When I arrived early there was already a sizable, largely Māori crowd. There was a stunning diversity of banners and regalia. A woman walking by me gasped “ah, look at our people!” The contrast must be striking when you are used to almost always being in a minority in a place like Wellington. And not only to be a minority, but an oppressed minority — historically marginalised and maligned. Over the decades, Māori workers have been treated in a way that erodes dignity. At the same time, as is clear from the sights and sounds this morning, that dignity can be reclaimed. The confidence and pride on display is the result of the hard work of decades, and also of the sudden wave of struggle sweeping the country. Solidarity, collective action, assertions of agency; these are all things that rebuild confidence and pride, as is a sense of connection to history, culture, and language. A worker might have her mana trampled on a daily basis, but on a picket line she can hold her head high. If she has the chance to learn her language, she can hold her head high. In moments of mass struggle this empowerment can be shared among a wider number of people.
One of the main underlying themes of the hīkoi was mana mokopuna— the power of the young people who are building the future. The organisers of the hui where this hīkoi was first discussed made a point of this, prioritising the voices over those under thirty. Marching at the back of the hīkoi we saw plenty of young children in strollers and on their parents’ shoulders, rangatahi marching, some in their school uniforms. Young people led the protest, carrying the banner at the head of the march. At the start of the rally I see a group of teenagers holding a sign that says “have mana like Hana,” referring to Hana-Rawhiti Maipi-Clarke’s now internationally famous haka in parliament. Maipi-Clarke is herself the youngest member of parliament in New Zealand in one hundred and seventy years.
Toitū Te Tiriti is, of course, one of the main slogans we see on the march. Many other signs heap scorn and derision on the politicians responsible for the hated bill. “Seymour? How about we see less” says one sign. “It’s ‘Toitū te Tiriti, not tutū [meddle with] te Tiriti” reads another. The diversity of Te Ao Māori is on display. Ensignia of iwi and hapū from across the motu can be seen, having been welcomed the previous day by mana whenua. Flags for Te Mana Motuhake o Tuhoe are flying, Ngapuhi marchers near our contingent fly Te Kara, the flag of the United Tribes, and speak of He Whakaputanga. Te kuini te wai hono i te po marches at the front, carrying the mana of Waikato. Eru Kapa-Kingi, a central organiser of the Toitū Te Tiriti network, has been with the march since its beginning. He can be seen at the head of the march, along with Tame Iti and others from the old guard of the Māori protest movement.
The haka of Maipi-Clarke has clearly become a symbol of this moment, referenced or depicted on many placards. This haka happened only weeks after Lidia Thorpe’s public dressing-down of Charles Windsor in Australia; two indigenous women taking to the halls of power to confront symbols of the colonial order. Their cries were heard around the world. It is striking that Te Pāti Māori seems to be the only party — except perhaps, in some instances, the Greens — who are really trying to mobilise their base and connect with what is happening outside of parliament. The haka caused controversy in the house. It challenged Seymour and his bill; it challenged the authority of the chair and the usual processes of parliament; and it gave Māori commentators a chance to defend the place of tikanga in the halls of parliament. However, it is clear that the true intended audience of this haka was on the streets. It was meant to speak to, and to amplify, the message of the hīkoi, which Hana Maipi-Clarke had attended only days earlier. MPs from the Greens and Labour joined this haka; as did the entire gallery, members of the public, in what must have been a planned and coordinated action.
It would be a mistake to reduce the hīkoi, as some on the Right have done, to the politics of Te Pāti Māori. A great diversity of politics was on display. The original plan for the hīkoi was formulated by a community hui in Tāmaki Makaurau, called by veteran activists Hone Harawira, Annette Sykes, Mereana Pittman, Ken Mair and Tame Iti — people who were active in the protest movements of previous decades, many of whom broke from the then-Māori Party to form the Left-wing Mana Party in 2011. Hapū and flaxroots groups have supported the hīkoi all the way down the island. In Whanganui-a-Tara we were involved in Tiriti Action Group (TAG), a coalition of mana whenua and local groups organising to welcome and support the hīkoi. However, the involvement of Te Pāti Māori and the connected Toitū Te Tiriti network was pronounced. Their prominence shows that they are organised; well-connected and well-positioned to draw on their networks to help mobilise this kind of action. In doing so they are re-connecting with their roots. Te Pāti Māori was formed, after all, out of the hīkoi against the confiscation for the Foreshore and Seabed in 2004. They have not always prioritised their flaxroots in the Māori working class but, since the election of this racist government, they have been showing what can be achieved when a political party turns its attention outside of parliament. This is a lesson the Left should be paying attention to.
Community group banners could be seen. Palestinian flags were visible, as were Kanaky flags; symbols of international indigenous solidarity. A few rainbow flags were also present. The value of this visible diversity was shown at the start of the march when the MC, Nikora Te Hāmua gave a shout out: “I think I see some of our rainbow whānau here. Thank you for your support. We are you, you are us.” This is significant at a time when anti-LGBTQ sentiment is being stirred up on the Right, another front in their divide-and-rule war.
There was a scattering of union banners — the nurses’ and teachers’ unions (NZNO, PPTA, NZEI), and Unite Union which represents hospitality workers. The PSA (Public Service Association) had a small contingent stationed by the side of the road on Lambton Quay, which was met with chants of “the workers united will never be defeated” and “kaimahi kotahi, ake ake ake!” The workforces represented by these unions are ones directly impacted by the governments’ anti-Māori attacks. The public servants are facing a crackdown on the use of Te Reo Māori, nurses are facing the rollback of Māori health initiatives, teachers are facing the chilling effect of politicians seeking to erase indigenous and anti-colonial history from the curriculum. All three are facing the uncertainty of what it would mean if “treaty principles” were erased from their professional practices. Unite represents a large number of Māori members who would be hurt by these attacks, along with the government’s general rollbacks on workers’ rights. During the hīkoi some workplaces opened their doors — providing pit stops and refreshments to the marchers. Some workers were given the day off. Others were not so lucky. Teachers, for example, were met with a mixed response from schools. The Ministry of Education issued the instruction that students absent on the day of the hīkoi should be marked as “unjustified”. Some schools nonetheless gave leave for teachers and permission for students to attend. A comrade of mine received pushback instead, told that the school had to remain “neutral.” This from a profession that, for years, had been telling teachers they had to uphold Te Tiriti as part of their professional standards.
Tauiwi, non-Māori, made a strong showing. “Pākehā for Te Tiriti” was seen on more than one sign. Near our contingent a large banner announced solidarity from Tangata Moana — people of the Pacific Islands. Asians for Tino Rangatiratanga were there, a group that we have seen at many protests over the past few years. Palestinian-Māori solidarity has been a major feature of politics over the past year and this was acknowledged in a powerful way, with Palestinian activists invited to address the crowd at parliament. There were many keffiyeh scattered throughout the hīkoi. While it has become more visible over the past year, this is not a new phenomenon. In the days leading up to the hīkoi, many have been reading up on the last major hīkoi of 2004. Looking at the photos from these rallies, Tame Iti can be seen wearing his keffiyeh at this hīkoi twenty years ago.
Over the past few years there has been a growing trend among non-Māori to identify themselves as “Tangata Tiriti,” people of the Treaty. This is illustrative of the shifting political significance of Te Tiriti. In one sense it is a contract between Māori and the government, useful in this sense as a tool to hold the latter to account. In another sense it has come to represent partnership between Māori and non-Māori in Aotearoa, the idea that non-Māori in Aotearoa have an affirmative duty to uphold Māori rights. This principle, in different forms, is part of our tradition as socialists too. Specifically, the idea that non-indigenous workers have a responsibility to be in solidarity with indigenous workers’ self-activity; with their struggles against racism and for the restoration of their connection to land, language and culture. This solidarity from below is what was shown at the hīkoi.
Nurturing this is hard work, it requires battling ingrained ignorance and winning non-Māori to a deep and enduring solidarity with Māori struggles. While it is hard work, this “partnership” has the potential to be of a much more enduring character than that enacted above. Speaking to another teacher before the hui, I had heard fears that some teachers — those who had been convinced to “uphold Te Tiriti” only as a box-ticking exercise to complete their professional development — might roll over and accept a turn away from these principles if a change in direction was dictated by the government. Both the importance and the limitations of legal change are being shown here. In this historical moment we see the ways that legal victories have helped to shape the terrain of our struggle, we remember how hard-won these victories have been, and we are also reminded of how fragile they are, with the ever-present threat of laws being rolled back. The partnership shown on the hīkoi — solidarity, partnership from below — is something that they cannot legislate away. Followed to its logical conclusions, this is a partnership that pits those in solidarity with Māori against the government, not just in this specific attack on Tiriti legislation but in all of their attacks on Māori, working people and the environment. Taken even further, the spirit of this partnership has the potential to challenge the capitalist system itself.
Banner image credit: Jill Bowie
