Blue-eyed, blonde-haired young Kiri Te Rangi – who was put in the sun to "brown up" as a child – says she never understood why skin colour mattered.

She was whāngai adopted, raised as Māori in east Christchurch, and was often "deeply hurt" when her family were abused for being brown. 

Yet her Māngere whānau made her feel she wasn't really "one of us" and put her out to burn in the sun to "brown up". 

Her Pākehā mother taught te reo at the local Te Kōhanga Reo, and her mum's Māori partner raised her as his own.

"I would be expected to be in the Māori class, be the leader in the kapa haka group but when other Māori came to visit [Mairehau High School], the question was why the white girl was a leader and in the front? She should be in the back."

JOB HUNTING WITH A MĀORI NAME

Now known as Kiri Talbot, the 46-year-old said people were often surprised to meet a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes after hearing a woman with a Māori name speaking te reo over the phone.

She is highly qualified in the financial industry, yet recently spent a year between jobs where she suspects her Māori name had something to do with job applications being declined or ignored.

She was once told that had "they met me first then I would have made the cut". This person admitted, "I looked at your name and assumed you were brown".

"That's racism – it's in your face.

"That is telling me you racially profiled my CV … missing out on some good talent."

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Her former husband learned to mispronounce his Māori name – Arana – growing up in Christchurch, and it was not until later in life he learned more about his Māori heritage.

Her current partner is white.

"People don't even give us a second look. We're just two white people walking down the street."

TEACHERS 'EXPECT LESS FROM MĀORI'

Now with a Māori son and Vietnamese daughter, from previous relationships, she is watching racism play out in their lives too.

When her "brown kids yell out mum" in public, she sees people trying to work out the dynamics.

"Why can't you just have different coloured skin, why does it matter?"

Talbot says her daughter Jimaya, 25, is often mistaken, and racially profiled, as Māori. She is treated badly, but preferred that to the "tirades of abuse" she has faced for being Asian.

Her 17-year-old son Matua admits trying to be "more Pākehā" at school because for years he has seen "teachers expect less from Māori students".

"It's harder to be comfortable with my Māori side rather than European.

"I can see the difference between how Māori students are treated compared to Pākehā students."

Raising his hand to answer questions in intermediate school, he recalls being told to put it back down because he was unlikely to know the answer.

In primary school in Christchurch, Matua said groups were often split into Māori and non-Māori students.

"I was maybe 8 at the time. As a kid, I didn't think much of it, but now I look back on it, I think it's a bit racist."

He knows only a little te reo, but he would have to sacrifice an academic subject in order to learn it in secondary school.

"I really do wish it was compulsory in primary school so I could've learned it then.

"I love my Māori culture, but at the same time, I can still love my Pākehā culture, tracing back into Europe."

Matua has friends of different ethnicities, but it is normal to hear schoolyard chatter about "white kids doing this and Asian kids doing this".

"It's commonplace to hear things like that at school."