In 1987, te reo Māori became an official language of Aotearoa under the Māori Language Act 1987. In 2016, Parliament strengthened that recognition through the Māori Language Act 2016, affirming te reo as a taonga protected under Te Tiriti o Waitangi.
On paper, the language stands alongside English as a founding voice of this nation. Yet in practice, 2026 has revealed how fragile that status remains.
In February this year, the New Zealand Army paused its Cultural Skills Framework after coalition government concerns that requiring officers to recite pepeha, learn waiata, understand karakia, and perform haka placed “ideology” ahead of operational readiness.
ACT MP Todd Stephenson argued New Zealanders expect soldiers to be “war-fighters, not performers.” Defence Minister Judith Collins directed that the Army refocus on being “fighting fit,” expressing discomfort with mandatory cultural competencies.
The framework, designed to embed elements of te ao Māori into leadership practice, was paused by the Chief of Army for broader consultation. The Army had previously emphasised biculturalism as part of modern military leadership. Yet the swift political intervention sends a message: that Māori language and cultural knowledge are optional extras rather than integral to national identity.
History echoes loudly here.
The undermining of te reo Māori was not accidental. The Native Schools Act 1867 established English-only instruction in Native Schools. Generations of Māori children were punished for speaking their mother tongue.
The Tohunga Suppression Act 1907 criminalised aspects of Māori knowledge systems, disrupting cultural transmission.
Assimilation policies through the early and mid-20th century reinforced English dominance in education, governance and public life. The message was clear: advancement required abandoning one’s language.
By the 1970s, te reo Māori was in steep decline. Māori communities responded with courage and creativity. The 1972 Māori Language Petition, led by Ngā Tamatoa, demanded state support for the language.
The Waitangi Tribunal’s WAI 11 claim affirmed te reo as a protected taonga. From this resistance grew kōhanga reo, kura kaupapa Māori, and ultimately legislative recognition. Revitalisation was hard-won.
Māori have also defended this country in uniform. The legendary 28th Māori Battalion fought with distinction in the Second World War, earning respect across theatres of war. Māori service personnel have stood on battlefields from Gallipoli to Afghanistan. They have bled for Aotearoa while often returning home to a society that marginalised their language and culture.
It is difficult to ignore the symbolism. The descendants of the 28th Māori Battalion are told in 2026 that knowing a karakia or waiata may compromise operational effectiveness.
Yet for decades, the Army has embraced haka on international stages as a symbol of national pride. When culture enhances morale or diplomacy, it is celebrated. When embedded as leadership competency, it is scrutinised.
Māori responses to the pause have centred on disappointment but not surprise. Many see it as part of a broader pattern in which te reo is tolerated ceremonially but resisted structurally. The Army, for its part, has signalled consultation rather than cancellation. Its leaders face a delicate task: balancing coalition expectations with the institution’s own bicultural commitments.
Where to next?
Biculturalism within the armed forces need not weaken readiness. Understanding tikanga, pepeha and karakia is not about performance; it is about leadership grounded in the land and people one serves. Modern militaries around the world invest in cultural intelligence as a strategic asset. In Aotearoa, cultural intelligence begins at home.
Te reo Māori cannot be both an official language and a perpetual afterthought. If it is truly a taonga, then its presence in national institutions — including the military — should be normal, not negotiable.
The question for 2026 is not whether soldiers should learn waiata. It is whether Aotearoa is prepared to live up to its own laws and honour the language that has endured despite a century of suppression.
