Standing Firm on Truth

When you look closely at the true history of Taitokerau, you quickly realise that our greatest victories didn’t come from staying quiet or backing down to keep the peace. The real turning points for our people always happened right on the grassroots soil of the marae, where bold, unfiltered truth was spoken straight into the face of raw power. Today, we are leaning into the fierce legacy of Moka Te Kainga-mataa, the great Patukeha chief who looked past the smooth talking colonial promises at Waitangi in 1840 and demanded an honest audit of the system before anyone dared to sign a piece of paper.

Channelling the True Signal

Moka stood up in front of Governor Hobson and famously questioned the smooth-talking promises being made. He pointed out the pre-existing land purchases and actions of European settlers that had already left his people squeezed. Moka was not trying to cause conflict, he was practicing the art of dialogue, holding a mirror up to power to see if the actions matched the words. This level of visionary pragmatism is exactly what we need today. It directly matches the model left to us by Ihu (Yeshua's name in the Paipera Tapu), who walked into spaces of intense systemic pressure and always prioritised the weightier matters of justice, mercy, and truth.

The Stand at Waitangi

As we look back at the people who shaped Taitokerau, we often find our greatest lessons in the moments of biggest pressure. Today, we are looking at Tareha, a massive chief of Ngāti Rēhia who stood tall during the debates at Waitangi in 1840. He was a man who did not mince his words. When the colonial system arrived, offering a new way of governance, Tareha stood up as the voice of the land. He didn't look at the glittering promises, he looked straight at the soil, the marae, and the authority that already belonged to our people.

The Power of the Marae

Tareha was famous for his speech where he told the Governor that Māori did not need an outside ruler. He explained that our chiefs were already governors of their own patches, looking after their own whānau and hapū. He was pointing directly to the strength of the marae. The marae is not just a collection of buildings, it is the heart of our community, the place where local action happens, and where the people are looked after. Tareha knew that when we give away our local agency to a top down system, we lose our true strength.

Learning From Our Past

To understand where we are going in the North, we have to look at the ground we stand on. Our dream of a better life for our kids isn’t something we need to copy from overseas. It is already here, hidden in the stories of our old people. We start this journey by looking at Maikuku. She was a woman of high rank and the granddaughter of the great leader Rāhiri. Her story shows us how different groups of people can come together to build one strong family.

The Power of Quiet

Maikuku lived in a cave at Waitangi, known as Te Ana o Maikuku. Because she was so special and carried a high level of tapu, she stayed in this quiet place. Today, we are always busy and surrounded by noise. We think we have to be loud to be important. But Maikuku reminds us that there is a special kind of strength that grows when we are quiet and still. It is like when Ihu (Yeshua's name in the Paipera Tapu) went away from the crowds to pray. He knew that to lead people, you first have to connect with the Spirit.

A Personal Discovery

Kia ora. Even though I was born and raised right here in Taitokerau, I only had my first pōwhiri onto Te Tii Marae last month. It was a huge privilege to finally stand in that space and learn about the history and the conflict surrounding a very specific carving.

When you walk into the wharenui at Te Tii, your eyes are often drawn to the back wall. Sitting in a place of great honour is a carving of a bald Pākehā man with glasses, holding a Bible. For many, this is a point of debate. Why is a European man in a space usually reserved for Māori ancestors?

The Man Known as Kāruwhā

The man in the carving is the Reverend Henry Williams. Our ancestors called him Kāruwhā (Four Eyes) because of his glasses. He wasn’t just a visitor, he lived among Ngāpuhi for over 40 years. He was a translator, a peacemaker, and a man who navigated the difficult waters between the British Crown and the Rangatira of the North.

A shared signal

I was driving out to Mt Manaia with some whānau the other day, just soaking in the views of our beautiful hills. We were listening to a song by Unity Pacific, and it hit me just how much of our story here in Taitokerau is tied to a land thousands of miles away.

Most people see the red, gold, and green flags at Waitangi or during our festivals and think it is just about the music. But if you look deeper, those colours are not just a fashion choice. They are signals of a deep connection, what we might call an invisible thread, that links our struggle for sovereignty here to a global movement.

Prophets and promises

This connection did not start with reggae music in the 1970s. It goes back much further. In the 1800s, our own prophets like Te Kooti and Ratana were reading the Bible through their own eyes. They did not see a story about a foreign people needing "saving" by the British. They saw themselves.