
Reclaiming the sacred: How we can begin to decolonise ourselves
We are often defined by what we do – our jobs, our roles as parents, or our achievements. Rarely are we asked to reflect on who we are at our essence, or what values truly drive our existence.
The term decolonisation has become a powerful rallying cry among indigenous peoples and others seeking to reclaim autonomy and self-determination. From iwi and hapū here in Aotearoa to movements in Palestine and beyond, decolonisation signals a call to undo the legacy of imposed power and restore relationships based on reciprocity, respect and justice.
But what exactly is decolonisation?
At its core, decolonisation is the dismantling of structures, policies and ideas that were imposed – often violently and without consent – on peoples, societies and lands. In Aotearoa, te Tiriti o Waitangi envisioned protection and co-existence between iwi, hapū and the Crown. It was meant to prevent colonisation but that is exactly what unfolded. The call to honour te Tiriti continues to this day.
Decolonisation involves structural and institutional transformation, requiring those in power to return it to those from whom it was taken. However, history shows power is rarely relinquished voluntarily. There's an irony here: just as Māori rangatira did not cede sovereignty through te Tiriti, today's power-holders often resist meaningful shifts in authority, even when their legitimacy is rooted in colonisation.
Colonisation did not just take away land, but it disrupted identity and mauri. It made whakapapa – our ancestral connection – linear, and wairua something to be silenced or forgotten through the likes of the Tohunga Suppression Act 1907. Many of us learned our culture from books or courses outside our whakapapa network, not from our elders or the environment. The journey to reclaim our life essence and purpose involves knowing and understanding the context that led us to this point of disconnection in the first place.
For tauiwi, particularly Pākehā, there is a parallel invitation to remember their place within a greater whakapapa – a cosmic, ecological web in which humans are not at the centre, but part of a wider, sacred whole. The call to connect with mauri and values is universal, not just Māori.
Like many other colonised nations, Aotearoa lives with significant disparity between Māori and Pākehā – especially in health, education and incarceration – driven by the enduring impacts of colonisation. While structural change is crucial to decolonisation, a deeper question remains around what steps each of us could take on this journey.
We must reframe decolonisation – not as a political or institutional movement, but as a deeply personal and spiritual journey. This isn't to diminish the importance of structural change, but to remind ourselves of the mana we each hold – as individuals, whānau and communities – to reclaim who we are through our whakapapa. In doing so, we begin to decolonise not only our systems, but our spirits.
Change begins with the individual. Within the current political system, we cannot afford to wait for systems to shift. Transformation starts when we create space to remember who we are. In remembering, we ignite the seeds of transformation that lie within us.
E koru au e ngaro, he kākano i ruia mai i Rangiātea. I will never be lost, I am a seed sown from greatness.
Ideas like intergenerational trauma and healing are not merely political or academic concepts – they are deeply spiritual. As our whakapapa reminds us, trauma and pain can linger in our bodies, in our fears and silences. Mamae and hara are carried like echoes through generations. To decolonise the wairua is to tend to these unseen wounds through reconnection to self, to whakapapa, whenua and atua. This is a journey undertaken not just for ourselves, but our past and future generations who have and will carry this mamae.
The whare tapa whā model, a Māori health model developed by Sir Mason Durie in 1984, is an excellent example of understanding the holistic Māori view that different aspects of our wellbeing are interconnected. It discusses the need to balance spirit, mind, body and family, and is deeply rooted in Māori culture. The spiritual pillar is where I am drawn, for in the unseen, much transformation can occur.
The disconnection from spirit is not unique to us. Across the world, many have become connected to superficial sources of wellness – material possessions, social status or social media validation – while deeper roots of connection to nature and spirit remain neglected.
Decolonisation of the self, or decolonising the wairua, begins with humility. It is an act to reclaim tino rangatiratanga over our identity, mauri, our stories and our sacred connection to whenua, atua and each other.
If collectives in power struggle to relinquish control, then perhaps we too struggle, on an individual level, to let go of the illusion that we are in control. Recent environmental events serve as a reminder of our vulnerability. For me, decolonisation calls us to surrender – not in defeat, but in reverence – to the truth that we are not the centre, but a single thread woven through the living web of whakapapa.
This is not a journey with a fixed destination, but a lifelong one that leads to profound transformation. And it could begin with simple, sacred acts like:
Decolonisation is not only about political justice – it is about soul justice. It is the sacred act of remembering who we are, where we come from, and what we are responsible for. In an age of hyper-individualism and fractured belonging, soul justice may be one of the most urgent kaupapa of our generation.
Imagine an Aotearoa where wairuatanga is not just predominantly in pōwhiri or tangihanga, but in every classroom. Where our justice system becomes a place of healing. Where governance is rooted in whakapapa and collective wellbeing. Picture an Aotearoa where our mokopuna inherit more than laws and land – a living whakapapa system grounded in aroha, care and interconnection with each other, the whenua and all beings.

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This isn't to diminish the importance of structural change, but to remind ourselves of the mana we each hold – as individuals, whānau and communities – to reclaim who we are through our whakapapa. In doing so, we begin to decolonise not only our systems, but our spirits. Change begins with the individual. Within the current political system, we cannot afford to wait for systems to shift. Transformation starts when we create space to remember who we are. In remembering, we ignite the seeds of transformation that lie within us. E koru au e ngaro, he kākano i ruia mai i Rangiātea. I will never be lost, I am a seed sown from greatness. Ideas like intergenerational trauma and healing are not merely political or academic concepts – they are deeply spiritual. As our whakapapa reminds us, trauma and pain can linger in our bodies, in our fears and silences. Mamae and hara are carried like echoes through generations. 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It is an act to reclaim tino rangatiratanga over our identity, mauri, our stories and our sacred connection to whenua, atua and each other. If collectives in power struggle to relinquish control, then perhaps we too struggle, on an individual level, to let go of the illusion that we are in control. Recent environmental events serve as a reminder of our vulnerability. For me, decolonisation calls us to surrender – not in defeat, but in reverence – to the truth that we are not the centre, but a single thread woven through the living web of whakapapa. This is not a journey with a fixed destination, but a lifelong one that leads to profound transformation. And it could begin with simple, sacred acts like: Decolonisation is not only about political justice – it is about soul justice. It is the sacred act of remembering who we are, where we come from, and what we are responsible for. 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