This week, to mark Waitangi Day, the Guardian is publishing five pieces of commentary from Māori writers.

I am ashamed to say this year was my first time at Waitangi.

I am Māori, an indigenous person of New Zealand. I belong to the Ngāpuhi tribe, a tribe that descends from Waitangi and other parts of Northland. My ancestor is Hongi Hika, who was once a Māori rangatira (chief) of Ngāpuhi.

The internal conflict I experienced as I stepped on to the grounds is one I have experienced my entire life. “Am I Māori enough? Do I belong here? What if someone starts speaking te reo to me, what should I do? I should have been here years ago. I should be with other Māori, holding a banner, holding government accountable for all the wrongs and injustices Māori have suffered.”

My memories of past Waitangi days are this: a nice sleep in, a day out at the beach, hanging at some random festival, and in the evening I might turn the news on during dinner and see an army of angry Māori holding up a sign at Waitangi. And then I turn the TV off and never think about it until the next year.

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There is nothing wrong with being at the beach on Waitangi Day but what is wrong is the general public, including many Māori, have no real understanding of the Treaty and how it affects us today. A covenant was made between Maori and Pakeha in 1840. That covenant was broken and the consequences have brutally traumatised Maori across generations, including my own family. This is not something that just happened in the past. This is affecting us now. As in today.

I could easily talk about the impact of colonisation on our health. Maori statistically die earlier. My grandparents died in their fifties, before I was born. My understanding of Te Ao Māori was limited for a number of reasons. But one reason is, I missed out on sitting at my grandparents’ feet and learning from them.

Or I could talk about the over-representation of Māori in the criminal justice system. Or how Māori lost 95% of their land in less than a hundred years. Now Māori are struggling to afford to rent a house, let alone buy one. How ironic is that? We can’t even afford to live on our own land. These are all manifestations of the Treaty not being honoured.

But this is not the worst part. Perhaps the worst part is how we as Māori have been robbed of our identity. My Māori mates and I talk about how we should be called the lost generation. We are orphans. We grew up not knowing where we come from. We can’t speak our own language. We are expected to be a dial-a-powhiri or a translating service and when we can’t do it, we are called “plastic” and our identity is questioned. “Are you even a Māori?”

We already grow up ashamed to be Māori because society tells us we are less. We are already questioning our identity. But the shame that has been put on us for our loss of culture and language can be soul-destroying – a reminder that we don’t belong in the Pākehā world or the Māori world. No amount of compensation can make up for this.

And now, like a flick of a switch, we are expected to just reclaim our identity, go to te reo classes with other non-Māori who see it as a hobby. Our history wasn’t taught in schools so now we seek out our own knowledge, read books in our spare time and re-learn and un-learn everything we have been taught by society. (The Labour party has now introduced New Zealand history to be taught in all schools by 2022. About 100 years too late but at least it’s a start.)

•••••

This year I found out that being at Waitangi is like going back to the marae for a tangi, except no one died. The aroma of hāngi and fry bread lingered, te reo is spoken naturally and not forced and I could be my authentic self. I didn’t have to put my pakeha face on. I was part of the majority, rather than a minority. I was home.

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I echo many others who believe Waitangi day is better without politics. Walking to the Te Whare Rūnanga at the upper Treaty grounds is like a different world. Herds of silly politicians and journalists running around in suits, dresses and full faces of makeup. A white woman at the centre of attention.

Waitangi should not be about Jacinda Ardern, although this is not her fault. “Jacindamania” or the “Jacinda effect” is still in full swing. Teenage girls in school uniform waving their phones in the air desperate to get a photo. I passed two men in their sixties praising “Jacinta”. Iwi leaders raved about her after the annual iwi meeting. Even my own mother lined up in the breakfast line for over an hour to get a selfie with the prime minister. It’s now one of her most liked photos on her Facebook.

One can’t deny the fact Arden is doing a good job. I cannot think of any other politician or leader in this country (or even worldwide) who would decide to jump in the waka last minute on Hine Te Aparangi and paddle with locals.

Perhaps Ardern is the reason why after the dawn service and breakfast, my friend and I were left scratching our heads. There wasn’t much going on. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Happy, even. Where were all the protests I’ve grown up seeing on TV? Mainstream Pakeha reporters looked lost, searching for some kind of conflict or protest.

Being at Waitangi was a spiritual and profound experience for me. But it was also a reminder of how far we have to go. Oranga Tamariki, water issues, poverty, unemployment, Ihumātao and the rights to our land back. Maybe Waitangi 2021 will be less focused on Ardern and more on Māori issues at heart. What we have lost, we can never get back. But we try.

Shilo Kino (Ngā Puhi, Tainui) is a writer and journalist for the Māori current affairs program Marae. Her debut novel, The Porangi Boy, will be out this year with Huia Publishers.











