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Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

OPINIONĀteaFebruary 29, 2024

Te Aka Whai Ora deserved so much more than its rushed death

Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

The Māori Health Authority was disestablished just 18 months after it was launched. Gabrielle Baker reflects on what could have been.

Yesterday afternoon I watched Parliament TV as the bill disestablishing Te Aka Whai Ora (the Māori Health Authority) was passed, rapidly, under urgency. The whole thing took less than 24 hours. 

Te Aka Whai Ora was the result of decades of dreaming about (and hard work labouring over) how the health system in Aotearoa could be configured to better serve Māori and give expression to Te Tiriti o Waitangi. The exact shape and functions of Te Aka Whai Ora were never exactly what was advocated for in forums like the Waitangi Tribunal (when it was raised by claimants in the primary health care claims in 2018), as the dream was always something truly independent, away from government control. But it was a step forward. 

Yet, after only a little more than 18 months as a real-life entity, Te Aka Whai Ora has reached the end of its road. Staff will be transferred to Te Whatu Ora / Health New Zealand (the organisation that replaced DHBs 18-ish months ago), and Te Aka Whai Ora won’t exist after June 30, 2024.

Health minister Shane Reti (Photo: Lynn Grieveson – Newsroom via Getty Images)

All three political parties in the coalition government stated their intentions to get rid of Te Aka Whai Ora during their election campaigns (and before). So, it was not a surprise that this common ground was part of the coalition agreements, nor that introducing legislation to disestablish Te Aka Whai Ora was on the new government’s 100-day plan (meaning that legislation would have to be introduced by March 8, 2024). 

The fact that it lacked the element of surprise didn’t make it any less objectionable to the Māori individuals and groups who had been advocating for greater prominence for Māori health. Within days of the 100-day plan being announced, the first claim was filed with the Waitangi Tribunal (by Lady Tureiti Moxon and Janice Kuka, who were two of the six named claimants in the primary health care claims to the Tribunal), saying that closing Te Aka Whai Ora was a breach of the principles of the Treaty (which is what the Waitangi Tribunal is set up to consider). 

The claimants sought urgency, making a case that looking into the disestablishment of Te Aka Whai Ora should take priority over the Tribunal’s other business and should be heard as soon as possible. 

The Tribunal acted quickly on the request, and by January 19 this year had agreed that there were grounds for urgency. There were two components to this Tribunal decision: 

  • There was no consultation with Māori on disestablishing Te Aka Whai Ora (electioneering not being appropriate consultation), raising questions about whether the principles of Te Tiriti o Waitangi had been complied with, and;
  •  The Crown wouldn’t say what would be replacing Te Aka Whai Ora, and so there were concerns that Māori would be “irreversibly prejudiced” by the change.

Throughout January and February there have been several exchanges between the Tribunal, claimants, and the Crown, but the upshot was that a hearing was set out for February 29 and March 1 so that the Tribunal would be able to report on its inquiry before the 100-day plan deadline. This was pretty extraordinary, truncating a whole inquiry process into a few days, but reflected the level of Māori interest in the issue. It was also a signal that the Tribunal wanted to be as helpful as possible to the government by giving it a report that could strengthen the legislation. 

As evidence was being submitted to the Tribunal and claimants were preparing their opening submissions to the Tribunal, the Crown threw a spanner in the works on the evening of February 22, when it announced (to paraphrase), “actually, the government could introduce the legislation at any point before 8 March, it could even do it next Tuesday”. 

And, just like that, they did. 

Parliament went into urgency on Tuesday afternoon, the Pae Ora (Disestablishment of Māori Health Authority) Amendment Bill introduced by minister of health Shane Reti, and then taken through all stages of the parliamentary process. At which time, the Tribunal lost the ability to look into the legislation, so the Tribunal cancelled its urgent hearing. 

While the loss of Te Aka Whai Ora is a step away from valuing Māori and prioritising Māori health aspirations, the fact it was always on the cards means that its disestablishment is not the only story here. 

One of the real impacts of today’s legislation is that it looks like the parliamentary process was used to prevent a Tribunal inquiry. As was stated many times by opposition MPs during the various stages of the bill’s debate in parliament, the government could have waited until next week to introduce the legislation. Or it could have said earlier that it was introducing legislation before March 8 (and at least cut short the intensive work to prepare evidence and legal cases). Neither happened. The Tribunal jurisdiction kicks in again once the Bill comes into force (June 30, 2024), but by then the opportunity to improve the bill has – obviously – gone.

The decision to disestablish Te Aka Whai Ora was always a political one. There were loose arguments presented during the parliamentary debate about how the agency wasn’t seeing results (after 18months – an impossible standard that no government agency would ever reach, frankly), how it was overly Wellington-centric (not one that stands up to much scrutiny since it is also Auckland-based), and how Māori health needed to be “matrixed” in to be the responsibility of the wider health system (as if somehow it wasn’t already). However, within the health system there has been a great deal of support for Te Aka Whai Ora, and good will from those hoping it could achieve the lofty aims it carried with it from Māori. 

Reti said in his media statement on the legislation that “the narrow focus on disestablishment doesn’t mean an end to our focus on Māori health for those who need it…[w]e are committed to finding more efficient ways to work together to deliver those solutions, as well as savings which can go back into better health outcomes.” The challenge now is making good on this and translating the commitment to better health outcomes for all, into doing things that work for Māori, are Māori-led and -driven, and ideally create efficiencies (avoiding duplication, that kind of thing). Sort of like a Māori health authority… 

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Stan Walker here seen at one of his ancestral awa within Tūhoe-country.
Stan Walker (Photo: Supplied; additional design: The Spinoff)

ĀteaFebruary 24, 2024

Stan Walker on ‘uncle Tāme Iti’, his Tūhoetana, tamariki and tunes

Stan Walker here seen at one of his ancestral awa within Tūhoe-country.
Stan Walker (Photo: Supplied; additional design: The Spinoff)

Stan Walker sits down with Tommy de Silva to kōrero te ao Māori and his new waiata ‘Māori Ki Te Ao’. 

“I’ve always been unapologetically Māori, but because I started my career in Australia, I was suddenly apologising, and I was hiding,” says Stan Walker. Now the star musician, initially told not to sing in te reo Māori for fear of appearing too brown for Australia’s overwhelmingly white market, has come out the other side. His early English-language tunes stand in stark contrast to his recent waiata Māori. Newcomers to Walker’s music would be forgiven for thinking that two completely different artists created his first hit ‘Blackbox’ and his newest waiata, ‘Māori Ki Te Ao’. 

The turning point for Walker was his 2013 track ‘Bulletproof’. “Back then Australia said that was reggae, it will never work here – that’s brown people music”, explains Walker, somehow wearing a beanie and leather pants on a 28 degree Auckland day. Then Canadian band Magic! had a hit with their song ‘Rude’ and Walker was told “this is the new sound” – despite ‘Bulletproof’ having had a similar sound a year earlier. After that experience, he decided it was time to come home to Aotearoa. 

After returning, Walker was once again unapologetically Māori, exemplified by ‘Aotearoa’, his 2014 song with Maisey Rika, Ria Hall and Troy Kingi. But he sees a big difference between ‘Aotearoa’, his first waiata Māori, and his more recent Te Reo tunes. ‘Aotearoa’ was recorded in generic te reo Māori and not in Walker’s Tūhoe mita, “because we were at a point then that to even get a Māori song out was like, ‘let’s just take the win, whānau’.”

But now things are different. “​​We’ve gone from just taking what we can get, being glad we get to be Māori – to actually going, no, I’m not just Māori. I’m Tūhoe, I’m Ngāi Te Rangi, I’m Ngāti Porou, I’m Tūhourangi.” Nowadays, Walker sings in his Tūhoe mita. “When people sing my songs, they’re singing in my dialect,” says the proud Tūhoe tane. 

Walker’s Tūhoetana, including his uncle Tāme Iti

Walker has always felt the pull to return to Tūhoe, the seventh biggest iwi in Aotearoa by population, whose rohe sits east of Rotorua and Taupo, west of Gisborne, north of Hawke’s Bay and south of Whakatāne – with Te Urewera, their ancestral nahere, sitting at the centre. Speaking to the position of Tūhoe today, Walker says they “no longer just live in the valley, or live up Maunapohatu, or Ruatahuna or whatever. We are Tūhoe in the world.”

Walker’s safe space within Tūhoe-country is Ruatoki, a settlement between Whakatāne and Te Urewera. There, he can see whānau, ride horses, swim in the awa, eat and sleep, rejuvenating his wairua in the process. It’s hard for Walker not to feel at home and at peace in Ruatoki. After all, it was where his beloved kuia lived.

The beauty of Te Urewera is seen on full display in this photo, with a captivating waterfall surrounded by beautiful bush.
The untouched beauty of Te Urewera on full display. In 2014, Te Urewera became the world’s first natural feature to receive legal personhood status. (Photo: Tommy de Silva)

Speaking of his kuia, Walker has her and other tīpuna to thank for their Tūhoe mita. He says he can only proudly sing in their dialect today “because of the sacrifices that came before me through my parents, grandparents, my tīpuna. A lot of them fought and died for our language to be spoken, so it’s only right that I should be doing this.” When he says his tīpuna fought and died to maintain their ways, Walker isn’t exaggerating. Crown forces invaded Te Urewera in 1869, killing many, and police raided Maunapohatu in 1916, murdering two ranatahi, including the son of Tūhoe prophet Rua Kenana, who was illegally arrested that fateful day.  

In 2007, the government labelled some Tūhoe as terrorists, leading to another police raid where legendary activist and artist Tāme Iti, among others, was arrested. Despite the Crown saying he was a treasonous terrorist in 2007, Walker confidently says today Iti “is an important person, not just in Tūhoe and our whānau, but to Aotearoa for everything that he’s done. He is, more or less, the face for Māori, the face for Tūhoe.” 

Walker and Iti have made mahi toi together, with Iti telling him, “I need you, just like you need me because we all play our part.” Walker adds, “I might be the hand, and he’s the foot. We can’t do what each other does. But once we understand that we are only one part connected to the same body, but we all play our parts, we’re more powerful.” Their powerful artistic collaboration is on full display in Walker’s latest song. 

Walker and his Tūhoe whanaunga in front of the wharenui atop Taiarahia. Many are adorned in traditional Māori clothing.
Iti, Walker and their Tūhoe whanauna seen here in front of the wharenui atop their mauna of Taiarahia. (Photo: Supplied)

‘Māori Ki Te Ao’ brings the Tūhoe dialect to the fore. “I wanted the song to feel like a love letter paying homage to my Tūhoetana,” explains Walker adoringly. But ‘Māori Ki Te Ao’ can’t be fully understood without understanding what came before it. After all, in te ao Māori, establishing whakapapa is crucial, even for music. 

The 2023 waiata ‘I Am’, written to empower indigenous people, is the tipuna of ‘Māori Ki Te Ao’. “‘I Am’ is a reclamation of identity. Going back to your roots, knowing where you come from, who you come from,” says Walker. The song was written for Ava DuVernay’s latest film Origin, and has since become somewhat of an anthem for tāngata whenua, especially on TikTok, as Māori protest the three-headed taniwha coalition government’s te ao Māori plans. Walker didn’t plan for the song to become political but has found it “awesome to see how it has brought people together.” 

Walker sees ‘Māori Ki Te Ao’ as an extension of the indigenous identity ‘I Am’ reclaimed. He hopes his new waiata “encourages Māori to embrace their unique identities, their Ngāpuhitanga, their Kaitahutaka.” The new tune was written alongside his uncle, Donny Te Kanapu Anasta, a Tūhoe mita expert. “The process of recording it was a jam. It was probably one of the best, easiest, funnest experiences that I’ve had in a long, long time,” Walker explains. The whole recording process took just one day. 

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Inside the Taurana studio alongside Walker, producer Matt Sadgrove and Anasta, were plenty of Walker’s Tūhoe whanauna. “I have a multitude of cousins who can sing, and they all came through,” Walker says. “Everybody through and through, not just me, but all the singers, they all whakapapa back to Tūhoe.

“I feel privileged that we get to share this to the world as uri o Tūhoe.”

The single is released with a music video shot in Tūhoe-country alongside Iti and the same whanauna who sang the background vocals. “To film there with three different generations of uri of Tūhoe was so beautiful and powerful,” Walker explains. From tamariki wielding hatchets to ranatahi singing, pakeke performing kapa haka and kaumātua doing pukana, the intergenerational face of Tūhoe features in the music video. The film takes viewers from Ruatoki and the ancestral mauna of Taiarahia all the way to the opposite end of Te Urewera at Te Pūtere marae. Climbing Taiarahia was especially important, says Walker. 

Taiarahia is where Iti “and a lot of my uncles and aunties, koroua and kuia,” fled from persecution when the government labelled them terrorists, Walker explains. Up there, they built a wharenui, which is featured in the video. In one particularly powerful scene, Iti leads the Tūhoe uri in a mōteatea-esque chant outside the wharenui he helped build. Walker says climbing the mauna with Iti, “who got persecuted, who got thrown in jail, who got abused and ashamed” was powerful. Atop Taiarahia, Iti explained the whakapapa of the mauna and of Tūhoe more broadly. Sharing that experience with his uncle was important for Walker, especially given “that might possibly be the last time he climbs up that mauna, you know, he’s getting older now.” 

He says having Iti’s full support for ‘Māori Ki Te Ao’, Walker’s love letter to their shared Tūhoetana, means the world to him. “What a privilege it is for us and for our whānau to have had him there sharing the knowledge, the history, the whakapapa of all of this with us.”

Inspiring the next generation to enact their mana motuhake and ranatiratana

Walker says his music “is how I stand up… This is my way of ranatiratana. This is my way of mana motuhake.” But he also hopes that his tunes empower the next generation to enact mana motuhake and ranatiratana in their unique ways. Empowering ranatahi and tamariki works towards a bigger goal of Walker’s: “My ultimate dream is to see our people healed. To rise up and not have to live with the mamae of intergenerational trauma that is not our fault.” He adds, “That’s my job, that’s my purpose, to bring hope, life, healing and joy. That’s what my music can do, and I’m gonna do the best that I can.” 

Among the next generation of Māori Walker is trying to inspire are his own tamariki, who he says are at the forefront of everything he does, from what he sings about to how he dresses. “What legacy am I gonna leave for them?” he asks himself. Walker hopes the legacy he leaves for his tamariki is ensuring they always know that their indigeneity is something to be proud of, not hide. That starkly contrasts the start of Walker’s musical career, when he was warned against being too brown and too Māori over fears of alienating white audiences. By teaching their kids to be proud and staunch in their indigeneity, Walker and his wife provide them with a fantastic foundation to be unapologetically Māori. “I want my ceiling to be their floor,” he says. 

Walker seen here picture with Tame Iti and two tamariki.
Walker is building an inter-generational movement through his music, all the way from tamariki, like those pictured here, up to kaumātua like Tāme Iti. (Photo: Supplied)

But Walker and his wife can only provide their kids with such a fantastic foundation because of their own journeys overcoming intergenerational trauma. Speaking about his tamariki, he explains, “They will never, ever go through that. That’s me and my wife’s job to go through it, to heal through it, to teach them, to protect them.

They don’t have to get a hiding. They don’t have to be ashamed. They don’t have to bow down. They don’t have to hide. They don’t ever have to feel displaced.”

Māori Ki Te Ao, Walker’s ode to his Tūhoetana, is out now wherever you get your music, and to see the intergenerational face of Tūhoe, don’t miss out on the music video either.