Sep 18, 2024 Society
The mood is sombre among Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders in Australia. Many are pushing last year’s Voice referendum out of their minds, after a brutal ‘no’ campaign argued against indigenous communities having representation at the highest level of government.
Earlier this year, I travelled across the Tasman to a gathering of indigenous changemakers to hear for myself how communities were experiencing the referendum’s aftermath. In the thick rainforest atmosphere of Cairns, the pain was palpable. There were fiery debates, solemn silences and tears shed as the younger generation pulled out the jagged, wounding shards of their nation’s racism, souls heavy with the responsibility of what to do next. People told me of family members who were usually detached from politics, but post-referendum reported feeling broken and hurt like never before — some too ashamed even to leave the house.
Support for an Indigenous Voice to Parliament had started strong. In early 2023, between 60% to 70% of Australians supported a ‘yes’ vote. But after a calculated ‘no’ campaign, which capitalised on the fear and confusion of non-indigenous Australians and channelled the dark machine of mis- and disinfo, national support crashed to 39.94%.
The date of the Voice referendum, 14 October 2023, was also a monumental time for Māori in Aotearoa. Where Australia was marking the end of a targeted attack on indigenous people, our country was embarking on a new one, following the general election that day. The National Party campaigned on easing the cost of living, but many of the plans listed in the coalition agreements between it and its two partners in the new government were attacks on Māori — disestablishing the health authority tasked with helping us to live as long as our Pākehā counterparts, removing Māori local decision-making roles, diminishing the use of te reo in public services and rewriting our own self-determination out of the country’s founding treaty. On top of this, broader policies such as scrapping the Fair Pay Agreements and Smokefree legislation, undermining iwi and hapū decision-making with the Fast-track Approvals Bill and reintroducing no-cause rental evictions all disproportionately affect us as Māori.
Many of these policies are being pushed into legislation under urgency or shortened processes, which is both desecrating the coalition’s own so-called value of democracy and breaching the government’s constitutional obligation to its Treaty partners. It’s tempting to describe this political moment as another Groundhog Day, a predictable gravitational pull that leads politicians to attack Māori in an attempt to boost their own support among the majority population. And yet, something appears different this time.
Unlike the division among indigenous communities that plagued the ‘yes’ campaign in Australia, most Māori appear united against the government’s incoming policies. A national movement called Toitū Te Tiriti launched immediately after the election, and Māori self-organised demonstrations around the country. The Kīngitanga-led Hui-ā-Motu in January drew up to 10,000 people to Ngāruawāhia for the express purpose of kotahitanga, and Waitangi Day numbered 80,000 people across the weekend.
An era of Treaty settlements called on us to assert our particular iwi and hapū identities, but we are now joining together as ngā iwi Māori — freshly united by a connected force. With the wisdom and experience of our elders, the determination and get-shit-done attitude of our parents, and now a generation of young people raised securely in their language and culture, we are arguably stronger than we have ever been since the colonial project first tried to relegate us to a footnote in history.
This time, it’s not just us. On the back of the Pākehā who formed relationships with Māori decades ago, and supported by the Treaty education workers who have been diligently teaching our country about our history, Māori are certainly not alone. As the director of ActionStation, I lead a team of mostly non-Māori who are committed to creating a Te-Tiriti-honouring future. Every day, I have conversations with people from a range of backgrounds who see Te Tiriti as a generous invitation by Māori to share these precious islands with the rest of the world. They are the Pākehā grandparents learning te reo for their Māori grandchildren; the workers who see the way racism is used to undermine everyone’s rights in the workplace; the doctors who cannot bear to watch our whānau suffer from structural health inequity; the migrants who feel a sense of grounding when they learn of our culture.
Despite the deafening volume of anti-Māori sentiment from the coalition government and racist lobby groups such as Hobson’s Pledge, our country is more embracing of Māori values, language and leadership than it has ever been. Racism no longer has the monopoly it once did. Together, we are seeing the incredible promise that Te Tiriti o Waitangi offers. Unlike many other countries with similar colonial histories, we have a foundation and a roadmap for creating a country where we can all thrive.
It is enticing to believe that the arc of justice will bend quickly. But the most consistent advice I received from our tuakana across the ditch was not to be complacent. For the past few decades, indigenous communities worldwide have been some of the most outspoken advocates for the environment — whether it is standing up against pipelines, mining or property developments. Our commitment to the sacredness of land and water is a perpetual thorn in the side of big business, and there is no doubt that racism is being weaponised to weaken our movements to protect the planet. Just by existing, we often stand between powerful people and the profit they intend to make.
And therein lies the deeper challenge — where racism and capitalism combine forces to make indigenous communities feared or hated enough to become easy collateral. This is what is truly at stake this political cycle. In some ways, our country has a choice. Defend Te Tiriti and open up a pathway to a fairer, vibrant and uniquely Māori-led future that looks after all of us, or choose the relentless race to the bottom towards social destruction, wealth inequality and climate carnage. There is no safe middle ground. To pursue the former requires seeing past the allure of assimilation, the tech-fuelled traps of mis- and disinfo, and the arrogant distractions of the flailing three-headed taniwha. This may be the biggest choice our country makes, and thanks to the government’s dismantling of democratic process, our time is short to make it.
