Tiri Mahana, a 185-year-old matriarch born at the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, recounts her life across generations as she witnesses the evolving story of Aotearoa. Her journey weaves personal memory with national history, confronting the past and inspiring the future.
In Tiri: Te Araroa Woman Far Walking, playwright Witi Ihimaera and director Katie Wolfe have crafted a theatrical experience that is as courageous as it is culturally vital. This production, staged by Auckland Theatre Company at the ASB Waterfront Theatre, refuses to dilute its message or its language. Instead of offering separate English and te reo Māori versions, it presents a single, unified bilingual performance; fully accessible to fluent te reo speakers, and intentionally challenging for monolingual English audiences. This choice is not just artistic; it’s political. It demands engagement, empathy, and reflection.
At the heart of the story is Tiri Mahana, a 185-year-old kuia born on the day Te Tiriti o Waitangi was signed. Her life spans nearly two centuries of Aotearoa’s history, and she has witnessed its most defining and devastating moments: the massacres at Matawhero and Ngatapa, the 1918 influenza pandemic, the Land March, and the Springbok tour protests. Tiri is not merely a character; she is a living embodiment of the Treaty itself; aged, burdened, and still fighting to be understood.
Miriama McDowell delivers a commanding performance as Tiri, carrying the emotional weight of the production with grace and ferocity. She is joined by Nī Dekkers-Reihana, who plays Tilly; Tiri’s spectral companion and inner voice. Tilly is mischievous, shape-shifting, and emotionally agile, slipping between roles and eras with ease. From haka to waiata, from lover to warrior, Dekkers-Reihana’s performance is a masterclass in versatility and emotional nuance.
The staging is minimal yet evocative. A sloped floor and cosmic-lit screen evoke many visual scenes; a journey through time, a battlefield, the path of a hikoi, a dreamlike forest; abstract, timeless, and spiritual. Tiri emerges slowly from the shadows, her silhouette reminiscent of Māori creation stories. This visual metaphor sets the tone for a production that is deeply rooted in whakapapa and cosmology, yet unafraid to confront the brutal realities of colonisation.
The bilingual nature of the play is central to its impact. Te reo Māori is not translated for convenience. Instead, it is woven into the fabric of the narrative, demanding that English-speaking audiences rely on context, emotion, and gesture. This is not exclusion; it’s an invitation to experience the discomfort that Māori communities have endured for generations. The refusal to translate everything is a powerful act of sovereignty.
The production’s emotional range is staggering. It moves from grief to humour, rage to tenderness, often within the same breath. Tiri’s opening monologue is a searing indictment of colonisation, describing the arrival of Pākehā as “hairy goblins” and lamenting her unnatural longevity. Yet even in her fury, there is wit. Comedy and tragedy dance together in a way that feels authentically Māori; where laughter is a survival tool, and storytelling is a weapon.
Tiri is portrayed as two women: the elder, bent with history’s weight, and the younger, frozen in trauma, questioning and challenging every memory. This duality reflects the fractured experience of Māori identity; caught between past and present, pain and pride. The interplay between Tiri and Tilly is electric, often confrontational, and always compelling and nurturing.
The production is not afraid to be political. It references current events, including protests against the Principles of the Treaty of Waitangi Bill and the erosion of Māori rights. These moments are not shoehorned in; they are part of the continuum of struggle that Tiri represents. The message is clear: the fight is not over, and the rangatahi must rise.
Despite its heavy themes, Tiri is not bleak. It is suffused with hope, humour, and love. The relationships Tiri recalls, whether they be romantic, familial, or communal, are tender and joyful. These memories offer respite from the rage, and remind us what is at stake. The production celebrates mana wāhine, resilience, and the enduring strength of whakapapa.
The decision to use a two-person cast is inspired. With only McDowell and Dekkers-Reihana on stage, supported by selective audio and lighting, the production achieves remarkable emotional and narrative depth. The design team, John Verryt (set), Te Ura Taripo-Hoskins (costumes), Kingsley Spargo and Jane Hakaraia (sound and lighting), deserve praise for creating a world that is both intimate and expansive.
This is not a play that will leave audiences unchanged. It is confrontational, unapologetically Māori, and emotionally raw. Some viewers may feel discomfort, confusion, even alienation. But that is the point. For nearly 200 years, Māori communities have lived with those feelings. Tiri offers a mirror; and a challenge.
The production is also a testament to how far Aotearoa has come. That such a powerful critique of colonisation and government policy can be staged publicly is a sign of progress. But it also serves as a warning: that progress is fragile, and must be defended.
In its final moments, Tiri reminds us that the Treaty, though battered and betrayed, still holds power and promise. Tiri herself, though weary, is not defeated. She is still walking. And she invites us to walk with her.
Witi Ihimaera’s Tiri: Te Araroa Woman Far Walking is running from 4–23 November 2025 at the ASB Waterfront Theatre
Ticketsx can be purchased here
Ticketsx can be purchased here