Haka Shocker! Parliament’s Fragile Feelings Meet a Māori War Dance

This article is a work of satire intended for humour and social commentary. It does not reflect the actual views, actions, or statements of any individual, iwi, organisation, or government body. Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental. The purpose of this piece is to provoke thought and discussion through exaggeration and irony, not to cause offence or spread misinformation.

Let’s take a deep breath and acknowledge something. We live in a country where a dance — yes, a dance — has become the centrepiece of national political trauma. A haka was performed in the sacred halls of Parliament, and suddenly some MPs are clutching their pearls like Victorian dowagers who’ve just seen ankle.

Apparently, this wasn’t just any haka. This was a haka directed at the Treaty Principles Bill — that towering monument to racial harmony and constitutional subtlety — and oh no, it came from Te Pāti Māori. Enter Dame Judith Collins, who looked as though she’d just been personally thundered at by the gods of the underworld, staggering out of the chamber like someone who mistook a rehearsal for Kapa Haka Nationals as a declaration of war. Next thing you know, the Privileges Committee is being summoned to discuss whether it’s appropriate to express frustration through... movement.

I mean, what’s next? Are we going to ban interpretive dance in the press gallery? Outlaw raised eyebrows in Question Time? Institute a new Standing Order 69B: "No emotional expression that makes Pākehā politicians twitch uncomfortably in their seats."

And let’s be honest: the outrage here isn’t really about tradition, decorum, or the alleged sanctity of Parliament. It’s about control. Because for all the noise about the dignity of the House, that dignity gets regularly obliterated by shrieking, point-scoring, name-calling, and the odd passive-aggressive glance that could sour milk. But a haka? That’s where we draw the line? Really?

Let’s not forget, this is the same House where Gerry Brownlee once bulldozed through legislation like a stag on heat, and Trevor Mallard played loud music to repel protesters like some kind of sonic pest-control experiment. But someone stamps their feet and chants in te reo Māori and suddenly we're acting like the Kremlin’s been breached.

Frankly, the whole situation smells like political pantomime. A chance for Collins and co. to reenact their best performances of Shock and Horror: A Constitution in Crisis! as they press their lavender-scented tissues to their trembling lips. “They were shouting! And stamping! And... performing culture! We were frightened.”

This from the same Parliament that prides itself on free expression, open debate, and, supposedly, a thick skin. But give them 30 seconds of haka and they react like they’ve been whacked over the head with a taiaha of emotional honesty.

If we’re really going to start hauling people before committees for expressing political frustration through their cultural heritage, then let’s go the full Orwell. Ban Samoan speeches, outlaw Christian prayers, burn the Book of Common Prayer, and if someone dares mention Matariki, sedate them. Better yet, let’s just declare Parliament a “Feelings-Free Zone” and install mood-neutrality detectors at the entrance. Members caught smirking, frowning, or displaying excess verve will be escorted to the Serene Room for ideological recalibration.

The irony, of course, is that the New Zealand Bill of Rights Act explicitly protects freedom of expression — yes, even expression that involves knees bending and voices rising. That’s the whole point. A haka isn’t just choreography. It’s a vessel of meaning, a way to say “enough is enough” without writing 3,000 angry words in Times New Roman 12. But Parliament apparently prefers grievances to be expressed through backbench droning, passive-aggressive tweets, or veiled digs during Question Time. A physical performance, rich in culture and passion? My heavens, how uncivilised.

Now, let’s be clear — I’m no cheerleader for race-based policies. I’d quite happily see religion and tribal affiliation removed from the machinery of public service entirely. But that’s a conversation about the structure of power, not the validity of culture. You can oppose co-governance and still understand that Māori have every right — under law and decency — to show up, speak up, and yes, dance up when something offends them.

And what are we afraid of anyway? That a haka will topple Western civilisation? That a chant and some stamping might rattle the Crown itself? That MPs will learn something about the country they purport to govern?

Parliament isn’t a church. It isn’t a museum. It isn’t a theatre of silence. It is, for better or worse, the arena of a nation’s soul, messy and loud and sometimes covered in cultural glitter. If MPs can’t handle the heat of genuine expression, maybe they should return to their local rotary clubs where the loudest sound is the rattling of teacups and the occasional yawn over a sausage roll.

Let the haka happen. Let the voices rise. And if anyone’s still offended, perhaps take a short recess, brew a cup of chamomile, and get over it.

Transcript Excerpt: New Zealand Parliament Privileges Committee Emergency Session — Topic: Haka-gate (satire)

Chairperson: This committee has convened to determine whether the spontaneous performance of a haka constitutes an act of aggression, intimidation, or—dare I say—interpretive terrorism within the sacred bounds of this institution.

MP A: I just want to say, I feared for my monocle. The stomping was so... assertive.

MP B: At one point, I think I heard them say “aue.” I don’t speak Māori, but I believe that translates to “prepare for battle” or possibly “your committee is silly.”

MP C: They were sweating, Madam Chair. Sweating in the debating chamber! That is not in accordance with Standing Order 42B: "Members shall not emit visible bodily fluids unless under duress or delivering a Budget speech."

Chairperson: This is unprecedented. I propose we draft emergency legislation banning all spontaneous expression, including but not limited to: haka, jazz hands, impromptu poetry, and that thing Grant Robertson does with his eyebrows.

MP A: Hear, hear.

Chairperson: We shall reconvene after a light lunch and perhaps a session of interpretive mime to explore less confrontational expressions of dissent.

Diary Entry: Dame Judith Collins, QSO, MP for Papakura — Confidential (also satire)

Dear Diary,

Today I endured something no parliamentarian should ever have to endure: a full-blown haka within earshot of the Beehive. I haven’t been this startled since Simon Bridges offered me a biscuit without checking the expiry date.

The haka was led by Rawiri Waititi, who stomped and shouted and waved his arms around like a culturally significant hurricane. It was all terribly uncivilised. I considered hiding behind the Speaker’s chair but feared it might look unstates(wo)manlike. Worse still, someone live-streamed it — meaning the entire nation saw me momentarily blink in confusion.

This is not what Edmund Burke meant by parliamentary decorum. We are meant to wear suits, exchange thinly veiled insults, and undermine each other using the Queen’s English—not shout and sweat.

The worst part? It made me feel something. That’s unacceptable. Parliament is no place for feelings unless they’re tightly repressed and emerge only as snide remarks or leaked emails.

I’ve submitted a motion to rename the Parliament’s public gallery “The Safe Space for Easily Startled MPs.” It will come equipped with earmuffs, stress balls, and a soothing recording of Don Brash explaining constitutional law.

Must lie down now. I hear a rumour that Marama Davidson may express emotion next week.

Pray for us.

J.