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The Fourth Eye
Indigenous Americas
robert warrior, series editor

Chadwick Allen, Trans-Indigenous: Methodologies for Global Native Literary Studies

Raymond D. Austin, Navajo Courts and Navajo Common Law: A Tradition of
Tribal Self-Governance
Lisa Brooks, The Common Pot: The Recovery of Native Space in the Northeast
Kevin Bruyneel, The Third Space of Sovereignty: The Postcolonial Politics of
U.S.–Indigenous Relations
James H. Cox, The Red Land to the South: American Indian Writers and
Indigenous Mexico
Brendan Hokowhitu and Vijay Devadas, eds., The Fourth Eye: Maori Media in Aotearoa
New Zealand
Daniel Heath Justice, Our Fire Survives the Storm: A Cherokee Literary History
Thomas King, The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative
Scott Richard Lyons, X-Marks: Native Signatures of Assent
Jean M. O’Brien, Firsting and Lasting: Writing Indians out of Existence in New England
Paul Chaat Smith, Everything You Know about Indians Is Wrong
Gerald Vizenor, Bear Island: The War at Sugar Point
Robert Warrior, The People and the Word: Reading Native Nonfiction
Robert A. Williams, Jr., Like a Loaded Weapon: The Rehnquist Court, Indian Rights, and
the Legal History of Racism in America
T H E FOU RT H E Y E
M Aˉ O R I M ED I A I N AOT E A ROA N E W ZE A L A N D

B R E N D A N H O K O W H I T U A N D V I J AY D E VA D A S , E D I T O R S

INDIGENOUS AMERICAS

University of Minnesota Press

Minneapolis
London
Portions of chapter 1 were previously published as “15 October 2007,
Aotearoa: Race, Terror, and Sovereignty,” Sites: A Journal of Social
Anthropology and Cultural Studies 5, no. 1 (2008): 124–51.

An earlier version of chapter 12 was previously published as “Survivor-Styled

Indigeneity in Two Reality Television Programmes from Aotearoa/New
Zealand,” The Australasian Journal of Popular Culture 1, no. 3 (2011):
297–312.

Copyright 2013 by the Regents of the University of Minnesota

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

The fourth eye : Maori media in Aotearoa New Zealand / [edited by] Brendan
Hokowhitu, Vijay Devadas. (Indigenous Americas)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-8166-8103-7 (hc)
ISBN 978-0-8166-8104-4 (pb)
1. Maori (New Zealand people)—Press coverage. 2. Indigenous peoples and
mass media—New Zealand. I. Hokowhitu, Brendan. II. Devadas, Vijay.
DU423.A1F67 2013
302.23089'99442093—dc23 2013030767

Published by the University of Minnesota Press

111 Third Avenue South, Suite 290
Minneapolis, MN 55401-2520
http://www.upress.umn.edu

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

The University of Minnesota is an equal-opportunity educator and employer.

20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
We dedicate this collection to Merata Mita and Barry Barclay.

E koro, e kui, i tu korua ki te whakawatea i te huarahi. Ma a korua mahi, ka kitea

kaore he aha e kore e taea te whakatutuki. Kua wehe atu korua ki tua atu i te arai,
engari ka noho korua hei whetu tiahoaho hei whakamarama i te ara mo te hunga e
whai ana. Na reira, kua tapaea tenei pukapuka hei whakahonore i a korua.

Koro, Kui, you stood up to blaze the trail. Through your work we can see that there
is nothing that cannot be achieved. You have departed beyond the veil, but you
remain as bright stars, illuminating the path for those who follow after you.
Accordingly, this book is presented as a means of honoring you both.
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

Maps ix

Introduction. Fourth Eye: The Indigenous Mediascape in xv

Aotearoa New Zealand BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DEVADAS

Part I. Mediated Indigeneity: Representing the Indigenous Other

1. Governing Indigenous Sovereignty 3

Biopolitics and the “Terror Raids” in New Zealand VIJAY DEVADAS

2. Postcolonial Trauma 25
Child Abuse, Genocide, and Journalism in New Zealand
ALLEN MEEK

3. Promotional Culture and Indigenous Identity 42

Trading the Other JAY SCHERER

4. Viewing against the Grain 60

Postcolonial Remediation in Rain of the Children
KEVIN FISHER AND BRENDAN HOKOWHITU

5. Consume or Be Consumed 76
Targeting Maori Consumers in Print Media SUZANNE DUNCAN

Part II. Indigenous Media: Emergence, Struggles,

and Interventions

6. Theorizing Indigenous Media BRENDAN HOKOWHITU 101

7. Te Hokioi and the Legitimization of the Maori Nation 124

LACHY PATERSON
 8. Barry Barclay’s Te Rua 143
The Unmanned Camera and Maori Political Activism
APRIL STRICKLAND

9. Reflections on Barry Barclay and Fourth Cinema STEPHEN TURNER 162

Part III. Maori Television: Nation, Culture, and Identity

10. The Maori Television Service and Questions of Culture 181

CHRIS PRENTICE

11. Maori Television, Anzac Day, and Constructing 201

“Nationhood” SUE ABEL

12. Indigeneity and Cultural Belonging in Survivor-Styled Reality 216

Television from New Zealand JO SMITH AND JOOST DE BRUIN

Acknowledgments 235

Contributors 237

Index 241
Map 1. Map of the North Island showing iwi boundaries. Designed by Allan Kynaston. Source:
Brendan Hokowhitu et al., Indigenous Identity and Resistance (Dunedin: Otago University Press,
2010), 91. Reproduced courtesy of Otago University Press.
Map 2. Map of the South Island showing iwi boundaries. Designed by Allan Kynaston. Source:
Brendan Hokowhitu et al., Indigenous Identity and Resistance (Dunedin: Otago University Press,
2010), 92. Reproduced courtesy of Otago University Press.
Map 3. Map of the North Island showing principal towns, cities, and regions. Source: Geoffrey Rice,
ed., The Oxford History of New Zealand, 2d ed. (Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1981), 390.
Reproduced with permission of Oxford University Press.
Map 4. Map of the South Island showing principal towns, cities, and regions. Source: Geoffrey Rice,
ed., The Oxford History of New Zealand, 2d ed. (Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1981), 391.
Reproduced with permission of Oxford University Press.
Map 5. Set of four maps of the North Island. The diminishing dark shading represents the loss of
Maori land between 1860, 1890, 1910, and 1939. Source: Claudia Orange, An Illustrated History of the
Treaty of Waitangi (Wellington: Bridget Williams Books, 2001), 318–19. Reproduced courtesy of
Bridget Williams Books.
This page intentionally left blank
 Introduction: Fourth Eye
The Indigenous Mediascape in Aotearoa New Zealand

B R E N D A N H O K O W H I T U A N D V I J AY D E V A D A S

Our language has been brought to the very brink of extinction, more than anything
else by the influence of monolingual broadcasting. . . . So broadcasting has an enor-
mous responsibility in the recovery of a language it has helped to push towards
extinction.
—Derek Fox, “Honouring the Treaty: Indigenous Television in Aotearoa”

A s t he fi r s t p u b l ic at io n o f its kin d on Indigenous media in Aotearoa New

Zealand (hereafter referred to as “New Zealand”),1 this collection brings a fresh
approach to the relatively distinct fields of Media Studies and Indigenous Studies. It
contributes to both fields by drawing upon key debates, concepts, and theoretical
approaches that mark them, while suggesting that each discipline has much to offer
the other, and through this, proposes a connection between the disciplines to shore
up the possibility of articulating an Indigenous Media Studies.
The “Fourth Eye” is a term we mobilize to capture a number of complex questions,
experiences, responses, and articulations that emerge at the intersection of media cul-
ture and Indigenous lives: what are the Indigenous experiences of being the subject of
the media gaze? How does the media capture, articulate, and rearticulate the lives of
Indigenous peoples? How do Indigenous peoples use, transform, and tactically use the
media to subvert certain modalities of power relations? What postcolonial complexi-
ties reveal themselves through Indigenous media expressions?
The present collection takes the lead from Fatimah Rony’s illuminating book The
Third Eye: Race, Cinema and Ethnographic Spectacle (1996), which traces the intimate
connections between ethnography and early cinema to show mutual affirmation and
perpetuation of racialized images of Indigenous and minority communities. Rony’s
book develops upon the work of the anticolonial scholar and activist W. E. B. Du Bois,
whose notion of the “Third Eye” made use of the concept of double consciousness; the
splitting of consciousness that takes place when marginalized communities are repre-
sented by, and through, early ethnographic cinema. The splitting introduces a break, a
caesura that maintains the us/them, native/non-native divide thereby reinforcing the

xv
xvi BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

marginalization, objectification, and representation of Indigenous and minority com-

munities in racialized terms.
The first section of the present collection reaffirms both Rony and Du Bois’s work.
However, the concept of the “Third Eye” does not capture sufficiently the complex
encounters that take place at the media-indigeneity intersection. For instance, it does
not take into account the tactical use of the media by Indigenous communities or the
creative potentials that are possible. In short, the “Third Eye” provides a framework for
the analysis of how dominant power (in this case, via cinema) represents marginalized
communities, yet fails to comprehend how these communities might challenge and
transform dominant power via media technologies. That is, the ways Indigenous
peoples use media biopolitically to confront conventionalized regimes of representa-
tion and to engender Indigenous sovereignty. The second and third sections of this
collection engage precisely with this theme: the emergence of Indigenous media in
New Zealand and the challenges it poses to a politics of identity and recognition.
For many reasons, New Zealand is in a unique position to act as a case study to illus-
trate and theorize the question, “What is Indigenous Media Studies?” Central to a New
Zealand “way of life” is coping with the ubiquitous and mediated “bicultural drama” that
plays out in all media forms. It is seen, for instance, in the over-reporting of Maori2 dys-
function by the news media, the Indigenous themes in globally recognizable films such
as Once Were Warriors (1994)3 and Whale Rider (2002),4 and the preeminence of Maori
culture appropriated in global advertising, such as the use of haka 5 (dance or ceremo-
nial performance)6 by numerous multinational companies. Maori directors like Barry
Barclay and Merata Mita (who both passed while this collection was being written, in
2008 and 2010 respectively) are also some of the most renowned Indigenous film-
makers worldwide. Additionally, the relatively recent advent of the Maori Television
Service (hereafter referred to as “Maori Television”), the first ever state-funded Indig-
enous television network to go free to air in all households “nationally,” signifies one
of the most important events in Indigenous media history. In that regard, the Indig-
enous “mediascape” in New Zealand provides fertile ground for interrogating the
growing synthesis between Indigenous and Media Studies.
This book also contributes to a field of growing international concern. It connects
with contributions such as The New Media Nation (2010), Circuits of Culture (2008),
Global Indigenous Media (2008), Information Technology and Indigenous People
(2007), Native on the Net (2006), Media Worlds (2002), and The Indigenous Public
Sphere (2000).7 Other specifically contextualized works include that of Lisa Brooten
(2008) on Indigenous media in Burma, Michael Christie (2008) on Australian Aborigi-
nal communities and digital media, Terence Turner (2002) on video and the Kayapo
peoples, and Doris Baltruschat (2010) on Inuit-controlled film and video production
and distribution.8 Drawing across multiple media platforms and various Indigenous
communities, these contributions are preoccupied with the intricate and complex
ways that Indigenous lives and media technologies intersect. Recurring themes to
INTRODUCTION xvii

have emerged in the burgeoning field include representations of Indigenous peoples

in and through dominant media practices, access of Indigenous communities to media
technologies, use of media by Indigenous peoples to articulate an Indigenous
media aesthetic, the tactical use of the media for activism and advocacy, and the use
of media for preservation and revitalization of cultural identity and community-
building. To date, the field has been described as interpreting, from an Indigenous
perspective, “how media enable or challenge the workings of power and the potential
of activism; the enforcement of inequality and the sources of imagination; and the
impact of technologies on the production of individual and collective identities.”9
These concerns are intimately connected to the advances in Maori culture and politics
that have been symbiotic with the development of Indigenous media in New Zealand.
In short, the present collection articulates an Indigenous media landscape that con-
verses with issues beyond New Zealand.
For Indigenous people, the historical relationship and increasing intensification of
the politics of representation has naturalized a resistance to misrepresentation while
increasing the desire to control and produce their own images. As Faye Ginsburg rec-
ognizes, such a desire has coincided with “increasing availability of relatively inexpen-
sive media technologies such as portable video cameras and VCRs, as well as more
complex communication forms that have been used to facilitate regional linkages.”10
As was the case in Australia and other colonial-settler states, the binary between what
it meant to be Indigenous and non-Indigenous “came increasingly to preoccupy the
media, both serious journalism of record and demotic expressions of emotional affin-
ity. Indigeneity became the site around which . . . national identity in general was nar-
rated, disputed, and thought through.”11 Media thus has functioned as one of the most
significant attendants at the space where “political time, political space, and political
identity” compete to shape Indigenous realities. The present collection reflects medi-
ated “narratives of struggle, development and transformation” that have become
endemic to an Indigenous global renaissance.12

Defining “Indigenous” and “Indigenous Media”

The term “Indigenous” itself and its derivatives (e.g., “indigeneity”) have been con-
tested within various academic disciplines including Indigenous Studies, Cultural
Studies, Postcolonial Studies, Race and Ethnic Studies, Area Studies, Anthropology,
and Sociology. For instance, Jace Weaver suggests that “Indigeneity is one of the most
contentiously debated concepts in postcolonial studies.”13 It has also been debated at
national and international levels and has come to determine policy in institutions
such as the United Nations Commission on Human Rights:

Over a very short period, the few decades since the early 1970s, “indigenous peoples” has
been transformed from a prosaic description without much significance in international law
xviii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

and politics into a concept with considerable power as a basis for group mobilization, inter-
national standard-setting, transnational networks, and programmatic activity of intergov-
ernmental and nongovernmental organizations.14

The landmark 2007 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, a
culmination of “25 years of contentious negotiations over the rights of native people to
protect their lands and resources, and to maintain their unique cultures and tradi-
tions,”15 symbolically at least, recognized both the cultural and political dimensions of
articulating the notion of “Indigenous.” Although not a legally binding text, eleven
countries abstained from voting while four countries—Australia, New Zealand, Can-
ada, and the United States—voted against the declaration when it was passed but later
recanted:16 Australia in 2009 and the remaining three in 2010.
Undoubtedly then, common understandings of indigeneity have come to be sub-
sumed by political dimensions, where “the concept of indigenous peoples involves
those descendants of original occupants who acknowledge their distinctiveness and
marginalisation, and use this politicised awareness to mobilise into action,”17 or, as
Gerald Alfred articulates, “It has been said that being born Indian is being born into
politics. I believe this to be true; because being born a Mohawk of Kahnawake, I do not
remember a time free from the impact of political conflict.”18 Here, the recognition of
Indigenous communities challenging and resisting the constitution and hegemony of
the nation-state is significantly marked, and moreover it acknowledges the possibility,
and right of Indigenous peoples to call for political and constitutional autonomy, and
redefine “a new social contract based on the constitutional principles of partnership,
power-sharing, and self-determining autonomy.”19
The complexities surrounding the term “Indigenous” do not preclude the need to
articulate how the term is mobilized in various contexts, yet it does reinforce the hesi-
tancy and, indeed, impossibility of a strict definition: “the concept of ‘indigenous’ is
not capable of a precise, inclusive definition which can be applied in the same manner
to all regions of the world.”20 Similarly, the African Commission on Human and
Peoples’ Rights stated, “no single definition can capture the characteristics of indige-
nous populations.”21 The term is, in other words, heterogeneous and includes a myr-
iad of contextually based understandings, sometimes within nation-states themselves
whose Indigenous communities are as diverse in language, culture, and epistemology
as they are similar. Each of these communities has their own specific histories, tradi-
tions, and struggles, which are played out within particular geopolitical, social, cul-
tural, and economic contexts. The term is also often problematically conflated with
other terms such as “Native,” “Indian,” “Aboriginal,” “tangata whenua,” “First Nations,”
“Fourth World,” and “tribal peoples.” Indigeneity is also differently recognized within
the politics of nation-states, ranging from a discourse of partnership in New Zealand
to outright nonrecognition in China, for instance.
INTRODUCTION xix

At the same time, the term is driven toward homogeneity by an ever-expanding

global circuit of Indigenous academics preoccupied with what indigeneity has come
to mean in relation to precolonization, colonization, and postcolonization, particu-
larly within what have come to be known as “settler-states,” although “invaded-states”
is a more accurate coinage. Indeed, the inevitable impulsion to produce internation-
ally recognized scholarship within Western academia has compelled many Indigenous
writers to theorize their local context within theoretical frameworks that enable dia-
logue across colonial contexts. The global Indigenous movement can be loosely
defined as a pan-Indigenous discursive formation, which unites heterogeneous narra-
tives via comparative Indigenous methodologies and produces a universal Indigenous
theory to explicate or problematize the local condition. There has been a tendency to
view the production of pan-indigeneity as a positive stage in the development of
Indigenous resistance. We question, however, what universal consciousness is being
promoted via pan-indigeneity: How are Indigenous people being conditioned through
the taxonomy of universal indigeneity, and what are the notional adhesives holding
the concept of “Indigenous” together?
If we turn to some definitions, then, Roger Maaka and Augie Fleras argue that
Indigenous peoples “are normally defined as living descendants of the original (pre-
invasion) occupants of a territory. . . . In structural terms, most indigenous peoples
occupy the status of disempowered and disposed enclaves within a larger political
entity.”22 Yet, homogenous definitions are often epistemologically limited because of
the ontological importance of local contexts, languages, and cultures. In reality, Indig-
enous scholars are often left in the unenviable position of finding common ground
(i.e., “Indigenous Studies”) within the ontological violence of colonialism, as Maaka
and Fleras go on to point out:

Not all indigenous peoples have been conquered; not all nations are comprised of indige-
nous peoples; and not all indigenous peoples can be conceived as nations. . . . Some people
consider indigenous peoples as stewards holding the land for future generations. Others
look on indigenous peoples as landless tribes under colonial subjugation. For still others,
references to indigenous peoples implies a politicized minority demanding self-
determining autonomy. . . . For yet others still, indigenous refers to any group that belongs
to a territory.23

The importance of place, immediacy, and historical context to indigeneity itself thus
makes any universalizing attempt to define the concept antithetical to its very under-
pinnings. Any demarcation of Indigenous peoples, therefore, must work through the
domain of culture—the practices, rhythms, and ways of life that constitute a specific
community.
In this collection we use both the cultural and political dimensions to articulate the
notion of “Indigenous.” Also, due to the collection’s focus on the immediacy of media,
xx BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

we determine “Indigenous” to be a strategic concept that, to remain politically viable,

must adapt to the ever-shifting demands of power within the neocolonial context.
Dene scholar Glen Coulthard argues that Indigenous rights have been increasingly
described in the language of “recognition”: “recognition of cultural distinctiveness,
recognition of an inherent right to self-government, recognition of state treaty obliga-
tions, and so on . . . [is a process that] promises to reproduce the very configurations
of colonial power that indigenous demands for recognition have historically sought to
transcend.”24 Essentially, Coulthard argues that the progresses made toward the recog-
nition of Indigenous rights have actually helped further assimilate Indigenous people
because they have enabled the incorporation of Indigenous alterity within the neo-
colonial system.
It must be an assumption, therefore, that recognizable or cognizable forms of indi-
geneity will rapidly be subsumed by the neoliberal state. Under these conditions indi-
geneity must already be transforming toward a new form of sovereignty. In relation to
being Indigenous, we thus closely align with Kevin Bruyneel’s conception of indigene-
ity as a sovereign act:

In resistance to this colonial rule, indigenous political actors work across American spatial
and temporal boundaries, demanding rights and resources from the liberal democratic
settler-state while also challenging the imposition of colonial rule on their lives. This resis-
tance engenders a “third space of sovereignty” that resides neither simply inside nor outside
the American political system but rather exists on these very boundaries exposing both the
practices and the contingencies of American colonial rule.25

In the specific context of New Zealand, the popularity of the phrase “tangata whenua”
(people of the land) unmistakably became increasingly significant to identity politics of
the 1990s and beyond as it came to tacitly refer to globally forming notions of indigene-
ity and the politics therein. That is, tangata whenua morphed to not only mean the
interconnectedness of various whanau (extended family), hapu (clan), and iwi
(peoples) with land, it also came to refer to the increasing significance of indigeneity—
of place-based politics—to Maori rights in general. Tangata whenua became the
imagined united Indigenous polity that formed the Maori Other in partnership with
the state. It is important to note here that the advancement of “tangata whenua” as a
tool designed to nationalize Indigenous political agency was later subsumed within
the prominent discourse of biculturalism in New Zealand; an extremely problematic
notion not merely because it excludes all those people who are not Maori nor descen-
dants of European settlers, but more importantly, because “biculturalism” came to
tacitly refer to the incorporation of Maori culture within the dominant neocolonial
system; or what Coulthard refers to as the “politics of recognition.” Biculturalism, as a
politics of recognition, is an important thematic to be remembered throughout this
collection for it shapes the pervading discourse and, in turn, the “mediascape”26 with
INTRODUCTION xxi

which the majority of chapters engage. The institutionalization of Maori Television, for
instance, provides a prominent example of the problematics surrounding state recog-
nition and control of Indigenous media.
In New Zealand, the mediascape, both historically and contemporarily, is molded
by an anxiousness surrounding the ongoing conflict for citizenship rights within the
politics of recognition (see chapter 6). Essential to this binary drama is the contermi-
nous development of the politics of Indigenous representation and media technology.
For instance, the development of the Internet and other globalized media forms has
occurred simultaneously with the escalating self-interpretation of Maori as “Indige-
nous” within the newly forming pan-Indigenous community. The pan-Indigenous
peoples’ movement is “ironically an outcome of profound and, in historical terms,
rapid change in the relationships between those who seek recognition as distinct
peoples and the nation-states in which their territories are situated.”27 Thus, although
focused on New Zealand’s local context, this collection also looks at how regional and
national Indigenous media is connecting with other Indigenous media circuits to
form a larger transnational Indigenous media network. Conceived under the category
of “Fourth World,” this relatively recent media complex is described by Ella Shohat and
Robert Stam as the most significant development in the global media landscape.28
Within the context of this book, we employ the term “Indigenous media” to first
articulate the relationship between two disciplines—Media Studies and Indigenous
Studies. This is a task taken up by Brendan Hokowhitu in chapter 6. The term also
seeks to capture the relationship between mainstream dominant media in New Zea-
land and representations and stereotypes of Maori as discussed in the first part of the
book. Further still, the term is used in the second and third parts of the collection to
demonstrate the use, appropriation, circulation, and distribution of media by and
through Maori,29 or what Harald Prins terms the “indigenization of visual media.”30
These two parts move from a discussion of Maori as being objects of dominant image-
making practices to an exploration of the emergence and struggles of Maori to take
ownership of image-making technologies, including a key media initiative, the devel-
opment of Maori Television.

Media, Indigeneity, and the Treaty of Waitangi

Before proceeding to discuss the three major parts that frame this book, the following
provides the reader with a brief contemporary political history focusing on the pre-
eminence of the Treaty of Waitangi (hereafter referred to as “the Treaty”)31 to Indige-
nous claims to media rights in New Zealand. To this extent, the Treaty and a develop-
ing urban Indigenous “third culture” have played pivotal roles in determining both the
state-sponsored and Indigenous-controlled path that Indigenous media has taken.
In New Zealand, the official narrative of Indigenous urbanization is quite well
known. Prior to World War II, 90 percent of Maori were rural.32 According to the state’s
xxii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

Figure I.1. Police and security personnel surround the car with New Zealand Prime Minister
John Key as he leaves Hiruharama (Te Tii) Marae on February 5, 2012, at Waitangi, New Zealand.
Photograph by Kenny Rodger, reproduced with permission of Getty Images.

principal adviser on state–Maori relationships, Te Puni Kokiri (the Ministry of Maori

Development):

Maori and Pakeha societies essentially lived and worked in separately located communities
until the Maori urban migration after the Second World War. . . . This urban migration was
stimulated by the situation for Maori in the Depression years of the 1930s. Maori were often
the first to lose work, and were paid lower unemployment benefits than Pakeha. . . . In 1956,
nearly two-thirds of Maori lived in rural areas; by 2006, 84.4 percent of Maori lived in urban
areas.33

According to Mason Durie, in the first two-thirds of the twentieth century at least, the
state “actively discouraged tribal organization,” which “underline[d] the significance
of a new cultural identity based less on tribe than on simply being Maori.”34 Ideologi-
cally driven state intercession included the banning of speaking te reo Maori (the
Maori language) in schools via the “Native Schools’ Code” introduced in the 1870s,
which, along with other government regulations over the next century, effectively
meant that by 1970 it was commonly thought that the Maori language would soon be
extinct without radical intervention. Similarly, the 1907 Tohunga Suppression Act
banned the practices of tohunga, who were experts of various kinds of Maori knowl-
edge. The state realized that tohunga were key adhesives to the social fabric of a Maori
INTRODUCTION xxiii

epistemology. Also, the 1960s Maori Trade Training Scheme actively relocated young
Maori away from their rurally based hapu and into manual labor training in the cities.
It is apparent then that from the state’s perspective, the urbanization of Maori was
not merely to satiate labor needs in the city; it was ideological. The state programs to
urbanize Maori were tactics that facilitated the biopolitical management of the
Indigenous population. “Pepper potting,” for instance, was a housing policy that
encouraged assimilation by distributing Maori families within previously all-Pakeha
neighborhoods.35
By the 1970s, it was increasingly evident that the “Maori Problem” (a phrase used
to articulate the state’s project of assimilating and “modernizing” the Indigenous pop-
ulace) had not been resolved via assimilation. Indeed, new subjectivities of radical
urban indigeneity posed the greatest threat to the nation-state. Urban Maori culture
was heavily influenced by the immediate engagement with neocolonial methods of
subjugation, and interaction with an increasingly politically informed academic met-
ropolitan culture, leading to what became popularized as a process of “conscientiza-
tion” and, later, “decolonization.” The Indigenous rights movement in New Zealand
was characterized by radical, cutting-edge, and often mediated Indigenous subjectivi-
ties that altered the political and mediated landscapes.
Importantly, radical Indigenous groups came into contact with civil rights and
decolonializing discourses springing from the United States and other places. In the
1970s, Ranginui Walker referred to the “new wave” of Maori radicals as “Neo-Maori
Activists” who formed groups such as the Maori Organisation on Human Rights
(MOOHR), Waitangi Action Committee (WAC), He Taua (literally, “a war-party”), Maori
People’s Liberation Movement of New Zealand, and Black Women: “The political ethos
of the groups was based on the liberation struggle against racism, sexism, capitalism,
and government oppression.”36 MOOHR, for instance, mediated Indigenous resis-
tance via the newsletter Te Hokioi, which took the name of the Maori-language news-
paper published in the 1860s by the Indigenous political movement Te Kingitanga (the
Maori King Movement, see chapter 7). The modern newsletter focused on the Treaty
as a vehicle for the promotion of Indigenous rights, culture, and language.37 The
actions of groups like Nga Tamatoa (an activist group who focused their protests on
historical violations of the Treaty by the state), MOOHR, and WAC are important to
note here not only because they reflect the unsettling neoformation that the postcolo-
nial theorist Homi Bhabha had in mind,38 but also because they located their resis-
tance through highly mediated protests in relation to the Treaty. What was witnessed
via the heavily visibilized radical urban Maori culture of the 1970s and early 1980s was
a paradigmatic shift in how the nation was conceived.
In the mid-1970s the colonial narrative of “He iwi ko tahi tatou: Now we are one
people”39 (code for a subordinated Indigenous population within a dominant settler-
colonial culture) was severely disrupted by the progressively mediated face of Indig-
enous resistance. The “1975 Land March,” for example, began on September 13,
Figure I.2. Protest poster “Ake! Ake! Ake!” (Forever and ever and ever!) [1980s], Hocken Collections
Uare Taoka o Hakena, University of Otago, Dunedin, ref. no. 8607737.
Figure I.3. Protesters in the Land March of 1975, walking over Auckland Harbour Bridge.
Reproduced with permission of the New Zealand Herald.
xxvi BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

1975, at Spirits Bay (in the “far north” of the country), marched the length of the North
Island to the parliament buildings in Wellington, and was led by a prominent Maori
woman activist, Whina Cooper. The image of the 1975 March crossing the iconic
Auckland Harbour Bridge (Figure I.3) provides an enduring image of Indigenous
resistance in New Zealand.
Like the 1975 Land March, the “occupation” of Bastion Point in Auckland three
years later has had a lasting impact on radical Indigenous consciousness. After a
prolonged period of political stasis and “being occupied,” Ngati Whatua ki Orakei
(iwi from the far north who now reside in the Auckland city region) and others led by
Joe Hawke40 repossessed their lands. As a result,

On 25 May 1978, after 506 days of occupation, 600 police officers, supported by the New
Zealand Army, arrested 222 protestors for willful trespass on Crown land. The use of army
and police, ordered by Prime Minister Robert Muldoon, received dramatic media attention,
which reverberated through the country.41

The lasting image of Bastion Point is of Maori versus the state. Of note here is
the documentary film of Merata Mita, Bastion Point: Day 507.42 Mita and her film
crew were the only media sanctioned by Ngati Whatua ki Orakei to step onto

Figure I.4. Protesters and police at Bastion Point during its occupation in 1978. Photograph by
Robin Morrison, reproduced with permission of the Auckland War Memorial Museum and Robin
Morrison estate.
INTRODUCTION xxvii

Bastion Point during the occupation, marking a significant point in the “control of
the image” by Maori, and a key contribution to the corpus of what came to be con-
ceived as “Fourth Cinema” (see the discussion below). Mita describes her subse-
quent documentary film of the resistance as

the total opposite of how a television documentary is made. It has a partisan viewpoint, is
short on commentary, and emphasizes the overkill aspect of the combined police/military
operation. It is a style of documentary that I have never deviated from because it best ex-
presses a Maori approach to film.43

The resistance to the ongoing neglect by the state toward “things Maori” eventually led
(in the 1980s and 1990s) to the indoctrination of Treaty principles within state institu-
tions such as health, education, social welfare, research, and broadcasting. Mirroring
the broader Indigenous challenges, criticism of “mainstream media” galvanized
around the failure of the state to promote Maori language and culture through cen-
trally funded broadcasting. According to longtime Maori public broadcaster Derek
Fox, for instance:

The Treaty, signed in 1840 between the British Crown and the chiefs of Aotearoa guaran-
teed the Maori people tino rangatiratanga, or absolute authority over all their resources. . . .
Like the land, the public broadcasting system is a vital present day resource, and as such
Maori are legally entitled to an equal share of it.44

As a result of such challenges, by 1986 the Waitangi Tribunal (a state entity, established
following the 1975 Treaty of Waitangi Act to assess historical grievances lodged by
Maori against the state) recommended that

It is consistent with the principles of the Treaty that the language and matters of Maori inter-
est should have a secure place in broadcasting. . . . In the formulation of broadcasting policy
regard must be had to the finding that the Treaty of Waitangi obliges the Crown to recognise
and protect the Maori language.45

Despite the implications of the Waitangi Tribunal recommendations, state authorities

failed to grasp the full intent of Maori regarding broadcasting rights. For instance, in
the much-publicized Treaty Airwaves Claim, some Maori asserted Treaty rights over
radio broadcasting waves in reaction to the 1989 Radio Communications Act by lodg-
ing a claim through the Waitangi Tribunal in 1990. Part of their claim read:

Where any property or part of the universe has value as a cultural asset . . . the Crown has an
obligation under the Treaty of Waitangi to recognise and guarantee Maori rangatiratanga
[chiefly sovereignty] over its allocation and use for that purpose. . . . The sale of frequency
management licenses under the [Radio Communications Act] without negotiating an agree-
ment with Maori would be in breach of the Treaty.46
xxviii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

Under growing pressure from Maori then, Te Mangai Paho (the Maori Broadcasting
Funding Agency) was established under the 1993 Broadcasting Amendment Act with
the mandate of “promot[ing] Maori language and Maori culture by allocating available
funds, on such terms and conditions, as Te Mangai Paho thinks fit, for broadcasting
and the production of programmes to be broadcast.”47
In 1996, a joint Maori/Crown Working Group on Broadcasting Policy was assem-
bled to discuss the inculcation of Maori language and culture within mainstream
broadcasting. The panel found that Maori content should feature “generally but not
invariably in prime time” and “for reasonable periods at any one time” with the
intended effect of “raising the profile/status/mana [power and authority] of Maori lan-
guage and culture and enhancing their recognition as a part of everyday life . . . [and]
providing a Maori view of the world, in its full complexity.”48 Similarly, a 1997 Ministry
of Commerce policy report, resulting from consultation hui (gatherings) and submis-
sions, found that

the government has a responsibility to promote and protect te reo through television and
radio; there should be a well-resourced, separate, Maori-owned and controlled television
channel broadcast nationally, but there should be provision for regional involvement and
Maori radio; Maori programming on mainstream media and in primetime is vital to pro-
mote and revitalise te reo; and public funding to develop Maori broadcasting should be dis-
tributed by a specialised agency like Te Mangai Paho.49

As the millennium drew to a close, however, while Maori had made remarkable head-
way in influencing policy, there was hardly any discernible change in practice. As Ron-
ald Niezen points out, such a state of affairs only serves to increase Indigenous angst:

There is a gap between the “normal” glacial pace of international legal and institutional re-
form and the rapid growth of Indigenous peoples’ networks, the solidification of Indigenous
political consciousness, and the broad base of rising expectations that accompany new pow-
ers of collective self-representation. The sense of collective injury and injustice is only made
more poignant by limited political recognition and reform in the context of ongoing
oppression.50

Central to the politics of recognition as played out via the demand by Maori to be rep-
resented in the media as “equal Treaty partners,” was the emerging sense of Maori as
Indigenous peoples. While tangata whenua51 is not a new concept, as stated above, it
became increasingly significant to identity politics of the 1990s as the term came to
frame Maori agency within dominant discourses, including state policy. Yet, within the
nation-state, Maori only materialized as tangata whenua through a discourse of part-
nership with the Crown. The interstitial space occurring at the interface between the
neoformations of indigeneity and the grid of disciplinary coercions merely resusci-
tated New Zealand’s “bicultural drama.” That is, New Zealanders’ postcolonial identity
INTRODUCTION xxix

merely provided trappings for a bicultural imaginary.52 The “Maori Problem” morphed
into “Treaty Partner,” and, accordingly, both partners were produced in the bicultural
imaginary through the Treaty. Aroha Harris refers to this as a “treaty consciousness.”53
For the non-Indigenous “partner,” Jeffrey Sissons suggests, “post-settler belonging
absolutely requires the perpetuation of an indigeneity through which new relation-
ships to the land may be negotiated.”54 Sissons goes on to say, “Within this imagined
political community settlers belong by virtue of a relationship between the Crown,
which represents them, and Maori tribal leaders who represent tangata whenua.”55
Non-Indigenous New Zealanders on the whole, therefore, failed to come to grips with
the implications of the Treaty and an increasingly educated Indigenous populace will-
ing to strongly advocate for their sovereignty via the state’s obligations to advance
Maori language and culture. Thus, developments in Indigenous media remained, as
Paulo Freire puts it, symptomatic of “false generosity.”56
As outlined above, the radical intent of tangata whenua as a political device was
quickly subsumed by a discourse of biculturalism. That is, New Zealanders in general
only viewed Indigenous political agency in relation to a tokenistic conceptualization
that in reality came to be referred to as “state handouts” within right-wing literature.
Accordingly, Maori began to differentiate between media that reflected false generos-
ity and Maori-controlled media. Maori lawyers and politicos Moana Jackson and
Atareta Poananga, for instance, provided a “two-house model” framework that dif-
ferentiated between self-determination and assimilation intent in media culture:

The TV One programmes [i.e., state funded] Marae and Te Karere are contained within the
mainstream house. . . . Both programmes attempt to portray values, language and issues re-
lated to the Maori house. . . . Within the mainstream house they occupy a “room,” but the
“house” is not Maori. They are still a minority within the whole industry and have to conform
to the policies and practices of the mainstream house.57

The increasingly discursive nature of a “Treaty consciousness” led to the introduction

of Maori-focused programs within the two state-sponsored television stations, such as
Te Karere (daily news), Eye to Eye, Marae, and Waka Huia (all current affairs programs).
Yet, for many Maori, the programs reflected tokenistic-based politics of recognition, as
described by Jackson and Poananga above.
During this period, however, the exception to the agenda of false generosity was
the development of iwi radio, which according to Ian Stuart has been “at the forefront
of articulating Maori political aspirations in a national public sphere.”58 During the
late 1980s, two iwi stations were trialed, Te Upoko o Te Ika (literally, “the head of the
fish,” referring to the geographical area where Wellington is situated)59 and Radio
Ngati Porou (Ngati Porou North Island East Coast iwi). Since the mid-1990s, iwi radio
has grown into a consortium that numbered twenty-one affiliated stations in 2010,60
which Stuart believes to be a critical mass capable of acting as “a unifying force for
xxx BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

Maori . . . creating a Maori identity, constructed by Maori.”61 In addition to this, the

emergence of Maori Television in 2004 marked another significant development
toward redressing the absence of Maori media in the nation.
The above demonstrates that the state’s commitment to Indigenous media culture
is located within the auspices of the Treaty and its bicultural aspirations. While this can
be celebrated, for Maori now have access to technologies of inscription through which
their culture, language, and practices can be disseminated, it must also be emphasized
that within mainstream, or non-Indigenous, media culture in New Zealand, Maori
continue to be represented in reductive, stereotypical fashion. The three parts of the
book, which we discuss below, aim to capture this dynamism to shore up the tension
between media representations of indigeneity and Indigenous self-representations
through the media.

Mediated Indigeneity: Representing the Indigenous Other

Part I, “Mediated Indigeneity,” elucidates the representation of Maori by non-

Indigenous media. Since the publication of Edward Said’s Orientalism in 1978,62 the
focus on the mediated representation of the “Other” has been exhaustive. Here, studies
of the Other have typically focused on representations as social constructions relative
to time and place that “not only do not reflect reality but, more profoundly . . . fracture,
distort or quite literally misrepresent reality and the experiences of minorities.”63 Thus,
representations of Indigenous peoples and cultures by colonial and neocolonial media
are in the main seen to have little to no cognizance of the Indigenous epistemologies
being represented and are, moreover, driven by imperial ideology, perverted by racial-
ized ideologies of subjugation. In Hegelian terms, representations of Indigenous
subjects by colonial and neocolonial media mirror a will to synthesize Indigenous
worldviews into meanings understandable to the Western world.
In relation to New Zealand and “mainstream” television, Maori media theorist Jo
Smith reiterates the above, arguing,

As a settler society founded on a history of colonization, a dominant tendency of main-

stream television is to naturalise the settler-subject in the landscape and to assert an instru-
mental relationship over the land via this settler-subject. . . .
The nature of the conflict over what gets to count as “common” to a nation’s imaginary is
thus a battle over the coding of social spaces and how these spaces become an invisible part
of the quotidian life of a nation.64

Similar to these conclusions, in the present collection, Allen Meek’s chapter, “Postco-
lonial Trauma: Child Abuse, Genocide, and Journalism in New Zealand,” discusses a
series of cover stories in two prestigious New Zealand magazines, Metro and North
and South, concerning the deaths of young children in Maori families. Similar to
INTRODUCTION xxxi

Smith, Meek deduces that “in the context of these magazines the representations of
these children’s deaths were used to implicitly justify settler culture and colonial rule
in Aotearoa” (see chapter 2).
The securing of settler domination over the landscape via the media is a constant
presence in New Zealand and is often played out through the discourse referred to by
the neocolonial media as “public sentiment.” For instance, the state’s decision-making
regarding the 2010 negotiations of Tuhoe (iwi of the central North Island) claims over
Te Urewera (Tuhoe ancestral lands, which after colonization became a state-governed
“National Park”), was influenced by “public sentiment” as reported by the neocolonial
media, which claimed there would be a “public outcry” if the National Party–led gov-
ernment ceded control of the National Park back to its Indigenous proprietors. Sub-
sequently, the original agreement to return governance of Te Urewera to Tuhoe was
revoked by the government, while Prime Minister John Key broke protocol “by
announcing the decision publicly, saying the matter had to be cleared up following a
series of media stories about the possibility of the transfer happening.”65 This event in
2010 merely follows a litany of misreporting by the neocolonial media in New
Zealand.
Hodgetts et al. argue that “throughout New Zealand history when Maori have
asserted rights to land and autonomy, Pakeha regulation news coverage has been
partial, providing little background to grievances and dismissing Maori concerns as
unreasonable and unnecessarily hostile.”66 This sentiment is highlighted by the Fore-
shore and Seabed Act debacle of 2004. After two decades of institutionalized bicultur-
alism, it was increasingly clear that previous Pakeha tolerance of Maori political asser-
tiveness was waning thin, leading to a prominent right-wing backlash that rearticulated
Maori claims to Indigenous rights as “Maori favoritism” and “reverse-racism.” For
example, in early 2004, Don Brash, the then leader of the opposition National Party,
delivered his now infamous speech on “Nationhood,” which castigated the “danger-
ous drift towards racial separatism in New Zealand.”67 Brash promised that a National
government would “remove divisive race-based features from legislation,” arguing
that “there can be no special privileges for any race.”68 Brash’s speech rejuvenated the
flailing National Party, which gained seventeen points in popularity immediately fol-
lowing his address; an unprecedented gain for a New Zealand political party. The
growing antagonism toward Maori “favoritism” also led to reactionary politics by the
then governing Labour Party; it ratified the Foreshore and Seabed Act, which disquali-
fied the right of Maori to govern traditional preserves. Hodgetts et al. found that during
the controversy the news media served to inflame, alarm, and misinform the public
with regard to the issues at hand. For example, on June 21, 2003, Television One News
headlines ran: “More Maori claims for large areas of the New Zealand coastline are
looming after a Court of Appeal decision.”69
More recently, on October 15, 2007, the New Zealand police under the auspices of
the 2002 Suppression of Terrorism Act raided houses nationwide and arrested
xxxii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

seventeen Indigenous rights, environmental, and political activists, and anarchists. In

the present collection, Vijay Devadas’s chapter, entitled “Governing Indigenous Sover-
eignty: Biopolitics and the ‘Terror Raids’ in New Zealand,” examines the media coverage
of the raids on that day and subsequently until the March 2012 court decisions, across
selected print and broadcast media outlets. Devadas argues that mainstream media
racialized “the image of terror” through an Indigenous figure: “Iti is used to stand in for
the discourse of terror as part of a larger cultural practice of visualizing identity, and
testifies to the power of visual culture in the politics of reproducing notions of race,
terror, and criminality” (see chapter 1).
Bruyneel argues in broad terms that the suppression of Indigenous sovereignty
“can be located in economic, cultural, and political narratives that place limitations
on the capacity of [Indigenous] peoples to express meaningful agency and auton-
omy.”70 Translated in relation to neocolonial media, misrepresentations of Indige-
nous peoples are enabled because Indigenous peoples are represented as unable to
accurately represent themselves. Moreover, structurally the neocolonial “media com-
plex” is arranged so that Indigenous peoples are largely silenced within the knowledge-
production process. For instance, a 2006 National Survey of Journalists concluded that

The typical New Zealand journalist is a European woman in her 30s who works as a reporter
for a newspaper, holds a bachelor’s degree, has less than five years experience, is paid about
$40,000 a year, has no religious belief—and probably speaks French well enough to conduct
an interview with Jacques Chirac.71

The same report found that 83 percent of those surveyed were Pakeha, with “8.5%
identifying as Maori or Maori/Pakeha.”72
The skewing of “national” media that such institutionalized underrepresentation
invites is made poignant by the few content analysis studies conducted in this area.
Barclay and Liu’s quantitative analysis of the coverage by two urban newspapers of a
prominent seventy-nine-day Indigenous land occupation at Moutoa Gardens, Whan-
ganui, in 1995, found that

Maori did not achieve one-half of the “amount of voice” in coverage; rather, the various
Maori interests were accorded the status of a minority voice. Overall, the proportion of mate-
rial quoted from Maori occupiers was less than that from any of the other groups, and Maori
quotes were shorter. In terms of balance, occupiers’ accounts were matched with alternative
accounts more often, compared with frequency of matching for other groups.73

Accordingly, the general public’s comprehension of events fundamentally mirrored a

non-Indigenous viewpoint.
In a comparative discourse analysis of Indigenous and non-Indigenous news
media, Joanne Te Awa found that mainstream news coverage typically defined Maori
in “problem terms” via “conflict based coverage.”74 Te Awa also found that news from a
INTRODUCTION xxxiii

Maori epistemology deemphasized violence and negativity, and further that “When
values such as ‘cultural proximity’ and ‘relevance’ [we]re adapted by Maori journalists
working in a Maori media organisation whose audience are Maori, the news gathered
is different. The focus is on Maori, problems facing Maori and often achievements by
Maori.”75 It is apparent then that for Maori and Indigenous peoples in general, the
mainstream news media (and increasingly advertising) has come to play a pivotal role
in what Frantz Fanon referred to as “internalization.”76 Here it is important to note that
the New Zealand state is the primary funder of the most prevalent media outlets in
New Zealand, including Television One, Television Two, Radio New Zealand, and
Maori Television. Coulthard points out that Fanon’s ideas anticipated the work of Louis
Althusser, “who would later argue that the reproduction of capitalist relations of pro-
duction rests on the ‘recognition function’ of ideology, namely, the ability of a state’s
‘ideological apparatus’ to ‘interpellate’ individuals as subjects of class rule.”77 The
argument could then be made that in New Zealand the state-funded media outlets are
part of an ideological apparatus that promotes the internalization and naturalization
of derogatory representations of what it means to be Indigenous and disavows
Indigenous claims to sovereignty.
Beyond misreporting of Indigenous assertions to land, the phrase “Maori news is
bad news” (coined by Walker) has become synonymous with how Maori perceive
mainstream news reportage of themselves. For example, the news media frequently
refers to child abuse as a “Maori Problem,” a discourse supported by many politicians.
For instance, in 2010 the Social Development minister, Paula Bennett, addressed par-
liament and singled out Maori leaders as having a responsibility to rectify Maori child
abuse: “I need you as respected leaders to go back to hapu, iwi and your whanau . . .
and say it’s time to face up to this. It’s time to face up to the fact that Maori children and
Maori babies are being beaten, abused and killed and it’s time it stopped.”78 In response,
Green Party coleader and Maori member of Parliament (MP) Metiria Turei argued:
“Paula Bennett singles out Maori when abuse is rife through all communities. Where is
her call to Pakeha leaders, to religious organisations, to the state itself for the abuses
that took place in their hands?”79 Maori historian Danny Keenan found that newspaper
reportage of Maori domestic violence emphasized “predetermined ideas about Maori
people and behaviour, thereby sustaining simplistic racial dichotomies.”80 In a particu-
lar child abuse case referred to by Keenan, one headline included a reference to the film
Once Were Warriors, thereby “encouraging readers to make logical connections between
the child’s death and a work of fiction noted for its ‘intensely negative portrayal of
Maori.’ ”81 As outlined above, Allen Meek’s chapter in this volume examines issues of
child abuse, genocide, and journalism. As with Keenan’s analysis, Meek finds that “the
media exploited the ‘traumatic’ impact of these images and narratives and potentially
mobilized public opinion against Maori self-determination” (see chapter 2).
One area that has been largely under-studied, however, is the role advertising plays
in appropriation of Indigenous culture. The most globally recognizable example of
xxxiv BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

mediated appropriation of Maori culture (and perhaps any Indigenous culture) is that
of the haka entitled “Ka Mate,”82 which is used in pre-match entertainment by New
Zealand’s national rugby union team, the All Blacks. The appropriation and use of
Maori culture by the likes of global conglomerates such as Adidas is outlined clearly by
Pakeha copyright lawyer John Hackett, who argues in relation to “Ka Mate” that “they
[i.e., Maori] aren’t absolutely certain who created the haka [i.e., “Ka Mate”]; and, there
is no written contract to verify ownership, making it part of the public domain.”83 In
contrast, Maori lawyer and Treaty of Waitangi claimant Maui Solomon points out the
very use of a colonial legal tradition to evaluate and judge cultural and intellectual
property rights (IPR) is fraught with contradictions:

The intellectual property rights system is totally inadequate to recognize and protect Maori
cultural values and cultural rights. For example, the IPR system was developed to protect
private economic rights that came out of the Industrial Revolution, but when you talk about
Maoritanga [Maori culture], cultural heritage rights, these are collective by nature so they
don’t belong to one individual, they belong to the whanau, the hapu, or the iwi. . . . Increas-
ingly . . . you’ve got major corporates who are drawing upon Maori branding, Maori imag-
ery, and Maori icons to promote their products. Now if they’re going to do that they’ve got to
go to Maori and make sure that they have the proper authority that they are doing the right
thing, that they are using those images and icons in a culturally appropriate way. And if there
is going to be a commercial return then what share of those benefits will Maori get?84

In this collection, Jay Scherer’s chapter, “Promotional Culture and Indigenous Iden-
tity: Trading the Other,” examines the discursive codes of production, the dominant
cultural assumptions, and the claims of authenticity that are routinely summoned by
cultural intermediaries who produce commercial images of “Ka Mate” and other
Indigenous intellectual properties. The significance of Scherer’s chapter lies in how it
reveals the ongoing erosion of the territorial frontiers and cultural boundaries of the
global advertising industry in relation to Indigenous intellectual and cultural property.
Scherer notes “the value of Indigenous culture to the broader All Blacks brand: a brand
that has become so popular it now exists as a vehicle for the promotion of numerous
corporations” (see chapter 3).
Also looking at the broad area of advertising, Suzanne Duncan’s chapter, “Consume
or Be Consumed: Targeting Maori Consumers in Print Media,” provides a unique
insight into “ethnic marketing” from a Maori perspective. Duncan finds that the pre-
dominant postcolonial mode of ethnically targeted advertising toward Maori involves
“social marketing,” that is, advertising “aimed at changing behaviors and adopting new
value systems that will aid in the social development of the target market.” Given the
state investment in social marketing toward Maori reported in her chapter, Duncan
suggests such advertising reflects a neoliberal agenda, “geared towards the biopolitical
management of the Indigenous body to increase productivity, via a more healthy and
efficient workforce, while also ensuring that the capitalist system and the postcolonial
INTRODUCTION xxxv

nation circumvent both moral and financial responsibility for the ‘deviances’ of the
community” (see chapter 5).
The Broadcasting Standard Authority (BSA) is the state entity set up via the 1989
Broadcasting Act to assess complaints and to encourage “the development by broad-
casters of codes of broadcasting practice,”85 including advertising practices. In 2006,
the New Zealand Human Rights Commission, as part of their annual race relations
report, investigated the BSA’s practices and found that it fielded numerous complaints
regarding print, advertising, and broadcasting in relation to racism, but none were
upheld. For instance,

Radio Pacific host John Banks described Maori Television as “useless” and “one of the most
disgusting apartheid TV stations in the history of the world.” . . . Maori Television com-
plained that the comments breached the prohibition against denigration contained in
guideline 7(a) of the Radio Code of Broadcasting Practice. The BSA acknowledged that the
host’s comments were ill-informed and calculated to offend. It noted, however, that the
protection of the denigration guideline extends only to a “section of the community.” In
the present case, the host’s comments were directed primarily at the policy decision to
create and fund Maori Television, and incidentally at Maori Television as a corporate en-
tity. In the view of the BSA, Maori Television was not a “section of the community,” and
thus the guideline did not apply.86

In the same year, the BSA rejected claims of racism made against a talkback radio host,
Michael Laws, concerning

remarks made in his capacity as a radio talkback host on Radio Live, describing the late King
of Tonga as a “fat brown slug.” The BSA ruling stated that the King was an individual not a
“section of the community.” Nor did the ruling regard the comments as a breach of good
taste and decency when viewed in the context of the robust nature of talkback.87

Given the prominence of John Banks (who is an ex–National Party minister, ex-mayor
of Auckland City, and currently the leader and only MP of the neoliberal Act Party) and
Michael Laws (who is also an ex–National Party MP and ex-mayor of Whanganui), it is
clear from the examples above that racism is alive and kicking in New Zealand. More
importantly, the first three chapters in this part demonstrate the important role that
the neocolonial media complex has played in perpetuating and subjugating Indige-
nous sovereignty via institutionalized and nondiscursive methods.
While such interrogations are highly pertinent, they leave little room for, first,
Indigenous political agency; second, for non-Indigenous people to approach an ethics
of representing the Indigenous Other; and, third, the multiple positionalities of “post-
colonial citizens” who view themselves beyond the colonizer/colonized, Maori/
Pakeha binary. Many contemporary media analysts, for instance, increasingly describe
settler nation-states as undergoing some variety of postcolonial moment, rupture, or
xxxvi BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

disjunct, typically involving interrogation of national identity in relation to the

increasing politicization of Indigenous identity.
In Australian Cinema after Mabo (2004),88 for example, Felicity Collins and Therese
Davis argue that the recognition of the validity of Native Title in the landmark Austra-
lian High Court judgment in the Mabo v. Queensland case “irreversibly destabilized
the way that Australians relate not only to the land but to their colonial heritage,”89 and
subsequently shaped the interrogation of postcolonial identity formation and
Indigenous–settler relations in films made by Euro-Australians including The Tracker
(2002)90 and Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002).91 As Ginsburg advocates,

These works “backtrack” through the nation’s history not in triumphalist terms, but in ways
that address the legacies of grief and violence wrought by settler colonialism, a significant
transformation in the country’s sense of its own legacies, and a recognition that it matters
whose stories are told and by whom.92

In New Zealand, Maori directors have tended to the “backtracking” described above,
in feature films such as Ngati (1987)93 and Mauri (1999, first produced 1988),94 directed
by Barclay and Mita respectively. Yet, films by Pakeha directors, such as Broken Barrier
(1952, John O’Shea and Roger Mirams),95 To Love a Maori (1991, first produced 1972,
Rudall and Ramai Hayward),96 and Utu (1983, Geoff Murphy),97 all served to challenge
postcolonial racialized constructions through themes like early-colonial warfare and
interracial marriage. However, if there was such an event resembling a “postcolonial
moment” in New Zealand film, it would be Maori director Lee Tamahori’s Once Were
Warriors (1994), which at the time became the most successful motion picture in New
Zealand cinematic history. It was a film that, if nothing else, provided a vehicle for dis-
cussing a subversive postcolonial Maori underclass.
One of the central criticisms of Once Were Warriors by Maori was that while it real-
istically depicted urban Maori impoverishment, the undercurrent of the film, as its
name suggests,

intimates that the inherent violence of tane [Maori men] was, in pre-colonial times, appro-
priate behavior for a noble warrior culture but has, in “modern” times, become a natural
symptom of Maori urban dysfunction. The film’s illustration of the implicitness of Maori
male violence is never more indoctrinated than when Jake’s explosive violence is repetitively
heralded by the eerie wailing of a purerehua (bull-roarer); the wailing implying the stirring of
the inherent savage within.98

Yet, nowhere in the film does the history of colonial oppression enter to offer a more
accurate account of Maori penury, such as land confiscation, Treaty breaches, disease,
and warfare.
In contrast to their predecessors, contemporary Pakeha directors have in the
main lost their “postcolonial voice,” that is, their desire to cross-examine emerging
INTRODUCTION xxxvii

postcolonial identities. Niki Caro’s Whale Rider (2002), for example, typifies how
Pakeha directors have, since Utu, shied away from interrogating settler–Indigenous
relations by largely hiding postcolonial Pakeha presence:

Like a colonial painter Caro has removed the backdrop of the colonial reality and, in so
doing, purged Pakeha and other Westerners of any responsibility for the oppression of Indig-
enous peoples. In the simulacrum of Whangara [where Whale Rider was filmed], a Western
audience can recognize ubiquitous human themes in an exotic locale, while the colonial
process that produced the subjugation of Maori is rendered invisible.99

It is probable that the increasing complexity and prominence of Indigenous–non-

Indigenous relations in New Zealand politics has meant that Pakeha directors have
chosen to blank the canvas of settler presence when representing the Indigenous
Other. This reflects the mirror opposite of other settler nation-states like Australia,
whose atrocious colonial history has only since the 2000s been given any credence
by mainstream politics.
One exception to this phenomenon is Pakeha director Vincent Ward, who duly
tackles the emergent nature of postcolonial Maori/Pakeha identity in historically
oriented feature films such as River Queen (2005)100 and Rain of the Children
(2008).101 In the present volume, Kevin Fisher and Brendan Hokowhitu critically
analyze Ward’s methodology in Rain of the Children, paying particular attention to
“remediation” filmic techniques. According to the authors, Ward’s method “imme-
diately separates his filmic practices from the likes of Caro and . . . signals an ethi-
cal approach to treating Indigenous subjectivities by non-Indigenous film-makers”
(see chapter 4, “Viewing against the Grain”). However, even the growing postcolo-
nial angst arising through revisionist filmic notions such as “backtracking” and
“remediation” still tends to reflect an Enlightenment rationalism, where the central
project remains the deliverance of Western subjectivities. The (historical) Indige-
nous subject remains the sounding board for the more enlightened postcolonial
identity, and thus resides in the margins.
In stark contrast to such an approach, a radical ethics toward the mediated treat-
ment of the Other involves, first and foremost, a reflexive praxis driven by an ethical
imperative to analyze production in terms of understanding the historical tradition of
Western rationalism, which “preserves the boundaries of sense for itself.”102 As Bhabha
points out in relation to Said’s Orientalism:

Said is aware when he hints continually at a polarity or division at the very centre of Oriental-
ism. It is, on the one hand, a topic of learning, discovery, practice; on the other, it is the site
of dreams, images, fantasies, myths, obsessions and requirements. It is a static system of
“synchronic essentialism,” a knowledge of “signifiers of stability” such as the lexicographic
and the encyclopaedic.103
xxxviii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

This “synchronic” essentialization of the Other fundamentally involves the synthesis

of Indigenous epistemologies within a Western regime. And this ontological imperial-
ist project is inherently violent, as Madan Sarup argues: “in Western philosophy, when
knowledge or theory tries to understand the Other, then the alterity of the Other van-
ishes as it becomes part of the same. In all cases it involves violence towards the
Other.”104 Similarly, Robert Young states, “ontology amounts to a philosophy of power,
an egotism in which the relation with the Other is accomplished through its assimila-
tion into the self.”105
The idea of nonsynthesis or antisynthesis as an ethical approach for the represen-
tation of Indigenous peoples by non-Indigenous appears simplistic, yet the inherent
nature of synthesis to Western rationalism renders any attempt at nonsynthesis
uncomfortable, unnatural, and, more than likely, unpopular. Here the full-weight of
Bhabha’s analysis, where “the boundaries of sense” within Western rationalism are
preserved for itself, must be taken on board. If we analyze the words of celebrated eth-
nographic filmmaker Jean Rouch, for example, where he suggests ethnographic film
has the possibility to produce “a new language which might allow us to cross the
boundaries between all nations,”106 one may see these words as “full of hope,” or as
reflective of a will to dilute culture so as to produce indigeneity in cognizable forms for
the West.
The latter raises the question of why mediate alterity at all if understanding the
Other is not at the epistemological core? Yet, such questioning can be constructed as
merely preserving Western rationalism’s claims to universal knowledge through free
access rights to all knowledge. Repositioning the politics of representation opens up
other realms for the mediation of indigeneity. For instance, Alison Griffiths suggests
that, “as a discursive category, ethnographic film refers less to a set of unified significa-
tory practices or to the anthropological method of intensive fieldwork than to the
looking relations between the initiator of the gaze and the recipient.”107 While highly
problematic if the “recipient” is always an Indigenous person, nevertheless, such a
“politics of looking” reemphasizes the conditions of representation away from seeking
truth about the Other and synthesis, and toward questions of nonsynthesis or
antisynthesis.

Indigenous Media: Emergence, Struggles, and Interventions

The term “Fourth Eye” seeks to capture the politics of media representations of Indig-
enous peoples; the use of the media as a modality of Indigenous empowerment, sover-
eignty, resistance, and articulation of struggles; and the creative potentiality of an indi-
genized mediascape. The Fourth Eye thus captures the Indigenous politics of
representation, with an emphasis on biopolitical production. This section explores the
multiple, overlapping inflections on what might be considered “Indigenous media,”
whether that be as “anti-colonialist cultural criticism of representation,”108 as
INTRODUCTION xxxix

developmental media,109 as an Indigenous public sphere,110 or as “visual sovereignty.”111

Many of these notions are critically analyzed in Hokowhitu’s contribution “Theorizing
Indigenous Media,” which examines the question, “What is Indigenous media?”
through concepts such as the politics of recognition and appropriation, “Fourth Media,”
pan-Indigenous media, antisynthesis production, and sovereignty (see chapter 6). One
of the ideas explored, for instance, is Indigenous “visual sovereignty” as lucidly dis-
cussed by Michelle Raheja in “Reading Nanook’s Smile: Visual Sovereignty, Indigenous
Revisions of Ethnography, and Atanarjuat (The Fast Runner).” In relation to the politics
of appropriation Raheja argues “visual sovereignty” is

a reading practice for thinking about the space between resistance and compliance wherein
Indigenous filmmakers and actors revisit, contribute to, borrow from, critique, and reconfig-
ure ethnographic film conventions, at the same time operating within and stretching the
boundaries created by these conventions.112

In this collection, various other definitions of “sovereignty” are offered by Indigenous

broadcasters. For example, Maori broadcaster Derek Fox, who was one of the key
advocators for the development of Maori Television, contends Indigenous media sov-
ereignty “implies ‘mana whakahaere’ (control), Maori are not interested in being
advisers or ‘colour consultants’. We are ready to make our way in this world.”113
For many Indigenous creative artists, the neocolonial will to synthesize Indigenous
knowledges within cognizable Western frames has produced a resistance that has
come to ostensibly ground notions of “Fourth Media.” Central to any formulation of
Indigenous media is the politics of perspective, as outlined by Mita:

It is very important to make the distinction between the way we are seen and the way we see
ourselves. And the reason for this becomes very clear if you look at the films that have been
made starting from 1911 in the United States, in Europe and in Aotearoa. If you look at those
films made by tauiwi [white people] or by foreign eyes on us, you will see very important dif-
ferences to the way they look at us and the way we see ourselves.114

With the creation of terms such as “Fourth Media” and “Fourth Cinema,” there is a
tendency to think of Indigenous-controlled media as a recent development. Impor-
tantly, Lachy Paterson’s chapter in the present collection, “Te Hokioi and the Legitimi-
zation of the Maori Nation,” pays attention to early colonial Indigenous media through
analysis of Te Hokioi (a hokioi was a native bird resembling a snipe, now extinct), a
Maori-language newspaper published by the Indigenous political movement Te Kingi-
tanga in the 1860s. This was a prominent decade of Maori/Pakeha armed conflict—
the time period depicted in the feature film Utu. As Paterson argues, “Te Hokioi was
the first, and perhaps most radical, example of Indigenous media activism in New
Zealand,” enabling Te Kingitanga “to broadcast its own developing ideology and to
counter the New Zealand government’s own propaganda directed at Maori” (see
xl BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

chapter 7). Paterson’s insightful historical analysis provides much food for thought
about how Indigenous media might be conceptualized today, as the 150-year gulf
since Te Hokioi’s publication speaks to the paradigmatic shift away from an Indige-
nous existentialism evident in this early Indigenous media activism.
The notion of “Fourth Cinema” is also synonymous with the work of Maori film-
maker Barry Barclay. Barclay’s film Te Rua (1991)115 is the subject of April Strickland’s
chapter, “Barry Barclay’s Te Rua: The Unmanned Camera and Maori Political Activ-
ism,” which looks at themes of Indigenous community and political activism. Of note
here is Strickland’s exploration of marae (land and buildings of genealogical signifi-
cance), which in this context refers to the site of ritual encounter between tangata
whenua and manuhiri (visitors) as a metaphor for Indigenous filmmaking. To explain,
Strickland quotes Barclay at length (see chapter 8):

When creating a communications marae, I think we must be conscious of that duty to offer
suitable hospitality. You must not insult your guests, or let them feel they are being left on the
outer. If we do not respect that most basic of marae rules, the communications marae we
have striven so hard to set up will be rejected, not only by the majority culture, but by our
own people—and indeed, by them first.116

Stephen Turner continues where Strickland leaves off by providing “Reflections on

Barry Barclay and Fourth Cinema.” Written soon after the passing of Barclay, this
chapter provides a moving account of the importance of Barclay’s thought to New Zea-
land in general, suggesting “the issues raised by Fourth Cinema are not simply ‘film’
issues. They are, more deeply, issues of law, knowledge and property . . . or what Bar-
clay has called ‘image sovereignty’ ” (see chapter 9).

Maori Television: Nation, Culture, and Identity

In 1996, Te Mangai Paho funded the pilot project “Aotearoa Television,” which eventu-
ally led to the advent of Maori Television in 2004. Aotearoa Television screened in
Auckland for three months between the hours of 5:00 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. Accessible
on a UHF frequency, it was praised for offering a range of programming with high pro-
duction values aimed particularly at youth, the largest demographic sector of the con-
temporary Maori population. In contrast to mainstream media programming of the
time, the station presented positive images of Maori, and contained cultural protocols
such as closing the day’s viewing with a karakia (prayer). However, Aotearoa Television
collapsed under loss of government funding amid accusations of poor financial man-
agement; a “scandal” that gained much mainstream media coverage and notoriety
in the public imagination, and in all probability stalled the actualization of Maori
Television for at least half a decade.
Nevertheless, the launch of Maori Television in March 2004 marked the most sig-
nificant event of Indigenous media in New Zealand’s history. In a media release, the
INTRODUCTION xli

chief executive of Maori Television, Ani Waaka, announced its arrival in relation to the
“Maori Renaissance” of the 1970s,117 suggesting a struggle lasting “30 years after the
first bid to beam te reo and tikanga Maori (Maori customary lore) into New Zealand’s
living rooms.” Maori Television’s mandate demonstrates a clear developmental and
nationalistic intent:

The principal function of Maori Television is to promote te reo Maori me nga tikanga Maori
[Maori language and customary lore] through the provision of a high quality, cost-effective
Maori television service in both Maori and English, that informs, educates and entertains
a broad viewing audience, and, in doing so, enriches New Zealand’s society, culture and
heritage.118

As a state entity Maori Television, almost by definition, is akin with other state-funded
broadcasters in the promotion of nationalism, yet with key differences. First, as
Smith points out, “The ‘New Zealander’ envisaged by MTS [Maori Television Service] is
thus a citizen of a nation state that is cognisant of Maori values, language and culture,
a cognisance produced in part by the televisual mediations of MTS.”119 Indeed, one of
the mandates of Maori Television was to promote Maori culture and language as part
of a broader government response to the Treaty of Waitangi, including the 1987 Maori
Language Act that recognized te reo Maori as an official language of New Zealand.
Accordingly, the evolution of an Indigenous mediascape in New Zealand has reso-
nated through Maori Television the sentiments of the broader Maori cultural renais-
sance, and even broader transnational Indigenous claims to sovereignty, bound
together by the key Indigenous postcolonial identity markers—land, language, cul-
ture, and community-building. Thus Chris Prentice, in her chapter “The Maori Televi-
sion Service and Questions of Culture,” argues that “(self-)representation or articula-
tions of identity politics are inseparable from the wider political economy, and its
onto-epistemological predicates, within which they take place.” She goes on to sug-
gest that Maori Television “is really only an epiphenomenon of a larger set of chal-
lenges for postcolonial Maori culture” (see chapter 10).
One definition of Indigenous media as “developmental” suggests that its philo-
sophical approach is fundamentally different to that of commercial media. Stuart, for
instance, argues that the functions of Maori media are primarily to revitalize Indige-
nous epistemology, while concomitantly unifying and educating its people: “Maori
media seeks to educate people to ensure the survival of both the language and culture.
The Maori media also actively seeks to promote positive images of Maori and to pro-
vide a Maori view of events and news, all roles assumed by a developmental media.”120
Stuart goes on to say that “The Maori media is building, or rebuilding, a culture, and by
doing so . . . is creating a nation, but a nation separated from a state, and internal
within a state.”121 Likewise, Hodgetts et al. suggest Maori media can provide “direct
links within Maori communities, for nurturing a sense of community, for education,
xlii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

and for fostering a shared agenda necessary for continued advocacy for social
justice.”122
In many regards then, the mandate of Maori Television, at least, reflects an “Indig-
enous public sphere,” defined as “the highly mediated public ‘space’ for evolving
notions of indigeneity . . . [yet] a peculiar example of a public sphere, since it pre-
ceded any ‘nation’ . . . it is the ‘civil society’ of a nation without formal borders, state
institutions, or citizens.”123 However, it is clear from the discussion above that the
developmental aspect of Maori Television also had in its sights non-Indigenous New
Zealanders. As a starting point of her analysis of “Maori Television, Anzac Day, and
Constructing ‘Nationhood’ ” in the present collection, Sue Abel argues that Indigenous
media offers Indigenous peoples the opportunity to reconfigure the national imagi-
nary. Via viewer responses to the coverage of Anzac Day (a commemorative day for the
Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) on Maori Television, Abel concludes that,
presently, the national imaginary is far from being mature enough to truly interrogate
its colonial history (see chapter 11).
In her comparative essay regarding the coding and recoding of the nation as it
takes place on Television One versus Maori Television, Smith argues that Television
One as a “territorial writing machine,” “code[s] the imagined space of the nation-state
according to a settler cultural compass,”124 which serves to perpetuate the national
imaginary in the shadow of a settler history. In contrast, Smith suggests that “with the
broadcast of Maori programming and content on a distinctively Maori channel, the
national imaginary might be forced to invoke itself in terms of a double-time.”125 Here
Smith is proposing that Maori Television’s “will to cultural transformation” is not so
much through representation but because of “its spectral presence in the national
programming schedule, a presence which inserts micro-level pauses in mainstream
quotidian flows, and hence national orthodoxies, and which provide us with glimpses
of our bicultural futures.”126
Following on from her previous work, in the present collection Jo Smith and
Joost de Bruin’s chapter challenges the noncommercial/commercial dichotomy
that is supposedly inherent to developmental Indigenous media. “Indigeneity and
Cultural Belonging in Survivor-Styled Reality Television from New Zealand”
thought-provokingly examines “the different ways in which two recent New Zealand
television programs draw upon global reality television formats to articulate dis-
courses of indigeneity and cultural belonging” (see chapter 12). Importantly, the chap-
ter compares the discourses stemming from a mainstream program and a Maori Tele-
vision program to “illuminate the specificities of local discourses of indigeneity.”

Conclusion

This collection is unique in its intent to synthesize the discrete disciplines of Indige-
nous and Media Studies by bringing together a number of Indigenous and
INTRODUCTION xliii

non-Indigenous academics to produce a comprehensive and cogent account focused

on the morphing notion of “Indigenous” through media and through the convergence
of theoretical trajectories to expose the ways indigeneity is mediated. That is, it exam-
ines how media technologies produce mediated experiences informed by indigeneity
or, conversely, how media representations of indigeneity filter the lens through which
indigeneity is constructed. As alluded to above, the collection attends to three the-
matic areas that traverse various media forms and examines the construction, expres-
sion, and production of indigeneity through the reporting of Indigenous issues in
commercial, non-Indigenous media; through how media has been used to engender a
sense of Indigenous activism, culture, community, development, and sovereignty via
the production of a politically active Indigenous voice; and, significantly, through how
various Indigenous media developments should be read within a politics of recogni-
tion and a broader neocolonial system constantly attending and renegotiating threats
to its stability. In initiating this collection, it is the hope of the editors (one being in
Indigenous Studies and the other in Media Studies) that the synthesizing of both dis-
ciplines will enable the important area of Indigenous Media Studies to be further
developed and critically enhanced.

Notes
1. Our choice to use “New Zealand” throughout the collection, bar the title, is partly based on
recognition of the international audience. There are also ideological concerns that motivate
our decision. All the currently employed nomenclatures are problematic. For instance, although
“Aotearoa” (a Maori name meaning “Land of the Long White Cloud”) is now commonly used as
a translation for “New Zealand” within the imagined bicultural nation, in actuality the name
originally referred to the North Island, whereas the South Island is still commonly referred to as
“Te Waipounamu” (“The Land of Greenstone”). Many writers choose to refer to New Zealand as
“Aotearoa/New Zealand” in recognition of the supposed bicultural nation. The problematics
surrounding the conjunction include its inference that New Zealand adheres to biculturalism
where, in the main, it clearly does not and, second, because it implies that there was, or is,
such a thing as a homogenous group of people who could constitute a “Maori nation.” Such
a concept “forgets” that Maori are not one people, rather they are a confederacy of diverse
peoples. However, we employ “Aotearoa New Zealand” in the title of the book, first, to acknowl-
edge the multiple Indigenous peoples of the land now referred to as New Zealand and, second,
because for many there is a subversive element to its inclusion within the nomenclature of the
nation-state.
2. “Maori” is a generic word that prior to colonization meant “normal” but has come to ubiqui-
tously and problematically represent New Zealand’s Indigenous peoples.
3. Lee Tamahori (dir.), Once Were Warriors (Culver City, Calif.: Columbia Tristar Home Video, 1994).
4. Niki Caro (dir.), Whale Rider (South Yarra, Victoria, Australia: Buena Vista Home Video, 2002).
5. “Haka” is the generic name for all types of dance or ceremonial performance that involve move-
ment. According to Timoti Sam Karetu, while haka have been “erroneously defined by genera-
tions of uninformed as ‘war dances,’ the true ‘war dances’ are the whakatu waewae, the tutu
ngarahu and the peruperu.” Timoti Sam Karetu, Haka! The Dance of a Noble People (Auckland:
Reed Books, 1993), 37.
xliv BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

6. In academic English texts that include Maori words and in relation to italicization, there is no
normative standard, with some authors choosing to italicize all Maori words, some choosing to
italicize none, and some choosing to italicize all Maori words excepting proper nouns. In the
present collection, and in consultation with the publisher, the editors have chosen the last of
these options. In this decision we have been mindful that nonitalicization of Maori words
would signal the further assimilation of an already subjugated language into the dominant
English text, yet we are also cognizant of the grammatical error of italicizing proper nouns,
such as Maori place names, which do not have English equivalents.
7. Valerie Alia, The New Media Nation (New York: Berghahn Books, 2010); Pamela Wilson and
Michelle Stewart, eds., Global Indigenous Media: Cultures, Poetics and Politics (Durham, N.C.:
Duke University Press, 2008); Jeffrey D. Himpele, Circuits of Culture: Media, Politics, and Indig-
enous Identity in the Andes (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008); Laurel Evelyn
Dyson, Max A. N. Hendriks, and Stephen Grant, eds., Information Technology and Indigenous
People (Hershey, Pa.: Information Science Publishing, 2007); Kyra Landzelius, Native on the Net
(London: Routledge, 2006); Faye Ginsburg, Lila Abu-Lughod, and Brian Larkin, eds., Media
Worlds: Anthropology on New Terrain (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002); John Hart-
ley and Alan McKee, The Indigenous Public Sphere: The Reporting and Reception of Aboriginal
Issues on the Australian Media (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000).
8. Lisa Brooten, “Media as Our Mirror: Indigenous Media of Burma (Myanmar),” in Global Indig-
enous Media: Culture, Poetics and Politics, ed. Pamela Wilson and Michelle Stewart (Durham,
N.C.: Duke University Press, 2008), 111–27; Michael Christie, “Digital Tools and the Manage-
ment of Australian Aboriginal Desert Knowledge,” in Global Indigenous Media: Cultures, Poetics
and Politics, ed. Pamela Wilson and Michelle Stewart (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press,
2008), 270–86; Terence Turner, “Representation, Politics, and Cultural Imagination in Indige-
nous Video: General Points and Kayapo Examples,” in Media Worlds: Anthropology on New Ter-
rain, ed. Faye Ginsburg, Lila Abu-Lughod, and Brian Larkin (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2002), 75–89; Doris Baltruschat, “Co-producing First Nation’s Narratives: The Journals of
Knud Rasmussen,” in Indigenous Screen Cultures in Canada, ed. Sigurjón Baldur Hafsteinsson
and Marian Bredin (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 2010), 127–42.
9. Faye Ginsburg, Lila Abu-Lughod, and Brian Larkin, “Introduction,” in Ginsburg, Abu-Lughod,
and Larkin, Media Worlds, 3.
10. Faye Ginsburg, “The Parallax Effect: The Impact of Aboriginal Media on Ethnographic Film,”
Visual Anthropology 11, no. 2 (1995): 67.
11. John Hartley, “Television, Nation, and Indigenous Media,” Television & New Media 5, no. 1
(2004): 12–13.
12. Kevin Bruyneel, The Third Space of Sovereignty (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
2007), xix. Bruyneel refers to political space as “the lived and envisioned territorial, institu-
tional, and cultural location through which a people situates its past, present and future as a
political identity. . . . [Political identity is] that which binds a group together both through its
relationship to discernable power inequities—whether stronger or weaker groups—and
through its collective vision of how to generate, sustain, or expand the group’s capacity to deter-
mine its future” (ibid.).
13. Jace Weaver, “Indigenousness and Indigeneity,” in A Companion to Postcolonial Studies, ed.
Henry Schwarz and Sangeeta Ray (London: Blackwell, 2000), 221.
14. Benedict Kingsbury, “The Applicability of the International Legal Concept of ‘Indigenous
Peoples’ in Asia,” in The East Asian Challenge for Human Rights, ed. Joanne R. Bauer and Daniel
Bell Daniel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 336.
INTRODUCTION xlv

15. See the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples at www.un.org/esa
/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf.
16. The 2007 announcement can be seen at http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=
37102&Cr=indigenous&Cr1=#.UVG9SVtNZjE.
17. Roger Maaka and Augie Fleras, The Politics of Indigeneity: Challenging the State in Canada and
Aotearoa New Zealand (Dunedin, N.Z.: Otago University Press, 2005), 30.
18. Cited in Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples
(London: Zed Books, 1999), 110.
19. Maaka and Fleras, The Politics of Indigeneity, 31.
20. Erica-Irene Daes, Working Paper by the Chairperson-Rapporteur, Mrs. Erica-Irene A. Daes, on the
Concept of Indigenous Peoples, United Nations Economic and Social Council, Commission on
Human Rights, June 10, UN Document E/CN.4/Sub.2/AC.4/1996/2 (New York, 1996), 5, http://
www.unhchr.ch/Huridocda/Huridoca.nsf/TestFrame/2b6e0fb1e9d7db0fc1256b3a003eb999.
21. African Union, African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights, Advisory Opinion of the
African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights on the United Nations Declaration on the
Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Banjul, Gambia: African Commission on Human and Peoples’
Rights, 2007), 3, http://www.afrimap.org/english/images/treaty/ACHPR-AdvisoryOpinion
-IndigPeoples.pdf.
22. Maaka and Fleras, The Politics of Indigeneity, 29.
23. Ibid., 30.
24. Glen Coulthard, “Subjects of Empire: Indigenous Peoples and the ‘Politics of Recognition’ in
Canada,” Contemporary Political Theory 6 (2007): 437.
25. Bruyneel, The Third Space of Sovereignty, xvii.
26. The term “mediascape,” coined by Arjun Appadurai, offers one way to describe and situate the
role of electronic and print media in “global cultural flows,” which are fluid and irregular as they
cross global and local boundaries. For Appadurai, mediascape indexes the electronic capabili-
ties of production and dissemination, as well as “the images of the world created by these
media.” Arjun Appadurai, “Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy,” The-
ory, Culture & Society 7 (1990): 298–99.
27. Ronald Niezen, The Rediscovered Self: Indigenous Identity and Cultural Justice (Montreal:
McGill–Queen’s University Press, 2009), 22.
28. Ella Shohat and Robert Stam, Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the Media (Lon-
don: Routledge, 1994).
29. Article 16 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples notes that
“Indigenous peoples have the right to establish their own media in their own languages and to
have access to all forms of non-indigenous media without discrimination. States shall take
effective measures to ensure that State-owned media duly reflect indigenous cultural diversity.
States, without prejudice to ensuring full freedom of expression, should encourage privately
owned media to adequately reflect indigenous cultural diversity.” See www.un.org/esa/socdev
/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf.
30. Harald Prins, “Visual Anthropology,” in A Companion to the Anthropology of American Indians,
ed. Thomas Biolsi (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2004), 506–25.
31. “The Treaty of Waitangi is New Zealand’s founding document. It takes its name from the place
in the Bay of Islands where it was first signed, on 6 February 1840. This day is now a public holi-
day in New Zealand. The Treaty is an agreement, in Maori and English, that was made between
the British Crown and about 540 Maori rangatira (chiefs). . . . The Treaty is a broad statement of
principles on which the British and Maori made a political compact to found a nation state and
xlvi BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

build a government in New Zealand. The Treaty has three articles. In the English version, these
are that Maori ceded the sovereignty of New Zealand to Britain; Maori gave the Crown an exclu-
sive right to buy lands they wished to sell, and, in return, they were guaranteed full rights of
ownership of their lands, forests, fisheries and other possessions; and that Maori would have
the rights and privileges of British subjects. The Treaty in Maori was deemed to convey the
meaning of the English version, but there are important differences. Most significantly, in the
Maori version the word ‘sovereignty’ was translated as ‘kawanatanga’ (governance). Some
Maori believed they gave up the government over their lands but retained the right to manage
their own affairs. The English version guaranteed ‘undisturbed possession’ of all their ‘proper-
ties’, but the Maori version guaranteed ‘tino rangatiratanga’ (full authority) over ‘taonga’ (trea-
sures, not necessarily those that are tangible). Maori understanding was at odds with the
understanding of those negotiating the Treaty for the Crown, and as Maori society valued the
spoken word, explanations at the time were probably as important as the document.” http://
www.nzhistory.net.nz/politics/treaty/the-treaty-in-brief.
32. Ranginui Walker, Ka Whawhai Tonu Matou: Struggle without End (Auckland: Penguin Books,
1990), 197.
33. Te Puni Kokiri, Historical Influences: Maori and the Economy (Wellington: Government Printer,
2007), 7.
34. Mason Durie, Te Mana, Te Kawanatanga: The Politics of Maori Self-Determination (Auckland:
Oxford University Press, 1998), 55.
35. The word “Pakeha” stems from precolonial words such as “pakepakeha” and “pakehakeha”
(and the like) common to certain parts of the Pacific, referring to “Imaginary beings resembling
men, with fair skins.” Herbert W. Williams, A Dictionary of the Maori Language, 7th ed. (Welling-
ton: A. R. Shearer, Government Printer, 1975 [first published in 1844]), 252. The word has
evolved to commonly refer to “New Zealander of European descent.” See John Moorfield, Te
Aka: Maori-English, English-Maori Dictionary and Index (Auckland: Pearson, 2005), 108.
36. Walker, Ka Whawhai Tonu Matou, 220.
37. Ibid., 209–10.
38. Homi Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994).
39. Following the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, one of Queen Victoria’s representatives, Captain
William Hobson, the British consul, uttered these words of unification that have since come to
symbolize, for many Maori at least, the Crown’s betrayal of the Treaty’s original intent.
40. Joe Hawke is a Ngati Whatua ki Orakei leader who was plucked out of obscurity by Dame Whina
Cooper to assist her in leading the 1975 Land March across the Auckland Harbour Bridge.
Hawke became the Ngati Whatu voice for the occupation of Bastion Point, and features promi-
nently in Mita’s film Bastion Point: Day 507 (see note 42 below).
41. Robert Consedine and Joanna Consedine, Healing Our History: The Challenge of the Treaty of
Waitangi (Auckland: Penguin Books, 2001), 104–5.
42. Merata Mita, Gerd Pohlmann, and Leon Narby (dirs.), Bastion Point: Day 507 (Wellington: Awa-
tea Films, 1980).
43. New Zealand Film Archive, Land Wars Film Programme (Wellington: New Zealand Film Archive,
2008), 1.
44. Cited in Jo Smith and Sue Abel, “Ka Whawhai Tonu Matou: Indigenous Television in Aotearoa/
New Zealand,” New Zealand Journal of Media Studies 11, no. 1 (2008): 2.
45. Cited in Donald Browne, “A Voice for Tangata Whenua: A History of the Development of Maori
Electronic Media,” in Electronic Media and Indigenous People: A Voice of Our Own?, ed. Donald
Browne (Ames: University of Iowa Press, 1996), 150.
INTRODUCTION xlvii

46. Ibid., 151.

47. Te Mangai Paho website, http://www.tmp.govt.nz.
48. Peter Adds, Mia Bennett, Meegan Hall, Bernard Kernot, Marie Russell, and Tai Walker, The Por-
trayal of Maori and Te Ao Maori in Broadcasting: The Foreshore and Seabed Issue (Wellington:
Broadcasting Standards Authority, 2005), 41.
49. Ibid.
50. Niezen, The Rediscovered Self, 41–42.
51. “Local people, hosts, Indigenous people of the land—people born of the whenua, i.e. of the
placenta and of the land where the people’s ancestors have lived and where their placenta are
buried.” http://www.maoridictionary.co.nz/index.cfm?dictionaryKeywords=tangata+whenua
&search.x=-451&search.y=-172&search=search&n=1&idiom=&phrase=&proverb=&loan=.
52. Jeffrey Sissons, “Maori Tribalism and Post-Settler Nationhood in New Zealand,” Oceania 75
(2004): 19–31.
53. Aroha Harris, Hikoi: Forty Years of Maori Protest (Wellington: Huia, 2004), 27.
54. Sissons, “Maori Tribalism and Post-Settler Nationhood in New Zealand,” 19.
55. Ibid.
56. Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (New York: Herder and Herder, 1970).
57. Moana Jackson and Atareta Poananga, “Two-House Model,” cited in Adds et al., The Portrayal
of Maori and Te Ao Maori in Broadcasting, 23.
58. Ian Stuart, “The Construction of a National Maori Identity by Maori Media,” Pacific Journalism
Review 9 (2003): 52.
59. In Maori customary narratives, the North Island is referred to as Te Ika-a-Maui, the fish of Maui-
tikitiki-o-Taranga; the fish was caught by the existentialist demigod Maui (as he is commonly
referred to throughout the Pacific) on one of his many escapades.
60. http://www.irirangi.net/iwi-stations.aspx.
61. Stuart, “The Construction of a National Maori Identity by Maori Media,” 53.
62. Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978).
63. Tim Edwards, Cultures of Masculinity (New York: Routledge, 2006), 123.
64. Jo Smith, “Parallel Quotidian Flows: Maori Television on Air,” New Zealand Journal of Media
Studies 9, no. 2 (2006): 29.
65. Claire Trevett, “Key Refuses to Hand Over Park to Tuhoe,” New Zealand Herald, May 11, 2010,
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10644127.
66. Darrin Hodgetts, Alison Barnett, Andrew Duirs, Jolene Henry, and Anni Schwanen, “Maori
Media Production, Civic Journalism and the Foreshore and Seabed Controversy in Auckland,”
Pacific Journalism Review 11, no. 2 (2005): 192.
67. Don Brash, “Nationhood,” paper presented at the meeting of the Orewa Rotary Club, Auckland,
January 27, 2004, 2.
68. Ibid., 14.
69. Cited in Adds et al., The Portrayal of Maori and Te Ao Maori in Broadcasting, 67.
70. Bruyneel, The Third Space of Sovereignty, 2.
71. Cited in Human Rights Commission, Tui Tui Tuituia: Race Relations in 2006 (Auckland: Human
Rights Commission, 2006), 38–39.
72. Ibid., 39.
73. Cited in Adds et al., The Portrayal of Maori and Te Ao Maori in Broadcasting, 54.
74. Joanne Te Awa, “Mana News: A Case Study,” Sites 33 (1996): 168.
75. Ibid., 171.
76. Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (New York: Grove Press, 1967), 11.
xlviii BRENDAN HOKOWHITU AND VIJAY DE VADAS

77. Coulthard, “Subjects of Empire,” 443.

78. Paula Bennett, cited in “Iwi Leaders Meeting,” http://www.beehive.govt.nz/speech/iwi-leaders
-meeting.
79. Metiria Turei, cited in “Green Party: Maori Leaders Are No More Responsible for Child Abuse
than Pakeha Leaders,” http://www.voxy.co.nz/politics/green-party-maori-leaders-are-no
-more-responsible-child-abuse-pakeha-leaders/5/59726.
80. Danny Keenan, “ ‘Hine’s Once Were Warriors Hell’: The Reporting and Racialising of Child
Abuse,” Social Work Review 12, no. 4 (2000): 5–8, cited in Adds et al., The Portrayal of Maori and
Te Ao Maori in Broadcasting, 48.
81. Ibid., 48.
82. While there is a vast array of haka, the most renowned is “Ka Mate.” New Zealand’s sporting
icons, the All Blacks, use “Ka Mate,” which was composed in the 1820s by the famous Ngati Toa
chief, Te Rauparaha. In brief, prior to each game and immediately following the respective
national anthems, the All Blacks form a semicircle at midfield facing their opponents. The per-
formance is an entertainment spectacle, supposedly serving as an expression of cultural iden-
tity and a motivational tool, as well as to intimidate the opposition. Karetu points out, however,
that when “Ka Mate” was composed it was intended as a ngeri. Ngeri “are short haka to stiffen
the sinews, to summon up the blood, but unlike haka taparahi [non-warring, ceremonial haka
with set actions], have no set movements, thereby giving the performers free rein to express
themselves as they deem appropriate.” He goes on to suggest “Ka Mate” has “become the most
performed, the most maligned, the most abused of all haka. Jumping is not a feature of either
haka taparahi or ngeri and it is these irritating perpetrations that lead to a lot of discord”
(Karetu, Haka! 41, 68).
83. John Hackett, Backch@t (Wellington: Television One, June 18, 2000).
84. Maui Solomon, Backch@t (Wellington: Television One, June 18, 2000).
85. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/1989/0025/latest/DLM157457.html.
86. Human Rights Commission, Tui Tui Tuituia, 41.
87. Ibid.
88. Felicity Collins and Therese Davis, Australian Cinema after Mabo (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 2004).
89. Faye Ginsburg, “Black Screens and Cultural Citizenship,” Visual Anthropology Review 21, nos.
1–2 (2005): 81.
90. Rolf de Heer (dir.), The Tracker (Adelaide: Vertigo Productions, 2002).
91. Phillip Noye (dir.), Rabbit-Proof Fence (Melbourne: Bolinda, 2002).
92. Ginsburg, “Black Screens,” 82.
93. Barry Barclay (dir.), Ngati (Wellington: Pacific Films, 1987).
94. Merata Mita (dir.), Mauri (Auckland: Awatea Films, 1988).
95. John O’Shea and Roger Miriams (dirs.), Broken Barrier (Wellington: Pacific Films, 1952).
96. “Ramai Hayward is acknowledged as a prolific pioneer filmmaker who worked in every aspect
of the industry. She was New Zealand’s first Maori cinematographer; the first in the world (with
husband Rudall Hayward) to make English-language films in communist China; kuia (elder) for
the New Zealand Film Commission; patron of the international Women in Film and Television
organisation; and an actor fondly remembered as Billy T James’ screen mother. She has also
been a Kingi Ihaka Award recipient; a photographer; and a successful painter and author.
Ramai—also known as Ramai Te Miha, Patricia Rongomaitara Te Miha and Patricia Miller—was
born on November 11, 1916 to a Maori mother, and a Pakeha father of Irish descent . . . Ramai
and Rudall married in 1943, and in 1946 the photographic studios were sold, financing a move
INTRODUCTION xlix

to England. Rudall’s specially-made sound camera helped win the couple freelance work, and
Ramai learnt how to operate camera and sound equipment. Some say she was the only profes-
sional camerawoman working in England at that time, as would be the case back home in New
Zealand . . . Ramai and Rudall are acknowledged as true pioneers of New Zealand film and
made many documentaries, educational and travel films in New Zealand, Britain, Australia,
and China. Ramai and her husband filmed in China in 1957, working on the first English-
language films made there since the beginning of Communist rule in 1949. Dressed in a piupiu,
she presented Chairman Mao with a Maori feather cloak. Ramai also wrote, directed and helped
shoot Children in China, the first of a series of children’s educational films she initiated, and
commanded. The series was made for the National Film Library each year over 15 years, and
included the popular Eel History Was a Mystery (which included shots of her elderly Aunt smok-
ing eels) and The Arts and Crafts of Maori Children. Argues author Deborah Shepard: ‘Ramai also
ensured that Hayward Films represented Maori issues in a positive light at a time when the
National Film Unit was patronising in its treatment and few other film-makers were interested
in the subject.’ . . . Hayward has also popped up occasionally on-screen, both in documentaries
and the occasional acting role, including a 1989 documentary, Riwia Brown’s screen directing
debut Roimata, and playing Billy T’s domineering mother on the 1990 sitcom incarnation of The
Billy T James Show. She also became a committed advocate of issues relating to Maori welfare,
joining the Maori Woman’s Welfare League and the Maori Artists and Writers organisation.”
http://www.nzonscreen.com/person/ramai-hayward/biography. See also Rudall Hayward and
Ramai Hayward (dirs.), To Love a Maori (Auckland: Hayward Historical Film Trust, 1991).
97. Geoff Murphy (dir.), Utu (Auckland: Utu Productions, 1983).
98. Brendan Hokowhitu, “Tackling Maori Masculinity: A Colonial Genealogy of Savagery and
Sport,” The Contemporary Pacific 16, no. 2 (2004): 263–64.
99. Brendan Hokowhitu, “The Death of Koro Paka: ‘Traditional Maori Patriarchy,’ ” The Contempo-
rary Pacific 20, no. 1 (2008): 128.
100. Vincent Ward (dir.), River Queen (Moore Park, New South Wales: Twentieth Century Fox Home
Entertainment, 2005).
101. Vincent Ward (dir.), Rain of the Children (Auckland: Vincent Ward Films/Forward Films, 2008).
102. Homi Bhabha, “The Other Question,” Screen 24, no. 6 (1983): 24.
103. Ibid.
104. Madan Sarup, Identity, Culture, and the Postmodern World (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, 1996), 68.
105. Robert Young, White Mythologies, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2004), 45.
106. Cited in Ginsburg, “Parallax Effect,” 66.
107. Cited in Michelle Raheja, “Reading Nanook’s Smile: Visual Sovereignty, Indigenous Revisions of
Ethnography, and Atanarjuat (The Fast Runner),” American Quarterly 59, no. 4 (2007): 1179.
108. Marcia Langton, “Well, I Heard It on the Radio and I Saw It on the Television”: An Essay for the
Australian Film Commission on the Politics and Aesthetics of Filmmaking by and about Aborigi-
nal People and Things (North Sydney: Australian Film Commission, 1993), 7.
109. Stuart, “The Construction of a National Maori Identity by Maori Media.”
110. Peter Dahlgren and Colin Sparks, eds., Communication and Citizenship: Journalism and the
Public Sphere (London: Routledge, 1991).
111. Raheja, “Reading Nanook’s Smile.”
112. Ibid., 1161.
113. Cited in Leonie Pihama, “Re-presenting Maori: Broadcasting and Knowledge Selection,” in Cul-
tural and Intellectual Property Rights: Economics, Politics and Colonization, ed. Leonie Pihama
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
Summer Job for Junior. © 17May57;
LP26770.

Teenage troubles. © 18Mar58; LP25662.

Ten o'clock scholar. © 27Dec57; LP25658.

A test for Gillis. © 4Mar58; LP25660.

Top secret. © 30Jul54; LP26708.

The train trip. © 15Dec55; LP25184.

The tree that grew in Brooklyn.

© 28Dec54 (in notice: 1955); LP25191.

A trip for Peg. © 31Oct57; LP25645.

Uncle Bixby takes over. © 28Sep56;

LP26737.

The unwelcome guests. © 17Dec54; LP26729.

Up to the jury. © 16Jul54; LP26706.

Vacation plans. © 3May57; LP26768.

Waldo's mother. © 2Dec55; LP25182.

A watch for Gillis. © 1Mar57; LP26760.

Waterfront. © 30Mar56; LP25198.

Wedding plans for Babs. © 7Oct55;

LP25174.
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A wire to Gillis. (A wire for Gillis)

© 24Aug56; LP26732.

World's greatest grandson. © 30Nov56;

LP26745.

A young man's fancy. © 15Feb57; LP26758.

THE LIFE OF THE PARTY. See

THE REAL MCCOYS. 33.

LIFE ON A CORAL ATOLL. McGraw-Hill

Book Co. 20 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
Presented by McGraw-Hill Text-Films.
Produced by McGraw-Hill Films in collaboration
with Authentic Pictures.
© McGraw-Hill, Inc.; 28Aug69; MP19682.

LIFE ON A DEAD TREE. Film Associates

of California. 11 min., sd., color,
16 mm. Eastman color. © Film
Associates of California; 22Oct57;
MP14019.

LIFE SAVERS OF THE HIGHWAY. Video

Films. 17 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
Appl. author: William R. Witherell,
Jr. © Video Films, Inc.; 11Oct65;
MU7644.

LIFE SCIENCE LIBRARY. See

 QUESTIONS OF TIME.

LIFE SCIENCE: RESPONSE IN A SIMPLE

ANIMAL. Film Associates of California.
11 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
Eastman color. © Film Associates of
California; 16Aug62; MP14024.

LIFE SCIENCE SERIES. See

CHARACTERISTICS OF BONY FISH.

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE GARDEN SNAIL.

CILIATES.

EXTERNAL ANATOMY OF THE ANT.

EXTERNAL ANATOMY OF THE DRAGONFLY.

FEEDING ACTIVITY OF THE AMOEBA.

FLAGELLATES.

LIFE CYCLE OF THE ANT.

LIFE CYCLE OF THE DRAGONFLY.

LOCOMOTION OF THE AMOEBA.

SALAMANDERS.

SARCODINA.

SLIME MOLD.
 SPOROZOA.

LIFE SENTENCE. See

STAGECOACH—WEST.

LIFE STORY. American Cancer Society.

Made by Audio Productions. 15 min.,
sd., color, 16 mm. © American Cancer
Society, Inc.; 4May61; LP20272.

LIFE STORY OF A MOTH, THE SILKWORM.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Films.
11 min., sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic
life science, unit 2: Animals without
backbones) Eastman color.
© Encyclopaedia Britannica Films,
Inc.; 9Jun64; MP14368.

LIFE STORY OF A SNAKE. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 11 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. (Basic life science,
unit 2: Animals with backbones)
Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
Britannica Films, Inc.; 15Jan64;
MP14036.

LIFE STORY OF A SOCIAL INSECT: THE ANT.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Educational
Corp. 11 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
© Encyclopaedia Britannica Educational
Corp.; 24Jan68 (in notice: 1967);
MP17873.

LIFE STORY OF A WATER FLEA, DAPHNIA.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Films.
 10 min., sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic
life science series: Animals without
backbones) Produced in cooperation
with New York Academy of Science.
© Encyclopaedia Britannica Films,
Inc.; 25Jan66 (in notice: 1965);
MP15767.

LIFE STORY OF LADYBIRD BEETLE.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Films.
10 min., sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic
life science, animals without backbones)
© Encyclopaedia Britannica
Films, Inc.; 10Feb66 (In notice:
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LIFE STORY OF THE CRAYFISH. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 10 min.,
sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic life
science for the upper elementary
grades, unit 1: Animals without backbones)
Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
Britannica Films, Inc.; 27Aug63; MP13537.

LIFE STORY OF THE EARTHWORM. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 16 min.,
sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic life
science, unit 1: Animals without
backbones) Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
Britannica Films, Inc.; 16Sep63; MP13619.

LIFE STORY OF THE GRASSHOPPER. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Educational Corp.
11 min., sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic
life science: Animals without backbones)
© Encyclopaedia Britannica
 Educational Corp.; 21Nov66; MP17147.

LIFE STORY OF THE HUMMINGBIRD.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Films.
16 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
(Basic life science series, unit 3:
Animals with backbones) Eastman
color. © Encyclopaedia Britannica
Films, Inc.; 15May63; MP13349.

LIFE STORY OF THE PARAMECIUM.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Films.
11 min., sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic
life science, unit 1: Animals without
backbones) Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
Britannica Films, Inc.; 26Jul63; MP13444.

LIFE STORY OF THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD.

Encyclopaedia Britannica Films.
11 min., sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic
life science, unit 2: Animals with
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Britannica Films, Inc.; 20Jan64; MP14037.

LIFE STORY OF THE SEA STAR. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 11 min.,
sd., color, 16 mm. (Basic life
science, unit 1: Animals without
backbones) Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
Britannica Films, Inc.; 20Oct63; MP13701.

LIFE STORY OF THE SNAIL. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 10 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. (Basic life science
series, unit I: Animals without
backbones) Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
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LIFE STORY OF THE TOAD. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 10 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. (Basic life science,
unit II: Animals with backbones)
Eastman color. © Encyclopaedia
Britannica Films, Inc.; 26Sep63; MP13840.

LIFE STORY OF THE WASP. See

METAMORPHOSIS: LIFE STORY OF THE WASP.

LIFE WITH FATHER-IN-LAW. See

PETER LOVES MARY.

LIFE WITH LOOPY. Hanna-Barbera Productions.

Released by Columbia Pictures
Corp. 7 min., sd., Eastman color by
Pathé, 35 mm. (Loopy de Loop cartoon,
series, no. 4) © Hanna-Barbera Productions;
7Apr60; LP17212.

LIFE WITHOUT GEORGE. See

THE LUCY SHOW.

THE LIFE WORK OF JUAN DIAZ. See

ALFRED HITCHCOCK HOUR.

THE LIFEGUARD. See

FLIPPER.
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THE DAVID NIVEN SHOW. 6904.

RESCUE 8.

LIFELINE ON WHEELS. Automobile Manufacturers

Assn. Made by John Sutherland
Productions. 28 min., sd., color,
16 mm. © Automobile Manufacturers
Assn., Inc.; 1Jun65; MP15774.

LIFELINE TO HONGKONG. Paramount Pictures

Corp. 17 min., sd., color,
35 mm. © Paramount Pictures Corp.;
1Apr61; LP18982.

LIFELINE TO THE WORLD. Stewardship

Commission. Made by Broadman Films.
30 min., sd., color, 16 mm. © Stewardship
Commission; 1Jul66; MP16265.

LIFTING: MAN'S AGE OLD PROBLEM.

Aetna Casualty & Surety Co.
12 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
Eastman color. © Aetna Casualty
& Surety Co.; 15Dec63; MP13847.

LIGHT! General Electric Co. Made by

Wilding. Sd., color, 16 mm. Appl.
author: Wilding, Inc., employer for
hire of Sidney Brooks. © General
Electric Co.; 1May65; MP15215.

LIGHT AND COLOR. Encyclopaedia Britannica

Films. 13 min., sd., color,
 16 mm. (Science for the space age:
basic physical science series)
© Encyclopaedia Britannica Films,
Inc.; 5Sep61; MP12012.

LIGHT AND WHAT IT DOES. Encyclopaedia

Britannica Films. 11 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. Eastman color.
© Encyclopaedia Britannica Films,
Inc.; 30Sep63; MP13622.

LIGHT AUTOMOBILE SERVICE & MAINTENANCE. See

ADJUSTING THE DISTRIBUTOR CAM ANGLE.

AUTO SAFETY INSPECTION.

BATTERY SERVICE.

CARBURETOR IDLE ADJUSTMENT.

ENGINE TROUBLE SHOOTING.

PACKING FRONT WHEEL BEARINGS.

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REMOVAL & INSTALLATION OF BRAKE SHOES

ON SELF ADJUSTING BENDIX BRAKES.

SERVICING THE AUTOMATIC CHOKE.

SERVICING THE RADIATOR PRESSURE CAP.

 SPARK PLUG SERVICE.

TESTING GENERATOR OUTPUT.

TESTING HEADLIGHT AIM.

TIMING AN ENGINE.

LIGHT BLUE CAR. See

AMOS 'N' ANDY.

LIGHT-FINGERED BABS. See

LIFE OF RILEY.

LIGHT FOR BEGINNERS. Coronet Instructional

Films. 11 min., sd., b&w, 16 mm.
© Coronet Instructional Films, a division
of Esquire, Inc.; 17Nov60; MP11226.

LIGHT: ILLUMINATION AND ITS MEASUREMENT.

Coronet Instructional Films. 14 min.,
sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Coronet Instructional
Films, a division of Esquire,
Inc.; 14Nov61; MP11996.

LIGHT IN THE FRUIT CLOSET. See

AWARD THEATRE.

LIGHT IN THE PIAZZA. Arthur Freed

Productions. Released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
101 min., sd., Metrocolor, 35 mm.
CinemaScope. Based on a story by Elizabeth
 Spencer. © Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Inc. &
Arthur Freed Productions, Inc.; 31Dec61; LP21324.

LIGHT LADY, DARK ROOM. See

DANTE.

LIGHT: LENSES AND OPTICAL INSTRUMENTS.

Coronet Instructional Films. 14 min.,
sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Coronet Instructional
Films, a division of Esquire,
Inc.; 2Oct61; MP11990.

THE LIGHT OF DAY. See

TOPKAPI.

LIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN. Girl Scouts of

the United States of America.
20 min., sd., color, 16 mm. © Girl
Scouts of the United States of
America; 10Oct65; MP16236.

LIGHT—ON THE SUBJECT OF LIGHT. Charles

Cahill & Associates. 10 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. Eastman color.
© Charles Cahill & Associates, Inc.;
12Oct65; MP15574.

LIGHT: REFLECTION. Coronet Instructional

Films. 13 min., sd., b&w, 16 mm. ©
Coronet Instructional Films, a division
of Esquire, Inc.; 16Nov61; MP11998.

LIGHT: REFRACTION. Coronet Instructional

Films. 13 min., sd., b&w, 16 mm. ©
 Coronet Instructional Films, a division
of Esquire, Inc.; 7Nov61; MP11994.

A LIGHT SHINES IN THE DARKNESS. Ralph

Hulett. 22 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
Technicolor. A Cathedral Films
presentation. © Ralph Hulett;
18Jan63 (in notice: 1962); MP13058.

THE LIGHT THAT LOSES, THE NIGHT THAT WINS. See

BEN CASEY.

THE LIGHT TOUCH. General Electric Co.

Made by Wilding. 15 min., sd., color,
16 mm. Eastman color. © General
Electric Co.; 16Nov65; MP16135.

LIGHT TOUCH OF TERROR. See

BOURBON STREET BEAT.

LIGHT UP THE DARK CORNERS. See

BEN CASEY.

LIGHT UPON THE EARTH. Vavin. 14 min.,

sd., b&w, 16 mm. Appl. author: Reader's
Digest Ass., Inc. © Vavin, Inc.; 17Oct58;
MP9995.

LIGHT: WAVE AND QUANTUM THEORIES.

Coronet Instructional Films. 13 min.,
sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Coronet Instructional
Films, a division of Esquire,
Inc.; 16Nov61; MP11997.
LIGHTER THAN HARE. Warner Bros, Pictures.
7 min., sd., color, 35 mm.
(Merrie melodies; Bugs Bunny) Technicolor.
© Warner Bros. Pictures,
Inc.; 17Dec60; LP24806.

THE LIGHTHOUSE CREEPERS. See

DICK TRACY.

THE LIGHTHOUSE RAID. See

RAT PATROL.

LIGHTING FOR TELEVISION. Operations

Dept. of the CBS Television Network.
30 min., sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Columbia
Broadcasting System, Inc.; 23Mar64;
MP14065.

LIGHTNING; J-65H-160. Shelco. 58 sec.,

sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Shelco, Inc.;
20Sep65; MP15690.

LIGHTNING AND THUNDER. Coronet Instructional

Films. 12 min., sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Coronet
Instructional Films, a division of Esquire,
Inc.; 17Apr67; MP16775.

LIGHTS AND SOUNDS. Bertalan Bodnar.

10 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
© Bertalan Bodnar; 27Dec67; MP17678.

LIGHTS, CAMERA, MOTHER. See

 MY MOTHER, THE CAR.

LIKE A MOTHERLESS CHILD. See

ROUTE 66.

LIKE A SISTER. See

THE DICK VAN DYKE SHOW.

LIKE FATHER. See

THE DEPUTY.

LIKE FATHER LIKE HORSE. See

MISTER ED.

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON. See

THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER.

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON, LIKE TROUBLE. See

THE MANY LOVES OF DOBIE GILLIS.

LIKE HI, EXPLOSIVES. See

THE MANY LOVES OF DOBIE GILLIS.

LIKE LOW NOON. See

THE MANY LOVES OF DOBIE GILLIS.

LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER, LIKE WOW. See

 THE MANY LOVES OF DOBIE GILLIS.

LIKE MY OWN BROTHER. See

GOING MY WAY.

LIKE OH, BROTHER! See

THE MANY LOVES OF DOBIE GILLIS.

LIKE ONE OF THE FAMILY. See

LAREDO.

LIKE VISIONS AND OMENS, AND ALL THAT JAZZ. See

HONEY WEST.

A LIKELY STORY. See

HAWAIIAN EYE.

LI'L DANIEL BOOM IN THE CALL OF THE

WILD GOOSE. Sterling Television Co.
1 reel, b&w, 16 mm. © Sterling TV,
a.a.d.o the Sterling Television Co.,
Inc.; 11Feb60; LU3165.

LI'L DANIEL BOOM IN TRIPS THE TRAPPER.

Sterling Television Co. 1 reel b&w,
16 mm. © Sterling TV, a.a.d.o. the
Sterling Television Co., Inc.;
11Feb60; LU3164.

LI'L WHOOPER. See

 DEPUTY DAWG. No. 666.

THE LILA CONRAD STORY. See

BONANZA.

LILIES OF THE FIELD. Rainbow Productions.

Berlin. Released in the U.S.
by United Artists Corp. 94 min., sd.,
b&w, 35 mm. Based on the novel by
William E. Barrett. © Rainbow Productions,
Inc.; 9Jul63; LP27725.

LILIES OF THE FIELD. Rainbow Productions.

Released by United Artists
Corp. 94 min., sd., b&w, 35 mm.
Based on the novel by William E.
Barrett. © Rainbow Productions, Inc.;
1Oct63; LP27744.

LILITH. Centaur Enterprises. Released

by Columbia Pictures Corp. 114 min.,
sd., b&w, 35 mm. Based on the novel
by J. R. Salamanca. © Centaur
Enterprises, Inc.; 1Oct64; LP29349.

LILLEREI ON STAGNANT SHOCK. Upjohn

Co. 21 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
© Upjohn Co.; 13Nov68; MP18844.

THE LILLY LABORATORY FOR CLINICAL

RESEARCH, A UNIQUE INSTITUTION.
Eli Lilly & Co. Made by Jam Handy
Productions, div. of T.T.P. Corp.
5 min., sd., color, 16 mm. © Eli
Lilly & Co.; 9Dec68; MU7977.
LILY. See

LAWMAN.

THE LILY DALLAS STORY. See

THE UNTOUCHABLES.

THE LILY LEGEND STORY. See

WAGON TRAIN.

LILY MUNSTER: GIRL MODEL. See

THE MUNSTERS.

LILY'S STAR BOARDER. See

THE MUNSTERS.

LILY/LILY'S.
For other titles beginning with Lily
or Lily's See DECEMBER BRIDE.

LIMBO 60 III. Alberto-Culver Co,

One min., sd., b&w. © Alberto-Culver
Co.; 17Jan64; MU7371

LIMIT OF THE LAW LARKIN. See

LAREDO.

THE LIMITATIONS OF THE SENSES. See

SENSE PERCEPTION.
LIMPETS. Thorne Films. 2 min., si.,
color, 8 mm. (The invertebrates,
no. 507) © Thorne Films, Inc.;
2Feb69 (in notice: 1968); MP19026.

LINCOLN VERSUS DOUGLAS. See

THE GREAT DEBATE: LINCOLN VERSUS DOUGLAS.

LINCOLN'S GOLD. Palo Alto Unit of the

Junior League of San Francisco &
Stanford University. Made by Discovery
Teaching Films. 32 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. Eastman color. Appl.
author: Palo Alto Merit of the Junior
League of San Francisco. © Palo Alto
Unit of the Junior League of San Francisco,
Inc.; 23Jun64; MP14439.

LINDA. See

THE VIRGINIAN.

LINDA/LINDA'S.
For titles beginning with Linda or
Linda's See THE DANNY THOMAS SHOW.

LINDBERGH BABY KIDNAPPED. See

GREATEST HEADLINES OF THE CENTURY.

LINDBERGH FLIES THE ATLANTIC, MAY 20, 1927. See

ALMANAC NEWSREEL. May 20, 1960.

LINDY FLIES OCEAN. See

GREATEST HEADLINES OF THE CENTURY.

LINDY IN HAVANA. Henry G. Bennett.

6 min., si., b&w, 16 mm. © Henry G.
Bennett; 25Nov69; MU8124.

LINE AND ART. Thorne Films. 11 min.,

sd., color, 16 mm. Produced in cooperation
with Department of Fine Arts,
University of Colorado. © Thorne
Films, Inc.; 13Oct60; MP10617.

LINE AND PLANE RELATIONSHIPS, PART 1.

Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.
15 min., sd., color, 16 mm. © Rensselaer
Polytechnic Institute; 14Dec61;
MP12048.

LINE AND PLANE RELATIONSHIPS, PART 2.

Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.
15 min., sd., color, 16 mm. © Rensselaer
Polytechnic Institute; 15Dec61;
MP12049.

LINE CAMP. See

THE WESTERNER.

LINE OF APOGEE. Lloyd Michael Williams.

46 min., sd., color, 16 mm. © Lloyd
Michael Williams; 26Sep67; MP17402.

LINE OF DUTY. See

 87TH PRECINCT.

NAKED CITY. 3.

LINEAR EQUATIONS IN ONE UNKNOWN. See

ADVANCED ALGEBRA.

THE LINE-UP. Columbia Broadcasting

System. 30 min. each, sd., b&w,
16 mm. © Columbia Broadcasting
System, Inc.

The Clarence Culver case. © 20Mar58;

LP15457.

The Deacon Whitehall case. © 17Apr58;

LP15460.

The Dr. George Jeremy case.

© 22May58; LP15463.

The G.I. shoe case. © 5Jun58; LP15465.

The girls and guns case. © 2Apr59;

LP16017.

The Glorietta shakedown case.

© 19Jun58; LP15466.

The high fashion case. © 15May58;

LP15462.

The little hero case. © 27Mar58;

LP15458.
 The missing scientist case. © 2May58;
LP15461.

The Samson Magill case. © 29May58;

LP15464.

The Slowboat Murphy case. © 10Apr58;

LP15459.

THE LINE-UP. Columbia Broadcasting

System. 60 min. each, sd., b&w,
16 mm. © Columbia Broadcasting
System, Inc.

Chinatown story. © 8Dec59; LP15232.

The counterfeit citizens. © 2Dec59;

LP15231.

The deadly Romeo case. © 8Apr60;

LP16986.

The King con case. © 14Apr60; LP16987.

Lonesome as midnight. © 17Nov59;

LP15230.

Peg Leg's wife case. © 29Dec59;

LP15566.

Prelude to violence. © 3Nov59;

LP15228.

Prince of penmen. © 5Jan60 (in notice:

1959); LP15567.
 The Rosaric case. © 5Apr60; LP16985.

Run to the city. © 10Nov59; LP15229.

Seven sinners. © 19Jan60 (in notice:

1959); LP15569.

The vengeful knife. © 15Dec59;

LP15565.

Woman on the ledge. © 12Jan60 (in notice;

1959); LP15568.

THE LINE-UP. See

DECEMBER BRIDE.

THE MILLIONAIRE. Jessica Marsh.

LINE-UP FOR BATTLE. See

THE LIFE AND LEGEND OF WYATT EARP.

LINER ANDREA DORIA SINKS IN COLLISION,

JULY 25, 1956. See

ALMANAC NEWSREEL. July 25, 1960.

LINER UNITED STATES SETS SPEED RECORD.

JULY 6, 1952. See

ALMANAC NEWSREEL. July 6, 1960.

LINES IN RELIEF, WOODCUT AND BLOCK

PRINTING. Encyclopaedia Britannica
Films. 11 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
 © Encyclopaedia Britannica Films,
Inc.; 6Jul64; MP14296.

THE LINESMAN. See

COMBAT!

LINING A SKIRT. See

CLOTHING CONSTRUCTION SERIES.

LINING A TAILORED GARMENT. See

CLOTHING CONSTRUCTION SERIES.

THE LINK CHENEY STORY. See

WAGON TRAIN.

LINKAGE. Calvin Co. 29 min., sd.,

b&w, 16 mm. © Calvin Co.; 29Apr60
(in notice: 1959); MP10669.

THE LION. Twentieth Century-Fox Film

Corp. 96 min., sd., color, 35 mm.
Color by DeLuxe. CinemaScope. Based
on a novel by Joseph Kessel.
© Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corp.;
21Dec62; LP23724.

THE LION. See

ENRICHMENT FILMS FOR LET'S SEE THE ANIMALS.

A LION AMONGST MEN. See

 KRAFT SUSPENSE THEATRE.

THE LION AND THE MOUSE. Audio-Visual

Division, Popular Science Pub. Co.
6 min., sd., color, 16 mm. Produced
by Jensen Productions. An FOM release.
© Audio-Visual Division,
Popular Science Pub. Co., Inc.;
23Jun67 (in notice: 1965); LP35615.

THE LION CITY. Universal-International.

Released by Universal Film Exchange.
1 reel, sd., color, 35 mm. © Universal
Pictures Co.; 6Dec60; LP19259.

LION HEARTED MAGOO. See

MISTER MAGOO.

THE LION OF IDAHO. See

DEATH VALLEY DAYS.

LION ON FIRE. See

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH.

THE LION ROARS. See

COMEDY CAPERS.

THE LION SLEEPS. See

THE HIGH CHAPARRAL.

THE LION'S BUSY. Paramount Pictures

 Corp. 1 reel, sd., color, 35 mm.
(Noveltoon cartoon) © Paramount
Pictures Corp.; 1Feb61; LP18882.

LION'S CUB. See

THE ADVENTURES OF JIM BOWIE. Production

no. B-25.

LIPOID PROTEINOSIS. Institute for

Dermatologic Communication & Education.
21 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
Produced in cooperation with University
of California, University
Extension, Continuing Education in
Health Sciences. Artwork, editing,
recording by Audio Productions.
Appl. authors: Marion B. Sulzberger &
Roberta Z. Sulzberger. © Institute
for Dermatologic Communication & Education;
6Dec67; MP18096.

LIPPIZAN. See

FRONTIER CIRCUS.

LIPPY'S HORSE. See

ICHABOD AND ME.

LIPTON GOES TO MARKET. Thomas J.

Lipton, Inc. Made by Jerry Warner &
Associates. 34 min., color, 16 mm.
© Thomas J. Lipton, Inc.; 25Jan67;
MU7753.
LIQUID HELIUM II, THE SUPERFLUID.
National Science Foundation. 39 min.,
sd., b&w, 16 mm. Produced & written
by Alfred Leitner. © Alfred Leitner &
Board of Trustees of Michigan State
University; 12Apr63; MP13382.

THE LIQUIDATOR. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

British Studios. 106 min., sd.,
color, 35 mm. Metrocolor. Panavision.
From the novel by John
Gardner. © Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
British Studios, Ltd.; 31Dec65;
LP33340.

LISA. Twentieth Century-Fox. 112 min.,

sd., Color by DeLuxe, 35 mm. A Red
Lion Film Production. CinemaScope.
Based on the novel The inspector by
Jan De Hartog. © Twentieth Century-Fox
Film Corp.; 24May62; LP21992.

LISA. See

I SPY.

T.H.E. CAT.

THE LISA RAINCLOUD STORY. See

WAGON TRAIN.

LISSIE. See

MAN WITHOUT A GUN.

LIST-DIRECTED TRANSMISSION IN STREAM-ORIENTED
INPUT/OUTPUT FOR BASIC
PL/I. International Business
Machines Corp. 1 reel, sd., b&w.
Videotape (1 in.) © International
Business Machines Corp.; 28Mar69;
MP19542.

THE LIST OF ADRIAN MESSENGER. Joel

Productions. Released by Universal
Pictures Co. 98 min., sd., b&w,
35 mm. © Universal Pictures Co.,
Inc. & Joel Productions, Inc.;
15Jun63; LP33271.

THE LIST OF ALICE MCKENNA. See

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.

THE LIST OF DEATH. See

JOHNNY STACCATO.

LISTEN & CARE! LISTEN & CARE! Chevrolet

Motor Division. Made by Jam
Handy Organization. 5 min., sd.,
color, 16 mm. Ektachrome. © Chevrolet
Motor Division of General
Motors Corp.; 27Mar63; MU7286.

LISTEN AND SING. Carol Levene. Released

by Bailey Films. 18 min., sd.,
b&w, 16 mm. © Carol Levene; 1Apr59
(in notice: 1961); MP11107.

LISTEN, LISTEN. Ford Motor Co. Made

 by Tom Thomas Organization. 18 min.,
sd., color, 16 mm. © Ford Motor Co.;
14Jan69 (in notice: 1968); MP19179.

LISTEN, PLEASE. Bureau of National

Affairs. 11 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
(Supervisory training) Based on How
to listen and why? © Bureau of
National Affairs, Inc.; 5Aug59; MP10954.

LISTEN TO THE MOCKINGBIRD. See

DENNIS THE MENACE.

LISTEN TO THE NIGHTINGALE. See

RIVERBOAT.

LISTENING SKILLS: AN INTRODUCTION.

Coronet Instructional Films. 10 min.,
sd., b&w, 16 mm. © Coronet Instructional
Films, a division of Esquire,
Inc.; 13Jul65; MP15278.

LISTON VS. ... See

TURN OF THE CENTURY FIGHTS.

THE LITA FOLADAIRE STORY. See

WAGON TRAIN.

LITERATURE APPRECIATION: HOW TO READ

BIOGRAPHIES. Coronet Instructional
Films. 14 min., sd., b&w, 16 mm.
© Coronet Instructional Films, a
 division of Esquire, Inc.; 1Jun65;
MP15280.

LITHOGRAPHY OR OFFSET PRINTING. Education

Council of the Graphic Arts
Industry. Made by Graphic Arts.
22 min., sd., color, 16 mm.
© Gregory Cecala; 14Jun68; MP18440.

THE LITTERBUG. Walt Disney Productions.

Released by Buena Vista Distribution
Co. 8 min., sd., Technicolor,
35 mm. © Walt Disney Productions;
8Jun61; LP19588.

LITTLE ANGEL BLUE EYES. See

REDIGO. No. 6.

A LITTLE ANGER IS A GOOD THING. See

BREAKING POINT.

LITTLE ARNIE FROM LONG AGO. See

T.H.E. CAT.

LITTLE AUCTION ANNIE. See

THAT GIRL. No. 8.

LITTLE AUGIE. See

THE LAWLESS YEARS.

STAR KIST FOODS TELEVISION COMMERCIALS.

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