At its core, The Whale Rider is about a conflict over gender roles. Koro Apirana refuses to treat Kahu as a future chief of their New Zealand village, Whangara, simply because she is a girl and he believes that the job is for men only. Readers quickly learn that Kahu is far more perceptive, intelligent, and invested in Maori culture than any boy in Whangara, but this doesn’t make any difference: for Koro Apirana, gender trumps ability, and so he treats his great-granddaughter with indifference at best and disdain at worst. Ultimately, it takes a miracle for Koro Apirana to change his mind: when he sees Kahu ride the ancient whale like their ancestor Paikea, he finally accepts that the gods have chosen her and that it can be appropriate for women to wield power. Of course, he’s the last one to realize this: throughout the novel, Nanny Flowers constantly reminds everyone that women can do anything that men can.
Ihimaera’s treatment of gender in this novel shows that his deep reverence for his Maori culture doesn’t blind him to its shortcomings. Instead, he ruthlessly critiques sexist traditions that prevent women from achieving their potential—and the community from advancing as a whole. In fact, by ending the novel with Kahu’s transformation into the whale rider, he suggests that Maori people must overcome rigid gender roles within their community if they eventually want to achieve racial equality in New Zealand as a whole.
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Gender and Power Quotes in The Whale Rider
“A girl,” Grandfather, Koro Apirana, said, disgusted. “I will have nothing to do with her. She has broken the male line of descent in our tribe.” He shoved the telephone at our grandmother, Nanny Flowers, saying, “Here. It’s your fault. Your female side was too strong.” Then he pulled on his boots and stomped out of the house.
I could understand, however, why the old man was so against the idea. Not only was Kahutia Te Rangi a man’s name, but it was also the name of the ancestor of our village. Koro Apirana felt that naming a girl-child after the founder of our tribe was belittling Kahutia Te Rangi’s prestige. From that time onward, whenever Koro Apirana went past the meetinghouse, he would look up at the figure of Kahutia Te Rangi on the whale and shake his head sorrowfully. Then he would say to Nanny Flowers, “You stepped out of line, dear. You shouldn’t have done it.” To give credit to her, Nanny Flowers did appear penitent.
“E nga rangatira,” Kahu began, “e nga iwi”—she looked at Koro Apirana’s empty seat—“tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa.” There were stars in her eyes, like sparkling tears. “Distinguished guests, members of the audience, my speech is a speech of love for my grandfather, Koro Apirana.”
Nanny Flowers gave a sob, and tears began to flow down her cheeks.
“Which of the boys?” he gasped in grief. “Which of the—”
Nanny Flowers was pointing out to sea. Her face was filled with emotion as she cried out to Kahu. The old man understood. He raised his arms as if to claw down the sky upon him.
“You’re right, dear, you’re right.”
“I’m always right, you old paka, and—”
Suddenly Kahu gave a long sigh. Her eyebrows began to knit as if she was thinking of something.
“You two are always arguing,” she breathed.
“I fell off the whale. If I were a boy, I would have held on tight. I’m sorry, Paka, I’m not a boy.”
The old man cradled Kahu in his arms, partly because of emotion and partly because he didn’t want those big ears out there to hear their big chief crying.
“You’re the best great-grandchild in the whole wide world,” he said. “Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter.”
“Really, Paka?” Kahu gasped.
