For the last few months, Master’s student Manon Verdello has been working with the Mātauranga Māori team on the Acknowledging our Colonial Past project. A part of her internship at Te Papa was to work on reconciling the original collection records from the 1860s to the current collection database. Here, Manon describes how she went about it and some of the challenges she faced along the way.
In the following lines, I’ll share a glimpse of the mahi I carried out at Te Papa during my internship, which ran from March to September 2025. This experience not only shaped my understanding of museum practice in Aotearoa New Zealand but also gave me insight into how museums engage with their collections, histories, and communities, which is something I was able to witness firsthand through various projects during my time here.
As part of my Master’s degree at the National Museum of Natural History in Paris, I was taught the importance of thoroughly documenting collections and understanding the provenance of collection items. My time at Te Papa offered a unique opportunity to explore these approaches in practice, particularly through my involvement in the ‘Acknowledging Our Colonial Past’ project, led by Dr Amber Aranui. For deeper context, I highly recommend reading Amber’s previous blog on this topic, which lays a strong foundation for what follows, and puts some context around the necessity to pursue this mahi as the Colonial Museum formed the cornerstone of Te Papa’s collections.
As a preamble, I want to clarify that this reflection won’t focus heavily on the outcomes of the project or the broader need for initiatives like this, although both are vital and ongoing. Instead, I’ll delve into the process itself: from the steps taken to develop a protocol, and the challenges faced, to the realities of pursuing this kind of work within the Taonga Māori Collection. I’ll attempt to recount my reflections and experiences in chronological order, culminating in the final stages of my internship.
Scoping out the collection
Before diving into the history of the Colonial Museum, which required reconnecting the information recorded in James Hector’s original 1865 register with the current registration system developed by Augustus Hamilton in 1904, enabling information retrieval once known to a specific taonga, it was essential to first grasp the scope of the Taonga Māori collection.
My reflection started with what makes a collection item so special, and especially to truly understand what makes a taonga a collection item. One must consider the associated elements that give meaning to its presence within the museum. Documentation plays a crucial role in making a taonga eloquent in the museum space, as it provides essential information about geographical origin, cultural affiliation, and the circumstances surrounding acquisition and accession. This is known as ‘legacy data’, where the historical records allow us to read museum objects, giving names and stories assigned to a taonga in the past.[1] However, it is important to recognise that traditional documentation often carries biases that can be hard to circumvent, embedding certain narratives while occluding others.
Furthermore, as someone arriving from overseas and new to Te Papa, I feel it is important to share a bit about my experience entering this tapu space. Even though I was warmly welcomed, the significance of the whare taonga was initially overwhelming. Taking time to adjust was essential, but working on this project of reconnecting the taonga with their lost information helped me feel more comfortable in their presence and more grounded, allowing me to observe them closely and grow my confidence in their environment.
This sense of comfort was also nurtured by the support I received, being accompanied each time I entered Āhuru Mōwai and Te Whare Pora, and by the trust extended to me by the Mātauranga Māori team and the Katiaki Māori Collection Managers. Their guidance allowed me to build trust in myself and feel a genuine sense of legitimacy in the work I was conducting. By mentioning this, I also want to acknowledge the importance for me to actively connect with the people working within these spaces. Collections are not static; they are shaped and sustained by the people who care for them. Every decision made by those working with taonga influences their journey within the museum, and recognising these relationships is essential to understanding the deeper layers of care and responsibility embedded in the collection.
Therefore, acknowledging taonga means recognising the people who work alongside them, but also valuing the documentation that accompanies them. This project highlights both the importance of institutional knowledge kept by the people and the surrounding materials that offer additional layers of meaning and context to a taonga. These elements help us understand, eventually, Te Papa’s institutional legacy and offer pathways for engaging with the collection in ways that reconcile its colonial past.
Working with records with mixed or no provenance
When I began working on this project, a few key sources were identified that were going to be my references. The first was the Colonial Museum register, initiated by James Hector, which recorded each taonga entering the museum since its opening. Each accession lot was assigned a number and an acquisition date, though many lots included multiple items, ranging from taonga Māori to natural history specimens.
However, even in Hector’s time, the challenge of maintaining accurate records and keeping track of the growing collection was evident. In his correspondence, Hector acknowledged that sometimes entry numbers marked on taonga could be lost due to cleaning and scrubbing.[2] Replacing the written number with labels on tacks was not enough, as only the support remained.
As a result, many taonga became unidentifiable even in his time, and new numbers were assigned, leading to the loss of previously known information and original provenance if there were such details. From this source, an Excel document had been previously created, compiling all taonga entries from the Colonial Museum register. These entries were cross-referenced with the Annual Reports, which have been published almost every year since 1865, summarising not only the accessions made by the museum each year but also the temporary deposits, some of which later became part of the collection.
Another important source was the register of the Taonga Māori Collection developed by Augustus Hamilton after Hector’s departure in 1903. Hamilton introduced a new classification and cataloguing system, separating the collection into disciplines, such as Māori Ethnography (ME). This reorganisation disrupted the chronological order of accession and did not preserve the provenance history and associated information of the taonga collection accessioned during Hector’s time.
EMu – Te Papa’s collections information system
Despite having these documents, I aimed to optimise the process by working with EMu (Electronic Museum), Te Papa’s collections information system, in order to avoid working only on the registers and trying to find a way to streamline the project. It was also an opportunity for me to familiarise myself with a museum’s database, and mastering a system like this is essential and allows an efficient navigation of the collection, but also an easy – though not always – extraction of relevant data, if available.
It was a way for me to position myself in the museum world by working on a powerful tool that serves as a central repository for everything known about a taonga, ideally providing cross-references to any other relevant information sources known to the organisation. Nevertheless, its effectiveness depends on the collaborative effort and the people’s capacity to provide key information, such as details about provenance or acquisition history.
With this in mind, starting with EMu was an interesting approach and was facilitated by the help of the Digital Collections & Access team, which has the vital role of supporting Te Papa’s collection and associated mātauranga to be accessible, managed and cared for long term. Gareth Watkins, Collection Data Manager, provided a tailored file containing all taonga Māori held at Te Papa, with filters to refine the search. Working with EMu doesn’t necessarily mean interacting exclusively with the database; it can be used to extract data only. Using this report, I was able to sort taonga chronologically by acquisition and ownership dates. Although Hamilton didn’t follow a chronological order when renumbering, he mentioned, sometimes, in his manuscript register, when taonga were already present in the museum before his tenure.
Reconnecting and recognising taonga
By aligning these dates, I could begin reconnecting taonga with their earlier records. It became a process of elimination by cross-referencing entries from the Colonial Museum register with EMu data. Additional fields found on the report made by Gareth, such as ‘other numbers joined’, ‘acquisition identifier’, and ‘acquisition summary data’, often contained valuable clues, added deliberately by previous staff who had identified older collection numbers that referenced previous accession dates. This layered approach, by combining EMu data, historical registers, and location checks, allowed for a reconnection of some taonga with their disconnected stories.
Furthermore, when accessing a taonga’s record in EMu, one particularly useful category is the ‘accession lot’ or ‘acquisition credit,’ which can reveal information about previous ownership or how the taonga entered the museum’s collection. In the extracted report, searching these fields using the following keywords to help identify taonga that might be linked to the Colonial Museum:
- Old Stock
- Colonial Museum
- Old Collection [Colonial Museum]
- Not registered
- Unregistered 1904
- Found unregistered in 1913
- Retrospective entry
- Found in collection
- Unknown
Reading the hidden histories
However, caution is needed as an unknown provenance doesn’t necessarily mean a taonga originated from the Colonial Museum. While these keywords allowed for the creation of targeted reports, they didn’t always provide insight into the taonga’s earlier life. To explore these hidden stories, I turned to a different approach inspired by José Beltràn’s work on paraobjects. [3]
His research encouraged me to look beyond the taonga themselves and consider the material traces that surround them as historical sources too, such as labels. These elements offer valuable context and help us reflect on the social lives of taonga, revealing how they’ve been handled, classified, and understood over time. This perspective reshaped my approach to museum work, highlighting the layered nature of each taonga. The numbers and materials now attached to them have become part of their story, forming a new entity that can be read and interpreted. I tried to ‘read’ each taonga, deciphering what they could reveal, through careful observation and experimentation, including techniques like using ultraviolet light to uncover hidden markings.
With that in mind, the work began, and at the same time, challenges started to emerge, particularly around missing taonga or items being recorded in the wrong location. The idea of ‘missing’ taonga is quite interesting, because it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve been lost or removed from the collection rooms. More often, it suggests that their registration numbers may have changed at some point – most likely under the directorship of Hector and Hamilton – leading to re-registration. These changes make it more difficult to locate specific taonga.
In some cases, taonga were moved out of the collection because they were replicas. However, formal de-accessioning didn’t always take place, which is why they still appear as ‘missing’. This situation is part of the legacy of the collection. It reflects the journey of taonga built up over time by a succession of institutions, and cared for by many different people. The condition and documentation of the collection are deeply shaped by the time, resources, and number of staff available at different points in its history. Decisions made were often influenced by what was possible within those constraints and the practices at the time in museums. This highlights the reality of managing a collection that sits within a complex social and historical context.
This project has been a special opportunity to get to know the Taonga Māori Collection housed at Te Papa and to also understand the complexities of working with museum collections. It revealed how much depends on human care, and how vital it is to consider the documentation as valuable as the collection items in order to find the provenance of the taonga, allowing the fulfilment of one of the three key priorities in Te Papa’s Rautaki or Strategy, Hāpai Ahurea: “Transforming museum practice by centring Māori and communities in the care, understanding, and sharing of their taonga, mātauranga, and kōrero.”
The long tail of kaitiaki
During my time at the museum, I realised that this kind of mahi should not be rushed, as it deserves long-term care and commitment to build this institutional knowledge, essential to a project like this. Also, taking a more gradual approach can avoid the frustration that comes with only partial progress, especially since the Colonial Museum’s accession lots often included multiple taonga, so it might feel disappointing at times to locate just one of them.
Looking ahead, I suggest keeping this project in mind during any future audits. An audit of the entire Taonga Māori Collection may seem overwhelming and very resource-intensive, but it is a powerful tool and a satisfying exercise. It is an opportunity to see the collection as a whole, guided by a shared purpose, of checking details, knowing where all the taonga are, and the presence of other labels or inscriptions on the taonga. Another way forward could involve tracing the re-registration that has affected some taonga, and investigating the ‘missing’ entries in the database. Often, these are not truly missing, but simply renamed or renumbered.
Furthermore, an update to the museum database to show which institutions contributed to the collection Te Papa now holds would be interesting. This would offer transparency to the public, revealing the history of collecting and the many lives these taonga lived before arriving here. It would also reflect the shifting practices in museums, especially the growing focus on provenance research. To do so, working closely with the archives would be the next step, as they would offer valuable insights, even though the archival materials tend to focus more on the collectors than on the taonga themselves. It shows how the museum records and collects data, playing a key role in shaping how taonga Māori are understood.
This project highlights how taonga hold the potential to bear witness to a historical relationship. It shows the museums’ initiative to respond to the presence – or absence – of information, and how they can further help the public understand the complexity behind the scenes by underlining the multi-situated circulation of taonga. It also reminds us that even if those past relationships are fragmented or unclear, they deserve to be revisited and reconnected with their origins. That project strengthens the museum’s record-keeping and nourishes the institutional knowledge, showing how vital it is to honour it.
References
[1] Hannah Turner, Cataloguing Culture: Legacies of Colonialism in Museum Documentation, UBC Press, 2020.
[2] Letter of James Hector, 4th of August 1884, found in the archives of the Archaeozoology laboratory.
[3] José Beltràn, Paraobjects: Natural Historical Heritage through the Margins, project launched in 2021 in the framework of the MSCA project SCRIBSCIE (“Scribal Science: Naturalists’ Paper Empire in France, ca. 1660-1770,” 2019–2022), with the RISE project SciCoMove (“Scientific Collections on the Move: Provincial Museums, Archives, and Collecting Practices (1850–1950)”.
