A search for the person behind a social media account ridiculing Māori.

Last week, while scrolling Facebook, I came across a post shared to the New Zealand Centre for Political Research group. The post began, “From Matua Kahurangi on X”, before pasting his critique of iwi leadership – particularly Ngāpuhi – accusing the “Māori elite” of failing their people. It shared a story about a woman who couldn’t afford to cater a tangi, contrasting her struggle with the perceived wealth of Māori executives. The post argued that those in power drive “flash utes” while the people they claim to serve are left behind.

The New Zealand Centre for Political Research is a right-wing think tank, so I was initially skeptical of this “Matua Kahurangi”. But as I read on, I found myself agreeing with some of the points made. Te Tai Tokerau does face serious challenges – like the post mentions, the region struggles with a widening wealth gap, homelessness, addiction and violence. Even I was surprised to see Hone Harawira driving a Range Rover at Waitangi.

“The vape shops are booming, the liquor stores have queues before sunrise, and the local meth dealer is running a more successful business model than half the Māori trusts combined,” the post read.

The post hit home for me but also raised questions. Who was behind it? How credible were their claims? And why did it seem – in parts – oddly constructed?

The further I read, the more I suspected artificial intelligence played a role in crafting the post. The use of American spelling (“mobilize,” “realized”) and capitalised headlines were early indicators. The image attached to the post had the familiar distortions of AI-generated visuals. The tone also, felt strangely detached.

Despite these oddities, the post quickly gained traction. Māori and Pākehā alike engaged with its themes – some supporting its arguments, others condemning them. When I visited X to investigate Matua Kahurangi further, I found an anonymous profile built to criticise Māori institutions, left-wing politics, and to subtly (and sometimes overtly) advocate for Act Party policies.

Matua Kahurangi’s bio read: “Investigative journalist, protector of whakapapa. Hunter, fisher, kaitiaki of the whenua. Staunch supporter of the Treaty Principles Bill.” Earlier iterations interestingly described him as a “New Zealand historian” and mentioned his support of the “Treaty Principals Bill”.

The account was created in March last year but the earliest post on the page is from January 26 this year. Scrolling through posts on the page, it is difficult to find a commenter who appears to be an actual person. Notable figures like Zuru founder Nick Mowbray and NZME editorial director of business Fran O’Sullivan were among the few high-profile individuals interacting with or following the account – otherwise, it seemed largely populated by anonymous users and bots.

As media reports picked up on the post, focus turned to figuring out the real identity of the person behind the account (or behind the AI-generated profile pictures of a man with a poorly drawn mataora eating fried chicken). Last week, Kahurangi shared that he had launched a Substack, leveraging his newfound visibility to build an audience. His reach was growing – but his identity remained elusive. 

I was determined to figure out who Kahurangi was. Was he an Act Party staffer employing the most cynical of political tactics? Was he a troll? Or was he a concerned Māori too afraid to critique so heavily under a real name? I downloaded Python, attempting to scrape Kahurangi’s data, but hit access restrictions. I analysed his X following, looking for patterns or connections, and found myself on the page of a random OnlyFans model he followed. I reverse-searched his profile images, combed through right-wing blogs and scrutinised his interactions. Kahurangi was careful. He knew how to cover his tracks.

His pinned post on X read: “I genuinely believe that if my identity was exposed, my life is at risk.”

Such fear isn’t entirely unfounded. Screenshots circulated on right-wing blogs such as Simon Anderson’s Substack and Good Oil (run by infamous blogger Cam Slater) showing threats allegedly directed at Kahurangi, though their origins were unverifiable. This paranoia, whether justified or performative, only deepened the mystery around his true identity.

While Kahurangi claims ties to the Far North, specifically Te Ngaere Bay, no supporting information exists. His previous X cover photo showed Matapouri, his current one a coastal scene near Leigh – both scenic Northland locations, but hardly definitive proof of whakapapa.

“Many may have seen a post making its way around the motu this morning.  After investigation we can confirm this is a fake account with fake AI generated pictures,” read a statement from Te Rūnanga-Ā-Iwi O Ngāpuhi posted on its Facebook account.

Two self-proclaimed journalists, Simon Anderson and Hannah Spierer, claimed to have spoken with him. Spierer described his voice as “hori from Northland,” using racially charged language to frame him as someone who had “left the plantation” and was being attacked by “slaves”. I reached out to both, but Anderson declined to comment, and Spierer did not respond.

Unable to send direct messages to Kahurangi, and with no solid leads remaining, my search for his identity reached a dead end. But while his name remains unknown, his impact is undeniable. The original post sparked conversations about the distribution of iwi wealth, the state of Te Tai Tokerau and the credibility of anonymous voices in online discourse.

More importantly, it underscores a broader trend: the rise of anonymous digital commentators shaping political narratives. Whether Kahurangi is a real Northlander or an ideological grifter hiding behind AI-assisted content, his influence is real. His posts exploit genuine frustrations, blending fact and rhetoric in ways that resonate with an audience looking for validation rather than verification.

The case of Matua Kahurangi isn’t just about one account – it’s about the evolving nature of political discourse in the digital age. Social media has democratised access to information but also created fertile ground for anonymous, agenda-driven actors to shape public opinion without accountability.

For Māori communities, this raises pressing questions: How do we separate fair critique from manufactured dissent? How do we address internal inequalities without allowing external forces to exploit them? And, crucially, how do we respond to digital ghost stories that gain traction despite their lack of provenance?

Matua Kahurangi’s identity remains unknown. But his existence – real or fabricated – reflects a moment in time where online narratives shape real-world conversations. Whether we engage with them critically or blindly accept them will determine their lasting impact.