Behind the Banner: Inside the hīkoi mō te Tiriti

Over nine days, rangatahi and veterans of past hīkoi walked shoulder-to-shoulder to take their message to Parliament. Ella Stewart and Cole Eastham-Farrelly were there.

The sun had just peeked over the wharenui at Te Kamaka Marae as Rangimarie Te Whenua, Chelsea Reti, and Jo Murray clustered in the car park to prepare for the day ahead.

The three wāhine stayed on Auckland's North Shore the night before, but they didn't get much sleep surrounded by the chorus of snoring in the wharenui.

It would get hot later on but for now the morning was still cool. Chelsea had a hoodie on for warmth, while Murray wore a red scarf over her shoulders, adorned with various pins. Around her neck hung a taonga puoro (Māori musical instrument).

The t-shirt she wore showed the iconic image of Dame Whina Cooper walking hand-in-hand with her three-year-old mokopuna as she set off from the Far North in 1975. Underneath the image were Dame Whina's words: "Not one acre more".

Nearly 50 years later, Rangimarie, 16, and Chelsea, 15, and Murray - Rangimarie's māmā - were embarking on a similar journey.

Starting at the northernmost tip of Aotearoa, under the mist of a spring morning, they gathered.

"I timata ake i Te Rerenga Wairua, (it started at Te Rerenga Wairua), we were all there around four o'clock yesterday morning. Our whole iwi, all the iwi were there, gathering," Rangimarie said.

"Ko ēnei ngā pou e tū ake nei. (These are the pillars taking a stand).".

A karakia set the wairua ahead of the nine-day journey to the steps of Parliament.

This morning, waiata played from car speakers, adding to the buzz building in the carpark.

It was now the third day of the Hīkoi mō te Tiriti, and the gathering marchers were eager to set off.

'Our tūpuna did this, so we shall do this'

Organisers had spent nearly a month mapping and planning Hīkoi mō te Tiriti - billed as both a march against the government's policies affecting Māori, and for tino rangatiratanga (sovereignty, self-determination).

The hīkoi was the culmination of a year of action, and organisers predicted it would be big.

Now a sea of red, white and black travelled the hundreds of kilometres south, surging from rohe to rohe.

Everywhere the hīkoi went, tamariki and mokopuna carried a large banner which read 'Toitū te Tiriti' - the Treaty endures.

Ahead of the banner, a tall carved wooden pouwhenua flying a white flag was carried, heralding the group.

Both were replicas of the pouwhenua and flag that led the 1975 land march. The original kaitiaki of that pou vowed it would never touch the ground until all Māori land claims were settled, and that taonga is now housed in Te Kōngahu Museum of Waitangi today - off the ground.

Whilst the hīkoi echoed those of the past, some in Māoridom say the stakes are higher than before.

At the centre of concerns is the ACT Party's Treaty Principles Bill, which aims to legally define the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi.

Prime Minister Christopher Luxon has repeatedly said the bill will not pass a second reading.

But for those joining the hīkoi, the bill had already hurt the Treaty relationship and could undermine decades of progress.

It is just one in a series of government policies that have made many Māori uneasy, but also drawn people together.

Jo Murray was just a rangatahi herself when she joined the foreshore and seabed hīkoi in 2004. This time, she was marching for her own children.

"Ko tētahi o ngā mea nui ki au, ko tō tatou nei tamariki, mokopuna, tēnei hīkoi." (One of the most important things to me about this hīkoi is our children, our mokopuna.)

"It's been pretty powerful even going through the small townships. We're just a small rōpū but the purpose is bigger than us."

The three wāhine were part of a smaller core group who travelled the whole way from the top to the bottom.

Those joining in often rearranged their lives to take part.

Rangimarie Te Whenua and Chelsea Reti had to shift their NCEA exams.

"We had to pātai to our school, 'Can we move this test to Auckland?' So we can do it on this day and still be a part of our hīkoi. We've tried to make sacrifices to be here because this is important to our whānau and that makes it important to us," Chelsea said.

Although Murray marched in 2004, she did not count herself as one of the "veteran hīkoi whānau" among their group.

"We need to have more of our younger ones ready to step into that space. Our older ones are offering their guidance and their mātauranga to our young ones to be able to support."

Why go the whole way? For Chelsea, it was to tautoko the kaumatua.

"We've got 70-year-old nannies who can lead this whole hīkoi, who can karanga the whole time - why can't we jump in?"

For Rangimarie, it was for both her mum and future generations.

"Our tūpuna did this, so we shall do this. As for Whina Cooper, ka tikina i ōna kōrero, (we take her saying): 'Not one acre more'. We're really just doing this so our mokopuna won't have to do this and that will be it."

A modern hīkoi

The hīkoi was markedly different to its predecessors in how it was carried out.

Instead of taking a month to travel from Te Tai Tokerau to Wellington, participants opted to drive long distances, with events and marches planned in major towns and cities.

On day two, the hīkoi made a detour to visit Dargaville, to protest Kaipara District Council's decision to remove Māori wards and karakia from meetings.

In Selwyn Park, Pākehā couple Lucy Hoult and Matt Watson had made the one-hour drive from Mangawhai to attend. Both wore t-shirts that read 'Tangata Tiriti', or people of the Treaty - a term used to describe non-Māori.

Hoult's voice broke as she spoke.

"I just feel so angry that it's such a one-sided conversation that's happened so far. I think it's disingenuous. I just feel really upset."

"We're here because of the Treaty," she said. "We've been really proud of the change of direction in recent times, and to see that potentially reversed is just quite heartbreaking."

Watson said ACT Party leader David Seymour's actions were divisive.

"The more I learn about the Treaty, the more I see it as a uniting thing for our country."

For many, the hīkoi was not just a protest; it was also an expression of mana and identity.

At each stop along the way, tikanga guided the journey. Through karanga, karakia and whaikōrero, the group was welcomed by mana whenua wherever they went.

Every pōwhiri was a moment of connection. In Te Tai Tokerau, kuia stood barefoot with their feet planted firmly in the grass. Draped in Tino Rangatiratanga flags, their hands quivered as they called the hīkoi on to the whenua.

Arriving at Auckland's North Shore, a line of manuhiri (visitors) stretched from the door of the wharekai onto the nearby field as whānau with sore feet and tired legs waited for hāngī. Kaumatua sat on chairs, while rangatahi sat on the ground beside them.

Then on day three, the hīkoi descended on Tāmaki Makaurau.

The weather had turned, and scattered rain and strong gusts of wind blew people's hats off. The Harbour Bridge swayed and shook under the feet of an estimated 10,000 people as they made their way across.

Ngātiwai leader Aperahama Edwards walked solemnly at the front of the group. He wore a traditional pākē harakeke (Māori rain cape), used for both protection and shelter.

Alongside him walked Te Pāti Māori co-leader, Rawiri Waititi, and Waititi's wife, Kiri Tamihere-Waititi, who was one of the organisers of the march.

She felt bittersweet at the sights of Auckland appearing through the drizzle.

"I want to cry. You can hear all of our whānau behind us. We've got all of our babies here, and it's for them.

"We've been so traumatised as a people, and it's really hard to see, it's really hard to feel, and it's really hard to endure."

The movement that grew

As the hīkoi travelled, it grew. It marched through Kirikiriroa-Hamilton to Rotorua, Hastings, Palmerston North, and Porirua. In each place, thousands more turned up.

On the eve of the hīkoi's arrival at Parliament, the group paused to wānanga, make signs and prepare.

Aperahama Edwards followed the hīkoi the whole way to Parliament. In Pōneke, he reflected on what he said were an unforgettable nine days.

"Every day we've observed and experienced the sharing, generosity and aroha of Aotearoa. As we've travelled, that's been a consistent observation. And the outcry, the passion and the unity of purpose, in terms of bringing something honourable back to our country," he said.

"Honouring Te Tiriti o Waitangi, our founding document and the place of tangata whenua in Aotearoa is important. It's been heartwarming to see from outside of te ao Māori, standing alongside our people."

After regrouping on Wellington's waterfront, the hīkoi arrived at Parliament.

Organisers expected large numbers to show up in support, but almost no one anticipated the true scale of the crowd.

People filled the forecourt, overflowing into nearby streets. Some even climbed the large pōhutakawa trees on Parliament's lawn.

Aunties wearing their kaupapa hats stood next to tamariki on their dads' shoulders and in strollers.

At the start of the hīkoi, organiser Eru Kapa-Kingi was clean-shaven, but was sporting nine days of stubble by the time he took the stage. Visibly tired but still energetic, he was in awe as he looked out at the crowd.

"Look at this," he told them. "What a moment this is. What a response this is. I'm proud of every single one of you, for stepping up today. Standing in this mana and standing in this moment."

For Kapa-Kingi and the other organisers, the movement had become much bigger than them. A petition asking the government to "kill the bill" had racked up 200,000 signatures by the time it was delivered to Parliament, and continued to attract more online.

The hīkoi in 2004 gave rise to a new political party, Te Pāti Māori.

Kapa-Kingi's words to the crowd suggested the ripples of this hīkoi could be just as profound.

"It's up to us whether this moment dissipates after today, or whether it lives forever," he said.

"We must make this moment live forever. Toitū te Tiriti ki te ake ake. Te Tiriti is forever."

Sign up for Ngā Pitopito Kōrero, a daily newsletter curated by our editors and delivered straight to your inbox every weekday.