Ask Our Rangatahi Māori: Mental Health Conversations With Māori Youth Experts in the North Island

Rangatahi Māori Mental Health in Context

In considering the disproportionate rates of mental health difficulties for rangatahi Māori, we situate these issues within the broader context of colonisation and Te Tiriti o Waitangi (the Māori treaty version). In 1840, two versions of Aotearoa’s founding document circulated: Te Tiriti o Waitangi and the Treaty of Waitangi (the English treaty version) (Salmond, 2010). The Treaty, not signed by most Māori chiefs, can be read as Tangata Whenua (Indigenous people of the land, Māori tribal leaders) conceding sovereignty to the Crown (British citizens) with fewer protections than Te Tiriti (Te Puni Kōkiri, 2001). However, the Waitangi Tribunal (2023b) found Te Tiriti was not a cession of sovereignty. The Treaty legitimised Crown systems that displaced Māori worldviews and governance (Kingi, 2007), challenging Māori practices, language, land, and rangatiratanga (chieftainship, right to exercise authority) (Durie, 1998).

The commonly imposed Treaty principles of Partnership, Protection, and Participation were created to support Māori health development by working with Māori communities (Kidd et al., 2021). However, these principles appear in neither the Treaty nor Te Tiriti texts, and, despite promises, have never been realised (Sheridan et al., 2024). Critically, Te Tiriti establishes different principles: Ōritetanga (equity pursuit), Kawanatanga (Māori partnership), Tino Rangatiratanga (self-determination and sovereignty), and Wairuatanga (spiritual well-being) (Came et al., 2024). It is Te Tiriti, not the Treaty, that upholds Māori approaches to mental health, and it is reasoned that Te Tiriti may address the persistent mental health inequities affecting rangatahi Māori (Waitangi Tribunal, 2023a).

The Crown established systems designed to subordinate Māori. For example, the Native Schools Act (1867) assimilated Māori children into manual labour, disconnecting rangatahi from Māori epistemologies and te reo Māori (the Māori language) (Hetaraka, 2022; Tuhiwai-Smith, 2016). The Tohunga Suppression Act (1907) delegitimised Indigenous healing practices, prioritising colonial approaches over Māori health outcomes (Marques et al., 2021). The Native Land Acts (1862, 1865) annulled protections over Māori land, enabling titles to be extinguished through the Native Land Court (Keenan, 2021), displacing whānau (family including extended family structure) from their whenua (ancestral land) and disrupting transmission of traditional knowledge (Ryks et al., 2019; Williams et al., 2018). These colonial systems also operated through rangatahi Māori control, silencing Māori epistemologies while amplifying negative stereotypes (MacDonald, 2018), which contributed to whakamā (shame, embarrassment) and mental health vulnerability among rangatahi (Sachdev, 1990). These systems failed to honour Te Tiriti, leading to diminished rights, poverty, state violence, and cultural marginalisation (Barnes & McCreanor, 2019).

The Waitangi Tribunal found that the Crown’s inability to uphold Treaty obligations has contributed to negative Māori health outcomes (Cram et al., 2019). Generations have experienced historical trauma within contexts detrimental to mental health (Bennett & Liu, 2018; Came et al., 2019). Colonial legacies persist in contemporary educational structures that perpetuate deficit narratives (Burns et al., 2024), while health systems provide culturally unsafe care (Sheridan et al., 2024). These systemic barriers create challenging environments impacting rangatahi Māori mental health (Wirihana & Smith, 2014).

Today, rangatahi face racism, marginalisation, and inadequate mental health systems (Theodore et al., 2022). Intergenerational whānau violence must be understood within ongoing State violence and systemic racism (Pihama et al., 2019), while substance use results from poverty, socioeconomic depletion, and erosion of traditional values (Barnes & McCreanor, 2019; Jenkins & Mountain Harte, 2011). Understanding rangatahi mental health requires attention to how these colonial systems manifest as contemporary challenges (Curtis et al., 2023).

Rangatahi Māori Resourcefulness in Mental Health Context

Despite these colonial legacies and the vulnerability they create, rangatahi continue to draw strength from cultural connections. Many researchers have explored Indigenous approaches to supporting rangatahi hauora hinengaro (mental health) and hauora (Māori well-being) (Latimer et al., 2021). Empirical research found that culture influenced positive psychosocial outcomes and hauora for rangatahi (Carlson et al., 2022). Rangatahi with high cultural efficacy, such as confidence in their whakapapa (genealogy, heritage) and Māori identity, had lower psychological distress (Muriwai et al., 2015). Some examples of rangatahi positively engaging in mātauranga Māori include speaking te reo Māori, connecting with their wairua (spiritual, intangible essence) and whenua (Tane, 2022). These Indigenous approaches improved coping skills and offered strength, grounding and guidance, supporting rangatahi hauora hinengaro and hauora (Fox et al., 2018; Kingi et al., 2018).

Additional conversations with rangatahi have shown the importance of whānau and whanaungatanga (relationships, kinship and connectedness) in supporting their hauora hinengaro and hauora. Most rangatahi felt whānau relationships were central to developing hauora, self-esteem and confidence (Rameka, 2018), especially when whānau supported their goals (Tane, 2022). Thus, research suggests whānau and culture are integral protective factors for rangatahi hauora (Te Maringi Mai o Hawaiiki et al., 2024). While focusing on resistance and self-determination is essential, it is equally important not to underplay the challenges and inequities experienced by rangatahi Māori and their whānau.

Overarching Māori-Centred Approach

This study employs a Māori-centred approach guided by Kaupapa Māori theory and principles to legitimise and validate Māori culture, customs, and values in academic research by prioritising Māori rights and needs (G. H. Smith, 2017). This Māori-centred approach offers the opportunity for patterns and themes to be identified from an Indigenous perspective, positioning rangatahi as the expert informants of understanding potential challenges influencing hauora hinengaro (Berryman et al., 2017).

This study upholds the following Kaupapa Māori principles: Tino Rangatiratanga (self-determination and sovereignty) for research to be conducted by Māori for Māori and with Māori (L. T. Smith et al., 2016). He taonga tuku iho is the passing down of invaluable knowledge from generations (Lipsham, 2020). Ako (culturally preferred pedagogy) recognises reciprocal learning and sharing between tuakana-teina (older-younger) peers and groups (Pere, 1994). Kia piki ake i ngā raruraru o te kainga (socioeconomic mediation) acknowledges and intervenes in socioeconomic disadvantages and pressures often experienced by Māori (Cram, 2019). Whānau (family including extended family structure) is how Māori organise their social world as a collective concept; finally, Kaupapa (collective philosophy) is the vision held by Māori communities to attain positive hauora at an interpersonal and societal level (G. H. Smith, 2017).

Alongside these principles, this study honours the rights of Māori in terms of the Te Tiriti o Waitangi principles, including Ōritetanga (equity pursuit), Kawanatanga (Māori partnership) with Māori, iwi (tribal group) and hapū (sub-tribe, kinship group), and Tino Rangatiratanga (self-determination and sovereignty) of Māori throughout the research design and process, and Wairuatanga (spiritual well-being) the active protection of rangatahi perspectives and storytelling (Wilson et al., 2021).

Our research also draws from a youth empowerment perspective which recognises the importance of including youth voices in issues that concern them (Wyn & Harris, 2004).

Ethics approval was granted by the Auckland Health and Research Ethics Committee (AHREC), AH24888.

Recruitment

Iwi groups were approached to assist with recruitment. Representatives from iwi groups agreed to the study and arranged for rangatahi to attend a workshop in their local community. Both workshops were located in the North Island of Aotearoa. One of these workshops was held in Auckland and another in a small town located in the Far North of the North Island.

Participants

The participants identified with Māori ethnicity, aged between 16 and 25 years old and lived in Auckland or the Far North District. A total of 33 participants were involved in the two workshops analysed in this study. There were 16 participants in one workshop and 17 in another. Across the two workshops, the sample included 19 wāhine (female) and 14 tāne (male); no takatāpui (diverse genders and sexualities) were reported.

Data Collection

The data were collected through a collaborative workshop design informed by the Critical Participation Action Research framework (McTaggart, 1997) and a research method used by Calder-Dawe and Gavey (2019). The collaborative workshop design drew from pedagogical theory based on work conducted by Carlson and colleagues (2022), shifting the researcher to learn from the participant, where reciprocal teaching-learning relationships redistribute epistemic power from researcher to participant (Winitana, 2012). The collaborative workshops were facilitated by the lead researcher (J.S.) and conducted kanohi-ki-te-kanohi (in-person), lasting 2 to 3 hours. Participants contributed to focus-group discussions and created mind maps guided by a schedule of questions to prompt discussions. Group discussions provided participants with the opportunity to share and discuss sensitive mental health issues using their preferred language and cultural understandings (Gibson, 2021).

The data from the workshops was recorded and transcribed. To safeguard the participants, all forms of identification, including names, gender, sexuality, iwi, school or other affirming details, were omitted from the transcript and findings to preserve anonymity.

Reflexive Thematic Analysis

Braun and Clarke (2022) outline that Thematic Analysis is flexible, allowing the data analysis to be foregrounded by Kaupapa Māori methodology principles, enhancing its suitability for our study (Cram, 2019). Reflexive thematic analysis actively resists deficit-based interpretations by requiring researchers to critically examine their assumptions and prioritise participants’ meaning-making throughout the analytic process. This method was used to identify, evaluate and analyse patterns in the data using the six-phase process, including data familiarisation, systematic data coding, generating, developing, reviewing and defining the themes, and writing the report (Braun & Clarke, 2022).

Guided by the Kaupapa Māori principles, we began to familiarise ourselves and develop an intimate knowledge of the transcripts. Digital word bubbles were created to conceptualise the participants’ experiences and understanding of mental health into keywords, guided by Tino Rangatiratanga and Whānau principles to centre participant’s vocabulary and worldview (L. T. Smith et al., 2016). This approach supported Tino Rangatiratanga by ensuring participants retained authority over how their experiences were named and interpreted, rather than imposing researcher-defined frameworks.

NVIVO14 qualitative analysis software (Lumivero, 2023) was used to assist us in the organisation of data for analysis. Guided by Kaupapa, He taonga tuku iho and Kia piki ake i ngā raruraru o te kainga principles, we identified 124 semantic-level coding labels. On review, we clustered 23 broader codes. With NVIVO14, we created mind maps to visualise patterns into 10 initial themes. Throughout this process, we actively sought strengths, resilience, and cultural knowledge within participants’ narratives, remaining vigilant against deficit framing. Discussions between researchers (B.D.S. and K.G.) provided consensual decision-making in finalising seven themes (Hill, 2014). The following themes open with a participant quote to centre the participant’s voices as primary knowledge sources. The headings reflect our collaborative interpretation of participants’ shared experiences and understanding of rangatahi Māori mental health.

Disconnection From Māori Culture: “People who don’t have access to their culture . . . feel lost”

The participants believed mental health suffered as a result of a generational disconnection from their Māori culture due to urbanisation or disrupted treasures passed down from generations such as tikanga and kawa (cultural protocols and customs).

Participants spoke about how they thought rangatahi who were limited in their mātauranga Māori often felt inadequate. One participant captured what they saw as a common experience for rangatahi around cultural disconnection: “I think the negativity of not knowing who you are . . . like someone else says something about you, that’s trauma.” This participant captured how restricted access to culture disconnected some rangatahi from belonging, recognising this as a downstream effect of colonisation.

Another participant discussed the generational impact language suppression had on speaking and learning te reo Māori: “My Nan, she’s Māori, but she was in the, ‘Don’t speak te reo generation’ all that time, so it’s been suppressed in her.” This participant explained how colonisation had restricted their grandmother’s ability to pass down oral traditions to her mokopuna (grandchildren) which disrupted subsequent generations’ learning te reo Māori.

Participants also detailed how urbanisation had affected their connection to their whenua which they saw as central to their cultural identity and well-being. One participant said, “For me, my cultural identity . . . because I don’t live [on my ancestral land] anymore, it’s hard for me to learn who I am.” This participant explained how urbanisation limited the possibility of being brought up on their whenua surrounded by their whānau.

The participants viewed Māori culture as central to strengthening their hauora hinengaro and hauora. One participant suggested immersing themselves in their culture and learning about their ancestors:

It’s rooting ourselves in our culture, it helps us find out who we are, where they came from . . . the struggles they went through . . . helps us to feel a sense of belonging because its already in you, we just need to know more about it.

Participants recommended increased opportunities to access mātauranga Māori through wānanga (traditional cultural workshops) as they believed gaining knowledge alongside other rangatahi in similar circumstances would support their hauora hinengaro and reconnect them to their wairua.

Lack of Support for Māori Culture in Local Settings: “Like being shunned and put down”

Participants described how there was a lack of support for their Māori identity in the local settings where they spent most of their time. Given the relevance of school for this age group, participants emphasised how schools often marginalised Māori culture leaving them feeling frustrated, worthless and “let down.”

Discussions in the workshops highlighted how the lack of representation of Māori culture in their school negatively influenced participants, hauora hinengaro. One participant explained their disappointment in the absence of Māori representation at their school: “It’s a hard pill to swallow when you’re like trying so hard and you like see your culture is not fully representative of school.” Despite working hard at school, this participant felt marginalised by the lack of Māori cultural representation.

Due to the insufficient funding for Māori cultural studies, few participants decided to leave or move school. One participant explained how frustrated they felt about their school’s inadequate representation of Māori culture in their school curriculum: “Now I go to a school in the middle of town, and it’s just so much more effort. Would have been so much easier . . . staying at this school if it was good enough.” For these participants, the lack of Māori education in their school curriculum impacted their willingness to attend school.

While participants spoke about their frustrations with school not supporting their Māori identity, there were a few examples of participants actively addressing their need for an adequate education and better cultural support. One participant took it upon themselves to address the misrepresentation of Māori culture at school with the principal, but was told that the responsibility for making this happen lay with them:

I took a letter to the principal about things that need to be implemented into the school, regarding Māori . . . I had 15 things on the list . . . And for 11 of them, she asked if I could do it. The school didn’t want to support it, they wanted me to . . . do whatever I need to do to make it happen.

Other participants also described similar efforts to make positive changes at school to support Māori and other cultures. They recommended that teachers should be “the ones supporting us” and to employ teachers who “can relate to us kids” specifically, stronger cultural leads to represent and educate tauira (students).

Fears for te taiao (the natural environment): “You don’t know what the future will be. Like in terms of climate and people”

Participants identified fears for the future of their natural environment. When the participants imagined what the future might look like, they experienced overwhelming worry about the prospects te taiao, specifically climate change and its impact on uri whakaheke kei runga (future generations to come).

The participants described te taiao from what they saw as a shared te Ao Māori, identifying te taiao as intrinsically linked to their hauora hinengaro and hauora. One participant had witnessed the impact of sea levels rising in the Pacific Islands: “I feel bad because . . . it’s an island, a culture, a language, and a heritage being lost.” Even though the rising sea levels had not directly impacted the participant and their whānau, they were able to imagine how the loss of whenua would involve losing their history, culture, and the spiritual and relational connection to their tūpuna (ancestors).

Participants also spoke about how they were worried the world’s changing climate might affect future generations. One participant explained how their fear of climate change made them feel distressed about having tamariki (children): “I think with distress in terms of future generations, and having kids is stressful and scary to think about. You second guess like the idea of it.” This participant was reconsidering having tamariki but also felt conflicted about upholding the collective tikanga and kawa to continuing whakapapa for whānau.

During COVID-19, everyone, including these participants, had restricted access to te taiao due to government-ordered lockdowns. The restrictions allowed participants to vividly envision what life would look like if climate change impacted the world, damaging their connection with te taiao. One participant mentioned how restricted access to the outdoors meant their practical and spiritual practice of te hī ika (Māori fishing) had been impacted: “People’s way of life, like you weren’t allowed a vessel on the water. What about people that live off fish and the ocean?” This participant felt upset about the restriction of practising te hī ika, which previously supported their spiritual and physical well-being with eating kaimoana (seafood) and connecting to Tangaroa (Māori deity of the sea).

Workshop discussions indicated the importance of te taiao as a “sacred” avenue that supports the participants’ hauora hinengaro. Participants gave a few examples, such as “going to the marae (courtyard in front of ancestral meeting house),” “hiking,” and “looking at the sky at night.” One participant said, “This kind of holistic idea of being able to reconnect with nature, with people around you, with your own wairua.” This participant highlighted the spiritual relationship with te taiao, which they felt connected to all five pou of their hauora.

Economic Difficulties: “How am I supposed to live on this?”

Participants discussed their experiences with financial hardship and the responsibility they felt to earn money as they transitioned into adulthood. The participants agreed that the cost of living was a major stressor.

Many of the participants described circumstances where they saw “angry” and “stressed” people in their community, which they assumed was because of the increase in gas and food prices, and for those living, “pay-check to pay-check.” The participants felt empathy for people in their community as they were aware of their financial struggles to afford the necessities.

As participants shifted from high school into young adulthood, they felt increasing pressure to financially assist their whānau and community. However, they often lacked the resources that would allow them to contribute. One participant said they felt stressed by the expectation that they should get a job because they did not have the financial means to travel to the job interview in the first place: “Then people say, ‘Get a job.’ But you’ve got to pay for transport to get to a job . . . Like how?” This participant captured the frustration of being caught in a vicious cycle where they aspired to have a job but lacked the basic resources that would allow them to get a job.

Participants appeared acutely aware that financial hardship did not reflect the capabilities of their whānau but was the socioeconomic reality of colonisation. One participant explained that “Not everyone gets the same opportunities when it comes to their future.” However, the participants emphasised their ability, “we do the best we can.” One participant discovered a sense of pride that came with having a job while exercising their rangatiratanga: “It’s also just feeling like you’re succeeding, aye. When you’ve got nothing and then you work, and now you’ve got something. Pride.” The participant felt mana (spiritual power, prestige) from earning an income and gaining some independence. Participants provided many examples of how they had continued to strive towards financial security, such as studying, working and buying a car despite economic barriers.

Participants discussed the need for more support for rangatahi to manage the shift in financial responsibilities between high school and young adulthood. They discussed the importance of more educational opportunities, such as free courses in business, finance literacy, tertiary education and trade occupations. They thought more educational opportunities would improve their career options.

Pressure to Meet Expectations: “There’s like a huge amount of people that rely on you and depend on you”

The exchanges between participants captured a common experience of negotiating pressure and demands to meet expectations. Many of the participants agreed that their whānau had high expectations of them. One participant described how high expectations were a whānau value: “Just parents, how they bring you up. They have these high standards, and then you disappoint them if you don’t get there.” The participant described how they thought their parents would be disappointed if they did not meet their expectations.

The participants discussed how they wanted to break generational cycles of educational disadvantage. One participant explained they felt immense pressure to succeed in school and make their whānau proud: “If your family hasn’t done well, you feel like . . . if you’re the one that’s done the best out of all of them in school . . . ‘Oh, you have to do this.’” The participant recognised they were privileged to have academic opportunities that their whānau had not been offered. While they saw their success was also their whānau, they felt this placed immense pressure on them to finish school.

The participants felt motivated to challenge societal expectations and stereotypes to fail as rangatahi. Sometimes, this expectation halted their ability to function due to the overwhelming fear of failure and proving detractors right. As a result, participants discussed developing high expectations of themselves to succeed, which increased their distress. One participant said, “Going to get a scholarship and then you end up just overwhelmed and then you just pull out.” This participant explained how feeling overwhelmed and whakamā about potential failure prevented them from completing beneficial tasks.

Participants developed strategies to manage this pressure. One participant said, “I just write stuff down but never do anything with it.” Another described how maintaining a clean environment supported their hauora: “That’s how it makes you feel. Clean room, clean person.” Participants drew on their Māoritanga (Māori beliefs and practices) to balance their environment and support their hinengaro when pressures to succeed was overwhelming.

External Threats to Our Safety: “New Zealand is not a safe place”

Participants spoke about how their hauora hinengaro was impacted by being exposed to unsafe and risky environments. The experience of risky external environments was positioned in the context of historical trauma transmitted across generations due to marginalisation and imposed inequities, such as poverty, land loss, and whānau violence, which were perpetrated by colonisation, deprivation and ongoing experiences of personal and systematic racism.

Workshop discussions revealed that participants predominately experienced racism in school and public settings. One participant explained how bullying impacted their hauora, which they felt made school harder: “It’s everything. Mentally, physically. Bullying is huge.” The participant viewed school as furthering their experiences of marginalisation and feeling unsafe.

Participants also described discriminatory experiences in the public setting, which made them feel unsafe. One participant shared being escorted from a store based on their appearance: “They’ll label us because we had money to buy stuff from there. They just kicked us out.” The participant felt discriminated against and identified that the shop assistant’s racial bias violated their access to the store. Participants conveyed their sense that racism towards Māori was embedded in everyday activities, which impacted their sense of safety.

The participants were acutely aware that disparities in Māori mental health outcomes stemmed from generations of whānau being subjected to abuse, which sometimes played out in their homes and made it difficult to foster aroha (love) and manaaki (kindness, care, hospitality) in stressful environments. Some participants spoke poignantly about how violence, drug use and alcoholism entered their homes. One participant said, “I think trauma plays a big role . . . where we face a lot of things we’re too young to be facing.” The participant felt their aversive childhood experiences had a lasting impact on their hauora hinengaro.

Workshop discussions revealed that participants commonly saw tamariki coming to school “high” or “selling drugs.” One participant discussed how they believed some rangatahi access to drugs became a source of much needed income: “They see it, they can grab it, and the parents are like . . . ‘Make sure you just get the money’.” The participant highlighted how some rangatahi developed alternative solutions for financial support.

There were mixed feelings about the gang culture in Aotearoa. For some participants, this was a familiar environment which marked a sense of community and whānau, whereas others felt less comfortable and unsafe. Participants contextualised the relational aspect embedded in gang culture. One participant discussed the comradery that gang members experienced: “For most people, it’s like brotherhood, a sense of belonging.” These participants understood gang culture as a form of whānau that could offer protection. However, participants were aware that there was a risk within gang culture. One participant likened being a part of a gang to: “Being adopted but into a non-stable family.” These participants recognised the appeal to gang culture for “lost” rangatahi but believed that remaining adjacent while aware of gang culture maintained their safety.

Participants acknowledged the importance of resilience and mana to grow from aversive experiences by “forgiving and forgiving yourself as well.”

Limited Support for Mental Health: “It’s easy asking. It’s just getting it back”

In navigating their hauora hinengaro difficulties, participants felt limited by a lack of available support. When participants sought support from their parents and mental health professionals, they often felt misunderstood.

Participants explained that while they felt their parents cared for them, they thought they had different approaches when dealing with hauora hinengaro reflecting a generational divide. One participant said, “They try to be there but can’t fully be there because they don’t really know.” While the participant felt their parents cared, they thought they were not equipped to support their needs. A general discussion among the participants seemed to convey awareness that previous generations had dealt with the traumatic effects of colonisation without help.

Participants also spoke at length about their distrust towards professional forms of mental health support, such as school counsellors and community therapists who were often non-Māori. One participant seemed doubtful about mental health professionals’ understanding of the unique challenges rangatahi experience: “I think a lot of the counsellors don’t experience what a lot of us go through.”

Despite the limited support from professionals and parents, participants explained how they exercised their rangatiratanga by acting as a support person for their peers. One participant described how they supported their friends, fearing the mental health professionals could not: “I’d rather take them in myself . . . because that person might not even take them in. But I’ll know for a fact that I’ll take them in”. This participant explained how they felt better positioned to support their friends rather than risking them being turned away by mental health professionals.

General discussions about the lack of culturally supportive mental health services led participants to consider different approaches which could meet their needs. The participants suggested wānanga would best support their hauora hinengaro due to the collective conversations steeped in tikanga and kawa. Participants also believed that all pou related to their hauora should be involved in counselling wānanga. One participant used Te Whare Tapa Whā model to explain how they thought a culturally safe mental health service could be created:

Te Whare Tapa Whā specifically is your pou; they reinforce each other as well. . .Your social affects your mental, physical affects your mental, spiritual can affect your social. And if those reinforcements break, then that becomes weaker . . . doing a wānanga with all these things helps clean your wairua . . . reconnect to nature . . . appreciate our mātauranga . . . that’s how you let go.

Limitations and Future Directions

There is limited understanding of how rangatahi living in rural and urban communities experience mental health issues (Ryks et al., 2019). While quantitative surveys have addressed differences between rural and urban rangatahi in mental health statistics (Theodore et al., 2022), fewer qualitative studies have considered their perspectives on hauora hinengaro (Rua et al., 2019). Existing research highlights inequities in access and engagement with services between rural and urban groups (Martel et al., 2020). Future research should consider contributions from rangatahi in both settings to determine what mental health services are needed and how they should differ by location (Sutcliffe et al., 2024).