What David Seymour gets wrong about tikanga – and why it matters

Tikanga and waiata aren't unnecessary extras – they're part of what brings us together, writes Tainui Stephens.

It's taking me a long time to figure out how to vote this Saturday. There are plenty of issues to consider, but one policy keeps coming back to me: David Seymour's plan to stop public service employers from initiating or funding cultural and spiritual practices in the workplace.

I can accept ignorance in our political leaders, if I trust them. Far less so when it's wilful. These people, after all, shape the blueprint of our society. We give them the power to do that.

The Act party's policy is, to my mind, a dreary illustration of that wilful ignorance.

Seymour says nobody should be expected to participate in prayer, karakia or other spiritual practices because they work for the government, and taxpayers shouldn't have to fund those activities.

"Act will prohibit public service employers from initiating or resourcing cultural or spiritual practices as part of the workplace," he says in a statement outlining the policy.

Except I'm a taxpayer who thinks my public service needs to know these things. Otherwise, I'm not being served. I expect public servants to understand and reflect the way we do things in this country. Tikanga is normal and appreciated by many beyond the bland bubble of the conservative right.

Of course, nobody should be forced to participate in a spiritual practice against their will. But there's a difference between protecting that choice and deciding employers shouldn't support cultural practices at all.

Tikanga isn't simply a prayer, a karakia or a song. It's a system of customs, values and practices that guides how we behave, establish relationships and engage with one another. In workplaces across Aotearoa, it can help create the respect, understanding and teamwork that make people better at what they do.

Act also wants to remove cultural knowledge requirements from public service jobs where they aren't relevant to the role. But who decides what's relevant? And how can public servants properly serve the communities they're working with if understanding those communities is treated as an unnecessary extra?

Seymour says public servants would remain free to practise their own cultures and traditions in their own time, with reasonable accommodation where appropriate.

Thank you, David. No really.

Once wilful ignorance is embraced as a virtue, it becomes a dangerous force in a democracy. Cultural differences are easily turned into political wedge issues, appealing to emotion rather than reason and distracting from the things that ought to bring us together.

One of the glories of any culture is to sing together. As children, we sing to learn the alphabet or our times tables. We sing Happy Birthday, hymns and folk songs. We sing to celebrate, to remember and sometimes just for the joy of it.

When we choose a waiata to sing at a hui, it's designed for the moment. The words, the occasion and the people all matter. But the song itself is only part of the point. It's about connection, acknowledgement and respect.

Last year, I went to the 20th anniversary concert of the Wellington Community Choir. Under the loving guidance of artistic director Lala Simpson, approximately 100 voices soared in unison. People of many hues sang songs in different tongues. The evening was topped and tailed with appropriate bilingual mihi and waiata. Simple, short and sincere.

It made me a little weepy. Not so much for the beauty of the music or the arrangements, but for the unison. All those different people coming together to make something beautiful.

The choir's website says refugees can attend for free, in the hope that singing together will help make Aotearoa welcoming and provide opportunities to make new friends.

There's something splendid about that. In a world where we're increasingly connected through screens but often disconnected from each other, the chance to come together, face-to-face, is a welcome reminder of what it means to be human.

Aotearoa is one place on the planet where a collaborative society of different peoples can exist and thrive. Our history has been shaped by the relationship between Māori and Pākehā, sometimes painfully, but always in ways that continue to define who we are.

Tikanga gives us ways to navigate those relationships. It provides opportunities to speak, listen, acknowledge each other and work towards an understanding. Those things aren't luxuries. They're part of how we get along.

As I consider my vote, I'll be thinking about the cost of living, healthcare, housing, jobs, Māori representation and the future of te tiriti. These are serious matters requiring serious solutions. Singing a waiata won't fix them. But neither will dismissing the customs and practices that help us come together to find solutions.

I've spent a lot of my time helping Pākehā understand what to do when they visit a marae or participate in a pōwhiri. The thing that terrifies them most is the need to come up with a song. They can cope with a long schedule of meaningful silences and speeches, but when it comes to standing and singing in front of a crowd, that's tough.

I get it. I'm no singer. Silence is my personal gift to the world of karaoke, but I'll happily sing with other people.

I'm grateful that in Aotearoa, we have access to a way of life where connecting collectively is a formal thing. In the end, it's not about the song. It's about acknowledgement, respect and getting the best out of each other.

It's how we roll.