“There can be no such thing as kaupapa Māori political parties or politics in Aotearoa” (Willie Jackson, Labour Party (2017). Māori TV, General/List Election Special)
I begin with that claim because at the time, I was confounded at first that it fell out of Willie Jackson’s mouth, and then conflicted about the extent of truth in the claim. It’s one of those claims that stirs inside you. Never settling, never still. But you don’t really want to address it in case it destabilises the foundations of your political thought. Kia kaha you tell yourself.
So let me briefly touch on why I think there is truth to the claim. Firstly, we know that the parliamentary system is built, shaped and operates according to rules decided outside te Ao Māori. Secondly, we know that many Māori political aspirants dream of holding ministerial portfolios to advance change for Māori inside government institutions. And lastly, we know that as members of political parties, individuals are always caught in a tension between party agendas and personal values – with the former more often than not prevailing. If that’s the case, then it’s not kaupapa Māori because in a sense, Jackson is right – its capitulation to the system, despite the most earnest intentions.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
Māori politics experiences different waves over time as new voices and issues rise and seek an outlet. Some mild in approach, some with a decibel range beyond the need for a microphone and many other variations in between.
In 2017, the Labour Party promised a new wave of Māori political representation – the largest Māori caucus to ever sit in Parliament with the objective of producing the largest set of outcomes for Māori. This post isn’t about whether or not the party has delivered. Many have written and continue to analyse the strength of that initial promise.
What I propose is an alternative – a future of kaupapa Māori politics. Because as I wrote in The Interregnum (Morgan Godfery (ed). 2016. BWB):
“I like to describe kaupapa Māori politics as a lived story. That is, a story that is continuously shaped by our past and our present and that will shape our future”.
In this sense, I don’t see systems as fixed or kaupapa Māori as something that can only exist outside formal institutions. What matters is what we do and how we do it – especially inside those institutions.
I maintain earlier claims that I have made, that there is not one party that can universally claim to be the voice of Māori because the optics and realities of Māori representation will look different to different people at different times. However, I’m still convinced that mainstream parties are incapable of reflecting an indigenous worldview. That will be controversial and rightly so. I don’t speak for all Māori and there will always be a range of views that exist in the context of perpetual colonisation. I don’t say that to diminish the integrity of Māori who choose a mainstream party as their vehicle for change. I say that as a reality check on whose interests are prioritised in the “whole of party” mainstream agenda.
I absolutely believe that mainstream parties can be sensitive to Māori issues, and that they can work with Māori to design policies, strategies, services, outcome frameworks that attempt to shift the disparity between Māori and non-Māori. However, being sensitive to and supportive of Māori is not synonymous with prioritising and progressing Māori rights and interests in addressing inequities.
What we often overlook is that the party in government is the Crown. Its Ministers are Ministers of the Crown. Some might argue that it makes no sense to disaggregate the two given the Crown represents all New Zealanders. Except it doesn’t – it only presumes to in abrogation of its foremost obligations under two core instruments: He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti o Waitangi. This is precisely what perpetual colonisation looks like. We are not in a post-colonial era because colonisation did not end, it normalised to appear invisible.
So let me get to the point about a potential “future for kaupapa Māori politics”.
Firstly, I question the desire to hold Ministerial delegations. While Ministers can influence system changes, as we have learned they can only do so insofar as the governing party or governing coalition allows. For micro-parties, entering formal arrangements with governing parties, erodes that influence further through positioning the party as an agent of the Crown and depriving the party of its power as an independent voice for Māori – the point I believe Jackson was making. However, his point hangs on the assumption that all Māori political aspirants desire Ministerial powers or to be in government.
But what if they didn’t? What if Māori political aspirants refused to seek Ministerial delegations and instead sought permanent seats on the cross benches? This could serve a very useful function with the right strategy. More on that shortly. The point here is that the essence of kaupapa Māori is arguably eliminated when the party or individual seeks a governing role with the Crown to make itself an agent of it.
Māori are limited in how we can participate in political life in New Zealand. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a realm of possibility that enables us to create new spaces within existing structures to effect the changes we want. To continue our activism and agitation inside the places that seem an unnatural fit such as parliament.
The next step then is to consider what kind of agenda would such a party or movement advance?
There is momentum to move away from being policy driven which requires participation as a Crown agent, toward a vehicle for constitutional change. Therefore, rather than trying to advance a policy agenda which tends to focus on how much budget money can be secured against a set of planned announceables, a kaupapa Māori politics would focus on reconfiguring the machinery of government to redistribute participatory power back to the community where policy innovation actually happens. This requires seats and a participatory framework for communities.
In a practical sense, this could be achieved by providing avenues for whānau, hapū and iwi to input into or design members bills that drive the changes needed in their communities. Developing a framework or tool to assess new legislation or changes – voting government bills up or down based on their consistency with Te Tiriti o Waitangi. The salient thing here is that focusing on constitutional change gets to the guts of what remains a frustration for Māori and helps new political actors to avoid the imitation of western politics that moves us away from kaupapa Māori.
In my mind, this approach has the potential to radically shift power and redistribute it back to the people – our people. Holding all seven Māori electorate seats could help create what we might call a Tiriti accountability arm in Parliament. This would, however, require that these seats be committed to the cross-benches as a check on the Executive and Legislature to ensure Māori rights and interests are protected and advanced at all times.
A constitutional focus with participatory mechanisms could also encourage more Māori to enrol on the Māori electoral roll which could increase the number of dedicated Māori seats, and the size of the Tiriti arm.
When thinking about the future demographics of New Zealand, the Māori population is growing meaning the number of seats could be hugely significant and Māori should plan for this demographic shift that will take place within the next 20 years rather than leave it to chance or to mainstream parties.
The groundswell of activism and mobilisation of Māori demonstrates that collectively we are hungry for a party or movement that will raise its voice as loudly in the house as it would on the frontlines. A movement or phenomenon that will use its collective power to activate change. Being Tiriti focused restores the collective aspirations of Māori rather than perpetuating the adversarial politicking that has only divided our interests and our relationships to each other.
The question is who will be brave enough to ignite that movement in 2020? Who will put aside their aspirations for personal power in favour of the collective power of communities for constitutional change?
There appears to be consensus – by omission – that the concept of indigenous futures should be accepted at face value. So I scavenged the internet to see if I could locate an academic descriptor or a framework around how we think about it as a concept, and whether it could help in the design of policy fit for the future.
Initially, I was locked into temporality – viewing future in opposition to past. A useful approach emerged in an article by Schultz (2018) that creates a distinction between futuring and defuturing (p.80). The former referring to extending human existence and the latter destroying it (Schultz, 2018 p.80). That approach helped to reframe how I had been thinking about the concept of futures. Here I was able to draw a connection to Gordon’s (2013) discussion of temporality on indigenous identity, contemplating indigenous futures analogously to western arguments about indigenous authenticity. Specifically, the way in which identity is often confined to the past by virtue of its authenticity being determined in modernity.
Perhaps, Gordon’s (2013) criticism of modernity imposing conceptions of authenticity on Indigenous Peoples could then be viewed as indigenous defuturing, whereas his argument that Indigenous Peoples are “connected to ancestral forms of knowledge and cultural formation but are also the transformation of those norms in the human activity of cultural formation” could be viewed as indigenous futuring. Arguably, indigenous futures then is not about when in time but how in time.
To explain further, in a policy context, indigenous futures could refer to how policies extend the survival of Indigenous Peoples in contrast, to indigenous defuturing where policies – intentionally or not – promote the ongoing colonisation of indigenous knowledges, geographies and cultures, in effect threatening their survival. Such examples could include regeneration of tribal economies as an indigenous futuring compared with deforestation as an indigenous defuturing.
In a practical sense,I was able to apply this thinking at the inaugural Auckland Trade and Economic Policy School event concerned with the future of trade. A key insight was the emphasis on the increasing servicification of trade combined with advancing technology, the digitisation of data and the impact that this new wave of globalisation will have on future generations. However, absent in the discussion overall, was the demographic shift that will occur in Aotearoa over the next 50 years as the Māori population grows while the birth rates of Pākehā decline. In my view, the forecasts of most speakers fell into the trap of what Cicero refers to as the “tyranny of the present” as discussed in Wade’s (2012) scenario planning field guide based on the assumption that “the future will be a variation on a theme, and that theme is today” (p.9).
Two themes I was particularly interested to draw connections between were firstly, the idea of future factories being “people” in a services economy and secondly, the concept of reshoring, which refers to revitalising local manufacturing and bringing back other types of jobs to a country (where in the past it made sense for them to be offshored).
From an indigenous futuring perspective, there is a risk that silence on the demographic shift will lead to the development of ineffective trade and domestic policy to address the needs of the future Māori workforce. Moreover, when Māori futures are generally discussed, it is usually restricted to the risk of automation of their jobs because Māori disproportionately fill low waged labour roles, that robots will be able to do in future.
Despite recognition of services as the future of global economies, there was no contemplation of the role of Māori as a growing proportion of the national workforce, in advancing New Zealand’s trade in services value proposition. More importantly, there was a missed opportunity to explore the equality dividend that could arise with a demographic shift in lifting wellbeing outcomes for Māori as leaders in the new economy. Effectively, Māori futures are still conceived in deficit terms, despite the significant role Māori will play (and already play) in trade in services in the future.
The other aspect is in the context of reshoring. A current trend domestically is to create jobs in, or shift jobs to the regions. While some manufacturers are taking their factories to the regions, this kind of job creation is short term. The types of roles in these factories are the very kind that will likely be automated in future, creating rust buckets in our regions. Whereas in the past Māori were subjects of urban drift, there is a huge risk that Māori will be tempted to the regions for short term employment relief and forced out of cities where innovation in services will mostly take place, perpetuating the colonisation of Māori well into the future. This regionalisation is potentially a defuturing policy for Māori and should be approached with caution. While technology is making regional relocation and remote working a greater possibility, our policy settings will need to be careful not to commit Māori to low skilled regional jobs, while upskilling white folk in the cities for the future of services in the regions.
Indicatively then, trade policy has potential to play both a futuring and defuturing role for Māori. Developing an analytical framework to help policy makers understand the impact of trade policy and measures on Māori futures and the risk of defuturing will be critical for indigenous futures in New Zealand.
[Note: This post is adapted from a reflection written for other purposes on 9 September 2019]
References
Gordon, L.R. (2013). On the temporality of indigenous identity. UTSePress: Australia.
Schultz, T. (2018). Mapping Indigenous Futures: Decolonising Techno-Colonising Designs. Strategic Design Research Journal, 11(2): 79-91. doi: 10.4013/sdrj.2018.112.04
Wade, W. (2012) Scenario Planning: A Field Guide to the Future. John Wiley & Sons Incorporated. –
Conference Dinner, World Indigenous Business Forum 2018, Rotorua
In the previous two posts, I laid out the context and set the theoretical framework to answer a question: whether indigenous economies should take the LEAP.
This final part outlines ways to conceive of practicing mana motuhake within the existing legal system by carving out special jurisdictions that enable Indigenous Peoples to enter trading relationships and pursue their economic aspirations on their own terms.
These posts serve only as introductions to ideas about practical approaches to realising Indigenous self-determination.
The link to theory
With increased cooperation in the Asia Pacific region, Indigenous Peoples have become visible to each other again in economic and trade contexts. Events like the World Indigenous Business Forum or the World Indigenous Tourism Summit indicate that tribal leaders and indigenous entrepreneurs are looking for ways to leverage those opportunities and reinvigorate the entrepreneurial spirit and pragmatism of their ancestors for future generations. Countries around the world are exploring and evolving policies as an innovative approach to accelerate economic development in areas of high deprivation or underdevelopment – unfortunately a space that Indigenous Peoples know too well as a direct result of the violence of colonisation. There have been mixed successes and many lessons, one of the more well known examples being Shenzhen, China.
The essence of these posts is to suggest that there is an opportunity for New Zealand to support Māori to introduce everyday acts of resurgence into the international trade context to open up new spaces for cultural resurgence which could create and set new trade and economic expectations driven by Indigenous Peoples and their relationships to planet, place and people.
Exploring development models
In exploring development models, international models provide a useful and persuasive starting point. Intensive research from the Harvard Project on American Indian Economic Development (Harvard Project) founded by Professors Stephen Cornell and Joseph P. Kalt confirms that Indigenous Peoples achieve better outcomes when enabled to make decisions about their own economic development (Harvard Project, n.d.). In its 20 years of operation, the Harvard Project has established four key themes that matter to the success of indigenous development models: sovereignty, institutions, culture and leadership (Harvard Project, n.d.). Comparably, Special Economic Zones (SEZs) which by general definition refer to geographic locations within a national territory where the normal domestic rules do not all apply (Bell, 2016, pp.959-960) offer various exemptions and incentives to conduct business through free trade, foreign trade, export processing, and enterprise zones depending on the specific needs of the community (Crampton & Acharya, 2015, p.6).
SEZs and LEAPs as regional development policy initiatives provide alternatives for policy makers to “experiment with different regulations without threatening established national power structures” and to “trial and promote reforms that other regions could replicate or borrow from to meet the needs their particular constituency” ensuring that governments are responsive and relevant to their communities (Crampton & Acharya, 2010, p.6). Adopting this regional lens has benefits because New Zealand’s economic policy agencies already work in regionally defined programmes and this focus can assist in prioritising a range of development zone areas. These strategic and political levers matter because at a practical level policy solutions require political will.
SEZs are often adopted to encourage investment and stimulate growth in underdeveloped areas (Bell, 2010; Crampton & Acharya, 2015). However, some of the challenges SEZs confront include mixed success resulting from low institutional quality, poor local infrastructure, or corruption (Crampton & Acharya, 2015, p.6). The more radical LEAP zones (LEAPs) “special legal, economic, administrative, and political jurisdictions” are smaller in size than SEZs but draw people to them voluntarily as opposed to imposing them on existing communities (Klugmann, 2013). LEAPs share similar themes to the Harvard Project findings including their inherently regional focus, freedom to regulate according to the needs of the community, and an emphasis on leadership and credible institutions (Bell, 2016; Wong & Buba, 2017; Crampton & Acharya, 2015). Whereas SEZs focus on market liberalisation and financial incentives to do business in the designated zones (Crampton & Acharya, 2015; Bell, 2016; Wong & Buba, 2017), LEAPs offer more flexibility to advance the broader set of Māori aspirations. However, improving the usefulness of these models for the Māori context will require some deviation from the standard SEZ or LEAP definition: shifting the driver from economic growth to collective capability for self-determination.
Murphy (2014) describes the collective capability for self-determination as “members of a distinct political community” cooperating to implement a shared vision and build the physical, cultural, legal and political infrastructure to “shape their individual and collective futures” (pp.323-324). He also considers “capability for collective self-determination partly constitutive of the freedom and well-being of communities and their individual members” (Murphy, 2014, p.326). In linking Murphy’s approach to both Corntassel and Puig, collective capability could be produced through a combination of indigenous self-determination principles and approaches that policy makers could apply to development models such as LEAPs to accelerate indigenous economic development underpinned by a both responsibility to the natural world (Corntassel, 2012) and achieving community oranga (wellbeing) (Murphy, 2014). Re-framing in this way, centres communities and their wellbeing in trade discussions as opposed to market liberalisation which is often met with fierce opposition by indigenous communities due to the negative impacts globalisation inflicts on Indigenous Peoples and the protection of their natural resources (Puig, 2019). It also aligns with the Harvard Project findings that:
“When Native nations make their own decisions about what development approaches to take, they consistently outperform external decision makers on matters as diverse as governmental form, natural resource management, economic development, health care and social service provision” (Harvard Project)
There is a risk that devolving or ascribing LEAP functions for a geographical area outside of government controls could create domestic tensions as some of the public may express concerns about political stability if alternative legal or rules structures operate within the nation structure. However, this already happens to an extent with Local Government and as discussed throughout previously, marae already demonstrate how tikanga and kawa can operate inside a national legal structure without the threat of instability. As human beings, we have shown that we can operate according to a range of rules within a meta structure without things falling apart. LEAPs are not about implementing lawless regions, they are about enabling particular rules to be decided according to the needs of the particular community independent of the national body of rules.
Framing matters. Articulating the value proposition of LEAPs as exploring new ways to give effect to indigenous self-determination in a way that complements the national legal narrative will be imperative. Explaining the models innovation potential that combines the very best models available as the starting point, not the aspiration could shift opponents from a fear of instability to an optimism of possibility (Klugmann, 2013). For instance, rather than settling trade or investment disputes in courtrooms or through arbitration tribunals, they could be settled in the marae – kanohi ki te kanohi – direct between the parties, thereby reshaping and humanising commercial matters that in contemporary times have become highly impersonal transactions.
Imagining a Māori SEZ or LEAP in New Zealand
In terms of modelling, Bell (2016) notes that “[z]ones have in recent years begun shifting away from encouraging international trade with relatively simple financial incentives-exemptions from customs obligations, toward ‘multiuse developments’” comprising industries, commercial, retail, residential and tourism (p.974). The multiuse proposition could be particularly useful for developing remote or rural areas, or those smaller towns with high levels of poverty due to low employment – in both urban and rural settings. While not enjoying the special economic status of an SEZ or LEAP, Ruakura, the inland port and logistics hub owned by Tainui Group Holdings (TGH) reflects a multiuse type arrangement with the associated benefits (Ruakura, n.d.) and provides a potentially useful starting point to imagining an SEZ or LEAP in New Zealand in an indigenous commercial context.
Ruakura is located within the Golden Triangle[1] with rail and road connections to both Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland) and Tauranga ports (Ruakura, n.d.). When fully operational, it will offer a logistics and freight hub, residential areas, innovation centres and retail, providing jobs and homes for more than 10,000 employees and around 4,500 residents at Ruakura (Ruakura, n.d.). Given the stage of development for Ruakura, there is an opportunity for TGH and the government to explore these kinds of innovative approaches to accelerate the operationalisation of the hub. Comparing indigenous initiatives with different zone statuses and at varying levels of zone potential could enable TGH and the government to gain deeper insight into the innovation potential for indigenous economies, and their future trade and international relationships.
Iron Horse Industrial Park a Foreign Trade Zone in the U.S. owned by the Citizen Potawatomi Nation (Iron Horse, n.d.), offers a useful comparative case for TGH and the government to consider how it could support Waikato Tainui to exercise its mana motuhake (self-determination) through acquiring LEAP status for its development (if it desired that status). Iron Horse received Foreign Trade Zone status in 2014 to enable more liberalised international business transactions and to provide benefits such as tax incentives and duty exemptions, reductions and deferrals for businesses and investors seeking to enter the U.S. market (Iron Horse, n.d.). Like Ruakura, it is strategically located, and is considered a magnet site of the Port of Greater Oklahoma City’s FTZ (Iron Horse, n.d.). If TGH could attract the investment it needs to supercharge its Ruakura industrial development, the benefits of that investment – building the collective capability for self-determination of its people – could potentially accrue to its tribal members much sooner than its current timeframe of 2041.
Given the shape of our societies, the importance of both advancing iwi developments and exploring similar opportunities for urbanised Māori, is critical for policy makers to also explore to unlock the full potential of the diverse economies within Te Ao Māori. Two examples for conceptualising innovative approaches for advancing urban indigenous economies is the city of Toronto’s Indigenous Centre for Innovation and Entrepreneurship (ICIE) that is currently under development (City of Toronto, n.d.) and He Waka Eke Noa, a social procurement intermediary based in Manukau, Auckland.
Note: conceptualising LEAPs in urban environments creates a range of challenges – including challenges around tribal interests in land where it might be proposed that a LEAP is established. One way around this significant challenge could include corrective contemporary Te Tiriti settlements but this is a topic of its own and would require careful, inclusive and transparent consideration.
Indigenous Centre for Innovation and Entrepreneurship (ICIE)
When complete, the ICIE will offer a range of economic supports to Indigenous Peoples such as business incubators and accelerator programmes for entrepreneurs to scale up their businesses (City of Toronto, n.d.). It will also provide a commercial space for indigenous economic connections that will operate as a hub in what is to become an indigenous business district in downtown Toronto (City of Toronto, n.d.). The notion of an indigenous business district enables the City of Toronto to expand its vision and to outsource its development to the Indigenous Peoples it will serve. These kinds of initiatives support notions of resurgence as expressed by Corntassel (2012), and provide the infrastructure to build collective capability as imagined by Murphy (2010) and the rules and procedures of how any international trade could be managed from within zone (Puig, 2019), but all of those components require the open minds of decision makers and the institutional support to back them.
He Waka Eke Noa
New Zealand could look to the ICIE model to explore the potential to evolve He Waka Eke Noa from a virtual hub to a physical hub similar to the ICIE with the broader aspiration of establishing an indigenous business district with LEAP status in Manukau.
He Waka Eke Noa currently operates as an intermediary function that “connects Māori and Pasifika-owned businesses with clients and buyers wanting to purchase goods, services and works” (He Waka Eke Noa, n.d.). This initiative is the result of a collaboration between local and central government agencies in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland) indicating that the model – as an innovation – enjoys a sufficient level of institutional support to improve its chances of success. The value proposition of a He Waka Eke Noa as the centre of an indigenous business district, is its current location in South Auckland – an area with one of the highest concentrations of Māori in the rohe and therefore the ability for Māori in the area to benefit directly from local jobs and local spend in the community. In addition, its upgraded public transport infrastructure and proximity to the Auckland International Airport also presents global opportunities at its doorstep, with ease of access to a major trade and logistics hub and the ability to attract local spend from increasing traveller flows to the region to help sustain jobs and enterprise in the area.
Other levers and their linkages to LEAPs
When thinking about LEAPs in the indigenous context, ‘reservations’ also come to mind. While marae reservations in New Zealand are not an ideal comparative to North American reservations, understanding the Canadian and U.S. reservation models provides a way of understanding how to better utilise the marae reservation status. North American reservations arise from negotiated settlements with their settler governments, where a “portion of their traditional territory is reserved for permanent use by the tribe” (Sierra Project, 2015, p.3). Along with the reservation of land, the Tribe is accorded a degree of sovereignty to enact laws and govern people within its territories (Sierra Project, 2015, p.3). This limited sovereignty effectively prevents States from regulating the commercial activities of Native Americans on their reservations (Sierra Project, 2015, p.3). Arguably, reservations reflect LEAPs based on the domains that tribes do have control over. However, the prohibition from entering into “treaties with foreign governments the way a traditional nation would be able to” (Sierra Project, 2015, p.3) limits the use of international trade as a tool for self-determination. LEAP status could assist in overcoming that by providing more levers than a standard FTZ that some tribes have opted for, in their tribal economic development.
In New Zealand, while marae reservations can be set aside for a range of purposes to prevent the land being compulsorily acquired under the Public Works Act 1981,[2] the key point about marae is that it could be possible for them to operate as LEAP connecting points to build a networked reservation that establishes the cultural infrastructure and backbone support for the creation of indigenous LEAPs throughout New Zealand. LEAP status could enhance the function of marae to give them greater alignment to North American reservations by imputing a relational sovereignty for networked members enabling the regeneration of Māori cultural and economic assets. Strengthening cultural identity and enterprise together could as Murphy’s (2014) approach suggests, enhance both the physical and psychological wellbeing of Māori, by addressing social and economic triggers to stress and cultural connectivity. Anecdotally, when people see themselves reflected in their communities as valued members they feel more connected to who they are and where they belong. In addition, implementing LEAPs could help grow the number and range of enterprise and employment opportunities – including roles in the tradable (export) sector, to lift Māori incomes so Māori are accessing a greater proportion of the nation’s prosperity.
A fundamental challenge to achieving special economic status is the racism that persists in New Zealand, including in its institutions. Any special status sought or granted to its Indigenous Peoples will likely be met with rigorous resistance diminishing the will of politicians to take bold stances to advance the innovation potential of Māori economies and their cultural centres – marae. Often, opponents liken Māori cultural identity to religion and their marae to Churches or Mosques, whom, they will argue should also have access to those same special statuses. However, there is nothing in the idea of LEAPs to preclude those institutions from seeking similar special economic statuses. Additionally, critics of this school of thought should be careful not to conflate Māori identity with religion, and marae with churches, as doing so erases an entire peoples history which comes dangerously close to proposing cultural genocide.
New Zealand has an opportunity to partner with its indigenous communities to identify urban and rural areas that could benefit from special economic status and better understand the kinds of trade policy measures that will accelerate Māori economic development and give effect to the right of its Indigenous Peoples to self-determination to lift the wellbeing outcomes of Māori. The theories offered by Corntassel, Puig, and Murphy provide a basis for developing a uniquely indigenous development model without prescribing its rules, processes or conditions. Moreover, the tripartite of views provides the foundation to access legal frameworks that enable the establishment of zones where cultural resurgence can prosper and produce collective capability. Therefore, LEAPs offer an alternative approach that could support Māori (and other Indigenous Peoples) to continue the innovation legacy their ancestors began more than 6000 years ago when leaving Taiwan. Should indigenous economies take the LEAP? Simply put, yes.
[1] The Golden Triangle is ‘the term economic commentators use to describe the geographic area bound up by Auckland, Hamilton and Tauranga’ (New Zealand Herald, 2018).
Bellwood, P., Hung, H-C. & lizuka, Y. (2011) Taiwan Jade in the Philippines: 3,000 Years of Trade and Long-distance Interaction, in Purissima Benitez-Johannot (ed.), Paths of Origins: The Austronesian Heritage in the Collections of the National Museum of the Philippines,the Museum Nasional Indonesia,and the Netherlands Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Singapore: ArtPostAsia. Retrieved from: http://www.earth.sinica.edu.tw/~epma/papers/…/A14%20PathsofOrigins_pp30-41_2011.pdf
Bellwood, P; Fox, J.J & Tryon, D. (2006). The Austronesians in History: Common Origins and Diverse Transformations in Bellwood, P; Fox, J.J & Tryon, D. (eds.) The Austronesians: Historical and Comparative Perspectives. ANU Press. Retrieved from: https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt2jbjx1.4
Consedine, B. (2007). Historical Influences and the Māori Economy. Wellington: Te Puni Kōkiri.
Cornell, S. & Kalt, J.P. (2000). Where’s the glue? Institutional and cultural foundations of American Indian economic development. Journal of Socio-Economics29, 443–470.
Corntassel, J. (2012). Re-envisioning resurgence: Indigenous pathways to decolonization and sustainable self-determination. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 86-101.
Ko, A.M., Chen, CY, Fu, Q., Delfin, F., Li, M., Chiu, HL., Stoneking, M. and Ko, YC. (2014). Early Austronesians: Into and Out Of Taiwan. The American Journal of Human Genetics. 94, 426–436.
Le Dressay, A., Lavallee, N., and Reeves, J. (2010). First Nations Trade, Specialization, and Market Institutions: A Historical Survey of First Nation Market Culture” Aboriginal Policy Research Consortium International 72. Retrieved from: https://ir.lib.uwo.ca/aprci/72
MFAT. (2019). New Zealand’s One China Policy (Internal Document). Wellington: Ministry of Foreign Affiars and Trade.
Mikaere, A. (2011). Colonising Myths, Māori Realities. Wellington, New Zealand: Huia Publishers.
Murphy, M. (2014). Self-Determination as Collective Capability: The Case of Indigenous Peoples. Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 15(4), 320-334.
O’Malley, V. and Hutton, (2007). The Nature and Extent of Contact and Adaptation in Northland, c.1769-1840. Report commissioned by the Crown Forestry Rental Trust, 1.
Petrie, H. (2002) Colonisation and the Involution of the Maori Economy. A paper for Session 24 XIII World Congress of Economic History. Buenos Aires.
Philpott, A. (2019). The ship is not the only vessel on the river: Revisiting first nations’ mobility rights under Article III of the 1794 Jay Treaty. Appeal, 24, 157.
Public Works Act 1981.
Puig, S. (2019). International Indigenous Economic Law. UC Davis Law Review 52:3, 1243-1316.
Members of Te Whānau ā-Apanui at Taiwan Indigenous TV preparing for their appearance on Ui 輕鬆講(June, 2019) – a demonstration of the power of everyday acts of resurgence #IndigenousConnections
This section builds on Part 1 of this series to provide a theoretical basis for the final instalment (part 3 – to come).
Self-determination: law or resurgence — or both?
International law promotes the principal of equal treatment and self-determination, which includes peoples’ rights to freely pursue their social, cultural and economic development aspirations. This principle is provided in Articles 1 and 55 of the Charter of the United Nations (the Charter), Article 1 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) and Article 3 of the Universal Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), all of which underscore the intention of member States to uphold that principle. However, for indigenous self-determination, Article 46 in the UNDRIP imposes a restriction on interpretation of the Declaration. This suggests that in signing up to the UNDRIP member states considered recognition of indigenous self-determination as symbolic matter rather than a commitment to actively pursue, consequently locating colonisation as something in the past rather than accepting or acknowledging its ongoing effects (Corntassel, 2012, p.92).
Notably, New Zealand did not officially sign up to the UNDRIP until 2010 – three years after it was introduced and signed by 144 other member states. Interestingly, China voted in support of the UNDRIP despite not recognising Indigenous Peoples in the territories it proclaims sovereignty over, including Taiwan. However, New Zealand was not alone. Neither Canada nor the U.S. signed the UNDRIP at that time. Unsurprisingly then, New Zealand’s action to date parallels the virtue signalling of other members in its non-implementation of any of the articles. And whilst the New Zealand government announced earlier in 2019, its intention to “develop a plan of action to drive and measure New Zealand’s progress towards the aspirations” of UNDRIP (Mahuta, 2019), it framed the articles as aspirations rather than firm commitments, arguably heightening the presumption of symbolism and creating ambiguity around what the resulting action plan will actually do.
Domestically, many Indigenous Peoples entered treaties during the early contact period to preserve their tribal sovereignty, as settler populations and demands on resources grew. In New Zealand, the key instruments were He Whakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga o Nu Tireni (He Whakaputanga or the Declaration of Independence) and Te Tiriti o Waitangi (Te Tiriti), and in North America the Silver Chain Covenant and the Treaty of Amity, Commerce and Navigation (Jay Treaty). However, these treaties and declarations commonly lacked legal standing later in settler courts attracting rulings that would serve to abrogate their rights for generations to come. For example, in Wi Parata v Bishop of Wellington (1877), the New Zealand Supreme Court declared Te Tiriti a nullity erasing any ability to rely on it against the injustices of the Crown. Similarly, in Francis v the Queen (1956) the Supreme Court of Canada held that the Jay Treaty had no legal effect because it had not been incorporated into domestic legislation. Common across white settler courts was the erosion of Indigenous Peoples rights as settler governments took hold of stolen territories.
Politics of Recognition and International Indigenous Economic Law
As noted in part 1, the question as to whether self-determination of Indigenous Peoples is actionable through international law or law at all, is disputed at length from scholars of both legal and non-legal disciplines. For instance, Jeff Corntassel (2012) rejects the politics of recognition (i.e. legal ot State recognition of indigenous rights) in favour of a “responsibility based ethic grounded in relationships to homelands and community”. He argues this approach avoids the limitations accompanying State recognition (i.e. settler determined findings about Indigenous Peoples) (p.93). Corntassel (2012) insists that Indigenous Peoples do not claim rights, instead they assert responsibilities that are sourced from their relationships with the natural and spiritual worlds and it is through these responsibilities that their rights emerge (p.92). Additionally, Corntassel (2012) considers sustainability an inherent element of indigenous self-determination and that this is achieved through practicing “every day acts of resurgence” (pp.92-93). Ani Mikaere (2011) shares a similar view emphasising that Māori rights as tangata whenua of New Zealand derive from Māori having occupied the lands for generations and “having developed an intimate connection with this environment, and an intricate set of relationships to regulate our place within it” (p.123-146).
So how might we understand indigenous rights to self-determination outside the legal institutions we have become accustomed to?
In the New Zealand context, te kawa o te marae (the protocol of marae) provides a useful example of everyday acts of resurgence with many non-indigenous peoples also understanding and respecting that marae operate according to processes and protocols grounded in a tikanga (values) that governs people’s behaviours and roles on the marae. This is a result of Māori continually practicing their culture, emphasising the importance of cultural maintenance for sustainable indigenous self-determination. It also exemplifies how over time everyday acts can shift mind-sets – where indigenous rights can be seen as grounded in indigenous relationships to people and place and not as decided in the court room or dictated by the pens of parliament.
In an international trade context, resurgence could be demonstrated through restoring traditional international relations practices too. For instance, the Kaswentha – a treaty agreed between the Haudenosaunee Confederacy (an alliance between the Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Onondaga, and Seneca Nations) in Canada and European settlers during the early 1600s, set out the guiding principles that would govern their relationship amid growing tensions over the fur trade (Philpott, 2019, p.162-63). These principles expressed through the ‘Two-Row Wampum belt’ represented:
…a canoe and a ship travelling down a river side-by-side. The canoe holds the Haudenosaunee peoples, cultures, customs and laws, while the ship houses European settlers and their ways of life. The principles of the Kaswentha provide that the vessels travel together in a spirit of friendship and mutual respect.
(Philpott, 2019, p.162-63)
The Kaswentha illustrates the value traditional customs offer the contemporary international trade framework and the potential to radically shift how nations and peoples engage with each other for economic cooperation. Enabling Indigenous Peoples to introduce these practices as acts of resurgence complements the existing international law framework that is predicated on the promotion of peace and friendly relations between nations (see Art 1, the Charter) while retaining the cultural distinctions of the Indigenous Peoples entering into any negotiations.
Indigenous methods of establishing relationships puts values upfront, bringing the notion of responsibilities to each other and their own values systems to the fore in a humanising and transformative way rather than reducing relationships in trade to mere transactions.
In contrast to Corntassel’s responsibility based ethic that looks away from the law as a source of rights for Indigenous Peoples, Sergio Puig (2019) looks toward international indigenous economic law, as a developing body of work that he considers to operate as a shield and sword for the protection and advancement of indigenous rights, respectively (p.1302-1303). Similar to Corntassel (2012) who differentiates indigenous self-determination (relationships based) from state sovereignty (rights based) (p.92), Puig (2019) distinguishes indigenous rights from human rights, expounding Indigenous Peoples rights as distinctly rooted in unjust political and economic factors resulting from colonisation (p.1245).
Puig’s (2019) way around the over reliance on human rights instruments is to look to international economic treaties (p.1304). For example, he notes how the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade provides a range of exceptions that permit states to impose restrictions on trade, such as taking any necessary measures to protect public morals which operates as a shield for their protection (Puig, 2019, p.1304) . He references the EC-Seal Products case (EC-Seals cited in Puig, 2019), in which the European Union (EU) relied on the public morals clause under Art XX(a) GATT to defend a claim brought against it by Canada and Norway. The dispute concerned the EU Seal Regime that introduced a ban on the import and export of seal products because it discriminated against other indigenous groups and producers of similar products with an exception clause only for the Inuit Peoples of Greenland, for whom seal hunting remains a tradition. Although the WTO Appellate Body upheld that the exception was discriminatory in part because the EU had not made ‘comparable effortsto facilitate the access of the Canadian Inuit to the IC exception as it did with respect to the Greenlandic Inuit’ it considered the EU Seal Regime was necessary to protect public morals but the chapeau requirements were not met. However, as Puig (2019) highlights, the AB left open the ability of the EU to make the exception WTO compliant (p.1304-1305). Canada’s attempt to protect the rights of its Inuit Peoples in this case, is also worth noting, as it adds to the deepening dialogue emerging from States, providing potential geopolitical levers for Indigenous Peoples to draw on.
While Puig (2019) focuses on international economic treaties as a source for change, his argument could equally extend to specific bilateral or multilateral trade agreements where the changes in mandate occur domestically. For example, the Treaty of Waitangi Exception Clause contained in all New Zealand’s contemporary trade agreements acts as a shield to protect Māori treaty rights (MFAT, n.d. a), whereas Chapter 19 of the Agreement between New Zealand and the Separate Customs Territory of Taiwan, Penghu, Kinmen, and Matsu on Economic Cooperation (ANZTEC) acts as a sword to advance indigenous to indigenous economic and cultural exchange. Using Puig’s argument in this way also brings the obligations of settler governments within closer proximity to its Indigenous Peoples. This provides a resonance to Corntassel’s responsibility based ethic by centring the communities affected in the agreements made between States. Therefore, these two theories could act as complementaries rather than be cast as antagonists, to enable direct relationships within and between Indigenous Peoples and foreign states by building on apparatuses such as the ANZTEC Chapter 19.
However, adopting international economic law as a basis for protecting and advancing indigenous rights potentially suffers from similar weaknesses to the human rights law approach. That is, the governance and rules still depend on systems and structures that have perpetuated the injustices of settler governments against Indigenous Peoples. Be that as it may, earlier treaties and agreements such as He Whakaputanga, Te Tiriti and the Jay Treaty present clear explications of indigenous ancestors recognising the value of having their rights to their territories and resources confirmed and notified internationally for the ongoing and sustainable benefit of their uri (descendants).
Despite some clear weaknesses to work through, I still consider that international indigenous economic law could provide an enabling function for achieving indigenous rights. Different courts, tribunals and governments have recognised, protected or interpreted indigenous rights and practices in various ways and to variable degrees. However, the growing body of international indigenous economic law in conjunction with a responsibility based ethic grounded in the everyday acts of resurgence we already see, could benefit from an agglomeration effect of sorts. That is, the growing level of political interest in indigenous rights and the moral capital it attracts could provide a useful lever for Indigenous Peoples to cash in on the political capital that in recent times Canada and New Zealand governments at least, have electorally banked in their favour. Moreover, unlike human rights laws, international economic law has a more practical effect because often there are financial incentives for settler governments to uphold the commitments it makes in them, as well as political incentives, such as avoidance of reputational harm at both the domestic and international level. After all, a government seen to not uphold its economic obligations would struggle to secure the trade benefits it seeks in future trade agreements and could attract legitimate trade restrictions.
References
Agreement between New Zealand and the Separate Customs Territory of Taiwan, Penghu, Kinmen, and Matsu on Economic Cooperation 2013.
Charter of the United Nations 1945.
Corntassel, J. (2012). Re-envisioning resurgence: Indigenous pathways to decolonization and sustainable self-determination. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 86-101.
European Communities – Measures Prohibiting the Importation and Marketing of Seal Products (2014, May 22) WT/DS400/AB/R, WT/DS401/AB/R.
Francis v. The Queen [1956] S.C.R. 618.
General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade 1947.
He Whakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga o Nu Tireni 1835.
International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights 1966.
Karnuth v. United States, 279 U.S. 231 (1929).
Le Dressay, A., Lavallee, N., and Reeves, J. (2010). First Nations Trade, Specialization, and Market Institutions: A Historical Survey of First Nation Market Culture” Aboriginal Policy Research Consortium International 72. Retrieved from: https://ir.lib.uwo.ca/aprci/72
Mikaere, A. (2011). Colonising Myths, Māori Realities. Wellington, New Zealand: Huia Publishers.
Philpott, A. (2019). The ship is not the only vessel on the river: Revisiting first nations’ mobility rights under Article III of the 1794 Jay Treaty. Appeal, 24, 157.
Puig, S. (2019). International Indigenous Economic Law. UC Davis Law Review 52:3, 1243-1316.
Silver Chain Covenant 1600s.
Te Tiriti o Waitangi 1840.
Treaty of Amity, Commerce and Navigation 1764.
United States ex rel. Diabo v. McCandless, 18 F.2d 282 at 283 (D. Pa. 1927).
Universal Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples 2007.
Waitangi Tribunal. (2014). Te Paparahi o Te Raki Inquiry, Wai 1040.
Wi Parata v Bishop of Wellington (1877) 3 NZ Jur (NS) SC 72.
Yablon-Zug, M. (2008). Gone But Not Forgotten: The Strange Afterlife of the Jay Treaty’s Indian Free Passage Right. Queen’s L. J. 33, 565.
Austronesian Migration Path: Exhibited at Taoyuan City Indigenous Cultural Centre, Taiwan
[Ellipsister note: aroha mai, I had a meme on here originally but it appears it could be misread or subject to interpretation – and on that basis I removed it]
Recently, I wrote a (relatively) short paper “Should indigenous economies take the LEAP?”. Its purpose was to explore what self-determination could look like in a practical sense. Maybe I’m a bit of an international trade truther or something, but I absolutely believe trade is at the heart of achieving peace and self-determination.
Since I haven’t written here in a while, I figured I would share that paper over three parts: context, theory and application (summarised below), with minor modifications to the original text for easier flow.
Note I explore this topic by way of comparative analysis locating Māori in the Asia Pacific trading picture with their ancestral linkages to Taiwan and their growing connections to North America through forums such as the World Indigenous Business Forum and APEC.
Summary breakdown
Part 1: remembers the past and identifies some of the similarities in pre-contact indigenous trade arrangements to emphasise that international trade and economic development is a traditional activity of Indigenous Peoples.
Part 2: unpacks two theoretical approaches to indigenous self-determination that demonstrates Indigenous Peoples developed their own guiding principles to international trade and that it is possible to restore those practices when construing the theoretical approaches as complementary rather than antagonistic. Here, I compare the different ways Indigenous Peoples entered into agreements to protect their rights – including those to trade, with early settler governments and the legal treatment of those agreements by different courts, tribunals and governments.
Part 3: considers different development models and how they might be used to enhance various indigenous initiatives that are at different stages of development. This part is particularly interested in special jurisdictions known as LEAP (Legal, Economic, Administrative, Political) zones. I suggest that when a LEAP zone is combined with the theoretical approaches to indigenous self-determination, it offers a creative, practical and culturally relevant approach that reflects traditional forms of development adapted to modern contexts.
As one might expect, the most useful place to start then is the beginning.
Introduction
Indigenous economic and trade development existed and prospered before colonisation and continued into the early contact period (Petrie, 2002; Philpott, 2019; Puig, 2019; Bellwood, Hung & lizuka, 2011) and many of these economies are still recovering from the destruction inflicted through colonisation. However, as indigenous economies experience greater resurgence, international trade becomes an increasingly important economic lever to support the sustainable economic development of their tribes. In New Zealand, trade accounts for around 60 per cent of our economic activity and connects businesses to new markets to help them grow their customer base and explore new technologies (MFAT, n.d. c). The tradable sector also provides employment benefits and pays significantly higher than the non-tradable sector across the employment pipeline (NZIER, 2017). As such, trade has both direct and indirect benefits for whānau (family). However, domestic marginalisation of indigenous economies can create barriers for indigenous enterprises to enter international markets (Puig, 2019). I argue that indigenous self-determination could play a critical role in transforming tribal economies (Cornell & Kalt, 2000) and could improve the physical and psychological wellbeing of Indigenous Peoples (Murphy, 2014). To support that proposition we need policy innovation to support Indigenous Peoples to participate in international trade activities by introducing regional initiatives possessing the potential to un-restrict market access to accelerate indigenous economic development opportunities.
Remembering the past
Indigenous Peoples of the Asia Pacific region have their roots in Taiwan (Ko et al., 2014). One of the most widely accepted connections of this common whakapapa (genealogies) is their shared linguistic heritages revealing that Austronesian languages, originating in Taiwan, have the largest geographical spread of any language family in the world (Ko et al., 2014; Terell, 2004; Crowley, 2006; Huang & Liu, 2016). This language migration demonstrates that over many generations (between 5000-6000 years ago), the Austronesian speaking ancestors of Māori made sea voyages across Asia and eventually down into the South Pacific (Ko et al., 2014; Terell, 2004; Crowley, 2006; Bellwood, Fox & Tryon, 2006). During those voyages and explorations, Bellwood et al (2006) describe these Austronesian ancestors as having “fissioned and diversified in complex ways” (p.2) birthing new cultures, shaping traditions and adapting to new environments (Crowley, 2006; Terell, 2004).
When Māori ancestors arrived and settled New Zealand around 800-1000 years ago they carried their economies with them (King, 2003 cited in Te Puni Kōkiri, 2007). During this period, coastal and inland hapū exchanged items of abundance in their localities, for instance, fish from the coast for birds from the forest (O’Malley & Hutton, 2007). Māori also engaged in trade, formed alliances, and established the earliest enterprises in New Zealand (Te Puni Kōkiri, 2007). During the early encounters, Māori were already navigating offshore to trade with the Pacific Islands, Australia, North and South America, Asia and Europe where they were exposed to new technological developments and economic systems (Petrie, 2002, p.2). Before that, their Austronesian ancestors from Taiwan had been trading goods such as jade products by sea from Taiwan into the Philippines (Bellwood et al., 2011, p.31). Similarly, North American First Nations were specialising in fishing and seal fur trade, facilitating intertribal trade and establishing trade routes such as the Oolichan grease trails that later became a primary fur-trade route (Le Dressay Lavallee & Reeves, 2010, p.117). Further South, Native Americans were connected across the U.S. with pipestone artefacts, native to Minnesota, found as distant as Kansas and Ohio (Le Dressay et al., 2010, pp.117-118).
Adding to the vibrant trade picture is evidence of trade between Mayan and Inca civilisations who built and patrolled some of the earliest trade infrastructure (Le Dressay et al., 2010, pp.117-118).
Accordingly, indigenous economies and trade networks were thriving in their own right and Indigenous Peoples were adapting to new technologies through increased encounters with other nations who brought with them new goods and materials (Petrie, 2002; Philpott, 2019; Le Dressay et al, 2010). Speculation that indigenous economies were undeveloped and incapable of innovation is unfounded and belies a history that tells a different story (Petrie, 2002).
Toward theories of self-determination
The question as to whether self-determination of Indigenous Peoples is actionable through international law or law at all, is disputed at length from scholars of both legal and non-legal disciplines. Political posturing, virtual signalling and strict or questionable legal interpretations typically underpin criticisms of the politics of recognition, that is, attempts to locate indigenous self-determination in State recognition of it through international human rights law (Corntassel, 2012, p.92). Those supportive of legal recognition approaches tend to view legal avenues as the most practical way to seek justice and achieve certainty of rights. Whereas opponents typically possess low trust in these institutions considering it a vulgarity to rely on settler developed norms and institutions as the source of Indigenous Peoples rights (Corntassel, 2012). And as courts and tribunals have demonstrated time and again rulings can be overturned, and governments have shown they can also be legislated over (e.g. Puig, 2019; Yablon-Zug, 2008), which can work either in favour of or in opposition to indigenous rights.
Part 2 to follow
References
Bellwood, P., Hung, H-C. & lizuka, Y. (2011) Taiwan Jade in the Philippines: 3,000 Years of Trade and Long-distance Interaction, in Purissima Benitez-Johannot (ed.), Paths of Origins: The Austronesian Heritage in the Collections of the National Museum of the Philippines,the Museum Nasional Indonesia,and the Netherlands Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Singapore: ArtPostAsia. Retrieved from: http://www.earth.sinica.edu.tw/~epma/papers/…/A14%20PathsofOrigins_pp30-41_2011.pdf
Bellwood, P; Fox, J.J & Tryon, D. (2006). The Austronesians in History: Common Origins and Diverse Transformations in Bellwood, P; Fox, J.J & Tryon, D. (eds.) The Austronesians: Historical and Comparative Perspectives. ANU Press. Retrieved from: https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt2jbjx1.4
Consedine, B. (2007). Historical Influences and the Māori Economy. Wellington: Te Puni Kōkiri.
Corntassel, J. (2012). Re-envisioning resurgence: Indigenous pathways to decolonization and sustainable self-determination. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 86-101.
Crowley, T. (2006) Austronesian languages: overview. Encyclopedia of language & linguistics. Oxford: Elsevier, 600–609.
King, Michael. (2003). The Penguin History of New Zealand. Auckland. Penguin Books Ltd.
Le Dressay, A., Lavallee, N., and Reeves, J. (2010). First Nations Trade, Specialization, and Market Institutions: A Historical Survey of First Nation Market Culture” Aboriginal Policy Research Consortium International 72. Retrieved from: https://ir.lib.uwo.ca/aprci/72
Murphy, M. (2014). Self-Determination as Collective Capability: The Case of Indigenous Peoples. Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 15(4), 320-334.
O’Malley, V. and Hutton, (2007). The Nature and Extent of Contact and Adaptation in Northland, c.1769-1840. Report commissioned by the Crown Forestry Rental Trust, 1.
Petrie, H. (2002) Colonisation and the Involution of the Maori Economy. A paper for Session 24 XIII World Congress of Economic History. Buenos Aires.
Philpott, A. (2019). The ship is not the only vessel on the river: Revisiting first nations’ mobility rights under Article III of the 1794 Jay Treaty. Appeal, 24, 157.
Puig, S. (2019). International Indigenous Economic Law. UC Davis Law Review 52:3, 1243-1316.
Terrell J. (2004). Introduction: ‘Austronesia’ and the great Austronesian migration. World Archaeology, 36(4), 586-590.
Yablon-Zug, M. (2008). Gone But Not Forgotten: The Strange Afterlife of the Jay Treaty’s Indian Free Passage Right. Queen’s L. J. 33, 565.
Friday 15 March 2019. The heart stands still. The lives of 50 people stolen by a terrorist in the most reprehensible of ways. Not a lone wolf. Not a mentally unwell individual. A terrorist armed with weapons of war committed to a white supremacist ideology that demands its followers reach into and express the darkest versions of themselves.
How do we centre Muslim voices in the aftermath of white terrorism?
As I watch across a range social and news media platforms, many of us who identify as Māori are noting our lack of shock or surprise at the racism and the extent of white extremism in this country. Any shock we feel is the abysmal failure of the modern system of government to prevent terror from actually happening on our whenua. Shocked at the depth of institutional racism to the point of weakening our security institutions. We protested surveillance because it unfairly targeted Māori and other communities of colour. We saw the terror that the State imposed on whānau and hapori Māori with Operation 8. However, we passively assumed that our state surveillance meant the system would also have its eyes on the heinous white extremists living here. But it didn’t and we will hold the government to account for that in the days and weeks to come.
For now, we must tautoko our Muslim brothers and sisters to voice their concerns and experiences. I know that this might raise some challenging feelings for Māori across this motu – being asked to centre non-Māori voices is confronting when we have had centuries of trying to have our own voices centred when it comes to matters of racism affecting our lives. We must acknowledge too, that some of our whānau also identify as Muslim, and we must support them to have their voices heard.
In the aftermath of white terrorism, it is important then for us to understand why it matters to centre Muslim voices, and how we can go about doing that.
Why must we centre Muslim voices?
We must centre Muslim voices to enable change in Aotearoa. To change how our systems privilege different groups over others, to change how dominant groups in society treat people who hold different beliefs, practice different cultural traditions, speak different languages, have different names, wear different clothing, or have different skin colours. We must centre Muslim voices to help change attitudes – because hate and intolerance begins in the home and the places we normalise privilege and tolerate prejudice.
We have the privilege of recognition as tangata whenua of New Zealand.
This is not privilege in the sense that we extract excessive social and economic benefits from our status as tangata whenua.
We must recognise that compared to non-Māori people of colour, the dominant white population and the system designed for them at least recognises us as being of the land and not foreign to it.
Understanding our oppression
We are not immune from racism, prejudice and discrimination in our homes. We rightly criticise the treatment of Māori by successive governments and the way society stereotypes and degrades us. However, we are complicit in much stereotyping and prejudicing of other communities of colour and marginalised groups.
An obvious example is the appalling attitude and distasteful behaviour demonstrated by the Destiny Church this week – many of its followers identifying as Māori, the Bishop himself – Māori. The Bishop taking exception to the nation observing 2 minutes of silence followed by the Muslim call to prayer (adhan) to be played across New Zealand’s airwaves in remembrance and honour of the dead and their whānau. Inciting hysteria inside its congregation that this government was threatening Christianity that the Bishop claims this country was founded on.
We must remember that Māori cosmogyny existed prior to contact and remains a fundamental element of our Māori identity. Some forms of Christianity – including the Destiny Church brand are complicit in the kinds of oppression that stoke bigoted hate fires and fuel ideologies like white supremacism leading to extremism.
For those who have come to identify as Christian, this is not a diatribe against Christianity. It’s a reminder to all of us – Christian and non-Christian Māori, that this was a faith brought to our communities from outside Te Ao Māori. It provided a spiritual connection for many Māori communities following colonisation and suppression of our language and culture. However, we cannot allow exclusionary versions of Christianity to permit us to internalise prejudicial practices and views.
On a less religious angle, we cannot allow political parties and the media to taint our views about migrants and refugees or to teach us that people who look different from us – as Māori or White, are not of this land.
Over time – almost 200 years, colonisation of Māori has supported and taught us to internalise racism, prejudice and discrimination in our communities and we must be ready to examine these now. Because if we do not un-learn those things we have internalised, we perpetuate the harm that props up the structures of white supremacy, rather than tearing them down.
Do things differently
We know that our spaces for dialogue are limited. That institutional racism and bias close the door to us at almost every step we take to challenging white supremacy in our social, political and economic domains.
We are not being asked or told to take a seat in our own whenua.
One way to visualise doing things differently is to take ourselves out of Te Ao Pākehā where communities of colour fight for the same piece of the diversity and inclusion pie, and step confidently and firmly in to Te Ao Māori.
Where the kawa that governs how we share our kōrero embeds the notion of aroha ki te tangata – respect for all peoples. Where there is a time for listening and a time for speaking. Our time to talk will return when the speakers have had their say.
Follow our kawa and trust in our tikanga. Give space with only love in our hearts.
Waiho i te toipoto, kaua i te toiroa
Let us keep close together, not far apart
*Please note that this is just one among many indigenous views. I don’t speak on behalf of all Māori.
My story is the story of many Ngāpuhi who grew up in urban environments. We were raised away from our hapū and iwi. We do not always know the tikanga and kawa of our marae. We do not always know our histories, our stories and our genealogies. Many of us cannot speak our reo.
My experience of colonisation is tied to my urban-ness. My urban-ness is about location not identity. I am on the journey to reconnecting and I am becoming more confident standing as Ngāpuhi. We all arrive here with our tupuna. I stand here today with my ancestors – as a Tahere and a Tareha descendent. I stand here with the support of my whānau.
Urbanisation affects all Ngāpuhi. Albeit, in different ways. It affects hapū too. And I want to acknowledge that first. Urbanisation hurt hapū.
For us folk locating our experiences as ‘urban’ we must never forget that hapū suffered because of urbanisation too. When we reflect on our experiences, we must also reflect on the hurt experienced by our hapū through the Crowns urbanisation agenda executed through its assimilation policies.
The Crowns urbanisation agenda promised opportunity to whānau in tough economic times. It did not deliver. Like many of the Crowns promises. It failed to deliver.
The Crowns urbanisation agenda also stripped out whānau support bases in our kainga and on our marae. It did more than disconnect the collective. It drove the knife of colonisation through our communities. And we are all still bleeding from this today.
Over a period of about forty years, the Crowns assimilation policies coerced more than 80 percent of whānau into cities and towns. Away from our kaumātua and kuia. Away from our kainga. Away from our marae. Away from our maunga. Away from our awa. Away from the places that our ancestors spent more than a thousand years establishing intimate connections.
Many of us have not yet returned to those places. To heal from the loss of time. The loss of connection. Many of us do not know where those places are. Many of us do not know where to begin.
It is on that basis, that I stand here to support the proposed option for urban representation on the Central Negotiating Body and the broader suite of urban representation.
I support it because I aspire to see hapū leveraging the proximity of Ngāpuhi ki Tāmaki to the economic engine and international gateway of Aotearoa to strengthen Te Whare Tapu o Ngāpuhi.
In total, the option provides for 14 urban representatives across the Central and Regional bodies. The level of representation for Tāmaki acknowledges that Tāmaki is home to the largest consolidated Ngāpuhi population. It acknowledges the youth of the Ngāpuhi population by setting aside taitamariki representation.
It allows for diversity of urban Ngāpuhi experiences and perspectives. Inclusivity of a range of Ngāpuhi voices.
A good friend recited a quote to me that I feel is fitting for this kaupapa: Diversity is being invited to the party. Inclusion is being asked to dance.
For me, the level of urban representation proposed, invokes the sentiment of being asked to dance. It is time our urban experiences are included in the narrative – not to displace our hapū. To strengthen our claim against the Crown for the fragmentation it wrought on our whānau, and our hapū.
I support Ngāpuhi moving forward. I support moving forward because until we do, colonisation will consign future generations to a life of surviving rather than thriving. And there is so much opportunity for Ngāpuhi through urban representation from here in Tāmaki.
There is an opportunity to increase Ngāpuhi representation in decision-making forums in Tāmaki to advance our Ngāpuhi agenda.
Being part of the decision-making is integral to strengthening the pipeline of prosperity from Tāmaki to Taitokerau.
There is an opportunity to collaborate with the Regional bodies as a conduit to re-connect Ngāpuhi ki Tāmaki and Ngāpuhi returning to Aotearoa with their hapū. There is a revival brewing and we must be collectively prepared with the cultural infrastructure to connect our people with their place.
As it is Suffrage Day, it is fitting that I mihi here to all those people who have spoken about wahine representation. I think it only right that we acknowledge the importance of balance between wahine and tāne representation as we embark on this journey.
We must look at the future we want and create it now. We must begin to live the future we want for our tamariki.
In the words of Dame Whina Cooper:
Take care of our children, take care of what they hear, take care of what they see, take care of what they feel, for how the children grow, so will be the shape of Aotearoa.
The future for our tamariki must be one of peace. And peace is about balance. The future for our tamariki must then be one where the roles of mana tāne and mana wahine are restored. This is not the time to get defensive over patriarchal realities inflicted on wahine, to appeal to merit while ignoring structural disadvantage introduced through colonisation. To move toward peace among ourselves and for the future of our tamariki, we must restore the balance.
Because colonisation is not a thing that happened to us in the past. It is perpetual. It is still happening to us today. It will be here tomorrow. It will be here after settlement. We must move toward peace among ourselves. Moving toward settlement is a first step in the peace process. It is not the end. Settlement is never the end. It is only the beginning of our revival.
We can choose settlement and choose how we will thrive despite colonisation for the benefit of our hapū and future generations to come. Now is not the time to delay. Now is the time to hold the Crown to account.
“Shut up you dick!” cried Hana. She’d had enough of the fighting and hostility playing out in her living room. She stormed off to her bedroom, collapsed on to her bed, sunk her face into her pillow and wept. She was only 10. Hana’s mum was killed the year before by a Pākehā man who ran her over following a racist encounter at the pub she worked. He’d waited until she finished up, then in his drunken rage ploughed his car into her, as she crossed the road. After that, everything changed. Her Dad began drinking heavily and returned to the gang life he’d detached from when he met her mother. He’d get angry, then sad and then angry again. Alcohol and gang life comforted him. But Hana didn’t like it. She felt afraid and unsafe in this new life her dad had imposed on them.
Hana had made up her mind that night to stand up to them. But things took a turn following her outburst. Haki who had been teasing her, got out of his seat rushed over to her with a raised hand, poised to strike. Her Dad stepped in to defuse the situation. But trying not to look soft in front of the gang, he growled her for being disrespectful and meted out a punishment. He made her clean up the lounge where they were all congregated – get rid of the empties, clean the ashtrays, clear the dishes, vacuum the floor and serve them beers and kai. They watched, they laughed, they threw their empties on the floor for her to pick up fully exploiting the situation for their amusement. Hana was furious with her Dad. He had humiliated her.
She recalled how when her mother was alive, she was his angel. He would never have done that. He would never have humiliated her. Hana was a middle child, but the oldest girl. She had two older brothers, but they were never around because when her Dad gets drunk he gets angry and takes it out on them.
By the time Hana turned 15, her trauma began to play out in in unhealthy ways. She began taking serious risks. On one particular day, she stole a car and took it for a joyride on the country roads she thought she knew so well. Hana didn’t see the other car coming. She had been distracted trying to tune the radio. She crossed the centre line. The noise was unforgettable. The sound of metal colliding created a nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought the driver in the other car stood no chance. Hana broke down. At this moment she remembered her mum and how much she missed her. She knew that her mum would not want this life for her and that she would be weeping at the way Hana’s life was turning out.
Hana stood in the wreckage frozen in disbelief at the mess she had caused. She took in the surroundings as if she’d lost her hearing, the scene taking place in slow motion as if detached from her. Flashes of her Dad as loving then the monster he had become. Visions of her brothers once full of hope and energy now fully committed to their gang life. Her baby sisters about to be confined to the pathway of trauma she had experienced in the past five years. Hana felt helpless and abandoned. As the police and ambulance arrived, Hana returned to reality. She heard an old but familiar voice calling out to her “Kōtiro! Kōtiro, come here”. Hana turned to see a kuia she had once known. She realised that she had collided with, and nearly taken the life of someone whom she had loved as a child.
Hana approached the kuia, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” she sobbed repeatedly. The kuia looked into her eyes, grabbed her hand and said “Kōtiro, your wairua is not well. You must remember in all your pain that you are your ancestors and they are with you. I’ve heard what has been happening since your Mother passed. Only now, have I seen the depth of your pain”. Hana cried again realising she had a choice to make – stay, where life would continue to be complicated, unsafe and wairua unwell or go, create a new life, heal her pain so she could heal the pain of her whānau.
After the ambulance cleared her, and the police questioned her, Hana went home. She asked the Officer to drop her off a bit down the road, as she was worried her dad would lose his temper if she showed up with them. They agreed, but because of her age told her they would need to speak with him soon.
When Hana walked in the door, the house was silent.
This was unusual, as her dad and sisters were always home. And there was nearly always visitors drinking in her lounge. She searched the house, but no one was there. She went outside – maybe her sisters were playing out the back, as they often did.
As Hana stepped out the back door, she saw what looked like a shadow. She froze. At the back of her house is a large tree. It used to have a tyre swing. She began screaming. She couldn’t hear her screams, but she could feel them. As she drew nearer to the tree, she began to wail. It was her dad. It was his shadow, hanging from the tree. But beneath him, lay her beautiful baby sisters, lifeless. Some neighbours had heard her screaming and came over to assist. Heeding the words of the kuia, she called on her ancestors to give her strength.
Hana, now in her 60s lives in the city. She has never been home. It is too painful for her. However, her mokopuna have begun asking about their tupuna and their culture. Hana has lost much of what she learned as a young child. When she left, she consciously left it all behind. Today, she had a vision of that kuia – “You are your ancestors’ kōtiro”.
(Involuntary) Urbanisation of Māori
Not every urban story begins with trauma or pain as explicit as this story. The above, is not a biography of any person, rather it is a persona intended to illustrate the complex and devastating effects of colonisation and rapid and arguably involuntary urbanisation of Māori in Aotearoa. I wanted to highlight that adversity impacts people in different ways and that the outcomes can involve more complexities than what seems obvious. Escaping negative social and economic conditions is a complex choice, often made out of necessity about survival.
Urbanisation of Māori is the story of perpetual colonisation. That is not to say that urbanisation in itself is a negative. It has many benefits and opportunities particularly in our modern context provided the cultural infrastructure of indigenous groups is enabled to thrive through positive social attitudes toward our culture, inclusive policy and sufficient resourcing. However, the implications for Māori through carefully executed assimilation policies by the Crown has embedded intergenerational trauma that will take generations to heal.
The Crowns English-language manual-labour focused education policies for Māori eventually coincided with slowing rural but booming urban economic conditions, which left many whānau with little choice except to move away from the tribal rohe and migrate to the cities. As noted above, choice is complex in this context, and as such, urbanisation was arguably involuntary. For many it was a decision made on the Crown’s promise of work, money and pleasure. Like other promises made by the Crown, the reality quickly began to paint a different picture. As highlighted by UN-Habitat, ‘both indigenous rural–urban migrants and long-time indigenous urbanites tend to be marginalised and discriminated against by dominant population groups’.
Urbanisation of Māori was sadly not the story of realising potential, accessing opportunity, and achieving a high standard of living. We know now from lived experience that as well as disproportionate representation of Māori across the lower end of socio-economic outcomes and low participation rates in civic matters that urbanisation is also a major cause of intergenerational whānau fragmentation, disconnection to our hapū, iwi, whenua, and culture and loss of mātauranga, reo and cultural identity.
Ngāpuhi and the urban and hau kainga discussion
The notion of urban Māori has become a prominent feature in Ngāpuhi discussions as we prepare for Treaty settlement negotiations. However, disconnection – created and perpetuated by the Crown, continues to fuel the rifts we are experiencing as urban and hau kainga descendants of the hapū of Ngāpuhi.
There is no consensus on whether urban Ngāpuhi should be included in the proposed negotiating structure. One of the reasons is that there is great discomfort in identifying a subset of Ngāpuhi as urban Ngāpuhi, in the sense that as urban they are distinct from their hapū. The reason for this unease, and in some cases rejection of the urban proposition, is that those who identify as Ngāpuhi do so as descendants of the hapū of Ngāpuhi and urban is not a hapū. As Waihoroi Shortland pointed out at a hui in Tāmaki Makaurau recently, Ngāpuhi is an identifier external to us, it is the consolidation of a number of hapū, who in their collective state form Ngāpuhi nui tonu.
I agree with those arguments. However, I also think there is a distinction between identity and experience in this context. For instance, in terms of my Ngāpuhi ancestry, my identity is as Ngāti Tautahi and Ngāti Rēhia. However, my experience as those identities is distinct from the hau kainga experience. My experience is urban. I was born and raised in Tīmaru (more than 1000 kilometres away from my tribal rohe), and have lived in Tāmaki Makaurau now for the majority of my adult life. My understanding of and connection to our whakapapa is much less than those who grew up on our marae with our kawa and tikanga, and on our ancestral whenua among our maunga, awa, and ngāhere.
My identity is not separate from te uri o ngā hapū o Ngāpuhi. However, my experience, and the experiences of many others is unique to our particular lived circumstances. Our experience of colonisation is tied to our urban-ness. We speak to disconnection as felt from being separated from our hau kainga and all of which that embodies. We speak to our marginalisation in the cities and our direct experiences of institutional racism in an urban context.
Our experiences are as much a part of colonisation as the experiences of our hau kainga.
The urban experience is a direct result of colonisation, and parking our experiences in the settlement context allows the Crown to avoid or minimise the significance of the urban disconnection conversation that continues to shaft te uri o ngā hapū o Ngāpuhi who have only ever lived in our urban centres or outside our tribal rohe.
In my experience, those of us who have urban experiences do not consider our hapū or iwi at fault. We do not consider this an “us (urban)” versus “them (hau kainga)” kaupapa. It is about all of us collectively holding the Crown to account for the destruction its assimilation policies wrought on our communities and within our whānau over many generations. It is not about pointing the finger at specific individuals who represent the Crown today or our Pākehā whānau, friends or neighbours. It is about recognising that the system that people like Hon Andrew Little represents, as a Minister of the Crown, and the system that enabled our Pākehā ancestors to settle here, has been unkind, unfair and frankly destructive to our Māori ways of being across a range of social, cultural, political and economic intersections.
We must be clear: involuntary urbanisation is a very real experience for many Ngāpuhi and locating our experience in our context is not about severance from our hapū, it is about recognising our distinct experiences of colonisation. We are descendants of the hapū of Ngāpuhi and we are also urban in our experience. Not every person who lives in an urban area will or is required to define themselves in an urban context, but to deny those of us who locate our experiences as Ngāpuhi in an urban context is to marginalise our voices and perpetuate the colonisation of the Crown.
We are our ancestors and we are surviving but fragmented we cannot and will not thrive.
Ignorance is not just not knowing stuff. It is also believing you have nothing more to learn. For instance, you choose to be racist and you can choose to not be racist because you can choose to do the work to unlearn the racist tropes and half histories you have chosen to be your truth. You can choose to share power or store power. You can choose peace or you can choose war. You can choose to understand free speech as something more than a right to say whatever you please without consequence.
Recently, I was asked what my position was on free speech and I was torn. I absolutely do not think any group whose ideology in practice engages in genocide has a ‘right’ to build or advocate that kind of movement under the protection of free speech. The very real and imminent threat here is the potential of such groups to tap into people’s deepest fears and insecurities, play on their ignorance and mobilise them to commit atrocities that threaten the survival of a group or groups of people.
In saying that, ignorance is why I also consider there to be a place for deplorable worldviews. That is, how can we learn what inclusiveness looks like, if we suppress hatefulness? How do we reach ignorant people and help them to un-learn and re-learn if they don’t know what their ignorance looks like in contrast to inclusiveness? What if inclusiveness today creates unintended consequences that lead to different kinds of ignorance in future? We already hear discussions around transculturation, that is, the merging and converging of cultures into one homogenous group. There is a very real risk that inclusiveness passively morphs into its own white supremacy over time and how do we counter that if people cannot see that the white supremacy they have bought into is not inclusiveness?
I know I have more questions than solutions. But I think its important to start questioning things like inclusiveness and how we see that operating in future – what protections do we have to ensure it’s not a dangerously quiet transition into becoming the dominant culture?
As I see it, free speech is both theoretical and action oriented. Over time, societies frame and reframe it according to social norms, political beliefs and cultural practices. Many proponents of free speech often refer to western legal rights to justify hateful and challenging positions and liberal responses in turn use that same legal framework to justify limitations or restrictions on what we should allow or not allow people to say. In other words, we tend to fixate on the procedural elements (e.g. who, when, what and where) and legislative interpretation (e.g. rights, defences, exemptions) and subsequently lock ourselves in to a perpetual cycle of disharmony. But what if we turned our attention to its action oriented limb to understand the act of speaking freely, the act of actively listening, and the act of restoring harmony where ignorance and enlightenment clash?
In my view, neither of the arguments referred to above speak meaningfully to the mana and the mauri of people or peoples. One obvious reason is that the debate centres in western discourse. Arguably, the ‘public interest’ and the ‘autonomy of the individual’ arguments do embody elements of those concepts. For instance, autonomy respects the individual and therefore the mana they hold within themselves, and public interest speaks to the mauri of the people or peoples and protecting their wellbeing. However, because these are dealt with separately as opposing arguments, rather than as part of a whole story neither argument fully addresses – nor can it, ‘why and how’ free speech can operate harmoniously in our modern social context.
I think tikanga and kawa could and should have a major role in the free speech discussion in context of Aotearoa New Zealand because kaupapa Māori models provide a unique and balancing lens. These models help us to think about the issue differently and in a deeper and more spiritual context.
I’ve been delving into the stories of my tīpuna and their actions and corresponding kōrero in an effort to assert their rangatiratanga and to retain mana motuhake for their hapū and for Māori collectively. Our tīpuna spoke freely, they spoke fiercely and by liberal standards today at times they spoke arrogantly, aggressively and derogatorily about the imminent settler government that threatened the survival of our people and our culture.
But lets clear something up here first, the threat to our survival as a peoples by the coloniser was and is not the same as the disingenuously propagated threat by white supremacists fearful of the erasure of their white-ness. Firstly, colonisation was the action-oriented part of a much larger political ideology that swept the globe, western imperialism. It was an act of white supremacy. Secondly, political power resides in white institutions through the militarisation of western nation states. The Molyneux’s and Southern’s of this world are using a pre-emptive war tactic appealing to the protections of free speech in an effort to hold onto white institutional power through the extermination of any peoples who they perceive as threat to that power storing. So when I think about speaking freely, and what it is intended to achieve through a tikanga lens, I am directed toward a state of peace and harmonious relations.
I think about the Māori context and how we deal with a take (issue) and the way the rākau is passed around so every person is allocated time to have their say, no matter how hard that truth may be to hear. The context within which these discussions or confrontations take place is one where the group affirm the mana of each speaker, and preserve the mauri of the people through a process of restoration – removing the tapu through noa. I love that our ancestors adopted a healing process so we could return to our lives with aroha in our hearts to continue the mahi of manaakitanga. This is the process by which they kept the mana of all intact and restored the mauri of all involved so the tribe could thrive as a collective. I don’t here claim that peace was achieved following every confrontation, we know that is simply not the case – in some cases, confrontations led to war (I’ll come back to this ‘war’ point below). If we can uphold the legacy of all our ancestors (Māori and non-Māori alike) in preserving our right to speak freely where our intention is directed toward peace and harmonious relations, then we can be clear about our expectations of each other and the process for managing conflicts, and helping heal ignorance.
This brings me back to current issues and my point of view on free speech:
Promoting and enabling movements and actions that threaten the survival of peoples, is not an act of free speech, it is an act of war because actions not seeking harmony and balance of power, threaten the survival of peoples.
When Mayor Phil Goff refused to provide a platform for fascism, he was refusing their act of war. When the Owners of the Powerstation revoked use of its venue for fascist purposes, it refused their act of war. When the people turned up at Aotea Square to challenge the arrival of fascists on our shores, they too refused their act of war. Similarly, when our ancestors signed He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti o Waitangi they refused the settler governments act of war. And as I see it, locking hapū and iwi out of Parliament, is an act of war.
I provide this submission in my personal capacity. The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of my hapū, iwi, employer or any other organisation or group to which I am affiliated.
Position
This submission opposes the establishment of a Crown-Māori Relations portfolio because:
(a) Te Tiriti o Waitangi is the founding document of this nation. As such, every Minister of the Crown has a duty to ensure the ministries and subsidiaries they are responsible for act reasonably and in good faith to advance and protect the rights and interests of Māori guaranteed under Te Tiriti.
A Ministry of Crown-Māori Relations is unnecessary given every Minister of the Crown already has an obligation to ensure the health of the Crown’s relationship with Māori.
(b) Despite the planned series of hui taking place around the motu seeking feedback and input from the public, Budget 2018 stipulates an appropriation for the establishment of a Crown-Māori Relations portfolio, signalling it is a fait accompli.
The approach is inconsistent with the concept of consultation and Article 19 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), which provides that States must consult and cooperate in good faith with the indigenous peoples and obtain their free, prior and informed consent before adopting and implementing legislative or administrative measures that may affect them.
(c) Establishing a caretaker portfolio potentially creates a new legal obligation requiring Māori to engage with the Crown on the Crown’s terms. Arguably, this has the effect of retrospectively amending Te Tiriti o Waitangi and ignores the Waitangi Tribunal’s finding that Māori did not cede sovereignty.
(d) There is a risk that a Crown-Māori Relations portfolio will provide the means for this government and future governments, to restrict the ability of Māori to enter into partnerships with the Crown as equals under Te Tiriti o Waitangi.
It does this by potentially narrowing Māori-Crown partnership pathways to one entry point if the convention becomes that Māori must first engage the Minister for Crown-Māori Relations before access is granted to other Ministers relevant to their particular interests.
If this occurs, it would breach Te Tiriti o Waitangi and Article 3 of the UNDRIP because it would bind Māori to perpetual structural disadvantage impeding our ability to be self-determining.
(e) It is difficult to see how the health of the relationship can be objectively measured given the proposed Crown-Māori relations portfolio would be responsible for monitoring itself. It is unclear who will carry out a ‘health check’ of the relationship, and what measures or indicators will be used to determine ‘health status’.
(f) If the Crown wishes to improve its relationship with Māori, it cannot impose a new forum in which it expects Māori to engage with it using a deceptive frame that proposes to empower Māori while eroding our claim to our sovereignty. It is for Māori to determine what our relationship is with the Crown, and to determine the process by which we will engage.
Arguably, the Crown has acted dishonestly by surreptitiously using its Māori Ministers’ access to Māori forums to primarily advance the Crown’s own interests. If the Crown is genuine in its commitment to restore its relationship with Māori then it must first:
(i) address the issue of sovereignty; and
(ii) give legal effect to He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti o Waitangi.
Recommendation
This submission recommends that the Crown consider its alternatives to a “Crown-Māori Relations” portfolio. In particular, that the Crown:
(a) re-scopes its purpose to reconciliation and focuses on how it (the Crown) proposes to fulfil its obligations and correct unresolved historical and contemporary grievances under Te Tiriti o Waitangi and in alignment with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples
(b) renames the portfolio “Minister for Crown Reconciliation”
(c) reframes its narrative so that it is understood by the public that the portfolio places the onus on the Crown to restore its relationship with Māori, rather than placing the onus on Māori to engage with the Crown in restoring the relationship
(d) redirects the $3.2million funding from Budget 2018 to establish an Independent Māori Advisory Panel (IMAP) to carry out a range of activities that will inform the future scope of works needed to support Māori in the realisation of their tino rangatiratānga (refer Article 18, UNDRIP)
(e) agrees to take genuine steps to work with Māori to address the issue of sovereignty and give legal effect to He Whakaputanga and Te Tiriti o Waitangi
Ellipsister 