no strange land. This was the only land we had ever known. Yes we were told of Samoa by our parents of its tropical aroma, of the palm trees that wave in the heated breeze, and the lazy afternoon swims in the rock pools. But we were confronted daily with the chilly winter wind and the frosty mornings, by the huge buildings on the grey gloomy streets, and the swimming lessons in chloride pools. Our parents spun tales of a life in the plantations, of walking several miles to go to school, and of endless chores that needed to be done. We could only think of playing touch rugby on the paved roads, of catching a crowded bus to a nearby college, and endless homework and television that fought each other for our attention.
We are a generation born in New Zealand and therefore Aotearoa by birthright is our home. However, our story doesn’t begin at our birth. As Samoans, our stories are a continuation of a series of stories that lead us back to the land of our forefathers. I am Risatisone Ete, the son of Risatisone Ete senior, who is the son of Ete Taito, who is the son of Taito Amatuku, and so forth. As Samoans, we carry the names of our fathers with us. In our communal way of living, we live for and as a social group. We are defined by our relationships within social units - the family, the extended family, and because we have no villages in NZ, the church community becomes our village. We think as a family, and as a community. The fa'aSamoa, or the Samoan way, shapes the way we act and behave. It is a world of hierarchies and social stratification. My right to speak is dependent on my age, my gender, and my status within my community. From an early age, Samoan children are instructed on the correct and proper behaviour expected of a Samoan. As children they are taught to demonstrate 'amio tatau' (correct behaviour) in relation to those around them. Practical etiquette prescribes avoiding eye contact when being corrected, refraining from speaking in the company of authority, and behaving accordingly to those around you. Authority is not to be challenged or questioned; silence and restraint are signs of humility; one embodies the good name of the family and must therefore protect and preserve the honour of that name. The 'good life' imaged by the Samoan community in NZ is one where Samoans excel and succeed in all areas (especially education) provided for them by the NZ environment, while at the same time being concretely rooted in Samoan values and traditions. The faasamoa teaches its adherents to be communally orientated, each person having a larger responsibility to the family and community - even if it means sacrificing personal interests.
New Zealand fails to recognise this communal way of living. Here, I am Risatisone Ete, son of Mr and Mrs Ete. I am an individual. My life is defined by the choices I make for myself. The decisions are made with my own wellbeing immediately in mind. Look out for number 1 I am encouraged to say. Play rugby, drink Steinlager, eat wheetbix, and she'll be right mate. Work hard, study hard, and success will bound to follow. This is what is taught to me in my western education, this is what is fed to me by its symbols and representations. I was born into the world alone, and I will depart from it as an individual.
The NZ culture on the other hand, teaches us that life is an individual undertaking, and that one should seek out opportunities for one's best interests. Authority is to be challenged if one is disgruntled, and questions should be asked if one is unsure. The good life imaged by the NZ environment is predominantly one of material and financial success indicated by how much wealth one has accumulated over one's lifetime.
NZ born Samoans are therefore placed within the location of having to juxtapose two modes of conventional wisdom that often contradict one another. Tiatia writes of the plight of a NZ Born Samoan generation who
have an onerous responsibility to keep within the boundaries of their respective Pacific Island cultures. At the same time they must appropriately fit into the education system and New Zealand society at large which challenges them to adopt individualism, and to think of and behave contrary to the Island habitus of their home and church environment.
New Zealand Born Samoans must live in the tension between two worlds. The inherent world of a Samoan, and the immediate world of a New Zealander. Life becomes an endeavour to succeed in both social entities, the undertaking of one often means the deconstruction of the other. It is a constant struggle of communalism versus Individualism, unquestioned obedience and respect versus critique, speaking in Samoan versus speaking in English, Family and Church obligations versus Education and work, the fa'aSamoa versus the palagi way, waiting to be told what to do versus acting out of one's own initiative. It is a world of disorientation and confusion, a world of low self-esteem and frustration. Who are we? Are we New Zealanders or Samoans? Are we Samoan New Zealanders or New Zealand Samoans? We ask this because neither culture seems to embrace us unconditionally as one of its own, there always seems to be an element of suspicion. One emphasises our European ideologies, the other underlines our Samoan heritage. This is the world of the New Zealand Born Samoan generations, the world of the ugly duckling and the quacking swan.
How does God encounter our NZ Born Samoan predicament of being torn between two cultures? NZ Born Samoans name our experience as cultural oppression where they cannot identify completely with either the dominant NZ culture or the traditional fa'aSamoa - they are pushed to the margins of both cultures. This is our experience and situation. It is from this point where we engage the good news of Jesus Christ, and in turn, the Gospel must engage us. Not from a traditional inherent Samoan perspective imbibed by the cultural conventions and precepts of the fa'aSamoa. Neither from an immediate New Zealand position, laden with western values, symbols and representations. We encounter Christ from a space in between these two cultural entities - a location that is in both, and at the same time, completely in neither. This is the concrete experience that opens the door to Christ's knocking and allows him to dine with us (Rev. 3:20). This is the situation where two or three of us have gathered and therefore Christ has been invited to reside (Matt. 18:20). This is the plight of the least of them, the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the stranger, and the prisoner who Christ identified with, and to whom he must therefore reveal himself (Matt. 25:36).
Earlier in the service we read the Gospel of how the twelve year old Jesus accompanied Mary and Joseph to the temple in Jerusalem. According to Luke, Mary and Joseph had not noticed that Jesus had not returned with them, and upon discovering this, returned to Jerusalem to find Jesus in the temple talking with the Scribes. In their anger, they told Jesus that they had been looking all for him. Replying to worry, Jesus said to them, "Did you not know I would be in my fathers house?" This passage speaks to me as New Zealand born Samoan. Often our parents believe that we are accompanying them in their spiritual and cultural journey, carrying on to their dreams and aspirations; but often they fail to recognise that we are somewhere else, articulating and forging new dreams and aspirations of our own. In doing so, we seen as betraying or denying our Samoan cultural heritage. But the Samoan culture is an essential part of who we are, we have no wish to deny it, but we are also surrounded by a New Zealand environment, one that is saturated in western modes of thought and ideology. This is our immediate location - this is also a significant part of our spiritual make-up. We are here as Samoans born in New Zealand, as Ugly ducklings and Quacking Swans, with all our disorientation and insecurity, with all our low self-esteem and lack of identity. We are here like the young Christ, misunderstood by his parents….In our fathers house!!