Abstract
The idea of democracy as a system of governance “of the people, by the people, for the people” (Lincoln, 1863) has been tainted by the skewed structures of representation that systematically shut out minority and subaltern groups from being part of what is constituted as “the people.” Most recently, this has been exacerbated by the rise of populism in different parts of the world where democracy has been hijacked by majoritarian groups claiming to represent a collective notion of “the people” fighting against perceived threats from those deemed to be the ‘other’.
Although state apparatuses have historically neglected the rights of Indigenous and other minority groups, right-wing populist movements use what Dutta (2020) calls “communicative inversions” to strategically label these same apparatuses as being elitist in their bid to marshal public support for building a more “equal” society. Such a notion of equality is often directed at any attempts by the state to address systemic injustices marginalised communities have endured. In right-wing populist narratives, as Schmidtke (2022: 65, 68) points out, “the people” are presented in the “image of a homogenous community” whose “identity and interests need to be protected and nurtured” in the face of a constructed ‘other’. Invariably, in this discourse of distorted democracy, the ‘other’ are the original inhabitants of the land and/or immigrants visibly distinct from the dominant settler colonial arrivals to the land.
The challenge of resuscitating democracy is in dismantling settings that allow for processes of ‘othering’ and instead in creating institutions that recognise that “interdependence and mutual engagement with those who are different is a key to joint action” (Borrows, 2022: xvii). Such institutions can flourish in the context of multiple modes of democracy – Indigenous, representative/state-centred, international, community/grassroots-based, and Earth/Gaia democracy (Tully, 2022) – that are intricately intertwined through numerous, citizen-led efforts at “democratising democracy” (Ouizel, 2022: 374).
In the context of Aotearoa New Zealand (AoNZ), Te Tiriti o Waitangi offers the framework for revitalising democratic practice. Its deeply embedded values of equity, justice, manaakitanga and an “ethic of restoration” that encompasses a “tikanga-centred way of ordering society” (Jackson, 2020) provide us guidance on building an inclusive democratic society in an increasingly diverse landscape where minority ethnic communities are projected to be about 30% of the population by 2043 (Statistics New Zealand, 2021). These communities – defined in AoNZ as comprising non-Māori, non-Pākehā (Pākehā refers to European New Zealanders of Anglo/Celtic ethnicity) and non-Pacific and includes people from South/East Asia, Middle East, Africa, Latin America, and Continental Europe (Ministry for Ethnic Communities, nd) – are significant economic actors and have a growing national presence in culture and politics (see, e.g., Simon-Kumar et al., 2020; Leckie, 2021). Yet, the political implications of ethnic diversity in AoNZ are most commonly framed in terms of a tension between the official policy of biculturalism and the appropriateness of multiculturalism. Against this context, our project entitled He Rau Ringa (Munshi et al. 2024) seeks to articulate a Tiriti-centred, distinctly AoNZ notion of ‘sustainable citizenship’ (Kurian et al. 2014; Munshi and Kurian, 2021) that can offer a pathway to an inclusive and equitable society for all.
We acknowledge Māori as tangata whenua with tauiwi (non-Māori) as manuhiri (visitors/guests) in AoNZ. However, under most policy interpretations of Te Tiriti, tauiwi are largely conflated with Pākehā, who are assumed to have a special relationship with Māori in regard to Te Tiriti (Dewes, 2022). Ethnic communities, whose backgrounds often also include histories of being colonised, and who have been in AoNZ from the late 18th century (Nachowitz, 2018), have remained largely invisible. We suggest three reasons for such invisibility:
Perceived tension between biculturalism and multiculturalism
Unlike other settler states that adopted multiculturalism as a dominant way of managing diversity, such as Australia, Canada, and the United States, AoNZ chose biculturalism as a powerful response through the 1980s and 1990s to the monoculturalism of institutional structures (Spoonley, 2015). Biculturalism helped counter the fear that multiculturalism could reduce “Māori to a position as one of many minorities” and further “neutralize their claims for justice” (Walker, 1993), including access to jobs and scarce resources (Spoonley, 2015). There has also been concern about new migrants’ lack of “commitment to the treaty” (Walker, 1990: 90). However, some scholars have argued that biculturalism “is a colonial relationship” in which Māori have been relegated to a junior partnership (O’Sullivan, 2007: 209), with ‘mainstream’ AoNZ society continuing to be Pākehā at heart (Kukutai and Rata, 2017: 31). While important, the strategies for biculturalism “fall short of granting the sovereignty Māori never ceded when they signed Te Tiriti o Waitangi” (Terruhn, 2019: 881). Multiculturalism has its limits in AoNZ (Lowe, 2015), too, as it is “inclined towards expanding and modifying”, rather than fundamentally challenging, the hegemonic institutions of the nation-state (Ghosh, 2015: 27).
Both biculturalism and multiculturalism have their place, but it is increasingly evident that debates between the two are not very productive. As it stands, “New Zealand is demographically multicultural, formally bicultural, and with few exceptions, institutionally monocultural” (Liu, 2007, cited in Baehler, 2009) – a policy framework that does not work equitably for Māori or for ethnic communities. In this context, we make a case for centring Te Tiriti to shape a national identity that recognises the rights of the first peoples of the land and works towards equity and justice for all its diverse residents.
Assumptions about ethnic communities being less relevant in Te Tiriti conversations
There is a burgeoning literature on ethnic minorities – spanning multiple facets of their lives as migrants (see e.g., Ho, 2015; Simon-Kumar et al., 2020; Simon-Kumar and Kurian, 2021; Spoonley and Bedford, 2012), including as economic agents and political actors, while exploring their experiences of racism (Ip and Murphy, 2005; Majavu, 2017), their culture and identities (Liu et al., 2005), and issues with health (De Graaff et al., 2023; Henrickson et al., 2015). However, such research (see Dam, 2023, for an exception) largely tends to ignore their place vis-à-vis Te Tiriti. In the area of health, for example, recent research reveals that, despite a popular perception of Asian migrants being relatively affluent, many Asian New Zealanders and other ethnic minorities face barriers in accessing screening and other healthcare provisions, while having worse outcomes, in some cases, than other communities (Xia, 2022). These issues reflect a lack of the equity promised in Te Tiriti. Further, with few exceptions, there is very little attention in the literature to ethnic communities’ engagement with Te Tiriti or the relationship of their identities as New Zealanders to the nation’s founding document (Nakhid and Devere, 2015; Spoonley, 2015).
Lack of awareness about the wider significance of Te Tiriti for citizenship
In the attempt by decisionmakers to see Te Tiriti as a contractual agreement of sorts between Māori and Pākehā settlers, they appear to lose sight of ethnic minorities as part of the ever-changing AoNZ landscape. More importantly, dominant frames for citizenship tend to view Te Tiriti as a frozen historical artefact that continues to regulate a contract between two groups rather than as a lodestone for living relationships between and among communities in 21st century AoNZ. However, Te Tiriti has enduring commitments and has the potential to be responsive to the modern political environment, as well as to new knowledge and technologies (O’Sullivan, 2021). Indeed, Te Tiriti provides the foundation for articulating a more equitable idea of sovereignty, and is ideally placed to bring ethnic communities under a new conception of decolonial national identity and citizenship.
However, for the most part, fixed ideas of sovereignty have prevented decisionmakers from honouring rangatiratanga claims of Māori and realising “the transformative potential” of Indigenous sovereignty (Clave-Mercier, 2022: 15). As recent scholarship suggests, “engaging with Māori political thinking and their intergenerational articulation of the politics of sovereignty may reveal paths to deconstruct the Euro-modern sovereignty and achieve genuine decolonial political arrangements and ways of living together” (Clave-Mercier, 2022: 15).
A decolonised political space that brings ethnic communities under the umbrella of Te Tiriti does not threaten the status of Māori as tangata whenua nor the possibility of a ‘treaty-based multicultural society’ (Barker, 2021). Some scholars have already called for a reflection on Te Tiriti as a “reference point in our consciousness” for the relationship between Māori and Pacific peoples (Anae, 2021), an idea that could also be extended to ethnic communities.
Te Tiriti, sustainable citizenship and democratic transformation
The articles of Te Tiriti grant kāwanatanga (governance) to the Crown over the English settlers on the land; tino rangatiratanga (absolute sovereignty) of Māori over their lands, villages, and treasures; and ōritetanga, a commitment to equitable outcomes through protecting Māori and their rights (Came et al., 2023). A fourth oral article enshrines the freedom to practise “religion, faith and cultural customs” (Reese, 2022). To create an inclusive, just, and participatory democracy, Te Tiriti offers diverse communities an opportunity and a responsibility to engage in the polis (Stone, 2012) – the political communities – of AoNZ with a commitment to creating a shared, if always contested, notion of the good society. Under the relational fabric of Te Tiriti, such political communities will be shaped in fundamental ways by tikanga, Māori values, such as mana, manaakitanga, whanaungatanga and whakapapa, and Māori practices of deliberation and hui, while offering space for reciprocity, respect, and co-existence. At the same time, in the realm of policy making, giving effect to Te Tiriti for democratic transformation calls for a recognition of the state’s responsibilities of kawanatanga to ensure equitable outcomes for all, including ethnic communities. At its heart, then, such a project for democratic transformation requires confronting the centrality of power in shaping who participates, who gets access to resources, whose voices are heard and whose knowledges are given legitimacy.
Our notion of sustainable citizenship, “does not focus on compromises; rather, it seeks to neutralize issues of power by concentrating not on ‘gains and losses’ but on the dialectical nature of issues which are neither black nor white but have several shades of gray that groups in conflict can work with” (Kurian et al., 2014: 437). In He Rau Ringa, we envision a joining of many hands to create empowered political spaces where (1) policy development by the state is scrutinised through a Tiriti-based meta-theoretical framework of equity and justice for Māori and ethnic communities (Kurian et al., 2025), and (2) ethnic communities deepen their understanding of Te Tiriti and te ao Māori, in recognition of the fact that it is Te Tiriti that makes possible the presence of ethnic communities in AoNZ.
An example of an effort of joining hands that we are studying as part of our project is the “Bridging Cultures” initiative of a non-profit organisation Inclusive Aotearoa Collective Tāhono (IACT), which has been holding hui around the country to strengthen the “application of Te Tiriti by building support for tino rangatiratanga, as well as developing a shared understanding of how Te Tiriti includes ethnic and Pasifika communities” (IACT, nd).
Ultimately, a Tiriti-informed democratic transformation in Aotearoa would involve encouraging democratic communities, as the Anishinaabe First Nations scholar John Borrows (2022: xix) says, to “recognize and affirm other-determination as a genuine political reality”. While Borrows’ (2022: xix) expansive notion of democracy advocating for “Indigenous-other-determination” seeks to include entities beyond just the human, we need to also recognise the intersectional differences among humans – which shape who gets to participate in what ways in creating democratic and just societies.
The He Rau Ringa project we are currently leading envisions a new form of democracy that allows communities to join hands with efforts to decolonise our institutions, knowledge, and practices of citizenship. It fosters public participation in decision-making on equitable access to and sharing of public resources under a framework that honours Indigenous sovereignty rather than taken-for-granted default settings of Euro-modern sovereignty that has historically undermined democracy by disempowering minorities.
