Proud.
Because I am a woman. I am a fa’afafine. I am unapologetic for that.
Brown.
Because my skin carries the stories of thousands of brown women who came before me.
Pasifika.
Because I know this is my culture. This is tradition. I know that there has been, and will always be, a place for me in Sāmoa.
One of the most common questions I am asked is: “When did you first know that you were a fa’afafine or different?” “And what do I call you?”
I respond: “Well what do you think?” Or “You can call me he or she. I don’t mind?”
In Fa’asāmoa culture, there exists a third gender, called fa’afafine. This means: like a woman, a male who embodies femine and female characteristics. Fa’a—in the manner of, or like—and fafine, which means woman.
A similar definition in Māori culture is whakawāhine; and around the Pacific there are: ‘akava’ine or laelae of the Cook Islands, the māhū of Hawai’i, vaka sa lewa lewa of Fiji, raerae of Tahiti, fakafifine of Niue, and fakafāfine or fakaleitī of Tonga.
A memoir to my childhood and fa’afafine journey
Ever since I can remember, I knew I was different. A certain part of me that was different from other boys. I was always in the company of girls because it was my safe haven, knowing that I would be more comfortable and have some sort of relatability to females. Although I played rugby and basketball growing up, I never had a true desire or passion to play sports that were more or less catered to men.
Growing up, I would always watch TV shows and films that had strong female representation or empowerment, especially women of different ethnic backgrounds. I took those strong leading women in films as inspiration of who I am today, and had the freedom to play dress-up as everything from fairies and princesses to mermaids. All this led to the way I acted and expressed myself to others growing up. But I quickly came to the realisation that “my normal” was different from what “normal” is defined within society, in the eyes of other people.
My parents never treated me differently or made me feel out of place; they always made me feel normal. But sometimes, normal was bittersweet.
At the age of nine, I knew that it was out of parental instincts and love that they wanted what was best for me. They just wanted to protect me.
When I was younger, my parents and family encouraged me to be free and expressive of who ‘Maurice’ was. But the more I felt encouraged, the more feminine I became, the more pain and hurt I was receiving in spaces that hadn’t normalised my normal.
I know now that they were just trying to protect me by allowing me to have a space that provided me with a sense of individuality, and a home life filled with happiness. But I was never prepared for the struggles that my idea of “normal” would bring in the outside world. One day my dad told me:
“Molesi (Molesi is my Samoan name) there are cruel and mean people who will tear you down because you’re different. And yes! You are different, but different doesn’t necessarily mean bad. You’re the kind of different that makes you special and unique. Embrace it, love it, and own it!”
My dad’s words, while powerful—could only reach so far. The bullying and taunting started when I was at primary school and continued throughout college. I was verbally and physically abused—gaybo, faggot, fatty, etc. I would always get asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?” by fellow students.
Being a fa’afafine in Sāmoa is quite different to being a fa’afafine in New Zealand, where I’m often the victim of bullying and abuse. In Sāmoa, you almost have a taste of what it’s like to be seen as normal. Unlike in New Zealand, I never had to explain or justify my identity to others.
In Sāmoa, it was normal for me to take on “women’s work”—caring for family members, doing the cooking, cleaning and washing. At family gatherings, I’d perform the ceremonial tasks associated with a Sāmoan tama’ita’i (daughter)—serving the matai and presenting ‘ie toga (fine mats) during a si’i (ceremony).
Unfortunately, not all parts of Sāmoan society are accepting and open-minded of fa’afafine—this is a direct result of the introduction of Christianity through colonisation of Sāmoa.
The existence and history of fa’afafine were a part of Fa’asāmoa culture even before the arrival of the first missionaries in the 1830s, and colonial rulers in Sāmoa and American Sāmoa.
Misrepresentations and generalisations
Sāmoan fa’afafine( and our counterparts elsewhere in the Pacific) have been an interest of fascination and study for many researchers. But many of their findings are from a western perspective which leads to misrepresentation and generalisations, of not only fa‘afafine but of Sāmoan culture itself.
I’m currently in my final year of studies at Victoria University of Wellington, and one of the highlights has been studying and majoring in Pacific Studies. Since PASI 101, I’ve gained awareness of and learned about the many issues and history of Pacifc cultures; which led to my passion of researching and studying the in-depth contexts of gender and sexuality in the Pacific. “My education counters any criticisms. To be a fa’afafine, you must be educated—it is our weapon.” – Dr Venasio Sele
I realised that research carried out by western academics is on the alleged Sāmoan tradition of raising boys as girls and the perceived societal acceptance of fa’afafine. However, western terms of identity don’t easily define fa’afafine.
The most common misrepresentation is that fa’afafine are gay or drag queens. I can’t personally speak on behalf of all fa’afafine and what they identify as. But as a general understanding, fa’afafine are those born as males who embody feminine characteristics and the roles of a female, but also may portray and look as a female. This may relate to western terms such as transgender or crossdresser. Fa’afafine may be defined similar to western concepts within the LGBTQ+ community, but this is a indigenous term that has significant cultural impacts on the Fa’asāmoa way of life.
I identify as female. A female who is sexually attracted to heterosexual men. I see my intimate relationships as heterosexual, not same-sex. And I see other fa’afafine as females and as sisters, not as people I would have sexual relationships with.
There are many ways individual fa’afafine may choose to identify themselves, just like there are multiple ways of identifying as a male or female. Gender binary was forced onto Pacific peoples as a result of colonial expansion. Our traditional constructs of gender were fluid, and unbinding.
We are living in a society and world that is evolving everyday; making history by the minute. Nowadays there is a gender and sexuality spectrum that consists of more than just female and male, straight or gay. I am constantly challenging the discussion and awareness of fa’afafine within the context of culture, academia, and history. It’s time to challenge our thinking and the reality of:
‘Were fa’afafine hidden from history records as part of Fa’asāmoa culture and life on purpose?’
‘Or could it be due to colonisation—Westerners who didn’t have a cultural or equivalent understanding of who fa’afafine were in a Westernised context?’
As a Sāmoan woman and fa’afafine, writing a piece about fa’afafine highlights the importance of understanding: We are our own testimony. we have stories to share from our own journeys, our own perspectives; not researched from Westerners who have the power to misinterpret one’s culture and identity.
“Fa’afafine have been hidden from history, misunderstood, discriminated against, and silenced. It’s important that research about us is also by us and for us”. – Ashleigh Feu’u
The sin of Pride
Last year, I had made the decision to transition and begin my journey into womanhood. It was one of the biggest decisions I have had to make, and there were a lot of factors that I had to take into consideration, such as family, faith, friends, and personal needs. But at the end of the day (and this might sound self-centred)— it’s okay to be selfish. In the kind of way in which you realise your own self-worth, and in that sometimes you need to worry about your mental wellbeing and how you feel before helping others. I didn’t transition because I wasn’t happy with who I was before; I transitioned because I love myself enough to take that leap of faith, that step of courage to accept—it’s okay to be happy. The reality is that my transition is for family and friends as well. It’s a journey of emotions, a time of healing.
I believe that transitioning is more in-depth than what it means in the dictionary. There’s a metaphorical message underneath the surface. Despite the Western influences, as a Pasifika woman, pride to me is a ‘transition’. It’s having a sense of freedom and celebrating your authentic, true self. It is about being proud and honest—not only about who you are, but who you have been. It is about accepting your past self, your present self, and the person you aspire to be. Know that you are loved, and never forget how important it is to hold on to the belief that you deserve happiness in your life.
We all go through our own struggles and it takes an enormous amount of courage to step out from a lifetime of abuse and discrimination to be who we were born to be. But sometimes we need to go through the storm to find our true self, because we all don’t know our worth until we experience the hardships of life.
I’m blessed and honoured to be sharing a bit of my life for Pride Week, and would like to thank Salient and UniQ for the opportunity.
I’m a proud Pasifika Sāmoan woman and fa’afafine who takes pride in weaving an environment of educating, advocating, and challenging society on what it means to be fa’afafine. It’s time to talk. The time is now! To discuss gender and sexuality in the Pacific.