Why I Am Joining the Hīkoi And Understand Those Who Support the Treaty Principles Bill
Why I Am Joining the Hīkoi And Understand Those Who Support the Treaty Principles Bill
Can these incompatible ideas coexist? Not just in society but in our laws, institutions, and, perhaps most importantly, within ourselves? I believe they do, they should, and they can.
The Treaty Principles Bill is a pivotal moment in New Zealand's history. Watching the videos from its first reading in the House last week is electrifying—an intense reflection of the emotions and divisions it stirs. It should shake anyone to their core.
The force of Māori advocacy—fighting not just for themselves but for the collective good—is undeniably larger than life. Their force is deafening.
I don’t support the Treaty Principles Bill. It’s bad policy—politically theatrical at best, given that it’s unlikely to pass its first reading. But dismissing it outright and oversimplifying the profound tensions it represents is also a colossal mistake.
At its heart lies a complex web of questions. How do we reconcile the Te Tiriti o Waitangi with the frameworks of a liberal, democratic, capitalist nation-state? How do we balance the bicultural foundation that defines Aotearoa with its increasingly multicultural reality? Over 150 languages are spoken in our Pacific nation. Can these incompatible ideas coexist—not just in society but in our laws, institutions, and, perhaps most importantly, within ourselves? I believe they do, they should, and they can.
I wrote about the relationship between biculturalism and multiculturalism earlier in the year here
Today, as the Hīkoi mō te Tiriti reaches Wellington with an expected crowd of 30,000 people, reflecting on these questions in the context of Aotearoa’s social cohesion feels poignant, sensitive, and critical.
Social cohesion examines how diverse societies can coexist with competing views and whether shared values are necessary to make that coexistence work.
If shared values are required, who decides what those values are? Who defines our national identity? What actual shared values do we hold? I argue we don’t have shared values and must instead learn how to coexist within the new political and cultural revolution unfolding in Aotearoa and worldwide.
Last week, I attended the International Indigenous Research Conference, which brought together over 200 delegates from Aotearoa, Australia, Canada, the USA, Taiwan, and Norway. It was a heavy place to be—as a tauiwi of colour, a PhD student, and a Mexican migrant woman. I deeply believe in liberal democracy as one of the most promising forms of governance of the past century. At the same time, I live with contradictions in my identity.
I am both colonizer and colonized, having sacrificed everything to live in a liberal capitalist democracy while witnessing and being brought to my knees by the violence of institutional discrimination. It’s a complex body and mind to inhabit, and one many of us hold.
Many of us come from different places without a sense of whakapapa or tūrangawaewae—two concepts that I struggle to identify with and find deeply painful to think or talk about. The impulse to reject them is loud. Most of us hold multiple identities and grapple with layers of complexity in our thoughts and experiences, which can often feel paralyzing. I wish we spoke more openly about these tensions instead of cancelling them out depending on who we are talking to or what sort of debate we are on.
So I understand the urge to oversimplify, to make things feel manageable in the face of this weight. Yet, my plea is to resist that urge. Oversimplifying complex issues erases their depth and paves the way for figures like Trump and other populist strongmen, whose leadership is, at best, ineffective and, at worst, catastrophic.
One of the most illuminating resources I’ve encountered to grapple with this complexity is Matthew Wright’s Waitangi, a Living Treaty. Wright explores how colonial policies leading to the Treaty’s signing wove an intricate web that demands ongoing untangling. Over time, the Treaty has evolved far beyond its 1840 text. Its three clauses—just 176 words in te reo Māori and 226 in English—are modest compared to founding documents of other nations. Yet its brevity belies its power.
For context:
The United States Declaration of Independence is 1,337 words.
The U.S. Constitution originally spanned 4,543 words.
England’s Magna Carta runs to 63 clauses and around 4,478 words in English.
Te Tiriti o Waitangi, by contrast, is short but deeply significant. It is now recognized as a foundational document—not just of the Aotearoa but of a partnership between peoples. Its importance rivals even the Constitution Act of 1852, which established our democracy. Today, according to the Economist Democracy Index, New Zealand stands as one of just 19 fully expressed democracies worldwide.
Wright’s work highlights why this brief, functional document from 1840 continues to provoke heated debates—and even hostility—today. The answer lies not in the literal words of the Treaty or the intentions of its signatories but in the way it has been reimagined and reinterpreted over time. Its power comes from its conceptualization as a shared social idea. The Treaty has become a mirror reflecting broader societal shifts and struggles—about power, justice, belonging, and what it means to share this land.
The themes of last week’s conference—sovereignty, justice, resistance, empowerment, and well-being—are values I hold for everyone in this debate, whether they oppose or support the Treaty Principles Bill.
I do this because I am, in some ways, both.
I oppose the bill and also wrestle deeply with reconciling a Treaty-based foundation with today’s institutional legacies and hyper-diverse society. Is this right or wrong? Many people on both sides of the debate will judge me strongly and tell me that it’s not hard or confusing—that you are either in or out. But I stand in the truth of the complexities of these issues and my identity within them.
Grappling with the Treaty and policies like the Treaty Principles Bill demands that we embrace tension rather than undermine and punish each other. It asks us to hold space for competing truths, confront the discomfort of complexity, and resist oversimplification for everyone’s sake.
I write this from a deep sense of honesty, cultural respect, and radical compassion toward myself, those I disagree with, and those who disagree with me. If we want to build a society where difference is not a weakness but a strength, we must start with ourselves. We need to practice coexistence—not just as a political ideal but as a personal one.
So, as the Hīkoi mō te Tiriti walks to Parliament today, I will march in protest against the Treaty Principles Bill while holding in my mind and heart the people who support it. Their concerns and fears are part of the same intricate web we all try to navigate. We cannot afford to look away. We must listen, reflect, and move forward together.
As someone who’s studied Treaty of Waitangi History and Subsequent law/jurisprudence quite extensively, I’ll admit I’m a bit in two minds about this Bill.
Where the supporters of the bill do sort of have a point is that the treaty jurisprudence, including the principles are the result of extensive common law development and beaurcrartic decisions, rather than an official democratic process. For example of course, the treaty principles themselves are a creation of a court case in the late 1980s, and are not officially set in out legalisation anywhere. Ultimately in our constitutional arrangements parliament is sovereign, rule of law must prevail (not rule of lawyers!).
Ultimately I do think much of the current treaty jurisprudence does need to be defined more clearly in acts of parliament, otherwise it will be perceived (and I will stress the word perceived), as ‘special right for Maori’.
I’m not saying by the way the the act parties bill is the best way to achieve this, but it is asking a question that does need to be asked and ultimately answered (I don’t have a clear answer myself by the way).
It looks like a nice day for the hikoi, without rain although a little on the chilly side. I look forward to reading Matthew Wright’s book. I’m reading Ewen McQueen at the moment. I don’t share the goosebump-sense of import of this event, but I do think that there is great value in learning, and considering together, what good paths we can have as a community going forward into our shared future.