Why hasn’t Ngāpuhi settled?

This weekend my whānau travelled down to Tauranga Moana for the burial of our great aunty who passed away at the age of 101 ½, after living a peaceful and simple life and giving most of her money away to the needy overseas. I carpooled with my sister and niece. On the way home as we were coming over the Brynderwyns, enjoying that majestic view that welcomes us home, the conversation turned to the Ngāpuhi settlement. I did my best to explain, from my perspective, why Ngāpuhi hasn’t settled.

One of the things with explaining something to a 9-year-old (even a very smart one) is that simplicity has a way of rising to the surface. In the simplest terms, even though the $500–800 million potentially on offer would be handy for our whānau right now, what the government wants in return isn’t ours to give away. It belongs to our mokopuna and their mokopuna and their mokopuna.

So what’s the alternative? Find the money somewhere else.

Taitokerau’s “Leaky Bucket” Economy

For too long, our people in the North have been told to wait at the table for crumbs from the Crown to survive. But the truth is, the current system is a draining machine designed to pull out our timber, our talent, and our time, and export it to offshore funds. This system acts as a leaky bucket where our resources are stripped away, leaving us with the constant struggle of low-wage poverty and split-up communities.

A Vision of Hope

In the misty, rugged heart of the Urewera forest, there is a powerful story of hope and heartache that every single one of us should hold close to our hearts. It is the story of Rua Kēnana Hepetipa and the beautiful, safe community he built for his people at Maungapōhatu. Following a deep spiritual guidance and the older prophecies of Te Kooti, Rua led his followers, known as the Iharaira, away from the distractions and pressures of the outside world. Together, they cleared the bush to build a dedicated city of God right on the steep slopes of their sacred mountain.

Escaping the Machine Mindset

For Rua, this massive hill community was not just about religion or hiding away, it was a practical way to protect the true standing and well-being of his people. He saw clearly how the colonial system was set up to turn local people into cheap workers on their own ancestral land. Rua decided to make a clean break from that broken path. He imagined a safe home where daily work and deep faith lived together as one, where families looked after each other, and where the future was decided by the community around the table, not by a cold bureaucracy in a distant city.