More Than a Day Off: Why Matariki Matters

FEATURE | MATARIKI

Written by Ishani Mathur (she/her) | @vohnriladki | Contributing Writer

In 2022, something historic happened in Aotearoa. For the first time in our modern history, the entire nation stopped to acknowledge Matariki, the Māori New Year, as an official public holiday. Fireworks lit up winter skies, social media filled with images of stars, and workplaces shut in recognition of something genuinely different. Yet beneath this milestone lies a question: are we really embracing what Matariki could mean for us, or are we just treating it as another day off work?

Matariki isn't just another holiday. It's a completely different way of thinking about time, a period to remember, reflect, and have a fresh start. For generations, Māori communities watched for the rising of the Matariki star cluster in the depths of winter to mark the beginning of their new year. When those stars appeared, it was time to come together, to grieve for those who had died, to share food, to be thankful for what they had, and to make plans for the year ahead. Each of the nine stars means something different, connecting people to their environment, to the elements, and most importantly, to each other.

Making Matariki a public holiday is definitely a big step forward. It's a public acknowledgement of mātauranga Māori, Indigenous knowledge that has kept communities strong for over seven centuries. This recognition brings Indigenous stories, seasonal rhythms, and spiritual reflection into our national conversation, giving a country still working through its colonial past a chance to move forward with a commitment to bicultural respect. However, we can't just stop at the symbolism of it all.

There's a real risk that Matariki could get watered down into becoming just another capitalised holiday. We've seen this happen before: te reo Māori used in marketing campaigns without any genuine understanding, Māori designs slapped on corporate posters without meaningful engagement. If Matariki becomes just another long weekend for booking Airbnbs or fuelling our shopping addiction, we miss the chance to engage with what it really means to us.

Real celebration of Matariki means more than just changing the calendar. It asks us to live differently. It challenges us to slow down, to honour those who came before us, to strengthen our connections with family and community, and to take better care of our relationship with the natural world. These aren't just Māori values, they're human ones, and we desperately need them in our world of burnout, disconnection, and environmental crisis.

If we're serious about making Matariki meaningful, we have to start with education. We need to go beyond token lessons in schools and ensure young people understand the whakapapa, the family connections, of the stars, the cultural practices around them, and what they really represent. Teachers need proper support and resources to bring this to life in classrooms, not just during Matariki week, but throughout the whole year.

Beyond schools, our institutions and all of us as individuals need to reflect Matariki's core values in how we actually live. Rest should be valued, not punished. Community wellbeing should come first. Time to gather and reconnect shouldn't be seen as lazy or indulgent, but as essential for our social health. Matariki reminds us of cyclical living, of paying attention to the seasons, of letting go of what doesn't serve us, and of beginning again with purpose. What would happen if we carried this energy into how we structure our workplaces, our policies, our public spaces?

Research keeps showing us how important cultural rituals, social connection, and collective reflection are for our well-being. Matariki has all of these things built in. It creates space for grief, joy, reflection, and vision. It's a culturally grounded approach to wellbeing that's been around for centuries, long before Western psychology came along.

Matariki can also be a bridge between generations, between urban and rural communities, between different cultures. Celebrating it encourages national unity without forcing everyone to be the same. It strengthens the social fabric of Aotearoa by building mutual respect and shared understanding rather than trying to make everyone assimilate.

But we can't let this be where we stop. Making Matariki a public holiday is a beginning, not an end. The visibility needs to be followed by a deeper understanding, and the recognition needs to be backed up by real action. That means supporting Māori voices and leadership, protecting te reo Māori, weaving Indigenous knowledge into our institutions, and calling out empty gestures when we see them.

Matariki, after all, is a constellation. It's a cluster of stars whose power doesn't come from any single star but from them all working together. That's what we need to aim for: growing together, remembering together, hoping together.

So this Matariki, let's do more than just take the day off. Let's take the time to learn with humility, to listen with genuine intention, to connect with real purpose. Let's make space for conversations that actually matter, for questions that challenge us, for silences that heal. Let's honour the stars not just by looking at them but by living their values in our everyday lives.

We asked for the stars. Now comes the harder work: learning to live by their light.