on cultural indigenous knowledge, emotions, and their significance in social movements

It is important to recognise that the very study of emotions as a separate factor to social movements, and not as an integral, fundamental, and defining component of social movements, is a foreign concept for many societies and communities. When many social movements, predominantly in the west, have been characterised by ‘individualistic linear organising’ (brown, a. m. 2017: 10), it is understandable why many have failed to consider and study the inexplicable spiritual and emotional motives for social movements, and to articulate them in a way that does not whitewash them, or diminish the potency of their cultural value and significance. The way I, and many Pasifika people, understand social movements is founded on mutuality, love, kinship, and an obligation to care for our community. These can be attributed to key cultural concepts and principles such as the generalised Pasifika concept of mana, the Hawaiian aloha ‘āina, and the Tongan concepts of ‘ofa, faka’apa’apa, fetokoni’aki, and tauhi vā.

Mana is a concept understood by thousands of Oceanic people in political, spiritual, and everyday contexts (Tomlinson and P Kāwika Tengan 2016: 1) as the force, power or quality inhabited in remarkable objects, or people. It is an impersonal energy where you recognise the reputation, authority, strength and awe of people, land, and inanimate objects. Everything holds mana. For the native people of Hawai’i, aloha ‘āina refers to the relationship of responsibility and respect between the land and its people (Grandinetti 2019: 1). ‘Āina directly translates to “that which feeds us”, which depicts the sacred relationship Indigenous people have with the land, and their obligation to protect and nourish it as it has for its people (Grable 2019). In Tongan culture, the principles of ‘ofa (love), faka’apa’apa (respect), fetokoni’aki (mutual assistance), and tauhi vā, our duty to care and nurture for our “sociospatial relations” (O Ka’ili 2005: 89) - our kin, are central in what defines not only our activism, but our very being and purpose. 

These cultural and spiritual concepts provide the foundation for social movements established by Pasifika people, and are a natural, rational reaction to the ongoing destruction of land and culture. For example, the Protect Ihumātao movement in Aotearoa (New Zealand), exemplifies how powerful the notions of community and connection to the land are in mobilising a social movement. Ihumātao, a sacred Māori site located in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland), was confiscated in 1863 by the Crown, and in 2016 it was sold to a private developer for a major housing development. Save Our Unique Landscape (SOUL), a Māori land rights activist group that had been occupying Ihumātao in protest against the housing project for years, were evicted from the space in July 2019. Two months later, Māori activists seized Ihumātao, and thousands of people across Aotearoa gathered to join in solidarity and fight against the proposed destruction of sacred Indigenous whenua (land) (Mackintosh 2019). This protest was essential for Māori, as this social movement unified both Māori and non-Māori people in the struggle for Indigenous rights to be upheld, and it emphasised the fact that Indigenous people are not respected within the confines of colonial and capitalist structures (Roy 2020). When Pania Newtown, a prominent Māori lawyer and the lead activist of SOUL, was asked what led to her decision of placing herself on the frontlines of the Ihumātao land battle, she responded saying she felt it was her duty to take on the role of kaitiaki, the Māori term that describes the custodianship of the sky, sea, and land, and to protect their tikanga (cultural customs), and their reo (language) (Newton 2020). This further demonstrates the significance of emotions and culture in social movement processes. 

Another example of a Pasifika/Indigenous people social movement is the ongoing Protect Mauna Kea movement in Hawai’i which was created in 2014, but has gained increased momentum over the last two years. A $1.4 billion Thirty Metre Telescope (TMT) was planned to be built on one of Hawai’i’s tallest and most sacred mountains, Mauna Kea. For Hawaiians, Mauna Kea is sacred for it is a site that holds “ancient wisdom bound in ritual and ceremony” (Pisciotta 2015), and its summit is considered to be the meeting place of Earth Mother, Papahānaumoku, and Sky Father, Wākea. The mountain is already home to over twenty instruments, but TMT stakeholders insist on its development as its summit, 13,769ft above sea level is perceived to be an advantageous location to view and study space. The organised, state-sanctioned desecration of sacred land, which is all too familiar for settler colonies like Hawai’i, was the impetus for this social movement. Thousands of people gathered to protest, with the protest site strategically stretching across highways to prevent construction vehicles from accessing the summit. Protestors pitched various tents to serve free food, established a medic station facilitated by the community, a day-care, and also a school. Prior to COVID-19 restrictions preventing mass gatherings, locals camped in the protest site for over 330 days (Plumhoff 2020). The Indigenous Hawaiian protesters, also referred to as the kia’i, which is the Hawaiian word for ‘protectors’, wore T-shirts that read, “No ka lāhui”, which translates to “For my people” (Van Dyke, M.B: 2019). This demonstrates exactly the motive and the purpose for social movements: people. Moreover, some of the kia’i expressed that it is their kuleana (responsibility) to give honour to their ancestors (Watson-Sproat 2019), which in practice means to show up to protect the land, and stand in solidarity with the members of your community in doing so. These are embodiments of cultural reasonings for social movements, and are evidently lacking in much of the literature and discourse. 

The struggle against colonisation is universal, and is felt deeply by Indigenous peoples across the globe. We mobilise and fight in the efforts of preserving lands, cultures and traditions, and protecting each other because it is our responsibility. To us, there is nothing more rational than uniting together for this purpose. Trust, community, and solidarity are the foundation of our collective action. It is unfamiliar for us to think of these as external factors, for they are so entrenched in the way we hold ourselves, and how we hold space for what is meaningful: land, culture, our customs and traditions, and to have enough of these preserved for future generations.  These social movements may have no reason to exist if it were not for the blatant disregard of Indigenous lives and land. 

This is not to diminish the significance, or the endless contributions that theory provides us, for the purpose of theory is ultimately to help explain social phenomena (Abend 2008: 178), including social movements. Nevertheless, this does illustrate some of its limitations. It is difficult to theorise concepts that colonialism attempted to destroy. Even while writing this, I still find it challenging to substantively convey how deep these senses and emotions of love, trust, responsibility, kinship, liberation, and solidarity manifests and intertwines in our activism.  It is beyond my human comprehension.