Latest news with #Pākehā
The Spinoff
2 days ago
- Business
- The Spinoff
The cost of being: A junior lawyer saving up to move overseas
As part of our series exploring how New Zealanders live and our relationship with money, a junior lawyer details where their money goes. Want to be part of The Cost of Being? Fill out the questionnaire here. Gender: Female. Age: 24. Ethnicity: Pākehā. Role: Junior lawyer. Salary/income/assets: $66,000 per year, plus a non-accessible managed investment fund. My living location is: Suburban. Rent/mortgage per week: $230 per week (plus utilities) in a shared flat. Student loan or other debt payments per week: $78,000 remaining on my student loan. Typical weekly food costs Groceries: $100, though this super varies depending on what I'm meal prepping that week. Eating out: $50 – probably one 'date night'/night out per week and/or a brunch with friends. Takeaways: $0 – I don't let myself have UberEats on my phone. Workday lunches: $12 – I treat myself to one bought lunch per week max. The rest of the time I have leftovers from the night before. Cafe coffees/snacks: $15 per week on a cheeky coffee. Other food costs: Probably spend an equivalent of $10 per week on protein powders, supplements etc. Savings: $2,500 currently, aiming for $10,000 by the end of the year so I can move overseas. I worry about money: Sometimes. Three words to describe my financial situation: Up and down. My biggest edible indulgence would be: Protein Greek yoghurt!!! The GOAT of my diet. In a typical week my alcohol expenditure would be: $5-10 – not a big drinker and tend to bring gifted wine to BYOs, parties etc. In a typical week my transport expenditure would be: I walk to and from work (approximately 30 minutes each way) but on a rainy day I will bus. So maybe $5 per week on public transport, and $10 per week towards my petrol. I estimate in the past year the ballpark amount I spent on my personal clothing (including sleepwear and underwear) was: This is pretty embarrassing, but we are probably looking at the $1-2k range. I LOVE clothes (especially shoes). My most expensive clothing in the past year was: New Mi Piaci work shoes, around $250? My last pair of shoes cost: Around $200 for running shoes (On Running Cloudmonsters). My grooming/beauty expenditure in a year is about: $1000 – haircuts, makeup and skincare is expensive omg! My exercise expenditure in a year is about: $14 per week on gym membership plus maybe $600 on general exercise wear (including the shoes)? My last Friday night cost: $0, went to the gym and had an early night with a much needed sleep in. Oh – I did treat myself to a mango. So $2.50. Most regrettable purchase in the last 12 months was: A pair of jeans on sale that immediately stretched and now are too big. Should have looked at the material first! Most indulgent purchase (that I don't regret) in the last 12 months was: My Kowtow black dress ($95 on sale plus used Kowtow voucher I had earned from previous purchases). Absolute staple in the work wardrobe. One area where I'm a bit of a tightwad is: Alcohol. I love to party etc, but I would rather buy nice food over nice alcohol. Five words to describe my financial personality would be: Frivolous with fashion, but fun. I grew up in a house where money was: Not really spoken about. I was lucky to never want for anything, but now look back and realise just how hard my parents were working behind the scenes to make that happen. Very grateful. The last time my Eftpos card was declined was: A couple of days ago, had to switch money from my backup savings to buy my brother's birthday present. In five years, in financial terms, I see myself: Hopefully overseas, earning way more money so I can travel more. I would love to have more money for: Travel. If I could I would be travelling every weekend! Describe your financial low: About a year ago I ran out of money completely after moving flats (and paying double bond), and had to ask my brother for a $30 loan to get me to the end of the week. But out of that now, thank goodness. I give money away to: I volunteer regularly, so I try to give my time more than my money. When I have more money, I will be able to donate regularly too.
Scoop
4 days ago
- General
- Scoop
E Tiriti Through Two Lenses: A Kōrero Between Tangata Whenua And Tangata Tiriti
Whare Wānanga, Central Library, Level 2, 44 Lorne Street, Auckland CBD Saturday 28 June 2025 | 2:00pm – 3:00pm This Matariki season, Aucklanders are invited to deepen their understanding of Te Tiriti o Waitangi at Ka mua ka muri: Moving forward with Te Tiriti o Waitangi — a timely and energising conversation between two of Aotearoa's most thoughtful commentators on Tiriti justice, education, and the evolving relationship between Māori and Pākehā. Held in the Whare Wānanga at Auckland Central Library as part of the Tāmaki Untold series, the event features Roimata Smail, author of Understanding Te Tiriti, in conversation with Avril Bell, author of Becoming Tangata Tiriti. Together, they will explore the significance of Te Tiriti in 2025: how we honour its principles, hold power to account, and move forward in partnership — ka mua, ka muri — by learning from our past. Roimata Smail (Ngāti Maniapoto, Tainui, England, Scotland, Ireland) is a lawyer who has specialised in Te Tiriti o Waitangi for over 20 years. She represented lead claimants in the Waitangi Tribunal's WAI2575 inquiry, which led to the establishment of Te Aka Whai Ora, the Māori Health Authority. Her commitment to public education is reflected in her Tiriti workshops ( and the creation of a free online resource for schools covering Te Tiriti, New Zealand history, te reo Māori, and financial literacy. 'What most surprises me about the response to Understanding Te Tiriti,' says Roimata, 'is how good it seems to make people feel. Even though it covers some very dark parts of our history, the consistent feedback is that it leaves people feeling hopeful, positive and energised — simply by knowing the facts.' She adds, 'It feels really special to be presenting this kōrero with Avril. Having Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti together, each bringing a different perspective and book, is exactly the kind of partnership Te Tiriti calls for.' Joining Roimata is Avril Bell, a Pākehā sociologist and Honorary Associate Professor at the University of Auckland, whose work explores Pākehā identity and the long shadow of colonialism. Her latest book, Becoming Tangata Tiriti (Auckland University Press, 2024), invites Pākehā to engage in the hard but necessary work of becoming genuine Tiriti partners. 'One thing my research has taught me, is how lucky we are to have Te Tiriti o Waitangi as a guide to what our relationships might be. And, like Roimata, I have been struck by how positive and hopeful people are in response to Becoming Tangata Tiriti. There is definitely a growing understanding of how significant te Tiriti is for all of us and interest in contributing to a more positive future of Tangata Whenua-Tangata Tiriti relations.' Reflecting on the road ahead, Roimata says, 'I think what's next for Aotearoa is more of what has already begun — especially in response to the Treaty Principles Bill. People are starting to expect more from our politicians and are holding them to a higher standard, in how we treat each other and honour Te Tiriti in real, everyday ways.' This event marks Roimata's third collaboration with Auckland Libraries. 'It's always been a really positive and energising experience — great people, good kōrero,' she says. 'And this time, it's going to be fun to have a friend and partner with me for the conversation.' Avril likewise says 'I'm really looking forward to this conversation with Roimata – and those who come to the event. I love the fact that te Tiriti always gives us plenty to talk about.' Tāmaki Untold is a curated monthly talk series hosted by Auckland Libraries' Research and Heritage Services, celebrating the taonga, stories and creativity of Tāmaki Makaurau.
The Spinoff
19-06-2025
- Business
- The Spinoff
The cost of being: A political adviser finishing their master's degree
As part of our series exploring how New Zealanders live and our relationship with money, a political adviser and master's student describes their financial situation. Want to be part of The Cost of Being? Fill out the questionnaire here. Gender: Female. Age: 23. Ethnicity: Pākehā. Role: I work full time as a political adviser and am a master's student. Salary/income/assets: My salary is $75,000 a year. My living location is: Urban. Rent/mortgage per week: $240 per week, not including other expenses like power and wifi. I live with two other flatmates and we split everything equally. Student loan or other debt payments per week: My student loan is pretty high because I didn't work for most of my undergrad and have also added to it with the master's degree I'm currently finishing up – I get paid monthly so it's about $550 out of each pay check. Typical weekly food costs Groceries: I would say I spend about $100 a week on supermarket trips – I'm a terrible cook and get decision paralysis in the aisles, so it tends to be on snacky stuff and a lot of beverages. My shelf in the fridge is always empty! Eating out: I eat out quite a bit on weekends (mostly at cafes) – I would estimate I spend about $30 a week on that. Takeaways: I get takeaways during the week if I feel like I need a big dinner which I usually don't have the ingredients to cook – maybe $50 a week? Workday lunches: $30 a week. Usually lunch for me is just a protein bar from the supermarket, but sometimes I branch out and go to a café or out with co-workers. Cafe coffees/snacks: $15 per week (not counting my lunchtime protein bars as a snack – that's a meal!). Other food costs: None. Savings: I put anywhere from $500 to $1000 a month into my savings account (depending on outgoings). I would love to get more adept at investing, because my savings account is starting to have what feels like a useless amount of money to just be sitting there. I worry about money: Sometimes. Three words to describe my financial situation: Growing, impulsive, fortunate. My biggest edible indulgence would be: Trying new cafes at the weekend – and smoked Havarti cheese! In a typical week my alcohol expenditure would be: Unfortunately after a few weeks of sobriety I am back on the Courtenay Place grind. $50 a week. In a typical week my transport expenditure would be: Nothing, because I walk everywhere. Even in winter. I estimate in the past year the ballpark amount I spent on my personal clothing (including sleepwear and underwear) was: I think it would be about $1500, I got a new job last year so had to get some more professional office stuff, but I like to shop vintage/ second hand so a lot of my clothes are from Depop or stores along Cuba St. My most expensive clothing in the past year was: I think it was a pair of Doc Martens I bought a few weeks back for $360. Still mustering up the courage to break them in. My last pair of shoes cost: $280 for some nicer running shoes because my old ones hurt me. My grooming/beauty expenditure in a year is about: Probably about $2000 (embarrassing!): $300 a year on hair-related activities, I replace my (very simple) skincare routine every few months which costs about $50 dollars, don't get through makeup too quickly so probably about $100 a year on that, and get my nails done monthly for about $100. My exercise expenditure in a year is about: My gym costs $7 a week (so $364 a year?) – which I really make the most of and use almost every day. My last Friday night cost: Nothing, unless you include the cost of my degree because I was working on my thesis the whole evening. Most regrettable purchase in the last 12 months was: A pair of shoes I made the mistake of buying online, which didn't fit and which I forgot to return. Most indulgent purchase (that I don't regret) in the last 12 months was: New bedding. I love my bed. One area where I'm a bit of a tightwad is: Socks. Hate buying socks. But other than that, I'm not sure I'm a tightwad at all – maybe with having people pay me back, but I feel like that's fair. Five words to describe my financial personality would be: Fun, I could die tomorrow. I grew up in a house where money was: A frequent and stressful subject because my dad owned his own business and my mum always worked hard too. I felt a lot of anxiety about it growing up because of the negative ways it was discussed, but I was always fortunate to go to great schools and never had to worry about having food on the table. The last time my Eftpos card was declined was: I don't think it has. I always know how much money is in my spending account. In five years, in financial terms, I see myself: Student loan paid off (I hope I pray!), on a higher salary, renting somewhere nicer. It's not on my radar for the next while to even think about buying a house. I would love to have more money for: International travel! I want to do Euro summer at least once. Describe your financial low: Just last year, when I was doing an unpaid internship and tutoring at uni for extra money – I never felt like I had enough, had basically no savings, wouldn't eat much, and would have about $30 to my name some weeks after rent and bills. I give money away to: The SPCA.
The Spinoff
16-06-2025
- Politics
- The Spinoff
Kerrin Leoni wants to be the next mayor of Auckland. Does she have a chance?
From Mount Roskill to Waiheke to London and back, Whau ward councillor Kerrin Leoni explains her path to politics, what she's learned from Wayne Brown and why she's making a bold bid to take his job. 'Isn't he funny?' says councillor Kerrin Leoni. She's talking about current Auckland mayor Wayne Brown, who has just mockingly told a reporter he won't be giving him any comments as the governing body meeting breaks for lunch. Leoni laughs as she tucks into one of the rolls offered around. This morning has been spent in the council chambers at Auckland Town Hall, discussing budget appropriations and the year ahead. Across the road at the food court, Leoni sits amid the lunchtime rush, standing out in a multicoloured floral blazer, red lipstick and a large pounamu around her neck. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, gold ball earrings dangling from her ears as she tucks into a pho – the roll was seemingly just a ratepayer-funded entree, which few would blame Leoni for taking advantage of. 'I think the council has had a certain type of leadership for a long time, and we need new leadership to get more Aucklanders excited about what happens with council,' says the 44-year-old first-term Whau ward councillor between spoonfuls of broth. She has a calm, assured presence: calculated and refined, warm yet cautious. She's undergone media training for her mayoral campaign in the lead-up to the October election, and it shows. Every response is carefully considered, revealing just enough, never too much. It makes her hard to read. Born and raised in Auckland, Leoni spent her early years in the suburb of Mount Roskill with her grandmother. Later, she moved to Waiheke Island to live with her grandfather and uncle and attended Waiheke High School. For her final year of secondary school, she went to Louisiana in the deep south of the United States, where she experienced overt racism for the first time. 'I stayed with a Pākehā family first, and they told me I wasn't allowed to have black friends. That was pretty full on.' Back in Aotearoa, Leoni enrolled at AUT, studying Māori development and social work, eventually completing a master's degree. By 21 she was working for Child, Youth and Family, and by 23 she was supervising staff twice her age. Alongside a group of friends, she also began investing in property. In her mid-20s, Leoni moved to London. It wasn't your run-of-the-mill OE: she launched a consultancy specialising in social work and quality assurance, and completed another master's degree at King's College London in economics and international politics. Recognising her privilege, she started a charitable organisation called Mana Aroha, helping young Māori and Pasifika move to London for work and exposure. 'I've always had that inspiration to give back to the community,' she says. 'I felt very blessed to have the opportunity to work and travel somewhere I didn't experience the racism we face here as Māori.' A decade abroad gave her a new lens on what makes a world-class city. 'I came back and felt our transport system was way behind, our infrastructure was way behind. Auckland's a beautiful city – but there's so much more we could be doing.' In chambers, Leoni keeps a relatively low profile compared to councillors like Maurice Williamson and Alf Filipaina, who go at it like old foes. Leoni sits two seats from Mayor Brown, next to deputy mayor Desley Simpson – a proximity she says limits her ability to challenge him directly. 'It's hard to get into debate with the mayor because I sit so close to him.' Before announcing her mayoral run last October, she approached Brown to let him know, as a courtesy. 'We have mutual respect, but I don't need his permission.' She says that mutual respect is partly due to their shared connections in the north. She also admires his no-nonsense approach to setting boundaries. 'What I've learned from Wayne is that it's OK to say no to media if your energy's low – as long as you're doing the job. He turned down over 180 interviews early on, and no one questioned it because he's an older white male. It showed me you can set boundaries, delegate, and still lead effectively.' While it's not quite accurate that no one questioned Brown's reluctance to engage with the media, it's true that his standoffishness with the press doesn't seem to have dented his credibility or popularity. Leoni's ward, Whau, covers the central-western suburbs of Blockhouse Bay, New Windsor, Avondale, Green Bay and Kelston, and that's likely where a majority of her support lies. But she knows that to win, she'll need to reach all corners of the supercity – especially into the north and east, where the voter base is older. 'The highest number of voters are 60 years and over, so you've got to have the right policies that resonate with them.' Those policies include bringing council contracting and services in-house to reduce waste, improving city safety – especially on public transport – and continuing efforts to reintegrate agencies like Auckland Transport. She also supports affordable housing, better transport, sustainability and inclusive, transparent governance, she says. 'I feel central government is doing education and health, and we're pretty much doing everything else,' she tells her fellow councillors during a budget meeting. Returning to Auckland, Leoni says, was always about giving back. 'There were times when I wasn't 100% sure I was going to come back, but I hit that 10-year mark [in London] and I knew it was time.' She came home in late 2015, and had twins Kahu and Atarangi with her ex-husband Damian in 2017. They realised their central city apartment was too small for a growing family and bought a home near relatives in Avondale, where Leoni still lives. 'I went from travelling the world to breastfeeding 20 hours a day,' she laughs. The two now co-parent the twins. A Labour Party member, in 2018 Leoni got an email from the party encouraging members to run for local government. She had governance experience through her iwi, Ngāti Kuri and Ngāti Paoa, and says politics felt like a natural next step. 'With all the skills I'd learned overseas, I wanted to come back and contribute to Auckland.' She was elected to the Waitematā Local Board under the City Vision ticket and served as deputy chair in the first half of the term. There, she met Richard Northey, the board's chair and a former Labour MP. He became a political mentor. In 2020, Leoni stood for parliament as Labour's candidate in Waikato, coming second to National's Tim van de Molen in the safe blue seat. Her party list placing of 66 wasn't quite high enough to get her into parliament, despite the red wave of 2020 returning the party a historic 64 seats, but she hasn't ruled out another bid in the future. 'I'm really open to all options… I'd love to look at central government at some point.' In 2022, Leoni ran for Auckland Council in the Whau ward on the Labour ticket, narrowly beating incumbent Tracy Mulholland by 362 votes. She became the first wāhine Māori elected to the council since the 2010 supercity merger. Now, she says, the next step feels obvious. 'I was a local board member, then a councillor – now it's a natural progression to become mayor.' Leoni isn't leaning on identity politics to get there. 'It's not about being the first Māori woman mayor – it's about whether Aucklanders think I've got the policies and strength to lead.' Since announcing her run, she's built a campaign team of around 100 volunteers, attended public events, visited places of worship, and made inroads with both iwi and unexpected allies, like members of the Sikh community. 'Wayne's a millionaire. I'm not,' she says. 'But I've already costed the basics – hoardings, leaflets – and I'm prepared to cover them myself.' At her peak, Leoni owned five properties across Aotearoa. Now she owns three: in Auckland, Waikato and Kaitāia, where she has whakapapa ties. Regardless of the result, Leoni says she has options – a return to work with Ngāti Paoa or Ngāti Kuri, or perhaps politics in Northland. But what's clear is that she's not backing away from public life.
The Spinoff
13-06-2025
- Science
- The Spinoff
Make it make sense: A climate change glossary for the overwhelmed
Nadine Hura, author of a new book about the whakapapa of climate change, unpacks how she found her way inside the language that best articulates the 'why' of the climate crisis. I went looking for a language to slow the sun. I thought it was my fault I didn't understand the discourse of climate change. No-one offers you a glossary. Discourse (n): a common language to exchange ideas I used to sit at the back of climate change seminars in cities and stare at the graphs and go home feeling lost and panicked. Climate change requires a fluency in a language most people find overwhelming. If you don't know what 'Representative Concentration Pathways' mean, or 'GHGs', or 'hierarchies of waste' or what the raw materials of renewable energies are, the discourse will surge on without you. I might have given up if not for the fact that I also knew that those who tell the story get to control the story. Climate Change: Long term average shifts in temperature and weather patterns (domain of Ranginui) Now, six years after bluffing my way into my first climate change conference, I can see it so clearly it takes my breath away. The land is slipping and the sea is rising and people are being killed by floating debris, not just because the planet's been simmering on high heat for the past hundred years, but because the land has been abused and abused and abused and abused. Vertical land movement: VLM has a direct impact on sea levels due to natural rising and sinking of land, and is intensified by human-driven influences like land reclamation and drainage (domain of Papatūānuku) I was recently asked to explain why the discourse of climate change can be recolonising. I said that within Māori creation narratives, Ranginui and Papatūānuku are always spoken of together. They might be physically separated, but the earth and atmosphere are intrinsically connected. Ranignui and Papatūānuku have whakapapa. What happens to one affects the other. This is basic scientific knowledge in any language. Therefore, isolating the symptoms of climate change – using language that centres carbon and methane emissions without giving equal attention to the causes rooted in the exploitation of land – forces tangata whenua to enter the discussion from a point of ideological opposition. To participate in the discourse, tangata whenua first have to wrest the framing of climate change from reductive binaries that focus on mechanistic summaries of 'what' is happening – then we need to advocate for equal emphasis to be placed on knowledge that tells us 'why' things happen. The why is a matter of whakapapa. Whakapapa – the process of making layers. Non-linear, dynamic, continuous cycles of renewal. Whakapapa concerns origin stories, sources, and genealogies For six years, I worked in a job that supported me to develop some level of fluency in the discourse of climate change. I worked with and alongside experts and tohunga, practitioners and climatologists, Pākehā and Māori alike. What I learned is that the subject is not nearly as complicated as it's made out to be. I learned that climate change does not start with degrees of warming or ticking clock analogies or a fear of the apocalypse. It begins with whakapapa. This won't be news to Māori communities working to protect, reclaim, and revitalise whenua – otherwise known as climate adaptation. Ahi kā are well versed in the whakapapa of climate change because unlike carbon emissions which cannot be seen, the impacts of climate change on the land are highly visible. Climate change is the story of colonisation. It traces the rapid and aggressive transformation of Aotearoa from heavily cloaked ancient forests into pasture for animal feed – the same forests that now need to be replanted to reduce soaring carbon emissions and to prevent slips. It is a story of absent mountains and absent parents, and papakāinga exploded for stones to build roads – the same roads choking with congestion and fuelling the next wave of insatiable land lust from Aotearoa to the Atacama desert. It is a story of human waste rotting in the sun on top of pipi and oyster beds while supermarkets heave with plastic-wrapped kai too expensive for many to eat. It is a story of poisoned rivers, silenced forests, collapsed lungs and kidneys filled with concrete. It is the story of foreign companies hungry to mine rare sand for outrageous profit. It is a story of people severed from whakapapa, starved and jailed, still starving and jailed, but fighting like the mangopare whose jaws refuse to unclench even in death. This is the b-side to the climate change stories that usually make headlines. Stories in which the relational impacts of climate change (people-centred, labour-focused) are tightly interwoven with the environmental impacts. Health, housing, poverty and mental health statistics represent no less of a crisis than severe weather events, despite their relative invisibility in conversations about climate change. But of course the exploitation of land will have commensurate impacts on people! From those who have no choice but to carry out the harm, to those who suffer because of it, to those who reap perverse rewards as a result of it. This language – one that recognises the interdependent connection between people and land – is one in that te reo Māori is natively adept to hold. Whenua: the organ that develops alongside a foetus in the womb There is no direct translation for colonisation in te reo Māori because the idea of attacking the source that sustains you makes no sense. Whenua provides oxygen, removes waste and carbon dioxide, and delivers food and nutrients necessary for the growth and development of life. As poetic as it sounds, the connection between land and placenta is not metaphoric. It is literal. You have to really believe you are entitled to your entitlements to think that the economy can do a better job at providing for people than the placenta. Tangata whenua – placenta people. An expression of belonging (not ownership) Attacking the placenta in the colony isn't just acceptable, it's seen as inevitable, necessary, benevolent, even romantic. It is part of a faith system whose doctrines continue to be extolled today by modern colonists, some of whom are proudly Māori. Being a horndog for whenua can even be poetic: Barren land Fertile soil Virgin forests Taming Mother Nature Even if you don't recognise this violence as colonial, you instinctively know that your daughter or niece or sister isn't safe in the colony by birthright. Why else do you tell her: ' be careful, watch your drink, stick with your friends, call me I don't care what time it is.' Because violence towards women directly mimics violence towards land. One in three women in Aotearoa can attest to it. We have seen how rough sex can be used as a defence. We know that a victim whose voice has been silenced forever can be accused of asking to be strangled, or even tying the rope herself. Legislation ' crashing through consent' can be drafted overnight and fast-tracked through parliament while a law protecting profit and property ahead of people and Papatūānuku is promoted under the oxymoronic title 'Regulatory Standards.' The promise of jobs is like a sly wink to a potential victim, a crude suggestion that they just might enjoy it. Extol: to praise enthusiastically The Right Honourable Shane Jones, speaking in October 2024 on RNZ, referred to conflicts of interest as just one process necessary to 'inject' more momentum into the economy. Fast Track, Jones promised 'is coming whether the naysayers like it or not.' Whare tangata. House of humanity. The womb. Language controls our lives. Words are the fuel of stories, and stories tell us who we are and how to live. But you don't need to be fluent in science or competent at reading graphs to participate in conversations about climate change. Part of the reason I think people often feel so powerless and panicked is because English tends to privilege nouns over verbs, rights over reciprocity, individual autonomy over collective responsibility. Mahi (v) to work, to perform, to achieve. (n) abundance It means we often find ourselves trapped between over-inflated egos and ignorance at one extreme, and fear of insignificance and apathy at the other. What difference can one person really make, we ask ourselves, when our wrists and ankles are so tied to a corrupt system that rewards and punishes the wrong people? But if climate change is caused by systems and structures and values that profit from the forced disconnection between people and land, anything we do that restore that connection is climate action. It's not as complicated as the language of climate change would have us believe. It can look like taking your shoes off and sinking them into the soil. It can look like going outside before the sun comes up to observe the tohu set by the moon and stars. It can look like rejecting the very notion of waste. The biggest reward when we begin to reconnect with Papatūānuku is first and foremost within ourselves. The land is the healer, not the other way around. Rongo (v) – to hear, feel, see, taste, perceive. All of the senses except for sight (rongoā: medicine) The reason I'm less panicked and more positive today than I was six years ago is because I know that the most radical indigenous climate adaptation plan was enacted decades ago, long before evidence of the planet's warming had been amassed. This plan took the shape of language revitalisation. 50 years ago, it was feared that te reo Māori, with all its insights and mātauranga and wisdom, was going the way of the Moa. But our old people knew the sayings of the mangopare, and they refused to let go. Those early revolutionaries went out in search of the last native speakers alive and found them labouring in factories and wool sheds and freezing works in service to colonial dreams that were not their own. These native speakers were recruited to exhale the words from their chests into the lungs of the generation who had been born without them. There was no money. They weren't being offered jobs. People gave the breath of their lungs for love not for profit; to save lives not economies. This is the difference today between 'hoping' future generations will be ok versus knowing they will. Wairua (n) – a fluid, unseen energy source; Wairua refers to the moment two waters become one at the moment of conception. Wairua can never be extinguished. From the wings of Te Ataarangi came Kōhanga Reo, a nest for baby chests. That generation has since grown up, and they are fluent in the mātauranga and tikanga necessary to adapt and thrive with the ever-changing climate. The sight of Hana Rāwhiti Maipi-Clarke tearing the Treaty Principles Bill in two in Parliament last year is a symbolic act that will live on as fuel in the imaginations of generations to come, just as the image of Whina Cooper walking a lonely road hand in hand with her mokopuna spurred on the generation before her. Political cunning is no match for this kind of patience and intergenerational theatre. The haka that shook the Beehive reverberated all around the world, reminding us that everything is connected and no effort is ever wasted. You might not speak the language of climate change, but there's a good chance you speak te reo Māori – even if it's only a few words. It is a language with a pulse, and it continues to beat despite continual attempts to extinguish it. It is the language of Te Tiriti o Waitangi and He Whakaputanga – constitutional documents representing our strongest line of protection for land. It is a language that is intrinsically anti-colonial, best evidenced by the number of words for which there are no easy equivalences in English: Rangatiratanga, mana, tapu, noa, mauri, kaitiaki, wairua, tipua, utu, tikanga. Whether you are sitting in a classroom on a Tuesday night trying to reclaim these words for your own chest, or whether they are magnets stuck to your fridge for your mokopuna or racist uncle to read, whether you speak te reo fluently, or know it better than your tongue can speak it, this seed is the source of our ongoing connection to this land. It was in me all along, and is likely in you too. E kore rawa e ngaro. Slowing the Sun by Nadine Hura ($40, BWB) is available to .
