Pākehā and Tauiwi Treaty education: an unrecognised decolonisation movement?

ABSTRACT

The Māori call to honour Te Tiriti o Waitangi is arguably the oldest continuous social movement in Aotearoa New Zealand since the Treaty for European settlement was signed. A much more recent Pākehā and Tauiwi activism for the Treaty has supported the Māori movement, but is often overlooked as a social movement. Responsibility for ensuring that Tauiwi understand the Treaty remains contentious—is Treaty education a Tauiwi or a Māori responsibility? This article describes the emergence in the 1980s of a consensus among Māori and Tauiwi activists that, as Treaty partners, Pākehā/Tauiwi should take responsibility for their own learning about Te Tiriti and colonisation. Six reasons for overlooking such decolonising education as a social movement are explored through reflexive scholarship by Treaty educators: 1. hegemonic views of social change movements as only class- or race-based and adversarial; 2. Tiriti education as counter-hegemonic education that encourages transformation of the Māori–Pākehā relationship; 3. confusion over whether the aims of Treaty education are counter-hegemonic or assimilatory; 4. the movement’s evolving membership to include many cultural identities and activism about diverse neo-colonialisms; 5. its focus on mutually-agreed relationship-building; and 6. the complexity of assessing its impact and contribution to a decolonisation agenda.

KEYWORDS:

• Coloniser education
• decolonisation movement
• Pākehā activism
• Tauiwi Treaty education
• Te Tiriti o Waitangi
• Treaty of Waitangi education

Introduction

The notion of an ‘unrecognised’ Pākehā¹ and Tauiwi² movement for decolonisation could refer to both ‘the Treaty is Māori³ business’ and ‘we never hear about these people or see them in action’. For instance, on Waitangi Day in 2013, the New Zealand Herald’s editorial said warmly that the Treaty was now a ‘living force’ in the nation’s government:

[The Treaty is] a source of restitution for tribes and cultural recovery. Its implications, as interpreted by the Waitangi Tribunal and endorsed by our highest courts, require governments to observe a principle of partnership where Māori interests are at stake. (New Zealand Herald 2013)

Progressive as it sounds, such a statement positions the Treaty as Māori business, and foregrounds its interpretation by courts and tribunals divorced from the context of longstanding social movements that promoted decolonising interpretations of the Treaty.

The introductory section sketches the emergence of Māori and Pākehā/Tauiwi activism in support of the Treaty of Waitangi,⁴ and of a co-intentional decolonisation strategy in which the coloniser group undertook their own decolonising education. Next, a brief outline of contemporary social movement theory frames the author’s argument that Pākehā and Tauiwi ‘Treaty work’ and ‘Treaty education’ constitute a social movement. Background to the research question follows, along with the rationale for employing, as primary data, the reflexive scholarship of movement members. The body of the article expands on six possible reasons why Treaty work and education by Pākehā and Tauiwi are seldom recognised as a decolonisation movement. The article concludes by briefly assessing the future of contributions made by Pākehā and Tauiwi Treaty education to decolonisation in Aotearoa New Zealand.

When Māori rangatira signed Te Tiriti o Waitangi in 1840, they expected to build a mutually beneficial relationship with the settlers. The British governor would be included in their participative style of government to ensure a prosperous and peaceful future for all who resided in their country (Healy et al. 2012). However, when the incoming British governor signed the treaty, he expected that the British were acquiring an indivisible sovereignty over the country and all its peoples (Orange 2011; Healy et al. 2012). As Pākehā settlers began arriving in ever-larger numbers from 1840, they expected to take up life in a British colony, with the indigenous people making way for European constructs of civilisation (McCreanor 1997). Settler colonisation became a concerted attack on Māori landholdings, tribal government and culture, leaving Māori largely landless and struggling to maintain key cultural institutions (Walker 1990). New Zealand’s current economic and social order is held in place by an ideological consensus, or hegemonic ‘standard story’ that indigenous sovereignty was ceded to the British, and that colonisation has been largely benign (McCreanor 2005; Moewaka Barnes et al. 2012). This assimilatory social order persists into the present (Ministry of Social Development 2010) even with compensatory settlements made to Māori (Temm 1990).

In this context, decolonisation becomes a ‘long term process involving the bureaucratic, cultural, linguistic and psychological divesting of colonial power’ (Smith 1999, p. 98). Smith explains that the part to be played by the coloniser is to cease perpetuating colonisation by these means. In the 1970s and early 1980s, the work of Māori political movements in their restless search to recover their lost sovereignty (Walker 1990) became visible to Pākehā and other Tauiwi through land occupations, court cases and the dissemination of early Waitangi Tribunal findings (Temm 1990). Pākehā from many different sites of activism, including feminism, lesbian activism, anti-racism, youth and employment rights, nuclear-free Pacific groups and Christian social justice work became convinced that a deep injustice existed. They accepted the strategy promoted in Awatere’s ‘Māori Sovereignty’ (1984) that Pākehā needed to put their own house in order. Expressing the early analysis and theorising by Māori activist group Nga Tamatoa, Awatere marked the boundary between the Pākehā and the Māori experience of colonisation so clearly that Pākehā activists saw no room for complacent illusion about race relations, and recognised the insufficiency of sympathetic Pākehā merely joining with Māori protest. A strategy where Pākehā took responsibility for their own decolonisation was required. Initially, structural analysis by Nga Tamatoa and others followed early Marxist and decolonisation theorists (Memmi 1965) in excluding dominant or privileged groups as actors in decolonisation, assuming that they would not agitate to lessen their own power or privilege. Awatere rejected most of the existing sectors of Pākehā society as allies, but heralded the transformational possibilities of a new decolonised relationship:

The Māori people seek alliance with the white nation. In this way the interlocking racial unity of white people can be broken down and a new unity of Māori and Pākehā can be built up. (Awatere 1984, p. 52).

Presaging the cultural turn in social movement theory, Pākehā, Māori and Pasifika activists began looking to critical and liberation theorists who focused on transformational change undertaken by all sectors of society (Nairn 1990; Walker 1990). Gramsci, for instance, supported an ‘activist and essentially educational politics’ against a current hegemony (Adamson 1980, p. 4). Freire (1975) encouraged collective cultural action to attain a ‘demythologised’ social consensus. Indeed, liberation theory held that oppression damaged both the oppressed and the oppressor (Nairn 1990). In 1984, a major gathering of Māori elders and activists at Turangawaewae to launch Te Hikoi ki Waitangi noted that a key aspect of Pākehā resistance to Māori protest was Pākehā ignorance of the Treaty. Pākehā who supported Māori protest such as R Consedine also began to ask themselves ‘Why did I know so little about colonisation in New Zealand and what had happened to Māori?’ (Consedine & Consedine 2001, p. 143). The Turangawaewae hui recommended ‘teach[ing] the history of the treaty from a Māori perspective’ (Waitangi Action Committee 1985, pp. 6–7), and a wide consensus of Māori leaders and activists of the time affirmed the mandate.

Consequently, through localising liberation theory and analysing structural and historical racism, non-Māori groups began in the early 1980s to see their role in a ‘co-intentional’ decolonisation strategy, where different methods among Māori and among Pākehā/Tauiwi aimed toward the mutual goal of a decolonised relationship (Nairn 1990, 2001; James 1996). A wide range of Pākehā activist groups made the undertaking that ‘Pākehā spend some time and energy learning about and considering the obligations laid on Pākehā people by the Treaty of Waitangi and responsibilities since then’ (Scott 1985, p. 1). It was considered a ‘massive project’ that could ‘play a crucial role in the development of Pākehā awareness on race issues’ (Scott 1985, p. 1). Pākehā groups now adopted the strategy of ‘honouring the Treaty’ as a remedy for Pākehā racism (Nairn 2000)—indeed, such a strategy had been continually proposed by Māori since the Treaty signing. A good example of co-intentional work during this period was Pākehā/Tauiwi developing their understanding of Te Tiriti-based relationships and ‘honourable kāwanatanga’ (Kawanatanga Network 1996) while Māori were deepening their understandings of tino rangatiratanga and principles of Kaupapa Māori (Hoskins & Jones 2012). Graham Smith (2012) acknowledges that at this time Pākehā left their Māori colleagues to themselves to proceed with the work of mobilising Māori concepts and values as a base for Kaupapa Māori work while Pākehā worked on understanding the agreements made on their behalf in the Treaty and subsequent dishonouring of those agreements through processes of colonisation and assimilation.

In 1986, a nation-wide campaign called ‘Project Waitangi: Pākehā debate the Treaty’ appointed a national coordinator who disseminated educational resources (Project Waitangi 1986–1987) and brought existing anti-racism groups together in national and regional gatherings to train as educators. By 1988, there were 22 groups offering Treaty education for Pākehā around the country (Project Waitangi 1985–1990), in sites such as community groups, tertiary and adult education courses, government and voluntary organisations, and professional associations (Herzog 2000). After the national office closed the groups remained linked as Network Waitangi with regular national gatherings throughout the 1990s and into the 21st century (Hoult 2000).

In the early 2000s, a new generation of Tauiwi activists calling themselves arc (antiracism crew) continued the strategy of co-intentional work with Māori, and organised a decolonisation hui at Waitangi in 2002 with Māori and Pākehā/Tauiwi caucuses (Peace Pacific 2002). By 2006, the desire by new migrants to Aotearoa New Zealand to learn about the treaty had sparked an educational project for all Tauiwi, called the Tangata Tiriti-Treaty People project (Treaty Education for Migrants 2006). The regular tangata tiriti⁵ workshops offered by the Auckland Regional Migrant Services are now their most popular course (S. Chu, coordinator, pers. comm. 2015). Pākehā or Tauiwi Treaty networks remain active in all the main centres, serving a steady demand for workshops and consultancy.⁶ They are currently connected as a closed electronic community called Treaty People, with approximately 100 members.

While a relatively small number of actors may be involved, Margaret (2009) considers that such an organised set of regional groups, networks and individuals certainly constitutes a social movement. Contemporary transformational theories of social movements, grounded in social constructionism, allow for any group in society to transform their perspective on injustice, and to contribute to struggles for change (Buechler 1995). In this sense, Parker (2013, p. 19) considers Treaty work by Pākehā and other Tauiwi a transformational social movement, explaining that it gains its ‘social change power’ through making ‘new knowledges’ to transform how we ‘make meaning’ of history, relationships and identities. Huygens (2007) identified Treaty education as the source for a new discourse among Pākehā of ‘honouring Te Tiriti’, with key elements of ‘affirming Māori authority’ and ‘building mutually-agreed relationships’. The counter-hegemonic Tiriti discourse stimulated significant journeys of change in diverse organisations. As a Treaty educator claimed at a national gathering of Treaty workers:

A testimony of our quiet unseen work over the years is those hundreds and thousands of lives that we’ve touched, and we know that they have changed. We have changed the collective consciousness, we’ve changed movers and shakers, we’ve changed women mostly … and women change men! (Moea Armstrong in Huygens 2004, p. 81)

According to these commentators, Pākehā and Tauiwi Treaty work constitutes a social movement because it is a site of new knowledge and discursive practice that ultimately impacts on dominant culture and society.

Research issue and data

The longevity of Māori activism is well acknowledged in general histories of New Zealand, but Pākehā and Tauiwi activism is hastily covered (Carlyon & Morrow 2013) or not at all (King 2003). Where mentioned, Pākehā/Tauiwi activism is confined to the anti-racism work of the 1970s and 1980s, and support for the Treaty to accounts of the arrest of Pākehā church leaders at Waitangi in the early 1980s (Walker 1990). Since the 1980s, the media has positioned activism for the Treaty almost entirely as a Māori issue (Abel 2012). This situation poses the question: why is the Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty movement, including the practice of Treaty education, not widely recognised as a social change movement?

In the absence of commentary in historical narratives or the media, the most useful site for investigation at present is in research studies and reflective writing undertaken by Treaty workers themselves. These data provide clues and possible explanations for the unseen and unrecognised nature of Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty work. The relevant scholarship is contributed by three generations of activists, from the 1960s to the present, and covers several distinct stages of praxis. Most of the research has used participatory methodologies, and therefore records the perspectives of a wide range of Treaty activists—consensual views of the time as well as critical, marginal and emergent views. Topics have ranged across the genesis of Pākehā Treaty activism and its methodological underpinnings, developments in analysis and practice, and evolving identities of movement members.

Using this scholarship, six reasons for lack of recognition of the Treaty education movement’s work are explored below with examples focusing mostly on educational practice. Fuller accounts of praxis developments in response to political and social changes can be found in Margaret (2009), Huygens (2011) and Parker (2013). A useful collection of unpublished work has been compiled by Margaret (2002).

Reasons for lack of recognition as a social movement

Hegemonic views of social change movements as class- or race-based and adversarial

A legacy of the early Marxist/structuralist and social deprivation theories of social change is that social movements are often considered to be inherently adversarial—formed by the disenfranchised and resisted by the beneficiaries of a social order. Dominant group members who promote the injustice of their own group’s dominance are treated as ‘mutineers’ and perceived as particularly threatening to a social order (Kessaris 2006; R Nairn, anti-racism educator, pers. comm. 2006). As a result of such hegemonic views, public media do not favour Pākehā spokespeople on the Māori side of a debate, which is where many media practices position the Treaty (Moewaka Barnes et al. 2012). Dominant discourses in Aotearoa New Zealand contain many familiar discursive resources to disparage and demean Māori rights and aspirations, so it may be easier to mobilise these racist resources to resist Māori calls for justice (McCreanor 2012) than to resist similar calls for justice from Pākehā.

In contrast, when a less adversarial view is taken of social change, diverse social actors can be understood as contributors. Margaret (2009, p. 78) observed that the lessening of hegemonic hostility towards Māori claims, and a greater openness towards the Treaty and Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty work, ‘has allowed us to be more of a movement’. Hopefully, a more transformational and less adversarial approach to pro-Treaty societal changes may in future allow the Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty movement greater visibility and recognition.

Nature of Tiriti education as counter-hegemonic or radical adult education

Treaty education by activist educators has, from its inception, maintained an interpretive focus on the Māori text of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, the injustices of colonisation, and the authority of Māori knowledge regarding agency and initiatives of their people. By focusing on the relationship in Te Tiriti between tino rangatiratanga and kāwanatanga, and highlighting the interpretive importance of He Wakaputanga, Treaty educators set out to encourage transformation of the Māori–Tauiwi relationship. In doing so, they departed radically from the dominant model of education which aims to assimilate students into the current ideological consensus as good citizens. Educators working in the dominant model tend to legitimate the English version of the Treaty with its cession of Māori sovereignty. Because of this difference, Tiriti education is often experienced by participants as critically exposing the roots of New Zealand society. Often for the first time, a Pākehā person will perceive that the ‘standard story’ of legitimate, benign colonisation has been self-serving for the coloniser, constructed to justify the dispossession and assimilation of Māori into Pākehā cultural institutions. In this way, Tiriti- and tino rangatiratanga-focused education operates as a form of transformational learning that creates ‘disorienting dilemmas’ for adults (Mezirow 1995, p. 50). Judging from the frequency of the cry ‘Why wasn’t I taught this at school?’ workshop participants are clearly challenged to re-evaluate familiar beliefs and institutions. As they do, they become critical of how these beliefs and institutions are constructed—politically, bureaucratically, culturally and linguistically, to paraphrase Smith (1999). Indeed, a common outcome is that participants begin to question current constitutional arrangements.

The process of shifting from a comfortable, self-serving worldview towards a more critical, bicultural approach is experienced by most Pākehā as a very internal, personal and difficult journey of struggle (Campbell 2005). There are ‘Oh I see!’ moments, advances and retreats in awareness, and a range of positive and negative emotions (Huygens 2007). When such transformational learning is undertaken collectively with other Pākehā and Tauiwi, as in many organisations from the 1980s onwards, it often led to a long hard journey of change causing dissonance, discomfort and tension among staff (Huygens 2006). Where a Treaty workshop or facilitator is acknowledged at the outset of such a journey, they may be recalled negatively (James & Wychel 1992) or positively (Barron & Giddings 1989), or the entire educational intervention may be overlooked or denied.

Finally, it was mostly women who undertook the delivery of Treaty education, and women who initially absorbed its messages, as Armstrong explains above. Feminist analyses suggest that women’s contributions to intellectual developments and new knowledge are typically downplayed in a patriarchal social order (Spender 1983). Thus the radical, counter-hegemonic nature of Treaty work and education in all these settings—personal, social and organisational—may contribute to ambivalence about acknowledging it as a social movement.

Confusion over whether Treaty education aims are counter-hegemonic or assimilatory

Confusion in public arenas about the aims of Treaty education is probably exacerbated by the history of Treaty education as (briefly) government-funded, and now often delivered within established frameworks.

Public funding of $150,000 was provided from 1986–1990 for a national coordinator, media and educational resources. The Treaty education project for Pākehā was seen by the government at the time as a ‘middle ground approach’ to avoid the demands of radical Māori groups (Barron & Giddings 1989). However, from the outset the education project chose a counter-hegemonic approach by seeking Māori guidance and teaching both texts of the Treaty. As new historical and legal interpretations became available, educators increasingly legitimated the Māori text, the Māori claim for tino rangatiratanga, and the impact of colonisation on Māori. In contrast, much educational material produced for secondary and tertiary education and for the public has continued to legitimate the English treaty of cession and downplay Pākehā agency in the impact of colonisation.

Sites of delivery for Treaty education include the New Zealand Qualifications Framework unit standards, National Certificate of Educational Achievement, tertiary education courses, continued training for registered professionals, and in diverse government and non-government organisations. Delivery in these establishment settings does not necessarily sabotage the counter-hegemonic, decolonising thrust of the education, but much depends on the intentions of the educators or funders and receptivity of the audience. For instance, when Māori educators are asked to deliver Treaty education to predominantly Tauiwi groups, their validation of the Māori text and the Māori experience of colonisation may be considered biased, and meet with resistance.

In much professional training, such as in the cultural safety curriculum in nursing, the Treaty was considered ‘Māori business’. Thus it was initially Māori nurse educators who fronted the new Treaty teaching, and found themselves brutally attacked by students. This situation led to a new approach of cultural safety for all parties. Responsibilities were divided, transferring the Treaty education to Pākehā/Tauiwi tutors to prepare students for cultural teaching provided by Māori tutors. This model of Tauiwi teaching the Treaty in preparation for Māori cultural input has since been successfully used in many tertiary and professional training courses.

There were marked differences in penetration of Treaty education into various sectors of New Zealand society. For instance, the health and social services, and public and local authorities sought Treaty education from the 1980s onwards, and were made aware of the Māori view of Te Tiriti and colonisation. In contrast, the commercial and private sectors largely ignored the opportunity until the present day when some commercial entities are motivated by their desire to build productive post-settlement partnerships with local hapū.

The contrast between hegemonic and counter-hegemonic presentation of the Treaty was highlighted when the Labour government initiated the ‘Treaty 2U’ campaign in 2006, defending it as ‘information only’ (i.e. non-political). These popular educational resources avoided legitimating Māori expectations that their sovereignty would endure, and avoided interpretations of injustice. In contrast, activist Treaty educators today routinely teach about He Wakaputanga o te Rangatiratanga o Nu Tireni (Declaration of Independence) as a sign of serious commitment to acknowledging Māori agency, authority and aspirations.

Evolving membership to include many identities and activisms

Attendance at national gatherings of Treaty workers has evolved over the decades, with people and ideas from seemingly discrete social movements, such as feminism, queer activism, global demilitarisation, environmental protection, anti-mining and climate change.

At the request of a fourth generation of young activists, educational hui at Waitangi have been revived to share learning about how their diverse activisms are connected to the Māori struggle, the Treaty and decolonisation. Older generations of Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty educators and arc members now work with young Pākehā, Pasifika, Tauiwi and tangata tiriti to link their areas of activism, art and performance with Te Tiriti, and to support dialogue with rangatahi Māori about constitutional transformation.⁷

Emergent areas of theorising and practice include challenges to the homogeneity implied in the descriptors Pākehā, Tauiwi and tangata tiriti (Parker 2013). For instance, those with both Māori and Tauiwi ancestry may align themselves with tangata whenua⁸ or tangata tiriti (Parker 2013). Nevertheless, continuities with the theorising and practice of Pākehā and Tauiwi Treaty worker ‘elders’ are explicitly acknowledged by these newer generations of activists (Margaret 2009; Parker 2013). For instance, the educational practice of teaching Te Tiriti was seen as a successfully shared area of praxis across the generations (Margaret 2009).

The diverse ways in which contemporary social movements intersect with each other and make links with the Treaty may contribute to Tauiwi Treaty activism not being seen as a discrete social movement.

Ethic of mutually-agreed relationships with Māori

A significant question across the activism of multiple generations of Tauiwi Treaty workers has remained ‘How do we allow for the discomfort of the past and the possibility of relationship?’ (Parker 2013, p. 4, author’s emphasis). Margaret (2009) identified a renewed need for sharing between generations how to work co-intentionally with Māori. Earlier generations had developed an ethic that their actions as Pākehā allies should be consultative, because their actions would affect Māori (Nairn 1990). Since these consultative relationships are negotiated with diverse Māori groups, including hapū and iwi, supportive actions are unique to each situation and relationship. A research participant explained:

For the first time I’m working alongside Māori in a shared way. Knowing how to do that is a learning curve, everyone is different, different Māori react in different ways to different things. (Margaret 2009, p. 63)

Such diversity in practice of Tiriti-based relationships may contribute to lack of recognition of Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty work. Tauiwi who work alongside diverse Māori groups in a variety of projects may not be perceived as sharing a social movement base.

Working in mutually-agreed relationships has also shaped movement practice in ways that has discouraged media interest. Consultation with Māori groups encouraged Pākehā Treaty workers to act and speak collectively, thereby avoiding the individualism that Māori allies found so destructive in coalition work. This meant that in submissions or press releases Treaty workers tended to speak as a collective. In the absence of identifiable individuals favoured by public media, representations by Tauiwi Treaty workers have often been ignored.

Complexity of assessing impact and contribution of Treaty education to decolonisation

There have been no large-scale or systematic evaluations of the impact of Treaty education as yet. There are good reasons for the absence of summative evaluation: lack of finance on the part of educators and participant groups; rejection of applications for funding due to lack of recognition of Tauiwi Treaty education as a valid contribution to societal wellbeing; workshop participants are often members of diverse organisations, and thus not seen as a single population; and there is little baseline information with which to compare subsequent understandings or actions by participants. However, sufficient data certainly exist with which to assess the impact of Treaty education. Organisations have evaluated their own Treaty journeys (e.g. Huygens 2006; Huygens et al. 2000). Also, self-report evaluations of participant learning outcomes after workshops are routinely collected by Treaty educators. However, these data have not yet been systematically collated or analysed across educators.

Nevertheless, some excellent qualitative studies have been completed of the impact of Treaty awareness on identity, bicultural relationships and constructions of belonging in Aotearoa New Zealand. A qualitative study by a Māori scholar found that while Pākehā entering a bi-cultural space may experience a ‘third space’ of discomfort, Te Tiriti offered an ethic of respectful encounter with Māori that allowed Pākehā a safe subjectivity (Campbell 2005). Another qualitative study with predominantly Pākehā Treaty workers and educators found that their sense of responsibility about ‘being Pākehā offered a sense of belonging to Aotearoa and a place to stand in justice alongside Māori’ (Black 2010, p. iv). Their heightened consciousness of the dominant nature of Pākehā values and norms unsettled their sense of certainty about their position in the world, and ‘opened up possibilities for new ways to engage in intercultural relationships where participation rather than being in control was valued’ (Black 2010, p. iv). Finally, an excellent study with Asian immigrants showed that as a result of learning about the Treaty:

Many of the participants went through a process of redefining their identity in a new country, rather than just adjusting to or coping with a different environment. Essentially, learning about the Treaty facilitated psychological integration after migrating to New Zealand. (Omura 2014, p. i)

Each of these qualitative studies indicated a crucial role for Treaty education in helping Pākehā and all Tauiwi shape a decolonised view of their identities, relationships and futures.

Discussion and conclusions

This article has argued that the sustained educational activity of four generations of Pākehā, Tauiwi and tangata tiriti workers constitutes a social movement. Alongside significant continuities in practice with the original Treaty education project for Pākehā, Treaty work has expanded to a decolonisation process for all tangata tiriti in their relationships with tangata whenua. Thus it can best be seen as a transformational social movement, with all the complexity, evolving nature and potential of such transformational movements.

There have certainly been aspects of the Treaty movement’s agenda and practices that have contributed to its remaining unseen and unrecognised by historians, academics and public media. Movement members have theorised that Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty work creates new knowledges about ourselves and our history, new meanings in constructing our identities, and new practices for ‘honouring Te Tiriti’ and being in relationships with Māori. The radical, counter-hegemonic nature of Treaty education means that recipients need time to think through and respond to new information in the context of their social and cultural contexts. Such complex personal and collective change in New Zealand society may not be perceived as a discrete social movement, nor attributed specifically to education about the Treaty. Since the movement is transformational, Treaty workers seldom claim expertise or solutions as we ourselves are deeply involved in the personal and collective processes of change. Treaty workers have tended not to make strong predictions or claims about impacts of Treaty education, since the effects are complex and slow to emerge.

Māori activists and scholars have been more likely to give overt recognition to Pākehā/Tauwi activism. For instance, Walker (1990, pp. 233–234, pp. 277–281) gives Pākehā activism more coverage than do non-Māori historians, and clearly acknowledges its importance:

The Māori, as a minority of 12% in a population of 3 million, cannot achieve justice or resolve their grievances without Pākehā support. For this reason, Pākehā are as much a part of the process of social transformation in the post-colonial era as radical and activist Māori. (Walker 1990, p. 234)

The author has heard both Titewhai Harawira in her Radio Waatea broadcasts (2003–4) and Hone Harawira in his speech to the Takutai Moana hikoi in Hamilton (2004) acknowledge Pākehā support for Māori aspirations. Pākehā Treaty educators were invited by Ngāpuhi kaumātua onto an independent panel to hear and report on their Waitangi Tribunal evidence about He Wakaputanga and Te Tiriti o Waitangi. Both this independent panel and the tribunal found that Māori had not ceded sovereignty in Te Tiriti o Waitangi (Healy et al. 2012; Waitangi Tribunal 2014), a finding which affirmed the radical and relational focus taken in Tiriti education.

Does it matter whether Pākehā/Tauiwi Treaty education work is recognised as a social movement towards decolonisation? Possibly not. Treaty work contests colonial discourses, relationships and identities that have been deeply structured into global relations for the past 400 years. Thirty years is early days for educational efforts to change such deep cultural patterns. However, Treaty education has challenged Pākehā complacency in the social order they enjoyed in the 20th century, and thus offers a coloniser group the opportunity for social and cultural changes. Pākehā and Tauiwi attempts to ‘honour the Treaty’ have enabled dialogue with Māori in a common frame of understanding and aspiration about the country’s past, present and future. Therefore, whether exposed to the Māori Tiriti of covenantual relationship or the English treaty of cession, New Zealanders have at least become aware that the Treaty protects Māori rights and places obligations on non-Māori. There is now a wide consensus that the Treaty of Waitangi is a founding document. It is unlikely that such a widespread awareness of the Treaty would exist had there been no sustained Treaty education campaign with communities and organisations—if for instance, the courts and the Waitangi Tribunal mentioned in the Herald editorial had been the only ‘educators’ at work.

Learning about, and working towards, a decolonised relationship between Māori and Tauiwi remains important, whoever the social actors. Pākehā in particular need to continue learning about the original Treaty agreements and subsequent colonisation, and how to support contemporary Māori aspirations without exerting further assimilative pressure. In the future, Treaty education is likely to provide a foundation for civics and constitutional education, to offer a sense of belonging and identity for all Tauiwi, and to remain a platform for all those undertaking decolonisation in Aotearoa New Zealand.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes

1. European settlers and their descendants.

2. All New Zealanders who are not of Māori descent.

3. Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand and their descendants. All three words are capitalised as denoting ethnic descriptors.

4. The Treaty of Waitangi (or the Treaty) is used when both Te Tiriti o Waitangi (Māori text) and the English version is intended. The treaty is left uncapitalised when referred to in a more general way.

5. Tangata tiriti means literally ‘treaty people’: all people who came to Aotearoa New Zealand under the authority of the Treaty of Waitangi (Treaty Resource Centre 2007, p. 78). As a political grouping, it is left uncapitalised.

6. There are currently at least eight groups and networks around the country, most of whom deliver Treaty education for Pākehā/Tauiwi—Network Waitangi Whangarei, Tāmaki Treaty Workers in Auckland, Waikato AntiRacism Coalition, Wellington Treaty Workers Network, Network Waitangi Ōtautahi and Waitangi Associates in Christchurch, Tauiwi Solutions and Network Waitangi Ōtepoti in Dunedin.

7. Waitangi Hui 2015 titled ‘Linking Te Tiriti to your area of activism’; Waitangi Hui 2016 titled ‘Tauiwi joining constitutional conversations’.

8. Interpreted by Hone Kaa and other Māori scholars as ‘the people who are the land’.