The Treaty, the Haka, and the Global Struggle Against Settler Colonialism
In a moment that reverberated through New Zealand's Parliament, Māori MP Hana-Rawhiti Maipi-Clarke stood resolutely and initiated a haka—a traditional Māori war dance—in protest against the Treaty Principles Bill. This legislation, introduced by the right-wing ACT Party, seeks to redefine the principles of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, New Zealand’s foundational treaty. Maipi-Clarke's impassioned performance, marked by tearing up a copy of the bill, brought parliamentary proceedings to a halt, her voice echoing the enduring struggle of Māori against colonisation and systemic erasure. This act of defiance transcended mere protest; it was a powerful assertion of Māori sovereignty and cultural resilience, challenging the ongoing efforts of settler colonialism to rewrite history.
Witnessing this, I couldn't help but draw parallels to my own context: imagining Scots in the UK Parliament standing with similar courage, declaring independence not through carefully crafted speeches but through raw, undeniable expressions of self-determination. Yet, such a display seems unimaginable within the rigid confines of Westminster. Maipi-Clarke's haka serves as a potent reminder that cultural expression is inherently political, challenging power structures that prefer to erase Indigenous identities rather than confront their histories of exploitation. This moment in New Zealand's Parliament reflects a global narrative: the persistent struggle of Indigenous peoples worldwide to reclaim what was always theirs in the face of relentless settler colonialism.
The Roots of the Treaty Conflict: Settler Colonialism and Capitalist Accumulation
In 1840, the Treaty of Waitangi (Te Tiriti o Waitangi) was signed between Māori chiefs and the British Crown, heralded as a partnership to establish governance and protect Māori rights whilst enabling British settlement. Written in both English and Māori, the treaty’s two versions contained fundamental differences, particularly regarding sovereignty. While Māori understood they would retain tino rangatiratanga—absolute authority over their lands and taonga—the Crown interpreted it as a cession of sovereignty. This divergence laid the foundation for generations of conflict.
Settler colonialism, driven by the logic of capitalist accumulation, quickly undermined the treaty’s promises. The settlers, emboldened by imperial policies, viewed the land not as whenua—a sacred and living part of Māori culture—but as a resource to be exploited for profit. Māori land was systematically confiscated through dubious legal mechanisms, outright theft, and military force, a process known as Raupatu. Entire communities were displaced, their connections to ancestral lands severed, as their whenua was transformed into farmland, cities, and industries for settler enrichment. Māori cultural practices were suppressed, their language devalued, and their governance structures marginalised.
At the heart of this dispossession lay the settler-colonial mindset: the belief that land and resources exist primarily for extraction and profit. The Māori relationship to the land—rooted in stewardship, interdependence, and respect—was incomprehensible to the colonisers, whose capitalist ethos demanded the commodification of every aspect of life. This mindset drove not only the expropriation of land but also the exploitation of labour, creating a system where Indigenous peoples were alienated from their resources and forced to labour within the colonial economy.
The Treaty of Waitangi became a hollow promise, invoked only when it served settler interests and ignored when it constrained their ambitions. For Māori, the treaty transformed from a symbol of partnership into a stark reminder of betrayal. Yet, this story is not unique to Aotearoa. It is a chapter in a larger global narrative, where colonisation and capitalism worked hand in hand to dispossess Indigenous peoples, replacing their worlds of interconnected cultures with systems designed for accumulation and extraction. Understanding this history is essential to grasp the profound injustices that continue to shape Māori struggles today.
Why Settler Colonialism Always Ends This Way
Settler colonialism is not merely a historical phase; it is a system of domination designed to replace Indigenous populations with settlers, making their occupation permanent. Unlike other forms of colonialism, where the coloniser exploits a region and its people whilst maintaining a separate homeland, settler colonialism seeks to erase Indigenous identities and sovereignty to legitimise its claim to the land. The Indigenous peoples, in this framework, are obstacles to be removed—whether through displacement, assimilation, or outright elimination.
Central to settler colonialism is the appropriation of land. The logic of this system demands not only the physical taking of land but also the erasure of its cultural and spiritual significance to Indigenous peoples. In the settler mindset, land is reduced to property, a resource to be owned and exploited for economic gain. This dynamic was rooted in practices like the British Enclosure Acts, which privatised common lands in Scotland, Ireland and Wales, displacing countless families. These acts not only consolidated wealth among the elite but also set a precedent for dispossession, paving the way for similar processes in settler colonies abroad. The enclosure of land in the British Isles became the prototype for the sweeping land thefts that characterised colonisation in the Americas, Australasia, and beyond.
In North America, treaties with Indigenous nations were systematically broken to expand settler territories. The United States, for instance, signed hundreds of treaties with Indigenous peoples, recognising their sovereignty and land rights, only to violate them as westward expansion accelerated. The infamous Trail of Tears, which forcibly removed the Cherokee Nation from their lands, exemplifies how settlers prioritised expansion over any treaty obligations. In Australia, the doctrine of terra nullius—the false claim that the land was uninhabited—was used to justify the displacement and cultural destruction of Aboriginal peoples. Their lands were seized without negotiation or consent, and their ties to country, which form the core of Aboriginal identity, were severed.
These dynamics were not incidental; they were fundamental to the settler colonial project. Land theft, cultural erasure, and exploitation were necessary to establish settler dominance. Indigenous resistance, whether through armed conflict, legal challenges, or cultural revival, has always been an inevitable response. The settler state cannot fully erase what it seeks to destroy, and this resistance continues to unsettle its foundations.
What makes settler colonialism particularly insidious is its veneer of permanence. Once Indigenous peoples are displaced, settlers create myths of discovery and legitimacy, embedding them in laws, histories, and national identities. The displacement of Highland Scots and Irish under enclosure and plantation systems, followed by their participation in settler colonies as both victims and agents of colonisation, underscores how this system operates cyclically. Those displaced at home often became displacers abroad, perpetuating a system that relentlessly consumes land, culture, and humanity itself. The result is a legacy of unresolved tensions, where Indigenous peoples are forced to fight for their survival and sovereignty in lands that were always their own.
Full Fidelity to the Treaty: What it Would Look Like
ull fidelity to Te Tiriti o Waitangi from a Māori perspective would honour the treaty’s original intent: a partnership of equals, where Māori retained their tino rangatiratanga—absolute sovereignty—over their lands, resources, and cultural taonga. This vision stands in stark contrast to the historical and ongoing practices of settler governance, which have marginalised Māori voices, confiscated land, and exploited resources for the benefit of the settler state. To realise the treaty’s promises, Aotearoa would require a radical restructuring of its political, legal, and cultural frameworks to restore what has been lost.
At its core, fidelity to the treaty would mean recognising Māori as co-governors of the land. This would entail shared decision-making between the Crown and iwi/hapū, with Māori having equal authority in determining national policies and managing resources. Such a system would not simply consult Māori but place their tikanga—Māori customs and values—at the heart of governance. Co-governance would extend beyond symbolic representation, encompassing practical control over areas like natural resource management, education, healthcare, and justice.
Land restoration would also be central to fulfilling the treaty. This goes beyond financial compensation or limited land settlements. It requires returning significant tracts of land to iwi and hapū, enabling Māori to steward their whenua in accordance with their cultural and spiritual principles. In parallel, Māori must have sovereignty over resources like water and fisheries, ensuring their communities directly benefit from their use and management.
Cultural preservation would underpin these structural changes. Te Reo Māori would need to be fully revitalised, becoming a cornerstone of national identity alongside English. Education systems would reflect and respect Māori histories, philosophies, and knowledge systems, nurturing generations who understand and honour the treaty’s commitments. Māori self-determination in all aspects of life, guided by tino rangatiratanga, would be protected and celebrated.
The gap between this vision and the current reality is profound. The treaty has too often been treated as a relic of the past, selectively cited to legitimise settler governance whilst ignoring its obligations to Māori. Addressing this breach is not just a moral imperative; it is a political necessity. Honour and equity demand that Aotearoa confront its colonial legacy and embrace a future where the treaty is not merely a document but a living covenant of justice and partnership.
The Land as Sacred vs. the Land as Resource
At the heart of the Māori struggle for justice lies a profound conflict of values: the sacred connection to whenua—the land—and the settler-colonial system’s view of land as a resource to be exploited. For Māori, the land is not merely soil and property; it is a living entity imbued with spiritual significance and deeply tied to identity, genealogy, and culture. Whakapapa, the genealogical connection between people and the land, forms the foundation of Māori cosmology. The land is an ancestor, a provider, and a guardian, requiring reciprocal care and respect. This view extends beyond stewardship—it is an integral part of being.
Settler-colonial systems, however, operate on an entirely different paradigm. Rooted in Western religious and capitalist frameworks, these systems view humans as masters over nature, charged with its domination and exploitation. This mindset, shaped by Christian doctrines of human supremacy, casts the natural world as existing solely for human use. Land becomes property, stripped of its intrinsic value and reduced to a commodity to be bought, sold, and developed for profit. This extractive worldview sees forests as timber, rivers as irrigation or hydropower, and mountains as sites for mining—resources to be consumed without regard for long-term consequences.
The devastation wrought by this mindset is evident worldwide. In Aotearoa, vast forests were cleared to make way for farming, eroding ecosystems that Māori had lived harmoniously with for centuries. Urbanisation transformed sacred sites into cities and infrastructure, severing Māori connections to their ancestral lands. Mining operations scarred landscapes, polluting waterways that were once lifelines for Māori communities. These actions were not isolated but systematic, driven by the settler-colonial imperative to extract maximum value from the land for economic gain.
This conflict of values is not unique to Aotearoa. Across the world, Indigenous peoples have fought to protect their sacred relationships with the land against the relentless expansion of settler-colonial economies. In the Amazon rainforest, Indigenous groups resist logging and mining operations that threaten one of the world’s most vital ecosystems. In Standing Rock, North Dakota, the Lakota Sioux opposed an oil pipeline that endangered their water and sacred sites. In each case, the Indigenous worldview—a relationship of respect and reciprocity with the land—stands in stark opposition to the capitalist ethos of exploitation.
These clashes reveal the fundamental incompatibility between settler-colonial systems and Indigenous ways of life. Where Indigenous peoples see themselves as part of the land, settlers see themselves as its owners. Resolving these conflicts requires not only acknowledging the destruction caused by settler-colonial exploitation but embracing Indigenous perspectives that honour the land’s sacredness. Until this shift occurs, the battle between these worldviews will remain central to the fight for justice and sovereignty.
Modern Settler Colonialism: A Global Phenomenon
Settler colonialism did not end with the close of the 19th century—it persists globally, albeit in forms often veiled by modern legal and economic systems. The logic of dispossession, exploitation, and erasure continues to govern the relationships between states and Indigenous peoples, even in places not traditionally labelled as settler-colonial societies. From Palestine to the Amazon, Canada, and the United States, Indigenous communities remain locked in battles to defend their sovereignty, land, and culture against forces that view their existence as an obstacle to profit.
In Palestine, settler colonialism manifests in stark and violent terms. The Israeli state’s policies of land appropriation, displacement, and settlement mirror the historical patterns of colonisation in other parts of the world. The struggle, however, is not just about land—it’s also about resources. Beneath Palestine lie vast oil and gas reserves, and the fight is over who controls, exploits, and profits from them. “Joke” ads for seaside condos in Hebrew, promising availability once the land is “cleared,” encapsulate the brutal calculus at work: land is for settlers, and Indigenous Palestinians are obstacles to be removed. This echoes the language and logic of settler states globally, where profit justifies dispossession.
In the Amazon rainforest, Indigenous communities face relentless exploitation of their lands for corporate profit. Under the administration of Brazil’s previous president, Jair Bolsonaro, this process accelerated dramatically. Protections for Indigenous territories were rolled back, paving the way for logging, mining, and agriculture to encroach further into the rainforest. These industries not only devastate ecosystems but threaten the very survival of the Indigenous peoples who have stewarded the Amazon for millennia. Like the Māori in Aotearoa, these communities face a worldview that treats their lands not as sacred but as commodities ripe for extraction.
In North America, settler colonial logics are embedded in the ongoing struggles of Indigenous tribes to gain federal recognition and assert their sovereignty. In California, the Kitanemuk people face immense hurdles to reclaim their identity and rights as a “federally recognised tribe”. Recognition, often tied to economic exploitation, depends on settler-defined criteria such as proximity to highways and the potential to build casinos. The shameful reality is that some Kitanemuk have had to enrol as Tejon, a federally recognised tribe, just to access the benefits and resources denied to their unrecognised community. The absurdity of settlers determining who qualifies as Indigenous underscores the persistence of settler-colonial power structures.
These examples—Palestine, the Amazon, and North America—echo the dynamics playing out in New Zealand. The Treaty Principles Bill, like similar policies globally, reflects a settler-colonial mindset that seeks to limit Indigenous sovereignty and redefine relationships on settler terms. It is part of a global pattern in which Indigenous peoples are forced to fight for what was always theirs, against systems that prioritise profit and dominance over justice and partnership. By recognising these interconnected struggles, we can better understand the enduring legacy of settler colonialism and the urgent need to dismantle its structures worldwide.
Final thoughts …
The haka performed in New Zealand’s Parliament, led by Hana-Rawhiti Maipi-Clarke, stands as a powerful symbol of resistance—a visceral, unapologetic challenge to the settler-colonial structures that continue to marginalise Māori. It is not just a protest against the Treaty Principles Bill; it is a broader assertion of Indigenous sovereignty, cultural survival, and the enduring spirit of a people who refuse to be silenced. In that moment, Maipi-Clarke called upon the strength of her ancestors, the promises of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, and the collective struggle of Indigenous peoples around the world. The haka, more than a performance, became a call to action.
This moment encapsulates the lessons of settler colonialism: that it is a system built on exploitation, erasure, and the commodification of land and people. Yet it also underscores the resilience of Indigenous cultures, who have resisted these forces for generations. The Māori fight to honour the treaty’s original promises is not an isolated struggle—it mirrors the experiences of Palestinians, the peoples of the Amazon, and unrecognised tribes like the Kitanemuk in California. In every case, Indigenous peoples are forced to battle systems that prioritise capitalist accumulation and settler dominance over justice and partnership.
The haka challenges us not to look away. It demands that we confront the legacies of settler colonialism not as distant historical events, but as ongoing realities that shape the world today. This requires more than acknowledging past injustices—it means dismantling the structures that perpetuate them. It means returning land, restoring sovereignty, and respecting Indigenous ways of being that centre reciprocity, stewardship, and care for the land. It requires settlers and their descendants to question the privileges they inherit and to work towards systems built on equity and mutual respect.
Maipi-Clarke’s haka is a reminder that the fight for Indigenous sovereignty is far from over, and it is not confined to Aotearoa. Her voice, echoing through Parliament, calls on all of us to stand in solidarity with Indigenous peoples worldwide. It urges us to listen, learn, and act—to honour not just the treaties of the past, but the futures they were meant to protect. The time to act is now.