Talanoa: Tongan Epistemology and Indigenous Research Method

767436 research-article2018 ALN0010.1177/1177180118767436AlterNativeTecun et al. Article Talanoa: Tongan epistemology and Indigenous research method AlterNative 2018, Vol. 14(2) 156–163 © The Author(s) 2018 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav https://doi.org/10.1177/1177180118767436 DOI: 10.1177/1177180118767436 journals.sagepub.com/home/aln Arcia Tecun (Daniel Hernandez)1, ‘Inoke Hafoka2, Lavinia ‘Ulu‘ave2 and Moana ‘Ulu‘ave-Hafoka3 Abstract Story dialogue known as talanoa is increasingly finding its place as a Pacific research method. The authors situate talanoa as an Indigenous concept of relationally mindful critical oratory. Approaching talanoa from mostly a Tongan lens, it is argued that it can contribute to broader discussions of Indigenous research methods and epistemology. The authors address the talanoa literature that has defined it as an open or informal discussion, and respond to questions that have emerged from challenges in implementing it practically in academic research. Indigenous Oceanic thought is used to interpret talanoa as a mediation between relations of Mana (potency), Tapu (sacred/restrictions), and Noa (equilibrium), which is a gap in the talanoa literature. Talanoa is grounded as a continuum of Indigenous knowledge production and wisdom present from the past that is adaptable to research settings. Centring Moana (Oceanic) epistemology in talanoa challenges dominant research methods to adapt to Indigenous paradigms, rather than attempting to Indigenize a Western one. Keywords talanoa, Indigenous research, ocean epistemologies, Tongan, Paciic Islander diaspora We the writers are our ancestors, who are embodied in us, this is why we are Tapu or sacred. This relation sets us apart as unique descendants of our ancestors. What we as researchers and writers refer to here is that one of the reasons we are set apart or set ourselves apart (Tapu) is because we are not alone as individuals, for the dead are within us. For this reason, we have to continually mediate this ancestral essence in order to access our knowledges and truths, this is one aspect of being relationally mindful. Having respect for those before us is part of this mediation, it positions us as writers with our Indigenous identities where we are today, and in turn we re-position ourselves in order to chart a direction for those to come after us. This is a genealogical ethic that is also part of being relationally mindful. We put our ancestors and communities at the centre within this ontology, rather than research goals in dominant research paradigms (Smith, 1999; Wilson, 2008). Therefore, story dialogue known as talanoa exists before and after us, and between our ancestors and us, we are their representatives, and we continue to negotiate and uphold their relationships and build upon them in this process. What is our relationship as authors, or in other words, how are we positioned as researchers in this article? Tecun, Hafoka, ‘Ulu‘ave, and ‘Ulu‘ave-Hafoka all grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, as part of their own respective diasporas (Iximulew/Guatemala and the Kingdom of Tonga). Our families, communities, and relations have framed our lens of story, dialogue, and relationality to place and people. We recognize them as our first teachers. In the ancestral home of the Nuche (Utes), Nuwuvi (Southern Paiutes), Kusiutta (Goshutes), Nimi (Shoshone), and Diné (Navajo), our paths have intersected with each other. We draw from our foundation of shared urban Indigenous and diasporic experiences as People of Colour in urban spaces within racialized settler colonial nations, being distant yet close to our own respective homelands of Indigenous identity. We come from our experience and use of talanoa in the communities we have grown up in within this context, which is what roots our epistemic positions. Our relationships converge through our own Indigenous story and critical dialogue traditions learned at home and in community. Between us, our language is a newly created expression that has often been in an English vernacular that incorporates Indigenous concepts and vocabulary unique to our intersection of place. This combination of speech is what comprises the spoken words of the many talanoa we have had with each other to conceptualize the ideas in this article. We are also drawing from literature across the Moana (Ocean) considering the pan identities that inform the talanoa literature (‘O. Māhina, 2007). We do so especially in engaging with Mana (potency), Tapu (sacred/restrictions), and Noa (equilibrium), which speak to our experiences and research with and within talanoa. This is not to say that the Moana is a homogeneous place and the same, 1The University of Auckland, New Zealand of California, USA 3Glendale, Utah, USA 2University Corresponding author: Arcia Tecun (Daniel Hernandez), The University of Auckland, 10 Symonds Street, Auckland 1142, New Zealand. Email: [email protected] 157 Tecun et al. but rather that it is differently similar and connected. Each set of knowledges comes from unique relationships and positions on the ocean, and we are focusing on the points of overlap in these concepts, being mindful of distinctions and commonalities. We suggest that further research and comparisons that would be relevant and useful to further explore in the future is that of talanoa with other forms of story, dialogue, and dialectics, across the Moana and elsewhere. This article is a reflection of an ontology that exists on the spectrum of Tongan-ness in urban diaspora, yet inclusive of the broader connections and contributions across the Moana and all the shores it touches, an oceanic and continental way of seeing. Drawing from our own unique heritages, families, and experiences in shared diasporic spaces, we use diverse contributions to express and understand how we theorize and explain talanoa. This means we include knowledge from other parts of the ocean that fits, as well as brief mentions of Mayan concepts also, which reflects and speaks to our cooperation as Indigenous peoples connected by a shared ocean ancestrally and our shared experiences contemporarily. Tecun, drawing from his primary ancestral ties to the continents of Turtle Island/Abya Yala (America’s), offers his view that they are also in relation to the ocean, being on the back of a sea turtle or reptile as his ancestors conceptualized it. We are ocean people’s in a broad sense, facing each other from different directions. Red is the Maya colour for east, and as a people lie eastward of Tonga, and black is the colour for west, interestingly Tongans too share significance with these colours pairing red and black together to represent sacred dualities. In the concrete jungles of diaspora, our conceptual gazes meet, and it is there, in that space, that our story emerges. Introduction We will review some of the talanoa literature and the process of distinguishing talanoa as its own unique method opposed to being a different kind of interview within research. Responding to ‘O. Māhina’s (2007) observation and previous work stating, “there have not simply been any systematic explorations of its philosophical underpinnings,” we investigate the Indigenous theory behind the relational process of talanoa, and the challenge distinguishing it ensues (p. 226). We offer a theoretical breakdown of talanoa rooted in its Indigenous perspective, rather than centring dominant research paradigms (Wilson, 2008). We look to contribute to the written documentation of Indigenous theory, ethics, and methods in this article as we re-theorize and develop further the understanding of talanoa together as a Kāinga Moana (lit. extended ocean family; Ocean relatives/connected by a shared sea). In addition, we have been using the Indigenous term Moana, as ‘O. Māhina (1999) and H. ‘O. Māhina (2010) have challenged us to do, referring to the ocean in Tongan and other neighbouring languages, representing Oceania, as a way to centre Indigenous perspectives that are not divided by poly/mela/ micro-nesian fragmented views of our sea of islands (Hau‘ofa, 1994; Ka‘ili, 2005). We conclude by envisioning the capacity of talanoa as it overlaps with research(ers) in universities, challenging Eurocentric norms, and asserting the importance of identity, protocol, and relationality in research. Based on our positions and relation, we give suggestions of how talanoa might be better understood in order to overcome some of the practical challenges in utilizing it as a research method, by grounding it primarily in the principles of Mana, Tapu, and Noa. We end with a caution of recognizing that talanoa accesses personal, sacred, and protected knowledges that require careful integration into research. This article ultimately seeks to extend and broaden Indigenous research possibilities and research in general as a co-production of knowledge through relationally mindful critical dialogue. Talanoa and research Talanoa was first introduced into the academic literature as a method to talk openly from the heart by Sitiveni Halapua, being applied to political settings, and then further developed as a research methodology in education by Timote Vaioleti (Fa‘avae, Jones, & Manu‘atu, 2016; Farrelly & Nabobo-Baba, 2012; Halapua & Pago, 2013; Ka‘ili, 2015; Vaioleti, 2006). It has been defined by Halapua and Pago (2013) as unconcealed storytelling, by Kēpa and Manu‘atu (2006) as a curious dialogue that is a social rather than individual phenomenon, and by ‘O. Māhina (2007) as talking critically yet harmoniously. Vaioleti (2006) suggests that Pacific people are tired of surveys, and Pacific researchers are forced to use foreign methods in their research. He explains talanoa as being nonlinear and responsive, which leads to more authentic knowledge under the use of appropriate researchers. Talanoa is often generalized as a Moana or Pasifikan (Oceanian/Pan-Pacific) open or informal speech or conversation (Fairbairn-Dunlop & Coxon, 2014; ‘O. Māhina, 2007). Vaioleti (2006) has written that talanoa literally means, “talking about nothing in particular,” but that the Sāmoan tradition alludes to its meaning as “the ancient practice of multi-level and multi-layered critical discussions” (pp. 23–24). The contrast he makes between this suggested contemporary meaning and ancient one is important to note here. Furthermore, Vaioleti (2006, 2013) argues that talanoa leads to more accurate information (data collection) in comparison to interviews. He breaks down various forms and settings of talanoa, such as talanoa faikava (discussion at a common kava drinking session), tālanga (critical, dialogic, Hegelian), and pō talanoa (evening, night discussion). He also describes some Tongan protocols and cultural competency required for talanoa (e.g. dress and behaviour), and stresses the role of relationships that this is derived from in Tongan oral traditions. While talanoa has been solidifying itself as a Pacific research method, it has met practical challenges in understanding it and its application in research, despite attempts to distinguish it from other methods (Fa‘avae et al., 2016). Navigating and neutralizing these conflicts allow for talanoa to better serve as an avenue of enquiry by and for Moana peoples, both inside and outside of the Western academy. Farrelly and Nabobo-Baba (2012) stress that among Pacific researchers, there is a danger that talanoa is 158 merely replacing open-ended informal interviews, which glosses over its emotional and cultural complexity. When incorporating talanoa in research settings, one must expect emotions to be connected to this form of knowledge and understanding. Talanoa is an embodied expression of the Fijian vanua (fonua in Tongan, meaning land, people, tradition, place, and more), a concept that includes love, empathy, and respect (Farrelly & Nabobo-Baba, 2012; Nabobo-Baba, 2008). As an Indigenous method of learning and enquiry, it creates and requires closeness rather than distance within an assumed objectivity that is commonplace in dominant Western research practices. Talanoa requires movement, at times spontaneity, and can take place nearly anywhere. Talanoa is not static and should be carried out with an understanding that local knowledge systems are perpetually negotiated as living cultures that are continually evolving. Prescriptions for talanoa restrict the capacity and versatility of the theoretical ideas behind it. Practically speaking, talanoa can be referenced as a replacement to personal communications in research, quotes from individual contributions in data collection, or reference a group where ideas emerged from collectively, but it is important to clearly indicate which of these things it is being used as in one’s research methods. These are some ideas and questions to consider in the practical applications or adaptations of talanoa. Fa‘avae et al. (2016) have provided critical feedback on the standing literature surrounding talanoa, stating, Despite methodological guidance from the literature about its ideal characteristics, there is very little written about the practicalities of using talanoa as a research method . . . we need to voice these complexities and tensions, rather than ignoring the failures and problems in practice. (p. 147) They also emphasized the importance of being or becoming skilled at talanoa, which was largely missing in the literature, yet impacts how to practically use it in research. ‘O. Māhina (2007) calls for recognition of talanoa as an art form, recognizing the importance of developing oratory skills in order to perform, do, and experience it. In Fa‘avae et al.’s (2016) research, there were some participants who were also culturally competent in the dominant research paradigms and were familiar with the question and answer process of an interview. This point stresses the importance of not overlooking diversity within a group by acting on generalized assumptions of a person identified to a culture, as well as recognizing they are actors in research processes. This includes working with our own people as well. From this, we gather that talanoa is not only about more than being culturally competent using appropriate research mediums but also about a decolonial ethic to research, recognizing the power relations from how one is positioned or relates to the research process (Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Smith, 1999). For some participants, already accustomed to dominant Western methods and schooling, engaging with or positioning Indigenous methods and terms as the centre is a visible political act—one that creates discomfort for academics who are steeped in Eurocentric methodologies, epistemologies, and ontologies. However, AlterNative 14(2) we do wonder if interviews should be considered nonIndigenous at all? There may be a distinction we could make about ethics, style, and delivery, but to enquire through questions of an expert or knowledge holder who might have more to share with us than we do to them on a particular subject does not seem like a foreign concept to us, although we recognize it depends on the context. In some cases, it may be necessary and practical, whether in university-driven research or not, to utilize interviews in their traditional sense with a decolonial ethic that allows for collaborative discussion, dialogue, and questions of enquiry to emerge out of participants in a community. Talanoa is not only a method itself but a process to ethically engage in other methods such as interviews that are less extractive and more reciprocal in research. What perspective is privileged? Is talanoa being used as a new name for something else (e.g. narrative interviews)? Is talanoa being approached as if it is something new? In many cases, it might be distinguished solely as an expression of identity or comradery to Moana communities, which could as easily be named “ethical narrative style circular interviews” rather than talanoa. In doing so, it may also unintentionally be approaching talanoa as a “new” research method that can now be used in the academy. We believe there should be caution when it is claimed to be or appears to be used this way because it frames the dominant research paradigm of academia as the centre rather than the knowledge system from where it comes from. We, however, acknowledge there are some positives if this is how talanoa is used and understood for Moana researchers. Asserting one’s Indigenous identity or support of Indigenous perspectives at least contributes to making academia and university more familiar to Moana communities. This is a worthy endeavour and further positions the relationship of a researcher with a topic or people, and the connection that exists at the very least by genealogy or relationships. If we privilege the Indigenous lens though, then we notice the process of the protocols and the role they play to establish a state of Noa (equilibrium, balance) between people in order to be able to proceed more openly (‘O. Māhina, 2007; Shore, 1989). Talanoa across the Moana may be understood differently, including English interpretations that range from critical dialogues to “gossip,” but what we stress is important is that the access to knowledge and the communicative form taken is founded on relationships in states of Noa by means of protocols between people in place. These relationships between people being based as, “the interrelatedness between the intellectual, spiritual (metaphysical values and beliefs and the Creator), emotional, and physical (body and behaviour/action) realms to form a whole healthy person” (Archibald, 2008, p. 11). Stories can then be weaved together by researchers, individuals, and groups to co-produce/construct knowledge together with Indigenous research tools such as talanoa, where story is knowledge, and knowledge is gathered through story (Kēpa & Manu‘atu, 2006; Kovach, 2010; ‘O. Māhina, 2007; Suaalii-Sauni & Fulu-Aiolupotea, 2014). 159 Tecun et al. Meyer (2001) speaks of Hawaiian epistemology, but it is fitting to other Indigenous cultures, especially for a Tongan outlook of talanoa, which is how we will use it here. Meyer (2001) talks of the role epistemology has begun to play in academia, which gives a term and lens to locate and situate Indigenous paradigms in research and institutions dominated by Eurocentric frameworks and structures. She explains that utilizing epistemology as an academic tool can be “the sword against anthropological arrogance and the shield against philosophical universalisms” (p. 125). Epistemology being how one knows or what one prioritizes in the process of knowing provides room in academia to centre discussions on place and genealogy. For example, the protocols that help in establishing and upholding relationships and a state of balance from where we can talanoa, story, converse, and weave together knowledge. “Knowledge is the by-product of dialogue, or of something exchanged with others . . . a gift that occurs when one is in balance with another” (Meyer, 2001, p. 134). She adds further that education is “something we must define in relation to our own understanding of ourselves, our past, and our potential . . . something more organic, more real, more tied to place” (Meyer, 2001, p. 146). The roles of place, dialogue, and balance are where we see identity and ontology generated from, and are important in framing this article. The link to ancestors, community, cultures, and languages must be acknowledged and worked through. Those connections, even in circumstances of local or global diaspora, are what we suggest is mediated in talanoa. Challenging informality The claims of informality for talanoa by Vaioleti (2013) we contest are actually still formal because we utilize our respective relational and place-based or place-originated protocols in homelands and in transported locations. The claimed informality of talanoa is important to contrast in relation to more formal speech making, and there are certainly more formal and strict speech making and dialogues that exist, but at any level of formality, relationships lie at the centre of it. Through talanoa, we get to a place of more open speech that can be less restrained through the successful completion of protocols that equalize relational barriers, tensions, or distance, such as age, rank, gender, religion, and more. Thus, informal or even less formal as descriptors we find to be inappropriate in capturing the essence and process of knowledge production in talanoa. Respecting and taking seriously our Indigenous epistemologies and ontologies, talanoa is formal. This means it is done in accordance with rules of convention or etiquette, suitable for or constituting an official or important situation or occasion. Usually formalities are references to Eurocentric rules of etiquette, so formality here is in the sense that Tongans are formal in talanoa sessions in terms of abiding by Anga Faka-Tonga (The Tongan way/ The Way of Tonga), with Tongan rules of convention to which there are various degrees of rank. Tongan talanoa theory We suggest that to deepen the literature and understanding of TalaNoa (emphasis added), we must spend more time discussing and reflecting on its breakdown of Tala (story, talk) and Noa (balance, equilibrium, zero), and the absence in much of the literature of Mana (power, authority, honour, potency, etc.) and Tapu (sacredness, restricted, and being set apart). What are we Noa of, if not to Tapu through Mana? In other words, what have we created a balance of if not between different potencies or energies of people and place? We must acknowledge the relationality of Noa to Mana and Tapu. We also suggest that to better understand talanoa in research, we should frame it as interconnected ethics, method, and theory and align it with the Tongan cultural value, Tauhi Vā (art of socio-spatial relationships, nurturing space between) (Ka‘ili, 2005, 2008). In doing this, we see how relationships are upheld and navigated through contextually appropriate protocols that uphold relational values and Moana ontologies (Wilson, 2008). Relational mindfulness sets talanoa apart from Socratic or dialectic methods of discussion or speech as well, although they are connected in common critical skills linked to orality and can include democratic and paradoxical processes of dialogue (Ka‘ili, 2015; Latukefu, 1968). The significant and important difference is that they are not based, or at least in our contemporary experiences, do not emphasize relationality in the same way theoretically or linguistically although the conversing process may appear to be similar. Socratic and dialectic dialogism are not mediated through protocols that negotiate the embodiments and presence of our ancestors, of people and place. In order to distinguish what makes something talanoa, we will outline Mana, Tapu, and Noa; Tongan Tā Vā (Time-Space) theoretical understandings; and the application of Tauhi Vā, all of which are mediated, expressed, and embodied in talanoa. Mana There are whole papers dedicated to Mana and it is a topic that cannot be fully engaged with here, but we attempt to frame some basic ideas about Mana here, in order to inform some of its role in talanoa. Blust (2008) says Mana is thunder and translates it as being potent, effectual, or of supernatural origin and power. Tomlinson (2006) explained how understandings of Mana have to take into account its use as a noun or a verb drawing from Fijian uses of the word/concept. Mana includes, along with power and authority, a sense of being practical, manifestable, finished, true, effective, and generative (Shore, 1989; Tomlinson, 2006; Tomlinson, Tengan, & Ty, 2016). Mead (2003) explains that Mana has to do with place and has a range of meanings, and that people withdraw it from their ancestors, but it can also be incremented in someone through good works or contributions to the group. Using talanoa to work through genealogy in introductions between people in order to find a common connection is how one can link up to or generate enough Mana to create Noa (balance) between people, then entering deeper into critical discussion. The intersection between people’s Mana can yield Noa (a balance) between 160 different people if mediated well and is effective (H. ‘O. Māhina, 2010). Mana is the application of knowledge; it is influence, authority, and power derived from the supernatural, manifested in acts, and reflected in status and ancestry (Tomlinson et al., 2016). When we unpack these layers of ancestral positioning, experience, and inherited wisdom through protocols, it materializes knowledge practically and metaphysically of which talanoa is one expression. Mana entails much more and also has contextual specificities to place and people (Shore, 1989). Tapu Tapu is everywhere, it is the sacred, restricted, or set apart: “it is present in people, in places, in buildings, in things, words, and in all tikanga” (Mead, 2003, p. 30). The meaning of Māori tikanga includes protocol and a sense of correctness, righteousness, good values, and practice. Mead (2003) explains that tikanga is required to have good relations with the land and its people. He also states that many do not know these values anymore and may not know what to do in a protocol. This may include researchers or participants, and although it can be a challenge of varying degrees, it is not an absolute barrier if one is prepared and willing to invest in remembering, learning, doing, making, and learning from mistakes. One of the points Mead (2003) makes about Tapu is that people, individuals, have Tapu, and like Mana, it may be specific to culture, village, and region, and is also relational, but Tapu is “inseparable from mana” (p. 30). Shore (1989) adds that Tapu is divine, set apart, distinguishes the noble, implies respect, and can connote danger. Something is Tapu because it has Mana; they are connected. The true kind of Mana (e.g. appropriate relationships) or the volume (e.g. ancestral status, experience, knowledge) has to find a balance with the Tapu of the person(s)/place/thing one may talanoa with or seek to talanoa with, in order for it to be effective (yielding a state of Noa, equilibrium, which allows openness to share in discussion). Whether Māori Tikanga, Anga Faka-Tonga, Fa’a Sāmoa (Samoan way), Vakaturanga (Fijian chiefliness), and so on, the principle is that the protocols and cultural knowledge aid and support the process of striving for balance in engagement between people, places, and energies. Noa Mead (2003) says of Noa that it is often paired with Tapu, such as when there is a high level of Tapu that is dangerous “noa refers to restoring a balance,” something that is Noa can also mean that it is safe (p. 31). He adds that “the state of noa indicates that a balance has been reached . . . relationships are restored” (p. 32). This is why we see Noa as a state of balance, a condition of equilibrium, or calibration between relationships. A state of Noa does not mean in our experience and understanding that Tapu and Mana are no more, but rather that they have been effectively mediated/ neutralized and the relationship has changed and been opened up in that moment, event, and context. Noa also means zero in the Tongan language and as we are attempting to re-theorize talanoa with Moana epistemology at the centre, we want to also be broad enough to AlterNative 14(2) encompass adapted ontologies and epistemologies in diaspora. In doing so, we will also draw here from other Indigenous concepts of zero, to better understand and support the concept of the state of Noa. Byrd (2011) wrote that as a mathematical concept theorized by the Maya, zero is a moment between destruction or annihilation and creation and generation. Byrd (2011) further explains that zero is not nothingness and can be represented as a “creation-in-destruction” that for “Amerindians, “zero” was neither void nor emptiness alone . . . it gestured to creation, the circular movement between life and death, the repetitive progression of history that connects and interweaves past futures and future presents. (p. 103) Tecun adds from his experiential and ancestral knowledge base that the concept for zero in K’iche’-Maya is the point of transition or moment of transformation. It is the focal point between energies, position, and relations to time and space, and that like Noa is a state/position of equilibrium. It is at this point of zero that H. ‘O. Māhina (2008) would say is a successfully balanced Tā Vā intersection (where Tā is time and Vā is space). This intersection can yield harmony and beauty effecting Noa through successful protocol. Time and space considerations Noa, resulting from having neutralized the Tapu between people, gender, rank, circumstance, and place, is where beautiful artistic expression or knowledge can be openly shared (H. ‘O. Māhina, 2008; ‘O. Māhina, 1992; Shore, 1989). ‘Ulu‘ave-Hafoka explains from her experiential knowledge and auto-ethnographic archival memory, “one can feel its presence and can speak freely and truthfully.” ‘O. Māhina (2007) explains that talanoa is the result of the interplay of conflict and order between conflicting points and stories, where the concern or pursuit of creating Noa “is itself an expression of conflict” (p. 277). Drawing from the intersections between Tongan and Mayan perspectives of zero, taken as similarly equivalent, this can be explained as the point where disharmony, such as negative energy, or imbalance, such as unequal relations, is confronted, and if successfully neutralized reaches a state of balance. This reflects the state and condition of the points of intersection of time and space, people, and place, resulting in co-produced knowledge through harmony (Ka‘ili, 2008; H. ‘O. Māhina, 2010). We suggest that the markers of having reached Noa are reflected in harmonious relationships between participants of talanoa, because Tauhi Vā has been effected (Ka‘ili, 2008; ‘O. Māhina, 2007). We suggest that talanoa skills reflect one’s Mana and ability to mediate Tapu, where harmony and beauty are the result of successful mediation of time and space yielding Noa, a balanced intersection (Fa‘avae et al., 2016; ‘O. Māhina, 2007) (Māhina, talanoa, 07 December 2016). In discussions with Tongan anthropologist Māhina, (talanoa, 07 December 2016), he refers to talanoa as the intersection of time and space with the participants in it. It is the pendulum swing between people. Mathematically, he Tecun et al. shares that for Tā (time represented in rhythm, beating/ marking time) and Vā (space/point between) to yield harmony and beauty, the goal is that the negative number, say –1, and the positive number, say 1, represent two individuals whose goal is to combine, and yield 0. Zero as Noa can be represented with the pendulum at the point of stasis when the opposite forces have been neutralized or the intensity of colliding forces ceases or is minimized. In social engagement, it could be represented in having found some resolve, whether to a question, topic, or disagreement, having spoken critically yet maintained harmony, the resolve accomplished in Noa being “‘Atamai tatau, literally ‘equality of mind,’” an alignment of thought, an understanding (‘O. Māhina, 2007, p. 277). Drawing from Mayan cosmovisión (cosmic worldview) and similar concepts of zero, it is at that point of stasis where new beginnings can take place. The transition or mediation of energies such as it is represented in life and death, seasonal or calendrical cycles. This point of stasis, however, is not still; it vibrates and is moving. It is the constant energy vibration that never ceases but can materialize through time and space in various forms such as story and art (Alva & Faviana, 2006). Talanoa as an Indigenous epistemology overlaps in other worldviews that seek to align with these rhythms and energies between people and place, which requires one to really know their relations. In extension beyond social realms of people, this also means to relationally align in a balanced way with cosmic, natural, or environmental energies and rhythms. ‘O. Māhina (1992) says that tala-e-fonua means to speak in the manner of the poetics of the land, which we suggest is a Tongan reflection of this type of alignment reflected in performance, dialogue, and speech. Talanoa is impacted by its temporal and spatial context. For example, pō talanoa is a talanoa that takes place at night (Vaioleti, 2013). We see this type of evening talanoa as drawing from the energy of night. This is where calmness is utilized, it is a renewal and rest time, and is appropriate for certain types of talking and speaking. Tauhi Vā The Tongan talanoa literature emphasizes the importance of relationships and we find it fitting to interrogate further a paramount cultural component for Tongans associated with keeping good relations. Ka‘ili (2008) explains that Tauhi Vā is the art of socio-spatial relations, which is often expressed in kinship responsibilities such as funerals, weddings, and gatherings. This value of nurturing, Tauhi, the Vā is crucial in successfully being able to engage in talanoa between people, place, or in a group. If we recognize the Tapu each individual has, then to nurture the space between them/us is part of the practical process in reaching Noa. These are the acts that help keep that space in balance or to find balance. Gifting is one such act that reflects one’s Mana and applies Tauhi Vā simultaneously. The Tongan meʽa ʽofa or Māori koha (gifts) may themselves possess Mana, or otherwise reflect the Mana of the person gifting it, which contributes to the process of reaching a state of Noa, opening up opportunities for talanoa (Ka‘ili, 2008; Vaka, 2014). 161 One example as given by Aporosa (2012) is the Fijian isevusevu (yaqona/kava presentation) that if a researcher puts it forward expressing their intent and their research project as they gift kava (piper methysticum), then to request a signed form or hand out consent waivers would diminish or insult what that gift holds and represents in its Indigenous contexts. Aporosa (2012) further explains that a gift of yaqona (kava) is an embodiment of Mana and therefore would significantly contribute to establishing Noa because the type of gift being given itself is a possessor of Mana. We see this social and spatial mindfulness as a social skill reflected in someone who is being anga lelei (good natured), respectful, and a good relative. Disruptions to talanoa are challenges to its practical use within or outside of academic research but to understand what we mean here is more useful to think of disruptions to talanoa as disruptions in relationships or relationality rather than an interruption in a conversation. If you are working with relationships in your research or develop them, then Institutional Review Boards (IRBs) and Ethics committees can at times get in the way of Indigenous research when suggesting one to put distance where closeness is required. Fa‘avae et al. (2016) explained that a practical challenge of talanoa in a research setting was the barrier to opening up, giving an example where getting rid of research questions on a piece of paper helped the flow of conversation take place over food, becoming a talanoa. Talanoa from a Tongan perspective is unique as a compound word (tala-noa). Having given background to the ideas behind it, we can now interpret it as meaning, “to story/dialogue in balance,” or “to story/dialogue once there is balance,” or “to story/dialogue in order to reach balance,” being a process to reach Noa and the result of Noa as well. How Noa is reached depends on relationships; one must know and maintain their relations (effect Tauhi Vā). If relations are already established and well maintained or a setting is a Noa space that is safe and calibrated, then Noa may take less time to reach and less extensive levels of protocol. However, new relationships or settings may require additional formalities such as type of dress, gifting, preparing food, eating food, or another such activity that can render the sacredness of each individual to calibrate in a good relational way. Participants may not immediately disperse out all of their knowledge at once or at one time, but appropriately and accordingly contribute portions of knowledge, questions, and guidance in enquiry, through story at different times. Each engagement may reveal particular knowledge(s), which may have been present all along, but through continued retelling, re-pondering, re-discussing, and re-hearing, within contexts of Noa, revelation of meaning surfaces to the wisdom seeker or to co-producers of knowledge. Presenting contradictions or paradoxes to questions, inquiry, and other difficult topics through this circular manner that is not explicitly direct helps to maintain good relations while addressing the paradox (Vaka, 2014). This method of communication solidifies ideas and knowledge in memory through the portions that are repeated and weaved into the talanoa. This practice also protects knowledge to those who eventually obtain it, demonstrating they are better equipped to protect it once 162 learning it, by understanding it through realization over time. The reciprocal nature of talanoa requires sharing and openness from the researcher also, such as the politics of the research, the purpose or intent, and even the personal. This indicates that there may be conflict for some types of research(ers) and research questions. Talanoa is not appropriate as a method in research if it cannot be centred ontologically or epistemologically with its associated values and underpinning theory. We have defined it as a relationally mindful critical story dialogue that is the mediation of Mana and Tapu, yielding Noa, a balanced state between potent energies. The effectiveness of this mediation is reflected in the harmony and beauty created in Tā Vā, the time–space intersections between people. Talanoa emerges and is maintained through the enactment of Tauhi Vā, where we nurture the space between each other, the collective relationships embodied through time and space. A word of caution Talanoa is about getting to the loto, the centre, the heart (Vaka, 2014), which includes intimate and Tapu knowledge. Bringing out what is inside can be challenging at times considering various internal and external limitations, and the type of research being done. In dealing with sensitive research topics such as mental illness, participants can use talanoa as a means of getting out what is deep inside (Vaka, 2014). What is in the heart, the centre can be the most personal, intimate, or even sacred knowledge one stewards. A challenge we face when we try to fit talanoa and our ontologies into dominant research paradigms is the various levels of Tapu knowledge, which includes sacred stories, protected knowledge that is stewarded, very personal perspectives, and our upheld values. The sacred is not always restricted however, sometimes only in its sacred form, so once we have accessed it through a state of Noa, how can we write of it? What should we write of it? Has the reader of our research or stories engaged in the same process with us as writers, or the participants and knowledge holders we quote, whether identified or anonymous? Do they understand that process? There is an entire body of knowledge that can be accessed during a research project whether in a university setting or not that is not all openly or publicly shared or available afterward. Some of this knowledge can potentially be made available, but it requires the same or similar processes and protocols that ensure its protection, which in one essence is its understanding (Tuʽitahi, 2016). One could put it out there, but unless one has gone through the process, gifted, been gifted, exchanged, related, or more, one will struggle to understand it let alone apply it appropriately and safely. Consequently, relationships can reveal, reflect, and protect knowledge as well. The challenge for Indigenous research is in interpreting and relating our research stories appropriately and with strategies of protection, so that a prepared person or reader can pick up on it and find or understand the further depth that is linked to their own or to the local knowledge revealed in the research. This is one of the indicators of what we would identify as Indigenous research, whether one asks these questions AlterNative 14(2) or navigates this process or not. Holding researchers accountable to these questions, knowing there is not one answer, but that this discussion is important, is another way we centre our paradigms in a colonial context. Conclusion We are reflecting but one moment in time and space on the continuum of this knowledge stream. A knowledge stream stands on previous work and ancestral foundations, but with an eye to the contemporary and future generations. Our struggle has been to attempt to walk through some of the core concepts that frame talanoa, which we are still developing and have in many ways taken for granted in our respective ontological and epistemic positions. The value of this attempt is for our communities to deepen our understanding by reflecting on our own phenomenon, retracing our collective memory, valuing and championing our knowledge systems, strengthening and revitalizing where needs be, and also communicating with those who do or seek to work WITH us. Talanoa can enter discussions of Indigenous research globally and not be confined to Pacific research alone in considering the underpinning ideas behind it and the overlaps increasingly found in diaspora. The principles of talanoa are already being applied and adapted in various forums, spaces, and mediums in homelands, diaspora, and in the vahaope, a Tongan term for cyberspace coined by Siosiua F. P. Lafitani in 2001, which was introduced to us by Tēvita Ka‘ili (talanoa, 3 June 2017). These spaces require developing Indigenous theory further in order to explain, challenge, and guide these new phenomena, such as re-theorizing talanoa in its relevant spheres of existence. Breaking down talanoa as it relates to Mana, Tapu, and Noa reveals its complexity with a dialecticlike process that upholds and navigates relationships as a critical relational orality. This is the Indigenous theoretical framework, we argue, that emerges out of and where it can be applied diversely. It is the responsibility of researchers and practitioners to contextualize and explain relations and applications of talanoa. Talanoa mediates conflict, rank, relation, or distance through wisdom inherited by place and people in the form of specific protocols that are diversely applied and adapted in various contexts and circumstances to access knowledge. Talanoa requires closeness rather than distance and must be mindful of the results and the appropriateness of what to disclose and how to do so within research paradigms of inquiry. This is a reflection of an ongoing talanoa between the authors, and the layers unpacked through this article are a reflection of the layers in our talanoa that has materialized into the written word at this time. Mālō ʽAupito and Sibalaj Maltiox (we are grateful for your engagement with us). Authors’ Note Daniel Hernandez publishes under his maternal and paternal grandmothers’ names of Arcia Tecun. He is a PhD Candidate in the Department of Anthropology at the University of Auckland, New Zealand. ‘Inoke Hafoka is a PhD Student in the Department of Social Science & Comparative Education at the University of California, Los Angeles, United States. Lavinia ‘Ulu‘ave is a PhD Student in the Department of Higher Education & Organizational Change at the University of California, Los Angeles, United Tecun et al. States. Moana ‘Ulu‘ave-Hafoka has recently completed a Master’s in Education at Harvard University and is currently the policy advisor and community outreach for diversity and human rights in the Salt Lake City Mayor’s Office, Utah, United States. Acknowledgements We are extremely grateful for the support, knowledge, and peer reviews that helped us improve the quality and content of this article, and for the ancestors that hold us up. We thank Heather Louise Hernandez, Tali Alisa Hafoka, and Maika Hafoka for their support, insights, and generosity. We thank Kirsten Zemke; Maui Tāvā He Akó, Tēvita ‘Ō. Ka‘ili; Hūfanga, ‘Okusitino Māhina; Andrea Eden Low, Tino Diaz for their wonderful contributions and critical readings. We also thank Jacob Fitisemanu, Ulysses Tongaonevai, Vaha Tu’itahi, Te Whainoa Te Wiata, and Learning Excellence Through Leadership and Education (LELE) for the many talanoa together that continue to refine our oratory skills. 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