Kia ora!
The above greeting, now a cornerstone of New Zealand English, is perhaps the most common te reo Māori phrase I’ve encountered in my week and a half in Auckland. Wishing good health, it appears everywhere – on storefronts, webpages, and in the opening lines of emails. Yet, as I mentioned in my last post, te reo Māori beyond this popular greeting doesn’t seem as visible in the linguistic landscape as I had expected. One interviewee I spoke with on Thursday, who works for the government, suggested this might be because most offices of language-focused organizations are located in Wellington, the capital city on the southern tip of the North Island.
My interlocutor was a Principal Language Planning Advisor for Te Taura Whiri i Te Reo Māori, or the Māori Language Commission. Interestingly, she is neither Māori nor from New Zealand, but originally from Kyrgyzstan. She isn’t fluent in te reo Māori (though she’s learning), and approaches her work from a linguistic rather than a language-specific perspective. Our conversation felt reminiscent of the Welsh Language Commissioner in Cardiff (which feels like ages ago now). Both institutions wrestle with the same question: how effective is it to legally mandate language use, especially in written form? My interlocutor admitted she once believed that “forcing” language use was the right path, but she has since reconsidered. In her experience, imposition can lead to resistance – it seems that when people feel they have the choice to adopt something, they’re more inclined to do so.
This makes sense, especially since Te Taura Whiri’s strategy was actually inspired by Wales. Cymraeg 2050 – the campaign for a million Welsh speakers by 2050 – served as the blueprint for Te Taura Whiri’s goal of one million te reo Māori speakers by 2040. Yet, as my interlocutor noted (and I’ve come to agree after learning about four other countries’ situations), numbers don’t capture the heart of language revitalization. Revitalization isn’t just about communication, but about identity, culture, and history. Preserving a language means preserving all of those things. But, in practice, metrics like these are what unlock funding: quantifiable goals are easier to sell than broad appeals to heritage.
Currently, just over 4% of Aotearoa New Zealand’s population speaks te reo Māori, which comes out to about 200,000 people. This data comes from an annual census, which since the late 1990s has included a question along the lines of: “Can you have a conversation about lots of everyday things?,” in regards to one’s fluency in te reo. It’s worth pausing on that phrasing, since “conversation” and “everyday things” could mean very different things to different respondents. Among Māori themselves, only about one in five speaks te reo. The proportion has been declining, though this is largely because the Māori population has been growing. Still, the effect is clear: it’s difficult to form speech communities. A speaker may know the language but have no one else to converse with, which in turn diminishes use. My interviewee also explained that while there is momentum behind revitalization, progress is slowed by the lack of a unified strategy. Te Taura Whiri oversees the nationwide approach, but another organization – Te Mātāwai – leads efforts within Māori communities themselves. Although the two coordinate, they don’t share governance, which often means differing strategies.
Several of my planned contacts haven’t been available – whether because of full calendars or being out of town – and while this is definitely not ideal for my original plan, it’s pushed me to lean more into community-based research outside of formal interviews. A local library staff member shared with me that her library hosts weekly hour-long practice sessions for te reo Māori conversation. It seemed like a perfect way to hear directly from learners about their motivations for and experiences with learning te reo, so I attended today’s session!
A little before 2 p.m., I walked into the Grey Lynn Library, a small branch housed in an old church just a short bus ride from the city center. The space felt cozy, and to my delight I found a dedicated Māori book section – something I had been looking for but hadn’t found in another library downtown. In one corner, a rectangular table had been set up for the kapa kōrero (conversation group). The group ended up being myself and four older Pākehā (white New Zealanders) who, I soon learned, were regulars at these sessions.
After introductions, they happily entertained my curiosity about their backgrounds, motivations, and language journeys. Their answers varied, but one theme united them: learning te reo felt like a way to connect with the land they call home, regardless of their ancestry. Some hoped to see te reo more widely spoken and normalized in the future. One participant did have Māori lineage but had grown up without close ties to his iwi (tribe/nation), and only began learning a few years ago. Most had started during the pandemic and had kept up their studies off and on since then. I also learned that one of the gentleman had actually studied at the University of Chicago!
The bulk of the hour was spent playing a game called Te Kēmu Kupu Māori (the Māori word game), which works a bit like Taboo or Charades: one person gives clues, others ask questions, and the group guesses the word. The entire game was conducted in te reo, with occasional English or requests for help. To my surprise, I followed along better than expected. Thanks to curiosity and exposure, I’ve already picked up some words, and listening closely let me piece together meaning. For example, I learned that a sentence beginning with “he ___?” meant “is it ___?,” that “āe” means yes and “kāo” means no, and that “ora,” familiar from kia ora, signaled something alive. When I heard “moana” (ocean), I realized they were talking about a fish. I was also reminded how much meaning comes through gesture and body language alone.
The session was entirely member-led – no library staff were present – which made it a genuine snapshot of their shared energy and learning process. Despite being free and open to all, this group seems relatively unknown in the wider community. Meanwhile, formal classes are often booked out months in advance. My interviewee at Te Taura Whiri noted the paradox: while high demand shows success, it also creates barriers for Māori themselves who want to reclaim their language. It raises an important question – can revitalization efforts ever be “too successful” if they unintentionally limit access to the very people they aim to support?
Ferry ride!
Waiheke Island
Between that interview and the library session, I’ve been dodging Auckland’s sporadic rain showers while exploring the city. Last Wednesday, some new friends and I took the ferry to Waiheke Island, the most populated and second-largest island in the Hauraki Gulf. We spent the day roaming its hills and vineyards, caught a spectacular sunset, and made it back to the dock just in time for the last ferry. This weekend, I visited two morning markets: the Britomart Saturday Market on the waterfront, and the Takapuna Beach Sunday Market to the north. Both had amazing food and a mix of stalls selling clothes, jewelry, and produce – often by the same vendors on consecutive days. I’ve also befriended the staff at a local café I frequent; one of them is Filipino, and we’ve chatted about Manila and my travels (the very first thing he brought up when I mentioned Manila was the traffic, which amused me). I stopped by on Saturday morning on my way to the market.
Britomart Saturday Market
The rest of my days have been filled with grocery runs, laundry, park strolls, wandering shopping streets, and hostel life – sharing stories with fellow travelers, including one night when a group of Germans decided to make pancakes for everyone. Slowly but surely, it’s hitting me that I only have a few days left on this trip. I never did make it to the famously long Welsh town name – Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch – but New Zealand has its own rival. On the southern part of the North Island sits Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu, the world’s longest place name. Locals just call it Taumata Hill. I’ve been toying with making the six-hour journey there as a way to close this project – it feels like a fitting finale. The hill is remote and tricky to reach, though, so we’ll see if the plan makes it into these final days.
If I make it to Taumata Hill, you’ll definitely hear about it. Getting there might take almost as long as saying it.
