A reflection on the unseen struggles of Indigenous leadership in colonised systems – and with each other.
I’ve been holding onto this kōrero for a while now. Maybe because it’s heavy. Maybe because it’s uncomfortable. But also because it’s important.
Remember, these are my own opinions, my perspective. I welcome comment and kōrero, always.
When we speak about the impacts of colonisation, we often focus outward – on the institutions, the systems, the legislation, the policies. And we should. These forces continue to harm, exclude, and distort. But the part that often hurts the most? The way colonisation has shaped how we relate to each other.
In te ao Māori, and in many Indigenous worldviews, we are not just navigating relationships with Crown systems. We are navigating old raru. We are navigating historical betrayals, land disputes, contested mana, mamae carried from one generation to the next. We are navigating mistrust born not from who we are, but from what has been done to us.
And we’re tired.
Too many of our leaders are holding more than they should. Fighting not just institutional racism, but lateral conflict. Constantly on defence. Burning out. Burning bridges. Burning hope.
“Ko te tino mamae, nō roto.”
The deepest pain often comes from within.
As a GenX Māori, part of this bridging generation between kaumātua and rangatahi – I feel this every day. We’re expected to carry legacy, hold relationships, understand system-speak, show up with tikanga, be proficient in our māoritanga me hapu-iwitanga, and look after everyone’s emotions… while also being strategic, visionary, and culturally safe. That’s a lot cuz.
And here’s the truth: I often find it harder to navigate things with our own people than with the Western system. Not because I don’t love us – but because I do, āheiha. Because every time I feel undermined, dismissed, or made to compete with my own, it cuts deeper. Because I know that somewhere beneath the tension is unresolved mamae. And I know it’s not always about me – but, bro, it still hurts, every time.
So instead of pushing this aside, I want to name it.
What Are We Really Navigating?
- Intergenerational Raru: Old tensions between iwi, hapū, whānau – sometimes unresolved for decades, sometimes centuries. When these raru are left unspoken, they fester and show up as personal conflicts between leaders today.
- Scarcity and Competition: Colonisation reduced our collective wealth and power, then made us fight each other for recognition, resources, and political space. It created competition where there should be kotahitanga.
- Lateral Violence: Pain turned sideways. Misplaced anger. Ego. Control. Silence. It’s when our responses to colonial trauma are redirected onto each other.
- Institutional Gaslighting: Being told to “speak with one voice” while navigating the reality of multiple iwi, multiple views, and limited space. That pressure to present unity becomes another form of erasure – and drives conflict underground.
So What Do We Do?
I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I do believe there are pathways forward. Not perfect ones. But better ones.
Navigational Aids for Our Bridging Generation
Here’s what I think we, as GenX Indigenous leaders, can consciously contribute:
- Acknowledge the raru without feeding the fire
Bring things into the light – not to blame, but to release. Sometimes the act of saying “I know this tension didn’t start with us” is enough to de-escalate the ego in a room. - Normalise cultural recovery as messy and imperfect
We are in a time of rebuilding – not all iwi or hapū are at the same stage. Patience, not judgment. Solidarity, not comparison. - Practice whakawātea before kaupapa
Make space before diving into mahi. Set cultural tone. Honour the energy in the room. Clear the path before walking it. - Be explicit about values and behaviours
Internal culture matters. Write them down. Say them out loud. Hold yourself and others gently, but accountably, to them. - Create relational covenants, not just legal ones
Agreements between leaders or groups that speak to wairua, to tikanga, to trust – not just outputs and deliverables. - Be a pou for the rangatahi
Don’t let them inherit our unresolved conflicts. Name the dynamics. Give them tools. Remind them that leadership isn’t about perfection – it’s about presence.
He Aha me Katia, He Aha me Kawe
What We Must Stop, and What We Must Carry
As we move forward, we need to be intentional about what we lay down, and what we pick up. Colonisation didn’t just strip us of whenua – it injected us with behaviours that don’t align with who we are.
What We Need to Stop:
- Talking behind each other’s backs
If you can’t say it ā-kanohi, ā-tinana – don’t say it. Rumour is not a tool of mana motuhake. - Weaponising whakapapa or position
Prestige doesn’t give you the right to diminish others. We all descend from Atua. Honour that in each other. - Gatekeeping and scarcity mindsets
There is enough kaupapa, enough space, enough mana to go around. Collaboration is not competition. - Using colonised systems as the measure of legitimacy
Just because it’s in a funding contract or legal framework doesn’t mean it reflects tikanga. Challenge the template, not your whanaunga. - Excusing bad behaviour in the name of kaupapa
The ends do not justify the means. Our tikanga must guide both.
✅ What We Must Carry Forward:
- Integrity and wairua-led leadership
Do what you say you will do. Move with aroha and clarity. Let your wairua lead your actions. - Tikanga that whakamana others
Manaakitanga, tapu, aroha, tika – these are not fluffy words or concepts: They are behavioural frameworks. - Whakawhanaungatanga as a leadership strategy
Relationships are not a soft skill. They are the infrastructure of transformation. - Joy, humour, and collective healing
We’ve carried enough mamae. Let us also carry hope, lightness, and the kind of laughter that binds us.
Whakakotahitanga is not a destination. It’s a discipline. A commitment. A value that must be chosen every day, especially when it’s hard. Especially when it’s with our own.
If we are to build futures worth inheriting, we must also be willing to look within – not just as individuals, but as iwi, as hapū, as hapori. We must be brave enough to talk about the hard stuff. Not to dwell in it. But to clear it. For our own sake. And for those yet to come.
“Ko tātou anake ka taea te whakaora i a tātou.”
Only we can heal ourselves.