Waitangi Day has become a moment each year for me to reflect on who I am as a New Zealander, and on the long threads that tie my family to this place. I’m a fifth-generation New Zealander on both sides of my family, descended from people who came here seeking opportunity – something that, in the 19th century, often meant acquiring land and participating in systems we now look at with more critical eyes.
Last year, at a Te Tiriti workshop in Featherston’s Anzac Hall, these reflections suddenly felt very real. The walls were lined with photographs of white men—leaders, settlers, officials. Among them were several of my own ancestors. As we went around the room introducing ourselves and explaining how our families came to Aotearoa, my sisters and I each pointed to a different great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather on the walls. It was a confronting moment: an encounter with personal history that was neither wholly proud nor wholly comfortable.
My feelings about my ancestors are layered. I am proud of their resilience and pioneering spirit. At the same time, I recognise that their presence here was enabled by colonisation and by processes that caused harm and dispossession for Māori. Yet as I learn more, I’m also discovering stories of constructive relationships between members of my family and local Māori communities—alongside my father’s work supporting financial settlements for Mangakino. These stories don’t cancel each other out; they sit together, shaping my understanding of where I come from.
My relationship with Te Tiriti o Waitangi has continued to evolve. At school and university, it didn’t feature strongly in the curriculum, despite its central place in our national story. My first meaningful step came through Te Reo lessons in my early law career—thanks to Joe Williams, now a Supreme Court judge. More recently, Te Tiriti training helped clarify the important differences between Te Tiriti and the English version often presented as “the Treaty.”
Through the work of the Ruamāhanga Farm Foundation, we are also trying to build relationships with mana whenua, with the hope of continuing to deepen our understanding of partnership in a grounded, personal way.
I’ve come to believe that honouring Te Tiriti is often found in small, daily choices: pronouncing Te Reo Māori correctly, using macrons, opening and closing meetings with karakia, and creating space for more conversations about our shared history. These small acts shift perspectives—and cultures—over time. This Waitangi Day, I was welcomed onto Hau Ariki marae for the first time. I’m still discovering what this day means to me emotionally, but I know that understanding grows through participation, through listening, and through showing up.
Words by Lucy Riddiford