Why Calling Te Tiriti a Cult Says More About You

by Rebecca Thomas

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Why Call Te Tiriti a Cult?

The power of language lies in this: to call something a "cult" is not merely to critique it — it is to isolate it, demonise it, and position it as dangerous.

Cults are typically defined by blind loyalty to a charismatic leader, rigid control over followers, resistance to outside perspectives, and a detachment from reality. 

None of that applies to Te Tiriti o Waitangi.

Te Tiriti is not led by a guru. It is not a fringe doctrine. It is a living agreement signed between two sovereign nations — Māori hapū and the British Crown. It is the very basis upon which Aotearoa was established as a nation.

So why do some people reach for words like "cult"? 

Because they feel threatened by shared power. 

Because they fear an education system that centres Māori knowledge. 

Because they don’t want to confront the discomfort of colonisation. 

And because labelling something a cult is a way to dismiss it without engaging with its truth.

Here’s a common checklist of cult behaviours:

• Unquestioning loyalty to a leader or doctrine

• Rejection or distortion of external information

• Suppression of critical thinking or dissent

• Isolation from opposing views

• Creating enemies or scapegoats to unify members

• Moral superiority and certainty of being 'right'

  
  

Now does that sound like Te Tiriti? Or does it sound more like certain factions of political parties who dismiss colonisation, ignore data on inequity, and label opposing views as 'woke' or dangerous?

If we’re going to start calling things cults, we should also ask: does blind loyalty to a political party make you part of a cult? Does refusing to acknowledge colonisation, systemic racism, or white privilege qualify? Would being an MP who toes the party line regardless of impact on the public qualify as cult-like behaviour?

It’s not Te Tiriti that resembles a cult. It’s the unthinking rejection of it.

What We Know About Michael Laws

Michael Laws is no stranger to controversy. A former National MP who jumped ship to New Zealand First, he rose to public attention during the divisive 1981 Springbok Tour era — not for protesting apartheid, but for siding with the conservative backlash that opposed the anti-apartheid movement. In doing so, he positioned himself with those willing to overlook systemic racism for the sake of political or cultural loyalty. Since then, he's worn many hats: politician, mayor of Whanganui, talkback host, columnist, and shock-jock commentator. His commentary routinely challenges movements for racial equity while defending the status quo. 

Despite criticising New Zealand's public education system, Laws' own children were educated in elite, high-decile and private schools — a contradiction that speaks volumes. He has stated that because his own kids went through NCEA, he's entitled to weigh in on it. But that claim rings hollow when his broader position undermines the very system he opted out of for his own whānau. It's a hypercritical stance: distancing your children from the challenges of public education, then using their experience to validate your authority over it. 

While some private schools offer NCEA, the context is vastly different — more resources, more insulation from systemic barriers, and often less diversity. He’s not just standing outside the whare throwing stones — he paid to build his own down the road, then claims expertise because the doorframes looked similar. His platform privileges the kind of rhetoric that maintains dominant narratives while vilifying those calling for change. A Pākehā commentator dismissing Te Tiriti — from a position of privilege without lived experience of Treaty marginalisation — can be seen as reinforcing dominant colonial narratives. This isn’t about silencing debate. It’s about acknowledging who gets to comment and what histories they carry. When someone without genuine relational accountability to Te Tiriti's values reduces it to an “ideology” or “cult,” the implication is often not misunderstanding — it’s power.

How Debate Becomes Dispossession

When educational leaders, community advocates, or tangata whenua speak up in good faith, there are always those waiting in the wings to spin their voices. To edit. To reframe. To use our presence as proof that they’re being balanced, while using the platform to undermine us.

Michael Laws' recent commentary on The Platform is a textbook example. 

Leaning heavily on an ERO report — a state agency with its own institutional biases — he dismissed the legitimate concerns of educators. He accused principals of being politically motivated. He painted the Te Tiriti lens as some activist crusade, ignoring the decades of legal, educational, and social policy grounded in its principles.

It’s orchestrated narrative manipulation.

To hear someone on public radio refer to Te Tiriti as an ideology or cult is more than offensive — it is deeply injurious. For Māori educators, students, whānau, and community members, it reinforces a long-standing truth: our foundations, our tikanga, our identity are always up for debate in systems that were never designed for us.

This narrative doesn’t just attack Te Tiriti. It attacks the mana of those who uphold it. It sends a message that our honour, our histories, and our aspirations are myths to be dismantled rather than truths to be upheld.

And the real damage?

It gives permission. 

It signals to others that it’s okay to question Māori legitimacy. To challenge the place of Te Ao Māori in education. To roll back the hard-won progress made by generations of tireless mahi.

A Caution for the Brave: Who Holds the Mic When We Speak?

Let us acknowledge those who have the courage to enter hostile spaces and hold the line. Claire, and others like her, who front challenging conversations like The Platform, deserve tautoko. It takes strength.

When we share our live voices, we must be vigilant about whose stage we are standing on. Because the same voice that invites us in may later weaponise our words to serve an entirely different agenda. We hear the subtext — even when it's wrapped in the language of 'free speech.' And freedom of speech isn’t freedom from consequence. If being held to account feels threatening, maybe it’s time to ask why.

We saw this with how the media framed Tom Bennett’s presence in Aotearoa. We see it in every headline that talks about "woke education" or "identity politics" as if they are the enemy of learning, rather than the heart of equity.

This country deserves public voices who can engage in truth, not tactics. 

Debate, not dismissal. 

Te Tiriti o Waitangi is not a football. It is not a cult. And anyone who reduces it to that has already shown us the limits of their integrity.

Let us keep showing up with open eyes.

Mauri ora.