Mānawatia a Matariki.

He Kōrero o te Ngākau: Standing Strong in Matakana

E ngā mana, e ngā reo, e ngā karangaranga maha o te motu, tēnā koutou katoa.

These past weeks have stirred something deep. The suspension of Te Pāti Māori MPs, not just brief, but punishingly long, has felt like more than parliamentary procedure. For many, it's looked like a vendetta. A harsh silencing of Māori voices who dare to challenge the system from within.

And yet, in the stillness that followed, we’ve felt unexpected warmth. Friends, pākehā and tauiwi, quietly standing tall. Not for show, not for applause, but submitting their own voices to protect Te Tiriti o Waitangi. For their children. For our collective future. That, to us, is what kotahitanga looks like; a united front, Māori and non-Māori, refusing to let injustice go unanswered. We’ve truly felt the love.

Here in Matakana, we’ve always known the strength of community. In our little village, something beautiful happens: the divisions seen across Aotearoa seem to fade at our borders. Maybe it’s the whenua. Maybe it’s the people. Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, it’s alive and well.

At our gallery, we’ve made a conscious choice, to represent only Māori artists. Not out of exclusion, but affirmation. Our stories, our hands, our wairua on canvas and clay. And the community has embraced this choice with open arms. We’ve seen kaumātua shed tears in the gallery, tamariki proudly speak te reo, and locals who say, “This feels like home.”

As winter approaches, so too does Matariki; our time of remembrance, reflection, and renewal. Traditionally, it’s the season of harvest before the rest. And like many small businesses in the village, we feel the shift in flow. The streets quiet. The foot traffic slows. But what keeps us going is the heartbeat of our community.

To our locals, your choice to walk through our doors, to buy that taonga, to gift a piece of Māori art,  it’s more than a transaction. It’s a lifeline. It’s belief in action. It’s your support that lets this kaupapa survive the winter and rise again with the spring sun.

So this Matariki, as we look up to the stars of our ancestors, we mihi to you. For your manaaki. For your awhi. For holding the line — not just in politics, but in everyday acts of unity and care.

Aroha Nui

Tania and the Unity Whanau