Migration and Identity in Persepolis

The graphic novel “Persepolis” by Marjane Satrapi presents the theme of migration and identity in a funny yet thought-provoking manner. I had read the novel a long time ago, but I decided to give it another read after I left my own country, in pursuit of a better education, and a better life. I wasn’t surprised when I could relate more to Marjane and her experience as a foreigner in Austria, far away from home and everything she had found comfort in. The crisis of searching for one’s own identity and roots in an unknown land is portrayed light-heartedly, but those panels weigh more than what meets the eye.  

The novel follows the life of a young girl named Marjane as she navigates her way through a changing world, and the impact that migration has on her sense of self. The story begins with Marjane growing up in Tehran, Iran, during the 1970s, a time of relative stability and prosperity. However, as the political situation in Iran becomes more and more volatile, Marjane’s parents decide to send her to Austria to attend school. This decision represents a major turning point in Marjane’s life, as she is forced to confront the challenges of living in a foreign country and adapting to a new culture.

Marjane struggles to find a sense of belonging in Austria, as she feels alienated from both her Iranian heritage and her new Austrian surroundings. She faces racism and discrimination from her classmates, who view her as an outsider. We see how she was treated as an outsider and exploited even by people who she thought cared for her. Later, a panel shows her recalling how she was called a “dirty foreigner” by an old man in the metro. Marjane’s parents, on the other hand, try to maintain her connection to her Iranian roots by sending her care packages filled with traditional foods and clothing. This leads to a sense of confusion and dislocation for Marjane, as she struggles to reconcile her Iranian identity with her experiences in Austria.

As the story progresses, Marjane returns to Iran after the fall of the Shah and the establishment of the Islamic Republic. She is initially excited to be back in her home country, as she says “…and so much for my individual and social liberties… I needed so badly to go home”, but soon realises that Iran has changed in ways that she did not expect. The strict dress codes, the suppression of women’s rights, and the violence of the Iranian regime all contribute to Marjane’s growing disillusionment with her homeland. She becomes increasingly critical of the government and its policies, and begins to see herself as a rebel and a non-conformist.

Throughout “Persepolis,” Marjane’s experiences of migration and displacement shape her sense of self and her understanding of the world around her. Her story highlights the complex ways in which identity is constructed and negotiated in the context of migration. As Marjane moves between different cultures and contexts, she is forced to confront the limitations and possibilities of her own identity, and to negotiate the tensions and contradictions that arise from her experiences of migration and displacement.

 Marjane’s story highlights the challenges and opportunities that arise from migration, and the ways in which it can shape an individual’s sense of self and understanding of the world. By exploring these themes through the lens of a young girl’s experiences, Satrapi offers a unique perspective on the complexities of migration and identity, and the ways in which they intersect and shape one another.

“You take and take, but you cannot take from who we are” – “Raupatu” by Alien Weaponry

In this blog post, I would like to discuss a slightly unorthodox form of cultural remembrance.

“Raupatu” is the second single released by Alien Weaponry, a metal band from Aotearoa whose songs are mostly performed in Te Reo and occasionally accompanied by traditional instruments and historical recordings.

Despite their debut album’s namesake being Tū, the god of war, other topics ranging from expressions of personal feelings to the remembrance of one’s roots to addressing problems within modern lifestyles (like social media addiction in “Nobody Here”) can be found as well, with their musical style caught somewhere between extremely rhythmic thrash metal and more melodic groove metal.

[Māori:][English translation:]
Nā te Tiriti
Te tino, tino rangatiratanga
O o ratou whenua
Tino, tino rangatiratanga
O ratou kainga
Tino rangatiratanga
Me o ratou taonga katoa
Accorded by the Treaty
The full possession and chiefly authority
Over their lands
Full possession and chiefly authority
Over their communities
Full possession and chiefly authority
Over all things of value to them
Translation included in closed captions

Raupatu can be translated as “conquest” or “confiscation”, generally carrying the connotation of an unjust acquisition according to Māori ownership rules. Specifically, this song refers to the NZ colonial government signing the New Zealand Settlements Act in 1863, thereby breaching a previous treaty meant to guarantee Māori ownership of ancestral lands in Te Ika-a-Māui (North Island), which in turn resulted, among other things, in the systematic occupation of Taranaki during the Second Taranaki War and the demise of many Māori villages. However, this verse covers more than just land as the treaty from Māori perspective was supposed to guarantee autonomy and “chiefly authority over all things of value” as well. In conjunction with the last verse, this song points to a disparity between colonial land-grabbing and the Māori desire to protect their homes.

[Māori:][English translation:]
Waikato Awa
He piko, he taniwha
Kingi Tawhiao
Me Wiremu Tamihana
Ki Rangiriri e tū ana
Ko Te Whiti o Rongomai
Ki Parihaka e noho ana
Raupatu!
The Waikato river
On every bend a mighty war chief
King Tawhiao
And Wiremu Tamihana
Made a stand at Rangiriri
Te Whiti o Rongomai
Held fast at Parihaka
Confiscated!
Translation included in closed captions

Remembering their roots was an important topic for the brothers Henry Te Reiwhati and Lewis Raharuhi de Jong when growing up, listening to the various stories tied to the surrounding landscapes. These stories ultimately served as inspiration to form the band and write about both the past and the present in Aotearoa. “Raupatu” revives King Tawhiao, Wiremu Tamihana and the passive resistance led by Te Whiti o Rongomai through powerful lyrics, guitar riffs and relentless drums. Once again are Rangiriri, Pukehinahina, Taurangaika and Parihaka turned into battlefields. While not as elegant as a poem, this musical genre certainly seems fit to retell Māori history.

[Māori:][English translation:]
Raupatu… Rangiriri
Raupatu… Pukehinahina
Raupatu… Taurangaika
Raupatu… Parihaka

You take and take
But you cannot take from who we are
You cannot take our mana
You cannot take our māoritanga
You cannot take our people
You cannot take our whakapapa
You cannot take, you cannot take
Raupatu!
Confiscated… Rangiriri
Confiscated… Pukehinahina
Confiscated… Taurangaika
Confiscated… Parihaka

You take and take
But you cannot take from who we are
You cannot take our dignity
You cannot take our cultural identity
You cannot take our people
You cannot take our family heritage
You cannot take, you cannot take
Raupatu!
Translation included in closed captions

Various tribes lost their homes and villages in the 19th century wars in Aotearoa. The lands were confiscated. And yet, their language and history keep them rooted. A powerful and important message especially for the bandmembers themselves. As Lewis Raharuhi de Jong once said in an interview with the Guardian: “Māori aren’t treated the same as others in New Zealand and, until that changes, we’re not finished.”

The usage of English in the last verse can act as a bridge, connecting modern Māori with their own history, confronting Pākehā with the aftermath of imperialism, but also explaining the conflict to the otherwise unfamiliar outsider. Anglophone listeners will at the very least understand the broader theme of confiscations and identity, even if they don’t understand the stanzas sung in Te Reo.

Language barriers, however, don’t seem to be an issue judging by their growing popularity outside of the Polynesian cultural sphere. Their performance at the Copenhell festival saw up to 6.000 metal fans perform a haka (as far as that is possible in a crowded space) with guidance from haka teacher and HAKAPEOPLE CEO Kane Harnett-Mutu. An event surprising not only the organisers, but also the band itself. And those who want to bend the barrier a bit further will find translated lyrics throughout the internet.

“Raupatu” – and Alien Weaponry’s musical style in general – might not exactly be suitable for mainstream radio stations, yet I would assume that even without a strong affinity for metal music, their works can be enjoyed and appreciated. If not on account of style, then at the very least on account of substance.
Judging by their appearance on Metal Hammer’s cover with the tag line “meet the future of metal”, the band certainly has found their place in metal’s vast genealogy – and it will be exciting to see how many future musicians take inspirations from this band.

“Raupatu” written by Henry Te Reiwhati de Jong, Lewis Raharuhi de Jong and Ethan Trembath
Translation provided by Alien Weaponry themselves.

Translation included in closed captions


Lyrics (Includes Translation)
Bandcamp
Official Website

Also relevant:
https://teara.govt.nz/en/zoomify/36535/raupatu-confiscated-lands

Kia Mau Ki Tō Ūkaipō – Don’t forget your roots, my friend…

Calling all Kiwis and music lovers! And no, I am not talking about the fruit, but rather about Aoteoroa/ New Zealand, since this blog entry focuses on the music of this country’s biggest reggae rock fusion band Six60

The single “Don’t Forget Your Roots“ of the five-member band from Dunedin was released in 2011 and reached number 2 on the New Zealand Singles Charts. In the past decade, this song has become somewhat of a ‘Kiwi anthem’.

The 2011 release, however, is not where the evolution and importance of the song ends. In September 2019, Six60 released a new Māori version: “Kia Mau Ki Tō Ūkaipō / Don’t Forget Your Roots“ in the collection Waiata / Anthems of re-recorded New Zealand pop songs to promote Te Wiki o te Reo Māori (Māori Language Week).

In the chorus of this song, Six60 reminds the listener of how important it is to remember our own roots, since they include our family and friends, but also our inner self – what we truly are: “the ones who made us – brought us here”. It deals with the idea of Indigenous heritage and identity and why you should be thankful and proud of it. Neglecting these roots easily leads to them being lost.

To further highlight the importance of what is said in the chorus, Six60 introduces a man (Johnny) and a woman (Jesse), who both are detached from their roots in Aotearoa after leaving their home which “armed them with power”. This results in them being lost in two ways: 1. They lack Māori values and morals and 2. the connection to their roots and their whānau (family), who are the only people that truly matter, becomes tenuous. Overall, both experience a disconnection from their origin. They are displaced and have lost their sense of belonging by leaving their homeland. The concept of loss applies to the man and woman as individuals, but also to their community – “He/She lost the faith of all those who mattered so…” Additionally, Six60 conveys a combination of nostalgia and homesickness with the simple words: “Don’t forget your roots…”

But only if no return is intended.

Representing Māori culture through music and language

Even though the band members all have Māori roots, they did not grow up with the language or culture, yet feel deeply connected to it. Their intention of releasing the song in Māori was to learn more about their culture and understand their origin – their roots. They wanted to provide a song of familiar lyrics that communicates their culture using Te Reo.

But why is music so important to remember your roots?

Well, wherever you are, in New Zealand or overseas, the distinctive sounds used in songs such as “Kia Mau Ki Tō Ūkaipō“ can conjure up images of home. Translating popular songs from English to Māori can deepen empathy and provides a solution for the absence of communication between Māori and non-Māori by encouraging discourse. Embracing Māori culture, the waka, the whānau – community and music can convey heritage and is a start to help non-Māori engage with the language and culture. At the same time, it is dangerous to base one’s understanding of a foreign culture solely on one song, since Maori offer a diverse culture with many traditions and also contradictions.

My personal connection to the song goes back almost to its initial release. I first visited a Six60 concert in 2012 in German. When the band sang “Don’t Forget Your Roots”, those who were Māori in the audience, all far away from home, started a haka. It first got me thinking about the connection between music and culture. Whenever I listen to the song now, it also reminds me of my time spent abroad and the people I met. 

And as the Covid-19 pandemic continues, friends and family remain apart from one another as we understand the importance of connecting, which includes doing it through Te Reo Māori.

At a concert in 2020, Six60 further combined the song’s new version with a performance of the haka, making the concert uniquely New Zealand by giving the crowd a taste of the country’s distinct Indigenous culture. Now they do it at every single concert worldwide on tour to reconnect with their homeland. Additionally, singing the song is a reminder for them that even if they are on the other side of the world, when they return to Aoteoroa the following quote:

 i haere Māori atu, i hoki Māori mai

I left as a Māori, and I have returned as a Māori

applies to them.

To me this performance combined with the haka is filled with a celebration of the Māori culture since the Māori performers get the opportunity to proudly present their traditions and language on a big stage – it cuts through that fear of not being able to express and give Māori back their sovereignty by pushing the unspoken tension between Māori and non-Māori to the side and saying: here is a place for all to gather, unite and sing. Including Te Reo Māori and the haka, therefore, can enrich New Zealand’s music scene and empower national athletes, but some songs also engage worldwide audiences. Embracing the language should be as simple as not forgetting one’s roots … or family.

In an interview, the front singer of Six60 Matiu Walters stated that he noticed more understanding of the culture and an acceptance of songs in Māori especially in New Zealand, which has been a good thing to see. He further suggests that it is something the band helped push by redoing their song in Māori. The translation followed the dream to make Māori music in future not only usable for a political purpose or for social currency but also for the daily and ordinary life.

This is exactly what the band is doing with their new songPepeha“, which deals with their personal experience of learning about their actual pepeha – the way of introducing yourself in Māori. It tells people who you are by sharing your connections with the people and places that are important to you. By writing the song, the band was able to acknowledge and further explore their heritage. It helped them connect to their whakapapa and whenua. A pepeha shows their connection to the physical and spiritual place they call home. This anthemic waiata links significant things – prestige, love, and family – with their environment and to their ancestors.

Matiu Walters said they wanted to try to write a pepeha for all New Zealanders, whether you were born there, or you moved there and decided to make Aotearoa your home.

He further stated that the goal of their music is to always transcend any categories and have it all “feeling-based” since it’s what they like about music: It makes you feel a certain way and you can succumb to that feeling and forget about everything else, all the small things in life and just go along with the song.

However, there are a couple of critical voices on the band’s use of music and Te Reo as a way of public reconnection arguing that songs such as “Pepeha“ disregard the sanctity of cultural practices and do not consider the right translation nor provide the listener with the deep meaning Māori terms can carry.

Would you agree with the critics? Let me know in the comments!

A lifetime of poetry – Why you should read “The Black Flamingo”

How can a seemingly simple story of a boy coming of age and coming to terms with his identity be transformed into a visual journey, a tale telling of its time? In Dean Atta’s The Black Flamingo (2019), this is achieved with a mix of stylistic choices: the novel features a beautiful mix of poetry, illustrations that underline the narrative, and modern means of visual communication like chat rooms. While this makes this Young Adult novel easy and quick to read, it is not a light read necessarily – the story of protagonist Michael, a queer boy with a mixed Cypriot-Jamaican heritage, is not that light and simple at all.

Michael is brought up by a single mother with little contact to his father, struggling to fully connect to either of his parents’ cultures, or the one of the country he grows up in. The reader gets to accompany him through his most formative years and memories: from a six year old boy who desperately wants a Barbie for his birthday, even though his friends find it a bit strange; a boy that is bullied at school because he doesn’t like to brawl and rather sings; a boy that tries to explore his sexuality in an environment in which nobody else seems to relate to his feelings; and finally one, who learns to have the courage and self-respect to embrace his identity, no matter what expectations others lay on him. While important topics like trauma, harassment, and drug abuse are addressed, the reader doesn’t finish the book with a heavy heart, but with a new hope and confidence – Michael has been through a lot, but in the end, he gets through all of it and finds himself to be happy. 

Atta’s novel is one of a kind for two reasons: the intersectionality that is often left out in the most famous coming of age stories in popular media, and the intermediality already addressed before. Intersectionality in this context refers to how Michael’s identity is made up of a variety of elements. He has parents with strongly differing cultural heritages, both of which do not completely fit in with Michael’s English school environment and friend group, but he is also a member of the queer community, which leaves him doubly marginalized and prone to two kinds of discrimination, making his experiences unique to his persona. 

Intermediality allows the reader to dive into Michael’s world. We experience his thoughts and feelings firsthand through the poetry he writes, beautifully illustrated in form of real pages of a notebook at times, see pictures of what he is referring to which emphasize his inner world, and can read the text messages he exchanges with peers in ways in which classic written text could not, for example by the implementation of emojis with specific cultural and generational meanings attached to them.

Most importantly though, Atta tells a story that is believable. Even if Michael is one of a kind with an arrange of specific experiences, there is always something in them that the reader can relate to in one way or another. There is nothing over-the-top fairy tale-esque or obviously forced traumatic happening – what Michael faces along his journey is as things realistically could be, and have been for some, and Atta tells them in the most authentic manner. 

Dean Atta’s The Black Flamingo is the novel we all would have wished to have had while growing up. The bitter-sweet story shows the ugly truths of growing up doubly marginalized in an artistic way, with the good and the bad, without painting a grim picture. If you plan to invest your time in a novel, invest it in this one!