Justin Parkin-Rae takes a break from pulling chunks of weeds from around one of the many rivers that snake through Kaikōura, a quaint fishing town on the east coast of New Zealand’s South Island, named Te Waipounamu in his native Māori language.
His jade necklace and red hair glisten in the warm February sun as he bends down to pick a juicy blackberry. Behind him, Tamati Wikiriwhi and Nikora Wati are chest deep in the water, laughing as they lift a massive tree branch over their heads.
“This water right here is actually what gives life to everything, including us,” Wikiriwhi shouts from the river.
The three friends are clearing out the river, which has become stagnant and full of toxic algae blooms due to invasive weeds and broken branches. It’s important work, says Parkin-Rae, because clean waterways allow native plants and wildlife to flourish.
They are among a growing community of Māori who are working to counter the catastrophic effects of climate change, which is eroding the country’s shores, destroying its biodiversity, fueling extreme weather and threatening to displace entire communities.
It’s an existential threat felt across the world, but it’s more pronounced on island nations like Aotearoa, the indigenous word for New Zealand, and among native people like Māori, whose culture and livelihood are rooted in the environment.
Aotearoa New Zealand’s Ministry for the Environment recognized the threat in a 2023 report that found it’s “highly likely” that “climate-related impacts will result in the displacement of Māori living in locations vulnerable to climate change,” which could “disrupt” Māori culture, knowledge and practices.
The prediction weighs heavily on Parkin-Rae, who descends from Ngāti Kurī and Ngāi Tahu, two of more than 100 Māori iwi, or tribes.
“Without the Earth, there is nothing for us. The land is the people and the people are the land, we are one organism,” he says.
It’s that “interconnectedness” that makes Māori ideal stewards of Aotearoa New Zealand, Parkin-Rae says. “No one takes better care of the land than the Indigenous people who have loved and cared for it for thousands of years.”
When the Earth cries for help, Māori listen, he says. It’s why the community is organizing conservation projects across the country, hoping to rescue their beloved homeland – and ultimately their culture – by land, sea and sky.
Whenua (Land)
The work at Oaro River is part of a reforestation and predator control project led by Te Rūnanga o Kaikōura, a Māori tribal council in Kaikōura. When they’re not cleaning out creeks and rivers, they’re planting or pruning native plants and setting traps to capture invasive pests that endanger local wildlife.
The council’s managing director, Rawiri Manawatu, says global warming, urban sprawl and the spread of invasive plants and wildlife have wreaked havoc on the country’s ecosystem.
Clearing waterways and reintroducing native plants help preserve the land’s natural filtration system, Manawatu says. Native plants also support biodiversity by providing food and shelter to local wildlife, including vulnerable birds like the tītī, kawau tikitiki and tarāpunga.
“The Māori view is that native plants are part of the Earth Mother, so to sustain her, she needs her native trees to be growing instead of the other pest plants,” he says, referring to species introduced when European settlers began arriving in the 19th century.
For Māori, reforestation is also critical to maintaining their culture, as they rely on native plants and animals for food, medicine and other long-held traditions.
For instance, Māori believe birds are the children of Tāne (god of the forest) and bridge the gap between the spiritual and physical realms. They weave kākahu (cloaks) from the feathers of birds whose qualities they hope to acquire. But as habitats suffer, bird populations decline, making it increasingly difficult to maintain the tradition.
A popular Māori proverb states: “Te toto o te tangata, he kai; te oranga o te tangata, he whenua.” (While food provides the blood in our veins, our health is drawn from the land.)
With that in mind, the conservationists begin each work day by forming a circle, holding hands and reciting a prayer of gratitude and a blessing for the land. Daily tasks are assigned based on the phases of the moon. On this day, tangaroa ā roto, the last quarter or waning half moon, signals high energy from the ocean gods, so it’s advised to do heavy duty weeding and river cleaning work.
“What we are trying to do is to return our Earth to its natural state,” Parkin-Rae says. “Back to the way it was before humans destroyed it without a care for what that destruction would one day mean for humankind.”
Moana (Sea)
Along the shoreline on the other side of Kaikōura, where tourists perch atop giant rocks with binoculars and a salty breeze knocks against fishing boats, Thomas Kahu sits at a meeting room table staring intently at a map of Aotearoa New Zealand and its surrounding ocean.
He points to a spot off the coast and explains there’s a giant canyon just below the surface. It stretches over 37 miles and is nearly 4,000 feet deep, attracting all the Southern Ocean’s migratory whales – including blue whales, humpbacks, orcas, and more than 200 resident sperm whales who live off the coast.
To Māori, whales aren’t just majestic creatures, but sacred ancestors and the descendants of the ocean gods Hinemoana and Tangaroa, says Kahu, chairman of Whale Watch Kaikōura, Aotearoa New Zealand’s oldest whale watching business. The company, which also works in whale research and conservation, is owned and operated by local Māori who have cared for the island’s marine life for hundreds of years.
“In Māori mythology, we see ourselves as the younger brother of the whale, so the connection is very special,” Kahu says, before sharing a story about his ancestor Paikea the whale rider, who Māori believe came to Aotearoa New Zealand from the Pacific Islands centuries ago on the back of a whale.
But due to climate change and toxic human behavior, the whales are in danger.
Global warming is raising the temperature of ocean water and melting glaciers, which is causing sea level rise; the freshening of sea water; and increased acidification. Together, it’s destroying the whale’s habitat and killing off vital food sources, according to Aotearoa New Zealand’s Department of Conservation.
The situation is worsened by frequent ship strikes that leave whales dead, injured or stranded; and overfishing, which has collapsed krill populations on which whales depend.
“Without our whales, and I don’t say this lightly, it would be catastrophic for us as Māori but also for the entire world,” Kahu says.
Whale Watch Kaikōura operates its tours with whale conservation in mind. Its vessels are designed to be extremely quiet so they don’t disrupt whale songs, which are vital for their communication and echolocation. The company is also developing a hydrophone system, which it plans to share with other vessels, providing real-time visibility of whales below the surface to avoid strikes and better understand their behavior.
Mere Takoko, former vice president of Conservation International Aotearoa and co-founder of Pacific Whale Fund, says such conservation efforts are vital because whales play a key role in tackling climate change – specifically through the whale pump.
The whale pump is a process that begins when whales plunge deep into the ocean to feed on krill, before returning to the surface and defecating. Their waste, packed with nutrients, feeds the phytoplankton, the foundation of the ocean’s food chain. Krill then feed off phytoplankton, and the cycle continues.
“If that whole system collapses…life as we know it in the oceans will cease to exist. And that will be hugely problematic for us as humanity, because every second breath we take comes from oxygen generated by our oceans.” says Takoko, also a descendant of Paikea.
Saving the whales is good for the climate, but it’s also personal for Māori.
In March, Māori leaders, along with other indigenous groups in the Pacific, signed a groundbreaking treaty declaring whales to be legal persons with inherent rights, including freedom of movement, a healthy environment, and the ability to thrive alongside humanity. The effort was led by conservation group Hinemoana Halo Ocean Initiative, which Takoko also founded.
While the declaration is non-binding and still needs government recognition to become law, conservationists hope personhood will lead to enhanced protections for whales and severe penalties for those who harm them.
“When I see a whale, it feels like going home,” Takoko says. “It feels like going back to my mother, going back to my ancestors. They are home and we can’t afford to lose that.”
Rangi (Sky)
Daniel Gaussen stands on a mountain summit with his head tilted back, staring at the billions of stars that illuminate the night sky above Lake Takapō. He’s quiet, seemingly lost in wonderment, but snaps back to reality when a guest asks a question about supernovas.
Gaussen works with the Dark Sky Project, an observation center co-owned by the Ngāi Tahu tribe at the Aoraki Mackenzie International Dark Sky Reserve, the largest dark sky reserve in the Southern Hemisphere. Here, artificial light sources are strictly regulated, enhancing the night sky’s quality so well that the Milky Way is visible to the naked eye.
A dark sky is vital to Māori culture, which has relied on fiery constellations for generations to guide weary travelers and connect them with the spirits of their ancestors.
But across much of Earth, dark skies are at risk, with serious implications for the environment.
Artificial lighting generates 2 billion tons of carbon every year, contributing to catastrophic levels of greenhouse gas emissions. It also has negative health impacts on humans and wildlife, according to the Night Sky Resource Center.
Light pollution disrupts the day-night cycle rhythm, Gaussen says. In humans, that can lead to sleep disorders, depression, obesity and more. For animals, it throws off their mating, hunting and migratory patterns, which causes further harm to the ecosystem.
It also affects climate science, he adds. Astronomers, atmospheric scientists and climatologists need dark skies to conduct thorough research that helps them understand the impacts of climate change and predict future nature events.
“If we want to survive as a species, understanding space is critical,” Gaussen says. “How do you predict earthquakes and tsunamis and all these terrible disasters? You need to understand the planet, you need to understand the internal mechanics and in order to do that, you need to understand how planets form and how they grow, and all these things related to our research. But if we can’t see the sky, we can’t do that research.”
Mikey Ratahi, a Māori astronomer and tour guide with the Dark Sky Project, says Māori have always followed the stars, using them as tools for migration and living by mātauranga (knowledge) about the stars that match the laws of science today. Stars were especially valuable in the winter because they helped determine wind and rain patterns, where to forage crops and find water. The level of sky and star visibility also forecasted the weather, which helped Māori decide when to travel and when to seek shelter.
“They are a navigation tool but also a sacred part of who we are. We look out to the sky for prayer, and acknowledge the sky through celebrations, disasters, funerals and gatherings. Many people also have sky names,” Ratahi says. “It’s such a big piece of us because Ranginui, our sky father, is considered to be one of two progenitors of the Māori origin story.”
Ratahi’s passion for the sky comes from more than the Māori soul tie to nature. It is his responsibility as Māori, he says, “to look after what you have taken, to look after the health and resources of the Earth,” not only for your benefit, but for generations to come.
Gaussen agrees: “The sky inspires us. If kids don’t get the opportunity to learn and to see the sky and understand the big picture, it’s a disservice to humanity. If we’re going to survive and work with nature and develop all these new green technologies, we need scientists, engineers, people who have been inspired from a young age to help the world.”
Kaitiaki (Stewards)
With cleanup at Oaro River nearly complete, Manawatu of Te Rūnanga o Kaikōura puts his sunglasses back on and wipes the sweat off his brow. Their work isn’t easy, but it’s fulfilling, he says.
Māori-led initiatives like his can be found throughout Aotearoa New Zealand, but the indigenous community also works with the national government on larger environmental programs, which draw on Māori knowledge and expertise.
The Ministry for the Environment, for instance, has enacted a freshwater management system rooted in the Māori concept of Te Mana o Te Wai, which protects the life-supporting capacity of water. In practice, this means prioritizing the health of freshwater sources – like rivers and streams – above social or economic needs.
“Incorporating te ao Māori (the Māori world) into our work is valuable to all of Aotearoa. We acknowledge the role of tangata whenua (people of the land) to help create a flourishing environment for every generation,” the Ministry for the Environment states on its website.
But to the roughly 17% of New Zealanders who are Māori, it doesn’t always feel that way, Manawatu says.
“Local councils do really well working with local Māori. Even when we have opposing opinions that don’t always align, they’re open to working with us and listening to the way we do things,” he says. “But we don’t think the government on the national level is ready to incorporate Māori into everything that we do as a country, especially with the environment.”
Māori leaders want higher ranking positions and the opportunity to play increasingly prominent roles in the establishment of nationwide environmental policies, as well as broader acceptance of Māori beliefs, knowledge and traditions, he says.
Like his teammate Parkin-Rae, Manawatu believes many Pākehā (non-Māori New Zealanders) don’t trust the indigenous community to lead the charge. He says institutional racism has a lot to do with it. “We still have a class of people that still think that we are not indigenous to the land and that we simply hopped on our waka (canoe) and ended up here by mistake.”
Since late 2023, thousands of Māori have rallied against the country’s new right-leaning government, which they say is anti-Māori and planning to rollback decades of initiatives designed to improve Māori lives and the environment. Among them is a plan to reverse a ban on offshore gas and oil exploration, which could endanger the country’s rich marine life.
Some fear the rollbacks will make it even more difficult for Aotearoa New Zealand to reach its goal of reducing greenhouse gases to net zero by 2050, which new data suggests it will fail to do.
But it doesn’t have to be that way, Parkin-Rae says. Māori could help steer the country to a brighter future, where its people and environment coexist in harmony, and the rest of the world can follow suit.
“It used to be the land and the people were connected, but society has driven us away from that. For thousands and thousands of years we lived with the Earth and it’ll go back that way eventually,” he says. “There’s no reason why we can’t have society and still respect the Earth, and we’re showing you can do it.”
Editor’s Note: Call to Earth is a CNN editorial series committed to reporting on the environmental challenges facing our planet, together with the solutions. Rolex’s Perpetual Planet Initiative has partnered with CNN to drive awareness and education around key sustainability issues and to inspire positive action.
