Shonelle Wana. (Photo supplied)

We mustn’t forget that the voting system was initially designed to exclude Māori, writes Shonelle Wana.

With the upcoming Tāmaki Makaurau by-election and local council elections on the horizon, I’ve found myself reflecting on the meaning of voting. What I realised was that it’s easy to forget something important: Māori weren’t always allowed to vote.

The systems of government that run this country today were never designed with Māori in mind. They were created by colonial lawmakers to manage and control land, resources and people.

The right to vote was something our tīpuna had to fight for. And whether we believe in the system today or not, whether we agree with those standing for office or not, we must never forget that the struggle for our voice to be heard is written in our history.

When the New Zealand Constitution Act was passed in 1852, it gave voting rights to men over the age of 21 who owned or leased land of a certain value in their name. For Māori, this was a problem. Our land was not individually owned — it was owned by whānau and hapū with multiple shareholders.

So in one sweeping move, Māori were excluded from voting. We weren’t excluded by accident. It was purposeful. Even though we made up more than half the population at the time, the system ensured that most Māori had no political voice.

But our people didn’t sit back and accept silence. They formed Te Kotahitanga, the Māori parliament. They established the Kīngitanga. They created structures grounded in tikanga and in collective responsibility. And they demanded to be heard.

In 1867, the Māori Representation Act was introduced to allow four Māori seats in parliament. Three seats in the North Island and one seat covering the whole South Island. Some believed this was a gesture of inclusion, but in reality, it was a colonial strategy to contain Māori resistance. Four seats for all of Māoridom? It was a fraction of what was fair.

However, our tīpuna saw some value in having a voice inside the house of power even if the whare wasn’t built for us. And so they entered, and they carried our people with them into rooms where our names had never been spoken.

Sir Āpirana Ngata used his seat to fight for land development schemes to retain whenua in Māori hands. Matiu Rata laid the groundwork for the Waitangi Tribunal. There have been many Māori voices in parliament speaking our names and fighting our fight. They didn’t all agree with each other, but they all understood that if Māori weren’t in the room, decisions would still be made without us, and often against us.

I’m also reminded that the fight for representation wasn’t only carried by men. In 1893, the same year Pākehā women won the right to vote in general elections, Meri Mangakāhia stood before Te Kotahitanga and petitioned for Māori women to have the right to vote and stand for election. She spoke on behalf of Māori women as landowners. Her courage was extraordinary because at the time she was speaking to a Māori parliament of men, in the face of colonialism and imposed patriarchy.

Her legacy lives on. We saw it in Dame Tariana Turia who broke away from mainstream parties to form kaupapa Māori movements. We saw it in Nanaia Mahuta, the first woman to wear moko kauae in parliament and the first Māori woman to hold the foreign affairs portfolio, who faced racism with dignity and courage. We continue to see this strength in Hana-Rāwhiti Maipi-Clarke.

To stand in the house of power as a minority, carrying the weight of your people while facing judgment and criticism not only from wider Aotearoa but often from your own, requires immense courage.

It’s easy to throw stones when we’re not the ones sitting in the seat, when we don’t see the full scope of the role or the complexity of the environment. When we don’t know the whole story. But what we can hold on to is that Māori have a voice in that house, and that presence matters.

Many of our people don’t come out to vote. And that’s understandable. Because for generations, the system has worked against us. We complain about government decisions. We complain about local councils that ignore our voices, that approve developments on our sacred sites and raise the cost of rates on our whenua.

And in the meantime, the price of kai continues to rise. Power bills stretch whānau to the edge. Housing is a crisis. Our people are losing homes and struggling to access healthcare and support. So how does voting in elections for central government or local councils help? It’s a fair question and one that deserves honest reflection.

The answer is that the system still affects us. Councils will continue to make decisions about our whenua. Parliament will still debate our futures. Those who vote are choosing who speaks for us. Many of us also protest. We post on social media. We get angry. And all of that is valid. But sometimes I think the most radical act is to show up. To vote not because the system deserves it, but because our people do.

I still don’t trust the system. Our tīpuna didn’t always trust the Crown either. But some of them voted not because they believed in the government, but because they believed in Māori having a voice. Voting isn’t the only answer. But perhaps it is a way to hold the line. A way to say: “We are still here.”

Voting is one way to make sure that when the decisions are made, they’re made with us in the room. And our voice will be heard whether they like it or not.

Ultimately, the decision to vote is yours. To cast your ballot or to stay silent. But before you make that choice, maybe take a moment to remember that you are the descendant of those who made sure you had a choice. And that choice matters.

Dr. Shonelle Wana (Ngāti Awa, Tūhoe, Ngāpuhi, Te Whakatōhea) was born and raised in the Whakatāne district in a large whānau connected to her culture and many hapū. She holds a Doctorate in Indigenous Development and Advancement and currently serves as a Post-Doctoral Research Fellow at Te Whare Wānanga o Awanuiārangi. Her research centres on Māori women’s leadership with a strong commitment to uplifting wāhine voices. She is also an active member of her marae within Ngāti Awa and Tūhoe, contributing to cultural preservation and community development.