A Question of Sovereignty

In December, the Māori Kiingi (King) Tuheitia made a royal proclamation to all Māori, calling for a national hui (meeting) based on January 20 at Tūrangawaewae marae, Ngāruawāhia.

The kaupapa (plan, set of principles) for this meeting was to create a space for Māori to come together to discuss Tākiri Tuu Te Kotahitanga, Tākiri Tuu te Mana Motuhake, or ‘Unity together as we strive for self-determination.’

It was prompted largely by a series of initiatives announced by the incoming coalition government, many of which had direct and significant impact on Māori, not least the suggestion that there would be a bill put forward to re-assess the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi, the founding document of New Zealand.

The Treaty of Waitangi

Te Tiriti o Waitangi (The Treaty of Waitangi) is a document signed in 1840 between The Crown and Māori representatives, which is the basis for the formation of New Zealand as an independent nation. Some of the controversy around the Treaty stems from the existence of not one, but two forms — a Māori version, and an English translation — and a ‘misunderstanding’ which lies at the heart, in the use and interpretation of the word ‘sovereignty.’

In the English text of the Treaty, Māori cede sovereignty to the Queen of England. In other words, they surrender their authority, and agree that the Queen can make laws over their people. But in the Māori text they agreed to the Queen’s ‘kāwanatanga’, or governorship. Many experts have said that kāwanatanga was a limited authority and meant the Queen could manage British settlers, while Māori retained the authority to manage their own people.In 2014, the Waitangi Tribunal released a landmark report agreeing with this position, and emphasised that Māori never ceded sovereignty. This has been verified in International Courts of Law, along with confirmation that as the form of the treaty written in the indigenous language, the Māori translation is the definitive version.

Tūrangawaewae (A Place to Stand)

The call to Te iwi Māori to attend the Hui ā Motu was one also made to ‘Tangata Tiriti’ or representatives of co-signees of the Treaty, those committed to ‘Toitu te Tiriti’ — to honour and upload the principles of the Treaty.

It was an invitation I felt called to answer.

I am the son of a Father who travelled from post-war England to make a new home here in New Zealand, and of a second generation New Zealand-born Mother with roots in England also, via Australia. I was born in Kirikiriroa (Hamilton), in the heart of the Waikato, the home of the Tainui iwi.

‘Waikato taniwha rau, he piko he taniwha.’
Waikato of a hundred taniwha (chief), every bend a taniwha (chief).
– Whakatauki (Māori proverb)

Like many Pākehā New Zealanders, I am proud to call this country my home. I feel a resonance with Te Ao Māori (the Māori world), expressed through such things as the beauty of Te Reo (the language) as expressed in words and waiata (songs). Like many, I am stirred by the haka, performed at home and throughout the world as a challenge, an evocation of wairua (spirit) and acknowledgement of whakapapa (ancestry). Through these expressions, I feel a connection with Te Ao Māori, but in my heart there is also a disconnection.

A disconnection, by virtue of not having a lived experience of Te Ao Māori. A disconnection which comes from a growing awareness of the grievances suffered by Māori at the hands of my ancestors. A disconnection which comes from the realisation of the privileges accorded to me by virtue of my birth, and a worldview which has been shaped by this.

—

As a New Zealander, it’s necessary to face an uncomfortable truth about ourselves as a nation, one described articulately by the respected Māori leader, Moana Jackson (1945–2022) Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Porou, and Rongomaiwahine, in a speech he gave in 2017:

‘Part of the dissonance in this country about calling things racist is that there has developed, since 1840, this myth that the colonisation and the dispossession of Māori people was somehow better than the dispossession of other Indigenous peoples. That the Crown was somehow honourable in its determination to take away our lands, our lives, and our power.

But to have a notion of an honourable colonisation, of an honourable dispossession, is fundamentally a contradiction because you can’t honourably dispossess someone of what they are — of their lands, of their history, of their language.

But the creation of the idea of a better-than-somewhere-else colonisation led to the idea that, as a result, race relations between Māori and others were better than anywhere else in the world.’

Attending the Hui

I made my way to the Hui, leaving before sunrise in order to arrive in Ngāruawāhia in time to take part in the pōwhiri (welcome) of the manuhiri (guests) onto the Marae. The guests were made up of representatives of Te Iwi Māori (Māori tribes) from all over the country, and swelled from an anticipated attendance of 3000 to over 10,000.

Tūrangawaewae Marae was a place I had never been to before, but which I had passed by on countless occasions, either when travelling to Ngāruawāhia to play in football matches as a young boy, or seeing the signpost flash by during regular car trips back and forth between Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland) and Kirikiriroa (Hamilton).

I felt honoured to be part of the manuhiri contingent, one of few pākehā amongst representatives of various iwi (tribes) from around the Motu (country). ‘Māori’ are made up of over 70 tribes, and it was hugely significant that many of these tribes had answered the call and attended the hui — given that the Kiingitanga movement (represented by Kiingi Tuheitia) is not universally acknowledged or embraced by all Iwi.

I had the opportunity to meet with some Māori friends and acquaintances, from iwi representing the hosts (Tainui) and other guests, including a delegation from Ngāti Whātua ki Ōrakei: in attendance despite being in an active dispute with their Tainui hosts in the courts around ownership of disputed tribal lands.

Hui ā Motu, Tūrangawaewae Marae

Throughout the day I enjoyed, firsthand, the hospitality inherent in Marae protocol. Everyone was made to feel extremely welcome. Our hosts carried out whichever tasks assigned to them with extraordinary grace and humility — from event speakers and leaders through to those providing food for the event, stewarding people and traffic, or emptying rubbish bins.

Through conversations with those I sat amongst, I learnt of the reality of life for many Māori, in the stories of the generational impact that the dispossession of land and culture has had on people individually and collectively, and the impact that this has had, and still has today, on the wellbeing and economic prospects of generations of Māori.

It was clear, from the kōrero (conversation, the intimate connection Māori have to the whenua (land), to Papatūānuku (the earth), how this is spiritual connection, and why dispossession and displacement has had such a powerful impact on Māori, and indigenous cultures around the world. It also pointed to the spiritual impoverishment of Western culture, where the relationship with the land has been built on ownership, possession, exploitation, rather than an embodied understanding or practice of Kaitiakitanga (guardianship).

Sovereignty, a matter of interpretation

The key theme of the Hui was exploration of Mana Motuhake, (sovereignty) and what this means for Māori. It was clear from conversations that took place, that Māori were willing to hold themselves to account — to measure their actions against the principles of Mana Motuhake, and in some cases see where they have been falling short.

I heard one interpretation of Mana Motuhake as providing a set of clear parameters: that decisions made by individuals are made for the benefit of the collective; that the welfare of the whenua (land) and tangata (people) lie at the heart of every decision; and that these decisions are unequivocally made in the interests of future generations.

Sovereignty, the Western definition

The Oxford Language Dictionary provides several interpretations of the word sovereignty, though the description ‘supreme power or authority’ points to an interpretation which prevails in our Western culture.

Within the paradigm of personal growth and healing, the concept of sovereignty is very different. In this context, sovereignty means having agency and autonomy over your life; being able to make your own decisions, choose who you are in relationship with and how much space to give them in your life. It is having the individual power to walk away from situations, people, and communities that don’t honour your sovereignty.

When one first encounters this concept, in relation to oneself, it’s often accompanied by a determination to establish and assert boundaries, usually when there has been an absence or transgression of them. As such, the first ‘layer’ to realising sovereignty, is a form of separation, the articulation and embodiment of a healthy expression of individuality or self-determination.

And yet, the true manifestation of sovereignty comes in what follows, and what it gives access to. In its authentic expression, along with greater access to personal power and authority, sovereignty confers responsibility, to a set of values, or to other people, and most definitely to matters beyond oneself. Further, rather than constituting a form of complete independence or isolation, personal sovereignty is in fact a prerequisite to establishing healthy and equitable relationships, and partnerships with other people, communities, nations, which requires a respect and honouring of others’ sovereignty.

We could look here to Jung’s King archetype. Though generally associated with the ‘Masculine,’ for the purposes of this article we could regard King as a ‘Sovereign,’ someone in a position of personal leadership or authority, irrespective of gender.

In Jung’s teaching, the embodied King doesn’t create rules just for their own benefit. They make rules that allow everyone to flourish. Rules that allow others to feel safe, protected, and ultimately have access to their own sovereignty.

We only have to cast a glance at the world around us, to see a tendency for sovereignty to be perceived as a way of accessing ‘supreme power or authority:’ a form of sovereignty which lacks a sense of greater responsibility, or respect for others sovereignty. Of course this has had, and still has, enormous consequences on the relationships we have with each other, between nations, and with the Earth itself.

The Double Rainbow

In 1969, New Zealand’s renowned poet James K Baxter moved to Jerusalem on the Whanganui River to establish a community under the mana (jurisdiction) of the local hapū, Ngāti Hau.

In part, this was an experiment Baxter wished to live into, in service of a vision he had for Aotearoa, captured in his poem ‘The Double Rainbow.’

‘The Double Rainbow’ was James K Baxter’s symbol for a mutually regenerative bicultural relationship. He recognised that the Pākehā majority ignored Māori culture, not just to the cost of Māori, but also to its own detriment. Pākehā, he wrote in 1969, a few months before he first moved to Jerusalem,

‘…have lived alongside a psychologically rich and varied minority culture for a hundred years and have taken nothing from it but a few place-names and a great deal of plunder’.

He believed that the Pākehā culture’s material dominance was accompanied by an arrogance and ethnocentrism which left it spiritually impoverished.

‘He has sat sullenly among his machines and account books, and wondered why his soul was full of bitter dust.’

In his writings, Baxter pictured Māori as the tuakana (elder brother), and Pākehā as the teina (younger brother), observing that the teina has refused to learn from the tuakana, and saw this as a missed opportunity.

‘Ko te Māori te tuakana. Ko te Pākehā te teina …’

‘The Double Rainbow’ was a vision Baxter held for Aotearoa, whereby this imbalance was addressed, and rectified.

Source: ‘The Double Rainbow: James K. Baxter, Ngāti Hau and the Jerusalem Commune’ — John Newton: A Review — Jason Goroncy

The King’s speech

To close the Hui, Kiingi Tuheitia addressed the audience. He encouraged Māori to embrace and to embody who they were, as Māori. He reiterated the call for Kotahitanga, (to come together as one), and to live as an expression of Mana Motuhake, individually, collectively, as hapu, as Iwi, in community. He was speaking for, and to Te Iwi Māori, but perhaps, he knew this was a message for a larger audience.

‘By turning up, we have sent a strong message. And that’s a message that has been heard around the world. Today, I started something new, and this is just Day 1.

‘Our time is now. Kotahitanga is the way.’
– Kiingi Tuheitia Pootatau To Wherowhero VII

A new paradigm

It dawned on me, (not for the first time) what could be possible, if New Zealand really did uphold the call to Toitu te Tiriti (Honour the Treaty), and embraced the opportunity it presented, for genuine partnership realised through co-governance. What If the model of governance was provided by the principles of Te Ao Māori, rather than the system of government given to us by our Western liberal democratic system?

But what if we didn’t stop there?

What if Kiingi Tuheitia was on to something else. What if the ‘day 1’ he spoke of was the starting point for a reawakening, a coming together (Kotahitanga) for all humanity, where we ‘remember’ our shared origins, as sovereign, spiritual beings.

‘All Human Beings are descendants of tribal people who were spiritually alive, intimately in love with the natural world, children of Mother Earth. When we were tribal people, we knew who we were, we knew where we were, and we knew our purpose. This sacred perception of reality remains alive and well in our genetic memory. We carry it inside of us, usually in a dusty box in the mind’s attic, but it is accessible.’

– John Trudell

Perhaps this journey begins, with the stand Te Iwi Māori are making, and the model of sovereignty they are being encouraged to embody through Mana Motuhake. It’s a model which ensures individual action is taken for the benefit of the collective; that the wellbeing of the land and people is paramount; and that the interests of future generations lie at the heart of every decision. It’s a model which understands real wealth and prosperity is measured (as overheard during the hui) in ‘‘Mana, (integrity) Mauri (spirit), not money.’

In the words of James K Baxter, the next step in the journey would be for those in power to approach our indigenous brothers and sisters as a younger brother or sister would an older brother or sister, to humbly ask for guidance in the ways of Mana Motuhake, as a step towards the embodiment of Kotahitanga (Oneness, Unity, Harmony).

‘When Māori and Pākehā do these things together the double rainbow begins to shine.’
– James K Baxter