New Zealand is already multiple in language, culture and identity, and has been for generations. But even on its own terms, the historical claim deserves scrutiny.
The Herald’s assertion that “Aotearoa predates the state by centuries” is itself debatable.
There appears to be no documentary evidence that Māori used “Aotearoa” as a name for the whole country before 1840, and the Treaty of Waitangi itself refers instead to “Nu Tirani”.
According to historians Paul Moon and the late Michael King, the national use of “Aotearoa” is a relatively modern convention, not an ancient country name.
My concern – and that of many other New Zealanders I have engaged with – is more specific: how language is being used as a political instrument rather than a cultural courtesy.
Comparisons with Ireland, Finland, or Switzerland sound persuasive, but they obscure more than they reveal. In those countries, naming conventions emerged organically through democratic processes, constitutional settlement, or long-standing linguistic reality.
They were not introduced by administrative drift, institutional fiat, or moral pressure applied from above.
Context matters.
In New Zealand, “Aotearoa New Zealand” is increasingly adopted not through public mandate, but through government departments, media organisations, and publicly funded institutions acting unilaterally.
That distinction matters in a democracy.
Language, when embedded in official use, carries authority. It signals not just recognition, but endorsement.
I believe the strong reaction to the use of Aotearoa exists – not because people are confused, but because they recognise a pattern.
For decades, New Zealanders were told that Treaty settlements were “full and final”, that bicultural recognition would sit comfortably alongside a shared civic identity, and that no one would be compelled to adopt new symbols or terminology.
Yet the ground continues to shift. What was once optional becomes expected; what was once ceremonial becomes normative.
It is not unreasonable for people to question where that process leads.
The editorial asserts that English remains dominant, and therefore no loss is occurring. But dominance is not the point. Consent is.
Critics argue dual naming is spreading through institutions without public mandate or democratic process. Photo / Getty Images
Shared national symbols work best when they arise from broad agreement, not from a sense that change is inevitable and resistance is suspect.
Calling “New Zealand” neutral because it has “carried power unchallenged” reframes history through a contemporary moral lens.
New Zealand is not a placeholder name awaiting correction. It is the name under which a democratic state formed, institutions developed, wars were fought, rights expanded, and millions – all New Zealanders alike – built their lives.
That history is not diminished by acknowledging what came before, but neither should it be casually recast as morally incomplete.
Nor does objection imply hostility to Māori culture. There are New Zealanders who resist the creeping replacement of the country’s name while also supporting te reo revitalisation, Māori broadcasting, and cultural recognition where it genuinely enriches public life.
However, what they resist is the implication that acceptance must be unconditional, perpetual, and immune from debate.
A healthy national identity is not one that “absorbs complexity” by silencing dissent. It is one that allows disagreement without assigning psychological motives to those who differ.
If the case for dual naming is as strong as its advocates believe, it should withstand public scrutiny, referendum, or open debate — not rely on moral insinuation or institutional momentum.
The sharper question, then, is not why some people react to the word “Aotearoa”. It is why disagreement itself is so readily portrayed as intolerance or insecurity.
In a democracy, names matter. So does how we choose them.
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