Critics call it a waste but could the Treaty principles bill process offer long-term clarity?

The Treaty principles bill has been a focal point of New Zealand politics for the past year, with divided opinions around the nation on its necessity and impact. Critics call it a “waste of money”, and the deputy prime minister has declared it “dead in the water”. However, there is a possibility the Treaty principles bill could be the most cost-effective way for the government to gain expert insights into the principles of te Tiriti o Waitangi.

In principle, the bill has the potential to lay a solid foundation for future decision-making by consolidating decades of interpretations and debates into a clear and authoritative framework. But in reality, the bill is far from neutral. Unfortunately, the process of defining Treaty principles cannot be entirely disentangled from political agendas, particularly those of the bill’s architect David Seymour. 

History shows that large-scale referenda or high-cost government initiatives, while noble in principle, can quickly become politically weaponised. One example is John Key’s New Zealand flag referendum, which cost $26m and ended with the retention of the existing flag – a result many critics felt was inevitable from the outset. 

Recently released figures from Council of Trade Unions economist Craig Renney estimate the Treaty principles bill could cost at least $6m. For some, that’s a steep price tag for a process that seems, on the surface, unnecessary or redundant. With pressing social needs, a $6m price tag for a “dead in the water” bill is difficult to justify. However, as with any public spending, the real question is not just how much it costs, but what value it provides – and what the consequences of inaction might be.

According to David Seymour, the Treaty principles bill is designed to refine decades of complex interpretations and debates into a cohesive and authoritative framework for understanding te Tiriti. Over the years, these principles have been interpreted differently across court rulings, Waitangi Tribunal findings and government policies. This has, Seymour says, led to inconsistent applications of the Treaty principles in areas like resource management, education and healthcare. The bill, alleges Seymour, aims to provide clarity and consistency – a benchmark for decision-making that could save time, money and confusion in the long run.

Despite the bill being unlikely to pass a second reading, advocates claim the debate it is creating is an investment in long-term clarity and accountability. By attempting to consolidate expertise into a unified framework, the government could potentially avoid costly legal battles and policy missteps in the future. This is especially critical as New Zealand grapples with pressing issues like co-governance and resource allocation, where Treaty principles are central.

There’s also the question of public trust. A clear, government-endorsed interpretation of Treaty principles could help bridge the gap between tangata whenua and the Crown, fostering better understanding and collaboration. For many, the $6m price tag pales in comparison to the broader social and economic benefits of a more cohesive approach to Treaty obligations. However, the bill is unlikely to pass – and that’s where this argument falls over.

On the other side, critics argue the bill is unnecessary, pointing to the existing work of the Waitangi Tribunal and a wealth of academic research. Legal academic Carwyn Jones has described the bill as “flawed in both process and substance,” warning that the bill, as it reads, risks distorting the Treaty’s intent and introducing greater legal uncertainty rather than resolving it. Concerns have also been raised about whether a government-led initiative can truly reflect the mana and voices of tangata whenua without being influenced by political priorities. 

Parliament’s adversarial nature hinders meaningful discussions of Treaty principles, which require deep historical, legal and cultural understanding. While some argue for legislative clarity, past attempts have only highlighted the challenge of consensus. A dedicated commission of experts would be better suited to this task, but instead, the bill has become an ideological battleground. David Seymour’s push for clarity is seen by many as an attempt to weaken Māori rights, further polarising the debate and obstructing productive dialogue on Treaty obligations.

There was an overwhelming volume of submissions received during the bill’s select committee process. An unprecedented amount of written submissions were made on the bill and there were apparently over 15,000 requests for oral submissions, with a significant amount coming from academics, iwi leaders and experts in Treaty law. While not all could be heard due to time constraints, the sheer volume illustrates the deep interest and concern surrounding the bill. A level of interest in te Tiriti that has perhaps never been matched in this country’s recent history. 

Today, another awe-inspiring line-up of academics and experts will speak to the justice select committee about the bill. This overwhelming engagement, from both supporters and critics, shows how deeply embedded te Tiriti principles are in New Zealand’s national identity and governance. The public hearings provide parliament (and every New Zealander) with access to arguably the widest range of subject matter specialists on the issue it’s ever been able to utilise, enabling our lawmakers to gain a comprehensive understanding of the principles of the Treaty.

For everyday New Zealanders though, this debate has limited tangible benefits. While the discussion around Treaty principles is important, the highly politicised nature of the bill means it is unlikely to lead to real solutions. Instead of resulting in a clearer legal framework that benefits all New Zealanders – whether through stronger governance, fairer resource allocation, or a more cohesive national identity – the process has largely deepened political divides. At worst, it risks fuelling resentment or misunderstanding about the Treaty rather than fostering meaningful engagement.

Some critics have also raised concerns that the very act of putting the bill before a select committee legitimises a discussion that is ill-suited for parliamentary debate. The risk, they argue, is that the process itself reduces the Treaty’s principles to a political exercise rather than an informed, legally rigorous discussion. By engaging in a process dictated by political cycles and committee deadlines, the complexity of Treaty law and its evolving nature may not be fully accounted for. This, in turn, raises questions about whether the hearings are a meaningful exercise or simply a wasteful procedural step toward a predetermined outcome.

Ultimately, the debate over the Treaty principles boils down to how we value expertise, clarity, and accountability in a bicultural nation. Is debating a “dead” bill a costly redundancy or a prudent investment in the future? As the bill stalls, one thing is clear: the principles of te Tiriti aren’t just political rhetoric – they shape governance, identity, and rights in Aotearoa. This debate isn’t just about legislation – it’s about who gets to define our shared future.