y of Waitangi between the Crown and hundreds of Māori chiefs. A series of land wars then followed between Māori and the rapidly rising number of British settlers, many of whom owned land sold to them illegally, without consultation with the communities living there. (This problem was exacerbated by the two translations of the treaty offering different interpretations of territorial ownership.)
Backed by the might of the British Empire, which committed thousands of troops to suppress Māori resistance, the settlers emerged victorious, and the late 19th and early 20th centuries saw mass immigration from the United Kingdom. Now, more than 70 percent of the population of nearly 5 million are Pākehā (that is, New Zealanders of European descent), while the Māori population has dwindled to below 15 percent.
Although it is technically an official language of New Zealand, fluency in te reo Māori is extremely low; it is spoken by only about 3 percent of the population (English, by comparison, is near-universal). But interest in it does appear to be growing nationwide. Te Wānanga o Aotearoa, one of the country’s newer higher-education centers, reports significant year-on-year increases in numbers of te reo students, while Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern has publicly promoted te reo learning, calling for 1 million new speakers by 2040.
While the rise in interest certainly predates Ardern’s election in 2017, her enthusiasm for the language has ensured federal support for this grassroots movement. Ardern has included te reo phrases in multiple high-profile speeches and gave her daughter the middle name Te Aroha, “love.”
For Wellington, Civic Square doubling as Te Ngākau is only the beginning. In consultation with mana whenua, the guardians of Māori culture (as decided by tribal authority and genealogical ancestry), officials are adopting vocabulary from te reo to create new dual place names around the city.
The nearby waterfront was recently christened Ara Moana—“ocean pathway”—acknowledging the vital maritime history of the space 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 domina