e among both Māori and Pākehā. Frank Kitts Park has become Whairepo Lagoon, named for the eagle rays (whairepo) that inhabit the waters.
Errors made by Europeans in the spellings of Māori names they carried into the public domain are also being corrected as part of Te Tauihu. So Waripori Street is likely to become either Wharepouri or Wharepōuris Street in the near future.
The renaming of the city’s electoral wards reveals fascinating stories about the underlying geography of Wellington. For example, Lambton ward was once home to hill slopes full of hīnau trees, from which delicious berries would grow. While the trees may be gone, the addition of Pukehīnau, or “hill of the hīnau tree,” recognizes this ecological history in the new name “Pukehīnau – Lambton.”
Additionally, the large Miramar Peninsula, where the city’s airport is located, was once a separate island known as Motukairangi, the “sky-gazing” (or “sky-eating”) island—one of the most prestigious locations in the entire landscape, according to Māori legend. Renaming what is currently Eastern ward “Motukairangi – Eastern” acknowledges this heritage.
Plenty of city institutions and businesses are also adopting the policy. Wellington Zoo is introducing te reo names for its different zones. The newspaper The Dominion Post took a second te reo name, Te Purongo o te Upoko-o-te-Ika (meaning “the report from the head of the fish,” in reference to a Māori legend about New Zealand’s North Island once being fished out of the ocean). And Wellington’s netball team, the Pulse, is now known as Te Wānanga o Raukawa Pulse, and there are Māori words printed on the players’ uniforms.
Whether or not most residents are aware of the policy, their engagement with te reo Māori looks set to increase simply through the steady implementation of these changes.
Of course, making a city bilingual requires a lot more than adding new names to street signs. Another big part of Te Tauihu is telling stories from Māori ancestry that have been covered up by the city’s British colonial dominance (as demonstrated by the large statue of Queen Victoria on the central Kent and Cambridge terraces). A heritage trail will eventually mark the locations of old Māori villages. Bilingual playgrounds will incorporate Māori stories into their designs, and Māori legends will be commemorated at the iconic Mount Victoria (which may be re-anointed with the name Tangi te Keo).
Ocean Mercier, who teaches Māori Science and Cultural Mapping at the Victoria University of Wellington, describes the policy as similar to cleaning a pair of glasses: “It’s almost like there’s a colonial filter over everything that’s preventing us from accessing these amazing stories,” she said.
Perhaps the ultimate question for Wellington is whether the city name itself might, one day, be changed to something that’s not colonial. As Vini Olsen-Reeder, a lecturer in the School of Māori Studies at Victoria University, points out, there was originally no reason for Wellington to have a singular name: The various tribal villages in this location never saw themselves as parts of one whole, as we view the city now. The te reo equivalent Pōneke is currently used by the city council, but the future of this particular point is left unaddressed by Te Tauihu at present.
Wellington has a reputation as a young, progressive bastion in New Zealand, and support for the te reo policy is consistently above 90 percent. That would likely not be matched in other parts of the country. (“Yes, we are probably in a bit of a bubble,” Day, the deputy mayor, admitted.)
Even so, Te Tauihu will be no overnight revolution. For now, the policy exists mainly in the minds of its proponents and the glossy documents handed around in the offices of the city council. Very little public signage appears to yet reference Te Ngākau or Ara Moana, while there is plenty that still points the way to either “Civic Square” or “Waterfront” (new signs will be in place by 2020, according to the plan’s timeframe). Pronunciation will also take time. “We’ve still got a journey to go for people to 