Our colleagues, Priscilla Claeys and Jasber Singh, are doing a series on an underexplored aspect of food system transformation: the role of spirituality and religion in social movement struggles for food sovereignty. In order to deepen their inquiry, they are speaking with various food sovereignty activists across the globe. What roles does spirituality play in food sovereignty struggles? To what extent do spirituality and religion support or impede movement building? How do food sovereignty activists navigate their own spiritual and religious lives and place-based practices in the transnational movement? In this article they interviewed Catherine Murupenga-Ikenn, a lifelong activist and a human rights advocate with deep roots in the Māori indigenous movement.
Q: Catherine, can you tell us about yourself and the movement you are involved in?
A: I am a grandmother, a lifelong activist, and a human rights advocate with deep roots in the Māori indigenous movement. Since my granddaughter was born, I have felt a compulsion to do more of the activism work that I do already. When you become a mother, that kind of puts the fire under you. But when you become a grandmother, you just redouble your efforts. For some reason, it reinforces the need to do what you can to make the world right for them.
24 September 2019 Northern Advocate Photo: Michael Cunningham
I grew up in a Māori Indigenous environment, with all the values and elements that are important to us and that we treasure. When we see these things being attacked, your natural inclination is to defend. Because of this, I have naturally aligned with many campaigns, be them civic campaigns, social justice ones, or environmental defense ones. I have worked both nationally in Aotearoa (New Zealand) and internationally, including within United Nations spaces, particularly in the fight for indigenous rights. I have been on the policy team for the Green Party and also helped with Māori Party policies. I have run for local government, and I have been very active in both local and central politics. In 2005 I got an Indigenous fellowship with the United Nations Office of the High Commission for Human Rights, and I got another Senior fellowship in 2020. That really set me on another trajectory, it opened my mind to all the mechanisms and instruments that promote and protect Indigenous People’s rights.
My work is fundamentally about defending Māori sovereignty and ensuring that our land, waters, and cultural practices are protected from ongoing colonial aggression. I have seen the UN become more and more fascistic with the capturing of different UN agencies by corporate agendas. So now I am a kind of Trojan horse in those spaces. They keep inviting me to go back to their meetings, funnily enough, and they keep paying me grants to fly me over and put me up in hotels and the rest of it. It is just a weird way that the world works. They want me there, and I keep calling them out, but they keep calling me back. In addition to activism, I have played a role in academia and policy-making, working on documenting oral histories and indigenous knowledge systems to ensure they are recognized and integrated into contemporary governance frameworks. The ability to bridge activism with research has enabled me to push for legislative changes that respect indigenous sovereignty. The work is both exhausting and rewarding, but I remain driven by the responsibility I feel towards my people and next generations. Over the years, my role has expanded to include mentoring younger activists, and engaging in grassroots mobilization to strengthen our collective voice. It’s not just about preserving culture—it’s about reclaiming our inherent rights and ensuring that our descendants live in a world where they are not subjugated by systems designed to erase them.
Q: Most of the people we have interviewed in this series associate with the food sovereignty movement. How would you define yourself and the key concepts or ideas at the heart of your movement?
A: As a Māori woman, I see our movement as fundamentally about sovereignty, especially in Aotearoa at the moment, where Māori leadership has explicitly identified our current government as the enemy. This has really ramped up a new wave of reconstruction of Māori sovereignty. When I say sovereignty, I mean food sovereignty, land sovereignty, or water sovereignty, they all intertwine. The fight for food sovereignty is essential because without control over our food systems, we are vulnerable to colonial and corporate control. We are currently facing a new wave of colonization which is corporate colonialism, and that includes industrial complexes, like the agriculture industrial complex. So it is still colonialism but it is kind of morphed, and it doesn’t just impact Indigenous Peoples anymore. Everyone is being colonized by the corporations now. So we have so much in common, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, and it is really about equitable distribution of power and wealth in the world. And I do observe, like many do, the Bill Gates’s of the world trying to buy up land all over the place and different actors who are just consolidating their power over the food production system. And it’s very scary. People should be very scared, absolutely.
Te Waka Hourua (Māori climate activists and mainstream allies) and Extinction Rebellion Aotearoa friends peacefully occupying Te Papa Tongarewa, the NZ national museum in 2021. With the activists we demanded the museum correct its exhibit propaganda that Māori ceded our sovereignty under the 1840 treaty with the Crown. Of course, Māori did no such thing. In fact, Te Tiriti 1840 did the exact opposite – it guaranteed our absolute authority and self-determination.
Food sovereignty, in particular, has been a critical issue. Colonization disrupted indigenous food systems, replacing them with monocultural, export-driven agriculture that harms both the land and people. Reviving traditional food practices not only strengthens our cultural ties but also ensures that we have control over our nutrition, health, and environment. The act of growing our own food using ancestral methods is itself a form of resistance against neocolonial economic systems. But as I said, this struggle is not just for Māori—it’s for all people. Economic and political structures continue to consolidate power away from communities, making it crucial for indigenous voices to be at the forefront of resistance and reformation efforts.
Q: What roles has spirituality played in this movement?
A: Spirituality is foundational to our activism. Our environment—our land, waters, forests, and animals—are not just resources; they are our ancestors, our kin. When we fight for sovereignty, we are fulfilling a spiritual obligation, not just a political one. The natural world is sacred, and the ongoing violations by the colonial state and corporations create disharmony, not just politically but in the very fabric of existence. Going back to my Māori roots and values makes me look at the world through a lens of the environment being related to us genealogically. That really changes everything. We are integrated. We are connected. We are very profoundly linked. Planet Earth is a living thing. She has her own consciousness. And the interesting thing here is the metaphysical activism.
We must have balance in the world. If we don’t, then you get what you see all around you: the world is sick, and it needs healing. The healing is all about making things right, in terms of ensuring we comply with the natural laws. From a Māori perspective, this is passed down by our ancestors: what is correct, what is right, what has integrity, what has compassion and understanding. If you align, then you will have harmony in the world. And as soon as you deviate from any of that, then you get disharmony in the world. This is very simple at one level, and that is what drives me personally. I look at a situation and I see what is imbalanced and needs healing. I try to bring it back into alignment with the basic principles we were taught. That is what I campaign on. Our activism is about restoring balance and healing those wounds. The desecration of sacred sites, pollution of water sources, and destruction of traditional food systems are all forms of spiritual violence that require deep, collective healing.
Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one in the room that’s thinking and speaking sanely, and everyone else is crazy. And the only reason I know I am the sane one in the room is because I’m aligning with the values that have been handed down to me. Without that compass, I would be lost. One example of how metaphysical activism works in practice is how we honor land through rituals and ceremonies before engaging in activism. When we organize direct actions, we begin with karakia (incantations) to ensure the presence and guidance of our ancestors. Many Māori activists view their efforts as fulfilling sacred duties rather than engaging in purely political struggles.
Q: How do you see the gender dimensions of this spiritual practice or system?
A: In Māori cosmology, there is a balance of masculine and feminine energies—Earth Mother and Sky Father, for example. This balance extends into our leadership structures, where both men and women hold significant roles. However, colonization disrupted these dynamics, imposing patriarchal systems that marginalized indigenous women’s leadership. Part of our decolonization work is restoring that balance, ensuring that women’s spiritual and political leadership is recognized and honored. The resurgence of female-led movements within our communities is a testament to the power of reclaiming our roles. We see it in the leadership of women revitalizing our languages, restoring traditional birthing practices, and leading environmental protection campaigns. Women have historically played vital roles as knowledge keepers, healers, and strategists within indigenous communities. By reclaiming these roles, we challenge the colonial frameworks that attempted to suppress them. In my own activism, I have worked alongside many powerful wāhine (women).The separateness that the colonizers brought, their divide and conquer strategies are very effective. But that is another thing that spirituality can help us with. It can help us see the connections between us all. If we were able to see our shared interests and priorities and that we all want the same thing, really, all of us, regardless of our ethnicity, our gender, our socio economic status, Global North, Global South, whatever, then it would be a very strong antidote to the colonizers’ divide and conquer strategy, and that that is what I am advocating for.
Indigenous New Zealand National Museum occupation, 2021 – Catherine with our group, Te Waka Hourua (Māori climate activists and mainstream allies) and Extinction Rebellion Aotearoa friends who peacefully occupied Te Papa Tongarewa, the NZ national museum. Catherine used waiata (traditional song) to emphasise Our kaupapa (agenda, purpose) of that action (there is a video of a piece of that song in this news article).
Q: Can you tell us more about the role of spirituality and religion in your own life and how this has guided your work in the movement? What was the religious context of your upbringing?
A: My spirituality is deeply tied to Māori traditions, which are distinct from Western religions. While many Māori have adopted Christianity due to colonial influence, our indigenous spirituality predates and often exists alongside these beliefs. It is interesting how Western religion has crept into Māori society. We are schizophrenic sometimes. We do the Western religion thing, the prayers. But we also have our ancestral practices, that we call karakia. They’re not prayers, because Western religious prayers, they seem to be going to this God in the sky, and he is a male, very patriarchal. Our concept of karakia is not prayer in the Western sense, it is an invocation, a way of aligning oneself with the energies of the universe. You are not asking for anything. You are putting an intention out there, and you are energizing the intention for it to happen. There’s no request there.
My spiritual practice sustains me in activism, providing guidance, resilience, and a profound sense of purpose. Colonization attempted to strip us of our spiritual authority, replacing our deeply interconnected cosmology with hierarchical religious structures. But despite this, many of us have maintained our spiritual foundations, drawing strength from our ancestors and the unseen forces that guide us. One of the most profound aspects of this journey has been learning to communicate with ancestors through dreams and visions. Many indigenous cultures recognize that the guidance of those who came before us is ever-present. This understanding has given me confidence and clarity in moments of uncertainty, reinforcing that our fight for sovereignty is not just ours but one that connects past, present, and future generations.
Q: How would you describe your own spiritual journey?
A: My journey has been one of deepening my understanding of our ancestral knowledge and reclaiming the spiritual sciences embedded in our traditions. Western science is only now beginning to confirm what our ancestors knew, that consciousness shapes reality, that energy flows in ways that can be harnessed for healing and transformation. For me, spirituality is not just belief; it is a way of interacting with the world, an active force in resistance and survival. It has also been a journey of unlearning colonial narratives that have been imposed on us. Reconnecting with indigenous knowledge systems has given me a sense of empowerment and responsibility to continue this work for future generations.
Q: What are some of the challenges around spirituality and movement building for the future?
A: One major challenge is the fragmentation caused by colonialism. The divide-and-conquer strategies of the colonizer have left many Indigenous Peoples disconnected from their traditions. Rebuilding spiritual and cultural foundations is crucial, but it takes time. Another challenge is the dominance of Western frameworks in activism. Much of the global human rights discourse is rights-based, while indigenous traditions are often duty-based—centered on responsibilities to the land, ancestors, and future generations rather than individual entitlements. The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples is a very useful instrument but it is also grounded in a Western paradigm, it is rights based. It should be duties based, from an Indigenous perspective, it’s the obligations we have and the responsibilities we have that are more important than our rights. And the collective obligations too. Would you really have rights over your mother, or would you rather have obligations to your mother? I’m talking about Mother Earth or Father Sky. Yet, for some reason, the colonizers constructed a rights space and that is the dominant construct we have to engage with. So you got to play the game. If I went around saying I am a “human obligations and responsibilities activist”, how far would I go with the colonizer? In Indigenous conversations, we talk about this more, but when you’re out in the mainstream, engaging with politicians and officials in the UN system, that’s not how they talk.
Looking ahead, I believe the most transformative work will come from bringing together Indigenous wisdom keepers, spiritual leaders, and even Western scientists who are exploring consciousness and the nature of reality. We need to shift our activism from reactive struggle to proactive, metaphysical activism—using spiritual power to shape the world we want to see, rather than just resisting the one imposed on us. This shift requires us to trust in our own knowledge systems and recognize the limitations of colonial methodologies. It means creating new spaces for ceremony, storytelling, and intergenerational learning as acts of resistance and renewal.
Q: Any final thoughts?
A: The fight for justice is hard. Some days, it feels overwhelming. There is injustice in the world. People are suffering and dying. But the suffering we see calls us to something greater—to be the best versions of ourselves, to meet our highest potential. If it wasn’t for the suffering, I would probably be leading a mediocre life. It sounds like a weird thing to say but it’s how I feel. I would love to be made redundant but I don’t see myself being made redundant any time soon. But while I am doing this good work, I am just going to be the best that I can be in the face of it all. And what more could our ancestors choose for us than to meet our highest potential? You are not going to meet your highest potential just by having a cruisy life, are you?
Activism is not just about political change; it is about spiritual alignment. And when we stand in that truth, we are unstoppable. We are living through a pivotal moment in history, and our resilience is our greatest weapon. If we can remain grounded in our spiritual and cultural foundations, we will continue to build movements that are not only resistant but regenerative.
This interview was conducted on 4 September 2024. It was recorded, transcribed and edited by Priscilla Claeys and Jasber Singh. The final version was revised and validated by Catherine Murupaenga-Ikenn.