So I’ve been invited as a Tiriti advocate to many different forums – boardrooms, court hearings, mediations, workshops, research projects, lectures… across both public and private sectors, in philanthropy, education, media, I.T., science – suffice to say I’ve seen and heard te Tiriti spoken about in many different ways and settings. After a while, you hear very similar arguments coming up about why people “shouldn’t” or “don’t feel it’s necessary to” honour te Tiriti.

As common as some of these arguments are, I also often hear people fudging their responses, getting flustered, or not quite nailing it as neatly as they could. It has struck me sometimes, that we are much more powerful at talking about why te Tiriti should be honoured, than we are deconstructing arguments against it. So here, I thought I’d compile a list of the top 5 arguments I hear, along with some options for how you respond.

1. “We don’t have a legislated responsibility to honour Te Tiriti”

I’ve heard this one come from universities, polytechnics, schools and even councils. It’s generally arising from the fact that the Act which they have to operate under (eg the Education Act or the Local Government Act). In some spaces it’s called “the statutory silence” argument (our legislation is silent on it so we have no responsibility).

Legally, it’s wrong. Te Tiriti is the constitutional backdrop of all legislation, whether it is mentioned explicitly in their specific act or not, and in part this is because parliament draws its existence from te Tiriti (even though its current form of existence is in violation of te Tiriti). So the legislation, and institutions created through that legislation, arguably wouldn’t exist were it not for te Tiriti.

The legal reality in Aotearoa is that all public institutions who draw funding from the Crown and operate under Crown legislation, carry enduring Tiriti responsibilities unless it is explicitly stated that they do not.

This has been reaffirmed through the courts multiple times, including:

• NZ Māori Council v Attorney-General (1987)
• Huakina Development Trust v Waikato Valley Authority (1987)
• NZ Māori Council v Attorney-General (Broadcasting Assets) (1994)
• Attorney-General v Ngāti Apa (2003)

There is an enduring discussion on whether te Tiriti should be made more enforceable, sure, but that doesn’t depend on whether it is explicitly mentioned in legislation or not. More importantly the question on whether it is constitutionally relevant to ALL legislation has been thoroughly dealt with in law.

Finally, if your moral standard is determined by the bare legal minimum, you’re underserving yourself, and the greater population.

2. “We aren’t a government agency, so te Tiriti doesn’t apply to us”

Usually heard from NGOs, charities, and the private sector. It sounds legally tidy, or at least more legally tidy than the earlier argument, but it rests on a very narrow reading of Te Tiriti and of how power actually works.

It helps to be very succinct and clear here:

Te Tiriti obligations don’t come from being a government agency.

They come from operating within a Treaty-based society and benefiting from Crown authority.

Te Tiriti o Waitangi is a constitutional reality, not a legal technicality. The organisation in question may not be the Crown — but it’s inarguable that they operate because of the Crown’s authority, within a system created through Te Tiriti, and often using powers, assets, or legitimacy that flow from it.

Are responsibilities different for the public sector? Somewhat – the public sector have direct legal duties, but Tiriti expectations and responsibilities exist for everyone in the “nation-state” of New Zealand, because te Tiriti is the basis of the “nation-state” of New Zealand.

Let’s also not forget that the Crown regularly out-sources their work to NGOs and the private sector, and often rely upon private companies for carrying out governmental duties. If none of these groups had any Tiriti responsibilities, the Crown could evade all of its own Tiriti obligations by simply outsourcing everything. Unsurprisingly, the Courts have also repeatedly dismissed this argument, and the arguments in point 2 absolutely apply here.

But even if your business is not dealing with duties that were delegated by the Crown, te Tiriti is a social contract, it is the foundation of our nation, and it is absolutely intended to guide how power operates in Aotearoa.

3. “We treat everyone the same”

And similar variations such as “Māori are a stakeholder, alongside many others” or “We believe in equality” or “We don’t single out any one group” or “We apply the same rules to everyone” or “We don’t do identity politics”.

This argument is a big old red-flag that you’re probably dealing with someone who harbours anti-Māori hostility. Don’t get angry, that will just reaffirm to them their own biases. Instead, you’re going to unpick their argument to expose it for what it is, by pointing out the following:  

1. This argument is based on the assumption that te Tiriti is about special benefits to Māori – that is a commonly held assumption (and is often why we see “Treaty matters” placed in the corner under “Māori issues”) – and it is wrong. Te Tiriti is not a “Māori” issue – it is the basis of this entire country. The only people who received new benefits from te Tiriti was (and still is) Non-Māori. Te Tiriti is what allowed non-Māori to call this place home, and it outlined the conditions for their ability to do that.

2. New Zealand, as a nation-state, has been built off of the economic and political dispossession of Māori, and not only does that drive enduring reality today, but it is also not a historical artifact – much of what was taken illegitimately, still remains taken. New Zealand systems, by default, provide much less opportunity for Māori to thrive in the same way as Non-Māori (and particularly pākehā) do. Equality as a moral principle and human rights standard is never meant to mean “keep treating oppressed people the same as unoppressed people, to maintain the oppression” – in fact Human Rights authorities say exactly the opposite: in instances where a history (or enduring reality) of oppression exists, you must treat groups differently, in order to attain equality.

3. Te Tiriti is also not a moral argument to be pitted against human rights standards such as equality. It is a constitutional document which provides the basis of non-Māori existence in Aotearoa-New Zealand. Te Tiriti was put in place precisely to protect the human rights of Māori from the harms of colonial greed and imperial expansion. The story of human rights abuses against Māori can be told very accurately through the story of Tiriti violations, which is available to read through the Waitangi Tribunal reports. For these reasons and more, numerous human rights bodies and organisations acknowledge te Tiriti o Waitangi as a human rights document, and the United Nations Human Rights Council has repeatedly called for it to be understood and honoured throughout Aotearoa. If you are interested in human rights such as equality, you would enthusiastically embrace the honouring of te Tiriti.

4. “We don’t deal with Māori”

Heard this one from a lab one time: “But we deal with specimens and bacteria we don’t deal with Māori, we don’t even deal with humans”. Ok but apart from the fact that this was a Crown funded lab (so straight to point 1) – that science will inevitably be used in a way that impacts upon Māori, if it is in Aotearoa-New Zealand. Whether it’s science for curing cancer (and who do you think is the most likely group to have cancer), or measuring water samples (taken from which awa?) – questions of where you got the sample from, and how, and for what purpose, and whose benefit, will inevitably lead you back to your Treaty responsibilities. But that’s just one context. Other versions of this colonial logic include:

• “Our work isn’t Māori-facing.”
• “We don’t deliver services to iwi/hapū.”
• “We work with the whole population.”

In which case, I recommend you refer them back to point 3a, as this is clearly a case of people misunderstanding who Te Tiriti is for. Te Tiriti is not just about delivering Māori programs and services – it is about how power is managed in Aotearoa. It is about governance, decision-making, participation in power, and protection of taonga. It doesn’t matter if its in a lab, or with animals, or with “all of New Zealand, or even specifically with non-Māori groups, it doesn’t matter if it’s publicly or privately funded – To be crystal clear:  If your work is in Aotearoa-New Zealand, or for Aotearoa-New Zealand, you have Tiriti responsibilities.

5. “But look we have these other “tanga” principles”

A common practice, particularly in the private sector, is to contract Māori consultants to develop principle documents, usually laden with tikanga-based terms like “manaakitanga”; “aroha” etc etc, and then present that as a supplement for a Tiriti statement, or real analysis and response towards their Tiriti responsibilities. It’s like they feel that they can use tikanga and good intentions to make te Tiriti redundant. Yeah, nah.

Look, nobody is going to argue against being tikanga-led, but that doesn’t not replace your Tiriti responsibilities. One of the issues with replacing Tiriti responsibilities with tikanga statements is that tikanga can be very amorphous and interpretive, and there is no system for accountability in how it is interpreted or applied. People can, and do, often make it up their own broad interpretation that operates as a costume, while they go about violating Tiriti-affirmed rights such self-determination, protection of taonga, or equity. Te Tiriti o Waitangi is a promise – if you are at all interested in honouring tikanga, start with honouring te Tiriti. Honouring promises is a very basic tikanga that applies to everyone, and ignoring that promise violates most, if not all tikanga Māori. Start with honouring te Tiriti, and that will frame all other tikanga that you may wish to also honour. Ignore and violate te Tiriti, and your other tikanga become at best superficial, and at worst, forms of exploitation of te reo and Mātauranga Maōri.

There are more arguments, but these are a handy top 5. Feel free to drop me a line on Patreon if you have other fictitious anti-Tiriti arguments you’d like deconstructed.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the years watching how racism is covered in our media here in Aotearoa. Sometimes it’s what’s said that shocks me. More often, it’s how things are said — or what gets left out altogether. While racism, and the reporting of it have been longstanding issues, what we can see is that when racialised conflicts and political racism increases, so too does poor racism coverage in media.

I don’t believe most journalists set out to cause harm. Many genuinely want to shine a light on injustice. But intention doesn’t cancel impact. And when it comes to racism, our media has too often become a megaphone for harmful narratives — not because journalists are all bad actors, but because the structures, habits, and “rules of the game” they’re working within are unsafe.

This isn’t just a local issue. Globally, media has played a role in shifting the boundaries of what’s seen as normal — especially when it comes to racism and far-right politics. What used to be fringe is now mainstream. What used to cause outrage now barely raises an eyebrow. And that shift doesn’t happen by accident.

Media isn’t neutral

One of the myths I often hear is that media “just reports what’s happening”. But media doesn’t simply reflect society; it shapes it. Every headline, every decision about who to interview, what photo to use, what gets described as “a clash” versus “a racist attack” — these all tell us something about whose voices are prioritised, and whose experiences are minimised.

Scholar Daniel Nyberg talks about this in his research on democracy and corporate power. He describes how corporations shape political life not just through lobbying or donations, but by influencing the public sphere — the space where we talk about what matters. Media is a huge part of that public sphere. When media organisations depend on corporate funding, clicks, or political access, it’s easy for certain narratives to dominate while others are drowned out. That isn’t a conspiracy; it’s a structural reality.

Much of the wealth that is today invested in large-scale media corporations is racialised wealth (by racialised wealth I mean wealth that is derived or accessed by racist means), it drops out of a history of colonial privilege that has lined older, white male pockets. This is not an accidental or innocent investment, media platforms are purchased by the wealthy in order to powerfully influence the public sphere in a way that protects their privilege. Just as its true that no journalist sets out to do harm, it’s also true that no media magnate invests in a platform without self-protection in mind. I can tell you now, for free, who holds the trump card in that scenario (pun intended). This is as true for social media oligarchs as it is for mainstream media oligarchs. The age of a “democratised internet” are well and truly over.

So even when journalists do have the intention to tell important stories which hold power to account and expose colonial harm, the colonial political-economy can operate against them. For example, political and social figures and corporations in Aotearoa with access to racialised wealth regularly threaten defamation suits against media companies and journalists. Mainstream media outfits are now more cautious than ever, and this leads to their lawyers consistently compelling journalists to censor themselves. Even though they may not ultimately win the case, the result can still be an expensive courtcase, which is affordable to the politician/public figure/corporation but financially harmful to the journalist, and the media corporation will also often opt to censor rather than taking on the expense. Ironically, some of the most litigious politicians and public figures in Aotearoa are also some of the loudest proponents of “free speech”.

In a democracy, when the space where we form our collective understanding gets distorted, everything else follows. It becomes harder for certain communities to be heard, for injustices to be named, and for racist structures to be challenged. This is exactly how racism infiltrates institutions of power, eventuating in racist policy and legislation.

Journalists who ignore their own power in this space are particularly unsafe. I have often heard journalists describe themselves as just “one of the public”. When your readership or viewership runs into the multi-millions every quarter, you are not just “one of the public” – you have a responsibility to deeply consider the language and framing you employ. Many journalists, like much colonial power, prefer to sit in the background, named maybe once if you look hard enough, but have their hands on powerful levers of influence, which they will use to manufacture and direct scorn or praise as they see fit. Accountability in this space is thin – the public can complain to the media council or broadcasting standards, but these, too, are shaped and constrained by colonial privilege and norms, and limited in enforceability.

How harmful narratives spread

In 2018, researcher Whitney Phillips wrote The Oxygen of Amplification — a project that should be required reading for anyone working in media. She studied how well-meaning journalists ended up amplifying extremist content by covering it in ways that gave it more reach than it could have ever achieved on its own.

Sometimes this happens through endless “both sides” framing. Sometimes it’s by giving a platform to bad-faith actors and treating their views as just another perspective in the debate. And sometimes it’s through uncritical repetition of language, images, or memes that extremists have deliberately crafted to be catchy, relatable and shareable.

Once these narratives enter mainstream media, they don’t stay fringe. They get laundered. They get normalised.

A recent study by Bolet and Foos tested what happens when audiences are exposed to interviews with far-right figures. Even when the interviewer pushed back critically, the mere act of platforming those voices shifted audience perceptions — people started to think those views were more widespread and acceptable.

That’s the quiet power of media: it doesn’t need to shout for norms to shift. Just repeated exposure will do.

The slow slide of what’s “normal”

This is where things get dangerous. Over time, repeated exposure to racist or far-right talking points through mainstream media leads to what researchers call discursive normalisation. Basically, the edges of the conversation move. The unacceptable becomes debatable. Then it becomes “just an opinion.” Then it becomes mainstreamed, and then it becomes policy.

Normalisation can also influence what is perceived as the “middle-ground”, a favoured site of media positioning. The “middle”, however, is always shaped by the edges of the conversation. Within the “middle ground” we find conservatives who may not use overt hate-speech, but cloak their racism in more neutralised terms. They function to make “racism-lite” seem reasonable and rational. Their most powerful purpose is to make folks in the center feel interested, and accommodated enough to shift across to increasingly more conservative forums.

So the concept of locating the discussion on the “middle-ground” can often be a bad-faith one. When we apply a power and privilege analysis to discussions on racism, and take into account the way in which conservative political power and finance have shaped and dominated the conversation for centuries – accommodating conservative views is not actually the “middle-ground”.

But more important than that – racism is not a collection of debatable opinions and vibes. It is a human rights framework backed with decades of activism and scholarly discipline, and it is ultimately, unavoidably tied into people’s rights of existence. It is not subject to debate, and cannot be “won” by debate. Even if an antiracism “wins” a debate on racism, the fact it has been promoted it as a debatable issue means anti-racism has lost.

We’ve seen this happen overseas — with the rise of far-right populism in Europe and the US — and we’re seeing it here too. What used to be called out as racism is now often framed as “free speech” or “cultural debate.” Journalists might think they’re holding space for diverse views, but without critical framing, they can unintentionally legitimise exclusionary ideas.

Common patterns in unsafe reporting

Here are a few patterns I see over and over in Aotearoa’s media:

• “Neutral” language that hides racism: Using vague terms like “clashes” or “tensions” instead of naming racist attacks for what they are (e.g. NZ media coverage of Israel’s invasion and genocide in Gaza is a prime example of this)
• Both-sidesism: Giving equal weight to racist positions and anti-racist positions, as if racism is just a difference of opinion.
• De-expertising: Removing racism from its disciplinary context (a context that has grown out of decades of activism and scholarship) to re-frame it as social issue that everyone can have an equally valid opinion upon.
• Centring colonial authority: In some instances Police, politicians, and other colonial institutions are quoted as the default authorities, while communities experiencing harm are treated as secondary (for example, most media stories regarding incarcerated people are told with input from police, politicians and ministries, but rarely incarcerated people or their families themselves).
• Coded language: Words like “radical”, “welfare dependent,” “cultural clash” get used as if they’re objective, but they carry heavy racial undertones.
• Platforming provocateurs: Giving airtime to those who deliberately incite racial division, under the guise of “balance” or “controversy.”
• Radicalising justice: One way in which hate is normalised, occurs when simple justice or affirmative action measures (like self-determination, decolonisation or even stepping stones like co-governance) are framed as “radical” and “dangerous” rather than corrections to a state of injustice.
• Racialised ideas of what is “newsworthy”: News items that cast racialised groups in a negative light can often be picked up and recycled repeatedly, compared to similar instances where the exact same behaviour from conservative corners are ignored, or only covered once.
• Racist sub-editing: Headlines that use intentionally inflammatory language or misrepresent the issue entirely in order to entice clicks.

Most journalists don’t intend to reinforce racism when they do this. Often they’re just working fast, with little support, under pressure to deliver clicks or to appear “balanced.” But in a country where racism is still deeply structural, and at a time where race relations are at their most strained, these patterns actively contribute to harm, regardless of intent.

A better way is possible

This isn’t about blaming individual journalists. It’s about recognising the responsibility and power that comes with controlling public narratives — and then making conscious choices to use that power responsibly.

There are some excellent resources already out there to help journalists do this:

The Oxygen of Amplification – Tips for Reporters: https://datasociety.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/FULLREPORT_Oxygen_of_Amplification_DS.pdf
Ethical Journalism Network – Racism Reporting Toolkit: https://ethicaljournalismnetwork.org/resources/publications/racism-reporting-toolkit

The Race Forward Race Reporting Guide: https://www.raceforward.org/resources/toolkits/race-reporting-guide

Some tips for covering Indigenous communities, for non-Natives by Valerie Vande Panne: https://www.poynter.org/commentary/2023/here-are-some-tips-for-covering-indigenous-communities-for-non-natives/

UNESCO’s guide on reporting migration, xenophobia and hate speech: https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000378157

An invitation, not a condemnation

I’ve worked with journalists who genuinely want to do better — and many of them are frustrated, too. They want support, better training, safer editorial environments, and less pressure to chase controversy for clicks.

This is an invitation: let’s have that conversation more openly. Let’s build media practices that don’t just avoid harm, but actively strengthen our democracy and our collective capacity to name and address racism.

Media has incredible power. With that power comes responsibility. And if we take that responsibility seriously, media can be part of dismantling racism, not reinforcing it.

Deputy Prime Minister David Seymour’s attack on United Nations Special Rapporteur Albert K. Barume is not just embarrassing — it is cowardly, dishonest, and a direct insult to Māori and the United Nations.

Special Rapporteur Barume is a highly respected United Nations dignitary, appointed by the Human Rights Council, who has written to the New Zealand government on the request of Māori leaders. His mandate is to monitor and report on the rights of Indigenous peoples. His letter to the Government followed a wave of Māori concerns expressed at United Nations forums over the past 18 months — concerns about the coalition agreement, the Treaty Principles Bill, the Regulatory Standards Bill and the consistent undermining of Māori rights on all fronts.

Barume’s concerns were not extreme nor misplaced. He echoed what Māori legal experts, Iwi leaders, constitutional scholars, organisations and submitters across the country have said in the select committee hearings this past week: that the Regulatory Standards Bill poses a credible risk to settlements, disrespects tikanga and Māori governance, marginalises Māori, and imposes monocultural standards.

Seymour’s response was to accuse Barume’s concerns as “presumptive”, “condescending”, an “affront to New Zealand sovereignty” and to suggest the UN was meddling in domestic affairs. He completely disregards the fact that commenting on human rights issues of member states is precisely what human rights rapporteurs are there to do. This is exactly how the international rule of law is upheld, through international agreements between states that are monitored by commitees and rapporteurs. Once New Zealand starts abusing those mechanisms, we lose the right to hold other nations to human rights standards, and the end result is a lawless international order.

What’s truly condescending is Seymour’s refusal to acknowledge that Māori have the right to international protection. Indigenous peoples everywhere fought for mechanisms like the UN Declaration for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and the Special Rapporteur precisely because of colonial governments that undermine our rights while claiming to speak for us.

Seymour’s claim that Barume “misunderstands” the bill is the same tired dismissal he’s used to silence all critics of the bill — Māori and non-Māori alike. Even if it were true that the bill is broadly misunderstood – that, too would fall at the feet of the Minister responsible for socialising the bill: Seymour.

In a letter of many lowpoints, perhaps the lowest is Seymour’s invoking of his ancestry. It is commonly noted by Māori that the only time David Seymour mentions his Māori ancestry is for the purposes of deflecting criticism over his abuse of Māori. This cowardly and abhorrent weilding of ones whakapapa devalues what it is to be Māori, and is an affront to Māori across Aotearoa. Regardless of any claim to whakapapa, it remains the case that David Seymour is leading a direct legislative assault upon Māori, the likes of which has not seen or experienced in generations. Consequentially, David Seymour is commonly reviled by Māori communities across the nation, making his reference to “my fellow Māori” laughable. If he truly saw Māori as “his people” then the resounding, repeated chorus of Māori disgust at his behaviour would mean something. He has made it clear that it does not.

And let us not forget the tone Seymour himself has used in this debate. He has directed hate towards individuals and led a smear campaign that has included doxxing and violent threats. He has weaponised mental health rhetoric to mock and undermine those who oppose the bill. His hostile condescension towards people who engaged with democratic processes in good faith have been an embarrassment at a national level, and now international level. His conduct and commentary has been far more offensive than the stated concerns by Special Rapporteur Barume.

The irony is sharp. Seymour often claims to be a defender of “human rights” and “equality before the law.” Yet here he has shown contempt for the very institutions — like the Human Rights Council — tasked with developing and upholding those principles. If Seymour truly believed in the values he espouses, he would welcome scrutiny, not vilify it as meddling in national sovereignty

During the recent select committee hearings on the bill, numerous submitters raised alarm about the lasting impact of the Regulatory Standards Bill upon New Zealand’s international reputation. In my own submission I highlighted that the bill risks violating seven of the eight binding human rights agreements that New Zealand is party to, in addition to the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

It is further noteable that David Seymour, who specified that his is speaking in his capacity as Minister for Regulation — has taken it upon himself to launch an aggressive foreign policy attack on a United Nations official, while Winston Peters, the actual Minister of Foreign Affairs, has yet to comment. International correspondence of this nature, particularly when it concerns New Zealand’s reputation and human rights obligations, should fall within the remit of the Foreign Minister. Seymour’s overreach into foreign affairs not only undermines ministerial boundaries, but risks dragging New Zealand’s international standing through the mud on Peters’ watch. While there have been numerous mentions of the “tail waggging the dog” in this coalition government, that has largely been directed towards a feckless Luxon. What we are apparently now seeing is Seymour also assuming the right to sideline his other coalition partner Peters as the Foreign Affairs Minister. His inflammatory rhetoric, directed at a UN-appointed official, stomps right over diplomatic decorum and makes New Zealand look defensive and hostile to international oversight.

Barume was absolutely right to question the coalition agreement, which includes commitments that could only be fulfilled through the erosion of Indigenous, human and environmental rights — including the promise to reject UNDRIP’s legal standing and the prioritisation of a bill that flies in the face of Human Rights Council recommendations. The man is doing his job.

Seymour’s letter isn’t about defending national sovereignty. It’s about avoiding accountability — to Māori, to international standards, to actual human rights, and to the truth.

New Zealanders deserve better than a minister who lashes out when faced with legitimate concerns about human rights. The world is watching. Seymour may not welcome external scrutiny — but he cannot escape it, and there will be plenty more of it.

Kia Ora e te whānau – Attached is my written Brief of Evidence for the Waitangi Tribunal, which looks at the Doctrine of Discovery as a driver of colonial misogyny experienced by wāhine taketake and therefore wāhine Māori.

My spoken evidence is available here. Please be aware, the spoken evidence is raw, and may require processes of tuku to process.

Toitū te whenua tapu
Toitū te Tiriti o Waitangi

Franz Fanon said that the first victim of colonial violence is the colonial mind itself. For it must first excise itself of its most precious gifts of humanity: compassion, empathy, and love beyond oneself – in order to dehumanise others.

I thought about him a lot as I drove through the French countryside, approaching the Alps. I went there, on my way to Geneva, to connect with their taiao – because in my experience, if you really want to understand a people, you go to their taiao.  As the townships and farmlands gave way to rocky cliffs, marked with cascading water falling from great heights, it reminded me of Piopiotahi, and another conversation from my past came to the forefront of my consciousness.

Some years ago I was meeting with Chief Arvol Looking Horse, 19th Generation Keeper of the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Pipe, and Spiritual Leader of the Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota Oyate, known as the Great Sioux Nation. I was interviewing him about the Doctrine of Discovery in his loungeroom. I had a conundrum to place before him.

“We want a peaceful resolution to all of this, right?”

“Mhmm”

“At the same time, power doesn’t cede itself, does it?”

“No”

“How do we reconcile that?”

His response was solemn, but calm and resolute:

“We must pray for the colonizer”

I nodded, but inside, I recoiled. How could I carry what I know about colonialism and what it has done and still does to our peoples, to all Indigenous peoples, and to our Ātua, and to our planet, and find it within myself to offer a prayer for them?

I left with immense respect for his own spiritual strength. I knew he meant it with his whole heart but I clocked it up to something I could never do, and that I would leave for them, with their grace and spiritual fortitude, to do for us all.

That was before Trump, before Covid, before QAnon and the March 15^th  attacks. Before the Coalition of Chaos and the attack upon our Treaty.

Before the world went into colonial hyperdrive.

These days I teach about the Doctrine of Discovery, and in all workshops I center the theme of sacredness. I speak to the importance of denying sacredness in order to turn land, water and people into commodities. I speak to the importance of restoring Indigenous sacredness as a response to the harm of the Doctrine. I speak to the Great Killing of the Americas, where so many sources of CO2 were taken from the Earth eco-system over a short period that it caused a climate disruption, a mini ice-age in northern Europe, which was mistaken as witchcraft in many villages, and led to women healers and midwives, those who retained the remaining vestiges of the sacred connection to nature in northern Europe, being killed en-masse.

And so now in 2025 I found myself driving through the European countryside, seeing the ancient walls of rock, the ice, the waterfalls. I thought of a talk I had with my Nan a long time ago about waterfalls… she’d said that one thing about waterfalls is that if you sit by them when you’re angry, no matter how angry you are, they will continue to just do what they have always done – flow. They will outlast your rage, calm you, and they will simply keep falling long after you’ve stopped being upset.

There was a permanence in that sharing, at that time. Except today – today – water is starting to dry up, and its no longer a given that the water will fall. I don’t think she ever thought that day would come. I don’t think I ever thought it would either, but here we are, and now the waterfall also needs us to pray.

I knew at that moment that when we arrived to our destination in the Alps, I would say a prayer. At the very least, from my mountain to theirs. From my ancestors to theirs. If not for the colonial brutes, then at the very least, for the healers, the midwives, those who held sacredness in relationship to nature. Before Nicaea, before Constantine, before the Vatican, before sacredness became attached to a vestige of a European man adorned in riches extracted from Papatuanuku.

We ascended the Alps, above Chamonix, and the view of the township gave way to frosted forests, which gave way to stunning blue sky and snowy mountain peaks, which gave way to even more snowy clouds, and huge rocky outcrops and we arrived on the upper slopes of Aiguille-du-Midi.

There was zero visibility, and that’s ok, I wasn’t there for the view. I was there to meet with their Ātua taiao. There, on the heights of Aiguilles-du-Midi, on the Mont Blanc range of the French Alps, I welcomed the snow, the wind, all of the elements. I acknowledged the ancient power of that place, the forces of nature which still held ultimate dominance even though it had been built upon and commodified by man. I knew that even if all that remains is a smouldering ember of a connection to sacred taiao, then it can again be restored. If that sacredness was still there, it was still in their mokopuna as well. It gave me hope, for them.

The following week was spent in Geneva at the Human Rights Council, and as is always the case, I listened to case, after case, after case of extreme human rights abuses against men, women, children. Against health practitioners, storytellers, human rights protectors. I watched power and rage contort itself into righteousness, as member states defended themselves… and I thought about another thought leader, and consciousness-diver, Ta-Nehisi Coates, who more recently reflected on the way in which harm begets harm, and how a disregard for human life can create more disregard for human life.

I really want you to watch this, because he says it so powerfully – in the interview, Ta-Nehisi Coates challenges us all to consider at what point do we give ourselves permission to strip someone else of their sacredness, and carry out harm.

For weeks, I have pondered over this point. At what point, in the dehumanisation, the degradation, the unrelenting harm, do we permit ourselves to visit that harm upon others, in the pursuit of our liberation. I sat in the United Nations and watched, for yet another year, as organisations, peoples, communities, and member states traded stories of righteousness, entitlement, condemnation and harm. I watched, yet again, as rights defenders like me tried to navigate our own trauma, our own wounds of distrust, and wondered… At what point do we undermine even our own because we have lost faith in each other as humans, or even as brothers and sisters in the same fight? At what point do we hoard power, because we think we know best?

At what point do we allow ourselves to become colonisers?

I want to be clear here, I include myself in this query. Like everyone I was observing, I have my people I trust, and those I don’t. I’m keenly aware that we need to be discerning, and strategic, but I’m also aware that this, too, can tip over into harm, and that we can sometimes, in the snowstorm, we can lose visibility of our humanity.

My mind again returned to Pāpā Arvol’s words: we need to pray for the coloniser. It took me nearly ten years to gain visibility, but I could finally see it. I didn’t have to hug them, I didn’t have to condone their behaviour, but I did need to dig deep, and pray for the end of colonialism, everywhere, in every heart and mind– and that meant praying for the coloniser. In that moment, up on their maunga, I also knew which prayer I would invoke. A karakia composed by Nuki Tākao that would invoke a re-weaving of the sacredness of each individual.

On the Thursday, we gathered as Indigenous mokopuna, all of us, to pray. We stood in a circle on the grounds of the United Nations, that belly of imperial powers, and smudged together, and offered our prayers. We were led by Aunty Charmaine White Face, spokesperson for the 1894 Sioux Nation Treaty Council.

I removed my shoes so I could feel the soil beneath my feet, and thought of that sacred place atop their mountains, and connect my prayer to that prayer.

I prayed for the coloniser

to weave themselves back into the sacredness of their own taiao

to restore the sacredness of their own humanity

and in doing so, once again uplift the sacredness

of all people

and skies

and lands

and waters

I prayed for the ember of sacredness,

still embedded in the heights of their mountains

to come alight, once more

in every colonial consciousness.

I prayed for the withered, dried colonial heart

To receive sacred glacial water once more

Before they run out

To soften, to grow plump,

and pulse, full of life and love once more.

I prayed for colonial walls to come down

Both walls around people

And walls around hearts and minds

I prayed for colonisers

To find their way home once more

To their ukaipō

The breast that feeds them in the night

To their kurawaka

The sacred soils that forged their ancestors

I prayed for the coloniser to recover their sacredness

And hold tight to it, hold tight like it was their last connection to life, and everything good

Because it is.

I prayed for the coloniser in them,

And in doing so, I prayed for the coloniser in myself.

Ko te whiri, ko te whatu, ko te whakairo

Nau mai e Hine haramai e Hine ki te whare pōrā

Ko te whenua, ko te whakatipu, ko te whānautanga mai

Nau mai e Hine haramai e Hine ki te whare tangata

Whakawaioratia te manawa kōpiri

Whakahokia mai te tapu o Ueuenuku o Ueuerangi

o ngā wai whakaheke, o ngā wai koopu

o ngā mokopuna, o ngā tuhi māreikura

o ngā tiriti kua takea mai i Kurawaka

Kia toitū ai te whenua

Kia toitū ai te moana

Kia toitū ai te mana motuhake o ngā iwi taketake o te ao

Kia whiri, whiria kia tina, tina

Haumi e, hui e, taiki e.