Decolonising the Lab Coat

Rebekah Tolhopf

The integration of Māoritanga and Science 

The scientific method, as it is commonly taught and practiced, promotes a binary worldview where information is either valid or invalid, true or false, alive or not. These rigid categories often exclude indigenous knowledge systems, which embrace a more relational and reflective approach to understanding the environment. Mātauranga Māori teaches us that we are not separate from nature, we are part of it. We whakapapa to the land, to Te Taiao. For example, Maramataka reflects a deep understanding of environmental patterns, planting, fishing, and harvesting guided not by chance, but by observation of lunar phases, tides, and seasonal shifts. This is data collection over generations, recorded through experience and kōrero rather than written documentation. It shows that our science is embedded in our relationships with the whenua. 

Ko au te Taiao, Ko te Taiao ko au. 

I am the Earth, and the Earth is me

Our role is to be kaitiaki, to protect and care for the whenua that gives us life. This connection goes beyond the physical, it is spiritual and ancestral. We, as Tangata Whenua, learn to respect the environment as if we are one. There is no separation between science and the stories passed down to us, they are one in the same. Our knowledge is exchanged through kōrero, not written and published in scholarly articles. Māori have always been curious people, using trial and error to explore how the world works, the only difference is that we record our findings differently. We keep them in everyday practices, passing ideas through stories from tīpuna to mokopuna, our actions reflect our knowledge. 

However, Western science has often pushed these dimensions aside, elevating physical science while dismissing pūrākau and other forms of indigenous knowledge as ‘unscientific’. We have no gap in knowledge, just a gap in recognition. Our ancestral systems are still seen as ‘less than’, because they are rooted in whakapapa, kōrero and interconnection. Are our ways deemed lesser than because of who we are? Why does our knowledge not reach your standards? When we use different practices and methods but end up with the same results, but your ways are considered better, is it privilege? 

To study science at university is an honour in its own way, to attend a university that attempts to respect our culture is inspiring. The very act of being in an institution that acknowledges Māori identity, language, and traditions is a step forward. But the question remains: are they doing all they can? As someone who grew up surrounded by Māori kaupapa, studying science felt, at times, like stepping into a space that existed separately from the ones I was raised in. There are efforts to represent our culture, we are mentioned in lectures, our ways presented on a screen, yet I can hear the chatter from the students around me: Why do we need to learn this? These are old ways, they are not practiced anymore? But that’s where they’re wrong. Our knowledge is alive and active. It’s just a matter of knowing where to look. 

It’s in the way I carry homemade Kawakawa balm when I'm getting a cold, the same way you might carry a bottle of methanol. In many ways, rongoā Māori functions similarly to modern medicine, using plants like kawakawa, kūmarahou, and harakeke, plants with medicinal properties that western pharmacology is only just beginning to validate. The difference is that our tīpuna understood these healing properties long before they could be tested in labs. We have known how to use these plants because they have been used for generations. Yet, Western science did not recognise this knowledge until it could be put through its own framework of testing. It’s also in the way many know what to plant and harvest by the placement of the moon or the rise of the tide. How is this not deemed what you call ‘science’? 

Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of working on projects where Mātauranga Māori was woven into scientific practice and Mana Whenua were actively consulted about the projects we were undertaking. In those spaces, labs and meeting rooms became more than just sites for testing and gathering data; they became spaces for listening, reflecting, and connecting. Science, for me, transformed from a process of merely collecting and evaluating information to one of collaboration and deeper understanding. The integration of Māoritanga and science opened up new possibilities, possibilities where indigenous voices were not just heard but actively shaped the way we engaged with the world of science. A world where our ancestral knowledge wasn’t just acknowledged, but practiced and brought to life. It was a world I felt proud to be a part of, one that reflected both my heritage and my commitment to science. 

Mātauranga Māori creates a way of seeing the world that complements and strengthens scientific inquiry. Where Western science often seeks to isolate variables and measure outcomes, Mātauranga is grounded in connection, observation over generations, and a more holistic understanding of the natural world. Western Science and Putaiao Māori are not in conflict with each other, they are different ways of understanding our world. Weaving them together encourages a move away from narrow research to work that is more ethical, relational, and grounded in long term wellbeing of both people and the planet. Knowledge is not just found in data but within relationships, between people, species and whenua. This adaptive way of thinking can facilitate more sustainable decision-making, especially in a time of such global uncertainty within the science sector. 

To truly weave together science and Mātauranga, we must honour those who came before us, the land we stand upon, and the interconnections that sustain us. Science must evolve into a space of inclusivity and reflection. Not as a rejection of Western science but as an expansion of what science can be. When both systems of knowledge are brought together, the outcomes can be powerful. We can create spaces and open doors for future scientists and researchers to connect and engage with the various views of the world. A space where we as Māori and anyone alike of where they whakapapa can wear the lab coat with pride, not as a symbol of assimilation, but as a reclamation of knowledge and guardianship. A reclamation of our Tīpuna.