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Geoff Parker
Geoff Parker is a long-standing advocate for truth, equal rights, and equality before the law.
When people talk about ‘tribal control’ or ‘iwi-based governance’ of New Zealand, it often sounds abstract – even empowering. The language is about rangatiratanga, partnership, and self-determination. But for the average Māori on the street – someone with a job, a family, and often mixed ancestry – the practical question is simple: how would this actually work for me?
Under a tribal governance model, political power would not rest primarily with individuals as equal citizens, but with iwi and hapū as corporate bodies. Representation, influence, and access would increasingly flow through tribal structures – rūnanga, trust boards, and mandated iwi organisations – rather than directly through universal democratic institutions.
For many Māori, this would mean that your political voice depends on your tribal affiliation, not simply your citizenship. If you are well connected to your iwi, registered, active, and aligned with its leadership, you may gain influence or access to opportunities. If you are urban, disconnected from your rohe, unsure of your whakapapa, affiliated with multiple iwi, or simply uninterested in tribal politics, your voice may be weaker – or effectively absent.
Importantly, tribal leadership is not elected by the general public, and, in most cases, not by the tribe as a whole either. Iwi authorities are typically governed by trustees chosen through limited rolls or internal processes. In practice, the average Māori has little or no ability to vote out iwi leaders who perform poorly, misuse funds, or pursue agendas they disagree with – yet those leaders would exercise growing power over resources, policy, and representation.
Supporters of tribal governance often present it as a correction to history. But this raises an uncomfortable truth: the original Treaty was signed by Māori leaders who acted prudently, not recklessly. They sought protection, order, and equal status under the Crown – not permanent tribal control over future generations. The Treaty itself did not disadvantage ordinary Māori.
What proved disastrous for many Māori communities was not British governance, but the large-scale alienation of land through voluntary sales, often by individuals who underestimated the long-term consequences. That loss was tragic – but it was not the product of democratic citizenship, nor of equal law. It was the result of poor decisions, incomplete information, and internal division. Replacing one elite structure with another does not correct that mistake – it risks repeating it.
In everyday life, tribal governance would likely mean that access to housing support, health services, education funding, or economic development increasingly runs through iwi channels. Māori who do not belong to a recognised iwi, who live away from tribal centres, or who reject being politically defined by ancestry may find themselves spoken for, but not listened to.
There is also a cultural reality that is rarely acknowledged honestly: tribal systems are inherently hierarchical. They are based on descent, status, and internal rank. This is not a moral judgement – it is simply how tribes function. But it sits uneasily alongside modern expectations of equality, individual rights, and one-person-one-vote democracy. A system that empowers tribes does not automatically empower all Māori equally.
For many Māori today – particularly those of mixed heritage – identity is personal and flexible. Tribal governance would make identity administrative and political, potentially forcing people to define themselves narrowly in order to participate fully in public life.
None of this denies the value of Māori culture, language, or collective organisation. Those things are vital and worth protecting. But shifting national governance toward tribal control would not empower the average Māori individual. It would transfer power upward, to institutions and elites, rather than outward to ordinary Māori individuals.
For the average Māori on the street, tribal governance is unlikely to feel like everyday empowerment. It is far more likely to feel like another layer of authority above them, making decisions in their name, controlling resources meant for their benefit, and claiming legitimacy without meaningful accountability.
One does not need to speculate about where this path leads. The growing wealth, status, and political access of today’s tribal leadership – alongside persistent underperformance in Māori health, education, and income outcomes – tells its own story. Power has been consolidated, assets have grown, and influence has expanded, yet the average Māori remains no better off. That is not self-determination: it is elite capture dressed up as cultural justice.
This article was originally published by Breaking Views.
