Yesterday I lit a candle.
Amid marble effigies and statues of long-dead English royalty, scientists, writers, politicians, and military leaders lying within the cavernous ancient Westminster Abbey - that giant vault which epitomises the Crown - I shed tears for Ariki Tā Tumu Te Heuheu Tukino Vlll.
As I took in familiar names, I was reminded that Mananui Te Heuheu Tukino ll did not sign Te Tiriti o Waitangi for the very same reason signatories did; an assertion of mana motuhake and reaffirmation of tino rangatiratanga.
I celebrated the ‘House of Te Heuheu’ - an unbroken line of resistance to the Monarchs and Kāwanatanga.
I thought about that while walking across paving stones engraved with the names of British notables nearly 20,000 kilometres away from our own, interred in their own vault on the southern shores of Taupō-nui-a-Tia.
I’ve interviewed Tā Tumu numerous times, but it was during our last sit-downs that I finally asked him what was going through his head on that blistering cold day back in 1996, as he accompanied his father’s body to the family vault in Waihī.
“The only thing I could feel was the weight of those old people who laid there.”
It was, as he later told me, not a moment of pride but of sadness. And of duty because, he added, “it was also about whanaungatanga.”
Tā Tumu reflected on his grandfather, Hoani, and his great-grandfather, Tūreiti, as well as Mananui.
The realisation hit home. He was now the Ariki - the ‘paramount chief’ - albeit a reluctant one.
The ‘Chief’ learned of his appointment, not in an elaborate ceremony or through a dramatic announcement, but when Te Whakapūmautanga ‘Darkie’ Downs stepped out of the tiny Catholic church after a hui of hapū representatives, gave him the eye and simply said, ‘You’re it.’
It was the kind of ‘offer’ you just can’t refuse.
Although it wouldn’t have been a surprise, leadership was never something Tā Tumu sought.
He had watched his father in the role and saw how demanding it was. As a young man, he wanted the freedom to do as he wished.
A wool classer, the member of a vocal quartet (his brother Tīmoti was an impressive singer too), and a qualified pilot, Tā Tumu did his own thing.
While he wasn’t under pressure to accompany his father to hui, under the quiet encouragement of Sir Hepi and the guidance of his kuia Raukawa, Tā Tumu understood that service to his people was not a role to choose, but a legacy to carry.
Given the number of hapū and people with competing priorities, I asked how he made decisions.
“You listen first,” he replied. Listen. Act carefully. And place unity above all else.
Imagine if that became the norm for all political leaders?
In turbulent times, Tā Tumu called Ngāti Tūwharetoa and other iwi to the table just as his father, koro, and tupuna did, reminding them of the strength found in whanaungatanga.
He became a steady presence in Treaty ‘settlement’ negotiations, helping to secure the return of whenua, taonga and resources. He led the 2009 Central North Island (CNI) Forests Iwi Collective settlement process - a task many thought impossible.
In fact, Sir Michael Cullen, who Tā Tumu pulled in as the lead negotiator in Ngāti Tūwharetoa-Crown negotiations, told me in The Negotiators that without Tumu the CNI settlement would not have happened.
His quiet, calm, and mana-enhancing style provided a sense of cautious unity in a Crown-driven, often divisive process.
Yet his vision and skills reached beyond Aotearoa.
It was Tā Tumu who championed Tongariro National Park, gaining the first dual world heritage status, recognising not only its physical beauty, but its cultural and spiritual significance.
He used the formal marking of the achievement as an opportunity to rekindle old ties with other iwi regarding the maunga within the National Park.
It was game-changing stuff. While Tongariro was the first in the world to receive that dual status recognition, others followed.
He had placed a political pou in the ground; one that acknowledged maunga are our tupuna, living expressions of Indigenous sovereignty in an international forum.
Later, as chair of UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee, Tā Tumu carried the voices of Indigenous nations from the Pacific onto the global stage.
Even when nations like Cambodia and Thailand stood on the brink of conflict, it was his quiet diplomacy that eased tensions, forging an agreement over the sacred Preah Vihear temple.
One whanaunga who accompanied Tā Tumu to Paris recalled that on arrival, the ‘Chief’ insisted on visiting the embassies of every participating nation state and heard to his surprise, “no one ever did that!”
Yet that’s how Tā Tumu rolled back home at the Lake.
He would visit hapū to listen, seek advice, and weigh up the options. It wasn’t an easy job.
As one of our cousins mentioned in our story, the visibility of the role meant Tā Tumu was an easy target for those who were frustrated and angry.
In my last interview with him, Tā Tumu spoke of his own frustrations with the Crown and expectations for it to step up and return Tongariro National Park to mana whenua.
Despite the knighthood, international accolades, and recognition as one of the nation’s most influential leaders, Tā Tumu remained humble. He wasn’t into fuss.
The iwi weren’t either.
There were no airs and graces. Tā Tumu’s strength lay not in ceremony but in connection: a calm presence, a gentle word, an unwavering commitment to protect the whenua and uplift his iwi.
Tā Tumu didn’t say much, but when he did, the words landed.
He reminded me so much of my grandfather’s generation.
Not surprising. His beloved grandmother Raukawa (wife of Hoani Te Heuheu) was the elder sister to my own koro Hema Maniapoto.
Both siblings are buried at our beautiful Waitetoko Marae. To be in London and unable to travel home as Ngāti Te Rangi-ita proudly welcomed our own back to his marae - was truly heartbreaking.
I’m comforted by the news that kotahitanga, whanaungatanga, and aroha were on full display, just as the man we affectionately called ‘Chief’ would have wanted.
Tā Tumu Te Heuheu Tukino Vlll leaves behind not just a record of achievements but an enduring legacy of humility, service, and vision.
He carried the weight of his ancestors with quiet dignity, and in doing so, he gifted future generations a path of unity and hope - an understanding that you must fight hard, but always with grace and class.
As he wound down his mahi, Tā Tumu cherished time with his beloved wife, Lady Sue.
She was his rock, his protector.
I remember sitting in deckchairs on the floating jetty in front of their home at Waihi, gazing out across the biggest lake in the land - singing our Tūwharetoa anthem.
“What is your idea of a perfect day?” I asked, fairly confident it might involve a rod.
“A perfect day is when we’re able to move forward, make decisions together, and achieve positive outcomes for our people,” he replied. “Actually, for our community as well.”
Always on a mission, I thought.
“What about fishing?” I teased him.
The Chief chuckled.
“Oh, that would be nice. Going fishing would be good!”
Moe mai, kia au tō moe
Mai e, Mai e.
Mai i te maunga tapu o Tongariro,
Mai i te moana o Taupōnui-a-Tia
Ka maringi mai i ōku roimata me ngā hupe nunui. Te wehenga atu o te Ariki o Ngāti Tūwharetoa a Tā Tumu Te Heuheu te take.
Moe mai rā e te Ariki o te Rangimārie, te manaakitanga, te tika me te pono.
E kore mātou e wareware i a koe.
