Hate Speech Laws? Guess Who’s Getting Arrested First… If New Zealand ever gets around to implementing hate speech laws, let’s be real, I’ll be in handcuffs faster than Tim Jago deletes his photo gallery. And the irony? The first person to get done under these shiny new laws won’t be some white supremacist from Christchurch. Oh no. It’ll be me. A Māori bloke from Te Tai Tokerau. Now, why am I so certain? Well, let’s take stock of my rap sheet, shall we? ⦿ I speak out against iwi corruption. ⦿ I vote for the ACT Party (which, according to some, is basically a hate crime in itself). ⦿ I support the Treaty Principles Bill. ⦿ I think the haka is overused (yes, I said it). ⦿ I believe moko kauae on some wāhine Māori can be cringe and not always earned. ⦿ I despise DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion—aka Discrimination, Exclusion, and Idiocy). ⦿ I don’t like the advantages I have over Pākehā in the healthcare system. ⦿ I think enormous hei tiki pendants are just compensation for other, ahem, deficiencies. ⦿ I hate Te Pati Māori with a passion. With a CV like that, I might as well book my prison cell now. I imagine the headline: "FIRST PERSON CHARGED UNDER HATE SPEECH LAWS IS… A MĀORI" Beautiful, isn’t it? The very laws designed to “protect” Māori from harmful speech will be used to silence a Māori like me who dares to think independently. But hey, I'll just do what every other Māori does and blame it all on colonialism, that should gift me a 50% discount. The sad thing is that this isn’t even satire. In a country where questioning the sacred cows of race-based policy, cultural practices, and political grift is akin to blasphemy, the so-called “tolerant” left would wanna throw me in the hāngi before I could even finish writing this tweet. And what exactly is hate speech? Anything that makes someone feel offended, marginalized, or like they might need a weighted blanket and a safe space. In other words, anything I say. Hate speech laws won’t protect Māori. They’ll protect the elites, you know the iwi leaders and the John Tamihere's who pocket millions while our people suffer, politicians like Rawiri and Debbie who milk identity politics for votes, and activists who want to control the narrative. The rest of us? We’ll just be collateral damage. So yeah, I’m terrified. Not because I spew hate, but because I speak inconvenient truths. And in this new era of state-sanctioned feelings protection, the only real crime will be refusing to shut the fuck up.

A Māori Who Voted ACT—Yes, We Exist, Bro. I know what you’re thinking: How could a Māori vote for @actparty? Blasphemy! Treason! Call the kaumatua and arrange a hui! And yet, here I stand (or sit, depending on whether you imagine me writing this dramatically or casually). I, a proud Māori from Te Tai Tokerau, cast my vote for David Seymour and ACT. And let me tell you, the reaction has been nothing short of legendary. My whānau and iwi overwhelmingly voted for the Māori Party—well, at least the ones who actually bothered to get off the couch and vote. Let’s be honest, a fair few were more interested in a beer at the Roadrunner Tavern than a trip to the polling booth. But me? I went against the grain. And for that, I’ve been called a traitor, a sellout, a wannabe Pākehā, and—my personal favourite—a colonial sympathizer. All this outrage, yet I only did what every so-called democracy-loving Kiwi should do: I voted for the party that best represented my views. And those views are simple—New Zealand should be one united country, not a land divided by race-based policies and elite Māori bureaucrats who have turned Treaty settlements into a never-ending industry of handouts and nepotism. The Left’s Manufactured Outrage The Māori Party and their mates on the left claim to speak for all Māori, but do they really? If you watched the protests against ACT’s Treaty Principles Bill, you’d think that every Māori in the country was foaming at the mouth, ready to defend the sacred status quo. But surprise, surprise—the legacy media conveniently ignored people like me. A Māori who actually supports David Seymour? That doesn’t fit the narrative. And let’s talk about those “grassroots” protests. Organised by elite Māori like John Tamihere and funded by the very system that keeps them in power, these protests were less about the people and more about the privileged few who benefit from racial division. The ones who sit at the top of iwi corporations, securing fat government contracts for their cousins while the rest of us watch the scraps fall through the cracks. Equality, Not Division David Seymour isn’t trying to take away Māori rights—he’s simply asking the country to have an honest conversation about what the Treaty actually means in 2025. Not what the politicians want it to mean, not what the grievance industry insists it means, but what it was actually intended to do: unite Māori and Pākehā, not keep us in separate lanes forever. ACT’s approach is about treating everyone equally, not giving special treatment based on ancestry. But in today’s political climate, equality is apparently a radical idea. How dare we ask for a country where race doesn’t determine government policy! Māori Leadership or Māori Elitism? The real tragedy isn’t ACT’s policies—it’s the fact that elite Māori leaders have turned Treaty settlements into their personal piggy bank. These are the same people who tell us we should be grateful for the millions (billions?) flowing into iwi hands, even though somehow, it never seems to trickle down to the average Māori struggling to pay rent in Kaikohe. How many times have we seen family members hiring family members, contracts going to the bros, and funding disappearing into the bureaucratic abyss of iwi corporations? Meanwhile, everyday Māori are still told that all our problems are the fault of colonization. Sure, let’s blame Captain Cook for everything while ignoring the corruption happening right under our noses. Time for a Reality Check So, yes—I voted for ACT. And I’d do it again. Because this country needs a serious reality check. Māori aren’t a monolith, and not all of us believe in the grievance industry that keeps elite Māori in power while the rest of us are told to wait our turn for the trickle-down magic to kick in. @dbseymour stands for real equality. That’s why I, a middleclass Māori from Northland, support him. Call me whatever names you like—but at least I’m thinking for myself.

Battle of the Big Tiki: The Hei Tiki Arms Race at Waitangi Waitangi is no longer just a celebration of nationhood, history, and heated political debates. It has now become a full-blown contest of who can lug around the most ridiculously oversized hei tiki pendant without developing a chronic neck injury. This year, the stakes were higher than ever. Among the usual displays of Māori supremacism, protest, and drowning out political speeches by old mate Seymour, there was an unspoken yet undeniable Hei Tiki Showdown. As I stood in the crowd, eyes scanning the throngs of influential iwi leaders, it became increasingly clear—the bigger the tiki, the smaller the dicky. I saw some tikis so large they looked like they belonged in Te Papa, not dangling precariously off someone’s chest. Some of them easily tipped the scales at a kilo or more, gleaming in the Te Tai Tokerau sun like spiritual bling, stretching the very definition of wearable art. It was as if the weight of history and whakapapa had been literalized into a giant lump of pounamu, hanging off the necks of the elite like an anchor of cultural dominance. At some point, I started to wonder: Was this a flex? The Māori equivalent of driving a lifted Ford Ranger with oversized mud tires to compensate for… other shortcomings? If so, the hei tiki have become the Rolls-Royce of cultural overcompensation. One particular bloke, Aperahama Edwards, the morbidly-obese bloke who took away David Seymour's microphone, looked like he was on the verge of toppling forward under the sheer gravity of his pendant—a tiki so enormous it could have doubled as a life raft if the waka capsized. Another kaumatua stood regally, his giant hei tiki resting like a greenstone breastplate, daring any lesser leader to challenge his dominance in the Waitangi Weightlifting Championships. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if next year someone turns up with a full-sized carved pou strapped around their neck, just to really drive the point home. Forget debate, forget speeches—the real measure of mana will be who can carry the heaviest chunk of pounamu without suffering a spinal injury. So, where does it end? When does the madness stop? Or do we just accept that next year, Waitangi will introduce an official Hei Tiki Hefting Competition, complete with Olympic weight classes and sponsorship deals from physiotherapists, TAB and WINZ? Until then, I’ll be here—watching, waiting, and praying for the day when we can return to smaller, more elegant pounamu. You know, before someone snaps their neck trying to assert dominance by making up for their little rakau.

If you only watch one thing on 𝕏 today, please watch this.