Toitū te Tiriti: Decolonial and Ecologist Struggles in New Zealand to Defend the Māori Treaty

Last December 1st, after a two-stop flight and about 27 hours of travel, I arrived in Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, where I am spending a six-month research period at Victoria University during my third year of a PhD in Artificial Intelligence, working on projects related to LLMs.

For a capital city, Wellington is relatively small, with about 200,000 inhabitants, after Christchurch and Auckland—the only city in the country with a population exceeding one million. The city center is easy to explore on foot, divided between the commercial area, with tall glass buildings above shopping streets, and the more distinctive and lively neighborhood of Te Aro, where most of the evening and nightlife takes place along the two perpendicular streets, Cuba and Courtenay Place. Climbing the hill just behind the city center, you reach the university area, which borders a large botanical garden. Outside the center, the neighborhoods are a vast spread of wooden standalone houses interspersed with large green spaces.

Walking around the city at the time of my arrival, it was impossible not to come across posters and signs plastered on walls about the issue currently at the forefront of New Zealand’s political debate. Even outside the city center, houses displayed flags and signs with a black, red, and white design and the words—sometimes in Māori, sometimes in English—”Toitū te Tiriti,” “Honour The Treaty.”

In mid-November, just before my arrival, a video went viral on social media showing Māori MP Hana-Rawhiti Maipi-Clarke starting to sing and perform a traditional haka dance in Parliament, followed by her colleagues, as a sign of opposition to the proposed “reinterpretation” of the Treaty of Waitangi by the libertarian ACT party. The Treaty is considered the cornerstone of the relationship between Indigenous people and the New Zealand state, and the current controversy is just the latest in a series of attempts to dismantle the recognition of Māori community rights.

Beyond the strictly legal aspects, the context I have encountered in this country is an extremely complex and still-evolving situation, with a very particular relationship between different segments of the population. Although I have only been here for a short time, I have tried to understand it a little, with the help of people involved in the ongoing movements.

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Flyers and posters around the city

A Sovereignty Never Surrendered

After about 500 years of settlement by polynesian explorers on the islands—who would later form the identity of the Māori people—James Cook was the first European to land in Aotearoa in 1769, after 120 years from Abel Tasman exploration. His arrival triggered an influx of European and American ships, leading to fierce conflicts and repression that lasted over 40 years and resulted in the deaths of between 30,000 and 40,000 Māori.

Given the competing interests of multiple nations, the British government decided to send William Hobson to the islands to negotiate an agreement with the native inhabitants. He was the one who, in just four days, drafted the three articles that make up the Treaty of Waitangi, signed on February 6, 1840, between Hobson and between 43 and 46 Māori rangatira (chiefs), and considered the founding document of New Zealand. The treaty, originally written in English, was translated into Māori on the night of February 4 by missionary Henry Williams and his son Edward.

The document was then circulated across the islands in multiple copies, eventually gathering the signatures of over 500 other hapū (the fundamental social unit of the Māori community) before the end of the year. The document consists of three articles that regulate the conditions of the Crown’s presence on the islands and its relationship with the Māori population. At the center of the (mostly political) debate is the difference in meaning that certain terms take on in the two versions of the treaty.

The first article of the treaty concerns the rights that the Māori community grants to the Crown. In the Māori version, the term kāwanatanga is used, meaning a permission to govern. Kāwanatanga is understood as a limited form of authority that allows the British to control and regulate their own settlements. However, the English version uses the term sovereignty, implying an exclusive right to govern, sell land, and assimilate Māori under the same legal status as British subjects.

In Article 2 of the Te Reo (māori language) text, Māori are guaranteed the right to exercise tino rangatiratanga over their lands, villages, and treasures—a term that more closely aligns with the concept of sovereignty in the Māori language. However, in the English version, it was translated as possession, significantly weakening its original meaning. The third article, identical in both versions, guarantees the Crown’s protection of the Māori community.

“Māori never ceded sovereignty”—is a widely used slogan seen across the city and at protests. As many point out, in 1840, the Māori population was around 80,000, while the British settlers numbered only about 2,000, scattered throughout the country. Given such an imbalance, it is highly unlikely that the local community intended to hand over control of the islands. In the Māori perspective, Te Tiriti was meant to be a tool for fostering cooperation and co-existence with the newcomers, who were seen as guests on the land, and more broadly, the integration into the international community as a sovereign nation. Most of the signatures collected from Māori chiefs were on the Māori-language version. William Hobson, who neither spoke nor read Te Reo Māori, used the treaty to declare British sovereignty over the North Island, while applying the terra nullius doctrine to claim the South Island—a concept widely used in colonial Europe to justify invasions and land seizures.

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Writings and stickers around the city

Following the treaty’s signing, new waves of settlers arrived, fueling Māori fears of losing control over their lands. This led to further conflicts, beginning in 1843 and culminating in the 1860s with a series of colonial wars – the New Zealand Wars – which saw 18,000 British Troops deployed in the country – more than anywhere else in the British Empire outside of India. To this day the New Zealand Wars remain largely unrecognised in the public consciousness – recent attempts to implement the period into the country’s education curriculum have been met with backlash. Another battleground was the suppression of the Māori language. In 1867, under the Native Schools Act, the use of Te Reo Māori was officially banned. Many older generations of Māori grew up without learning their language, leading to a cultural disruption. Restrictions were so severe that, by the early 20th century, children were forbidden from speaking Te Reo Māori in class or even in the schoolyard, facing corporal punishment if they did.

Land confiscations were also made easier with the establishment of the Native Land Court in 1865, which Māori called Te Kōti Tango Whenua—”the land-taking court.” By the early 20th century, the Treaty of Waitangi was virtually ignored by the British, sparking decades of resistance and protests. For about 50 years, no one knew where the original document was. It was rediscovered in the early 1900s in an archival building, severely damaged by rats and water.

Things began to change in the 1970s. In 1975, the Waitangi Tribunal was established to investigate treaty breaches, and in 1985, it was granted retrospective powers to address grievances predating its creation. This moment has to be considered as the result of a huge and long period of efforts and struggles of the Māori community, culminating in the occupation of Bastion point and the Land March led by Dame Whina Cooper in 1975, which is also the inspiration for the last hīkoi of 2024. Since 1974, February 6 has been recognized as Waitangi Day, New Zealand’s national holiday commemorating the treaty’s signing.

Language rights also started to shift during this period. In 1984, the so-called Kia Ora Incident took place: Nadia Glavish, a telephone operator in Auckland, greeted callers with the traditional Māori salutation Kia Ora and was reported and dismissed for it. The case gained national attention, and after being reinstated, her story became a symbol of the push for language revitalization.

In recent months, the issue has been reignited by the Principles of the Treaty of Waitangi Bill, commonly referred to as the Treaty Principles Bill, a legislative proposal introduced by David Seymour of the ACT Party aiming to redefine the key points of the Treaty.The proposal is framed around the argument that Māori receive different legal treatment compared to the rest of the population, advocating for a principle of equality under which “all New Zealanders are equal before the law.” In essence, however, the bill represents yet another historical attempt to erase the recognition of the Indigenous community and neutralize the colonial context. Furthermore, it’s well recognised that different treatment of justice and police behaviour for Māori community respects the rest of New Zealand population, with higher chance of prosecution to incarceration even for the same crime. More broadly, the treaty establishes the collective rights of Māori to exercise sovereignty and that is what Seymour is really trying to erode, appealing to a superficial and dishonest concept of “equality”.

According to the Waitangi Tribunal, the proposed legislation would reduce Māori rights and the Crown’s obligations, make it more difficult for Māori to access justice, undermine social cohesion, and downgrade the constitutional status of the Treaty. Additionally, the decision to exclude Māori representatives from the Treaty review process has sparked particular outrage.

Protests culminated on November 20, 2024, in Wellington, where more than 35,000 people participated in one of the largest demonstrations in New Zealand’s recent history, following a nine-day hīkoi (march) across the country. On Thursday, 10 April, the Treaty Principles Bill was voted down by 112 votes to 11, marking its end. However, months of public consultation have sparked a complex and ongoing debate about the current relationships between communities on the islands — relationships that touch on language, traditions, economics, and environmental governance.

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Memes and satirical cartoons from an activist fanzine

«Te Reo is a Journey»

As soon as I landed in Wellington, even from the airport screens and signage, it felt like I had arrived in a bilingual country: from restroom signs to city names, almost everything appeared in both English and Māori. Walking around the city, the same impression holds. Even in the months leading up to my arrival in New Zealand, I had already noticed the widespread use of Māori greetings and expressions in university emails and messages from local contacts, which gave me the sense of a special relationship with the language. Once in Wellington, I saw firsthand how common Māori phrases were in everyday life—not just in casual greetings but also in public and institutional speeches, even among Pākehā, New Zealanders of European descent.

At first, I wondered if this could be considered cultural appropriation, but I soon realized the situation was different—and much more complex. Through reading and conversations, I began to understand that the spread of Te Reo, and therefore its revitalization, is seen as a way for Māori to assert their identity, as well as a historical response to decades of language suppression. Of course, there are contexts where Māori customs and practices remain distinct from non-Māori communities, but the line is subtle and not clearly defined.

The overall impression is that New Zealand is undergoing a very recent and ongoing process, where relationships and coexistence between different communities are still being shaped—not without contradictions and complexities yet to be unpacked.

In the mobilizations and in the collective journey, between Māori communities and other segments of the population, one can perceive that complex relationship that exists between directly interested subjectivities and allied ones, with all its contradictions. On July 28, 2004, at Victoria University of Wellington, Labour government Minister for Race Relations Trevor Mallard gave a speech titled “We Are All New Zealanders Now”, presenting a pacified and unified national narrative. This sparked a broad debate about the recognition of privilege and difference within society. Quoting a pamphlet found in the city by writer and activist Ani Mikaere — “Are we all New Zealanders now?” — she writes:

«There is no doubt that many Pākehā will find this challenging: their obsession with control over the Māori–Pākehā relationship to date could almost be categorised as a form of compulsive disorder. Giving up such control requires a leap of faith. […] When you think about it, there is nowhere else in the world that one can be Pākehā. Whether the term remains forever linked to the shameful role of oppressor or whether it can become a positive source of identity and pride is up to Pākehā themselves. All that is required for them is a leap of faith».

Shortly after my arrival, I came across Whatever Palace, a space rented by activists linked to a local publishing house, 5ever Books. They hosted various events on current issues—mainly the Palestinian cause, LGBTQIA+ rights, and discussions on the Treaty and anti-colonialism. The space also offered Te Reo classes, which I attended a couple of times. These classes turned out to be moments of self-reflection on the state of things.

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Whatever Palace and Ash’s Te Reo course

On February 6th, for Waitangi Day, a hīkoi (march) started from Parliament and ended at Waitangi Park, where a stage hosted music and speeches throughout the day. A nearby theater also held an open discussion titled “Te Tiriti and Me,” a space for Māori, Pākehā, and others to share their experiences in today’s multicultural coexistence. While it wasn’t always easy for me to understand everything—especially given the frequent use of Māori terms—it was clear how dynamic and current the debate was. At one point, a woman of European descent spoke about her struggles in using Māori words and expressions, fearing she might use them incorrectly while also not wanting to avoid them, as she saw them as a tool for integration. “Te Reo is a journey,” one of the moderators replied. Te Reo is a journey—a path in which many relationships and circumstances are still being defined.

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Waitangi Day, February 6, 2025

The issue of the Treaty and the proposed amendments also intersects with various other matters, such as environmental policies, privatization, and the construction of large invasive infrastructure projects. Since the 1990s, privatization processes have been underway in New Zealand, such as the case of the ECNZ electricity company, which was split by the government into various private companies, or the sale of Air New Zealand, Telecom, and several energy companies. In 2008, Auckland Airport was sold for 1.65 billion dollars, leading to rising prices and a loss of public control over operations in the following years. In 1993, New Zealand Rail was sold to private owners for 328 million dollars, later experiencing such a decline in service that it was repurchased in 2008 for 690 million. The healthcare sector has also been facing staff and resource cuts for years, allowing space for the growth of private facilities.

A significant aspect of all this was the Foreshore and Seabed Act 2004, which sought to nullify Māori claims to coastal and seafloor areas. This had major implications, as it allowed the government to sell mining and fishing rights to private companies. It was met with strong resistance but was eventually repealed. At the heart of the matter was the fact that the Waitangi Tribunal informed the government that it was in breach of the Treaty, yet the government proceeded with the bill anyway.

In this context, the Treaty Principles Bill (TPB) would enable further privatization processes by removing barriers that have historically hindered them. Laws such as the State-Owned Enterprises Act of 1986, the Conservation Act of 1987, and the Resource Management Act of 1991 contain clauses requiring the government to consider the Treaty and not ignore the interests of the Māori community in decisions regarding national assets—constraints that would disappear under the TPB.

Last year, the National Party, the center-right ruling party, also proposed the Fast Track Bill, a law aimed at facilitating and speeding up the approval processes for large infrastructure projects. The mining company Trans Tasman Resources has already announced its intention to use the Fast Track Bill to gain access to South Taranaki Bay, where it plans to extract 50 million tons of seabed annually for over 30 years. In recent months, there have been numerous protests and demonstrations by organizations including Greenpeace, WWF, Extinction Rebellion, and many others. As highlighted, the Fast Track Bill is also part of an effort to exclude local communities from decision-making regarding land management.

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Mobilizations in defense of the Treaty and against the Fast Track

Beyond the strictly legislative aspect, these issues have sparked broader reflections on privilege and the different living conditions among the island’s communities. At the end of March, Green Party MP Tamatha Paul made strong criticisms of the presence and conduct of the New Zealand police, harshly condemning their treatment of homeless people (“they wait for them to leave before throwing their belongings in the trash”) and pointing out that communities like Māori and Pasifika are subject to police stops and searches 11 times more frequently than others. Her remarks triggered fierce reactions from the right-wing National Party, the libertarian ACT Party, the populist New Zealand First, and even from members of the Labour Party.

Finally, in the field of new technologies, critical and decolonial perspectives have also emerged, from investigations into AI surveillance biases against Māori to projects developing large language models (LLMs) for linguistic preservation and discussions about licensing regulations for the use of sensitive information by big tech companies.

The overall picture is extremely broad and complex, deeply intertwined with the personal experiences of the island’s communities. To gain more insights, I asked a few questions to Ash and Peregrin, which I met at Whatever Palace and both involved in the recent mobilizations:

What does the Treaty mean to you? And what is your personal relationship with Te Reo?

A: Te Tiriti to me means honouring our sovereignty and knowledge that this is our whenua which we are more than happy to have people with us from all over but yet it seems to be claimed by mostly colonialists. Te Tiriti means being honored as tangata whenua, respected. Our Tiriti has not been adhered to by the white people and governments keep taking our land. I speak, read and write fluently te Reo. I am of Maori, English, Irish and Scottish descent.

P:  Te Tiriti o Waitangi is a great foundation for upholding tino rangatiratanga, but only if it is acknowledged, upheld and respected – for the vast majority of the country’s colonial history it has not been – but for most of my life, it has. When upheld, it ensures checks and balances against all kinds of unsavoury undertakings – from deep-sea mining, to resource over exploitation. It also has provisions for indigenous peoples (I say this broadly as this is something few colonising states consider) to voice their wisdom, which benefits EVERYONE –  It pays to listen to the people who have resided in an area for centuries regarding land use, especially if that land is prone to ecological collapse, wild weather or periodic violent geological activity. My kuia (grandmother) taught me some basic Te Reo from a young age, but I didn’t start aiming for fluency until I moved to Wellington in 2015. I was fortunate enough that Te Wānanga o Aotearoa was offering free year-long courses to learn Te Reo, and I attended those for 3 years, ending up in a full immersion programme which got me to fluency. I still struggle following some of Te Karere (Māori TV’s main news media) and whaikōrero (traditional oratory at community gatherings), but I can get the gist of most things and have conversations with other fluent speakers. I’m really fortunate that I have had the privilege to do this – especially as my grandmother was herself struck by teachers for speaking it at her school – they would send the kids to the forest at the edge of the school yard and have them collect kareao/supplejack which is a tough vine. They’d then strike the kids who were speaking Māori with the kareao. If I ever have kids I want them to be bilingual, te reo will be in and around the home always – but in central Wellington I really struggle to find others to kōrero with if I’m not attending a class. I have noticed that this is changing, with more and more people attending these courses.

From both a national perspective and your own experience, how do you think relationships between different communities in Aotearoa and public opinion have changed in recent years?

A:  I think people who have come from other countries have started to educate themselves more on te Tiriti and the Maori people and I saw at the Hikoi just how united we are.

P: I am saying this as someone of mixed Māori-Pākehā ancestry – and someone who is white passing: I really think Pākehā New Zealanders who show solidarity need to skill up a lot more on Te Tiriti and the country’s history. I’m not saying this to the gleefully ignorant or the overtly racist Pākehā, I’m saying this to the allies flying the tino rangatiratanga flag and joining us on the hīkoi: it’s so great to see you here, nau mai haere mai. But please do take the time every now and then to spend some time reading Ranginui Walker, or “Ask That Mountain” or heck, even an afternoon on Wikipedia might be the go. It’s frustrating seeing lots of well intentioned people still lacking a basic understanding of the country’s history or even worse – spouting a false colonial narrative (there are many). It’s not their fault entirely: New Zealand’s education curriculum has explicitly left chapters of our country out, and teachers have been woefully underequipped at best and reluctant at worst. Since the hīkoi last year I have noticed some improvement here: I’m not hearing many “allies” disparaging the Treaty anymore (I think many tended to assume the Treaty was an evil document made to “trick” Māori – not a particularly accurate or helpful narrative).

How do you think the political situation regarding this issue will evolve?

P:  I worry at times. The toxic algorithm-driven vitriol that has lobotomised public discourse in the USA seems to be bedding down the world over, and I don’t think we are immune. This current coalition government is deep in the sheets with two proponents of such discourse – David Seymour and Winston Peters. Both are invoking “anti-woke” rhetoric, erasing historical context, dismissing nuance and employing false narratives in their political strategies. But seeing the nation turn out to denounce this bullshit is inspiring.

Various movements have emphasized the connection between the Treaty and other issues, such as environmental, financial, and technological matters. What are your thoughts on this?

P: As I mentioned above, the Treaty has been an effective safeguard against capital-driven exploitation of our natural environment. Looking ahead I won’t be surprised if it can also function to safeguard data rights and other taonga at the intersection of society and technology.

What forms do you think activism will take in the coming months or years?

P: Last year’s hīkoi was based on the Land March of 1975. There’s a long tradition of activism in this country, and we have many noble ancestors to look to for guidance.
Titiro whakamuri, haere whakamua.
We look back before we go forward.

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Toitū te Tiriti, Cuba Dupa e Waitangi Day

The cover image is by TheLoyalOrder (Wikipedia). All images within the article are by Daniele Gambetta.

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