There has never been a shortage of Maori voices. 

Some Maori protest; occupying and blockading, demonstrating anger, grief, lack of redress; emitting skewed images for the media.

Other Maori debate; working from within, fighting twice as hard, twice as long, twice as much; at twice the cost.

Some Maori yell from their cells; howling over no future, morally retreating; culturally defeated.

Other Maori scream silently from psychotic prisons; legally drugged, life leaking like dribble; feared, afraid, shamed.

Some Maori whimper from unlikely likenesses; blackened and bruised, broken and abused; made public to make a point.

Other Maori slur bravado; numbing the present, re-living opportunities gone knocking; if only.

Select Maori orate their history; eloquently, rhetorically; the right audience elsewhere.

Elected Maori make submission to powers-that-be; cap in hand, it’s written that they be allowed to; tick the box.

Most Maori talk face to face; existing by doing, broad-shouldered; carrying everyone’s burden.

Many Maori speak with action; leading by example, blazing trails; their voices lost in the cacophony.

The problem has never been in the speaking, but in the listening.

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