A proposed fast-tracked marina at Waipiro Bay in the Bay of Islands overlooks Māori-led solutions for economic development — and risks repeating the extractive mistakes of the past, argues Te Rina Ruka-Triponel.
Not only is it unethical to build a 250-berth marina in Waipiro Bay, but the proposal also poses a serious ecological risk — including the potential spread of caulerpa, an invasive seaweed already threatening marine ecosystems across Te Tai Tokerau.
Those backing the development are ignoring powerful kaupapa Māori alternatives that could grow the economy in ways that enhance, rather than erode, mana.
A story was recently published about the marina proposal near Waipiro Bay, describing it as an “economic opportunity”.
But for who?
As someone who descends from Ngāti Kuta and Te Rāwhiti Marae, this affects me directly. I’m an urban Māori who grew up in Tāmaki, but te nōta is home. My children and future mokopuna deserve a future in our rohe that is intact – not a memory marked by grief. Our connection to this whenua and moana is political, spiritual, and intergenerational.
And I’m not alone.
Mana whenua and surrounding hapū have made their opposition clear. The proposal – pushed through a fast-track process with minimal consultation – is not welcome here.
The marina is backed by Sky TV founder Craig Heatley’s company Azuma Property and Hopper Developments, who want to construct a 250-berth facility off land at 285 Manawaora Road. They claim the project will bring in $180m to $220m over 30 years and create about 140 jobs. It would involve dredging, excavation and reclamation for piles, pontoons, gangways, a public boat ramp, parking and marine retail space.
Heatley has said he looks forward to working with Ngāti Kuta and surrounding hapū for “the best outcome”.
That comment is out of touch.
There’s no denying that Te Tai Tokerau faces economic hardship. Many whānau are living week to week, or without income altogether. But solutions that affirm our mana, skills and tino rangatiratanga already exist – and deserve serious attention.
In Mana Moana, a new book by Professor Carla Houkamau (Ngāti Porou, Ngāti Kahungunu, Kāi Tahu) and Dr Robert Pouwhare (Ngāi Tūhoe), the authors trace the deep, enduring relationship between Māori and the ocean – including in the context of business.
From traditional fishing and intertribal trade through to the 1992 Treaty of Waitangi Fisheries Settlement and the formation of Moana New Zealand, Māori have long developed economic systems grounded in whakapapa, kaitiakitanga, manaakitanga and intergenerational responsibility.
Moana New Zealand, a Māori-owned fishing company, is central to the book. But it’s also about a wider movement: one where Māori embed ancestral values into governance, investment, and business strategy. These models recognise a simple truth – when your connection to a fishing ground spans hundreds of years, you don’t just think about this year’s catch. You think about your mokopuna’s right to gather from those same waters.
That’s exactly the kind of thinking Waipiro Bay needs.
Instead of fast-tracked, investor-led projects that promise short-term benefits and long-term costs, kaupapa Māori alternatives embed mana into every layer – from resource management to business development.
Professor Jason Mika (Tūhoe, Ngāti Awa, Whakatōhea, Ngāti Kahungunu) of the University of Auckland’s Business School described Māori enterprise to me as people-centred, shaped by whanaungatanga, manaakitanga and tino rangatiratanga. Collective wellbeing, cultural integrity and environmental stewardship are the true bottom lines.
This is more than a moral argument – it’s also economic. The Māori economy has nearly doubled since 2018, growing from $17bn to $32bn. It now makes up close to 9% of Aotearoa New Zealand’s GDP. Māori-owned assets have increased from $69bn to $126bn, and the economy is diversifying – from farming into high-value sectors like science and technical services. Close to 24,000 Māori-owned businesses now operate across the country.
What sets Māori enterprise apart is its foundation in kaupapa Māori. It doesn’t ask “how do we grow?” but “how do we uplift?” Not “what can we take?” but “how can we sustain?”
Māori economies are built for intergenerational benefit, guided by obligations to the whenua, moana and whakapapa.
Last year, I interviewed Dr Ngahuia Harrison, whose doctoral research Coastal Cannibals: Industry Occupation on Whangārei Te Rerenga Parāoa investigates the ongoing impact of development on mana whenua. Her work – through photography and archival research – highlights the lasting scars left by industrialisation, colonisation and extractive economics on land, water, and people.
Though Harrison’s research focuses on the oil refinery and cement works in Whangārei, the parallels to Waipiro Bay are clear. While such projects may bring jobs, they often come at the cost of marine ecosystems, customary rights, and the ability of mana whenua to live off their whenua and moana.
“These are the places where mana whenua worked; that have sustained whānau because the customary practices no longer sustain anyone,” Harrison told me. “That is the consequence of a cannibal capitalism, which impedes our ability to subsist or access natural resources, if they haven’t been extinguished altogether.”
So the question isn’t whether Māori want economic development.
It’s this: when will this country finally trust us to lead it?
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