Dearest Readers,
It appears that the ever-charming politicians of New Zealand
have decided to pull on their gumboots, dance their own Haka and stir the pot
once again, and the broth they are concocting seems to carry a distinct aroma
of treachery. It has been reported that our dear neighbours across the Tasman
Sea have taken it upon themselves to unravel the Treaty of Waitangi—yes, that “dusty
old thing” from 1840, which the Māori, for some apparently “incomprehensible reason”,
still consider to be relevant. They aim to unpick it like a dodgy jumper,
stitch by stitch. Oh, how delightfully quaint! Allow me to enlighten you on
this unfolding saga.
The Treaty of Waitangi: Signed, Sealed, and Soon-to-Be Delivered to the Bin?
Let us first indulge in a brief history lesson. The Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840, was an agreement between the Crown (that is, the British Empire, darlings) and the Māori chiefs. There are differences in the English and the Māori translation, but in short we can conclude the following: The Māori were promised certain rights—most notably, the recognition and ownership of their land, culture, and, heaven forbid, the right to govern themselves. The Māori are to have full rights and protection as British subjects. It also states that the Crown has pre-emption rights and any land the Māori sell must be sold ONLY to the Crown. In exchange, the Māori graciously allowed the British to plant their flag and call the place New Zealand. One might think that after signing a deal like that, both sides would simply live in perfect harmony.
However, the ink had barely dried before the Crown got a bit
itchy and started, shall we say, renegotiating the terms—without bothering to
consult the other party. A bit cheeky, wouldn’t you say? Nevertheless, the
Treaty has endured, despite being chewed on by literal rats and metaphorically
gnawed upon by politicians over the years. It is a wonder that this shredded
old parchment has held up at all, but alas, its time on the mantelpiece may be
nearing its end, as the current mob in power seems to think it’s time to put
this “dusty relic” to rest.
A House Divided: Guests Democratically Vote for New Rules
Picture, if you will, a grand estate—lavish, with rolling gardens and stately halls. The owner of this fine abode is a classic Aussie bloke and has, in his boundless generosity, allowed a few guests to take up residence. He did this with a set of agreed-upon rules, naturally—certain rights and privileges that ensured the guests would not feel entirely like squatters. However, as time goes on, the guests begin to settle in. Oh, and settle they do! Still the kind Aussie owner always welcomes any guests into his house with a little welcoming greeting that says they are welcome to visit and share in the food.
The guests bring their own furniture, scatter their belongings
about, and soon you can hardly tell it was the owner’s home in the first place.
Motorcycles clutter the driveway, rice cookers hum in the kitchen, and air
fryers occupy every counter. Suddenly, these guests are no longer just guests. They invite their own friends and relatives to come and stay without asking the owner. They demand a say
in everything—what’s to be grown in the garden, which cheeses belong in the
pantry (poor Dutch Gouda does not stand a chance!), and what language is to be
spoken on the premises. Farewell to the owner speaking in Australian slang with his mother
and brother on the phone. “Democracy!” the guests shout, as if they’re doing
him a favour. And just like that, the bloke’s lost control of his own digs.
Why, it is nothing less than a hostile takeover! The owner is left with little more than the clothes on his back, while his tulips and cheeses, rooms and garden become communal property. “Democracy,” they say—how charming. But one might wonder, is it truly democratic when the original owner finds himself with no voice at all? Didn't he allow them to stay with a set of agreed-upon rules? What would his forefathers say if they saw how the estate was taken over by foreigners due to mere hospitality!
Same Story, New Zealand: The Treaty Takes a Back Seat
Returning to our beloved New Zealand, it seems that this
house metaphor is playing out on a much grander stage. The Treaty of Waitangi
was meant to be a fair arrangement, with both sides retaining certain rights.
However, much like our poor homeowner, the Māori have watched as their control
over their land and culture has slowly but surely been eroded.
The Treaty promised Māori tino rangatiratanga, which
is a fancy way of saying "self-determination" over their lands,
villages, and treasures. But what have they received instead? Land
confiscations, suppression of their language, and laws that conveniently ignore
their rights. For a long time the Māori were even forbidden to speak their own
language. And their lands? Well, let's just say the Crown didn’t pay fair
dinkum prices, as only the Crown could legally buy Māori land. Often it just outright
confiscated what it saw fit and fair. Today, Māori is technically an official
language (only since 1987, mind you), but the government is no longer rolling
out the red carpet for it, in fact, its use in public services and official
documentation is no longer expected.
The new government cozies up to the idea of… how shall I put
this delicately? Abolish the Treaty in all but name. Why let such a
pesky document stand in the way of progress, after all? The government seems to
think that the Treaty, like an old-fashioned gown, is no longer fit for modern
society. But if equality means stripping the Māori of what’s left of their
autonomy, it’s looking more like a dodgy deal than anything fair dinkum.
The Grand Finale: Equality or Erasure?
One must wonder, however, what will happen if the Treaty is
entirely unravelled. The government claims that they are simply seeking
equality for all, ensuring that no one group holds more rights than another. In
theory, this sounds quite noble, does it not? Democracy at work and an equal
vote and voice for everyone. But in practice, it feels rather more like
stripping the Māori of their final threads of autonomy.
It is as if our metaphorical houseguests, now fully in
control of the estate, have decided that the original homeowner should no
longer even have a say in his own affairs. “Equality,” they cry, as they
rearrange his furniture, repaint his walls, and toss his tulip bulbs into the
compost bin. How modern! How progressive!
And so, dear reader, we find ourselves at the cusp of a new
chapter in this curious tale. Will the Māori continue to fight for their rights
under a Treaty that seems to be crumbling faster than a day-old scone? Or will
the government succeed in their mission to dissolve the past in favor of a
shiny new future, one where equality is a lovely buzzword but true justice remains
as elusive as ever?
As New Zealand flirts with the notion of “equality,” the
once-cherished Treaty of Waitangi faces slow disintegration. Promises once made
to the Māori now seem like yesterday’s forgotten obligations as the new
government unravels this foundational document. Will the Treaty, much like our
hypothetical homeowner, lose all control over what was once rightfully theirs?
Or is this the final act in a long play where "fairness" strips the Māori
of their hard-earned rights?
Whatever happens, you can be sure of one thing: I shall be watching with bated breath and spill the tea, ready to pen the next chapter of this deliciously scandalous affair.
Yours in disbelief and a smirk,
Lady Wombat
Why not show the kid's version in the Wombat Junior <here>!
