Te Tiriti Sting

by Rebecca Thomas

Many of us watched the live proceedings of the Waitangi Tribunal this week.

Not half-listening while the day moved on around us. But properly. The kind of listening you have to do that makes you stop what you’re doing.

Although nothing shared was new, hearing it gathered — all at once, in one space — was deeply confronting. As kaiako, as leaders, as those who walk alongside our tamariki each day, we were not shocked. Because if you know your history, this story has been told before.

Those same patterns and those repeated inequities consistently over time. We know these stories because we live alongside them. And yet, hearing them spoken — formally, clearly, without being softened — was something else. When those stories are gathered, evidenced, and laid side by side…there is no hiding from the scale.

So first — and most importantly — thank you to those who stood in that space and spoke.

To those who gathered the evidence, who did the mahi behind the scenes, who carried the weight of making sure these experiences were not dismissed as “just one-off” or “just anecdotal”.

To the whānau, the educators, the advocates — who showed up, not just with opinion, but with truth. That kind of work is not easy. It asks you to relive things. To articulate harm in ways that are precise enough to be heard, but human enough to be felt. That takes an emotional bag of energy, bravery and care.

Because in those moments — sitting and listening — there was also something quietly reassuring. Not because the content was easy. It wasn’t. But because there was a collective strength in the room. A sense that this wasn’t isolated voices anymore. That this was a body of evidence, a shared understanding, a united challenge. There was no denying it. And for a moment, it felt like the system was being asked — properly — to respond.

And then, almost in the background, came the news. Quiet. Not announced loudly. Not placed in front of us to consider together. But there nonetheless. That Cabinet had already agreed to change how giving effect to the Treaty of Waitangi is written into law.

That the words that once carried weight — obligation — expectation —are being shifted. From something that must be actively upheld… to something that may simply be considered.

And if you’re not in education, if you’re not in these spaces every day, that might sound small. Just wording. Just legal language. But we know better than that. We know that words in policy become actions in classrooms. They become priorities. They become what gets resourced — and what doesn’t. They shape what is expected of us, and what we are held accountable to.

So to sit and listen to the scale of harm being laid bare —to feel the scale of it, the undeniability of it —and then to learn that, quietly, the very mechanisms that help hold that harm to account may be loosening…must have stung.

I keep thinking about those who spoke, the ones who prepared their kōrero and stood there, carrying not just their own experiences but the experiences of many. It must have felt like a moment, a moment where truth was being heard, properly. And then — to find out that, at the same time, the ground may be shifting beneath that process…that’s a very hard thing to hold.

But here’s what I keep coming back to.

Those voices still matter and that evidence still stands. What was shared this week cannot be undone by a quiet Cabinet decision. It is all now part of the record, our history. Part of the story of this system. Part of the truth that has been spoken, clearly and collectively.

And maybe that’s where the strength still sits.

Not in whether the system responds perfectly.

Not in whether the pathway forward is as strong as it should be.

But in the fact that people are still standing up and still speaking up.

Educators are still refusing to let these experiences be minimised, brushed aside, or explained away.

Because our tamariki are still here. 

In our classrooms.

In our kura.

In our communities.

Still deserving of more than being “taken into account”.

So again — thank you.

For your courage.

For the evidence.

For the truth.

Because that is what will continue to matter.

And that is what all our tamariki need.

Ngā mihi ki a koutou